Gary searched the glove compartment, pushing
aside the registration for the BMW and an assortment of somewhat
crumpled currency notes which looked to amount to about a hundred
and thirty Euros, thirty-five British Pounds, fourteen hundred
Japanese Yen and a hundred Czech Koruna. In the very back he found
a blue and white pen advertising Barclay’s Global Capital.
Meanwhile, Mike tore out a page of “Bobby does Nikki.” It featured
her blowing him on a lounge chair, but also provided a lot of empty
space to use as a scorecard. He handed it to Gary, who briefly
checked out the other side of the page for exciting pictures, but
it contained only a host of uninspiring phone sex advertisements.
He flipped it back over and made a score sheet in the upper right
portion of the page, writing
R M A G
along
the top.
Roger declared he would go first. He held out
the deck of cards to Mike who cut them roughly in half. Roger put
the bottom half on top and buried the top card, a six of spades. He
then flipped over the next card which was a ten of hearts.
“Low,” he said and flipped another card, this
time a three of spades. Predictably, he guessed the next card would
be higher, but a two of diamonds appeared. “Sons of bitches,” he
exclaimed and flipped over another card to start the process again.
After two more failed attempts, he got two in a row correct and
passed to Mike, netting a score of negative two. Mike correctly
guessed the next card would be red, passed to Alex, and began
inspecting the rest of the magazine.
When the cards came back around to him, Mike
correctly guessed “high,” racking up seven points, then made an
important realization.
Mike: “Have you guys noticed how much better
porn is now than even, like, four years ago?”
Roger: “What are you talking about?”
Mike: “Well, the obvious difference is they
didn’t used to show penetration. Now they have close-ups of a guy’s
cock buried in there. Sometimes a bit too close-up, I am afraid.
But more importantly, now they show you the pictures you actually
want to see. Take this, for instance . . .”
Mike held up the magazine opened to the Tera
Patrick spread. Tera looked as though she was about to spank the
blond girl from the cover with a wooden cooking spoon. Meanwhile,
the blond girl was bent over the antique table with her legs spread
so you could clearly see the entirety of her ass and pussy. The red
high-heels covering her feet were about eighteen inches apart. She
was looking back over her shoulder, with her lips forming a bright
red O shape and her eyes closed. The other guys took a look and
nodded appreciatively.
Mike continued: “See, this is what you want
to see. You want to see a direct shot from behind of a chick bent
over with another hot chick with big tits right next to her. Now, a
few years ago you would not have had this picture. It would have
been some side angle and they would have maybe been playing with
each other’s tits and laughing or something. It used to be all very
Playboyish, trying to be art or something. But this is what you
want. It is tremendous progress.”
Alex agreed: “The evolution of smut.
Capitalism at its finest. Competition and innovation.”
Gary: “I am not sure Mike’s opinion of spank
mags qualifies as betterment of society and validates the free
market experiment.”
Alex: “I think it does. It is a great
example. For instance, a 2006 Honda Accord is probably a better and
nicer car than a 2000 BMW 5-series. In 2010, the Accord will
probably be nicer than this car is now. This is all because of
competition. And as with cars, porn will continue to evolve as
well. Probably it is because of the Internet that the magazines had
to get better and you see so much positive change so quickly.”
Gary: “So you don’t think the communists had
good porn?”
Alex: “I am guessing not. But I don’t think
the communists had much good of anything.”
Gary: “So maybe in fifteen years there will
be, like, virtual 3-D porn?”
Alex: “Yeah, probably something like
that.”
Mike: “If they can make a virtual chick who
will suck my cock and then cook my dinner, it will be a better
world.”
With that, the topic was exhausted. Over the
next twenty minutes the score sheet slowly filled itself. Roger
initially took a big lead, but then got greedy with a four showing
and fourteen points on the board. He caught another four and gave
up most of his advantage. Still he ended the session up $25 on Mike
and $7 on Alex. Gary, who was hoping to win back the money spent on
the Bag ‘o Tricks, broke even.
