The Pee Tape

"Psst," went a voice.

Rufus was startled out of his trance. He was startled again when he recognized one of the Amish. It was Malachi Wickey, who'd added a beard since Rufus had last seen him. He proffered the bong in an outstretched hand.

Malachi had been part of the crew who'd reshingled the Peoples' storm-damaged roof the previous summer. Rufus had asked them if he could help with the job, as he liked learning practical skills, and they'd agreed to teach him. Up on the roof, he and Malachi had become friendly, and after work, Rufus had invited him to hang out in his garage to shoot pool and vape THC. Another time, they went fishing.

"I'd like a hit," said Kat, stepping into the room to accept the bong.

"Have a seat," said Malachi. There was an empty armchair.

"Sit," said Kat to Rufus.

"No, you sit."

"No, you sit. I can sit on your lap."

Rufus sat. Kat perched on his knees and hit the bong. She held in the smoke till she ran low on oxygen. Then she exhaled and passed the bong to her brother. Rufus took a long gurgling hit, cashing the bowl, and handed the bong back to Malachi.

"Finally, we're getting to the good part," said Adeline, in her dry monotone. "Have you guys seen this video?"

She didn't look in their direction when she spoke, but Rufus and Kat assumed this question was addressed to them. They'd both seen the video earlier that evening on their phones.

"I think everyone in our class has seen it by now, and probably lots of random people on the internet," said Kat. "It's gone viral."

"I saw it in person," said Adeline. "You?"

"I think we were off dancing in the barn," said Kat.

"I can't dance to modern pop, especially rap," said Adeline.

"I like to dance, even if the music is shitty," said Kat.

"I can't lower my standards," said Adeline.

"Here we go," said Malachi, in a raised voice, erecting a quick wall in this conversation.

Onscreen, the camera zoomed out as Talia Deifendeifer came tottering up the porch steps, lurching and swaying like a tranquilized giraffe, all six feet and three inches of her. She was barefoot, wearing a snow-white bikini and a straw boater hat. Her sun-bleached Rapunzel hair sprouted out from her hat in a sloppy braid on one side, dangling to mid-thigh. (The women of her church did not cut their hair.) The crowd parted for Talia as she made for the front door, but before she got there, she spotted sleepy Jerene, and she wheeled around and made a bumblebee-line for the porch swing.

"Hold my beer," she said, shoving her cup into the unexpecting hand of Dustin Kukelhan, sloshing much its contents onto his T-shirt.

Talia's wasted, vacant eyes struggled to focus as she gazed down upon the recumbent redhead. Her head bobbled on her shoulders. She stumbled in place. More than once, she looked like she might topple over.

Then, with a visible upsurge of will, she gained possession over her unwieldy body. She firmed herself into a wide-footed half-crouch. Her brow lowered into a scowl. Her eyes narrowed to predatory slits. One corner of her mouth twitched upward.

Kat burst out laughing. "That's the exact expression she gets in volleyball when she's about to spike the ball in some poor girl's face."

"Isn't she an Amish?" asked Adeline. "Isn't she supposed to be a pacifist?"

"She's not one of us," said Malachi.

"I wish she were," said one of the others, to a murmur of concurrence from his fellows.

"Her church branched off from the Amish," explained Kat. "But they use electricity and zippers and shit. And Talia's no pacifist. She's a headhunter."

Talia appeared to twig that she was being filmed. She turned directly to the camera and stared down the barrel of her nose, her long arms dangling loosely between her legs, as if she were threatening to steal second base. A gold cross dangled, glinting against the tan expanse between her shoulders. Talia's breasts seemed ostentatiously small in her bikini top, especially compared to her imposing height and ample hips. There was something almost obscene about the flat white triangles plastered to her pectorals and the absence of cleavage between them.

Staring down the camera, Talia dug her thumbs into her tight Lycra bikini bottoms-which, based on the indentations they left in her firm athletic flesh, looked to be a size too small-and began the somewhat laborious process of their removal, which involved rolling them down like a wetsuit.

One voice at a time, the gabble of conversation died away, as the porch denizens turned to gawp at Talia. The air was one of collective befuddlement.

The first stray sprigs of pubic hair appeared, glinting like filaments of spun gold-the rare blonde bush. Rufus gasped along with the Amish and the audience onscreen. This detail had not been visible on his smartphone.

Effi Hahn stepped in to try to stop Talia from making a spectacle of herself, but Talia swatted her away with the back of a hand.

