It was another of those cool evenings ending up in the trashcan. We'd gone out again and drunk up half the Starlite Inn beer supply and then blasted Jimmy Key's Bronco out through Stanton woods to the pond. Like we'd never learned before. After a rain, the ground around the pond gets saturated and it becomes a huge deathly bog. And Jimmy Key's Bronco got stuck again, like a dozen times before.
Well we pushed and we pulled and Jimmy Key threw up occasionally as he was way too drunk to be doing much more than lying down and passing out. But we couldn't get the Bronco out of the mud. I've badgered Jimmy Key a thousand times or more to get a damn PTO winch for his Bronco. But he never thinks it'll get stuck, which of course it does with regularity.
So once again we're stuck at the pond at the edge of Stanton woods at two a.m., too drunk to walk back to town to get a tow truck. As if we could find one at two a.m. And looking at another night of fun go right into the dumpster.
Jimmy Key shrugged it off and decided to take a snooze in the back seat of his Bronco. That left me and Barry Ebbin and Kate Mulhooney and Ann-o J to jump around in the muck and watch Ann-o J, nearly as drunk as Jimmy Key, throw up a few times and figure out how to salvage the night.
Kate suggested skinny dipping in the pond, which I agreed to in principal only because I'll look for any old excuse to see Ann-o J butt naked. Barry, of course, promptly rejected that idea because he knew I liked to see Ann-o J naked and he fancied himself as her regular lay now and was justifiably worried that I'd get her on her knees again if I got half the chance.
I was sorely tempted to really make the evening interesting by telling Barry that Ann-o J blew off half the town on a weekly basis but figured that Kate would then get pissed at me for letting out this deep dark secret that everybody but Barry and Ann-o J's mother knows. Hell, Ann-o J didn't care if Barry or the whole world knew, just last Friday she did the new bartender at the Starlite Inn right in the bathroom, with Barry passed out two stalls down.
But the skinny dipping idea was definitely nixed. Barry idly suggested that we have some mud wrestling matches, me against him and then Kate against Ann-o J, and then winner wrestles winner, but then mumbled out of it when he realized the winners may be me and Ann-o J and we'd end up fondling each other in the mud.
That's when Kate rescued the evening from disaster. She remembered that Jimmy Key had a case in the back of the Bronco and lo and behold we open up the tailgate and there's a full case of Olde English 800. It was warm and chugging warm beers was likely to make us start puking, but even throwing up is preferable to standing around in the mud listening to Jimmy Key snore. So we broke open a few 800s and sat down in the mud by the edge of the pond for a long beer-enhanced conversation.
First we talked about sex, which is always a good subject because everyone's so opinionated and there's a good chance of an argument. Ann-o J said she most preferred it quick and dirty somewhere there's a chance of having a Baptist or old spinster catch you. Kate said she doesn't care where as long as she gets to be on top and control the action. I said I don't care where or when so long as I get to be on the bottom so I can relax and let my partner do all the work. Kate hit me, a fun punch really, and I slugged her back on the shoulder.
Barry compared our preferences and came to the obvious conclusion that that's why we're so compatible. And then he asked if we were ever unfaithful to each other, a question that he knew the answer to but he was looking to see us fight.
I didn't want to disappoint Barry so I said sure, whenever I get the chance, and I started counting off all the women I could think of, whether I'd actually screwed them or not. So Kate started doing the same with all the men in town and soon we were shouting out names and sexual position and one-upping each other to beat the band.
Finally Kate stood up and screamed "I screwed MY FATHER when I was fourteen in his bed while my mother was asleep on the other side" and I countered with "I did your father too, but your mother was awake and watching!" Barry and Ann-o J laughed and spit beer as Kate and I grabbed each other and threw ourselves into the mud shouting "Take it back! Did not! Did not!"
Well we tried our best to act serious, but the shouts had turned too stupid so we ended up laughing and rubbing mud on each other's sensitive spots. Barry didn't care too much for this display of affection so he said, in a nasty tone, that we should just rip off our clothes and do it right there.
I almost took him up on the suggestion.
Ann-o J did, and she stripped off her top in one fluid motion and demanded that we attend to her first. Barry dropped his beer, looking like he's about to start crying or something.
Kate sat up and asked Ann-o J if she'd ever had another woman. Ann-o J gave Barry a quick glance and I realized she was regretting doing anything to open up this line of questioning. But she was too drunk to stop.
''Sure,'' she said, ``I like a woman once in a while. Men are rougher and tougher and you get something when they come, but women know things that men don't.''
Barry jumped up and walked away in a real huff, throwing out some excuse about going to the Bronco to check up on Jimmy Key. I did the gentlemanly thing and tossed a beer at him so he'd have something to suck on while he worked off his anger.
