Where the dead lay

THREE

Ooh-ah, ooh-ah,” the little blonde moaned as Kenny Schlegel rode her. The “ooh” was the down stroke, which she was enjoying plenty, the “ah” caused by the impact of his new necklace banging into her chin on each thrust. He wasn’t so much nailing her as trying to bounce that thing off her face like it was some kind of carnival game. Kenny would’ve won the smaller prizes and traded all the way up to the jumbo for how good he was getting at it. It had him totally distracted from how tight the little blonde’s body was, and that had made him last at least thirty or forty minutes now.

“Ooh-ah, ooh-ah, ooh-oh.” Though they were just taps, the repetition of it was going to leave a bruise on her face, he realized with satisfaction. But she wasn’t complaining none, the dirty little thing. What was she gonna say anyhow? Little sophomore bitch. Nice of her to wait around all night for him, too. She was pretty cranked up from the day before, so what else did she have to do? Her breath smelled like beer, and her pits reeked a little from the zoot. But in a good way. He put his face into one and took a deep sniff.

“Oh yeah, Kelly, you ready for some skeet?” He looked to her eyes, which opened and flashed because he knew her name was Kathy. That’s why he’d called her Kelly. But she didn’t hit him as he’d hoped. She just upped the tempo. Maybe it was for the best, considering the big-ass bruise he had spreading all over his own cheek. He took another deep whiff, then reared back, ripped off the jimmy hat, and gave her an eight-roper across the belly. She moaned and groaned like some porn she must have seen, and as it subsided, all he could think about was last night, and breakfast.