Shit. Shit shit shit SHIT.
Todd muttered under his breath as he wrestled the overstuffed trash bag
through the narrow elevator aperture. With an awkward thrust of his elbow
he knocked into the “B” button andrested against the back wall, exhaling
slowly. Fucking trash day. Down the tubes we go, me and the bag full of
refuse. Refuse. I refuse! he thought, and he held that thought with
amusement as he plummeted down the gullet of his building into the dark
bowels beneath. He shifted his weight underneath his burden, and tried to
breathe through his mouth.
Clunka clunka clunk. Touchdown. The Eagle has landed. Todd edged the
B-level outer door open with his foot, hoping the rats had been scared off
by the sounds of the approaching elevator. He had never actually *seen*
any rats, but he knew they were there, waiting waiting waiting for a
carelessly extended Converse All-Star to come within range. Nothing leapt
out at him, and Todd wedged the door open with his foot as he squished the
black plastic bag out of the elevator. Without moving his planted left
foot Todd flipped the trash bag toward the waiting bins and hopped
backwards again into the elevator. He did not check if the bag had
actually gone in or not. Let the door close? Get stuck down in the
Dungeon while Mrs. Baby Carriage on 5 stole the elevator out from under
him? No way. Last night’s “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” showed what could
happen to High School kids in basements. Lurkers. Vampires. Big ugly
giant rats. Let the Super get the fucking bag. Creepy guy anyway. Shit!
Clunkaclunk. Up to 3 again. Home again home again jiggety jig. Down the
hallway past the Fogeys, the Architect, the Yuppies, to 3F. Home.
Yippee.
Skreeeeeek open and then bounce-the-door-off-the-wall-behind-it BONK.
“Todd? Is that you?” NO! I AM THE DREAD LORD! BOW BEFORE ME
AWWWWRRRRRRGGGGHWAAA! “Yeah, Mom, it’s me.” “Did you take down the
garbage, Honey?” FEAR ME, PUNY MORTAL! “Yeah, Mom.” “Did you remember
to take that coffee filter out of Mister Coffee like I asked?” Aw shit.
Keep walking. Didn’t hear it didn’t hear it didn’t…
“Oh, TODD! Sometimes you make me so…is it so HARD to do what I ask you
once in a while? Do we REALLY ask SO much from you that you can’t just do
one little thing the way I ask you?” “Sorry, Mom.” Big mom-esque
theatrical sigh, with the promise of more to come. Quick–into the
Batcave, Batman! Form of a gazelle! Shape of an ice cube! “Todd? TODD?
Are you–” SLAM. Hah! Into the Sanctum Sanctorum, where nothing shall
penetrate my mystical wards! Todd flicked on some Pearl Jam and clicked
the remote to turn on the Cartoon Network. Free at last, free at last.
So what?
Some fucking summer. Todd flopped down onto the bed, clicker still in
hand. “Top Cat”? Lame. Clock radio said 7:32. Click. Black-and-white
movie. Click. Wheel of Fortune. Click. Cat food commercial. Click.
“MTV Grind.” 7:34. That “duh-dah-dah-dahhh” car commercial. Click.
Entertainment Tonight. Click. Something. Click. Something Else.
Click. Click. Click.
Shit. Everything sucked. There was no other way of looking at it. Todd
stared off into the distance, eyes not quite focused on the Spawn poster
across from his bed (“Why must you put that horrible thing up on the wall
anyway…?”) Mike was doing the counselor thing at that camp, gone till
September. Jer had a job. And Stiff–Stiff had his girlfriend.
Triple shit. Shit to the twelfth fucking power.
Todd closed his eyes.
Where the fuck did Stephen get off with Marsha Nichols, anyway? Why did
*everyone* get off with someone but Todd? Marisa. Nicole. Beth. Shit!
“Thank you *so* much for being there, Todd.” “You are just the most
amazing guy, Todd.” “Todd, you are the *best* friend I have *ever* had.
I can tell you *everything*.” Shit, Todd thought. I am gonna be the Best
Friend
forever, my whole life. And I am never, never, ever going to get to touch
a girl’s tits.
Horny bastard. Even just thinking about tits gets you hot, doesn’t it?
