Luck in the Greater West by Damian McDonald Read Free Book Online

chipped glass.
    â€”Happy? Ya know, ta be out?
    â€”Yeah.
    â€”So, what was it like?
    â€”Okay. I mean ya learn ta handle. Ya havta.
    â€”Listen. I um found out that that Eddie guy, the guy I brought ’round, he was a pig. I swear, Whitey, I didn’t know. I swear. Looking back, I mean, his fucking haircut, but please believe me.
    â€”I believe you. I knew he was a pig but didn’t twig until too late too. Way too fucking late!
    â€”Can you forgive me?
    â€”Hmm? I dunno, Caxaro.
    Nat looked down at her shoes.
    â€”Hey, I’m kiddin’. Fuckit. I said I believe you. Forget it. Of course I forgive you.
    Whitey had thought about it a lot inside. The Eddie fucker had fooled him. And it just didn’t seem like the type of thing Nat would do to him. He just couldn’t see her going to those lengths to fuck him up. Whitey slid his hand up Nat’s back, and rubbed her shoulders.
    â€”Hey, Whitey, you know I thought about you, and — she put her head between her knees — and I touched myself, a few times.
    â€”I did too, about you, but more than a few times, he said, and drank off the scotch; he was smooth now.
    He hugged her. And they kissed, twisting their backs on the step. They went inside. In Helen’s room, amongst the curled and knotted-blonde nylon and flesh-coloured vinyl dolls, they lay on the single bed Helen didn’t use — she and her baby brother both slept with their parents. Whitey and Nat bit and licked each other’s teeth and pulled at each other’s shirts. Nat was chubby, had gotten chubbier maybe, he thought. She was Maltese and her skin was all one perfect colour, except on the small of her back, where Whitey’d come every time they’d had sex. She’d cut and streaked her hair while he was away — probably several times. Her eyes were so brown they were almost black and he could easily see the whites in the darkness. He could like her. She was a chocolate girl.
    He scratched at her bra and she unhooked it. He rolled off her panties. Her vagina gave off a heat he’d almost forgotten and he dripped to be inside it. She was unshaven and looked like Vegemite toast, cut diagonally. He sucked in her labia and swallowed, but she pulled his head up.
    â€”Fuck me, she said to his cheek. He entered her and could feel the spasm arcing through his groin. He withdrew and she grabbedhim and bent him back inside. He thrust hard, slamming her along the Wiggles sheets, the violence stifling his come. The speed he’d taken pushed and aggressed until the semen burst into her, his orgasm coming only when he was empty and kissing her.
    They lay and leaked.
    â€”You’ve never done that before. Come inside me, she said, her mouth struggling with saliva.
    â€”Sorry.
    â€”I prefer it. It’s more like making love, you know, she said, a bit too close to his ear.
    He turned his head to face her.
    â€”So did you, um, get any sex inside?
    â€”I told you, I just jerked off thinking of you a hell of a lot, he said, and touched her stomach.
    She flinched, for ticklishness and a loathing of having that part of her touched.
    But he had had sex in prison. Or, at least, he had shared his male need. Pulling at an uncircumcised cock, wanting the thick spit of semen as much as its owner. And had had his own blunt cock brought to an orgasm like that of early pubescence. It was a turn-on. There was no need for physical attraction; it was all about coming. Until the cold after-burn.
    â€”So what about you? he asked. Got a boyfriend?
    â€”Kinda.
    â€”What does that mean?
    â€”I see a guy. Sometimes, she said, and looked away.
    â€”Oh.
    He got some beers for them, but Nat had fallen asleep. He sat there drinking, tired, but the goey wouldn’t let him sleep; until he did.
    The speed was still at work in him when he woke a few hours later. Purple light was leaking into the fibro. Natalie’s skin was less perfect now, but he was