Date: Fri, 6 Feb 2009 14:05:44 -0800 (PST) From: Tim Stillman Subject: So This is What Happened 2---"Andrea in Autumn" Andrea in Autumn Chapter 2 of So This is What Happened By Timothy Stillman Ann was made for Autumn, chill and brown and turn down, brown she wore, dresses almost to the floor, her eyes were saying November ends soon, and the works of her eyes were black ravens cawing in such stunned silence, you could forget the world had ever had a sun, for hers did not. She was brown of curly hair and her hands were pudgy as were her legs and she had two brothers, Matt and Stacey, with whom I had sex every time I came to baby sit them next to her on the couch, not so's she'd notice--her nose in The New Yorker or her favorite Saul Bellow novel or The Nation, hey I'm a bleeding heart liberal, and fuck you up the cheney butt hole if that causes a problem for you, but she just used it for icicles, all of she in print and paper--say Annie are you made of print and paper, you must taste of books and complex ideas that would tangle the greatest theorists, read Pomeroy or Kinsey or Hite my darling Annie, open up, purge your soul as Portnoy's father looks to purge other regions, you are not the Spectator reviewer of books three people in the world will ever read, if that, look at us, your seven and eight year old brothers as they make out with each other and not coincidentally me as well. They've discovered sperm, Annie what Am Ye, they love to take it in their mouths and up their anuses Annie Whammy, look to the left of the page and see us just naked as can be as your little horn dog kin proceed to rim me, Annie, come play, come out of your words, no, not your words, others' words, do you speak, are you mute, do you think we're all dummies out here but you cootchie coo, come on Ann, show your cuz and let the boys get a peeper that's deeper, come on we're swimming in sex and you're reading what? The Guardian of London, G. K. Chesterton? I am not an idiot and neither are they little miss snoot high in the air let's hope a sudden thunderstorm doesn't appear here in your living room, you would drown in 30.1 seconds, oh fuck it Ann, what is wrong with you, give us a standing ovation would you mind to their little standing ovations and my considerably bigger one, oh you gotta see, Annie, I don't getcha but Stacey wearing solely his Harry Potter glasses has me and he seems to be milking me with alacrity Annie oh Annie where are you in there all cold and scared--they should operate on you and put a tiny stove in your center and light it before sewing you up again so you won't freeze in the Autumn of Annie's Annie. Are there cobwebs in your cunt, do you have a cunt, do you wear a bra, you are pretty flat chested for a fairly plump girl I guess though how as I your TITULAR BOY FRIEND ANNIE SPANNIE I am supposed to know this, I don't know, cause I never copped a feel, cause I knew you would kill me, do you have a guillotine blade in your cunt if you have a cunt, would you keel over dead, like I had hit you in the head with the eighteen hundred volumes of My Secret Life, if I said your rug rat horn toad brothers would like to give you a fuck, would you take the hood from your blind eyes and unhearing ears so you could see them double fuck you with their little hoodies, and feel for the first time feel, or would you fall over like a stick? Or are you anxious and eager for a stick and are you there at all, if I screamed at you and told you I am fucking your little brothers when they are not busy doing fucking and sucking in all manner of combinations, it could be we are a math problem for you Annie, we are trigonometry problems for your home work or if I yelled out to you, wrote in screaming mile high To Sir With Love letters I AM A HOMOSEXUAL AND I AM FUCKING YOUR BROTHERS UP THE ANNIE HOLES CAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE A HOLE AT ALL--cause you don't desecrate you don't eliminate you don't breathe you take baths with your clothes on and never ever get them or yourself your body whooohohooo, wet, (no water would dare) do you have one Annie Spannie can we spank your rump where you never take a dump even though your bros are not weirded out by you like this, it's getting on my nerves a little, we never speak, we go to movies at the art house so you can use your pen light and read Voltaire when the movie gets so yawny the subtitles fall off the screen in deep sleep--Voltaire, Annie, sex, Annie, hey Autumn Girl in your Autumn World, if I took off your shoe and your brown stocking, would all the sand run out of you from your heel? And you would just deflate to nothing? Hey wake up Miss Perfect, you've no idea what you're missing. Soo we've come to the end of another sex carnival, and are all cleaned up, I'm dressed, sitting on the couch, going through the Atlantic Monthly, but looking over its top at the two naked little boys lying on the carpeting on their stomachs, playing grab ass with each other periodically during doing their homework, and giggling and all but motor purring while I look over at them, my periodical forgotten, at Annie