15
September
==========MARY==========
The smoothest pop of fingers I'd ever seen grooved along the thick strings of a shiny black bass guitar.
"See, see," Danny said, leaning his shoulder into me while we sat on a curb and pointed at Miles McJive.
A cool lanky black man with a Sam Jackson circa Pulp Fiction 'fro, sliding across a cover of Earth, Wind & Fire's "September."
"See how his bass is holding the entire song together, leading the way? He's got the perfect timing, catching the other sounds from falling off onto nothing." Danny looked up past the gates in awe. "Now that's bass playing."
Not knowing shit about actual music playing, I mumbled incoherently, agreeing with Danny. Though I must say, I did legit agree with the rain-wrinkled posters around Mansion Club advertising Miles McJive as "The Coolest Man on Planet Earth."
While weaving my clumped and clammy hair in circles around my fingers, Miles began singing the chorus in a high falsetto, and Danny pointed out how important Miles knew he was, but how laidback he kept his playing, letting the other players shine, smiling the entire time.
After having left my house, drenched from the rain, we spent the rest of the late afternoon and evening bumming around Carraway Beach for their super lame (and nearly failed due to the rain) festival. A banner slung across the promenade read: July 25th The Height of Summer.
Forgive me if I had earlier falsely glamorized being a Bitch From Venus. Being heartless is not what it's all cracked up to be. Despite being a wet-mess, Carraway Beach did attempt to get all festive. Even if it really was just another lame excuse to overcharge people for corndogs and crap carnival games by moving them from the empty field to the boardwalk. But it would have been nice to have a heart and maybe enjoy it? Anyway, Dan the Man and his obsession with forced experiences wanted to indulge in the summer marvel of salty foods and horrible games, so I begrudgingly agreed to go on one condition: if he dared try to win me a stuffed bear, I would decapitate him. So, he won me an inflatable SpongeBob Squarepants instead. I hated him, I really did.
So like two wet rats hooked out of the water, we loitered around the boardwalk and bar hopped in The Alley. Watching the old people bands, listening from the curbs outside of the patios we weren't allowed in. Probably due to the fact we looked like two freaks holding an inflatable SpongeBob.
"Want to get going?" Danny suggested while looking onwards at Miles McJive. Then as all the old farts alongside The Coolest Man on Planet Earth began chanting: "Ba de ya de ya de ya," Danny joined in, singing in a high voice, trying to—and sorta succeeding in—making me laugh.
Puddles sat where the uneven pavement sank down in The Alley but were quickly evaporating with the sudden warm turn of the night. Transforming the world into a giant, humid-smelling sauna. My hair was a frizzly wet mess, and my soggy clothes were sticking to my body.
Knowing my makeup was an unsalvageable disaster, Danny and I split ways so I could go in search of cheap mascara in one of the dinky tourist shops. By the time I got back, I had discovered that Danny had ditched me on the boardwalk. Well, not really. I'm being a tad dramatic, but it felt that way due to the nasty case of PMS I was nursing.
Being a girl is tough work, OKAY?
Being a dude must be easy-peasy. All guys had to worry about are, like, spontaneous erections and getting urinal spray splashing back on 'em. Which, well, was actually where Dan The Man had run off to—the urinal. Most likely getting pee spray on his hands. Thank God, we didn't hold hands or anything.
After I found a sizeable mirror next to a display of cheap sunglasses in a junky beachwear store and fixed my eyes, and was loitering around the boardwalk by myself holding SpongeBob, a guy came through the crowd and approached me.
I'd noticed him a moment before, in the midst of the muddled crowd walking all around. He was tall; he stood out. From across the boardwalk, we locked eyes.
"Hi," he said, walking towards me.
"Hi," I said, not looking directly at him.
"Are you waiting for someone?"
I intentionally didn't look at him. With my back to the ocean, slouching against the railing, I kept my gaze steady on the boardwalk activity in front of me. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact, though I did, however, see out of the corner of my eye as he broadened his shoulders. I allowed myself to glance over for a better look. He was very Italian looking. I did not try to hide my now more than obvious eyeing up and down of him. He smiled at my examination. He had very straight, white teeth.
I looked back over at the crowds silhouetted against the bright lamplights and restaurant fronts.
"And if I am waiting for someone?"
I noticed the sheen of his chrome watch as he wedged his hand into his jean pocket. He had very dark arms.
