Burn Down The Night (25 page)

Deirdre laughs,
clinging to Morrison with wanton abandon, playing with his chest, massaging his crotch with her
hands. Morrison's impassive, like a cold statue standing there in the night.

"She likes you,"
says Morrison to Ralph.

"I like her!" says
Ralph, almost shouting. "I love her!"

Deirdre is pretty
wrecked, not really listening to what Morrison's saying.

From where I sit,
I tense up, sensing that something is about to happen. Something strange.

Morrison turns
Deirdre around, hugs her from behind, massaging her breasts. Ralph stands there, right up against
them, taking it all in hungrily.

I just sit on my
tombstone, out of it. It's gonna be cruel.

"Touch her,"
invites Morrison. "She wants you to."

Old Ralph doesn't
need a second invitation.

He grabs her
breasts, kneading them like dough.

"Shit!" says
Deirdre, frowning vaguely at the old man. "Cut that out."

The old man goes
right on squeezing her tits.

Deirdre tries to
brush his hands away but Morrison's got her arms and she's pretty wrecked, too wrecked to put up
much of a struggle.

Morrison lets her
struggle, trying to squirm out of his grasp, then suddenly lets her go so that she staggers
forward, colliding with the old man. Ralph is practically drooling. Her arms go around the old
man's neck for a second, as she struggles for balance, trying not to fall, and the old man thinks
she's trying to jump him.

Ralph throws his
arms around her, pulling her tight against him in an embrace. "Oh, love," he croons.

Deirdre realizes
what's happening, puts her hand in Ralph's fat face and shoves him off of her. The old man
staggers back, crashing into me, almost knocking me over ass backwards off my
tombstone.

Deirdre angrily
turns to look at Morrison, pissed off. She almost screams. Morrison's got a wicked-looking knife
in his hands. I didn't even see him pull it, didn't know he was carrying one. I jump off the
tombstone, afraid he's going to stab her, not sure what I should do.

Morrison sticks
the knife blade under her chin, puts it up against her throat. I take a step forward,
scared.

"Take your clothes
off," says Morrison.

"That's not
funny," she says, scared of the look in Morrison's eyes, the coldness in his voice.

"Nothing is ever
funny," says Morrison. "'Cause nothing ever happens, right?"

"Put it away," she
says. "I won't do it."

Morrison tilts the
knife, lifting the blade, bringing her up on her toes, almost making her scream. It hurts. The
knife is almost going into her skin.

Morrison turns his
head, looking at me. I don't know what to do. I'm torn. I'd kind of like to stop him. I don't
really want to see her get hurt. He's only supposed to be scaring her, I remember that much of
what he'd said. I kind of would like to stop him and I kind of would like to see her naked.
Decisions! Decisions!

Old Ralph is out
of it, so out of it he doesn't even see the knife, but what does register on him is that he's
heard Morrison tell her to take her clothes off and he's all for that. "Take them off! Take them
all off!" cries Ralph, using the tombstone to drag himself up to his feet. He's having trouble
standing up.

"You bastard,"
says Deirdre. "You're serious, aren't you!"

Morrison doesn't
say anything, just stands there looking like a killer, the knife pressed tightly against her
throat.

I come up next to
them wondering what I am supposed to do, what I am supposed to say. Maybe we're having too much
fun and we should forget the whole thing.

"Take them off"
says Morrison.

"Bastard," says
Deirdre, hatred on her face as she begins to unbutton the top button of her shirt, moving very
very carefully so the knife doesn't jiggle and cut her.

"This is crazy!" I
say. "This is like rape."

"I don't want Miss
Rich Bitch to be bored," says Morrison.

"You're too kind,"
says Deirdre, tight-lipped, struggling with her shirt buttons. She's too wrecked. Her fingers
don't work very well.

"Help her. She's
in a hurry," says Morrison to me.

I shrug,
hesitating beside her.

