The End of a Summer

Picture the face of an 18-year-old kid. Shower water runs down his near-total crew cut of a scalp and over his gray-blue eyes. This kid is Dennis Tominsky. He's staring at the tiles of the shower after masturbating, having watched his favorite car crash video for the umpteenth time. He's concentrating hard on what looks like nothing, but we can all see that it's in his head. He's a plotter, Dennis; a mental gamesman. He looks like if he engaged you in conversation you'd have no choice but to pay close attention to whatever he says; he looks like if he shouted at you, no matter what he shouted, it would bruise. He stares at the tile and breathes hard and looks downward at his junk.

Dennis turns off the water. He has to go check on his grandmother. His grandmother who no longer has full custody of him and hasn't since he turned eighteen. But you know what? Dennis thinks of himself as such a compassionate guy that he's sticking around anyway. At least until he goes to college up north. He towels himself off. He dresses in underwear and jeans. He's well-built, a sturdy, not too tall, but still imposing lank of a figure. Clearly goes to the gym somewhat regularly. Not that his body is every straight woman's type, but every straight woman would admit he's attractive.

Opening the door to his grandmother's room softly, Dennis peers in at her. Yep, she's asleep. The sound of running water put her to sleep as usual. Her bottle of pills sits on the bedside table. It's knocked over, like usual, but at least none of the pills fell under the bed this time. Dennis won't have to cut into his precious time searching for them.

She's snoring. Also, usual. It is only now that Dennis notices that she does look like his mother. Except not that much older. It isn't his grandma's fault. His mom has already done enough to her body to make her look just a few years' shy in age of her own mother. How pathetic.

Sensing her sleep is deep enough at this point, Dennis reaches into her open purse, lying on the floor, removes a wad of twenty dollar bills just crumpled up in there, crumpled like used napkins, and folds them up nice and neat. Under the twenty, he locates what he's looking for; a bottle of Oxycodone. He puts it in his pocket with the twenty. He grins. He gently shuts the door.

*

Cheryl Peters stands on the sidewalk outside the house. She hugs herself through her green velvet shirt. Why does he make her stand in the cold like this? She should have brought her jacket.

The text message that comes through isn't from Dennis. It's from her best friend Clarissa. Clarissa says babe listen, do not, I repeat, DO NOT fuck him this time

She has not thought of a response before the door opens and Dennis Tominsky stands there, arms crossed, grinning.

"Aren't you going to give me a hug?" Cheryl asks.

"Nah."

Cheryl smiles and looks away. Dennis laughs. He approaches Cheryl. He kisses her cheek. He brushes away her hair.

"How's everything, babe?"

"It's...okay."

"You must be nearing heat stroke or something."

Dennis looks over her whole body as he says that. The velvet shirt that dips into a V shape and shows the upper edge of her bra; the light-blue jeans with the black leather belt; the steel-toed gray shoes. She used to get nervous when he looked over her whole body. Now she gets slightly wet.

"Let's get you inside," Dennis says, taking her hand, curling his fingers into her's and leading her inside.

"Um, just so you know," says Cheryl, on the stairwell, almost at the heavy wooden door that's loose on one hinge.

"What?" Dennis says, whipping himself around at the door, like a predator. It's scary.

"Just so you know, we're not having sex this time," Cheryl says. "I just want to hang out."

Dennis observes her for a few seconds. He smiles with one side of his mouth.

"Dennis...I'm serious, it isn't anything personal, just-"

"Do I look like I'm offended?"

Cheryl looks away, at the wall with the paint peeling.

"Look into my eyes."

Oooh she can't believe he said that. Why is he doing saying the same thing he tells her to do sometimes during sex?

Cheryl looks into his eyes, squinting, trying to look pissed off.

"Do I look offended? Am I ever offended by anything?"

Cheryl shakes her head.

"It's cool, we won't."

Dennis wheels around as he says it and opens the door. Cheryl hesitates for a moment, looking at his hand holding the door, at the snake tattoo with the tail ending at his knuckles.

*

Dennis moves the lighter around the interior of the bowl. Cheryl watches the light move. Her forehead already feels light. She doesn't know if she regrets bringing the pot or if it's better this way. Dennis inhales and exhales smoke into her face. Cheryl brushes it aside and giggles. She hardly hears herself giggling. She just knows it happened.

Now Dennis is crushing up a pill on the coffee table in front of the T.V. Is that one of his grandmother's pills? He snorts it. His head jerks back. He inches the remainder towards Cheryl.

"Try it," he says and clears his throat. He gives her a look that makes him look ten years younger, suddenly.