Once her bikini bottoms passed the widest point of her hips, gravity took over, and down they fell, plopping to her feet like a twisted-up rubber band. And there, in the broad evening light, before dozens of spectators and at least one rolling camera, Talia stood, defiantly baring her golden bush.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Adeline. "Presenting our homecoming queen, superstar athlete, class president, valedictorian, and all-around good girl: Talia Deifendeifer!"

Laughter rippled through Kat's soft body. "What a rookie! She probably only drank like four beers, and she's flashing her puss to the world! I'm gonna make so much fun of her!"

"If she even shows herself in public. After this little incident, I bet she hides out on her parents' farm the rest of the summer," said Adeline. "Isn't she going someplace far away for college?"

"Stanford," said Kat. "Volleyball scholly."

"Lucky her. She'll never have to set foot in this town again," said Adeline. "Of course, this video will be lurking out there to haunt her for the rest of her life, especially if she ever gets famous."

Talia's next move flummoxed the crowd even more than her drunken striptease; not a voice was heard. She shuffled two steps backward toward the porch swing. Slowly, she lowered her haunches like she intended to sit. But there was no room to sit. Jerene sprawled across the entire length of the swing, still fast asleep. It seemed for a moment that Talia was going to plop her bare bottom directly onto Jerene's belly. But a hair's breadth before touchdown, she hovered.

There was a sound: like rain overflowing a gutter and drumming on a wooden deck. It started as a single stream, then multiplied into a complex symphony of splatters. A shimmering puddle formed on the floorboards beneath the porch swing. A darkening blotch spread on Jerene's cotton dress. Talia's knees were pressed together, concealing the source of the stream, but there was no question that she was pissing on Jerene.

The crowd goggled in stunned silence. Nobody intervened. The drenching went on and on. Talia's bladder seemed bottomless. Jerene's saturated dress clung to her skin like shrink-wrap, the flimsy cotton becoming nearly translucent, revealing the black bra underneath in all its lacy detail. Throughout, Jerene remained oblivious-or, perhaps not.

Rufus spotted another detail he'd missed watching earlier on his phone. As the warmth and wetness spread over Jerene's body, her grin spread wider and wider, till she was positively beaming with innocent pleasure. She rolled over, arched her back, and stretched, as if to present more of herself to Talia's torrent.

Kat also noticed. "Look at her face! She's in ecstasy!"

Rufus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Trouble was brewing in his swim trunks. Kat was slouching back on his lap, her bottom inching closer and closer to his extremely erect cock.

Dina Bello came out the front door with Illi Dubrovna, both munching on vodka-soaked wedges of watermelon. Dina's bare foot splashed down in a puddle forming in a shallow depression in the floorboards. She looked down, followed the stream over to Talia and Jerene, and let out a piercing scream. Molly dropped her melon.

Jerene's head jerked up and her eyes flickered open. Her smile quickly faded as she took in the sight of Talia hovering above her and the sound and the feel of hot piss. She looked around at crowd of spectators, and she, too, let out a scream. She slapped wildly at Talia's thighs, as if swatting a giant spider.

Suddenly, the crowd became animated. It surged forward, with much uproar, to separate Talia from Jerene. The camera shook, and the screen went black.

"By God," said one of the Amish. "I ain't seen perverseness like that never."

"The maedel can't handle her liquor," said another, shaking his bearded head.

"Neh. Marking her territory," said Malachi. "I know the type. It don't take much to bring out the animal."

"If some lady tried that to me, I'd knock her to the next county," said a fourth, with no beard.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," said Adeline.

"You tried it?" asked the beardless Amish.

"It's on my to-do list," said Adeline.

"On that note..." Kat, mercifully, popped up from Rufus's lap, scant millimeters before her ass bumped up against his arousal.

Rufus quickly stood, before she could reseat herself, and straightened his swim trunks.

Malachi offered another bong hit.

Rufus thanked him, but declined. "Had enough. Just want to find a quiet place to flop."

§§§§§§

Back in the gloomy hall. Kat asked, "What now, R.P.? We've been through the entire house and there's not a bed to be had. Do we settle for a nice hard, splintery spot on the floor?"

"We haven't been to Tish's room," said Rufus.

"Tish's room? Where be that?"

"It be in the attic."

"Dagnab," said Kat. "I know Tish is the black sheep, but I can't believe the Haushauers kept her in the attic."

"It's a nice attic," said Rufus. "More like an apartment. It's got two beds and a little couch."

