Black Water

by Bobby Norman

  He stopped at the kitchen door with his hands on the doorjamb, leaned in, and looked around. No one. The door at the back o’ the kitchen leading to the backyard was open, but the screen door was closed and latched. He looked at the floor. Dust. No footprints. The slight breeze filtered through the screen, and sure enough, he saw the sagging clothesline trailing from the back o’ the house to the dead tree trunk. He pushed off the doorjamb and walked through the kitchen to the screen door, lifted the little hook, unlatching the door, pushed it open, and stepped out to the back porch.

  There wasn’t anybody out there, but there was somethin’ he’d forgotten about. Well, he hadn’t exactly forgotten—he just tried not to think about it. Seein’ it now brought back a lot o’ pain. It was another reason he was still afraid o’ seein’ his father. All the little graves. One for each o’ the puppies Paul David’d killed. One ever two, three, maybe four months, until Paul David had a grave marker all his own in the Oledeux Cemetery.

  He went back in, closed and locked the screen door, followed his footprints into the front room, and crossed the floor to the bedroom he’d shared with Ret. He stood in front o’ the door a few seconds, apprehensive about what he’d find on the other side. Finally, he took a deep breath, wiped his sweaty hand on his pants leg, wrapped it around the doorknob, and turned. Slowly pushin’ it open, he saw the bed he’d slept his growin’ up years in. Pushin’ futher, he noticed the thin, white curtains hangin’ from the window in the middle o’ the wall between the two beds, billowing gracefully, like they’s breathin’ with the soft, warm breeze passin’ through the room. He pushed the door open futher and saw Ret’s bed.

  And she was on it!

  On her back, arms drawn up over her head and sound asleep. This newer version was more like twelve years old, and her long, dark hair was splayed out over the pillow. She was wearin’ a thin little dress, and her right leg was drawn up so that the bottom of her foot pressed against the inside of her left knee. Her feet coulda used a good scrubbing, and there was a crusty scab on the outside of her left knee. The hem o’ the dress was bunched halfway up her left thigh.

  He looked around the room. No dust. It was clean. He looked at the girl on the bed and his heart pounded, drawn between two frightening thoughts. The first was the recurring, what’m I doin’ here? What’s she doin’ here? The second was more a desire, a hunger, a craving, than a thought. He wanted to lift the bottom o’ the dress, but he was afraid. Afraid o’ doin’ somethin’ he knew was taboo, but more, afraid a bein’ caught. That was nothin’ new. Shit no! From the first moment he became aware of the differences between him and Ret, between male and female, he’d been drawn to her. As all men who ever saw her were. Countless times, he’d done as he was doin’ that minute. Sneakin’ looks at her while she slept. While she played. While she sat. When she walked. Ran. Ate.

  When he fought with her, most o’ the time, it was an act. Fightin’ and argeein’ proved to everone that he felt no more for her than any annoyed brother did for a bratty little sister. No one knew about the Hell he lived in ever day. Ever hour. Ever minute. Livin’ in the same house with her, and even worse, sharin’ a bedroom. Always lookin’, never touchin’. Wantin’ and never havin’. Hub Lusaw’d never heard the word obsessed, but he knew the condition intimately and lived his early years in fear he’d be found out. That same crushing fear rushed over him now. He looked into the front room, half expecting to see somebody, see that he’d been found out. They’d catch him standin’ in the door, lookin’ at her, and his face’d tell it all. There was no one right there, but he couldn’t be sure there was no one else around.

  He turned his attention back to the bed and Ret. Should he take another second to look? Should he move closer as he’d done hundreds o’ times to get a better look? Could he bend down enough to look up the dress, catch a glimpse of her underpants? Should he take the chance of movin’ closer, as he had back then…or take the sensible route and leave?

  Finally, the fear of bein’ found out won out. He backed away and started to pull the door closed when he felt a sharp tappin’ in the middle of his back. Startled he’d been caught, he turned to see the ten-year-old Ret, the one who’d been playin’ with the kitten on the front porch—the one who’d disappeared—standin’ by his side, kitten ‘n all, shakin’ her head like she was put out. He started to ask her where she’d gone, but before he could, she raised her brows and pressed her finger to her lips.

