Running With Scissors_ A Memoir Part 15

He turned to me. "Please?"

"No."

"Please?" He tried to take my hand in his. It was his attempt at begging.

I knew what he was asking. I exhaled with effort. "Fine." I said. "This one last time."

"Can we do it up the a.s.s?" he asked, suddenly brighter. "I won't use spit like last time. We'll use something. It won't hurt."

"Use what?" I was suspicious of him. He'd f.u.c.ked me up the a.s.s a few months ago, and it hurt like h.e.l.l. I'd told him to stop but he just kept on going saying, "Don't worry, the pain goes away, it feels good after a while." I wasn't about to get into that trap again.

He scanned my bookshelves and pointed. "That," he said.

I craned my neck around to see what he had pointed to. It was the yellow tub of Queen Helen's Cholesterol. I was very fond of this product, which was absorbed almost instantly into the hair. Unlike KMS Repair, which tended to weigh hair down, the old-fashioned Queen Helen's Cholesterol was light and very effective. I tended to use it at night, while I slept, when a deeper level of conditioning could be achieved.

I yanked off my sweatpants and pulled my T-shirt over my head. Now, because of the hanging basket lamp over my bed, I was lit from above, the most unflattering light, like a hamburger at a fast food restaurant.

His c.o.c.k was already hard and he began stroking it to make it even stiffer.

I, on the other hand, was completely turned off as I looked at my body under the glaring white light. Not only did I look skinny, but also almost hairless. It was disgusting. If by fourteen I still didn't have any chest hair or hair on my legs, I figured I could pretty much forget about ever getting any. My brother had hair, but my father didn't. He was smooth. I hated that you couldn't choose which genes you got and which ones skipped you.

"Lie back and put your legs in the air," he said.

I did like he said and he crouched down in front of me between my legs. He reached up for the tub of Queen Helen's and carelessly tossed the lid on the floor.

"Pick that back up," I said. I didn't want pubic hair in it.

He leaned over and grabbed the lid. "Sorry," he said. Then he dipped his fingers into the cream and rubbed it onto his c.o.c.k. He dipped his fingers in again and this he used to moisturize my a.s.shole.

My hands and feet immediately started to feel cold, like somebody had wrapped belts around them. Even though it was summer, even though it was so hot you couldn't sleep unless you laid a wet towel across your chest, I was shaking like I was freezing cold.

"It's okay," he said. "You'll like this."

He put his hands under my a.s.s and then he plunged his c.o.c.k into my a.s.shole.

It was not fun and I didn't like it at all. "It hurts." This came out in almost a whimper and I felt ashamed that I sounded like that. I didn't even know I could make that noise.

"It's okay," he said again. Then he started moaning and closed his eyes. "Jesus f.u.c.king Christ you're tight."

The more he thrusted, the less I felt. It hurt less but it didn't feel good.

"Oh, Jesus," he cried.

"Shhhhhh," I said. "Shut the f.u.c.k up. Do you want to wake the whole f.u.c.king house, you idiot?"

I wanted to get up and turn the radio on so that the sounds of this, his moaning and carrying on and the slurping noise that was coming from my a.s.s would be m.u.f.fled. But the radio was across the room.

So I closed my eyes and imagined getting up and going over to it. My imagination was vivid. I could completely visualize how it would feel to rise from the bed and step onto the sisal carpet I had taken from my mother. I could feel the scratchiness of it on the bottoms of my feet and I could feel the radio k.n.o.b in my hand.

And then it was over. He pulled out of me and I was surprised by the sudden feeling of emptiness. This was followed by a wave of sadness. On the one hand, I had gotten used to the sensation of him up there, even if it made me feel really full and like I needed to take a big s.h.i.t. But on the other hand I didn't like doing it because I didn't like him anymore and I didn't like being on my back like that and it just seemed so weird.

He got up and walked over to the door, unlocking it and walking across the hall into the bathroom. He returned a moment later carrying one of Agnes's pale yellow hand towels.

"You can't use that."

"Why not?"

"Because you just can't. Use something else. Paper towels or something." The feeling between my legs was repulsive. Just lying there I could feel the slickness and the very distinct sensation of his sperm leaking out of my a.s.shole and onto my sheets, which needed washing really bad anyway. lying there I could feel the slickness and the very distinct sensation of his sperm leaking out of my a.s.shole and onto my sheets, which needed washing really bad anyway.