Cheryl tries it. She feels the redness shoot into her eyes. Her head cocks back. She giggles.

*

Our two teenage flirty-birds are now high and giggly. Dennis says something clever and Cheryl bursts out laughing and rolls her body against him. She responds with an imitation of his best friend, Dirk and Dennis is the one to laugh now. But instead of moving his body he slumps on the couch. He takes up the remote and suddenly turns the T.V off.

Cheryl looks from him to the T.V and back again.

"What's wrong?" She says with a snort.

"Sometimes life is just overwhelming. You know?"

A pause.

"Yeah, of course I know," Cheryl says.

"But I'm not sure you do know, Cheryl," says Dennis. He is now staring at her, his red eyes even and magnetized.

"Um, okay," says Cheryl. "I mean you just said that everybody's suffering is the same..."

"Cheryl. I'm not sure you do know," says Dennis. "And I'm not saying this out of disrespect. I'm saying it because you are one of the most important people in my life."

Okay, he's in weird mode now, Cheryl thinks. At the same time, she doesn't want to leave the couch.

"Look at me, Cheryl," Dennis says, sitting up. "Look into my eyes."

She hesitates. But she does as he says.

She looks into his red eyes, even and magnetized. Something in his stare makes her tingle; makes her nervous in a good way.

"I've started to think you're the only one who can help me. Deal with all this bullshit, living with my sick grandma, my Dad in jail, getting suspended, all the shit with Ms. Nostrand. You're the only person smart enough to understand me. I owe you for that."

There's a long moment where they just look at each other.

Then they both burst out laughing. Cheryl tilts towards him as she laughs.

Dennis catches her mouth in his. A long kiss. Cheryl does not decline it. In fact, she's the one who nudges herself closer and puts her hands around his shoulders.

She feels one of Dennis' hands on her waist.

Oh god, here we go again, a voice inside her screams.

Fuck his brains out, whispers another voice.

They move to the bedroom.

*

Later, Dennis and Cheryl make out on the bed, rolling around on the sheets. Cheryl's shirt is off and Dennis is undoing her bra. She has a thought:

"Were those your grandmother's pills?" she asks.

"Hmm?"

"The stuff we snorted."

"What? Nah. What kind of asshole do you think I am?"

Cheryl looks at him. She smirks. Dennis kisses her on the forehead.

"You getting tired?" He mumbles.

Cheryl shrugs.

"Not really."

"Nor am I."

Cheryl moves to kiss him again, but Dennis is kissing her throat. Then she's on her back. Now he's down to her collarbone. Wait, now her bra is off? Yes, that's correct. He flicks his tongue around both her nipples and she shudders, makes a breathy noise that just escapes on its own.

Dennis moves down to her bellybutton. His fingers massage her nipples. She feels them getting hard. With his other hand he's unbuckling her pants.

For a little while she watches him move his tongue, move his head. Then she shuts her eyes, because that makes it sexier for her. She feels pleasant surges jolt up from her crotch into her stomach as he licks her lower and probes deeper. The surges get deeper as she feels him concentrate on her clit and work his fingers around just above his tongue.

Cheryl realizes, after a time, that she's moaning. Steadily, with an escalating tug on her lungs that she can feel. She stops herself for a moment, touches Dennis' prickly head, keeps moaning.

For our part--if we keep our distance, that is, give them some space--we see a young woman on her back on a ratty twin bed, in a room with heavy metal posters on the wall. A single lamp illuminates Dennis, shirtless, his head locked between her thighs, bobbing up and down and twisting back and forth. We see Cheryl's head cocked back on the pillow and hear her going,

uh uh uh uh ah aH aH AH AHAHAHAHAH...OH!

And see her thighs flop together and apart against this kid's head.

*

On the bed, this time in the dark, Dennis lies on top of Cheryl, moving in and out steadily. She breathes. Long breaths. Her hand is visible brushing across his back. The bed starts to creak as Dennis picks up the pace.

Cheryl's moans get steady, almost performative. She hugs him harder, holds on to his sides as he grinds his pelvis back and forth.

"Yeah...yeah....yeah...." Cheryl whispers.

He stops. Sounds of kissing. He pulls out of her. We can't believe it, but this kid removes the condom that's on his cock and tosses it to the dark floor. He grips Cheryl's thighs. He massages his hands up and down her calves.

Cheryl just watches him and breathes in a certain anticipation. For a few moments she looks up at him like, "...well? Are you gonna keep going or not?"

