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<TD ALIGN="LEFT"><B><FONT FACE="Georgia">The Thief and the Glove</FONT></B></TD>
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<TD ALIGN="RIGHT"><B><FONT FACE="Georgia"><A HREF="bios_m2z.shtml#Monk" TITLE="click for author info">George Monk </A></FONT></B></TD>
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<TD><I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">1. What she said that evening: </FONT></I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2"><BR>
“I am light and shadow, a troubled sea of lust.” <BR>
<BR>
<I>2. What she was thinking at the time: </I><BR>
When she was a child, her family had gone to the ocean for the
week. A storm had passed through and the waves were much higher
than normal. Cee enjoyed swimming out and finding a wave to ride
to shore, her body floating on the edge of the wave, her hands
in the air before her. When the wave started to break up, the
rushing water took her, dragged her under and rolled her along
the sandy bottom. Every surface of her skin was being shuddered,
tugged and pushed. Finally, the wave would draw back, her body
would be swept quickly from side to side, then left still. She
would swim to the surface, toss the water from her face, rub her
eyes, and turn away from shore. She would swim to meet another
wave, be brought into shore on its crest, tumbled and tossed about
as the wave broke up, would enjoy that moment of peace and begin
all over again. This is just like that, she thought. <BR>
<BR>
<I>3. Where she was that evening: </I><BR>
In her room, her place of refuge. The door was open, it was night
outside she could tell, the hall was dark except for her light,
the one Bill had put up, the red one which glowed feebly. She
shut her eyes. A lamp was lit, on a table against the wall, near
the bed. Some things had fallen earlier from the other table,
the one by the bed: some books, a letter, pens and a hair brush.
She was lying on her bed, the top sheet and covers were tumbled
onto the floor at the foot, she was on her back, breathing roughly,
one hand lying open by her face. The room was filled with piles
of books, on the floor, on the table, by the closet. She considered
the piles orderly. She hoped one day to have bookcases. There
were also piles of clothes stuffed in paper grocery bags along
the wall and under the table. One day she would get a dresser,
she thought. The light was dim. Earlier, she had laid a dark scarf
over the shade. She had imagined, then, that the light, her crimson
lipstick, the circle skirt, the white men’s shirt and vest made
her look Spanish. She wished she had castanets. <BR>
<BR>
<I>4. What she looked like: </I><BR>
She was young, her flesh had translucence. The skin over the bridge
of her nose was drawn tight and shiny. Then the skin would scrunch
up as she found herself at the seashore, rolling against the sandy
bottom. Her eyes were closed now, when open they were brown, spotted
and flecked with green gold. Her skin was darker than most of
her friends; a scar on her cheek was shiny and slightly puckered.
Her eyebrows were arched and thick, not the style of the day.
She loved her brows, could not imagine plucking them. Her dark
auburn hair was around her head, under her hand, on the pillow.
It was damp with sweat, making it coal black. Her nostrils quivered.
<BR>
<BR>
She relaxed on the bed, her feet stretched apart, knees slightly
bent, arches bent. From her hips with their pubic anchor there
was a slight rise of the pelvis, shadowed, on each side of a pool,
that was how she thought of it, her navel pool, shadowed also.
At the far edge of the pool was the arch of her ribcage whose
shape almost mirrored that below. Her body was a collection of
planes, curved planes. Surfaces reflected the light from her lamp
on the table above, cast shadows. And off the horizontal, darkness.
<BR>
<BR>
Earlier she had drawn large arrows on herself in red using a felt
tip pen; these now were smeared and fading as they were rubbed.
A bold arrow pointed from her navel to the dark thatch of pubic
hair that glistened with moisture. Two smaller arrows went from
her navel to each of her breasts, which did not lie quite flat
on her chest, but rose as gentle mounds. Her nipples pointed up
to the ceiling; they slid one direction, then back, as she was
under the waves. <BR>
<BR>
<I>5. What she looked like, another view: </I><BR>
There was someone with her, over her, helping her find those waves
of her childhood, thrusting not so gently. His t-shirt and shirt
were pulled up on his back, his pants were down around his knees.