In Palo Alto, Stanford’s kicker hit a field
goal to tie the game at thirteen.
Interlude Seven
Roger (15)
In his twenties, Roger usually had little
interest in the news, other than the sports section. There was one
other type of story that always attracted his attention. It was any
type of accusation of statutory rape, especially where it was a
female being charged. Roger found it curious that the women in
these cases were almost always attractive. The same could
definitely be said of his tenth-grade history teacher who claimed
his virginity.
Ms. Peters was thirty-two years old and was
widely agreed among the student body of Parker High School to be
the hottest of the female teachers. Therefore, Roger didn’t
terribly mind when he failed a test on the American Revolution and
was asked by Ms. Peters to meet her after school to discuss his
poor performance. Roger was so woefully prepared for the test
because he expected to be given the answers during brunch recess
from a friend who had the same class for first period. The plan
went awry when the girl was called home for a family emergency
during second period and was nowhere to be found for the exchange
of information.
Roger showed up for the teacher-student
meeting, as instructed, at 3:15 p.m., completely unsure what to
expect. He had always been a decent student, but he never took
school all that seriously. He wasn’t the Ivy League-bound type of
kid who would raise red flags by failing one test. He hoped Ms.
Peters would try to teach him personally about the founding of the
country, but assumed there was a greater chance he would get a
lecture. He didn’t think anything of it when Ms. Peters closed and
locked the door to the classroom.
Ms. Peters: “Thanks for coming, Roger. You
know, I was a bit concerned about your performance on the test
yesterday.”
Roger: “Yes, Ms. Peters. Sorry about that. I
knew we had the test, I just sort of forgot to study, you know? I
will make sure to study for the rest of them.”
Ms. Peters: “Maybe there is a way we can
improve your grade for this one as well.”
Roger: “Yeah, okay. That would be great.”
Ms. Peters: “Why do you think the Founding
Fathers were so insistent on declaring independence from the
British?”
Roger: “Um. Well, they believed in liberty
and justice for all?”
Ms. Peters: “Well, it is good to see you
remember the Pledge of Allegiance, Roger. That is basically exactly
right. To say it another way, they believed in the idea that people
should not submit to silly rules and over-burdensome taxes, would
you agree?”
Roger: “Um. Yeah, that sounds right.”
Ms. Peters: “And the Founding Fathers were
brave enough to explore new ideas and fight for what they wanted,
even if others considered it wrong. Am I correct?”
Roger: “Uh. Yes, of course.”
At this point, Ms. Peters got up from behind
her desk and walked around to the front of it, leaning against it
so she was half sitting and half standing. She was wearing a simple
black dress that covered her knees and shoulders but it was
ambiguous enough to be used for a fancy dinner date or a trip to
the grocery store. While still leaning against the table, she moved
her left foot to the side, so her legs were spread to the maximum
amount allowed by the dress.
Ms. Peters: “Would you like to explore new
things also, Roger?”
Roger was by now thoroughly confused. He was
fairly sure Ms. Peters was hitting on him, but everything was
happening so fast he did not have time to properly process it. Part
of him desperately wanted to touch her body. Another part of him,
already fearing punishment for the failed cheating endeavor, just
wanted to get the hell out of there. He felt like he was six years
old. All he could think to say was, “I guess so.”
Ms. Peters sensed his hesitation and
confusion. She was slightly annoyed but mostly amused by it. She
attempted to clarify things for him. “How would you like it if I
walk over there and get down on my knees and suck your cock?” she
asked seductively. This helped Roger considerably and his lust
conquered his fear. His only remaining doubt was if he was dreaming
or not. Either way, his answer was the same.
