The New Neighbor by Ray Garton Read Free Book Online Page A

least, that was how she thought of it back than – was sticking straight up ! Robby held it in his fist, running his hand up and down, up and down, faster and faster.
    Jen watched, amazed, and watching something so private, so secret , stirred a strange excitement inside her. She'd never seen a boy's thing before, and she'd certainly never seen a boy doing this to his thing. She hadn't even known that boys did ... whatever this was.
    Robby squirmed on his bed as he continued to play with himself, and then something fascinating happened: milk squirted from his thing. At least, it had looked like milk to her then; she knew better now. Robby groaned, panted, moved his hand faster, slurping it through the white fluid. Then he calmed, slowly relaxed, and became still.  
    Jen couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks. Whatever it was, she became enamored of it and was terribly tempted to ask Robby about it – why he did it, how it felt, and maybe, just maybe , if she could watch up close while he did it again. She never did, of course, and now the very idea that she'd thought such a thing made her slap a hand over her eyes and groan with embarrassment.  
    But still, every once in a while, the memory haunted her, rose up in her mind like a ghost and danced behind her eyes. It used to give her a little tingle of excitement when she thought about it, but now the tingle was deeper, lower ... and a little scary.
    In her bedroom, Jen heard Robby's door open. She stepped into the hall quickly and he stopped, turned to her.  
    "I saw you talking to the new neighbor," she said. "What's she like?"  
    Robby raised his eyebrows, shrugged and said, "She's, um ... nice," then lifted a hand and said, "See ya."
    She watched him go down the hall, then back to her bedroom with a sigh.
     
    * * * *
     
    George took a shower when he got home from work. He'd gotten little sleep the night before, overslept, and only had time for a quick wash before leaving the house; he'd felt dirty all day. After drying off, he glanced out the bathroom window to see Robby going across the street.  
    Wrapped in his terrycloth robe, George went to his bedroom, tossed his robe on the bed, and –
    – something stung his bare right foot and spat a long wet hiss from under the bed.
    "Son of a bitch !" George barked, hopping a few times on his left foot as his right began to bleed in four long thin stripes that ran from his outer ankle to the knuckle of his big toes.  
    Karen's Manx cat, Monroe, peered up at him from the dusty darkness under the bed. Hatred burned in the cat's black and yellow eyes as it bared its needle-like fangs and hissed again, then snarled and backed out of sight.  
    George swept one of his slippers off the floor, dropped to one knee and slapped at the bottom of the bed, grumbling. "You miserable goddamned – “ But the cat dashed out from under the bed on the other side and George heard the heavy thump of its paws as it ran for the door. He looked up in time to see Monroe's jiggling tailless ass – and, worst of all, his dirty bare rectum – disappear from the room. Swearing again, George threw the slipper down and sat on the bed to rub his slashed foot, muttering, "Nine years. Nine goddamned years."
    That was how long he'd put up with the only animal he'd ever encountered that he actually hated. He didn’t like admitting that to himself because he was an animal lover. But the cat had hated him first. Monroe had been a tiny kitten when George and Karen married. The cat hadn't liked him then and seemed to hate him more with each passing year. George never knew where the animal was hiding or when it was going to attack him next. Each time, the temptation to give Monroe a swift kick was great, but George always resisted, knowing that if he actually hurt the cat, Karen would be furious, probably even hysterical. Sometimes he thought she cared more deeply about that vicious, neurotic cat than she did for him.  
    After dressing and shaving,