Criminal Zoo
Page 8
I followed his finger and saw the creature; he sat there like he didn’t have a concern in the world. From maybe fifty feet away, Terry calmly and smoothly pumped air into his rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. One second the gopher was standing tall, king of his world, and the next he was on his side, kicking and clawing at the dirt.
“Slit his throat,” Terry said, grinning. “Let’s watch his blood squirt out.”
That’s what intrigued me so much about Terry. He was this skinny little redheaded kid, didn’t look even the least bit threatening, but he had the heart of a hitman.
I kneeled down to the creature and grabbed the fur behind its head.
“I hope it bites you,” Terry said. “Give me something to laugh about.”
“How about you laugh about me stabbing you in the stomach?”
He would’ve probably laughed had I done it, too.
I pulled the animal’s head back, its eyes bulged and its lips pulled away from some teeth that could definitely cause harm. I put the blade against its throat.
“Do it!” Terry shouted.
I put pressure on the blade and slid it along the softness of the gopher’s throat. A thought struck me as the metal sliced through fur. Wouldn’t it be cool if I were actually opening my dad’s throat? Blood sprayed onto my hands. The creature kicked violently for several seconds, then went limp. I held it in the air, gazing at its now lifeless body.
“Holy crap, Samuel, that was awesome!”
“Oh man, did you see the blood shoot out of its neck?” I looked at my hand, now bright red. I turned back to the gopher, felt in my gut the power that came with ending its life, and then the moment passed. I dropped it into its hole. “Go on home to mommy, little gopher. I’m sure she’s got supper ready.”
“Oh, man, you are cold-blooded, Sam. I love it!”
I looked at the blood on the knife. I started to wipe it on my pants. I almost did it, too. But at the last second a vision hit me: my dad squeezing me by the back of my neck. In my vision, he held me in one hand and in the other he held my jeans with gopher blood on them. “Boy, you think jeans grow on trees?” he would ask.
“No, sir,” I would answer.
“Then why ruin a perfectly good pair of pants?” He wouldn’t wait for an answer. Instead, shaking his head, he would crack me hard across the face. And then he’d say, “Samuel, why do you make me do things like that?”
I looked at the blood on the knife and again pictured it being my dad’s. Maybe someday, Dad. I squatted and wiped the blade in the dirt. When you least expect it.
Playing with a Little Risk
When Terry and I weren’t curbing the gopher population, we were playing basketball in his driveway. The chances of either of us becoming NBA legends with our pictures on trading cards—or even benchwarmers without cards—were not very good. By the sixth grade, Terry and I were barely five feet tall. And, as if our lack of height wasn’t bad enough, Terry also had asthma. I didn’t know much about asthma, other than what he told me about his attacks. “It’s like you need air real bad, but you’re trying to breathe through a clogged straw.”
I asked my dad about it one time. He said Terry was just being a little girl—that it was all in his head, and a sign of mental weakness.
Despite being vertically challenged and mentally weak, Terry played ball okay. We played one-on-one, lightning, and horse all summer long. We made sure Terry’s mom kept a supply of popsicles in the freezer. I would’ve asked my dad to contribute to the cause, but I didn’t feel like being told that popsicles don’t grow on trees.
Terry’s inhaler was always in his pocket, ready for a quick blast if necessary. He let me try it once. It tasted like medicine-flavored shit.
We always seemed to come up with ways to make our games interesting. Initially, it was as innocent as the loser having to go inside and grab the next round of popsicles. After a while, though, we needed higher stakes, more risk. That ultimately led to Terry running to the far end of the block, touching the fire hydrant on the street corner, and running all the way back, wearing only white Fruit of the Loom underwear and black Chuck Taylors. He had his inhaler in hand, trying to pump while he ran. It was pretty damn funny, until the two older boys who lived in the corner house came tearing out of the front door, yelling, “We’re going to kick your ass, faggot!”
Terry screamed like he was being chased by rabid dogs. Suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore; it was downright hilarious. Until I realized he was leading the boys back to me. We ran into Terry’s house, locked the door, and decided TV would be a better idea.
The games grew way more competitive, way more intense, whenever the girl from across the street walked by. Angie was a year older than us, making her all of thirteen. She was really pretty and already had boobs. She had long brown hair, eyes that matched, and her butt filled her jean cutoffs perfectly. When she was around, it was showtime.
One day she didn’t just walk by; she stopped and asked if she could play. After Terry and I got over our shock, we said, “Sure!”
We played the first game for fun. Afterward, we explained how we usually played. She agreed that playing with a little risk would make things more exciting. So the second game started with the loser getting the popsicles. But Angie said that was boring. It didn’t take long for things to get a whole lot more interesting. We played a game where, if Angie was the first person out, she had to lift up her shirt. If one of us went out first, the loser had to pull down his shorts.
I could’ve kicked Terry in the balls after that game. We moved to the side of the house, where he stood red-faced, displaying his underwear, because he couldn’t make his stupid E shot. Like I really wanted to see him standing there with his shorts around his ankles. I hoped he was embarrassed by the yellow stain in the front of his skivvies.
