denniswriter0
I ran out of lube. Can I borrow yours?
Picture the face of an 18-year-old kid. Shower water runs down his near-total crew cut of a scalp and over his gray-blue eyes. He is Dennis Tominsky. He's staring at the tiles of the shower after masturbating, having watched his favorite www.collegetrainwrecks.com video for the umpteenth time. He's concentrating hard on what looks like nothing, but we can all see that it's in his head. He's a plotter, Dennis; a mental gamesman. He looks like if he engaged you in conversation you'd have no choice but to pay close attention to whatever he says; he looks like if he shouted at you, no matter what he shouted, it would bruise. He stares at the tile and breathes hard and looks downward at his junk.
Dennis turns off the water. He has to go check on his grandmother. His grandmother who no longer has full custody of him and hasn't since he turned eighteen. But you know what? Dennis thinks of himself as such a compassionate guy that he's sticking around anyway. At least until he goes to college up north. He towels himself off. He dresses in underwear and jeans. He's well-built, a sturdy, not too tall, but still imposing lank of a figure. Clearly goes to the gym somewhat regularly. Not that his body is every straight woman's type, but every straight woman would admit he's attractive.
Opening the door to his grandmother's room softly, Dennis peers in at her. Yep, she's asleep. The sound of running water put her to sleep as usual. Her bottle of pills sits on the bedside table. It's knocked over, like usual, but at least none of the pills fell under the bed this time. Dennis won't have to cut into his precious time searching for them.
She's snoring. Also usual. It is only now that Dennis notices that she does look like his mother. Except not much older. It isn't his grandma's fault. His mom has done enough to her body to make her look just a few years' shy in age of her own mother. How pathetic.
Sensing her sleep is deep enough at this point, Dennis reaches into her open purse, lying on the floor, removes a wad of twenty dollar bills, crumpled like used napkins, and folds them up nice and neat. Under the twenty, he locates what he's looking for; a bottle of Oxycodone. He puts it in his pocket with the twenty. He grins. He gently shuts the door.
*
Cheryl Peters stands on the sidewalk outside the house. She hugs herself through her green velvet shirt. Why does he make her stand in the cold like this? She should have brought her jacket.
The text message that comes through isn't from Dennis. It's from her best friend Clarissa. Clarissa says babe listen, do not, I repeat, DO NOT fuck him this time
She has not thought of a response before the door opens and Dennis Tominsky stands there, arms crossed, grinning.
"Aren't you going to give me a hug?" Cheryl asks.
"Nah."
Cheryl smiles and looks away. Dennis laughs. He approaches Cheryl. He kisses her cheek. He brushes away her hair.
"How's everything, babe?"
"It's...okay."
"You must be nearing heat stroke or something."
Dennis looks over her whole body as he says that. The velvet shirt that dips into a V shape and shows the upper edge of her bra; the light-blue jeans with the black leather belt; the steel-toed gray shoes. She used to get nervous when he looked over her whole body. Now she gets slightly wet.
"Let's get you inside," Dennis says, taking her hand, curling his fingers into her's and leading her inside.
"Um, just so you know," says Cheryl, on the stairwell, almost at the heavy wooden door that's loose on one hinge.
"What?" Dennis says, whipping himself around at the door, like a predator. It's scary.
"Just so you know, we're not having sex this time," Cheryl says. "I just want to hang out."
Dennis observes her for a few seconds. He smiles with one side of his mouth.
"Dennis...I'm serious, it isn't anything personal, just-"
"Do I look like I'm offended?"
Cheryl looks away, at the wall with the paint peeling.
"Look into my eyes."
Oooh she can't believe he said that. Why is he doing saying the same thing he tells her to do sometimes during sex?
Cheryl looks into his eyes, squinting, trying to look pissed off.
"Do I look offended? Am I ever offended by anything?"
Cheryl shakes her head.
"It's cool, we won't."
Dennis wheels around as he says it and opens the door. Cheryl hesitates for a moment, looking at his hand holding the door, at the snake tattoo with the tail ending at his knuckles.
