“I really enjoy you white trash girls,” he said, before rubbing his face all over my chest.
He looked like clip art of the old, bald town drunkard, shoulders hunched forward and a daft smile on his half open mouth. He had a slight under-bite and his tucked in button-down shirt was ill-fitting in that old-man way, when they reach the point where their chests retreat into their body, but their torsos stay wide.
Oh, and his voice. His fucking voice. His words sounded damp and there was the exact imperfect combination of slightly effeminate pitch and a twinge of nasal that would either make him a shoe-in to do voice over acting in the role of a bullied child or a dude who’d just captured 5 young girls and was going to feed them to each other while he masturbated inside a bird cage.
He was on my couch telling me more about himself. Parents dead. Wealthy. Loves horses. Look at these pictures with horses. Generous. Likes to have fun. Do I like to have fun? He wasn’t asking about me, and I didn’t intend to share any of that with him, anyway. The only things I gave were that I like to drink a lot and I have a personal trainer.
In between his stories about upstate New York, he’d pull my head toward his, nuzzle his face into my neck, and make happy humming sounds.
He wanted to help me pay for my personal training. He wanted to buy me new clothes. He wanted me to promise to be available for him whenever he needed me. I told him I work. He said he’d work around that. He giggled and stared at me and said, “I really enjoy you white trash girls,” before rubbing his face all over my chest.
I don’t remember the kid’s name. He was older than I was, and somehow he was related to my uncle. In my memory he’s more of a collection of shapes slapped together than a person. I can close my eyes and see the shape of his mullet, no face but the shape of a head. The only part of him that I can clearly envision is the hangnail on his left thumb, red and raw, not bleeding, but seeping.
Hawbuck, Illinois is technically a part of Danville, but we were out in the sticks with nothing nearby for at least an hour’s drive. Going to town was a bi-weekly big hairy deal, and my aunt would load us kids in the bed of the pickup truck so we could help hold down the supplies on the way home. There was lovely creek to play in, but you needed to be mindful of the water moccasins.
Our trailer was a double-wide with two trailers off to one side and one trailer off to another. My uncle’s older brother and the brother’s teenage bride lived in a trailer on the end. His parents would come visit for a few months come summer and they stayed in a trailer, but mostly slept outside due to the flea infestation. In a toss-up between the skeeters and the fleas, turns out skeeters are easier to deal with.
My uncle’s grandparents had lived in the last trailer, but they died in there. After their bodies were taken away, we had to clean it out. There were a lot of dead cats in various states of decomposition throughout the trash-filled rooms. At first I thought it was going to be a bit of a treasure hunt, but after a few hours in the summer heat, wearing rubber gloves, boots, and bandanas over our faces, we realized it was time to get some shovels and trash bags and bleach.
After about 15 minutes of sitting on my couch, he suggested that we make our way to the bedroom. I had told him before he arrived that day that I was on my period. I had lied, hoping he would decide not to come over. I reminded him that I was bleeding, hoping he wasn’t the sort to tell me to grab a towel. In my experience, older men are far more squeamish about period sex than younger men.
He said he wanted to make out with me a bit. Kissing. Hugging. Just being close. He said he wouldn’t stay long and that he wanted me to have time to go get a drink or go to the gym. His sparse fluff of hair was sticking up and I wanted to rub a balloon on it.
In the bedroom he asked me if I had any lube. I said I had oil and for the first time he looked grumpy. He said he needed to go to his car. I thought maybe he’d decided he wasn’t interested anymore. Maybe he’d just leave. Maybe I could go get that drink.
My uncle was good at finding big, odd things at the dump. He’d found a slide from a playground, some giant grain bins that we rolled around in the yard in like hamster wheels, and enough railroad ties to build a doghouse for Jitter, who’d stopped sleeping inside when she was big and round with her puppies. One year he even found an above-ground pool. The liner was all beat to shit, so he used some industrial garbage bags and set it all up just in time for summer.