Ann-o J continued, going into detailed comparisons of men and women. Not being able to actually experience woman-to-woman love, I listened eagerly. Kate leaned forward and seemed quite intent on the conversation, too. I'd never asked Kate if she'd had an affair with a woman because I don't much care one way or the other as long as she loves me best, but by her reaction I guessed she hadn't, but was interested.
Now Ann-o J was getting really graphic, and her hands slipped subconsciously up to her exposed nipples as she talked. I felt something slip, too, and looked down at my crotch to see one of Kate's hands gliding over the buttoned fly of my jeans. She fumbled with a button briefly, decided not to bother with it, and went back to a hand-to-fabric caress. This is where zippers count. What marketing buffoons decided buttons were sexier?
Gazing at Ann-o J's breasts and listening to her breathless descriptions and feeling Kate's hands through the heavy fabric were getting me quite interested in the subject of sex. Kate, too, was hotter than hot. Just as Ann-o J got into an explanation of one womanly technique, Kate leaned into me and whispered in my ear. "I wanna do something, now," she said.
I figured she was going to ask Ann-o J to act out a scene with her, and I wondered whether I was going to be included, allowed to watch, or asked to join Jimmy Key and Barry in the Bronco. I decided either I'd be part of the action or I'd take a powder - I never did think sex was much fun as a spectator sport.
So I told Kate she could do whatever she wanted, and asked what she wanted me to do. She grabbed my crotch hard and put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me down on her and fairly screamed that she wanted me to do it until the sun came up.
We got our clothes off pretty quickly, though Kate and I had some trouble with those damn jeans buttons. The thick oozy mud made it quite interesting, and I'll never underestimate the aphrodisiac powers of an all-over mudpack again.
I'm not going to claim I have any unusual lasting power in the sack - especially when I'm tired and have had a few beers - but it felt like we went on for hours. There are times when I love Kate so hard I think I'm going to put my head through a plate glass window if I can't be with her, and this was one of those times. She was so sweet and strong and violent and tender that I swore to myself I'd never covet Ann-o J's tits or mouth again.
Well ... I did sneak a few sideways glances at Ann-o J as Kate and I were going at it. She was standing above us, carefully caressing herself. From the looks of it, she enjoyed the action as much as Kate and I did. For Ann-o J, any sex was good - her and Barry, her and some other guy, her and anything or just watching.
Sometimes I get to thinking about that and I envy it. I've had sex and I've made love and I've just plain fucked, but it's best for me when I'm making love to someone like Kate. But Ann-o J enjoys the experience with equal gusto no matter who the partner or what the circumstance. Deep down, I think there's some leftover religious guilt in most of us that only lets us really enjoy sex when we're with someone we're supposed to be with, but Ann-o J doesn't carry that baggage and can take the experiences for what they are.
But Barry - poor Barry - has it worst. For him, worry always comes with sex. Will he perform well enough? Will she think he's good enough? Will he ever do her so good that she won't want others? Oh, Barry may pretend that he doesn't know about Ann-o J's habits, but he knows. He must. I can see the worry on him every time they prepare for sex. All his worrying and wondering, though, will never make a difference. Barry could be the greatest sex machine ever but Ann-o J would continue as she always had. Men. Women. And other things.
Then again, maybe Jimmy Key has it worst. Or best. I haven't figured that one out yet. He doesn't worry, and he doesn't think about it, and he doesn't question the rights and wrongs. He just stays too drunk to screw. Jimmy Key's sex is a case of beer and a fifth of JD black, and a cozy chair or warm car to pass out in.
Kate looked down at me and dribbled a handful of mud onto my forehead. "Hey," she said, "are you falling asleep on me or what?" I looked up at her in the shadows of the predawn. Her hair was flat and crazy with mud. I couldn't make out her nipples or the birthmark on her shoulder. She was a shadow, grinding away and, I thought, smiling in pleasure and exhaustion.
''I've just never had it so good,'' I answered. And she took another handful of mud and wiped it on my chest and said that she knew what I meant. Ann-o J was still above us, eyes half closed. Now I didn't see her. I didn't want her. I just wanted to go on and on, while Jimmy Key stayed drunk, and Barry worked off his anger alone, and I lay in the cool mud forever, Kate above me and the lights from the town just beyond my reach.
Roger Kyle-Keith writes advertising copy for a living - the blurbs that turn minds to mush. He was thrown out of a couple of colleges and generally wasted the time and patience of many fine professors. He used to be a jockey (too klutzy), a punk, a Coast Guard drug buster, and sold stuffed birds at Renaissance festivals.
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