*
Dennis moves the lighter around the interior of the bowl. Cheryl watches the light move. Her forehead already feels light. She doesn't know if she regrets bringing the pot or if it's better this way. Dennis inhales and exhales smoke into her face. Cheryl brushes it aside and giggles. She hardly hears herself giggling. She just knows it happened.
Now Dennis is crushing up a pill on the coffee table in front of the T.V. Is that one of his grandmother's pills? He snorts it. His head jerks back. He inches the remainder towards Cheryl.
"Try it," he says and clears his throat. He gives her a look that makes him look ten years younger, suddenly.
Cheryl tries it. She feels the redness shoot into her eyes. Her head cocks back. She giggles.
*
Our two teenage flirty-birds are now high and giggly. Dennis says something clever and Cheryl bursts out laughing and rolls her body against him. She responds with an imitation of his best friend, Dirk and Dennis is the one to laugh now. But instead of moving his body he slumps on the couch. He takes up the remote and suddenly turns the T.V off.
Cheryl looks from him to the T.V and back again.
“What’s wrong?” She says with a snort.
“Sometimes life is just overwhelming. You know?”
A pause.
“Yeah, of course I know,” Cheryl says.
“But I’m not sure you do know, Cheryl,” says Dennis. He is now staring at her, his red eyes even and magnetized.
“Um, okay,” says Cheryl. “I mean you just said that everybody’s suffering is the same…”
“Cheryl. I’m not sure you do know,” says Dennis. “And I’m not saying this out of disrespect. I’m saying it because you are one of the most important people in my life.”
Okay, he’s in weird mode now, Cheryl thinks. At the same time, she doesn’t want to leave the couch.
“Look at me, Cheryl,” Dennis says, sitting up. “Look into my eyes.”
She hesitates. But she does as he says.
She looks into his red eyes, even and magnetized. Something in his stare makes her tingle; makes her nervous in a good way.
“I’ve started to think you’re the only one who can help me. Deal with all this bullshit, living with my sick grandma, my Dad in jail, getting suspended, all the shit with Ms. Nostrand. You’re the only person smart enough to understand me. I owe you for that.”
There’s a long moment where they just look at each other.
Then they both burst out laughing. Cheryl tilts towards him as she laughs.
Dennis catches her mouth in his. A long kiss. Cheryl does not decline it. In fact, she’s the one who nudges herself closer and puts her hands around his shoulders.
She feels one of Dennis’ hands on her waist.
Oh god, here we go again, a voice inside her screams.
Fuck his brains out, whispers another voice.
They move to the bedroom.
*
Later, Dennis and Cheryl make out on the bed, rolling around on the sheets. Cheryl’s shirt is off and Dennis is undoing her bra. She has a thought:
"Were those your grandmother's pills?" she asks.
"Hmm?"
"The stuff we snorted."
"What? Nah. What kind of asshole do you think I am?"
Cheryl looks at him. She smirks. Dennis kisses her on the forehead.
"You getting tired?" He mumbles.
Cheryl shrugs.
"Not really."
"Nor am I."
Cheryl moves to kiss him again, but Dennis is kissing her throat. Then she’s on her back. Now he’s down to her collarbone. Wait, now her bra is off? Yes, that’s correct. He flicks his tongue around both her nipples and she shudders, makes a breathy noise that just escapes on its own.
For a little while she watches him move his tongue, move his head. Then she shuts her eyes, because that makes it sexier for her. She feels pleasant surges jolt up from her crotch into her stomach as he licks her lower and probes deeper. The surges get deeper as she feels him concentrate on her clit and work his fingers around just above his tongue.
For our part—if we keep our distance, that is, give them some space—we see a young woman on her back on a ratty twin bed, in a room with heavy metal posters on the wall. A single lamp illuminates Dennis, shirtless, his head locked between her thighs, bobbing up and down and twisting back and forth. We see Cheryl’s head cocked back on the pillow and hear her going,
uh uh uh uh ah aH aH AH AHAHAHAHAH…OH!