Todd lay on his back, eyes still closed, dimly aware that the Pearl Jam
tape had ended and the tape button had popped. Tits, he thought, and he
felt a stirring beneath his jeans. Beth had even talked about ’em to
Joanie in front of him, like he wasn’t even there. “Believe me, big ones
aren’t always so great,” she said. “I mean, my back hurts sometimes, and
I can’t wear sweaters, and the guys, they’re always just so…” And
they’d both suddenly remembered he was there and looked sharply at him.
He’d been looking, of course. Staring. What else was he going to do? It
wasn’t like he’d ever get to touch ’em.
Beth’s tits. Todd thought about them, imagined them uncovered, fantasized
about what her nipples looked like, dreamed about them. Beth’s breasts.
Beth. Her eyes half-closed. Her head tilted back. “Mmmmmm. Ohhhh,
Todd…touch me…there…” Todd reached down and under his bed,
rummaging around the crap down there until his fingers touched something
flat and slick. After a little fumbling he caught hold of it and pulled
it up until he was holding it in front of his eyes. PENTHOUSE VARIATIONS,
in stylized red letters.
Todd flipped the pages of the little square magazine, looking for the
right something as his right hand unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.
“…And then I leaned back, my honey-blond hair behind me, my perfect 38DD
tits gleaming with lotion and cum…” Nah. “…Yes, yes, fuck me in the
ass with your colossal rigid rod…” No. “…My girlfriend screamed as
the basketball player’s big black dick impaled her…” Todd sighed, and
stuffed the Variations back under the bed. Halfheartedly, he stuck his
hand under the waistband of his Jockey briefs and touched his fingertips
to the soft, elastic surface of his limp dick. Maybe something else.
Todd climbed down off the bed and got down on his knees, his jeans
shimmying down his skinny hips as he did so. Where was it? Almost lying
prone, he reached out with his right hand as far as he could, brushing
away crumpled candy wrappers and tissues. Wait–was that it? His hand
grasped the worn cover of a paperback book, wedged between his bed and the
wall. Todd pulled
once; he yanked again, harder, and the book came free, his hand banging on
the underside of his bed. “Ow! Fuckin’…” he ejaculated, but he pulled
his arm toward him and looked at the book. MY SECRET GARDEN, by Nancy
Friday. He remembered buying it at Barnes & Noble, hiding it in between
two science fiction books he wasn’t really interested in reading. His
face was flaming, his ears were tingling, and he was praying the girl at
the register wouldn’t notice it or–Jesus–wave it around and shout “I
need a price check on the SEX BOOK!” at the top of her lungs. She didn’t
say anything. She just rang him up, automatically said “the receipt’s in
the bag,” and then looked past him. “Next!” His hands shook a little all
the way home on the bus, and when he got to his room he came practically
before he even opened the book.
Anjou. Maybe Anjou was the answer. He loved the Anjou story. All the
guys he knew loved the Anjou story. Probably all guys everywhere loved
the Anjou story. The thirteen-year-old Belgian girl, and her cousin–what
was her name? Gabrielle? Naw, that was the perky dyke chick on “Xena,
Warrior Princess.” But that story, with the two girls, and the big dog,
Anjou, and the way he fucked their little cunnies, and they moaned “Oh,
cherie…” “Oh, Anjou…” No use. Todd couldn’t find the damn story.
And he wasn’t getting hard, either. Fuck. He tossed the book across the
room. It bounced off the far wall with a thunk and dropped straight down
to the floor. Some fucking summer vacation. Shit!
Aw, jeez. It was dark already. The clock radio now flashed 8:52. Great.
Another day shot to shit, wasted away like every other day of the past
month. Another day spent watching TV, avoiding his parents, mumbling to
himself in comic book monologues. Some Dread Lord. Puny Mortals my ass.
I’m the puniest mortal that ever was, Todd thought morosely. He couldn’t
even get up the energy to jack off tonight, and that was the one thing he
had spent his summer practicing. Todd Farber, Master of the One-Handed
Jack-Off, Dread Lord of the Monkey Spankers. It was amazing how many
times he’d done it, considering he had only the Nancy Friday book, two
issues of Variations, and the April PLAYBOY with Jenny McCarthy. Then
again, Jenny alone had been good for a whole bunch of orgasms, the quick
kind. Todd wasn’t sure how many, but it was a lot.