  Takin’ the bull by the horns, she tucked the kitten into her left armpit and pushed the bedroom door open. Then she took his left hand in her right and gently but purposefully pulled him into the room. The next thing he knew, he was standin’ at the foot o’ the bed. She moved to the side and looked from him to the Ret on the bed and back again. When it looked like Hub wasn’t gonna take the hint, she rolled her eyes. She reached over the bed, pinched the hem o’ the dress, pulled it up, and gently laid it on her other her’s belly.

  Hub sucked in a lungful. The Ret on the bed wore nothin’ under the dress and there was a dark, downy fuzz poorly concealing her pouty-lipped little slit and the soft curvature of the pubic mound. He wanted to look, but ten-year-old Ret’s presence made him extremely uncomfortable. Then, to his surprise, she scrunched up her shoulders and cupped her hand over her mouth like she was stiflin’ another giggle.

  She nodded toward the near naked Ret, and he felt her say, “It’s awright. Look at it. It ain’t gonna bite ‘n I ain’t gonna tell.” He was still reluctant, but the look on ten-year-old Ret’s face told him he was bein’ silly. This was the reason she’d brought him in, and if he wanted to get closer, go ahead. Live it up. When he didn’t, she put the kitten on the floor, leaned over the girl on the bed, and put her face just inches from her older self’s crotch. She turned to Hub and wiggled her eyebrows. Then she closed her eyes, lowered her face just enough that she brushed her lips lightly over the other’s furry down.

  Hub jerked when he saw the girl on the bed react to the touch. Her belly tightened, her pelvis kinda pushed out, her toes curled up, and her hands clenched. A second later, she seemed to relax. Then the younger one leaned in and breathed deeply, pullin’ in the scent. She rolled her face to Hub, wrinkled her nose and he heard, smells like pee pee.

  Engrossed, Hub unconsciously breathed along with her, watchin’ one Ret do to another that which he’d dreamed of so many times. She turned to him and ran her eyes over his face, then turned back, closed her eyes, and kissed her vaginal lips. Then, she stood up and chinned to the girl on the bed as if to say, Go ahead, it’s awright. When he didn’t, she took the two steps to him, pulled him down by the shoulder so she could whisper another thought, and in the middle of his brain he heard, She ain’t asleep.

  He looked at the girl on the bed. Her eyes were wide open, lookin’ at him, apprehensive. Her little fists were clenched tight, and he saw her pulse throbbing in her neck. She was smilin’ but he knew she was as nervous as he was. He could feel the tension. He felt her wonderin’ if she’d made a mistake. With her dress pulled up, she was not only exposed, she felt exposed. And she loved it. The essence of innocence and sex. He knew she wanted him to look at her as badly as he wanted to. She lifted her arms from over her head and down to the hem o’ the dress, brought her heels to her butt, lifted her butt off the bed, arched her back, and pulled the front o’ the dress up to her neck, also exposing her washboard ribcage and tiny nipples. There was just o’ hint of tittie. Not much more than a puffiness.

  Ten-year-old Ret was so shocked at her other self’s audacity that she almost laughed out loud. She rubbed her fingertips over her own chest as if imagining that someday, soon, they’d be hers, too. Then the girl on the bed straightened her legs, pointed her toes, put her arms back over her head, stretched, and her whole body quivered. When Hub finally looked back at her face, he understood she was as excited at watchin’ him watch her as he was in the watchin’. A visual, sexual feeding frenzy.

  Lookin’ deep in his eyes, she let him kn
ow how long she’d wanted this—how she’d peeked at him while he’d been peekin’ at her. How many times she’d gone to bed, taken off her underpants and tucked ’em under the mattress, pulled up her dress, pretending to be asleep, hoping he’d come in and touch her, kiss her, experiment with her. So she could experiment with him. But he never had. She let him know how disappointed she’d been that all he’d ever done…was look. But that was then…this was now, and if he wanted to….

  She sat up, pulled the dress over her head, and casually dropped it to the floor. Then she lay down and stretched, and he saw her flat little tummy jump with each heartbeat.

  Ten-year-old Ret wriggled and laughed silently, nervously, excitedly, her hand over her mouth, astonished that the girl on the bed actually had the nerve to go through with it, and finally telling her nasty secrets and taking all her clothes all the way off. She didn’t even have socks on!

