right before sex, trying to coax myself into the right frame of mind.
And sometimes even that wasn't enough. After losing my erection on a couple of occasions, I took the advice of a TV sexologist and began fantasizing about women other than my wife. One night it would be Ellen DiNardo, the sexy new art teacher, and the next it would be Michelle Pfeiffer, or Mary Tyler Moore in her incarnation as Laura Pétrie.
One night, shortly after the Candidate Assembly, as Diane impassively spread her legs, I closed my eyes andpretended she was Tracy Flick. The fantasy was vivid and explosive; we were fucking without tenderness beneath the bleachers during an important football game, the noise of the crowd barely muffling our animal grunts and exchanges of foul language. Skirt pulled up, tights yanked down, she thrashed her head from side to side on the confetti-speckled pavement, arching her hips to meet my powerful thrusts. I came with a series of violent shudders that racked my whole body. I was barely finished when Diane shoved me off of her, drawing her knees to her chest as the doctor had instructed. I rolled onto my back, raggedly panting, my skin filmy with sweat. Diane turned her head and studied me with what I took to be mild interest.
“Jim,” she said, “would you turn on Jay Leno?”
TAMMY WARREN
A PRETTY GIRL I'd never seen before answered the door and took my coat.
“I'm Dana,” she said; “Jason's my stepbrother.”
Jason Caputo and Lance Breezey, the Nintendo geeks, were in the living room, drinking beer and playing Super Mario Brothers. It didn't seem like much of a party.
“Am I early?”
Lance shook his head, working the controls with furious concentration. All sorts of annoying sounds emerged from the TV as the little cartoon men jumped and shot fireballs.
“You're right on time,” he assured me.
“Where's everyone else?”
Jason looked at me for the first time since I'd arrived, his excited face opening into a slow, crazy-eyed smile. His hair was a mess of cowlicks, his pink and green rugby shirt too tight even for his painfully thin body. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed after a long illness.
“You
are
everyone else,” he told me. “We wanted to keep things intimate.”
I followed Dana into the kitchen, surprised that a dork like Jason could even have a stepsister as cool as her, a girl you wouldn't have been surprised to see dancing on MTV, her body loose, her face a mask of sultry boredom. She wore baggy overalls and a tight, striped jersey that didn't reach her navel. Her dark straight hair fell at a severe angle across one eye.
“I'm glad you came,” she said, grimacing as she twisted the cap off a beer bottle. “Those two drive me crazy after a while.”
“Where do you go to school?” I asked.
She handed me the beer. “Immaculate Mary.”
“Do you like it?”
“It's okay. At least we don't have to go through thebullshit with the makeup and clothes every day. You can show up looking like a wreck and nobody even cares.”
I took a tiny sip of beer, holding my breath so I didn't have to taste it.
“You wear uniforms?”
“Yeah.” She pushed the hair out of her face, momentarily exposing a large shapeless birthmark spreading from her cheekbone to her forehead. It was amazing how thoroughly it was concealed by her haircut. “Blue knee socks, gray skirts, white blouses. Five days a week. And saddle shoes.”
“No overalls,” I said, thinking again how cool she looked, and how exotic with that secret birthmark.
“Nope.” She reached into one of her many pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
We had to go out on the deck because of Jason's allergies. I lit my cigarette off hers and smoked it in tiny puffs that felt like razors going down my throat. Dana was even clumsier than I was, choking on every other drag.
“I only smoke at parties,” I said, admiring the sophistication of the remark.
“Same here,” she
And sometimes even that wasn't enough. After losing my erection on a couple of occasions, I took the advice of a TV sexologist and began fantasizing about women other than my wife. One night it would be Ellen DiNardo, the sexy new art teacher, and the next it would be Michelle Pfeiffer, or Mary Tyler Moore in her incarnation as Laura Pétrie.
One night, shortly after the Candidate Assembly, as Diane impassively spread her legs, I closed my eyes andpretended she was Tracy Flick. The fantasy was vivid and explosive; we were fucking without tenderness beneath the bleachers during an important football game, the noise of the crowd barely muffling our animal grunts and exchanges of foul language. Skirt pulled up, tights yanked down, she thrashed her head from side to side on the confetti-speckled pavement, arching her hips to meet my powerful thrusts. I came with a series of violent shudders that racked my whole body. I was barely finished when Diane shoved me off of her, drawing her knees to her chest as the doctor had instructed. I rolled onto my back, raggedly panting, my skin filmy with sweat. Diane turned her head and studied me with what I took to be mild interest.
“Jim,” she said, “would you turn on Jay Leno?”
TAMMY WARREN
A PRETTY GIRL I'd never seen before answered the door and took my coat.
“I'm Dana,” she said; “Jason's my stepbrother.”
Jason Caputo and Lance Breezey, the Nintendo geeks, were in the living room, drinking beer and playing Super Mario Brothers. It didn't seem like much of a party.
“Am I early?”
Lance shook his head, working the controls with furious concentration. All sorts of annoying sounds emerged from the TV as the little cartoon men jumped and shot fireballs.
“You're right on time,” he assured me.
“Where's everyone else?”
Jason looked at me for the first time since I'd arrived, his excited face opening into a slow, crazy-eyed smile. His hair was a mess of cowlicks, his pink and green rugby shirt too tight even for his painfully thin body. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed after a long illness.
“You
are
everyone else,” he told me. “We wanted to keep things intimate.”
I followed Dana into the kitchen, surprised that a dork like Jason could even have a stepsister as cool as her, a girl you wouldn't have been surprised to see dancing on MTV, her body loose, her face a mask of sultry boredom. She wore baggy overalls and a tight, striped jersey that didn't reach her navel. Her dark straight hair fell at a severe angle across one eye.
“I'm glad you came,” she said, grimacing as she twisted the cap off a beer bottle. “Those two drive me crazy after a while.”
“Where do you go to school?” I asked.
She handed me the beer. “Immaculate Mary.”
“Do you like it?”
“It's okay. At least we don't have to go through thebullshit with the makeup and clothes every day. You can show up looking like a wreck and nobody even cares.”
I took a tiny sip of beer, holding my breath so I didn't have to taste it.
“You wear uniforms?”
“Yeah.” She pushed the hair out of her face, momentarily exposing a large shapeless birthmark spreading from her cheekbone to her forehead. It was amazing how thoroughly it was concealed by her haircut. “Blue knee socks, gray skirts, white blouses. Five days a week. And saddle shoes.”
“No overalls,” I said, thinking again how cool she looked, and how exotic with that secret birthmark.
“Nope.” She reached into one of her many pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
We had to go out on the deck because of Jason's allergies. I lit my cigarette off hers and smoked it in tiny puffs that felt like razors going down my throat. Dana was even clumsier than I was, choking on every other drag.
“I only smoke at parties,” I said, admiring the sophistication of the remark.
“Same here,” she
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