"Secret beds in the attic? Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"I mean, they're probably taken. Tish's garret isn't that much of a secret. Probably twenty or thirty guys at this party have been up there at one time or another. But we might as well check."

"Lead the way, mon frère. I'm holding onto a slim hope of waking up tomorrow without an ass full of splinters."

Door number seven stood at the end of the hall, near the chimney. It was a small door, narrow and short, the kind of door that might lead to a broom closet or linen pantry, except this door led to the attic. It was locked, but the key was in the keyhole, and Rufus took that as a hopeful sign. He unlocked the lock, palmed the key, and opened the door to darkness and a waft of sultry air.

Kat eyed the inky void. "Why do I have the feeling a dusty cadaver is gonna come tumbling out of there?" She poked her head inside. "Anyone home? Norma?"

Nobody replied.

"I think we're in luck." Rufus handed the key to his sister, instructing her, "Lock the door behind you."

Ducking through the opening, he was engulfed by a wall of swampy, concentrated summer heat, inducing an instant full-body sweat. As he made his way up the narrow, steep passage, more like a ladder than stairs, the air seemed to grow a degree or two hotter with each step. Upon entering the attic itself, he felt like he'd stepped into a sauna within a sauna within an oven. He felt dizzy and feverish. It was difficult to breathe.

After some groping in the darkness, he located a floor lamp and tugged on its string. A reddish light radiated through its antique silk shade, doing nothing to ameliorate the Hadean ambience. But at least he confirmed that the attic was vacant.

Kat arrived a few steps behind. "Fine sleeping weather," she quipped, squeegeeing her brow with the back of a finger. "I guess we know why nobody's up here."

"I'll get the AC," said Rufus. "It'll cool down in a jiffy-or, eventually."

"Do the windows open?" asked Kat. "It's nice and cool outside. Might be better to vent the heat. Let it all out."

The windows did open. Rufus went about the attic opening them, six large dormers, plus a pair of cupolas, operated via long dangling chains. Presently, a cool breeze wafted down, taking a bite out of the oppressive heat, and making the attic seem like a plausible place to stay the night.

Meanwhile, Kat tested the vintage 1920s brass-blade fan sitting atop the dresser, unsure whether it was meant to be functional or decorative. To her surprise, the ninety-something-year-old machine hummed to life, producing a powerful and refreshing blast of air.

She angled the fan toward the bed and flopped backward into its draft. Flapping her limbs, she swept a flock of stuffed animals off the mattress, all turtles and frogs, yawning contentedly as she took in her surroundings.

The apartment occupied the entirety of the attic. In cross-section, the space was triangular, its ceiling also its walls, lime-plastered, and supported by a framework of ancient oak beams. Although there were no internal walls, the space was clearly divided into four separate quarters.

The far quarter of the attic was the study. A triangular bank of shelves spanned the southern wall, lined with the books of five generations of Haushauers, from dusty old leather-bound tomes at the top of the pyramid to glossy multicolored paperbacks on the bottom right, with space in the middle for a collection of pinned beetles and a signed photograph of Dwight D. Eisenhower. Before the shelves stood a massive oak desk, an upright piano, and an overstuffed English club chair, upholstered in fine soft leather. A chandelier of deer antlers hung overhead.

Far-middle was the entertainment area, with a vintage 1970s console TV and stereo, a fancy antique settee, a Boston rocker, a gilded birdcage (empty) on a stand, and a treadmill. An old Franklin stove stood in a bricked-off alcove, with firewood piled beside it.

Near-middle was the kitchen. A sink, an electric stove, and a mini refrigerator were built into the L-shaped counter. Two Windsor chairs sat at a mid-century Formica table. One of two wooden cabinets was filled with dishes and cookware. The other was mostly empty, except for a few mason jars full of homemade sauerkraut and a box of Rice-A-Roni.

The northern quarter of the attic was the bedroom. It was furnished with a small bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a wardrobe, and a mirrored vanity, all in matching walnut. Exposed fieldstone comprised the northern wall, much of it in the form of a chimney. The dormer and cupola over the bed opened directly to the stars and the moon.

"How did Tish end up with the whole top of the house?"

Rufus explained. "It used to be Grandma Haushauer's apartment. Tish had to share a bedroom with one of her sisters-Tess, I think. But they fought. So, Tish moved up here with Grandma. Then Grandma got arthritis and couldn't climb the stairs and didn't like to ride the dumbwaiter, so she moved to Florida, and Tish got the whole place to herself."

"Victory," said Kat.

