‘More,’ Barbra gurgled. ‘Do it again.’
She was doing this rub-and-squeeze thing with one hand at my balls. I let the blade nick the skin again at her tits. I felt like a killer. A ruby stud glistened.
‘Again,’ she ordered, not taking a break.
I heard myself moaning, pathetic. I did not want to hurt her. Why was she putting me in this position? I felt like a bad man enacting bad things. I felt like the hairy-ass bear in Joel’s porn, the one who didn’t care that he face-fucked girls playing dead.
‘I don’t want to,’ I moaned. ‘Let me out of this script.’
Barbra sucked the head of my bright pink cock back into her redness. She tugged from the root. I stared down at her nipples. I hated my total obeisance.
‘Let’s stop,’ I pleaded.
Barbra shook her head no.
‘Are you going to stay
with us all year?’ I whispered, weakkneed, still holding the blade. ‘Are you going to go to college here like my dad said?’
‘If you promise me you’re up for it.’ Barbra wiped the corners of her mouth of saliva.
‘What’s “it”?’ I moaned.
‘Your undoing.’
I felt just about to cum. Her tit had marks on it – notches in a half-circle, like a sun dial. My chest burned. I’d done that. What was my undoing? Pushing Barbra off me? Making her lie on her back? Making her spread her legs just a little so I could see that studded bump under her panties, all her undulating.
‘Yeah, I like that,’ she said. ‘Stand right over me.’
She lay on her back and stared at the knife in my hand. I straddled her waist.
‘Pretend now,’ she said, ‘that you’re gonna murder me.’
I lurched. ‘No! Fuck. I would never do that.’
‘Stop saying no. Keep using that thing.’
‘I don’t want to. I don’t have to.’
‘But you’re stopping me from feeling.’
‘Feeling what?’
Isaac and Abraham. Female victimhood. The sparks of God all over this room.
‘Jew-boy, I’m telling you, you can slice up these panties.’
The knife slipped in my grip. ‘But why, tell me why.’
I felt sweat roll down the sides of my face. I crouched over her. I did not want to ‘slice up these panties.’ I did not want to undo. I did not want to sin. I wanted to go to the beach. Hold her hand. Fuck. But I pretended to draw a line down her belly with the paper cutter, the triangular blade. Barbra quivered. She said yes. I went lower. She said yes. I pulled out the elastic waist of her panties. She was breathing so fast. Freezer burn hit my eyeballs. I sliced the elastic. It snapped. The panties of Barbra. I was afraid that she was going to be afraid. I slit down the fabric thinking I was a killer. I ripped the fabric thinking: human beings stab human beings. But my cock pulsed so hard that it beat in my neck. I was right at her pussy. I kept slicing down. All her hair in a flame. I split up her panties. I put one finger right at her lips where they opened. I felt a gush of excess. Her clitoris. Her undoing. I wanted to suck it. Was this what she wanted? She kept saying yes. I felt water roiling. Her cunt skin was shiny, crowned with a clit bell. I pushed up to my knuckle. I felt saucer knees. She bucked up to my palm. Prickly hairs on my wrist. I slid one more in. Two fingers hooked. Her whole cunt squeezed my fingers. Circle bone, mushy trap.
She moaned at me, ‘Use that little knife thing.’
My fingers were full-on fucking her now, no longer truly attached to my brain. I felt her cunt, her whole body, gnaw up through my surface. Get the condoms, Jew-boy, my mother would’ve said. I kept rearranging myself. I held my cock for a second. This did not seem real. I could not get things in sync. My bobbing red cock felt like a part of some other body, a greater machine. My brain was outside me. Would she accept me? Why did I still hold the ritual knife? I was pulled by sensation. I slid my cock in her. Her bell touched my base. God, finally.
‘Don’t move, just stay still,’ Barbra said.
She closed her eyes. She breathed hard.