Despite his willingness to participate, Roger
was too shocked to move, never mind undress, so he simply swiveled
in his chair, where Ms. Peters pulled off his shorts and delivered
on her promise. This was a quantum leap for Roger’s sex life which,
other than rampant masturbation, had previously consisted mostly of
making out and the occasional boob grab. Twice he had stuck his
hand down Karen Anderson’s pants, but both times the angle was
awkward and each event yielded little new information or pleasure
for him, and almost certainly not for her either, he guessed. In
contrast, the feeling of the blowjob was exquisite, far and away
more pleasurable than he had previously fathomed. He contentedly
watched his penis disappear in and out of Ms. Peters’ mouth, not
wanting the moment to ever end, but it did. Ms. Peters stood up,
gave him a quick peck on the cheek, walked back over to her desk
and hopped up on it so she was facing him. She spread her legs,
hitched her dress up above her hips, and leaned back so much of her
weight was on her hands. Roger was delighted to see she was not
wearing panties. “Now, come over here and fuck me. Teach me a
lesson,” she commanded in the very same tone she used earlier in
the day to describe the circumstances of the Boston Tea Party.
Roger complied, though based on her
subsequent instruction not to come inside her, he was only able to
partake for about ninety seconds before he pulled out, at which
point she jerked him off onto the classroom carpet.
Roger went straight home and locked himself
in his room to think about what happened. He was not immediately
sure how he felt. He felt somewhat used and somehow dirty. He took
a shower to cleanse himself but ended up masturbating in the
shower, reliving the event in his mind. By the time he toweled off,
his mind had reconciled the situation and he simply felt happy. He
now saw only good in the events of the day. The next day in history
class, he sat in his seat with a half-grin on his face for the
whole period. He had to restrain an outright smile when he saw the
faint outline of the stain he left on the brown carpet. Two days
later, Ms. Peters asked him to meet her after school again. She
swore him to absolute secrecy about their meetings and then had sex
with him again. This time Roger lasted four whole minutes. The
affair ended six weeks later, coinciding with the conclusion of
Roger’s sophomore year. Remarkably, the whole time Roger told no
one but Gary, and Gary managed not to tell anyone until college
started. There were rumors about Ms. Peters and other boys the next
year, but nothing ever came of it and she moved out of state during
Roger’s senior year.
Looking back years later, Roger wasn’t sure
how he should feel about the way he lost his virginity. He came to
understand that he was supposed to feel somehow victimized, but the
truth was that he treasured the whole experience and wouldn’t have
changed a thing. Maybe it would have been nice to have lasted a
little longer.
When he was twenty-five, he heard that the
male biology teacher at his old high school was convicted of having
sex with some of the female students, including the younger sister
of a friend of his. He was outraged. Gary was the first person he
discussed it with.
Roger: “I hope his corn-hole gets stretched
out one inch in prison for every high school girl he fucked.”
Gary: “You don’t think that is a double
standard, given your history?”
Roger: “There is no such thing as a double
standard. There is simply right and wrong. If it is discrimination,
people know it. We can disagree about what is right or not, and
sometimes there are shades of grey. Maybe Ms. Peters was wrong,
maybe not. But this scumbag was just plain wrong.”
Chapter Fourteen
Death & Outhouses
6:58 p.m.
“
All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don’t fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain.
We can be like they are
Come on baby . . . don't fear the reaper”
–
(Don’t Fear) The Reaper
, Blue Oyster
Cult
With Barstow nothing but a fading memory, the
guys hurtled toward Vegas and away from the last vestiges of day
and light at eighty-six miles an hour.
For rabbits living in the desert, night was a
blessing. During the day, it could be hot as hell. Also, nasty mean
birds could see you running around and swoop down to make a lunch
out of you. One particular rabbit, who made his home east of
Barstow and lived in a hole that didn’t require a mortgage and
didn’t have a sign saying, “You could be home now,” headed out for
the evening a few minutes earlier than usual. This rabbit had soft,
fluffy light brown fur with a large white patch on his left side
and a smaller one on top of his head. He also had cute little
whiskers that bounced up and down when he tried to sniff out food
or danger. This particular rabbit, who had no name, usually went
left out of his hole, but today decided he would search for food to
the right. Eighty yards later he found himself on the edge of
northbound US Interstate Highway 15. The rabbit did not understand
that it was a freeway and did not understand how the cars on the
freeway burned gasoline to propel several thousand pounds of metal
forward at relatively high speeds.