He ended up cleaning his d.i.c.k off and then my a.s.s with my Wacky 102-FM T-shirt. It was red and tight and I hated it anyway so I didn't care. Instead of washing it, I'd just throw it away. I'd tuck it deep into the bottom of the kitchen trash.

"You want me to suck you off?"

Instantly, my c.o.c.k sprang to life. Neil had this way of sucking my c.o.c.k that had addicted me to him. I'd watched him do it. It was like he slid it into his mouth between his gums and cheeks, which sounds like it would hurt, except he had really wide gums and very elastic cheeks so the feeling was incredible. I'd gotten to the point where I could come faster this way than by jerking off. In fact, with him around I almost never had to jerk off. "Yeah," I said.

When my c.o.c.k was in his mouth, he used a sideways motion with his head. So it didn't go deep into his throat, but the part of it that was the most sensitive, the underside toward the top, this part got ma.s.saged really hard inside his mouth.

I exploded, coming in five deep spurts.

I wondered how far that would have shot if I'd been jerking off. Most of the time I would hit my chest. Sometimes my neck. And sometimes, if I were really h.o.r.n.y, I'd shoot behind my head and hit the wall. I had a feeling now that this one would have hit the wall.

My entire body sank into the bed. I could understand why people said things like "He made me melt" on TV because that's exactly how I felt; like I'd melted.

After feeling this for about thirty seconds I opened my eyes and he was still there, standing over me smiling. He licked his lips like he'd just eaten ice cream and he said, "That was delicious." and he was still there, standing over me smiling. He licked his lips like he'd just eaten ice cream and he said, "That was delicious."

He repulsed me and I wanted him to leave immediately. "Go away, dog," I said.

His face fell again. His eyelids had this way of sort of sinking over his eyes exactly like a ba.s.set hound when he was hurt. It was a look I saw a lot because I felt I had mastered the art of hurting him. Next to obsessing over hairdressing school, hurting Neil Bookman was my favorite thing to do. I never asked myself why this was. I never thought that it was wrong of me. Instead I liked the sense of control. He made me feel powerful.

But sometimes he could get angry. Like now. His eyes blazed with anger. "You are a monster," he said. "You are a f.u.c.king evil monster. You're no innocent fourteen-year-old. You're a f.u.c.king psychopath. The way you treat people," he spat, "is so f.u.c.king sick I can't even believe that you're allowed to live."

I smiled. "That's good, Neil. Keep going. You poor, pathetic loser of a man. Express all that anger, you big boy. And another thing?" I narrowed my eyes, hoping that I looked menacing. "If you ever get out of line, I'll go straight to the police and you will be arrested for statutory rape. You'll spend the rest of your life rotting behind bars."

I let that sink in.

"Now get the h.e.l.l out of here."

He turned. And he left.

After I listened to him walk down the hall, after I was sure he'd really left, I put my sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt on, flopped back on my bed and picked up my journal.

