Read Online Greenmantle by Charles De Lint - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles De Lint
Tags: Fiction
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feeling of incompletion, and he couldn’t explain his new virility, either.
“What’s gotten into you?” Brenda asked him one night as they started to make love for the second time in as many hours.
“Got a need, Boo,” he grunted, hands moving quick, maybe a little rough, all over her.
His penis stood at attention, hard as a rock against her belly. Brenda took it in hand. The marvel to her was that after reading about orgasms in Women’s Weekly and Redbook and the like for years and never really knowing what they were talking about, for the first time in their twenty-eight years of marriage she was actually having them. And, Lord, but didn’t it feel good. And maybe she was getting a little plump, and maybe there were gray hairs hidden by the regular use of Miss Clairol, but wasn’t it something that at her age she could still turn a man on like she did? Wasn’t that something ?
Moving under Lance, pulling him inside her, she had to smile. Lord, but those Maxwells had known what they were about when they were naming their little boy.
* * *
Lance tended to avoid driving by the old Treasure place, though he couldn’t have said why. He knew it was fixed up—Buddy’s little girl, all grown up, was living there now—but the spot just gave him a shiver. About the only thing that had changed for him when Frances Treasure moved in was that he was out the bucks it cost for a case of two-four.
It had been a private bet that he’d made with Frank Clayton—they were the only two who knew anything about it—but he’d paid up all the same. Hell, he was just glad to be alive instead of lying in the slush, praying someone found him before his ticker gave right out. Frank had nothing to do with him making it, and the Treasure place had nothing to do with his having the attack, but he paid the former and avoided the latter all the same.
* * *
Tuesday night he and Brenda were watching St. Elsewhere on their old Zenith TV. Lance had a beer in his hand; Brenda was dividing her attention between darning socks and the latest dramas of the St. Eligius hierarchy. Lance lifted his bottle, pausing before he took a swallow.
“Let’s get to bed, Boo,” he said suddenly.
Brenda looked at him. “But—”
“The darning can wait, and so can that,” he said, nodding at the tube. He set his beer down on the scratched coffee table. He was already hard. “Let’s go , Boo.”
That night he was a buck, fourteen points if it had one. There was something chasing him and he had to drop his load, quick, or something bad was going to happen. The hounds were out hunting tonight, looking for him, and maybe he’d stand and fight them off, and maybe he’d just run, but first he had to hide his seed. That was what they wanted. The dogs wanted his seed. But he was going to hide it away so deep and so far they were never going to find it, no way.
When he finally pulled away from her and rolled over, Brenda lay quietly for a long time. Not until she was sure he was asleep did she get up and pad into the bathroom. She started to sit on the toilet, but suddenly Lance was there, filling the doorway.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded. “Christ on a cross! What the hell do you think you’re doing ?” He was wild-eyed, a stranger.
“I’m just—”
He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her off the toilet. “You want them to find it?” he roared. “Jesus H. Christ, woman, what do you think I was hiding it for? So you could piss it down the drain?”
“Lance, I…”
Her voice trailed off. Lance was slowly shaking his head. He lifted a hand to rub his temple.
“Jesus,” he said in a softer voice.
“Lance. Are you okay?”
“Got a headache, Boo. That’s all.”
Brenda massaged her arm where he’d grabbed her. That was going to bruise, she thought. She looked at her husband, remembering the stranger he’d been for a moment there. For the first time since his ardor had returned, stronger even than
“What’s gotten into you?” Brenda asked him one night as they started to make love for the second time in as many hours.
“Got a need, Boo,” he grunted, hands moving quick, maybe a little rough, all over her.
His penis stood at attention, hard as a rock against her belly. Brenda took it in hand. The marvel to her was that after reading about orgasms in Women’s Weekly and Redbook and the like for years and never really knowing what they were talking about, for the first time in their twenty-eight years of marriage she was actually having them. And, Lord, but didn’t it feel good. And maybe she was getting a little plump, and maybe there were gray hairs hidden by the regular use of Miss Clairol, but wasn’t it something that at her age she could still turn a man on like she did? Wasn’t that something ?
Moving under Lance, pulling him inside her, she had to smile. Lord, but those Maxwells had known what they were about when they were naming their little boy.
* * *
Lance tended to avoid driving by the old Treasure place, though he couldn’t have said why. He knew it was fixed up—Buddy’s little girl, all grown up, was living there now—but the spot just gave him a shiver. About the only thing that had changed for him when Frances Treasure moved in was that he was out the bucks it cost for a case of two-four.
It had been a private bet that he’d made with Frank Clayton—they were the only two who knew anything about it—but he’d paid up all the same. Hell, he was just glad to be alive instead of lying in the slush, praying someone found him before his ticker gave right out. Frank had nothing to do with him making it, and the Treasure place had nothing to do with his having the attack, but he paid the former and avoided the latter all the same.
* * *
Tuesday night he and Brenda were watching St. Elsewhere on their old Zenith TV. Lance had a beer in his hand; Brenda was dividing her attention between darning socks and the latest dramas of the St. Eligius hierarchy. Lance lifted his bottle, pausing before he took a swallow.
“Let’s get to bed, Boo,” he said suddenly.
Brenda looked at him. “But—”
“The darning can wait, and so can that,” he said, nodding at the tube. He set his beer down on the scratched coffee table. He was already hard. “Let’s go , Boo.”
That night he was a buck, fourteen points if it had one. There was something chasing him and he had to drop his load, quick, or something bad was going to happen. The hounds were out hunting tonight, looking for him, and maybe he’d stand and fight them off, and maybe he’d just run, but first he had to hide his seed. That was what they wanted. The dogs wanted his seed. But he was going to hide it away so deep and so far they were never going to find it, no way.
When he finally pulled away from her and rolled over, Brenda lay quietly for a long time. Not until she was sure he was asleep did she get up and pad into the bathroom. She started to sit on the toilet, but suddenly Lance was there, filling the doorway.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded. “Christ on a cross! What the hell do you think you’re doing ?” He was wild-eyed, a stranger.
“I’m just—”
He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her off the toilet. “You want them to find it?” he roared. “Jesus H. Christ, woman, what do you think I was hiding it for? So you could piss it down the drain?”
“Lance, I…”
Her voice trailed off. Lance was slowly shaking his head. He lifted a hand to rub his temple.
“Jesus,” he said in a softer voice.
“Lance. Are you okay?”
“Got a headache, Boo. That’s all.”
Brenda massaged her arm where he’d grabbed her. That was going to bruise, she thought. She looked at her husband, remembering the stranger he’d been for a moment there. For the first time since his ardor had returned, stronger even than
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