"Whether you are or not, doesn't really matter, does it?"
He smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly. I reciprocated the look, matching the intensity of his stare, and then looked away, back towards the blinking colors on one of the games. The jingle of a prize being won rang from somewhere behind the babbling crowd. He kept on looking down at me, smiling.
"Either way, you're too beautiful for me not to ask your name." He took a step closer.
I looked up at him. "My name?"
"Your name." He smiled.
"Mary." I smiled back.
"Mike," he said, and pulled his watch hand out of his pocket, extending his open palm. I transferred SpongeBob to my left hand and accepted the shake. My hand felt small in his. He held on for just a second longer than appropriate before pulling back.
"I can't get over how beautiful you are. You can't be from Gilmore?"
"I am."
"Crazy..." he said, his voice drifting. "My buddy's throwing a party." He made a gesture toward the street. "His uncles just purchased a new beach house. We wouldn't mind having a beautiful woman around. I'd love for you to come. If your friends are around, they can come too." This he said with his lower-lip hung, and then softened his brow to expose the vulnerability, the innocence, in his calf eyes. He then cocked his neck back, back towards his buddy somewhere in the crowd.
"We've got Goose, Patron—Palm Bays—if you're into that?"
The jingle of the carnival game rang again. Mike leaned in closer, smiling wider, just as I, over his shoulder, saw Danny.
It was then I grabbed Mike's hand.
"As impressive as your knock-off Rolex really is—" I looked over and smiled at the boy with the wet golden-brown hair swept up off his forehead. "—Here comes my man."
Mike jerked back and turned to look at Danny with a wide-open mouth. Exposing the stupidity in his dumb-looking calf eyes.
"Ooh! My boyfriend's back!" I shouted loud enough so Danny could hear me and then ran up to him, snatching his arm and kissing his cheek. Danny practically set on fire; Dan the Man was confused as hell.
Danny looked at me, then at my homie, Mike, and grunted. "Um, who's this," he asked, gesturing towards Mike, then looked back at me. "Girlfriend?"
"My homie, Mike. He invited us to go drink Palm Bays with him."
And with that, I heard my homie mutter, "bitch" under his breath as he punched his "Rolex" hand back in his pocket and stormed away.
"Uh," Danny mumbled, "should I even ask?"
"Uh, nope! Thanks for being my pretend boyfriend though." I unlatched myself from his arm and skipped ahead with SpongeBob.
I expected Danny to be behind me, but when I spun around, he was just staring, looking almost as dumb as Mike.
I could hear the murmur of the waves on the beach below, the late night tide swelling and crashing.
We entered a staring contest. Neither one of us wanted to budge. Danny eventually shrugged his shoulders and turned away to face the black ocean, leaning his forearms on the railing.
I knew this time Danny wasn't going to surrender; he wouldn't give in tonight. As I began walking towards him, holding SpongeBob by his long nose, Danny looked over and stared at me as I approached, as if paralyzed by an apparition.
"Danny," I said, stepping in front of him. Talking quietly so the conversation was only for us. "Why did you, like, first ever start talking to me?"
His eyes flickered with the jerk of his head. He took a step back.
"Uh. Well, um—truthfully?"
"Yeah, tell me. Truthfully."
Danny's face went red. "I dunno. I thought you were—well. I thought you were beautiful."
"Ah."
"Ah nothing, Mary. Maybe you should ask me why I still—for whatever reason that is—talk to you?"
"Okay. Why do you keep on talking to me?" I asked.
Danny opened his mouth, but no words or sounds came out. He blushed, thinning his lips, and then turned his head away. His eyes were cast out towards the ocean as it crashed, rose and fell, inhaled and exhaled. Like this game Danny and I played with each other. A ceaseless cycle we couldn't break. A dark cloud drifting across the sky caught the moon's glow in its haze, bleeding the color like a painting dropped in water. The ubiquitous sounds of the carnival continued to jangle and spring about, and the alluring smell of sugar and cinnamon from a churro stand not too far off competed with the musky humidity. Danny was still looking off at the ocean when the cloud passed from underneath the moon, bringing back the luminance that subtly highlighted the railing.
"Danny? Why do you keep talking to me?"
"Well, because we're friends, right? You said it yourself."
"Good!" I gripped his shoulders. "You're right!"
I turned and walked away, clenching my face. Looking up at Danny's stupid barely visible stars above the aurora of light pollution, I wondered if any of those dim dots were Venus.