Rufus stepped out of his flip-flops and prepared to lie down. Only then did he notice the missing bed. "There's only one bed!" he exclaimed. "There should be two."

"Tish probably took one to college," said Kat, flicking a foot, trying in vain to kick off her sandal without loosening the strap. "It's no big deal. We can share."

"It's a tiny bed," said Rufus, dubiously.

"It's a twin bed, and we're twins, so we can share."

"It's not even a twin. It's more like a cot."

"It's not a cot," said Kat. But it was a small bed. Lying spread-eagled as she was, her arms dangled off both sides of the mattress, and she didn't have long arms. "We may have to snuggle."

Rufus examined his other options. There was the settee, but he doubted it was long enough to accommodate even Kat's five-foot frame, and Rufus was a full foot taller, plus an inch. "I guess that's why they call it a settee and not a lay-ee," he muttered to himself. And then there was the club chair, sumptuous for sitting, but useless for sleeping, as it didn't recline. He looked in the wardrobe for some spare bedding, but all he found was a knitted lap blanket.

"Seriously," said Kat. "We can share the bed."

"I'll be fine," he said, laying out the lap blanket on the hard wooden floor.

"I insist that you sleep in this bed with me. I demand that we cuddle. I need a good cuddle with my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother."

"If I had a hundred, you'd still be my favorite."

"Fine," said Rufus, sighing. "But I'm gonna have to take off my shirt. 'Cause it's drenched with sweat."

Kat watched Rufus slip out of his T-shirt. "Ooh! Look at those muscles!" she teased. "You're all shiny!"

"It's like a thousand degrees up here."

"Help with my sandals?" Kat waggled a foot. "I'm too lazy to reach down."

"Sure."

After Kat's deshoeing, her foot lingered in her brother's hands. The silence became awkward. Reflexively, and perhaps to relieve the awkwardness, Rufus's thumbs went into motion, massaging circles in his sister's sole.

"Mmm," said Kat, rolling her eyes back. "You must be a mind-reader. How'd you know my feet were killing me?"

Once he'd rubbed her left foot to satisfaction, she presented him with the right. Meanwhile, she rested the left on his chest. Once he'd finished with the right, she placed both feet on his chest and glided them up and down.

"You're all slick, like a skating rink," she said, giggling.

Rufus allowed this for a moment. It felt good to have his chest rubbed. But when she circled her toe around his nipple, he jumped back with a yelp.

"That tickles," he said.

"You were always ticklish," said Kat. "Remember how I used to sneak up on you with a feather duster when we were kids?"

"I remember," said Rufus. "And remember how I got back at you with that cup of water over your bedroom door."

"You made me all wet!" said Kat. "Speaking of which, I'm basting like a Thanksgiving turkey. If you get to take off your shirt, so do I. You're gonna have to deal with my boobs."

"I've seen your boobs before. Make yourself comfortable."

"Help me out of my shirt?" asked Kat, with a gleam in her eye. "I'm feeling sluggish."

"You're a big girl. Take off your own shirt."

While his sister disrobed, Rufus offened the light.

"Normally, I sleep nude," Kat informed her brother. "But I'll leave my shorts on just for you...even though they're tight and uncomfortable, and the waistband is cutting into my belly."

"Um...I mean, don't be uncomfortable on my account."

"OK, I won't," she said. And there was the pop of a button, the zip of a zipper, a rustle, and a soft plop on the floor.

Rufus fumbled in the darkness toward the bed, stumbling over stuffed turtles and frogs. When he arrived, he expected the dark mass of his sister to roll over and make room, but it didn't, so he had to climb over. As he did, he kept his hips high, because he didn't want her to feel his erection, which hadn't gone down since the pee tape, maybe longer-maybe not since the den. He couldn't recall.

He and she lay on their backs atop the coverlet, because it was too hot to be under blankets, and because the bluster of the fan felt exquisite on their skin. They lay pressed tightly together; even so, their outer shoulders extended beyond the edges of the miniscule mattress. Rufus folded his misfit arm across him chest, while Kat let hers dangle. Heat concentrated at their points of contact. Their perspiration made a Kat-and-Rufus-shaped wet spot on the coverlet. The mingled aroma of sweat, alcohol, sunscreen, wood smoke, and pond algae emanated from their bodies. Kat's lush tangle of hair somehow retained a trace of girly, flowery shampoo scent, though it had been some eighteen hours since her last shower.

"The stars are pretty," she said, gazing up through the dormer above.