Todd sighed and lurched back to his feet to pick Nancy Friday up off the
floor. There was no way he could leave *that* there in the open, not with
Detective Mom snooping around all the time. He snorted. “Todd’s Mom,
Private Dick.” Still mid-snort, Todd shuffled forward to fetch the book,
his jeans now down around his ankles. He felt like a penguin or
something. Quack quack waddle waddle, quack quack waddle waddle. “Last
stop, all out!” he muttered. “Sexual fantasies, horny teenagers,
masturbation! Please watch out for the closing pants!” He leaned on hand
on the wall to steady himself as he awkwardly bent down to snare the book.
As he bent over, Todd’s head passed close to the wall. Suddenly he
stopped moving and froze in place. What was that sound? He’d heard it
through the wall or something. Todd swung his head back over to the white
plaster wall, and flattened his ear against it as best he could.
It was like a creaking, a rhythmic squeaking. Todd squished his head as
flat as he could against the dry surface. What was that? Had he imagined
it? Like a high-pitched noise. Like a voice. There it was again–a
groan. Or more like a moan. Todd’s eyes shot open wide. Holy shit! The
yuppies! But he couldn’t really hear–he needed to get something. What
was that the Hardy Boys always did? A *glass*! He needed a glass to
stick up against the wall, to hear what was going on in the next
apartment. Todd looked around frantically, willing the yuppies to keep
going until he could find–a miracle! That New Jersey Nets glass he won
at Great Adventure was still in his room! Todd tried to reach for it and
narrowly missed landing on his ass as the jeans around his ankles tripped
him up. Without bothering to fix them Todd managed to hop to the shelf
and grab the glass, then shuffle back to the wall. Please please please
don’t stop, he thought at them, Please! With careful movements–he didn’t
want them to hear the CLUNK when he put the glass up against the
wall–Todd put the glass where his ear had been and stuck his ear onto the
base. Damn–it was like listening to a seashell at the beach. All he
could hear was a kind of rushing noise, and faint sounds that weren’t
really clear. Fuck! And when the hell had he gotten a hard-on, anyway?
Todd pushed down the elastic waistband of his underpants until his hard-on
sprang out over the top. Almost absentmindedly he began to pump himself,
but his concentration was entirely focused on his right ear at the wall,
as he strained to pick up any sound at all from the apartment next door.
“Come on,” he murmured, “come on!” He closed his eyes and tuned out
everything but the cool spot against his ear. After a moment, he could
hear the faint squeaking again, a little faster now. And the moaning–was
that coming back too?
Todd stroked himself with his hand, squeezing tighter as he pulled at his
shaft, up and down, from his balls to the underside of his ridge. He
imagined the scene next door, the fucking that was increasing in speed and
intensity as the bed squeaks grew louder and faster.
Todd was so excited he was forgetting to breathe.
“Aaaah!” Todd could hear the woman clearly. She was loud enough now that
he could hear her without pressing his ear against the wall. Squeak.
Squeak. Squeak. Todd’s hand was rubbing quickly now, up and down,
pulling at his dick. He could hear moans, a litany of little gasps. “Ah.
Ah. Oh. Um. Ah. Oh. Ah. Ah.” With his eyes squeezed shut Todd
could see the scene in his mind. The man moving above her, thrusting into
her in a sure, unhurried rhythm. The woman, lying beneath him on her
back, greeting each entering thrust with a passionate gasp. “Ah. Ah.
Ah. Uhh. Uhh. Uhhh.”
Todd worked his penis as deliberately as he could, his other hand lightly
holding and caressing his balls. Then he heard the woman groan
loudly–“Oh, YES!”–and a deep grunt that must have come from the man, and
Todd felt a sharp clenching underneath his fingers, a sudden climactic
building as he almost came in a rush. Quickly he stopped moving his hand
and clasped it over the top of his erection, willing himself not to come.
Wait…wait! he implored it, wait for them! He felt tremors–squeeze,
squeeze, squeeze–and then the pressure receded enough that he knew he
could hold on. With great care he massaged his shaft lightly with his
fingertips to keep himself near the brink. With a sense of wonder he
noticed that he’d never been this hard before, or at least he didn’t
remember ever being this hard. This must be what “rock-hard” is like, he
thought. And then he listened again.