I turned back around once more, and yet again, saw that Squeegee Boy was refusing to behave and follow me like a puppy dog—the way all boys were supposed to behave. He was trying to be all dramatic, staring out at the ocean like he was blue-balled as all hell. I called for him. He wagged his tail over. Good boy.
Soon after, the whatever pointless dramatic episode of the teen drama show Danny had been re-enacting was over, and we were normal again, like real people on reality TV. Despite the fact that I refused to let Danny spend any more money on my broke-ass, he stubbornly blew through a fifty-dollar bill on those shitty games and got himself a pop, and me my churro.
"You love that shit, huh?" I asked.
"We're at a carnival in the summertime. I have to drink Coca-Cola."
"You're—you, Danny."
He frowned, and then I told him it was a good thing and he lightened up. Over near the marina end of the boardwalk, we spotted ye olde hammer game (I don't know what it's called, but, y'know, that game where you pick up a giant hammer and slam it down as hard as you can?) and we decided to see who was stronger.
We both guessed at a variety of different names for it that could work: I came up with "Slam it Hard", Danny: "Hammer Time." As we walked towards Slam it Hard, Danny tossed his damn bottle of Coke like a cheerleader with her (or his) baton, and I teased him about that, reminding him he was going to have to wait, like, an hour before he can drink it.
The carnie working Slam it Hard/Hammer Time was sorta normal, other than his T-shirt tucked into his plaid shorts. He pitched us on the UNBEATABLE offer of two strikes for one dollar! Wow! So Danny paid the dude a dollar, and I picked up the hammer—which I found surprisingly heavy—and slammed it hard against the springboard. The light barely made it past red to orange. A condescending honk blasted from the built-in speaker.
Danny, upon his turn, was also shocked at the weight of the hammer as he lifted it and swung it down. He made the light jump halfway through the yellow lights, but nowhere near the set of green. A flop mocked through the speakers this time. Danny was so irked that he paid the carnie another dollar and slammed the hammer down two more times, managing to make one green light on the last swing. The machine gave him a slow-clap and a lame "woo hoo."
"Oh, come on," Danny handed the hammer back to the carnie. "You'd have to be Thor to—"
"Really, Mary? This guy?"
We both turned at the same time. I couldn't fathom a worse situation. Seriously.
Standing with his arms crossed in a tank top, and propped front and center between the two guys that made up his "Crew," was Tanner.
Now, Tanner's Crew was one to see, if ever.
The Crew consisted of his two main bros: Fat Jordan and Derbie. I personally feel the names themselves are self-explanatory, but I will elaborate. Fat Jordan was a local rapper who dealt MDMA and marijuana on the side, and Derbie was just Derbie. He used to play lacrosse in high school, and now, just hits on girls my age and gets in fights, typically outside the McDick's. And they all dressed alike.
Tanner stepped forward, readjusting his black ball cap.
"This is who you're with now?"
"Oh God, Tanner. Leave me alone."
I turned back around to Danny, who looked bewildered, unsure of how to react. To assure him that this was not a situation worth our time, I rolled my eyes and tipped my head towards the other side of the boardwalk, suggesting we leave.
I know most girls have these undying affections for their loser ex-boyfriends, but I really didn't. I really just hated mine. But getting away wasn't going to be that easy.
"Seriously, Mary? You left me for this vagina?" Tanner hacked and started doing that obvious fake hyena laugh, tossing insults about Danny with Derbs and Fat Jordan. "He can barely lift that thing!"
Tanner flagged his arm towards Danny, and then flounced forward and almost tripped over his own wavering feet. I realized then that they were all pretty high. Fat Jordan and Derbs just stood by, smirking, crossing their arms like they were SWAT or something.
"I did not leave you for anybody, Tanner. It's been, like, over half a year—get over it."
"I'm over it you—"
"Are you, Tanner?" I snapped, cutting idiot face off. "We live in the same city. It's not very big. We're going to see each other. So stop getting a boner every single time you see me. And. Just. Leave. Me. Alone!" My voice cracked as I screamed and stomped my foot.
The Crew looked dumbfounded, unaware that little Mary did not take Tanner's shit.
And after the longest pause in the history of dramatic pauses, his eight whole brain cells came up with the ever so clever: "What's she even saying, man?"