  Keeping her eyes riveted on Hub’s, twelve-year-old Ret seductively ran her shaking fingertips over her tummy, slid her hands down the inside of her thighs, spread her legs apart and….

  And ten-year-old Ret took him by the hand and pulled him from the bedroom.

  NO! NO! NO! NO!

  Why, when his most impossible fantasy was about to come true, was she pullin’ him away? She hauled him through the door and he looked back, hungrily, over his shoulder. The bedroom door was closing of its own accord, but just before it did, he saw that the curtains that had been billowing so softly now hung in desiccated, rotted tatters, the floor and the bed were shrouded in dust, and the girl on the bed…was gone! The bed was empty. All made up. Not a wrinkle on the bedspread. No discarded dress on the floor. Just footprints. One set. Large. His. He looked at the girl pullin’ him through the front room. She wasn’t the ten-year-old with the kitten any longer, but the one who only seconds before, had been on the bed, naked…now fully clothed. She dragged him through the front room toward the screen door.

  She stopped him at the door, pulled him down, and, with her sweet voice again goin’ to the middle of his brain, told him she had a surprise for him. He was to close his eyes and not open ’em until she told him to. She was lookin’ up at him expectantly, smiling. Her face said she had a gift he was really gonna love and she couldn’t wait to show it to him. Before he’d be shorted another fantasy-come-true, though, he leaned down, closed his eyes and kissed her on the lips. When he opened his eyes, she was still there, still holdin’ his hand and smilin’ at him. He’d never kissed her before, but he’d fantasized about it over and over and over. It was better than he’d ever imagined. Her lips were soft and warm and moist, and bein’ that close to her, she smelled musky. Earthy. He kissed her again. He didn’t push into her, or pull her into him, but just helt it, his lips on hers.

  He started to kiss her again, but she put her fingers over his lips, shook her head, and nodded to the door. Her smile was so sweet, so enticing, so exciting, so…innocent, he was more than willing to cooperate. After all, ever step so far had been better than the one before. He closed his eyes like she’d asked. He heard the screen door squeak and felt the breeze on his face as she led him on to the porch. She led him to the steps and helped him sit. He felt her squat down behind him, pressing her chest to his shoulder blades and her tummy on his low back. She squeezed her knees at his sides, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and then, with the same internal voice, whispered that he could open his eyes.

  There’d always been a small creek about a hundred yards west o’ the house. It now burbbled not ten yards from the porch. It hadn’t been there when he first watched the six-year-old play in the dirt, but it was now. It reminded him again, this was a dream. And there was another Ret. In the creek. Not six, ten, or even twelve years old, but fifteen or sixteen. She stood in the cool, six-inch deep water, barefoot, with the hem of her dress bunched up to her knees as she playfully flicked water in Hub’s direction with her toes. Hub turned to look at twelve-year-old Ret, but she was gone. Again. He looked at the porch and saw only one set o’ prints in the dust. Boot prints. His.

  When he looked back at the Ret in the creek, she was steppin’ out o’ the water and walkin’ in his direction. That saucy, flirty little walk she used on the boys. She stopped just in front of him, ran her fingers through her black hair, displaying herself. She wanted him to look her over, like the little girl on the bed had, and he took advantage of it. The three or four year difference between the Ret on the bed and this one was miraculous. Taller, more and better physically developed, somewhat more adult, although still young. But the most captivating aspect was the nervous smile and the look in her eyes. They radiated the same sexual cravings the twelve-year-old had displayed. After a few seconds, she took a step for’ard, bent down, placed her hands on the inside of his knees, spread his legs, and stepped between ’em.

  She gripped a fistful o’ the dress and pulled it up, achingly slow.

  His eyes flitted from one leg to the other while the hem rose like the curtain in a picture show.

  Then...there it was. His breath caught in his throat. More feminine, more mysterious, more glorious than he’d ever imagined. In fact, what he was lookin’ at could only be imagined. Skin like felt, and as hairless as the day she was born. Dream or not, he had as much chance of pullin’ away as a drunk sittin’ at a bar with o’ glass a whiskey under his nose. She bunched the dress at her waist, lifted her long, silky right leg over his left, and placed her foot on the raised edge o’ the porch. The lips parted just enough to reveal the wrinkled edge of the prize tucked inside.