Deirdre stares at
me strangely. Not really angry, more as if she's challenging me, daring me to touch
her.

"Afraid to?" she
says, smiling at me wickedly. "What's the matter? Never raped anybody before?"

"Only on the
weekends," I say, deciding to go through with it. Why not? Gonna get my kicks before the whole
world goes-bang-bang-I'm-dead.

I grab her shirt
and start working on the buttons. The old man comes over to us, sees the knife, sees me fumbling
with her shirt.

"What's going on?"
He looks at us both, not under-standing. "What are you doing?" He looks upset, may­be a little
bit scared.

"Having fun," says
Morrison. "All God's children got to have their fun."

"Hey! Hey!" says
the old man, really upset now. "I don't think you should do that!"

My hands aren't
working any better on Deirdre's buttons than hers were. Frustrated, I grab the shirt on each side
and yank. The buttons tear off and the shirt comes away in my hands.

"You ruined it,
you bastard," Deirdre almost screams. The tug on her shirt has jerked her forward. The knife
hurts her neck a little. She touches her neck.

"I'm cut. I'm
bleeding," she says.

She isn't wearing
a bra. What a gorgeous looker this girl is in the moonlight.

Ralph is in a
sweat, so excited in spite of his fear that he damn near passes out. I feel it too.

She curses us.
Ralph comes up to her and starts rubbing her breasts, squeezing her nipples.

She tells us we
are bastards, pigs, but while she's doing it she's getting excited. Her nipples get stiff,
thrust­ing out at us. She is getting hot, and that from a girl who's always hot to start with is
pretty hot. We are all becoming cats in heat, even Morrison.

Ralph has one hand
on her and one hand on himself. "Oh, honey! Oh, honey! Oh, honey!" Ralph chants, face covered
with sweat. "Oh, honey! Oh, honey!"

Morrison nods down
at her skirt. "Take it off," he says.

"Let me do it,"
says Deirdre with a wicked laugh. "I don't want it ripped."

"Oh, honey! Oh,
honey!"

"This is rape. You
know this is rape," she says, glaring at Morrison as she tugs at the waist of her
skirt.

"This is just
fun," says Morrison, still holding the knife. "The kind of fun you've been asking for all your
life. So you better want what you get 'cause you're gonna get it."

"Let's get naked,"
says Morrison, taking the knife away from her neck.

Deirdre's skirt
comes undone and she bends down, stepping out of it. The first to get naked. Morrison and I
strip. Ralph leaves all of his clothes on, unzipped and hanging out.

Deirdre stands
between us, shivering in the night air as our hands explore her body. Deirdre slaps Morrison,
suddenly, unexpectedly. "I hate you! You're an animal!"

Morrison doesn't
hesitate, slaps her right back, so hard he almost knocks her down.

The knife is back
at her throat again, unnecessarily, melodramatically. "Lay down, rich bitch."

"I'll break it off
inside," she says, holding the side of her face, hating him.

"You always do,"
says Morrison.

She lays down on
the grass, shivering in the cold, spreading her long beautiful legs. God, she looks love­ly, like
an angel in the moonlight! The most erotic girl I've ever seen.

We stand over her,
SS troopers in the L.A. night.

"Who's first?" she
says, mocking us.

Ralph falls on
her, moaning, "Oh, honey! Oh, honey!"

She tries to push
him off but he's too heavy and she's too wrecked. He struggles to get inside her, groping
clumsily in the dark. They roll on the ground like two boa constrictors, one dressed and one
undressed.

Ralph gets in her,
ejaculating the second he gets inside, coming with a throaty moan. She rolls to her side, pushing
the heavy body off of her. She balls her hand into a fist and slams it into Ralph's face, hitting
him in the eyes. The old man screams, folds up beside her like an accordion, in agony. She really
clobbered him. He thrashes beside her naked body, holding his eyes, moaning. One of her legs is
pinned beneath him.

