Willard and His Bowling Trophies Read Online Free PDF Page A

father said. “Have another cookie.”
    He was a Libra.

Theft of the bowling trophies
    The disappointment of not seeing a bowling picture at the drive-in made the trip back home a very quiet one for the Logan brothers. They felt betrayed, especially because they knew that Paul Newman could make a hell-of-a-bowling movie if he wanted to.
    When they walked into the house the bowling trophies were gone. It was that simple. The cabinet was cleaned out. It was completely void of bowling trophies. The cabinet looked like the toothless gums of an old man.
    The Logan family stood in a half-circle around the cabinet not believing their eyes. They were silent miniature Mount Rushmores.
    “SOMEBODY STOLE OUR BOWLING TROPHIES!!!” finally broke the silence like a locomotive leaping its tracks and crashing into an ice-covered lake to sink instantly out of sight, leaving a giant steaming hole in its wake.

Bringing her back to this world
    Bob took the gag out of Constance’s mouth. He took it out very carefully, so as not to hurt her. She thought this was considerate.
    Her green eyes staring up at him.
    The gag was so wet from her spit that it was almost like some kind of phantasmagorical cement. He worked it gently out of all the crevices of her mouth. Her tongue had been made completely useless by the pressure of the gag and she couldn’t help him, so she just lay there, letting him do it all.
    The gag almost made a sound like a plop or a sigh as he pulled the last of it out of her mouth. It was all matted, pushed together, firm, pulpy, very wet, almost foul, and he put it down on the bed because he didn’t want to touch it any more.
    A little shiver passed down his spine as he let go of the gag. After the act of sex was over, the whole bondage thing and its equipment disgusted him. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it . . . until the next time.
    She slowly closed her mouth as if she were performing a pleasure like eating a chocolate. Then her tongue came slowly out. It was delicate, pink, and it slowly licked her lips awkwardly as if it had never been used before.
    She closed her eyes.
    He untied her hands and she awkwardly withdrew them from behind her back and rested them on her hips. Her wrists were red and white with rape impressions. She lay there without moving. Her eyes were still-closed. She licked her lips again.
    Then her eyes opened slowly to see him staring at her.
    “Come here, baby,” she said.

Thirst
    They lay cuddled around each other in bed, feeling very sad. They always felt sad after making love, but they felt sad most of the time, anyway, so it really didn’t make that much difference, except that they were now warm and touching each other without any clothes on and passion, in its own particular way, had just crossed their bodies like a flight of strange birds or one dark bird flying.
    They didn’t say anything for a long time.
    Constance, while she listened to the night-time traffic like the ticking of a clock, thought about Bob and how much she loved him and wondered how much longer she could take things as they were now and why couldn’t he get rid of the warts and why had two doctors failed in treating him.
    She knew that everything had to have an ending.
    Then she thought about a glass of water.
    Bob was of course thinking about the Greek Anthology .
    “ ‘Thou art exceedingly afraid ,’ ” he quoted in his mind.
    “I’m thirsty,” Constance said.

Locomotive bubble
    “OH, GOD! THE BOWLING TROPHIES ARE GONE!”

More on the Greek Anthology
    “Do you want to hear some more from the Greek Anthology ?” Bob asked Constance. He was holding the book in his hands. It was a 1928 Putnam edition, a part of The Loeb Classical Library, with gold lettering on a dark cover. He had all three volumes of the Greek Anthology , but he could never find more than one book at a time. They kept disappearing and reappearing like mysteries in the house.
    The pages of the book had been stained yellowish