Dennis takes his cock in one hand and guides it back into her. Cheryl makes a sound like;

"eeeeuuuaaaAAHH-"

Dennis whispers,

"Do you like it rough?"

"I...yeah I like..."

"I'm gonna fuck you harder..."

Dennis proceeds to do pretty much what he said he would do. Cheryl gets in one last sentence,

"Dennis...be careful..." Her words dissolve into other sounds. Sounds made by the mattress mingled with sounds made by her vocal chords.

Cut to about ten minutes later. Rough sex. Like, woah now, dude. Dennis has Cheryl's legs sprouted in the air, spread in a wide-ish V. It's a little hard to make out her right leg, though, because Dennis is holding her foot, his arm stretched parallel to her upraised leg. Dennis stares into Cheryl's eyes. He pummels in and out of her like a rod into a cannon. Now the mattress straight up seesaws and Cheryl is hyperventilating.

Wet smacking sounds. Dennis seethes.

Cheryl says that ah ah ah she's gonna cum and Dennis's hand shoots over her mouth. He clenches his teeth. Cut to Cheryl's face, Dennis' point of view. Her eyes go bug-wide and she makes a squeaked-out teen girl crescendo through her teeth, jerking her head back into the pillow's creases. And Dennis' face, a shit eating grin. He chuckles.

"Fuck baby," he says.

Getting real close now, between her strained, upright thighs; this girl's folds retract. Specks of fluid spurt out and, with each outward cock stroke, her labia slathers his shaft until it shines.

*

Look at Dennis' cock. I know, I know; you might be a heterosexual male. You might also be a heterosexual woman who thinks this is just getting too crude, too virile. But look at it for a moment; as he walks across the hallway to the bathroom, cock swinging lightly, erection not subsided all the way, we can see that it's slick. White, slick and shiny. As he walks it catches the light. It's almost a work of art, except that it's actually disgusting.

Dennis turns into the bathroom. His cock hanging above the toilet, he removes a handful of toilet paper and applies it.

*

Tomcatsky2000: So yeah Cheryl Peters lol

Cauldron2020: What about her?

Tomcatsky2000: Shes a squirter

Cauldron2020: You banged her???

Tomcatsky2000: Yeah I got with Pencils

Cauldron2020: Haha why did we start calling her that again?

Tomcatsky2000: No idea. Point is I beat you to it.

Cauldron2020: Ya wutever dude no reason to rub it in

Tomsky2000: She was always more into me anyway.

Tomsky2000: have you ever felt a contracting pussy? lol

Cauldron2020: did you nut inside her?

Tomsky2000: what do you think

Cauldron2020: Lol. Dude you didn't fuck that junkie chick last weekend did you?

Tomksy2000: She has a name you misogynist pig. Adria. And maybe I did maybe I didn't.

Cauldron2020: Oh jesus you did fuck her

Tomsky2000: (Inserts smiley face)

Tomsky2000: Probs will when we see her tomorrow too

Cauldron2020: You sure she'll be around?

Tomsky2000: Anywhere there's drugs there's her

Cauldron2020: How old is she anyway?

Tomsky2000: I think like 28. Has a kid she said. Explains the giant dick-ready labia.

Cauldron2020: Is she pink or purple?

Tomsky2000: Lol another pink

Cauldron2020: Why do I get all the purples...

Tomsky2000: Who cares I get more pussy than you in general

Cauldron2020: You gotta slow down dude. At least wear a condom this time.

Tomsky2000: Were I sensible human being perhaps I would but nah, don't think so.

Cauldron2020: You bringing those pills? Same as last time?

Tomsky2000: Yup.

Cauldron2020: And you hope to sell a few?

Tomsky2000: Hopefully more than a few.

*

The next evening, in a loft apartment somewhere, rave music plays. Lines of coke on a mirror somewhere. Girls in black tops and cutoff shorts dance. Guys in polo t-shirts or Ed Hardy wear dance, sometimes with the girls, sometimes not. Everybody is stoned. A strobe light projecting from the corner.

Adria Carris, 28 years old, smokes a Pal Mall and worries about her daughter. Camilla is at home right now, with Adria's friend Millie. Is she giving Camilla the vitamin supplement like she asked? Will she put her to bed on time?

Adria is concerned about her daughter and about Millie's capabilities as a babysitter; they were so close in high school, now Millie's gotten so condescending, seems to disapprove of the fact that Adria lives in a trailer and works at the grocery store, disapproves of all her life choices. Adria thinks that projection is the general behavior of all people. People project their own insecurities on to other people. Will Millie project her's on to someone completely innocent like Camilla?