Morrison grabs
Deirdre by the hair, dragging her painfully away from the old man. "Bitch!" he snarls, handing me
the knife. "Let's see you hit me," he says.

Morrison flings
himself on top of her, covering her mouth with a brutal kiss, pinning her arms to her sides. He's
brutal, vicious.

She likes
it.

She tears her arms
loose, circles them around his back, pressing him tightly against her. I'm so turned on, I don't
even know I got a knife in my hand. It slips through my fingers, falls at my feet. I want her so
bad I can taste it.

Her fingers claw
into Morrison's back. Her back arches and she comes convulsively, face contorted with pleasure.
Her hands dig into his back, driving him deep inside her. Her hot, excited cries ring out in the
night, throaty bursts of pure pleasure, total abandon.

The rhythm goes
and goes. She comes again and again. Morrison groans, driving into the night, swimming to the
moon.

Old Ralph lays
beside them sobbing, maybe seriously hurt, no one really cares. Finally he crawls off on his
hands and knees, going off somewhere by himself.

"I love it! Love
it!" Deirdre screams, riding the big wave. "Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't stop!"

The world is one
big orgasm for Deirdre. She bounces under Morrison like a wild horse, driving him deeper and
deeper inside her. She's the ultimate erotic animal, some kind of cosmic sex child.

They come
together, mutual climax, thrashing like snakes in the sand, vertebraes reaching through the skin
for the stars.

I'm standing above
them, on fire, blazing in the night with desire.

Morrison rolls off
slowly, and she looks up at me, all sweaty, legs stretched out. Looking like every erotic vision
I've ever had or ever will have. She's the fierce daughter of barbarians, a princess of
flesh.

And I almost
can't, almost back away, 'cause it's so different from my dreams, from my fantasy conquests. At
that moment I never wanted anything more than her and it's scary. I almost step back but she sees
me hesitate. Her hands come up and catch my legs. She pulls me down on top of her.

Her hands are
between my legs skillfully, driving me into her. Her burning body grinds against me. It's fast,
blinding, like making love to a lightning bolt. Who's raping who?

She makes love
like she's making war.

Her wicked legs
wrap around me, drawing me deep inside.

"Oh, love! Oh,
love! Oh, love!" says Deirdre, in convulsions, fingernails biting into my back as she or­gasms
endlessly. A sweet ride. Sweet ride.

I ride until the
dam breaks in me, spilling me into her.

I collapse in her
arms, exhausted. She holds me against her, drenched in our sweat, kissing my face, lips, eyes.
"Oh, love! Love!"

Morrison, lying
beside us, silent, sits up abruptly, staring at us. He looks around for the old man but he's long
gone, maybe crawled off to die somewhere.

"Oh, love! Love,"
she whispers so sweetly in my ears. So good to kiss her. And we are holding each other, lips and
tongues caressing each other's faces. Morrison gets up, disgusted, disapproving.

"You make me
sick!" he says, glaring at us.

I only know I'm
kissing her, getting aroused again, that I want to stay this way forever, barely aware that he's
talking to us.

Her hand comes
down to touch me, coaxing me. We roll over and gently, lovingly this time, I go inside her again.
Her arms go around my back, caressing me.

Morrison towers
over us, like some kind of angry god denied a sacrifice. We barely know he is there.

"You both make me
sick!" says Morrison. "This is supposed to be a rape but now it looks too much like falling in
love. Well, fuck it!"

Morrison stalks
off angrily. Vaguely I'm aware we are now alone. I don't think Deirdre's heard a word Morrison's
said. Neither of us cares anyway. Too interested in discovering each other.

I hold her so
tight my arms ache and we make love like people in love make love. I feel things in me, feelings
I never thought I had, rising in me like some kind of dam was washed away by a flood. It's crazy,
it's insane, but all feelings are anyway. I think I'm falling in love, and not just from the lap
down.

Dawn finds us
still wrapped in each other's arms, half frozen, still naked, and as close to being in love as
I've ever been.