must have been expecting it. Yes, I certainly had been expecting it from the start, but D—— had hardly seemed to look my way since he first picked me up at the tar pits and brought me here, so I was left to wonder if he wasn’t really interested, if after all he didn’t really care …
Every pimp has that same bag of tricks. And I knew it well, but it didn’t help me.
Laurel turned her eyes demurely down and strolled out of the room, with a sweet little swing to her hips. I was aware that D—— wasn’t watching her go.
The lodge had been used for a dining room, I think, back when the ranch served overnight guests. It was an octagon-shaped building, with a central fireplace and a round stone chimney that shot up through the cupola on top, which D—— had taken for his room. The cupola had an uninterrupted line of windows wrapping around all its eight sides, so there was a lot of light. D—— was reclining on his bed, draped in a striped blanket like an Indian brave, or a Roman in a toga, or the sheik of freaking Araby, for all I know.
What he had said disarmed me somehow. I’d made a success of not thinking about Terrell since I left.
D—— sat up and shook back his hair. It was silky today, and he looked gentle, all over somehow. The shoulder the blanket didn’t cover looked smooth as milk to me.
When he stood up, I looked down at his bare feet on the wooden floor. I didn’t like that I was doing that; I remembered how Laurel had turned her eyes down before leaving, and I thought I should have found D——’s eyes and held them, made him be the one to look away.
I felt Laurel pulse in the back of my mind. Only the tone of her voice, no word. Below the frayed hem of the blanket, D——’s calves were covered with a surprising amount of long fine hair, like angora.
“I know,” he said. He came to me and touched me then, not much, maybe lifting my chin with a fingertip. His eyes were the deep fluid blue of the Gulf Stream and they seemed to see all the way into me, to read all the history carved on my core, so that I felt that he really did know.
“I can break that down for you,” D—— said. “If you let me.”
He touched me a little more, backing me against the chimney. I could feel the rough stone on my bare back and the backs of my legs, my whole nakedness spreading against the stone, and I still don’t know how that came about, because I surely must have been wearing something when I went there.
“I’ll be your brother to you,” D—— said. “Will you let me?”
Then the ivy came boiling out of the cracks in the masonry and wrapped around my limbs and bound them—the ivy crawled over me like snake skin—and D—— was in me everywhere, not just the purses but my brain and my bloodstream too, and we were inside each other so completely it seemed that we could never come apart, and I was crying out my consent so loud they could have heard it on the highway.
It was hard to return to Laurel after that, because that was no ordinary con. D—— really had broken something down in me, and known me in ways that no stranger could know, and occupied a place in me that only my brother had touched before. A place that Laurel couldn’t really reach.
And of course I knew that Laurel had her thing with D—— as well. From now on that would have to lie between us.
My brother put his palms on the slight swellings where my breasts would be, and told me in a husky croon how Indians would have cut two straps of flesh, there where his hands lay moist and warm above the shriveled beans of my nipples—they’d thread those slits with leather thongs lashed to a pole, then make me dance until I tore my own flesh free. In those days Terrell didn’t really know which Indians were which and had the most mixed-up ideas of what they did. The Sun Dance was all jumbled up with Shawnee or Iroquois torture, then reassigned to Cherokees who’d once lived more or less where we did then. Not that
Every pimp has that same bag of tricks. And I knew it well, but it didn’t help me.
Laurel turned her eyes demurely down and strolled out of the room, with a sweet little swing to her hips. I was aware that D—— wasn’t watching her go.
The lodge had been used for a dining room, I think, back when the ranch served overnight guests. It was an octagon-shaped building, with a central fireplace and a round stone chimney that shot up through the cupola on top, which D—— had taken for his room. The cupola had an uninterrupted line of windows wrapping around all its eight sides, so there was a lot of light. D—— was reclining on his bed, draped in a striped blanket like an Indian brave, or a Roman in a toga, or the sheik of freaking Araby, for all I know.
What he had said disarmed me somehow. I’d made a success of not thinking about Terrell since I left.
D—— sat up and shook back his hair. It was silky today, and he looked gentle, all over somehow. The shoulder the blanket didn’t cover looked smooth as milk to me.
When he stood up, I looked down at his bare feet on the wooden floor. I didn’t like that I was doing that; I remembered how Laurel had turned her eyes down before leaving, and I thought I should have found D——’s eyes and held them, made him be the one to look away.
I felt Laurel pulse in the back of my mind. Only the tone of her voice, no word. Below the frayed hem of the blanket, D——’s calves were covered with a surprising amount of long fine hair, like angora.
“I know,” he said. He came to me and touched me then, not much, maybe lifting my chin with a fingertip. His eyes were the deep fluid blue of the Gulf Stream and they seemed to see all the way into me, to read all the history carved on my core, so that I felt that he really did know.
“I can break that down for you,” D—— said. “If you let me.”
He touched me a little more, backing me against the chimney. I could feel the rough stone on my bare back and the backs of my legs, my whole nakedness spreading against the stone, and I still don’t know how that came about, because I surely must have been wearing something when I went there.
“I’ll be your brother to you,” D—— said. “Will you let me?”
Then the ivy came boiling out of the cracks in the masonry and wrapped around my limbs and bound them—the ivy crawled over me like snake skin—and D—— was in me everywhere, not just the purses but my brain and my bloodstream too, and we were inside each other so completely it seemed that we could never come apart, and I was crying out my consent so loud they could have heard it on the highway.
It was hard to return to Laurel after that, because that was no ordinary con. D—— really had broken something down in me, and known me in ways that no stranger could know, and occupied a place in me that only my brother had touched before. A place that Laurel couldn’t really reach.
And of course I knew that Laurel had her thing with D—— as well. From now on that would have to lie between us.
My brother put his palms on the slight swellings where my breasts would be, and told me in a husky croon how Indians would have cut two straps of flesh, there where his hands lay moist and warm above the shriveled beans of my nipples—they’d thread those slits with leather thongs lashed to a pole, then make me dance until I tore my own flesh free. In those days Terrell didn’t really know which Indians were which and had the most mixed-up ideas of what they did. The Sun Dance was all jumbled up with Shawnee or Iroquois torture, then reassigned to Cherokees who’d once lived more or less where we did then. Not that
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