The Poet (Part 4)
Kathryn M. Burke
In the rush of the graduation ceremony, Blake had had time only to make the briefest acquaintance with Lorna's parents, Steve and Vera Walker, and her younger sister Marcy. So it was decided that the couple should spend some quality time at the Walkers' home.
Blake was clearly the focus of attention--especially to Marcy. She was nineteen and had finished her freshman year at another college: she'd always felt something of an inferiority complex to her big sister, and hadn't wanted to compete with her on her turf. During their brief meetings at graduation, Marcy had gravitated toward Blake--and now, at home, her interest was renewed.
As the entire family was sitting in the backyard having an impromptu picnic, Marcy sidled over to Lorna and, gazing at Blake's backside, said, "He's cute, isn't he?"
Lorna played dumb. "Who's cute?"
"Blake, silly!" Marcy said. "Nice butt."
"Oh, you are so disgusting!"
"Well, he
does
have a nice butt. Nice everything, in fact."
"You think so?"
"Sure--and you do too. He's a poet, isn't he?"
"Yeah."
"That's so cool!"
"Well, he can be a handful. Gets moody and depressed sometimes."
"Of course he does. That shows he's deep."
"Is that right?"
"Absolutely." After a pause: "What does he do to you?"
Lorna gazed disdainfully at her sister. "What do you mean? He doesn't do anything
to
me."
"I mean," Marcy said, as if speaking to an idiot, "what does he do to you in bed?"
Lorna's eyes blazed. "I'm not telling you that!"
"Oh, come on--you gotta give me something. Who's on top?"
"He is most of the time. It's just easier that way. But I'm on top sometimes."
"Do you put his thing in your mouth?"
"Sure--as foreplay."
"You mean you don't swallow his stuff?"
"Well, I have."
"Eew! Isn't it supposed to taste awful?"
"Well, I won't say it's as nice as a hot fudge sundae, but it's okay."
"What else do you do?" The unspoken implication was obvious:
Does he go into your butt?
Lorna glared at Marcy and said firmly, "I'm not telling you."
Marcy chuckled.
That means he does.
The two girls lapsed into an uneasy silence as they watched Blake interacting with their parents. Then Marcy blurted out: "Do you think he could do me?"
There was a deep silence. Lorna slowly turned her head to her sister and said, "What did you say?"
"Oh, Lorna," Marcy said, suddenly tearing up, "I want him to do me! I want it so bad!"
"You want Blake to take you to bed?" Lorna said in disbelief.
"Just once! It's because"--her voice dropped to a whisper--"I'm a virgin, and I don't wanna be." She hung her head, as if having just admitted that she didn't know the multiplication table.
Lorna's eyes got big. "You're a virgin? At nineteen?"
"What's wrong with that?" Marcy said defensively. "Is that too old?"
"I guess not. I didn't know."
"Well, it's not something I shout out to the world!"
"But--but why
Blake?
I mean, he's my boyfriend!"
"I know that--and he loves you, I can tell. It's just that--he's a sweetheart, and I want a nice guy to do me. I don't know any nice guys."
"Oh, come on! You're telling me there's no one at your college who's 'nice'?"
"Not nice enough to--you know, do me."
"This is ridiculous. It's not gonna happen."
"Oh, Lorna, please! I don't ask much from you!"
"This is asking a lot!"
"Okay, sure, but--just once?"
"Look, it's gonna hurt, you know? Especially if you still have your hymen. Do you?"
"Of course I do."
"Well, then, it'll hurt, and you'll probably bleed."
"I know that. But I have to do it sometime."
"There's another problem." Lorna was almost gleeful as she went on: "Blake's kind of--big."
Marcy frowned in confusion. "He's not that big. He's just a couple of inches taller than me. And he's not exactly built like a football player, with these giant arms and stuff--"
"I didn't mean that," Lorna said, staring venomously at her sister. "I mean--his thing is big."
The color suddenly drained from Marcy's face. "How--how big?"
"About this big." And Lorna held her hands about ten inches apart.
Marcy clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in horror. "No way! They never get that big."