Fat Jordan and Derbs started doing that hyena laugh as he turned around to face the Crew and waved his arms, flashing my virgin eyes with the nastiness of his dirty-blonde armpit hair.
"You're crazy! You're crazy, Mary! You're fuckin' nuts!" Tanner generously reminded me that I am, indeed, a little not right in the head.
By now our little sideshow on the boardwalk had become a collision on the highway; everyone passing by slowed down to watch. I caught eyes with a little boy mucking some cotton candy, and watched as his mother suddenly snatched his hand and hurried him along. My body cramped with embarrassment.
"Leave us alone, man," Danny said, dropping the hammer against Slam It Hard, making a loud bang as it hit the boardwalk; the handle scratched the chrome springboard as it slid off.
Just as Danny crouched down to place the handle back up, Tanner rounded on him. "What'd you say?"
He staggered forward, whipping his arms down, because you know, he's "throwing down," or whatever they say. Derbs and Fat Jordan closed in behind him as he stormed up to Danny, hovering over him.
"You beefin' me, bud?"
"No," Danny said, standing up. "I'm actually vegetarian." And took a step back away from Tanner.
"What'd you say, faggot? You disrespecting me?" Tanner gnarled, and moved in closer.
"I didn't mean to disrespect you, man. I just—"
"You sayin' you disrespecting me?"
"What? No? I literally just said—"
And they went on like that, and as I watched, I felt this inexplicable pang of jealousy. Why did he take Danny seriously? Why did he have to laugh right in my face? Could he not want to fight me because I was a girl? For the first time ever, I wanted to get in a fistfight like a boy.
Before Danny could get himself into another loop of pointless reasoning, I jumped in.
"Why don't you just fuck off already, Tanner? You limp-dicked bitch."
Desperately hoping he'd punch me.
But Tanner just stood straight up and hollered, "Shut up, you crazy broad!" loud enough that it sealed off the sound of the night. Behind us, people stopped in the midst of their carnival games to stare. It felt as though the entire population of the boardwalk had gone suddenly mute. I could only hear the repetitive soundtrack of the games and the surf below. All their eyes made me sick. I kept trying to tell myself I wasn't crazy. But what good was lying?
So I dropped SpongeBob, grabbed Danny's pop bottle, violently shook it as I marched up to Tanner (reminding myself that I was indeed crazy), and then stomping to a stop in front of him, getting right in his ugly face, with my thumb, I struck the cap and ripped the lid off.
The soda exploded, backfiring all over my hands. Sticky, cream-colored foam drooled from the bottle, down my hands, and leaked onto the boardwalk.
Tanner broke out a single chuckle, his breath reeking of beer.
"What the fuck were you trying to do, you stupid whore?" He smiled. "Remember, Mary, you're nothing but a stupid whore who's just as crazy as her old man. You're a piece of shit, and you'll never be anything other than an ugly piece of shit."
So I spat in his face.
==========DANNY==========
Mary spat in Tanner's face.
Then I'm not too sure what happened next. I think I heard someone in the crowd say something about calling the police. But before any of us could make a move, even take a breath, a bright white light swung onto the scene, dissolving the night. I think that the anonymous figure behind the piercing light told her to stop––but it was too late.
Mary booked it.
I could hear the tacking of her feet as she vanished into the crowd. If we're going to talk about fight or flight, I chose flight, and chased after Mary. Her trail through the crowd was made obvious by the way she displaced people as she charged through them.
Once I cleared through the crowd that had swarmed us, I could finally see Mary still running strong in front of me. I tried calling her name. But she didn't hear me, or didn't want to. Afraid that I would lose her, I ignored the limitations my jeans imposed upon me and powered up until I was beside her. Snatching her hand, Mary jumped, looking wildly over at me. I kept my face set, then led us down a nearby outlet of stairs that fled to the beach.
Our feet crashed into the sand and then we continued to run along the shore. The surf broke like a thunderstorm, and the wind brought in the rank smell of vegetation and sea-salt. Not a minute later, from beside me, I heard Mary take a weird wheezing breath. I slowed down and stopped to see that her face was bright red and lined with sweat. Through a short burst of air, Mary stammered, "C––can't breathe."
"I really—" gasping "—don't want to get into shit with that cop," I said, feeling terrible, but guilt was definitely better than what I thought would've put us in cuffs––or at least sentenced to questioning in the back of a cop car.
"Mary," I said holding my breath as she caught hers. "I know a place we can go." And without speaking, still heaving, Mary nodded.
