Part Ten
Editors at Nonzine: Let me just say in my own defense that this was not entirely my idea – she had some part in this too. She was stringing me along with whatever that was that she was doing by telling me what I probably would or would not do, as when she stood in the middle of her apartment waiting for me to do something, and I asked her her name.
She said, “You’ll think about asking my name, but you’ll think better of it. Instead, you’ll most likely cross over to me and unzip my coat.”
I almost couldn’t help myself. It was like she had put a spell on me, hypnotized me somehow. I crossed over to her, my eyes downcast, a little ashamed of myself. I paused with my hands in mid-air on their way to her coat zipper, wondering if I shouldn’t just run away as fast as I could manage.
“You’re thinking about running,” she said. “Don’t.” And that last word came out of her with such a shudder that her body fell forward a little, right into my hands.
I undressed her – coat, blouse, jeans, bra and undies – and left her standing there, an exposed and shuddering statue in the middle of the room. While I slowly, neatly folded her clothes and put them aside, little squares on one of the lawn chairs, she stood there. As I bent over to toss her last bit of clothing onto the chair with the rest, my sharpie fell out of my pocket, calling to me with its erratic thud on the carpet. I looked from the pen to the girl who stood there now in her thrall of nudity, shuddering and waiting with her eyes closed. I looked back to my pen, and back to the girl. “You’ll do terrible, wonderful things to me,” she had said. Yes, I would.
I grabbed up my pen and went to her. I laid her down and began to have my way with her when she said, “I know now that it won’t do any good to scream or resist. I’ll just close my eyes and let you have your way with me.” She lay curled up on her army-issue cot. I gently pressed her body and helped maneuver her into lying face down on it, stretched out the length of it with her arms over her head.
“You won’t bother to ask me if I’m comfortable or not,” she said, and I didn’t. I pulled the cap off my sharpie and went right to work. She questioned me for a moment after the first few letters, but otherwise kept silent and still with her eyes closed. I’d decided to not just label her, but to label every part of her, from her neck to her sole, shoulder to thigh. She said nothing to instruct me further, nor to further question what I was doing. I pressed her to turn over. I began to label her from forehead to ankle, arm to shin and still she made no question about what I was doing, as if this had somehow been in her plan all along, or she had just finished instructing me.
As I completed my work with a 72 point block letter “306.742” across her midriff, my original fear, that she had been following me and secretly watching me, reared up again and I pulled away from her , capping my sharpie and looking down at her in horror. It was like I had been under her complete control, mindlessly heeding her every odd suggestion, and now with fear came the realization of what I was doing. “My god,” I said. “How old are you?”
She yawned and stretched and said tiredly, “You all of the sudden realize that you may be doing something illegal with an under-aged girl. And you will begin to tremble, wondering if you’re not caught up in some ugly version of Lolita without ever realizing it was happening to you.”
I pulled further away from her, staring wide-eyed at her face.
“You’ll desperately search my face and my body for signs of age. I will feel your eyes on me and I will relish your desperation.”
We sat there, me on the floor and she still lying back on her cot with her arms stretched out over her head, doing exactly as she said. She had the most pleasant smile on her face, and still a shudder or two coursing through her body, as I indeed searched her with my eyes for any sign that she was not as young as she seemed to be. I had thought before that she couldn’t be over fourteen, and I concluded the same now. On the bus, somehow, it hadn’t even bothered me, but now I began to shake, and I fumbled my way to my feet ready to flee this situation, ready to get back to my mission. I hadn’t meant for this to happen. I hadn’t intended for any of this to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be on the bus. She wasn’t supposed to control me like that.
She stood up now, and pressed her body against me, grabbing my hand. “You will begin to feel calm. Though everything seems to be titling entirely out of your control, an unbelievable calm will come over you.” She continued to hold my hand and to lean into my body, but I couldn’t feel calm.
She sighed and dropped my hand, realizing, I think, that she had lost her control of me. “Fine,” she said. “Will you calm down if I show you my license?” She brought her license to me, and stood there watching me as I looked it over. She was nineteen. “See? There’s nothing wrong. Will you calm down now?” She snatched the license from my fingers and walked into the kitchen. I read her labels as she went, finally able to admire my work.