  It’s all right, he heard in his head. Her voice sounded kinda husky, but unmistakably inviting. Nothin t’worry about. There’s nobody else here but you...’n me. Do whatchu want.

  When Hub had sat on the Komes shack floor with Ret’s tortured body at his back, one of his strongest emotions had been regret. He’d ached for her for years. Fantasized about havin’ her, but George and Matthew’d stolen any opportunity of that ever hap’nin’. As he sat with his back to that dirty couch, he wished he’d gone after it. He woulda suffered through any consequence if he coulda slaked that thirst. Now, for whatever reason, he had that opportunity, and he wasn’t gonna make the same mistake a second time. He ran his hand up the back of her calf, closed his eyes in ecstasy, and kissed her thigh just above the knee. Then he pinched a tiny bit of her thigh between his front teeth and felt a shudder pass through her body. He kissed and licked, higher and higher. She pushed her pelvis to him, invitingly, and his tongue finally gave in to her soft, warm, wet lips. He was so immersed, he’d completely set aside the impossibility of its reality. Even if he had recognized it, he wouldn’ta had the will to give it up. He ran his tongue the length o’ the crease, and she moaned and dropped the dress over his head, and he felt her hands through the material, kneading and pressing the back of his head, guiding his hungry tongue to satisfy her own rising carnal longings.

  Both of his hands ran up the back of her legs to the tight little butt. He pulled her cheeks apart, kneading, drowning in ecstasy. She moaned in response and pulled his mouth in tighter. He heard her fun-filled giggle, while his tongue explored every fold and crease. All the years of fantasy had come true; he was lost in the sensation, the scent, the taste, the feel of her body. His tongue found the little button at the top o’ the crease, and it made her moan. He felt it pulse and grow, almost as if it was reachin’ out to be massaged and sucked, like a cat, stretchin’ its neck to be scratched.

  He felt her desire building, the urgency in her breathing, in the way she guided his mouth, tensing, tensing, tensing, quivering, until finally, she moaned, and when she cascaded over the edge he tasted the salty, pulsing, orgasmic secretions. She moaned with each pulse. Totally enveloped in the moment, he was ready to explode hisself, but then…slowly…he became aware of a change. She continued to move his face over her body, but now she helt his head pressed so tightly, he couldn’t breathe. It was as if the labia had grown, like cabbage leaf, and created a seal around his mo
uth, halfway over his cheeks. And it was cold. One second it’d been warm and alive. Now it was cold and sluggish. Cold as death. Then she was pressing his face so hard against the pubic bone he was actually concerned she’d break his nose. He was suffocating, it hurt, and the taste was wrong. The secretion became a flowing! Pee pee woulda been much better. What’d been sexually salty and exciting, now tasted…Decayed? Rotted? Dead? He opened his eyes and the tender, silky alabaster thighs had withered horribly. Sagged. Purple veins zigzagged under the surface o’ the skin on her bulbous belly, and the hairy, nasty crevasse between her legs oozed a putrid, bloody pus, squirming with maggots and wriggling grubs.

  It was Lootie Komes, and he was trapped under her smelly robes! He heard her gurgly cackle while she ground his face in the filthy, bloody, maggot-squirming morass. The harder he tried to pull away, stronger was the pull back. Like iron to a magnet, hauled into a hellish maw of wrinkled hide, yellow teeth, and black, bristly hair. Her vaginal lips waved seductively, back and forth, like pond moss, beckoning him back, and the putrid crevasse was filled with rounds of hellish, pointed teeth, churning like a meat grinder. He placed his hands on her bony hips and shoved with all his might, but the nasty thing’s pull was more than his push. Just when he thought his face would be chewed up, it just let go, and she jerked the filthy dress from over his head, laughing.

  “No, not yet, boy,” she cackled.

  Desperately sucking for air, Hub saw the hideously scarred face of his worst nightmare, the blind eye, the depthless black one.

  “Mayhaps not fer a long time. Not until I’ve had my fill o’ pesterin’ you. And yer family.”