make me over; make me out

bemezine


Nighttime’s the right time. You know what I mean. When the fairies come out. And the wolves and vampires and disco dan-cers. Nighttime’s the right time to be on the prowl. To get shit looks on the bus and to give them back, to undress someone with your eyes.

Fitz asked me so did Jules really have a big dick and I said yes she really had a big dick.

And did her titties look real?

Yes they looked real, except in the hot tub, then they were too shiny and round.

Did you always pretend to be a boy or did you get to be a girl too?

Get to be? What the fuck you make it sound like I was her slave or something.

Well, weren’t you, in a sense? I mean, I know that’s how you liked it in the past.

Oh, I liked it all right. I liked it in Amsterdam, doing a couple of hits and going out to the garage, shaking uncontrollably as I took off my clothes and lied down across the hood of the old Saab that was just beginning to rust, my tits spilling out from the loosened ace bandage wrap, a winter draft blowing between my legs, nipping at the warm dampness that only got worse as I waited, biting the inside of my mouth and listening intently for footsteps or the jingle jangle of keys, becoming distracted by the hum of the Amstel river only a few feet away, certain that the scurrying in the wall was a rat, certain that the gleaming, hollow car could secretly feel my body and was somehow mocking it.

Finally she came, throwing open the door and belching loudly.

“Hmmm, ahhh. I can smell you from here.”

“Ok,” I said, wondering if she meant my pussy or my feet, both of which I’d scrubbed with peppermint soap.

“Shut up!” she hissed. I closed my eyes as I heard her lock the door and walk slowly down the steep Dutch stairs in her stilettos.

Beneath the click-clank of heel striking wood, there was another, more subtle sound that could be made out: the soft rustle of the heel of her hand rubbing her crotch through her silk slip.

Oh, I liked it all right. I like waiting for her to tell me off, I liked waiting to be punished and put in my place, chosen as an extra and left on the sidelines, alone in the bar, holding a glass of melted ice while I watched her run her hands through some boy’s soft, floppy hair. It was a sick and twisted happiness, but I felt it nonetheless and it was all mine.

(Nighttime’s the right time…)