But in another minute, after a few more drags, this isn't what Adria's thinking about anymore. She's thinking about getting some pills. Her heartbeat is faster; she feels jittery in her legs. She needs it.

And out of the crowd in the back of the loft, chatting with some pretty black-haired girl whom he kisses on the forehead, drinking a beer and moving through a strobe light like he owns the place, is her dealer, Dennis.

Dennis tells her that he's twenty-five. He's a young-looking twenty-five year old. But not too much younger, she thinks. And that's part of his appeal. They met a few weeks ago at rave. Dennis first sold to her there, and tried to get in her pants, too. She rebuffed him that time. But the second time he was different. Cleaner shaven, better dressed. Unlike almost any other man, he seemed to really listen to her. When she mentioned cutting off contact with her parents, Dennis looked down for a while before saying that he'd had to do the same.

Needless to say, they'd had sex that night. Adria had vowed never again. You don't fuck your dealer. But the next time she saw him he had upped his price and refused to give her a discount unless she fucked him. A tight spot there. She acquiesced. The next time it was the same thing, and the time after that. The last time she had told him that she was finding a new dealer and she wasn't having sex with him anymore. Dennis shrugged and sold to her at the old price. Then he called her later that night and they met up at a diner, then a hotel where they...had sex again. That time they didn't use a condom. Dennis said he'd had a vasectomy.

He'd told her that he thought of her as more than a customer; that she was beautiful and intelligent.

And also, fucking him had been a lot of fun.

So now, as Adria watched him walk towards her, doing the thing where he pretended not to notice her, she closed her eyes and thought to herself,

Adria, don't this time, please don't, no matter how much you want it, don't have sex with him, keep screwing that other guy from Tinder, not this dirt bag.

"Wake up," she hears him say. She opens her eyes.

Dennis stands above her.

"Hi, there," he says.

"Hi Dennis," said Adria. She feels her heartbeat accelerate.

"You look bored as a rock," he says.

She shrugs. He takes her cigarette from her and takes a drag. He does a slow exhale that makes her smile.

"Are you on Tinder?" He asks.

"Why do you think I'm on Tinder?"

"Because I swear I saw your profile when I was swiping left on some chicks."

"A girl has needs," says Adria, looking up at him.

A long pause. Party noises. Dennis kneels and kisses her on her lips. A long, steady kiss. He pulls away and brushes a lock of hair from her eyes.

"I've missed you tons this week, Adria."

"I missed you, too," Adria hears herself say. And she realizes she meant it.

They look into each other's eyes for some moments. As if by magic, Dennis produces a bottle of pills and shakes them in her face.

In the next moment he's standing and taking her hand in his.

"Come on," he says. "Let's catch up."

*

Later that night, at the party. When people exit the restroom, they pass the door to the master bedroom, the bedroom used for hookups. In this case, they know not to go in there. This is because mattress squeaks and shrill female sounds are audible. Two guys pass by. One mutters to the other,

"It's that crazy kid who always comes here."

His friend shakes his head.

"Jesus Christ. He'll die or have a kid before his mid-20s...or both."

They move on.

Do you, reader, want to peek inside the room? Of course you do.

On a large king sized mattress, Adria bounces up and down. She's riding Dennis' cock. They are lit by just a shitty, flickering lamp. As he works her waist with his hands and stares into her blue eyes, he thinks of all the lies he's told Adria and that she's swallowed, just like his cum. The lie that he's twenty-five, the lie that he's had a vasectomy, that he likes being around her, that he thinks she's a noble, brave person...

Adria, clearly oblivious right now to all that is true and false, goes,

"ah ah ah yeah ah ah ah FUCK ah ah AH FUCK AH AH AH-"

Her hair is red. She has a nose-ring. A tattoo on one arm and another on her stomach. Her tits flopping in front of his face, back and forth. Her mouth open in what could be mistaken for an expression of someone watching T.V slackjawed...except she's watching him, open-mouthed.

And that's one falsetto-ass pitch she's got. Girls his age don't sound like that. Girls his age don't have pussies this wet, either...

This chick is fun...

He runs a hand up her chest and dips his fingers in her mouth. She bites them. He does an Elvis-Presley with his pelvis; grinding it like the way he grinded, his cock thrusting into her faster.

His cock is tingling. Just so he can forestall his own orgasm, he looks away from her face to her bouncing breasts. She's got trashy, soccer mom tits. They bounce and flop in alternating rhythms. He then thinks,

How many pills have I got left now? Like ten? Twelve?

Above his stomach, he dips a finger inside her, flicking it around her clit.

Adria responds to this new development with,