I loved taking a blanket outside and putting baby oil all over my white freckled body, laying next to the pool with big plans on getting a suntan, ignoring the big facts presented in my eight years of life that I was only ever meant to burn and peel. I’d lay in the sun and listen to my cousins ducking horseflies and inventing water games to play. When nobody else was in the pool, I’d go in and push all the air from my lungs and lay at the bottom, looking at the sun through the water as long as I could stand it before swimming back for air.
I was alone in the pool when that kid came out to join me. I don’t know why he was staying with us, but he’d been around for a few weeks, mostly helping my uncle work on some cars. I thought my cousin Jessie had a thing for him because they’d sit out at the picnic table at night and he would write things on her back with his hands. Jessie was twelve, fat, tough, and mean. I was happy that she had a distraction from coming up with ways to get at me.
When he came back to my door, bottle of astroglide in hand, he seemed less agitated then he’d been when he left. He wanted to go back to my room. We laid on the bed. He asked if I had protection, and I reminded him again that I couldn’t have sex with him. He told me that was fine, he just wanted me to use my hand and he wanted to wear a condom while I did it.
His penis managed to be both surprising and exactly what you’d expect compared to all the rest of him. The base was about the width of my thumb, it was drastically hooked upwards, and the head was as round as a superball. He came quickly and loudly, then pulled me close to him and started humming again. It was the sort of humming sound one makes when they’re trying to express to the chef that the meal is next level satisfying. I didn’t feel flattered.
After he got in the pool, the kid started splashing water in my face. Not one to be up for stupid horseplay, I made my way toward the step ladder we’d set up on the side. He called me back to him, apologizing, asking me to please stay and swim with him. I was uneasy. He pulled me toward him and sat me on his lap underwater. I wondered if he was going to write things on my back. I wondered if I would be better than Jessie at guessing the letters.
Instead of going toward my back, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and used the other hand to pull the bottom of my bathing suit to the side. I knew this game well. My uncle had been playing this with me for a few months already. Other men — relatives, strangers, babysitters, my mother’s boyfriends had played this with me. Still, I struggled and when I wouldn’t quit with all my squirming, the kid pushed my head under water and held it there.
“Mmmmmmm, mmmm, mmmmm, hmmmmm, I do really like you white trash girls.”
“Yeah, you said.”
“Well, let me give you your allowance and get out of here so you can go to that bar you like.”
He put $250 on my dresser next to the little clay heart my son had made for me years earlier. His pants were on the floor, and he was still wearing his socks. He was talking about horses again. Something about horses and volunteer work. I was examining my surroundings, trying to see what others might summarize as white trash. I was still fully dressed in a black wool sweater and black jeans.
The kid let my head back above the water and I stayed very still. His fingers were rougher than I was used to. The pool water wasn’t helping matters. He pulled his dick out the front of his shorts and rubbed it against me, eventually tensing, grunting, and breathing hard before letting go of my shoulders and pushing me away from him.
I did my trick of laying at the bottom of the pool until I saw him leave. I spent some time wondering why this sort of thing kept happening. I wondered if it happened to everyone else, too. I got angry thinking of my uncle doing those things to Jessie. I couldn’t feel angry about it happening to me. I couldn’t feel anything but tired.
Back at the bar, the usual gang of regulars were acting in all of their usual regular ways. Bobby had turned the corner and was getting combative with people. Amy was complaining about her ex, who’d showed up the night before and kicked her in the stomach. Kenneth was telling jokes and greeting people loudly as they arrived. Lisa and Doug were arguing. I was playing the jukebox and drinking my Jameson and Newcastle.
Then he came in. He approached me and introduced himself, pretending he hadn’t just been in my bed. I played along, asking if he’s new around here, telling him I hadn’t seen him here before. My insides were winding up, guts about to introduce themselves to my shoes. He’d followed me.
He sat alone at a table in the back of the bar in the dark corner, drinking water and looking at his computer. I played calm, tried to engage in banter with the others. I couldn’t feel anything but tired.
When he texted me the next day, I replied with another lie. I told him I felt bad about what happened because I had a boyfriend. And another lie. I told him I really enjoyed his company, but I just couldn’t bring myself to continue cheating. He said he understood. I’m glad one of us understood something.