He moved somewhat clumsily, her hand on his rear pressing him.
He kisses her, lowers his face again down against her shoulder.
She draws her knees up and starts to push harder against his thrusts.
Her hips are moving ever so slightly from side to side again.
He has raised his head up; he is looking at the wall above her
head. He shuts his eyes and his lower lip grimaces. She begins
to feel the waves pulling her, shuts her eyes and starts to shake
her head, then stops again. He thrusts again. She moves as if
jolted, her body ripples. Her face relaxes, she smiles, opens
her eyes and pushes against him harder, the hand lying by her
head reaches up and starts to pull the shirt even higher; she
raises her head up again. Her hand leaves the shirt, moves to
his back and pulls him down to her; she kisses him again. Kisses
him and begins to move her hips quickly from side to side, her
pelvis reaching up to meet his. He stops, arches his back, driving
his hips into hers, is still a moment. He drops his head down,
kisses her, then slowly collapses over her. <BR>
<BR>
<I>6. What she was wishing: </I><BR>
I wish he’d taken his clothes off, everything. I wish I could
feel his skin against mine. <BR>
<BR>
7. What he was thinking: <BR>
He lay there thinking about roads, live oaks and Spanish moss–being
in a car driving down a road slowly, in utter quiet, the shadows
passing over the hood of the car. Bright spots advanced, filled
the car with light, disappeared. Everything was in black and white
and shades of gray. The car passed an old house, set back from
the road, almost entirely in shadow. A bright spot advances, fills
the car with light, disappears. He could feel their hearts beating,
the sweat on their bellies, her fingers resting lightly over his
ass; a finger moved, then was still. As the car was moving through
the shadows, past the trees, quiet, there was no sound, words
came into his mind, then went away. <BR>
<BR>
<I>8. What he saw when he came in next: </I><BR>
Cee was on her bed, on her back, he thought she was beautiful.
The room was filled with shadows and light. Her eyes were open,
she was looking up at the ceiling, her left leg twitched, straightened,
then bent again. Her eyes shut. The room smelled of sex and the
sea. <BR>
<I>9. Her memories the next day: </I><BR>
She remembered leaving her room dressed, scarf on the lamp, letter
and book she was reading by the bed on the small table. Before
dressing, drawing the arrows. She remembered enjoying the feel
of the pen on her skin–wet then dry. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered Jim coming in earlier yesterday, showing her a
new record he’d found downtown. He wanted her to hear it. He wanted
to make love. He went out, put the record on the stereo, and then
came back. She looked up from her book and smiled. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered sitting up front with the boys, Julia, Jenny and
Sam. Talking. Eating spaghetti Jenny and Bill made; not much.
Drinking a little wine. Enjoying the conversation. Talking about
music, Mississippi and Alabama and injustice. Talking about the
new school year. Watching Julia look at Jim, and Jim finally starting
to notice. Watching Bill and Jenny hold hands and glance at each
other from time to time. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered Jim came back to her room later that evening, she
was already naked, on the bed, and wet. He bent over, kissed her,
then started to take off his clothes. She rubbed his leg as he
took off his shirt. She sat up and undid his belt and jeans. He
looked so tall, so fragile, the veins raised on his skin pulsing
in the dim light. He sat down on the bed, kissed her, said, “Feel
like I’ve been here before.” He took off his shoes and socks.
She said, “A century ago, one dark night a thief stole into my
room, kissed me, took a glove and left. I’m glad I found you again.”
He stood up and let his pants drop to the floor, stepped away
from them. He said, “May I join you?” She laughed, lay down again,
scooted over, said, “Please do.” She hoped that part of him she
called Beast was happy to feel her fingertips glance past as she
pulled Jim close. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered thinking, one day he’ll look away. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered the pool of sweat on her belly, puddles forming
at her neck, between her breasts, on the bed, spreading from the
edge of her ass. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered one shy boy who stood in the doorway, looked in,
and started to turn away. She jumped up, took his arm, and drew
him in with a smile and a question about dada and art. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered the taste of wine. The taste of the boy who smoked.