The woman’s moans were lasting longer now. They were even louder than
before and throaty, raw and urgent. “Yes–yes–yes!” she cried. “Fuck
me!” Todd heard the man grunt again in response, and as the bed squeaking
got faster Todd thought he could even hear their bodies slapping against
each other. “Oh, yes–FUCK me–with–your–hard–cock–OH-OH-Ohhhhhh” her
rich voice was vibrating, shaking as he pounded into her. Jesus, this was
fucking unbelievable! “Do–you–LIKE–fuck–inggg–mee?” she said, and
Todd could hear the man groan loudly. “Oh yes–Tar–I’m fucking you–!”
Suddenly he cried out sharply–“AAAAAH”–and the woman cried out too.
“Oh, Marc–I’m gonna–” and she screamed from deep in her throat, and the
man was letting go too, and Todd felt a tingling in his hips and his ass
and his balls and especially his cock, and as he heard the woman scream he
exhaled with a huff and let the tingling turn into a rush and then he felt
something contract at the base of his cock and then the tingling was too
much and he leaned back with his face tilted upwards and the pressure gave
and he was squeezing spurting shooting into his hand and the cum was
leaking out of his clenched hand and oozing down, and his eyelids
fluttered open and he breathed normally again.
Todd stood there silently for a moment, waiting like a statue in case they
had heard him. But everything was quiet behind the wall, and so he
gingerly picked his way to the box of tissues on the floor next to his
bed. Grabbing a handful, Todd began to clean himself up.
Wow, he thought. The yuppies. Wow.
That was the first time he’d ever been this close to actual sex.
KNOCK. KNOCK KNOCK!
“Todd? Toddie Dear?”
SHIT!
Todd stuffed the damp clump of tissues into his underpants and yanked them
up, grabbing for the top of his jeans a second later.
The door handle was turning!
SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He spun around to face away from the door and fumbled with the button–no
time for the fucking zipper–closecloseclose PLEASE close–
The door opened with a squeak of the hinges.
“Todd, sweetie?”
Todd tried to answer, but nothing would come out of his throat.
“Uhm-hemmm? Yeah, Mom?”
“What have you been doing here in the dark?”
CLICK.
OW! Shit! Blinding glaring bright whiteness–
“Ow, Ma!!! Can’t a guy get a little privacy once in a while? I’ll be out
in a sec!”
“Well, ex-CUSE me, Your Highness, but there’s something I need you to
do–“
“I’ll be there in A SEC, Mom!!!”
“All right, but hurry up!”
SLAM.
Todd opened his eyes again, cautiously. Oh, holy shit. It was so much
worse than he’d thought. There were tissues sticking out of his fly.
Nancy Friday still lay tented on the floor next to him. The corner of
Variations was poking out from under the bed. His hand was still wet.
And he could smell his sex in the room. She probably could too. Oh, man.
This was a fucking nightmare. This was his *worst* fucking nightmare.
Todd glared at the wall for a moment, blaming the invisible sex fiends on
the other side–who were now probably peacefully asleep–for all of the
trouble he was surely in. How the hell was he ever going to explain this?
What are you *supposed* to say when your Mom walks in and catches you?
The only thing worse would’ve been if she’d come in DURING–
I GOTTA get a fucking LOCK, Todd thought. Like it really matters now,
anyway.
Todd did a last little bit of cleaning, wiping, zipping, and
book-stashing. Then he slowly swung his door open and emerged from his
room.
“Well, it’s about time!” said his mother in exasperation. “Todd…?”
“Ummmm. Yeah, Mom?”
“Todd, I want you to go get the big brown envelope on the end table in the
living room. It was in our mailbox by mistake, and I want you to drop it
off next door.”
“But…”
“No ‘buts’, young man! Now you get that package and bring it right over
right now before you get in really BIG trouble!”
“But…Mom…what if they’re…uhhh…”
“For crying out–it’s not even Nine-Thirty! They couldn’t *possibly* be
in bed yet!”
Yes they could, thought Todd. Oh yes they COULD.
Resistance was futile. Todd went into the living room, picked up the
envelope, and left the apartment. He stood outside for a few minutes,
trying to work up his nerve. Shit. He had to knock and give it to ’em.
Mom was in no mood to hear excuses, not after Mister Coffee. He stood
outside their door, listening with all his might. No sounds. No choice,
either. He knocked with his knuckles, twice. And then he waited.
Maybe they wouldn’t answer. Maybe they were asleep. Maybe–
And then he heard a shuffling behind the door, and the hallway click that
meant a switch had been flipped. A sleepy voice: “Who is it?”
