|@13: Three Vignettes|
by Julian X  /  fiction  /  15 Jul 2007
Steph was an old bitch. In her youth, she bit the squeekies like rats and shook them 'til they died. She didn't know why she did it; like sex, she simply enjoyed it. In those days, she would just jump on the humans and walk across them as if it were nothing. Now, getting on the bed was painful, sometimes involving multiple tries. Those same legs ached with arthritis, and a good day meant not laying down all day, alone in her thoughts. Hearing the humans call her from the yard was becoming more and more difficult, and she knew that things were getting worse and that an end would someday come.
She looked out at the boy whose puppy she had been, now a college student with a goatee, and wondered. She wondered how he could grow so much. She wondered what youth was and how she could have one day been like the new puppy, who on her stronger days she still shoved aside and showed who's boss. She wondered how the humans felt about her, whether they loved her or ever had.
Lying on the couch, with nothing to do yet again, she felt the sleep coming. She dreamed of a yard full of squirrels to chase and of legs that let her do it.
Mom and Dad just didn't understand. She loved Bryan. That's what she told herself, over and over, as he fucked her for the third time that day.
Bryan was seventeen – a good catch for her. He knew things. He knew people. Oh, he could be a jerk. He looked at the other girls, made her suck dick a little too often during lunch. But he loved her – she knew he loved her. And he would take care of her. Probably. He had told her so. And he loved her.
Bryan moaned and took his hands off her ass. They went to the movies, and he drove her back late. He could do that, Bryan – drive. Mom and Dad would give her those glances if they saw her, but mostly they didn't care. Or they didn't care to know.
It just might be a good life. She thought of getting pregnant. She didn't like school anyway. They were mean there. Thought she was a "slut" because she had a man, but all her girlfriends wanted all the juicy details, no matter how much it disgusted them. When Maria had finally gotten laid, they had compared notes.
After she took a shower, she would look at herself in the mirror and tell herself she was ugly – actually speak the words and pinched the fat and berate every flaw. Maybe one day, Mom or Bryan would get her breast implants and liposuction. Maybe one day, Bryan would leave. There were days when she cried. But Bryan would always hold her breasts and fuck away like she was the most gorgeous woman in the world, like he wanted to stay with her forever.
The boys are lucky with their older men who take them and train them. The boys are lucky.
Now, I have a husband and I stay at home. He has a beard. He is a man. He wanders the streets of Athens, sometimes talking. He goes to the plays and the city pays him for this. He sells things in the agora, and he fucks me twice a month.
I've heard of the flute girls at the parties. The drinking. The idle talk of philosophy while our house needs improving and we have to plan for children. He doesn't make enough money to do this, but he does it anyway. An irresponsible man. I hear Polyxena feels the same way.
One night, he talked to me of the man who had taken him. He told me of the staged kidnapping, the sacred ritual. I didn't understand all of it, but it was interesting. He told me of how it felt, his dick going into his ass, and how he thought of it, a man now, illegal to penetrate.
Perhaps one day he will take a boy and train him as well. But he will never again be penetrated as he does me. Those memories are left to the confessional of our bed.
Tomorrow, I must garden.
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