She remembered well the taste of salt. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered hearing Mark play his piano, later the stereo was
on. She heard people in the kitchen talking and laughing, the
clatter of dishes. They’re washing up, she thought. She remembered
other sounds, those in her room peculiar to sex, wet surfaces
in contact. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered being on her knees, her face on the pillow sideways,
the pillow pushed against the wall as he held her hips and thrust.
She remembered her whole body moving forward, being pulled back,
moving forward, being pulled back. She remembered the sound of
his breathing. Her fingers tickled her self, trying to catch the
next wave into shore. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered afterward the feel of come sliding out of her,
clumps dropping between her legs, on her legs, when he pulled
out. He knelt down beside her, they both stretched out, kissed,
hugged. He lay there for a while, his head on her breast, looking
at her, his face in shadow. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered sucking him. He had a cute belly button. It looked
like a pouty-lipped smile. His hand touched her hair, went away,
touched again. She remembered how pubic hair tickled her nose.
<BR>
<BR>
She remembered lying on her back, her legs wrapped around somebody,
she didn’t know who, her eyes had been shut. He was burrowing
into her with quick short movements, and then he slowed and made
long movement– in, stop, out, stop, in, stop, out. She opened
her eyes, her arms wrapped around his neck pulling him closer.
<BR>
<BR>
She remembered the folds in the sheet, the spaces between the
folds. How everything changed when she moved. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered getting up and walking down the hall to the bathroom.
Peeing. The light was too bright. Her arrows were faded, her hair
a wet mop down her back. Her skin tingled and it felt as if small
shudders were still moving up and down her arms and legs. She
splashed some water on her face, watched in the mirror as water
dripped down her chin. She winked. She turned out the light. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered he was quick. He came almost before he entered
her. She held him tightly and rocked him from side to side. She
let her arms relax, put a hand to his face, kissed him. He started
to get up, she pressed his rear down to her. She kissed him again.
She asked, “What shall we do next?” <BR>
<BR>
She remembered the waves were rolling her over and over against
the sandy bottom. She gasped, flung out her hand, gasped, swung
her arm above her head to swim, felt her hand knock something,
heard something far away fall (some papers, a book). Her hand
bounced away from the wall, onto the back of someone who also
was moving under the ocean. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered the shy one tried extra special hard. He kissed
her all over, even there, especially there. Her hips jumped up
and she banged him. “Sorry,” he said. She opened her mouth, no
sound came out. She pushed him back to her crotch. <BR>
<BR>
She remembered moonlight silver on the sidewalk. The sound of
insects, the lights and sound of a car as it passed on her walk
home. Mark was talking, she smiled and squeezed his hand. Another
car passed. She felt her eyes moisten, house lights glittered.
<BR>
<BR>
She remembered walking up front, giving a twirl so her circle
skirt would spin out around her. She laughed and sat down. She
said, “Isn’t that neat?” <BR>
<BR>
She remembered bringing the first boy back. “No song and dance
this time, that’s getting old. You’re it.” She took his hand,
stood up, pulled him up with her and started to take him out of
the room towards hers. She stopped for a second, still holding
his hand. Someone was laughing. She bent down to Julia, “Jim’s
free, you know. We’re all free.” Stood up and went to her room
with the first boy. She could not remember his name. The one with
dark, curly hair like Dylan’s. <BR>
<BR>
<I>10. What she did, after she said that: </I><BR>
She laughed. “I am Megra, Lady Venus. I am a wilderness inhabited
by wild thoughts.” She laughed again. “Thank you Mr. Beaumont,
thank you Mr. Fletcher.” She smiled and touched his cheek. “My
dear thief.” </FONT></TD>
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