Notes from the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 77, Greek Lit 101. So why are you asking me about Vollvachau when you know already what I'm going to say?
He asked, I don't know, I said, is it because I happen to be the Hume and who can hear you thinking out loud right now because I'm your sounding board do your. I guess that's part of it, I said, but also, you know, you seem to crave cunt tastes more than anyone else I know. That was his kill. He launched into this epic soliloquy cum rigmarole about the glory of the female genitalia and their place in the central pleasure of being human.
Sort of God? La bell-dam-sarn-mercy got in there somehow. Damn did I remember how or why I just put it down to part muddiness. No schematics without flowers in the margin and not just in the margin, but all over the drawing board so you don't know which part is there because it needs to be in.
Which part is there because he doesn't know how to stop his jaw once it starts moving. He talked for five minutes straight, but what he said, that can be summarized in two sentences. The smell and taste and texture of major menoratalia fills his head. It's earthy.
The earthy are the better, he said. Like right after the girl comes home from the gym, the taste of the juice, the silk of the lips, the key to a dream. But in reality, it's sweat and bodily secretions, I said. He made a face.
But I don't mind bragging the sciences on my side of that particular estimate. See, I said, I think somehow at a young age you got that smell all mixed in with something else, something formative. He looked at me. Then, what do you mean by formative?
You know what I mean, young, I said. He seems to me that when you were putting together ideas about sex, you were struck by the distinctive smells and taste and you blew their importance all out of proportion. Made your first fuck was out in the woods or something. So this whole biological gooeyness became pastoral for you.
The Greek shepherd licking his sister's cunt before going off to burn the topless towers of William. A Greek? Why would a Greek shepherd eat his own sister? Ancient Greece, a castle on an island with a couple dozen people, and off on the horizon, another island, also with a castle.
You can't travel from island to island every time you get a hard on so you make do. If you say so, he said, it's a Greek history 101 or maybe Greek Lit 101. So if I crack open Homer right now, I'm going to find a Greek chick bucking off on a shepherd's face. Stop trying to change the subject.
I'm saying everything with you is standing at a rampart somewhere. I said, maybe that isn't scientific, but it's my opinion, an opinion based on fact. Maybe, he said, it's content as meat in reality, but in your head it's a mound made of silk, earthy silk. There was a long pause, he put his shades back on.
Maybe he said again in Grind, but it sure would come in handy right now if that was in your head right? Yep, I said. Then out of nowhere he said, you know, Cameron wouldn't want to fuck me. I was stunned.
I stared at him. I couldn't speak. He just sat there and looked at me with this kind of grin on his face. I couldn't see his eyes through the shades so I had no idea what the grin meant.
I stayed all calm on the outside and said, she likes the daddy look. You have the pervert look. You're the perverted uncle who comes over swinging his dick. Oh my god.
It was one of the mommies. Marsha's somebody. She made sure one of her park pals was watching her kid before she stood up from the bench she was sitting on and stomped over to me. She smiled at me a smile it tried to be disarming.
Play dress, pretty, middle aged. I must have had the kid when she was 35 or so. Could you please be careful Paul? Shemblay's already starting to bring weights home from the playground and I don't want to have to tell her you know she has to cover her ears around you too.
Sure Marsha I said. I'll keep my eye on my voice if you know what I mean. Pretty smiled at me and then smiled at Parkman then stomped back to her bench. Well, Park said when she was gone.
It has to be something. What Cameron sees in you I mean. I hardly know her but I guess there's something to that daddy thing. There are just certain things that are beyond my ability to imagine and women wanting to fuck you for any reason is one of those things.
It's a father figure thing. But it's you. He said she wants to fuck you. You have this disgusting gut and pale skin and little pygmy arms.
The thought of touching you or even accidentally brushing up against you. I don't know. It must be a fetish. I kind of laughed even though I was thinking about the inevitability of one day strangling in with my bare hands.
He looked over at Marsha. She was helping her kid Shemblay have the big white backpack on her little shoulders and she never even glanced in our direction. Apparently when Park says fuck it doesn't register on the school marm Richter scale. Well you know I said I've been working out pretty hard and pounding down Greek yogurt the superfood.
He looked in my direction for a few seconds then turned away again. It hasn't taken yet. He said. Long pause while bugs buzzed in Kid Street.
Marsha and Shemblay were trundling toward the path that leads out of the park. Sammy and pals were still bashing each other with the panache of the Jedi. So I finally said. The all night hard ons you're absolutely sure.
Get it out of your head. He said. Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist.
Notes from the Upper West Side copyright 20-20 by Dan Wrench.