Bookman just left. He came down for one of his little visits and this time he f.u.c.ked me. At least I didn't have to suck on his p.e.n.i.s. I hate the way he always forces my head down on it and no matter how much I choke or tell him not to he keeps shoving. So at least that didn't happen. We had the a.n.a.l s.e.x and I didn't like it. I don't like a.n.a.l s.e.x and don't know why people would want to have it. It's another thing about Being Gay that I don't like. I don't like that I'm going to be a hair cutter and this is considered by people to be something that is a "Gay Thing." But what people don't understand is that I want to do it in a different way. In a bigger way. G.o.d, if I thought I'd be some nelly f.a.ggot working in a beauty salon in Springfield doing purple rinses on old ladies I'd kill myself. I would kill myself tonight this minute. And just as I write this now I feel this wall of sickness coming over me, I am feeling it RIGHT THIS MINUTE about the finger wave thing. When s.h.i.tvile was plugging me up with his fatheaded p.e.n.i.s I was thinking about the finger waves again and I decided that maybe I should get a wig to practice on. I could use my allowance and get a cheap one. This way, I won't have to keep bugging these Finches for their heads. What else. There was something else I was going to tell you that I was thinking. Oh yeah now I remember. At the end when Neil was leaving there was something in his eyes that scared me and I thought, he could be a serial killer even more than that Blue Moon Grill lady. He really and truly could do it. I think if he had had a butcher knife with him he could have used it to stab me. It freaked me out, seeing him like that. Sometimes I don't know if I even know him at all. And I don't know why I hate him so much. Probably because he is such a weak and pathetic person. But also there is something more about him that I don't like and it's always been there right from the beginning. I think it has to do with back when I was talking to him about being gay two summers ago and he was all nice and all, "it's okay to be gay, I'll be your friend," and then he made me have that s.e.x with him and then I fell in love with him only he turned out to not be worth loving, I think I'm angry with him about that. I wonder if I should talk to Finch about this? He's always saying that if you don't get your anger out it can kill you. Now I'm worried that my anger will kill me. But the thing is, I do try and get it out. I think of good mean names to call him but maybe these aren't enough. Maybe I need to scream at him or something. Tonight I told him I'd go to the police if he didn't act right and I think this scared him a little bit because his eyes went back to normal and he sort of folded up into himself and then he left. So that's good. I have a new thing I can use on him. I would never do that of course, really go to the police. And if he ever reads this journal he will know I will never do it and then I won't have that tool anymore so I better hide this one. I need to think of a new place. G.o.d, I have all these things to worry about on top of hair school. It's a wonder I'm even alive. Sometimes I think that. I think that I can't believe I haven't killed myself. But there's something in me that just keeps going on. I think it has something to do with tomorrow, that there is always one, and that everything can change when it comes. The one thing I did learn tonight though, is that Queen Helen's Cholesterol is more than just a hair conditioner. then he made me have that s.e.x with him and then I fell in love with him only he turned out to not be worth loving, I think I'm angry with him about that. I wonder if I should talk to Finch about this? He's always saying that if you don't get your anger out it can kill you. Now I'm worried that my anger will kill me. But the thing is, I do try and get it out. I think of good mean names to call him but maybe these aren't enough. Maybe I need to scream at him or something. Tonight I told him I'd go to the police if he didn't act right and I think this scared him a little bit because his eyes went back to normal and he sort of folded up into himself and then he left. So that's good. I have a new thing I can use on him. I would never do that of course, really go to the police. And if he ever reads this journal he will know I will never do it and then I won't have that tool anymore so I better hide this one. I need to think of a new place. G.o.d, I have all these things to worry about on top of hair school. It's a wonder I'm even alive. Sometimes I think that. I think that I can't believe I haven't killed myself. But there's something in me that just keeps going on. I think it has something to do with tomorrow, that there is always one, and that everything can change when it comes. The one thing I did learn tonight though, is that Queen Helen's Cholesterol is more than just a hair conditioner.

TOLET BOWL READINGS.

M.

AYBE IT WAS A P PATTY H HEARST THING. STOCKHOLM SYNdrome or whatever it's called when you're being held against your will but then you become sucked in and fall in love. Or if not exactly love, you fall into something you can't see out of. I can't shoot a machine gun I can't shoot a machine gun becomes, becomes, Hey, this hardly has any kick-back! Hey, this hardly has any kick-back!

Maybe this explains why it didn't horrify me at the time. Why I just held my Pat Benatar T-shirt up to my nose to block out the smell and stared with mild curiosity at the contents of the toilet bowl.

Hope was so moved, she was on the verge of tears. "Oh my G.o.d, this is incredible," she whispered through her clasped fingers.

Natalie stood back against the wall, arms folded across her chest. She wanted to go to Smith College in two years and this was just not something a Smith girl should be exposed to. chest. She wanted to go to Smith College in two years and this was just not something a Smith girl should be exposed to.

"See?" Finch bellowed, pointing into the bowl at his bowel movement. "Look at the size of that coil!"

Hope leaned in closer, as if inspecting an engagement ring in a jewelry display case.

I peered over Hope's shoulder.

Agnes came shuffling down the hallway. "What's all the fuss about? Why are you all crowded into the bathroom?" She shouldered her way into the room and looked at all of us looking into the toilet bowl. Her mouth fell open. "What is this?"

Finch's face reddened as his excitement grew. "See? See the way the tip of the coil breaks up out of the surface of the water? Holy Father!"

"Yeah, Dad. I see it. It's pointing straight up out of the bowl," Hope said, ever the good daughter.

"Exactly," Finch boomed. "Exactly. The tip is pointing up." He stood up straight. "Do you know what this means?"

Agnes went to his side and pulled at his arm. "Doctor, please," she said. "Please calm down."

"Agnes, go get a spatula," he ordered.

"Doctor, please," Agnes said, pulling him harder.

He jerked his arm away and gave her a shove out of the room. "A spatula, Agnes!" he screamed.

