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Maybe being around my mom and the array of boyfriends that had come and gone over the years had turned me into some frigid bitch. She'd certainly learned to hate men as a result, telling me over and over again none of them could be trusted and they wanted one and only one thing from a woman.
I remembered something that had happened around the time I was ten or eleven. Something had startled me from my sleep one night. There were strange noises coming from my mom’s room. It sounded like she was in pain. She was moaning and it scared me. As I approached her bedroom door, I heard her bed creaking rhythmically and a man’s voice. At the time, I thought someone was hurting her until I heard his voice.
There was no mistaking it! It was my best friend Jenny Marcotti's dad!
“Maggie, baby, that's one hungry pussy you have. It was made for my cock,” he rasped loudly. I heard the bed squeaking again and my mother moaning. Even from the hallway I could hear Mr. Marcotti panting and groaning.
“Do you like that, Maggie? I wish you'd teach Patty how to do this, baby. She's always asking me why I don’t touch her anymore. You’ve spoiled me Maggie, that’s for damn sure." There was more shifting and creaking bed sounds coming from behind Mom’s bedroom door.
“Gently now, Herb,” my mom murmured, “I’m a little tender still.”
“You got it, baby, we’ll take this slow and easy,” Mr. Marcotti’s voice was low and hoarse. “Oooh yeah, that's good, Maggie, you're so fucking wet. Does it feel good Maggie?”
“Umm hmm,” my mom’s voice purred, “this is the way I like it…oh yeah…” The bed started slowly creaking again. Soon, I could hear soft moans and whimpers coming from Mom. The springs in the bed were squeaking in rhythm with her moans. The headboard banged against her wall, then stopped suddenly.
“Maggie,” Mr. Marcotti whispered hoarsely, “we better take it down a notch; we’re going to wake Tylar with this noise.”
“Don’t stop now, Herb,” Mom pleaded. “I don’t give a damn who hears us! I’m ready, baby, I’m on the edge,” she cried.
“Ahh—” Mr. Marcotti, gasped, and the bed creaking was now one solid noise. “Unnnarrghhh” his voice growled as if in pain. Mom’s moans were coming in short, rapid succession.
“That’s it, that’s it, oh God, oh God, yes!” she screamed.
I'd covered my ears and ran back to my room. That night I wet the bed and Mom had spanked me for it the next morning.
In the weeks following that night, I'd see Mr. and Mrs. Marcotti around town. In fact, Mrs. Marcotti had complimented my mom on her new leather coat and matching boots.
“Maggie,” she'd called out as Mom and I were on our way out of the Piggly Wiggly one evening, “I love your coat. Did you get that at Macy’s?”
“Thanks, Patty,” Mom replied, smiling. Mr. Marcotti had joined us from the parking lot. “Actually, I’m not sure where it came from. It was a gift from a friend.”
“Wow, some friend I guess. That color is perfect on you. You know, I saw one very similar to that at Macy’s in Louisville last month. I begged Herb to get it for me, but noooo, he said, ‘that’s too extravagant Patty’,” mimicking her husband’s voice. “Remember, Herb? Remember when I practically begged you for that leather coat?”
“Vaguely,” Herb replied, fidgeting with his keys.
“Well, Maggie, I envy you,” Patty had sighed, lightly rubbing her finger on the sleeve of Mom’s coat. “It must be nice to have someone who isn’t shy about shooting his wad for something like this.” Mom and Herb had exchanged quick glances.
“Well, c’mon Herb,” Patty instructed, “let’s find a cart and get in there. Nice seeing you, Maggie. You too, honey,” she smiled.
“Take care, Patty, Herb,” Mom had replied, hurrying me to our car.
I'd nearly convinced myself that I'd dreamt the whole scene with my mom and Mr. Marcotti, until that day and the subject of the leather coat came up. I knew then Mr. Marcotti had bought mom the coat. After that, I didn’t hang around with Jenny Marcotti. They moved away a year later.
Shaking the thought out of my head, I tried to focus on the present. What had made me think about Jenny Marcotti’s dad and my mom? My thoughts scattered when I heard a knock at the door.
Jumping from my bed, I grabbed the robe that hung on my bathroom door and shrugged it on, tying the belt around my waist. I padded through the bedroom and saw Clint standing at the front door with his boyish grin,
“Hey, sorry,” he apologized, “didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”
“No worries,” I responded, smiling. “What’s up?”
Clint turned momentarily shy then quickly shrugged it off. “Just wondered if you're going down for a beer with us at Luke’s? If you feel like going…we can walk down together, I mean, that's if you really want to go.” He was starting to stumble over his words. That was kind of cute; kind of Clint.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I smiled. “What time?”
“I’m going to clean up and grab a sandwich. Be back around seven?”
“That works for me. Thanks, Clint. See you in a bit.”
