Issue #20 (2011) PDF - myweb - Long Island University

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ANIMAL STORY
When I got home she was masturbating. I heard her moaning from the hallway. I could see her feet
because she left the door ajar. I wanted to push the door open so I could see her completely, then I
thought it was a better idea to peek through the door. The TV was on but I wasn‘t sure if she was
masturbating to a porn movie. Then I heard Audrey Hepburn‘s voice. She had been watching
Breakfast at Tiffany‟s. Whenever she felt moody, she watched that stupid movie. Her right foot kicked
a book in the bed and the book fell on the floor. She liked sleeping with books. She didn‘t
necessarily read them. She just liked sleeping with a bunch of books. She moaned deeper as Audrey
Hepburn sang Moon River at her fancy NYC apartment‘s window. I liked watching her touch herself.
She took deep breaths. She knew I was behind the door. I walked towards the kitchen avoiding her.
She had been watching Breakfast at Tiffany‟s and I knew trouble was coming. I hoped the orgasm
would help her calm down.
Why didn‘t she just watch a porn movie We had a porn DVD collection. That‘s how we
met, actually. We had attended this underground porn club a few years ago. I had heard about it
from a friend. We gathered in a small basement room on Friday nights at ten in Park Slope. The
crowd was made of losers who had nothing else to do on a Friday night. People coming in changed
every week except for regular members. They were mostly old and married people with children.
There weren‘t many women because they would feel uncomfortable in a dark basement with about
thirty men. What do you expect, eh The director of the Basement Project was a fat guy with lots of
hair on his face, arms, and even fingers. His name was Paul. He had strict rules. He even framed the
rules in big print and hung it on the wall. Rule number one: No masturbation allowed in the
basement. He occasionally turned the lights on to check on the audience to see if anyone was doing
something. He kicked a few men out who had been caught masturbating. Paul was short but very
strong. No one wanted to deal with him. Rule number two: Males are not allowed to approach the
female members. Rule number three: Members who violate the first two rules would be banned
from the club for good. Paul believed in porn movies like one believed in Buddhism, you know.
He liked me. I had been to his tiny apartment upstairs a few times and he had shown me his
collection of Playboy magazines. He picked an issue from his bookcase and handed it to me as if he
were honoring me with a royal crown. He told me to be careful as I turned the pages of the
February edition of nineteen eighty six. We looked at a half naked woman eating a cheese burger
leaning on a diner counter. Paul looked at the fake blond like a biologist looking at a rare butterfly.
He dragged his middle finger on her legs. I wasn‘t allowed to touch the page.
―This is art, ya know‖
I looked at the fake blonde‘s face. I wondered if her mother could recognize her in so much
make up. She only had a pair of blue jeans on and her back turned to the camera so we could only
see her butt and her right breast touching the arm that was holding the cheeseburger. Her pinkish
lips were half open. She had ketchup on her chin. I thought of her without makeup and breast
implants. I thought of her as a child. I pictured her in a light blue cotton dress running in the streets
of some suburban town.
―She is not that hot‖ I said sadly.
―I‘m talking about the photography,‖ he said seemingly frustrated at my shallowness. And I
felt so damn shallow.
Turning the pages we looked at couple of more pictures of women bending over on
couches, motorbikes, pool tables, etc. They were all different. They were all the same.
Then he told me about his rock band in college and played some Iron Maiden on his guitar.
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