Side A - Song 3
So I go. I wait. No choice. & soon, in struts this scantily-clad Honduran. Looks me over, runs her hands up her orange/lime shirt, long, violet nails. Her poochy waist pulses to some Mexican music. She sashays to the bed & raises a lemon skirt, exposing plum panties.
& I don’t know shit about absolute, extreme, unending poverty but find out later from Snitch that she was ensnared in the Honduran capital city, promised all she has to do is work in Orange Walk Town two months. They’ll feed her, clothe her, house her & then get her a green card. “We’ll even fly you to California!”
When the wicked knock at your door, don’t answer, but Corrina-povertina & the other girls do, are driven to Orange Walk in Gorilla B.’s motorhome & once inside Belize, they’re told exactly what “work” they’ll have to do & Gorilla fucks ever single one of them ‘cuz his wife doesn’t even know he owns this place. Tells those teens how they’ll perish if they refuse.
& I don’t know shit about immigrant hookers. I’ve never had one & I don’t want Corrina-roundy-moundy so I begin the half-hour pleading, non-conversation. She speaks no English. I speak no Spanish & she’s getting scared, lays on the bed, tugging her shiny underwear, slipping it aside ‘cuz fear comes strongest to those who worry, to those who worry.
& if she can’t get me, she’s in deep shit. & if I don’t, I suddenly realize, I’m fucked, too. & so is Mary-Beth-clueless & so are our kids & knowledge cures everything.
Corrina-full-belly flips over, props onto all fours, begins sweating & swatting, looking at me girlishly. There’s fire in her eyes.
& I don’t know shit about hitting women, never had one want me to, but I figure everybody’s high on something, so I start slapping her cheeks lightly. It makes her whinny & clutch. I slap stronger each swing till they’re stinging bees. She shimmies, peels panties down to one ankle, widens slender legs apart, reddening, begging for more.
& I don’t know shit about adultery, but Mary-Beth-steady-freddy loves to screw “normal style” once a week so I slip a finger inside cantaloupe, wiggle it around, in & out, land fresh prints with the other hand. She’s squiggling. I pull out, slide one arm under her t-shirt, tweaking her huge. She stretches out farther. I crack her greedy seat full blows.
“Aayyyy!” she cries. “Si...si...si...ay!...si!...si!...si!...”
We’re both grunting as we breathe. Quivering, I stuff my head under her tee & suck tiny points, first one, a nibble, then harder & harder until she’s trying to draw back. I’m slaying firm flesh, her welted hinny rioting beneath my blows.
I suck little righty like I want to swallow it, pushing a thumb up her slit. She cannot get free, only pretends to want to. I slide my face between her thighs. My lips play with greasy, rocking pelvis. She massages my mouth, slathers her sugar onto cheeks & jaw.
When she runs into me next week, she is thankfully dancing at Gorilla’s Belize City Disco. She will rush me, enrapture me, call me my nickname, pierce me with brown eyes. I’ll spank her Levi’s & she’ll laugh, “Si, si,” have her friend, Angela, ask me if we can all go somewhere & fuck right now, please. & even with a family to protect, I’ll stutter, “Yes,” ‘cuz tonight my tongue is inside sliced-open periwinkle & Corrina-young-girl-crying-out one dream-come-true.
& I don’t know shit about sex like this, never considered getting naked with a red-cheeked runaway. She disconnects & lies beside me then drags me on top. I’m wondering why my cock won’t go inside her all the way. I look into what’s left of her eyes, Corrina-satisfied. I guess this is all the kumquat she has. Waist to waist, stomachs kissing.
I’m forcing her shoulders into the bed, then pulling her hair, full-chest together, heart to heart. I am trying to punch her body through the mattress. She’s spanking & moaning & jerking. She’s gripping my back, biting me, yanking me into her as roughly as she can, slicker every push. This tiniest, delicate clam. Unbelievable! (Corrina-smolder-spanky)
& I don’t know shit about a girl this young making the squad ‘cuz I never had anyone this age, even when I was this age & now she can dance at discos, believes she’s gonna just-about get wealthy ‘cuz there’s rooms in those discos where guys can doink her & the others (for 30 bucks a crack) & Gorilla B. will pay each of those little chiquitas $5 a screw, & when they get that money (they’ve been profoundly impoverished their entire lives), they feel rich, ‘cuz even cattle raised for butchering get to live for awhile. The first law should have been – no money.
But she’s hugging me like raw gold into that dripping cherry. I am purely senseless. We are swimming in sweat. I refuse to come, want this miracle to continue. I lightly slap her face surprised, then roll her over again, ram two fingers in. She winces. I pump them in as far as they’ll go, pulverize tenderness, crush her into the sheets. Looking over her shoulder, she has this insane sneer. I pry her legs open wider, dive my tongue into perfume, tease that fat trembling head, already swollen full & standing strong when I get there. I’m touching it like I’m going to suck it, but I don’t. I stab it with the tip of my tongue. Tip-stab. Tip-stab. Tip-stab. Corrina-mumble-scream filling the room. She’s erupting lava into my smile.
& I don’t know shit about ending great experiences, see no reason to end this one & neither does this refugee ‘cuz who cares what kind of cretin she’s going to have to fuck next, now is the only time it’s ever been like this & waiting is fine unless you wait too long. She can’t take any more tip-stabs, is gasping, tumbles over, grabs my head, connects our mouths, stuffs me inside of her. She’s saturated & the grip is going. She’s mewing, staring through me, pleading, do something wild!
I aim her legs up toward her chest, & press myself into one accepting asshole. Wide eyeballs, all pupil, no color left. She’s whipping her thighs & growling. I’m growling, too, her blazing pelvis crushing bone against my groin.
& I don’t know shit about anal sex & how Gorilla B. won’t let anyone fuck his girls in the ass at his discos ‘cuz it’s “sick & unchristian,” but I can’t figure out why I keep hitting this tight spot. Makes her twitch & release, whine out noises I’ve never heard before, though I know she’s howling, “Don’t stop! No one has ever gotten me like this! No one has ever fucked me like this! No one has ever caused tears while I came! No one has ever found this spot! No one even knows my lust lies here!”
I’m a strong wind at the right moment, turning this sagebrush into a Roman Candle. Corrina-continual-orgasm, yelping Spanish, whopping the living shit out of herself, grasping me full fingernails, flexing as wide as she can. We are two crazy storms. She looks up, all purity & hope.
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