I took advantage of our peril by grabbing her hand again, and dashed down the beach. I could feel the spray on my skin as we ran along the hard sand through the eddying tide. Foam spread and dissolved as it washed up the shore, and then simmered back to the bolt of the undertow. Our campaign led us over the cluster of rocks that sanctioned off the private beach, where the beach houses were. After a little struggle, we cleared the boulders and ran the distance of another five backyards, until we got to the beach house.
That old abandoned one.
I jarred open the gate of the fence surrounding the perimeter of the yard—where a sign read NO TRESPASSING—and then hastily unscrewed the already loose bolts of the back door and broke in.
The Old Abandoned Beach House was dark and dusty, but otherwise safe. Well, safe if you didn't take into account the caved-in floor of the veranda that still mourned the memory of the numerous hurricane beatings that rendered the place abandoned to begin with.
Mary asked where we were, and then answering through a quick inhale of breath, told her I'd explain upstairs. Initiated with the jerk of my head, we entered the long, dark hallway before us. Running along, scraping scatterings of sand against the floor, with the vacant rooms mourning in our ears, we reached the attic staircase and quickly fled up it.
Once inside the tiny wooden-paneled, slanted triangle of the attic, my heartbeat gunned. I consciously breathed in through my nose, inflating my stomach. My shirt stuck to the sweat on my back. I looked over my shoulder to Mary. Sitting on the floor with her back against the boarded wall, panting. The bundle of what I figured had to be Max's lovemaking supplies, in a bag on the ground beside her.
I thought I'd go over and rub her back or something, but thought otherwise. It was probably sweaty, and I wasn't quite sure what good rubbing her back would do. And so, in an attempt to lighten up the atmosphere, I tried laughing.
"Holy shit—I can't believe that actually—happened!" Forcing a laugh while trying to catch the last of my breath.
Mary's expression––or lack thereof––suggested otherwise.
I shallowed my breathing, making it soundless. The word on the wind was that The Old Abandoned Beach House was haunted; all who entered this place were bewitched. Anyone who bought it was sure to see it beat up again by another storm. The last time a hurricane pillaged the New Jersey Shore, the main floor flooded, causing the collapse of the veranda. Squares of plywood sheltered all the shattered windows. Only a porthole in the attic, and the window on the back door, remained intact; no other light entered the house.
I went over to the porthole and cranked the latch, opening it. A burst of bold ocean air quickly cleared out the stale attic musk. The pale-blue light of the moon shone on the rim of the window and spilled an obtuse shape onto the floor, but failed to light the entirety of the room.
Behind me, I could hear the cadence of Mary's breath flux with the breaking waves. I didn't look back at her. I thought she needed her space. I studied the moon as I waited; it was a night away from being full. A pulsating blue halo radiated from the pale globe that I couldn't quite bring into focus, no matter how narrow I squinted. The ring of light would shoot out in crowned shafts whenever I tried to keep its image steady in my eye.
From Mary came a snort, it sounded as if she'd fought back a sob. Or perhaps she had a runny nose—the attic was rather dusty.
Finally, in the arisen silence, I turned to face her. She wasn't ready to talk, so I turned back to my moon. And as I studied my celestial orb, still trying to capture the perfect halo, I had all the time I needed to reflect on the chain of events.
Mike from the boardwalk. Being a "good friend." Tanner and his words. All I heard in my head was: You're crazy, Mary! You're fuckin' nuts! and, You're crazy like your old man!
I didn't want to know what he meant, but inevitably, as life would have it, I would find out. At that moment, however, I had no clue. Her mystery kept on compiling.
Being in Mary's company with so many questions became unbearable. My heart thumped louder than I could have imagined in the quiet, confined room. It wasn't fair. The mysteries felt almost unnatural. By now I should have been let into her world, the ignorance felt like a discourse in progression. By now, I needed to know about her—who cares if she doesn't kiss me ever again? Fuck playing it cool. I decided to put an end to all this mystery. The game was over.
"Mary!" I lashed out, my voice betraying my thoughts, she flinched as she looked up from the floor. "What the hell were you ever doing with a guy like Tanner?"
And my question, like all mine before, went unanswered.
Mary looked away to the wood-paneled wall.
"Mary!" I snapped.
"What!" she snapped back. "What do you want to know about me Danny that you don't already know?"