She said, “You’ll think about asking my name, but you’ll think better of it. Instead, you’ll most likely cross over to me and unzip my coat.”
I almost couldn’t help myself. It was like she had put a spell on me, hypnotized me somehow. I crossed over to her, my eyes downcast, a little ashamed of myself. I paused with my hands in mid-air on their way to her coat zipper, wondering if I shouldn’t just run away as fast as I could manage.
“You’re thinking about running,” she said. “Don’t.” And that last word came out of her with such a shudder that her body fell forward a little, right into my hands.
I undressed her – coat, blouse, jeans, bra and undies – and left her standing there, an exposed and shuddering statue in the middle of the room. While I slowly, neatly folded her clothes and put them aside, little squares on one of the lawn chairs, she stood there. As I bent over to toss her last bit of clothing onto the chair with the rest, my sharpie fell out of my pocket, calling to me with its erratic thud on the carpet. I looked from the pen to the girl who stood there now in her thrall of nudity, shuddering and waiting with her eyes closed. I looked back to my pen, and back to the girl. “You’ll do terrible, wonderful things to me,” she had said. Yes, I would.
I grabbed up my pen and went to her. I laid her down and began to have my way with her when she said, “I know now that it won’t do any good to scream or resist. I’ll just close my eyes and let you have your way with me.” She lay curled up on her army-issue cot. I gently pressed her body and helped maneuver her into lying face down on it, stretched out the length of it with her arms over her head.
“You won’t bother to ask me if I’m comfortable or not,” she said, and I didn’t. I pulled the cap off my sharpie and went right to work. She questioned me for a moment after the first few letters, but otherwise kept silent and still with her eyes closed. I’d decided to not just label her, but to label every part of her, from her neck to her sole, shoulder to thigh. She said nothing to instruct me further, nor to further question what I was doing. I pressed her to turn over. I began to label her from forehead to ankle, arm to shin and still she made no question about what I was doing, as if this had somehow been in her plan all along, or she had just finished instructing me.
As I completed my work with a 72 point block letter “306.742” across her midriff, my original fear, that she had been following me and secretly watching me, reared up again and I pulled away from her , capping my sharpie and looking down at her in horror. It was like I had been under her complete control, mindlessly heeding her every odd suggestion, and now with fear came the realization of what I was doing. “My god,” I said. “How old are you?”
She yawned and stretched and said tiredly, “You all of the sudden realize that you may be doing something illegal with an under-aged girl. And you will begin to tremble, wondering if you’re not caught up in some ugly version of Lolita without ever realizing it was happening to you.”
I pulled further away from her, staring wide-eyed at her face.
“You’ll desperately search my face and my body for signs of age. I will feel your eyes on me and I will relish your desperation.”
We sat there, me on the floor and she still lying back on her cot with her arms stretched out over her head, doing exactly as she said. She had the most pleasant smile on her face, and still a shudder or two coursing through her body, as I indeed searched her with my eyes for any sign that she was not as young as she seemed to be. I had thought before that she couldn’t be over fourteen, and I concluded the same now. On the bus, somehow, it hadn’t even bothered me, but now I began to shake, and I fumbled my way to my feet ready to flee this situation, ready to get back to my mission. I hadn’t meant for this to happen. I hadn’t intended for any of this to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be on the bus. She wasn’t supposed to control me like that.
She stood up now, and pressed her body against me, grabbing my hand. “You will begin to feel calm. Though everything seems to be titling entirely out of your control, an unbelievable calm will come over you.” She continued to hold my hand and to lean into my body, but I couldn’t feel calm.
She sighed and dropped my hand, realizing, I think, that she had lost her control of me. “Fine,” she said. “Will you calm down if I show you my license?” She brought her license to me, and stood there watching me as I looked it over. She was nineteen. “See? There’s nothing wrong. Will you calm down now?” She snatched the license from my fingers and walked into the kitchen. I read her labels as she went, finally able to admire my work.
© 2006Labelman
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