Packer dozed a little after Eva kissed his cheek and went to make breakfast. A lucid dream swirled up from the depths, so clear and real he thought at first that it was really happening. He found himself suddenly standing in the room he shared with Brenda on the other side of the house. Brenda was on her knees at the foot of the futon, her bare back angled down so she could rest her head and shoulders on the mattress. Packer stood on the floor behind her, his prick hard as some ancient dildo fashioned from marble. He held Brenda's hips and fucked her with white hot fury, his dangling balls slapping her vulva from behind, his belly smacking her ass while he performed the grim deed, her cunt clutching greedily at his rampaging cock.
At first Packer was puzzled. How did he get in here? How did Brenda get back home so fast? Wasn't he in Eva's bed across the way, in the long narrow room that was once a second-floor porch, where he now slept with the girl during Brenda's frequent absences? Wasn't that the tender imprint of Eva's lips that he felt on his cheek?
Brenda gasped in lewd delight. "That's right," she hissed, "fuck me, Garett! Fuck me fast and hard with your big fucking prick, you fucking fucker!"
Renewing his efforts, plunging even faster and harder into Brenda's sopping cunt, Packer looked up at the framed color print on the wall above the bed: "Young Woman in a Boat."
Packer furrowed his brow and studied the picture to stave off his boiling jism. By James Tissot, he thought, 1870. Oh, Brenda had taught him a thing or two about art. Brenda had taught him a thing or two about lots of things.
What's she thinking about, that girl in the boat? Packer wondered. Floating along in all that brocade and silk. She's steamy underneath it all, isn't she? She's fucking hot. She's nothing but a big blossoming clit sitting in that boat, looking for something she's bound to find if she keeps at it looking like that. Or maybe she already did find it – and turned it into that silly-assed little lapdog sitting in the stern like he's the king of Siam.
Brenda shrieked. "Oh! You cunt fucking bastard! Poke me good, you prick!"
The bed began to thump against the wall beneath the picture. Fall down, he thought at the print, and as soon as he thought it he felt the soft slap of deja vu.
This has happened before, he thought.
Anxiously, he glanced over at the door and saw that it was about a third of the way open.
No, he thought. No! He knew what was going to happen next: he was going to look down at his cock, thrusting in and out of Brenda's cunt, and when he looked back up Eva would be standing there in the hallway, watching him fuck her mother. Their eyes would meet and after that nothing would ever be the same. After that he would become another man, and he didn't know whether that man was good or bad. He didn't know whether that man deserved to reside in the house of life or if the world would be a better place without him.
He glared at the cunt lips flowering open and then slurping shut after his conquering shaft.