"Everything! Why do I drop you off at that intersection? Why can't I pull up to your house, and why did you tell me to fuck off the one time I did?" I began and couldn't stop. "What—why—the random silences? W—who, what, were those roses? Who sent them to you, Tanner?"
And as I listed off everything that had boiled underneath the surface for weeks, I became aware of her uninterested eyes, as if she knew how dumb and pointless my feelings were. I was probably whining, nah, I was definitely whining, lashing out unreservedly, but I honestly didn't care.
"Also, Mary, what the hell was up with calling me your boyfriend earlier? Who the fuck even was that random guy? Why, and well, while we're at it—why'd you kiss me that night, the night we met?"
Wishing in the second those words slipped from my lips I could take them back.
Mary stared blankly. So I concluded that treating her right was wrong.
"Do you only like guys like Tanner, is that it? Tell me. Is that what you like, guys who treat you like shit?"
And that's when Mary started crying.
I wasn't meant to win. I was never going to find a balance between my emotions as long as I knew her. There was no room for selflessness and selfishness. I was always going to have to choose one or the other.
"Mary, come on, don't cry. Can you please, please, just try to open up to me? I don't know what to—"
"Stop," Mary snapped. "Stop. Danny, just stop. You don't want me. Believe me, you only like me because I play hard to get and because I'm not nice to you. And, well, you said it yourself—you're only interested in me because you think I'm attractive.
"You don't know me." Her voice cracked. "You don't know my life, Danny. Believe me, if you did, you'd—you'd—"
And her sentence hung up on the end of a breath. Trembling, Mary glanced away and looked up towards some invisible entity as if that was where the words she wanted lay in wait for her to find.
The moon waxed in the sky, growing into its brilliance, pouring the entirety of its bright-pale beam into the attic. Brightening Mary, brightening her big and bewildered wayfarer's eyes. A renegade tear escaped and rolled down her face. She was so lovely. I've never seen anything so beautiful and so broken.
"I'd what?"
Collapsing her shoulders, Mary said in a mournful voice, "Danny, please, please just—stop."
"No. I would what?"
"Danny—you're moving away soon. So, like, it's really just better if we're just friends."
"Well, just no. Not having it. Sorry!" Pacing forward to then kneel on the attic floor beside her, I curled my ring finger and caressed her cheek, stroking the tear and its trail away. "I don't care if I'm moving away soon, Mary. I am not just your friend. That's not—just no. It's too late for that! Sorry to break it to you!"
"Oh my God, Danny! Why are you so goddamn frustrating?"
"Because I like you!" I yelled, noticing the watershed scar in her makeup. "I like you a lot, Mary! And believe it or not, I like your heart!"
"Oh my God, you are the most CORNY person I have ever met!"
"Good! I don't CARE. I mean that! So tell me, why'd you kiss me that night, huh? Tell me!"
"Because I felt like it! I don't know? I just felt like it! Sorry that I don't have some deep and complex and meaningful bullshit answer that you're looking for!"
"Why do you have to be such a bitch?"
"Because I am a BITCH!"
"Well, stop being a bitch! Stop being so distant! You're driving me crazy!"
"You're driving me crazy!" she yelled.
"Tough luck!" I yelled back.
"YOU'RE SO ANNOYING!"
"YOU'RE SO ANNOYING!"
"Oh my GOD—will you just fucking kiss me already?"
"Yeah, I'll just fucking kiss you already."
So we fucking kissed each other.
The heat rushed to my face, burning my cheeks. My body raced with an instant hardening. Her thrusting hips. Her lips mashing into mine. The unreserved, unsure, placement of her hands as she searched my hair and my neck for a reign to seize control. We didn't have time to speak, to ask permission. We did what we pleased.
My lips found their way over her whole body, starting with her neck. She gasped. Dug her nails into my back. With my mouth on her skin, my attention only turned to the motion of keeping her euphoric moans from never ending. My belt slapped her shorts as she undid the buckle. Soon our clothes were drawn off. Our mouths found one another. The fullness of her lips made it all too easy to want to kiss her forever. For a moment, I even contemplated telling Mary I loved her.
And then, in the trance of lust, without a conscience thought in either of our minds, as the moonlight drowned the attic and the complexion of her skin and the tones of her eyes shone with the silver crystal quality of the stars, we, as two disciples of desire, transcended the divide between her body and my body. And then the world lost its purpose for its very being, for she became the very world.