We played again and things went way better; Angie lost. That same tingling I used to get in the pit of my stomach, staring at the vending machine pictures in the gas station bathroom, hit me when I pictured what was going to happen next.
“I lost,” Angie said. “Better pay up.”
“Yeah, time to pay up,” I said, my heart beating rapidly and my voice squeaking.
“Not here,” she replied. “Somewhere so nobody can see.”
We went into Terry’s backyard. I was almost dizzy with excitement. A tree house sat in the middle of a large cottonwood occupying the far corner of the yard. The tree house had a sturdy floor—trapdoor entry, four walls, a pitched roof, and a window overlooking the yard. Terry had decorated its interior with a poster displaying three bikini-clad women, all bent over a red Corvette. The tree house’s only furniture consisted of two fold-up lawn chairs.
Inside the tree house, Angie held up her shirt and I stared at her bra. I had seen one before, but it was my sister’s and it was a training bra crumpled up in the laundry basket. Sure, I touched Sheila’s bra, even sniffed it—just wondered if boobs smelled—but it didn’t do much for me. I had never seen one in use, though. Angie’s bra, and the stretch of the fabric, fascinated me. But not nearly as much as what lay beneath.
“You want me to take it off?”
My knees weakened and warmth rushed to my groin; I hoped my trembling didn’t show. I looked at Terry. He stared at Angie with wide eyes.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, trying to conceal my excitement.
“Yeah, I’ll bet!” She laughed. “Sorry, gotta earn it!” She pulled down her shirt, lifted the trap door, and was the first out of the tree house. “Come on, let’s play again.”
Never before had I concentrated so hard on making every single shot. In the end, we found ourselves back in the tree house staring at Angie, this time with her bare chest exposed. My heart raced. Terry had his inhaler so far into his mouth I thought he was going to choke on it. Angie’s magnificently curved breasts, the dark rings around her nipples, the way they poppe
d out, it was almost overwhelming.
“Can I…uh, can I…touch them?” I wanted to feel her breasts more than I wanted to take my next breath.
“Maybe later. I got to get home now.”
The words landed on me like a cement wall. I had never been so close to actually touching a girl—a real girl. And not just touching her, but touching her in a forbidden place. Sure, I’d touched Sheila a couple of times, but she had been asleep. And she was my sister, so of course it didn’t count.
Both Terry and I insisted that Angie play again tomorrow. She finally agreed and then left us to our imaginations.
Tree House Adventures
After a night of anticipation that could be compared only to the night before Christmas, the three of us resumed play. Out of nerves, Terry and I missed a lot of shots during the game. Yet somehow Angie went out first.
Once again in the tree house, she lifted her shirt, but didn’t stop there. She pulled it all the way off. She smiled, unfastened her bra, and dropped it to the floor. I stared. Terry took a big hit off his inhaler and muttered, “Holy cow.”
My eyes were locked onto Angie’s exposed chest, and God Himself wouldn’t have been able to turn me away.
“Wanna touch them?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I guess so.” Act like it’s no big deal.
“Go ahead,” she said.
I reached for her tits, my heart racing and my hands shaking. Terry did the same. She giggled as three twelve-year-old hands explored her flesh. A fourth hand tightly grasped an inhaler. Her skin was warm, incredibly soft, wonderfully smooth, unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I pushed against her boob and squeezed it like a water balloon.
“Don’t grab so hard,” she said.
My penis throbbed painfully inside my shorts. I needed to reposition things. I reached down with one hand—trying to divert attention from my movement by clearing my throat—and nudged myself a little to the left.
“What are you doing?” Angie asked.
My cheeks became really hot, like they were on fire. “Uh, I uh…”
She looked down at my crotch. “Something wrong?”
“No, it’s just that, uh…”
She looked up. “Your turn, guys. Show me yours.”
“R-really?” Was this actually happening? Did the summer day just grow impossibly hotter?
“Yeah, really.”
I paused a moment. She might be joking. She stared at me, not laughing.
“Okay, I, uh—yeah, I guess, if you really want us to.” I steadied my hands, reached for my shorts, and fumbled with the button. After what seemed like hours, I finally got the button undone and the zipper down. And then I froze. I could go no further.
“Don’t stop, Sam.” She turned to Terry. “Come on, Terry, you too. Don’t be a scaredy cat.”
Terry turned the same color of red I must have been. “We shouldn’t be—”
“You guys are being chickens!” she cut him off.
“No, it’s just that my mom might come out.”
“Whatever. Quit being a baby!” She reached down and unsnapped his button.
The walls of the tree house briefly wavered like we had just passed into a parallel dimension, one where really cool stuff happened. I was sweating, and it wasn’t just because of the heat. Angie must have decided we were moving too slowly; she stepped toward me and yanked down my shorts. If I had been lying on my back, my underwear would’ve looked like a miniature tent, the tent pole straight as a ruler. I was horrified.
“Ha! Look at you! That’s funny!” She laughed.
My face burned. Why was she laughing at me? And then she moved to Terry, doing the same thing to him. His anatomy mirrored mine and his expression confirmed that he shared my terror.
“Let me see your dicks.”
I stared at her, my whole body shaking. The sound of Terry’s inhaler going off hit me from the right. Was that three shots in less than a second? And then, as if someone else controlled my body, my hands slid my underwear to the floor. My penis popped to attention like a little sailor saluting Angie. Terry’s did the same.
“Wow!” She grabbed us by our dicks and tugged. That single squeeze felt better than anything I had ever experienced in my life.
She released her grip, unbuttoned her shorts, and pulled them off without hesitation. I stared at her shiny pink panties, wondering if a kid my age ever died of a heart attack. She looped her thumbs underneath her panties and slid them down about an inch. “Want me to take my panties off?”
I couldn’t even speak. Apparently, neither could Terry.
“Or did you wanna play another game of basketball?” She tilted her head, waiting for our response.
“I…I want to see,” I answered.
She smiled and then slid her panties down her legs.
“Suck me sideways,” I uttered in disbelief. Before yesterday, I hadn’t even seen boobs. Today, I was staring at a completely naked girl. She kicked off her underwear and stepped to one of the lawn chairs. I decided right then and there that the naked female body in motion was the most glorious sight I would ever behold. She sat on the front edge of the chair and leaned back. She spread her legs. My knees buckled and I barely caught myself before hitting the floor.
“Hey, Sam, you okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” I stammered. “The heat just got to me, that’s all.” I stared at the small mound of dark hair between her legs. My mouth went dry. I couldn’t even swallow. My heart pounded hard and fast against my chest. I turned to Terry; his eyes were wide and his mouth was wrapped around his inhaler. He double pumped, and then hit it two more times for good measure.
“Come here.” Angie beckoned me with a finger.
Terry looked like a scared little boy. “If my mom catches us, she’ll—”
“Shut up about your mom! She won’t catch us!” Angie snapped. “Get over here, Sam.”
I stepped forward on rubbery legs, ready to buckle again. I was hot, dizzy, and fighting to maintain consciousness.
She leaned toward me, grabbed my penis, and guided me to where her legs met. “Put it in.”
I put a hand on each armrest, bracing myself so I wouldn’t crash to the floor, and placed my penis against her. She grabbed me around my hips and pulled. I pushed forward and entered her. Though her warmth covered only a few inches of my flesh, it sent an indescribable blast of heat throughout my entire body. I felt as if maybe I was about to melt, like everything I was made of flooded into my penis. Something was happening and it scared me and excited me all at once.
“Oh my gosh, Angie! Oh my gosh!”
She shoved me backward; I stumbled and landed on my butt. I watched in horror as milky white stuff spurted out of my penis, spraying along the inside of my leg. Every square inch of my body exploded in pleasure.
“Holy shit!” Terry shouted. “What’s happening?”
I had learned earlier that year what a condom was. You wear it during sex, I had overheard a boy telling his buddy on the school playground. I figured it had something to do with not getting your penis dirty. Today I learned its purpose.
Angie started laughing. “Relax, dummies, it’s just cum.”
I stared at her, my mouth hanging open.
“It happens whenever you have sex. It makes babies. My mom already had the talk with me. But if it happens in me, then I’m the one having the baby. And that ain’t happening!”
“That felt awesome!” I exclaimed, after recovering from my shock.
“That’s why people have sex, stupid,” Angie said.
Terry stared at her, right between her legs. “Can I…”
“What about Mommy?”
Terry shook his head. “She’s probably watching TV.”
“Come here, scaredy cat. But if you feel something happening, you gotta tell me.”
Whatever innocence Terry and I had before that day was forever washed away by the wetness between Angie’s legs. We had climbed into the tree house as excited children, wanting to see something we’d never seen before. When our feet touched the grass again, we had left childhood behind. We had become men. But our tree house adventures left our souls contaminated. Tainted by lust.
Once on the ground, Angie said, “If I were you guys, I wouldn’t tell anyone about today. Grownups think it’s okay for them to do this stuff, but not us. And they get really mad. Believe me, I know.” She flashed a smile that said it all.
She had just given us a taste of something we would seek for the rest of our lives. And then she walked away.
On my way home, I thought about a sermon our preacher gave one week: “God gave His life for our spiritual purity. The wicked act of fornication throws God’s most sacred gift back into His face. The eternal tortures of Hell await the soul of a fornicator upon his death.”
Sometimes a soul doesn’t have to die to end up in Hell.
The Button
Push the button! In the absolute silence, the voice had grown stronger. Nothing to drown it out. Push the fucking button and get out!
I sat on the floor, my back toward the wall, rocking forward, backward, banging my head against the soft border of white oblivion. I was blinded in the whiteout, the only color being the red button that blazed like the sun. It called to me as the light calls to the moth. Sunk its hooks into my soul, pulling, pulling, dragging me into its brightness. Come to me.
“But they will torture me in the Zoo.”
They are torturing you now!
The voice was right. I couldn’t bear this torture anymore. I hadn’t seen anyone or heard another voice in what seemed like years. Could’ve only been days, for all I knew, but it seemed like a decade. I needed to hear something. More importantly, I needed to feel something. Anything. Even pain would be better than this. You can’t be in pain if you don’t exist.