Move your mouse over here!
Previous page

Leon Baby

As I'm cumming I can hear kids out in the hallway laughing at it, at me and the fervor, and I want to go out there without pulling anything up so they have to see everything they're laughing at and tell them to have a little goddamn respect for somebody else's needs for once. But then I'm done and there's only the dirty wave inside that will leave as it always does. Shortly enough.

She slithers off the bed. Straight to the bathroom, like usual. Sounds through the thin door, all that I get. Water running a long time. Plastic screw cap of a Burnett's coming off and then back. Sipping. Gargling.

The Leon Russell album has been playing the whole time, the vinyl spinning on the portable record player she has. I'm not a fan. I consider stealing it.

I want to remember this all well and don't think I can unless I hear the record again. Hers specifically, of course. I flick it up loud, smothering the urchins in the hallway as I sink in, focusing on the piano's noise shouting from the quickly spinning void of the record. Coming up only when she beckons from the doorway's yellow light.

"Hey baby," she says and I smile. "That's going to be one-twenty, for what we did tonight."

I make it one-forty and she lets me take the record with me. I do not hear the snickering as I leave.

Story by:

Graham Bowlin

22 October 2014