Weird Girl by Mae McCall Read Free Book Online Page A

opened the box and reached
for a small metal tube, his head moving to the beat of the song. Turning toward
her, he unbuckled his belt with one hand. He held up the tube and twisted the
bottom until a bright red cylinder emerged from the top. Then, in three expert
strokes, he applied the lipstick to his mouth before pressing his lips together
to even the distribution of color. He put the lipstick on the table and then
quickly drew his leather belt from the loops of his pants and snapped it
against the table like a whip. Cleo jumped at the sound, and Santo smiled. “Are
you paying attention, little pretty?” he asked.
     
    “I don’t think red is your color,” she replied.
     
    He scowled and unzipped his trousers. “Oh, I beg to differ,”
he said with a sneer. “I think red’s gonna be a special color for both of us
tonight.” He reached back into the tool box and withdrew another metal
container. Moving with the beat of the music, he dipped each index finger into
the container and, making sure that Cleo was watching, moved both fingers in
concentric circles on his pectorals.
     
    “What are you doing?” asked Cleo. This seemed to break his
concentration a little bit.
     
    “I’m rouging my nipples! What does it look like?” he
screamed.
     
    “You really don’t have to yell,” replied Cleo. “I’m just
right here.”
     
    This time, Santo clenched both fists and closed his eyes. He
muttered something under his breath, and then returned to the wooden box. The
song changed to something a little slower, and he adjusted his movements to
match the new rhythm. “I don’t know if you’ve realized it yet, but you’re never
gonna be the same after we’re done here,” he said as he skillfully applied
turquoise shadow above both of his eyes. He dropped the makeup onto the table
and seductively removed his pants. Cleo was a bit surprised at the pink
underwear, but she decided not to say anything about it.
     
    He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. The music
changed again to something fast and exotic, and one shoulder began to twitch to
the beat of the song. Soon, the other shoulder joined in. The music started to
crescendo, and suddenly, Santo’s chest was quickly shimmying back and forth.
His pelvis started to move in slow figure-eights.
     
    Wide-eyed, Cleo couldn’t help but stare at the pink satin
covered bulge as it gyrated in front of her face. He was covered in a light
sheen of sweat by now, his ruby red nipples standing out against the mat of
dark chest hair. When he caught her looking at his chest, he winked and ran a
finger down the trail of hair that ran to his belly button and down to the
waistband of his panties. The song changed again, this time to a hip hop beat,
and Santo turned and furiously booty-popped for three and a half minutes
straight.
     
    “Now do you know what fear smells like?” he asked, panting.
Sweat trickled through his chest hair, making red rivulets down his abdomen as
it liquefied the nipple rouge.
    “Where did you learn to dance?” asked Cleo.
     
    He put in a different CD and started a one-man rumba. This
segued into salsa, and soon Santo was languidly dancing a tango with a kitchen
broom. Every time he would stop to ask if Cleo was afraid, she would respond
with a question, and Santo would begin a new dance in reply.
     
    “Why did you rouge your nipples?”
    “Do you always wear underwear like that?”
     
    “Have you been to college?”
     
    “What do you do for a living?”
     
    “Do you like dogs?”
     
    “How do you feel about shrunken heads?”
     
    “Have you ever killed anyone?”
     
    “Do you have any bananas?”
    This last one caused him to lose his footing halfway through
a complicated Irish step dance sequence. “What?” he gasped. Then he realized
that the girl was sitting cross legged on his kitchen counter, eating a bowl of
cereal.
     
    “I like bananas on my cereal,” she explained as she took
another bite.
     
    “How did you get