And see her thighs flop together and apart against this kid’s head. And we feel like dirty old men for how sexy this is, watching this barely legal woman get all riled up.
Or dirty old women for admiring Dennis a little, despite ourselves.
(End of pt. 1)
Dennis turns off the water. He has to go check on his grandmother. His grandmother who no longer has full custody of him and hasn't since he turned eighteen. But you know what? Dennis thinks of himself as such a compassionate guy that he's sticking around anyway. At least until he goes to college up north. He towels himself off. He dresses in underwear and jeans. He's well-built, a sturdy, not too tall, but still imposing lank of a figure. Clearly goes to the gym somewhat regularly. Not that his body is every straight woman's type, but every straight woman would admit he's attractive.
Opening the door to his grandmother's room softly, Dennis peers in at her. Yep, she's asleep. The sound of running water put her to sleep as usual. Her bottle of pills sits on the bedside table. It's knocked over, like usual, but at least none of the pills fell under the bed this time. Dennis won't have to cut into his precious time searching for them.
She's snoring. Also usual. It is only now that Dennis notices that she does look like his mother. Except not much older. It isn't his grandma's fault. His mom has done enough to her body to make her look just a few years' shy in age of her own mother. How pathetic.
Sensing her sleep is deep enough at this point, Dennis reaches into her open purse, lying on the floor, removes a wad of twenty dollar bills, crumpled like used napkins, and folds them up nice and neat. Under the twenty, he locates what he's looking for; a bottle of Oxycodone. He puts it in his pocket with the twenty. He grins. He gently shuts the door.
*
Cheryl Peters stands on the sidewalk outside the house. She hugs herself through her green velvet shirt. Why does he make her stand in the cold like this? She should have brought her jacket.
The text message that comes through isn't from Dennis. It's from her best friend Clarissa. Clarissa says babe listen, do not, I repeat, DO NOT fuck him this time
She has not thought of a response before the door opens and Dennis Tominsky stands there, arms crossed, grinning.
"Aren't you going to give me a hug?" Cheryl asks.
"Nah."
Cheryl smiles and looks away. Dennis laughs. He approaches Cheryl. He kisses her cheek. He brushes away her hair.
"How's everything, babe?"
"It's...okay."
"You must be nearing heat stroke or something."
Dennis looks over her whole body as he says that. The velvet shirt that dips into a V shape and shows the upper edge of her bra; the light-blue jeans with the black leather belt; the steel-toed gray shoes. She used to get nervous when he looked over her whole body. Now she gets slightly wet.
"Let's get you inside," Dennis says, taking her hand, curling his fingers into her's and leading her inside.
"Um, just so you know," says Cheryl, on the stairwell, almost at the heavy wooden door that's loose on one hinge.
"What?" Dennis says, whipping himself around at the door, like a predator. It's scary.
"Just so you know, we're not having sex this time," Cheryl says. "I just want to hang out."
Dennis observes her for a few seconds. He smiles with one side of his mouth.
"Dennis...I'm serious, it isn't anything personal, just-"
"Do I look like I'm offended?"
Cheryl looks away, at the wall with the paint peeling.
"Look into my eyes."
Oooh she can't believe he said that. Why is he doing saying the same thing he tells her to do sometimes during sex?
Cheryl looks into his eyes, squinting, trying to look pissed off.
"Do I look offended? Am I ever offended by anything?"
Cheryl shakes her head.
"It's cool, we won't."
Dennis wheels around as he says it and opens the door. Cheryl hesitates for a moment, looking at his hand holding the door, at the snake tattoo with the tail ending at his knuckles.
*
Dennis moves the lighter around the interior of the bowl. Cheryl watches the light move. Her forehead already feels light. She doesn't know if she regrets bringing the pot or if it's better this way. Dennis inhales and exhales smoke into her face. Cheryl brushes it aside and giggles. She hardly hears herself giggling. She just knows it happened.