reading the Avon paperback of Henderson the Rain King--about life Annie, about enjoyment and exuberance Annie what are you? You don't have to read about the utter joy of being human with such an un-joyous expression on your face, your eyes black as tearless night, your gun barrels on the ready should your brothers put their wee wees in your face and how would you handle that, move them aside, get back to print, be a little annoyed oh Annie can you tell what I'm thinking and more important the way I'm thinking it, all screwed up run ons, no punctuation, thoughts garbled and tumbling all over each other Miss School Teacher of the World, cause dammit that's the way real people think, the way real people talk, the way you think is no doubt perfect spelling and sentence structure or are you a moron trying to convince us or yourself that someday your prince will come and he will be wearing a five foot long prosthetic dick and will fuck you into print and ink cause he is made of print and ink himself, and certainly his dick is glad to know you let me blow some cobwebs off your cunt before I venture where no man has gone before. Time is getting late. The `rents will be home soon and doff their clothes immediately, and if you have seen them clothed, you do not want to see them naked, believe you me, I never have and I never will. So I lean over to Ann, Annie, Andrea, and I say in her ear: GOT TO GO NOW GOOD BYE S O S. And that was when she looked at me. I fell back on the sofa arm rest, almost screamed. She acknowledged my presence. Hell is freezing over. Sara Pallin is flying by the window, with lipstick on. Holy God-and there was no make up on her face of course and this was a good thing now, because these strange tiny little rivers were flowing from her dark midnight eyes and it took me a moment to realize--she was weeping. Her face was squarish and as mute as always, but these two tiny little rivers move on old Man river they were coming flowing down from her eyes to her cheeks and running off of them to her short neck and her brown blouse and she looked at me. No weepy sounds though. It was like you are reading this stuffy book and half asleep then the pages sprout eyes and look deep into your soul, a la Bush and Putin, no, kidding, I mean really looking into your deepest soul and making you ashamed, making your bowels and stomach and intestines tie in knots and you know you are the lowest thing on this planet and she said, I had heard her talk before, but never realized she could, it was all so brief her conversations and mostly fogged in by sea silence on an island you think may be there in the gray waters in the deep night cobwebs but would not make book on it, as I looked away from her in order to breathe for I was that scared, and I saw her naked brothers sitting up together, each scared, each holding tightly to the others chest, ice frozen, all of us, but Ann Annie Andrea who put her head in her hands and wept and wept, and she looked up at all of us, we really existed, no doubt of it now, and I knew play time with Matt and Stacey was gone out the door forever, as a voice issued forth from her moving? Mouth: "You didn't have to do it in front of me. Everybody. OK? Everybody? You didn't have to. You could have said something. I wanted in too." And she sounded like a little girl, tiny non- Ann voice, only it was also rusty like the hinges of it needed oil after years of non-use. "You could have." And she stood up with boldness, new move, and she took off her clothes with immediacy and sureness as she looked into the eyes of all of us, as we were chagrined and looked at the floor a lot, but we just had to look at her too, then stood there in determined nakedness, she did not wear a bra, for the record, and she played with her tits such as they were and she rushed a hand through her nice bush that did not have cobwebs or I was sure a sharp blade inside, and she looked at us, at her brothers so lasciviously with such baskets of lust their dicks went thwong as did mine, as she thrust her pelvis at us, in and out, mother of god, when Ann makes up her mind, she doesn't just whistle Dixie, picked up her clothes, as we all three knew she had known everything her brothers and I had done, and we were blushing shamefully, howsomever, there would be some nookie on our cookie next time too, as it was too late now, and she smiled at us and said as she walked proudly naked, flat feet though, too plump of leg and body, still ok, past us, "You're doing it all wrong, you know. You have not got clue one. You're for laughs. I'll show you next time. Eat me." As she passed us and to her room, then shutting the door. Matt and Stacey and I looked at each other. We gulped simultaneously I think. And next Tuesday at seven fifty eight p.m. we did indeed eat her, among other things. It's true, I guess, you just never know what's going on inside a reader's head. Quite a lot, as it turned out. It turned out to be a very beautiful Autumn and an even better winter--though three of us was exhausted a lot. Three of us that is. Man, she just wouldn't quit. Roll it over indeed.