Unbuttoned Tale #2: Like Ray Carver In New Hampshire
By lizzi tadoinot parsons

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Saturday afternoon in a small town

It's one of those gusty days with blue-grey skies and massive cumulus. The town is divided by those who lived here when and those who moved in then, the townies and the yuppies. A woman, mid thirties, has her hair cut in a mullet. It is brown and spiked on top like a cockatoo spray. On her arms she has crude tattoos, like she did them herself with a blade and some ink. One has a heart and says "'mom" the other, also a heart. It says "'dad." Really. The air is klieg light bright.

There is a blonde girl with a blunt haircut, bobbed, and pinned on the side. She looks like a French school girl. Her hair blows in pale streaks about her face and she laughs, smiling at the man with her. The man is tall. Something about him Roman, Italian. They hook their arms together and lean into the wind. They look like a couple in a film from the sixties like they should be in Rome or Greece and hopping onto a Vespa scooter. The way she leans into him is like the cover of Freewheelin, her favorite Bob Dylan album. Her head rests on his denim jacket as they walk, and he hunches his shoulders to the cold.

The girl with the pale hair has pale skin too. She is luminous in the light, but her cheeks are pink. So are her lips. She is strawberries and cream. The Italian man is olive. His skin speaks of spice and dusty hot days in Benevento or Rome. His hair waves in the light. They sit together and lean over a table of hot chocolate. The chocolate is thick and rich, the girl licks it off her lip and smiles at him. The taste of the chocolate feels sweet and bitter at the same time. She holds it there on her tongue a moment to feel the contrast. Her eyes are silver-grey, like a mirror. They look into his eyes; they are aqua blue-green like the Aegean with a halo of pale yellow around the iris; the sun coming up, light and soft in the morning. On the outskirts of town, the trucks rush by. They carry loads of stuff between states and the drivers pull their horns at pretty girls, but you can't hear any of this in the town.

Later, in about an hour and twenty minutes, the Italian will ask the girl if she wants to go back to their hotel. They are staying at a local inn where they've stayed before. Each time they get a discount. Every time they check out the girl at the desk says, How was your stay? Was everything ok? And the pale girl always finds one small thing that wasn't perfect, but says "'it's not a problem." The desk-clerk looks concerned; and since there's nothing they can do to fix the problem now, they always get a discount of about thirty dollars. This won't happen until tomorrow though. For now, they will get in his silver car, and he will push the stick shift and carry her quick back to the hotel. He's been thinking about it all afternoon, watching her lips speak, wanting her more. She knows it too, and thinks about what he will feel like.

Back at the hotel, she will try on the black and ivory silk camisole he bought for her this afternoon. It falls from the peaks of her ginger breasts. Her nipples show through the fabric; two raspberries, ripe and pink. He will come up behind her and cup each breast; she will lean into him and feel his hardness pressing through her slip. He will lead her to the bed and kiss her until he feels her want and then he will tell her to keep her eyes closed for a minute. She will do it because she trusts him and because this is a game. She hears him go through a bag, but then nothing. When the bed shakes again, she feels him lean over her and place a piece of soft fabric over her eyes. It is velvet. He will tie it behind her pale hair and she will be blind. Like this, she will not be shy and try to hide her body from the light. He doesn't want her to do that. He likes to see her like this. She lays in her black camisole and little panties. The panties are lace and handsewn and fine. He will kiss her for reassurance, but neither says anything. She cannot see him or tell where he is. She feels his mouth through her camisole. Then nothing for a minute. Then onto her leg; his hand parts her thighs and she feels his breath on the inside near the top. He kisses one side, then the other. Her legs shake a bit. He will say, "'shhhhh..." He kisses her between the legs, but first, over the panties.

She squeezes her legs shut tight. Even now, she is still shy, still nervous. Again he holds her legs and slowly, gently, parts them with his hand; But this time, he pulls back the panties and can see her there. She is pink and ginger and small, like a tiny flower. He takes the bud of her in his mouth and suckles it gently until it says that she wants him. When he knows this, he licks it slowly. The girl lets out a sharp cry, almost a scream. It is the heat of his tongue, the long slow licks that make her do this. Instinctively, she puts her hand to her mouth to keep quiet, but noises still escape. She can't see it, but he smiles when she does this. When she screams. He parts the petals with his finger – first one, then two, but just the tip of his fingers, just slowly. Please, the girl says, please. It's almost a whimper. He can barely hear her. She reaches for him but cannot find him. She wants to pull him into her, but he again says Shhh. He keeps his fingers there at the opening and opens her like a blossom and licks even more slowly, until her hips rise slightly to meet him, then he picks up the rhythm a bit but still slow. Slow, slow, slow.

She says, No, no, but quietly, then louder, Please, she says, No, no, no... Over and over again, Please, no, no, no, He knows this means it is too good. Her no is no to surrender, but he knows if he keeps doing this, she will give over to it. He puts a bit more of his finger in her and licks her again until her whole body gives way and everything moves and she throws her neck back like a deer giving over to a hunter and her hips are lifted high above the bed and he takes himself and puts his width between her legs and the petals of her spread wider, prettily, he thinks, and he opens her with his penis slowly though she keeps trying to pull him faster. Shhhh he says and enters her slow, slow, slower, slower until he is all the way to the hilt and he moves with her until her No's become "'uh-huhs" and she screams and moves and beats him about the back in a struggle of want and fury, until she has no fight left and he can push into her again and again and feel her pulse all around him and knows he will see bright explosions of color that roll together and after, when they are still, he will shudder and kiss her nose and push up the blindfold and see her lids flutter and he will kiss each one in turn and the curtain will blow in the wind and the trucks will roll by, and the sound of them will be like the sea, like the waves coming in, sucking out, as they shhhhhhhh quickly by and he will cup her to him, and she will rest her pink cheek on his chest and she will tell him she loves him and the only word she will say is "'again." And then, they will fall into a sweet, honeyed sleep.

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"..he holds her legs and slowly, gently, parts them with his hand; But this time, he pulls back the panties and can see her there. "
Edward Munch, Cupido, 1907
Edward Munch, Cupido, 1907.
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