She scurried out of the room like Edith Bunker.

"What does it mean, Dad?" Hope asked.

Natalie and I looked at each other, but then looked away because we knew we'd crack up and Finch would yell at us.

"It means our financial situation is turning around, that's what it means. It means things are looking up. The s.h.i.t is pointing out of the pot and up toward heaven, to G.o.d." what it means. It means things are looking up. The s.h.i.t is pointing out of the pot and up toward heaven, to G.o.d."

As if she'd just won the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, Hope screamed. She screamed and clapped and kissed her father's cheek.

"There, there, Hope," Finch said. "That's my girl." He looked at me and Natalie. "Can you see how important this is? G.o.d has a tremendous sense of humor. He is the funniest man in the universe. And this is His way of saying that things are going to turn around for us now."

I was mortified but fascinated. Natalie hid her face in her hands and moaned.

When Agnes returned with a spatula, Finch s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her hands before she could even say a word. He immediately handed it to Hope. "I want you to carefully remove this from the water and take it outside to dry. Put it in the sun on the picnic table."

Hope took the spatula without hesitation.

"Okay, I'm outta here," Natalie said.

"No wait," I said, grabbing her arm. "Let's watch."

"I am not gonna watch my sister scoop my dad's s.h.i.t out of the toilet so she can put it outside to dry," she said, laughing.

Finch roared with glee. "That's exactly why Hope is my best best daughter." daughter."

"See, Natalie?" Hope teased. She stuck out her tongue.

"Good for you, Hope. You're Dad's favorite. Scoop away."

I watched as Hope carefully hoisted the coiled t.u.r.d out of the toilet and brought it up out of the bowl, dripping. Sitting on the spatula like that, it looked not unlike various food items cooked in the house. I also wondered if maybe it was true. If G.o.d really was a comedian and this was his way of saying things would soon improve. The thought was extremely comforting. Maybe I'd be able to attend beauty school after all. true. If G.o.d really was a comedian and this was his way of saying things would soon improve. The thought was extremely comforting. Maybe I'd be able to attend beauty school after all.

Hope walked out of the bathroom and down the hall, careful of her precious cargo. Zoo had heard the commotion and was standing in the hallway, wagging her tail. She licked up the drops of water as they fell onto the floor. "Natalie or Augusten, one of you get the door," Hope shouted as she made the turn past the jackets and into the kitchen. "Now!"

I ran ahead and got the door for her.

"Thanks."

Natalie and I stood in the doorway watching her pad across the lawn with the spatula and then gently ease the t.u.r.d onto the weathered picnic table.

"My family is so f.u.c.king insane," Natalie said. "How will I ever get into Smith?"

"You will," I said, though I didn't know how. Not without changing her last name and undergoing a complete brainwashing.

Natalie turned to me. "At least you understand."

"Can you imagine if the neighbors knew what went on in this house?" I said.

She laughed darkly. "Oh my G.o.d, they'd throw my father in an insane asylum and burn the house to the ground. It would be exactly like Frankenstein Frankenstein."

I looked at all the houses on the block, the other old Victorians. Only they had lace curtains in the windows, manicured bushes out front, actual flowers in bloom. We only had plastic tulips stuck into the dirt, blossom-first, and there wasn't a curtain or shade in the place. It wasn't hard to imagine that one of the neighbors-a Smith Admissions Coordinator perhaps-was peering out her curtain at this exact moment. one of the neighbors-a Smith Admissions Coordinator perhaps-was peering out her curtain at this exact moment.

Natalie absently fingered a long strand of her hair.

I couldn't help but think it would look so much better platinum. "We should bleach you," I said.

"Huh?"

"It'd be fun. It would look really good. Bring out your eyes."

She shrugged. "Maybe later."

Outside, Hope gave the t.u.r.d a nudge with the spatula, making sure the coil was tight.

Agnes began mindlessly sweeping the carpet in the living room. This was always her first response to stress. It was not uncommon to be awakened in the middle of the night to the fshhh, fshhh, fshhh sound of Agnes sweeping the hallway runner, the living room rug or the walls themselves. The sweeping had the effect of spreading the animal hairs out thinner and moving crumbs and toenail clippings into the corners.

"Knock it off, Agnes," Natalie shouted.

"You mind your own beeswax," Agnes shouted back. As she continued to sweep, she leaned heavily on the broom. Without it, I doubted she could remain standing. She would just sag onto the floor and stay there like a load of laundry.