Now Dennis is crushing up a pill on the coffee table in front of the T.V. Is that one of his grandmother's pills? He snorts it. His head jerks back. He inches the remainder towards Cheryl.
"Try it," he says and clears his throat. He gives her a look that makes him look ten years younger, suddenly.
Cheryl tries it. She feels the redness shoot into her eyes. Her head cocks back. She giggles.
*
Our two teenage flirty-birds are now high and giggly. Dennis says something clever and Cheryl bursts out laughing and rolls her body against him. She responds with an imitation of his best friend, Dirk and Dennis is the one to laugh now. But instead of moving his body he slumps on the couch. He takes up the remote and suddenly turns the T.V off.
Cheryl looks from him to the T.V and back again.
“What’s wrong?” She says with a snort.
“Sometimes life is just overwhelming. You know?”
A pause.
“Yeah, of course I know,” Cheryl says.
“But I’m not sure you do know, Cheryl,” says Dennis. He is now staring at her, his red eyes even and magnetized.
“Um, okay,” says Cheryl. “I mean you just said that everybody’s suffering is the same…”
“Cheryl. I’m not sure you do know,” says Dennis. “And I’m not saying this out of disrespect. I’m saying it because you are one of the most important people in my life.”
Okay, he’s in weird mode now, Cheryl thinks. At the same time, she doesn’t want to leave the couch.
“Look at me, Cheryl,” Dennis says, sitting up. “Look into my eyes.”
She hesitates. But she does as he says.
She looks into his red eyes, even and magnetized. Something in his stare makes her tingle; makes her nervous in a good way.
“I’ve started to think you’re the only one who can help me. Deal with all this bullshit, living with my sick grandma, my Dad in jail, getting suspended, all the shit with Ms. Nostrand. You’re the only person smart enough to understand me. I owe you for that.”
There’s a long moment where they just look at each other.
Then they both burst out laughing. Cheryl tilts towards him as she laughs.
Dennis catches her mouth in his. A long kiss. Cheryl does not decline it. In fact, she’s the one who nudges herself closer and puts her hands around his shoulders.
She feels one of Dennis’ hands on her waist.
Oh god, here we go again, a voice inside her screams.
Fuck his brains out, whispers another voice.
They move to the bedroom.
*
Later, Dennis and Cheryl make out on the bed, rolling around on the sheets. Cheryl’s shirt is off and Dennis is undoing her bra. She has a thought:
"Were those your grandmother's pills?" she asks.
"Hmm?"
"The stuff we snorted."
"What? Nah. What kind of asshole do you think I am?"
Cheryl looks at him. She smirks. Dennis kisses her on the forehead.
"You getting tired?" He mumbles.
Cheryl shrugs.
"Not really."
"Nor am I."
Cheryl moves to kiss him again, but Dennis is kissing her throat. Then she’s on her back. Now he’s down to her collarbone. Wait, now her bra is off? Yes, that’s correct. He flicks his tongue around both her nipples and she shudders, makes a breathy noise that just escapes on its own.
For a little while she watches him move his tongue, move his head. Then she shuts her eyes, because that makes it sexier for her. She feels pleasant surges jolt up from her crotch into her stomach as he licks her lower and probes deeper. The surges get deeper as she feels him concentrate on her clit and work his fingers around just above his tongue.
For our part—if we keep our distance, that is, give them some space—we see a young woman on her back on a ratty twin bed, in a room with heavy metal posters on the wall. A single lamp illuminates Dennis, shirtless, his head locked between her thighs, bobbing up and down and twisting back and forth. We see Cheryl’s head cocked back on the pillow and hear her going,
uh uh uh uh ah aH aH AH AHAHAHAHAH…OH!
And see her thighs flop together and apart against this kid’s head. And we feel like dirty old men for how sexy this is, watching this barely legal woman get all riled up.
Or dirty old women for admiring Dennis a little, despite ourselves.
(End of pt. 1)
