Manual Labor of Like

   I had hoped to make out with Josephine during the movie, but the hand-job was completely unexpected.  Even after what Kenny had told me, I was still shocked when it happened.
   Josephine was the cousin of Jenny, my friend Kenny’s girlfriend.  Josephine lived in Far Rockaway, but during the summer she spent a lot of time at Jenny’s house.  Kenny told me that Josephine had told Jenny that she liked me, and did I want to hook up with her?  Kenny also told me that Josephine would do things to me.  I was fifteen and except for making out with Maria Ciaponne when we had gone on a date (also to the movies) the year before, I had not had things done to me.
   What things, I asked Kenny, who smiled and said—Things, you know things—then simulated one of those things by rapidly moving his hand up and down near his mouth and pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek so it bulged outward.  Things, he said again, and slapped me on the back as if I were the luckiest boy in the neighborhood.
   Josephine and I decided on a double-date with Kenny and Jenny at the movies.  We went to see Police Academy III and sat three rows from the back.  Five minutes into the film, Josephine’s hand gloved mine and stayed like that for a few minutes, then slid snake-like between my legs and went for my zipper, which was no match for her expertly nimble fingers.
   Her warm, tiny hand vice-gripped my penis—the first time it had ever been held in that way by anyone except me—cutting off the flow of blood, then her grip slackened, allowing the blood to resume its regular circulation, and my erection was instantaneous.
   I remember that the black actor who would make all sorts of funny and crazy sounds was on-screen, imitating a helicopter or something, and Jenny and Kenny were both laughing hard and Kenny, who was seated to my right, nudged me on the shoulder and said—This motherfucker’s funny as fuck—and in a low voice I agreed—Yea he is—as Josephine’s hand rapidly and effectively finished me off in less than a minute.
   I wasn’t sure if Kenny was aware of my climatic body-spasm as I came in my boxers and into the palm of Josephine’s hand.  My vision, which had gone fuzzy, and my heart, which had been beating at an accelerated pace, both returned to normal functioning.  From the corner of my eye I saw Josephine wipe her semen-sticky hand on her jeans, then she turned to me, smiled, and parted my lips by thrusting her tongue into my mouth.  After withdrawing her tongue, she stayed close to my lips and whispered, as if wanting to speak the words directly into my mouth—I like you.
   There it was, straight from Josephine’s lips.  I was a liked man.
   Look at these two, Kenny said to Jenny—They’re already kissing.
   Jenny laughed, as did Josephine, who said—You know me, I move quick—then looked at me and winked.
   If this is what she would do to me in the theater, what would she do to me out of the theater, I wondered, and conjured all sorts of fantasies, none of which would come true.


About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
This entry was posted in Prose, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s