Page 122 - The Geography of Women

108 Jack Fritscher

We kissed one last time an he pulled himself out an
rolled over on his back next to me. The air in the room
felt cool on the sweat wettin the length a our bodies an
our faces. We were real quiet, the way you are after a lot
a exercise, cuz we worked at it nonstop for almost twenty
minutes.
“I want a cigaret,” I said.
“I don’t smoke,” he said.
“I think we’re supposed to,” I said, “after doin it.”
He laughed an closed his eyes. His poke, layin on his
stomach, was still droolin clear into his navel outa the eye
a his nature-boy skin wrapped like rose petals aroun the
head. I was, I have to admit, in awe. I mean, I understand
now even more n I did that night that you can see the
whole evolution a the world all the way from civilization
backwards to prehistoric times in that sleeve a skin which,
if you squint, matches pretty much a lady’s tight rosebud.
I mean really. Don’t ask.
“Hey, Laydia,” he said, his eyes still closed an a half
smile on his lips.
“What?”
“I’ll tell you who I was thinkin about if you tell me
who you were thinkin about.”
We both bust out laughin, havin a good hoo-ha at the
absurdity a it all.
In his truck, I asked him, “You ever gonna do that
again?”
“No offense,” he said. “But no.”
“Me neither,” I said.
“An I thought we were pretty good too.”
“We were,” I said. “But pretty good’s...”
We both said, “...not good enough!” An nearly wrecked
the car laughin ourselves silly like the party-goers whoopin

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
HOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK