Fake House Read Online Free PDF Page B

about her appearance has got to be bad news, I had thought. She had almost no lips and her teeth were extremely large.
    “You think they’re sexually active?” I had asked my husband.
    “How would I know?”
    “But what do you think?”
    “If you’re so curious, why don’t you ask him?”
    “I can’t ask him, I’m his mother. You ask him.”
    “They’re probably doing it right now, Trish, as we’re talking! He’s twenty-four, for God’s sake!”
5. The Sun Deck
    We had a sun deck at the back of our house. It was about twelve feet off the ground. It overhung, on two sides, a cement-paved patio, and on one side, a flowerbed: gloxinia, morning glories, and black-eyed Susans Mom had planted.
    One of my earliest memories was of me and Dad standing on the sun deck pissing on the flowerbed.
6. Puberty
    When I was thirteen, straight strands of hair jutted out from the hypogastric region above my uncircumcised penis. I took out a scissors and cut them off. They reappeared. This time I not only cut them off with a scissors but shaved my entire pubic region. Again they reappeared.
    But then I thought,
Hmm, maybe these strands will grow so thick they’ll hide my penis!
I waited a month for this to happen.
    A big letdown: The hairs grew but were so sparse they hid nothing.
    But then I had a brilliant idea.
    I had had in my possession a Thomas Eakins black-and-white photograph of a female nude in which the crotch area was shadowy, almost black. Whenever I looked at this fudgy, smudgy area of the photograph, I would get an erection. On the other hand,more explicit photographs, those in colors and featuring exposed genitals, had always repulsed me.
    I stood naked ten feet away from a full-length mirror. The curtains were drawn and the lights had been turned off. I had rubbed black shoe polish on my penis and testicles and all around my pubic area. In the mirror there was nothing but shadow between my legs.
    But then something unexpected happened. My rising black erection rose above this shadow area.
    You may not believe this, but I NEVER masturbated as a teenager. I did not know what masturbation was. I did not know that you’re supposed to stroke up and down.
7. T-shirt Games
    Game #1: Retract both arms from armholes of T-shirt. Keep elbows close to sides. Place fists in front of chest.
Voilà!
Now you have a beautiful pair of breasts.
    Game #2: Imagine that many people are watching you as you are peeling T-shirt over head, and that,
voilà!
you have a beautiful pair of breasts.
    Final Scores of Doubleheader:
        Arms 0, Breasts 2
        Head 0, Breasts 2
8. Underwear Game
    Pull underwear down. Place hands on buttocks. Voilà! Now you have a beautiful pair of breasts.
9. Being Wooed by Val
    I was recovering from a bad breakup when the letters arrived. (My live-in boyfriend of two years had suddenly decided, after coming back from a five-day vacation in London, which he took by himself, that he must move to England. “I can’t take this fascist country anymore,” he declared, and left.)
    The letters were pathetic and earnest. I had no idea who was sending them. I was amused, disgusted, and flattered. They were sent to the Roxy movie theater, where I was working as a ticket girl. The first one:
    To love is to forgive each other. Shouldn’t we forgive each other?
    Then:
    The smallest defect is what endears beloved to lover. I’ve seen your ring finger. It saddens, yet haunts me.
    Then:
    To be the most articulate stutterer in the world is my salutary aim. Eloquence, that transvestite, cannot be compared to the wobbliness I’m after, the wobbliness of a heart disembodied—propelled by lust and checked by reason. I have a convoluted mind; I have a saturated mind. I have a mind that turns back on itself and eats itself, like a twelve-headed snake alternately kissing and swallowing, only to have to defecate itself onto the table every day while everyone is watching. Shouldn’t one be allowed an occasional stump after