The voice was thick, but sweet. Only a few moments earlier he’d heard it
moan “Oh, fuck me!” and then scream. It was *her* voice.
Todd opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He tried again. “Ummm, it’s
Todd…Todd Farber. From next door?”
The brown wooden door in front of him swung open with the barest sound.
“So what can I do for you, Todd-Todd Farber?”
She stood there before him, leaning against the doorjamb. She was just a
little shorter than he was, dressed in an oversized and faded “Hello
Kitty” t-shirt that did not completely conceal her full breasts and ended
partway down her thighs, her long, pale, smooth legs crossing at her bare
ankles, her thick brown hair tousled and mussed. There was some kind of
scent about her, an aura that made him tingle all over. He felt
overwhelmed, blown away by everything she was projecting at him. His
mouth agape, Todd stared at her.
She looked directly back at him with amusement dancing in her dark eyes.
In a low, sultry voice she said “can I help you, Todd?”
The spell broke and Todd snapped out of it, his cheeks flaming.
“Ummm…this came…uhhhh…I think it’s for you.” He held out the
envelope, and she took it and looked down at it. A stray tendril of hair
dangled over her forehead and she blew at it automatically. Todd’s gaze
locked on the moist pink lower lip that did the blowing. He could feel
himself getting hard again.
The woman looked back up at his face again, a wicked grin spreading across
her mouth. “I’m sorry, Todd. I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”
Todd’s eyes widened, and he made a quizzical noise. “Do I look like
Minnie Itskowitz to you?” Todd blinked, twice. She grinned. Todd
thought he felt several hundred brain cells melt under the wattage of that
smile. “I’m not Minnie,” she said. “The Itskowitzes are two doors down,
by the elevator. Like it says on the envelope–Apartment 3A?”
Like it said on the envelope. He hadn’t even looked at the address on the
envelope. He was gonna die. Curl up and die, right here on the spot.
First Mom, now her. This had to be the most mortifying night of his life.
With that same cat-ate-the-canary smile on her face, she handed the brown
envelope back to Todd, who fumbled with it and nearly dropped it. Her
grin widened, and then, for a split second, she looked like she almost
felt sorry for him. Mercifully, she said “I’m going to go back inside
now. Have a good night, Todd Farber.” “Ummm…nigh…g’nite,” he
responded, and the door shut and she was gone.
Todd stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Then he
heaved a deep sigh and turned away. Time to deliver the mail to the
Fogeys, he thought.
What…a…night!
*******************
“What are you giggling about? And who was that at the door?”
“It was Todd Farber, the boy from next door. You know, the one who plays
Pearl Jam all the time? He brought a letter over, only it wasn’t for us.
He hadn’t even looked at the address.”
“So what’s so funny about that? So he’s a dopey teenager!”
“It’s just…he was so *uncomfortable*! He was standing there, just
staring at me–“
“In that outfit you didn’t give him much choice! How old is he–sixteen?
Kid’s practically a walking erection and then you answer the door in just
a t-shirt, right after we finished making love…”
“Mmmmmm. And delicious lovemaking it was, too. But the poor boy was
*such* a goof. I mean, he just stood there blushing and stammering at me,
and his shirt was half in and half out, and the top of his underwear was
peeking out of his jeans, and there was like a piece of tissue or
something sticking out of the zipper, and…”
“And what?”
“Oh, you don’t think he could’ve *heard* us, do you? We *were* pretty
loud…what the hell are you laughing at?”
“Heh! Of COURSE he heard us! We can hear him every time he sings along
with that song, that “Can’t Find A Better” song. No wonder he was
blushing! I bet you scared him to death!”
“Oh. OH!!! Do you think he was–“
“I’d bet the farm on it. And if he could hear it all, I bet it was really
good for him. Too bad he’s not old enough for a cigarette afterwards.
Hey–now YOU’RE blushing!”
“Well…um…he must have a pretty short refractory period. Coz when he
was staring at me I thought I noticed that he was getting…um…”
::::
“Why, look at that! I guess he’s not the only one with a short refractory
period. But what if he hears us again…?”
“Then it’s his lucky night, I guess. C’mere.”
“Mmmmmmmmm.”
“MMMMMMMM!”
“Oh, YES!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~