Book Lovers by Shawna Kenney

Author:Shawna Kenney [Kenney, Shawna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781580055307
Publisher: Basic Books

Smut

Jay Xuret

Greg Palumbo and me, we were always looking for dirty pictures. Walking down Westlake Drive—that was the main drag in the little town outside New York where I grew up—we’d scour the bushes and every so often we’d find a wet, swollen copy of Top Hat or Stag that had been out in the brush for a few days, ditched by some high school guy. We’d save every one and pack them up in that bicycle saddlebag that I had gotten for Christmas and told my father I’d lost, and we’d bury them down by the reservoir where only Greg and me knew.

One time we slipped into the basement of the church where they kept the paper drive collection. Down there in the basement of the Holy Spirit we sorted through stacks of newspapers and magazines in the hope of something, and, sure enough, twined in a pile in the corner Greg found about thirty copies of a little known magazine named Velour, sort of like a Reader’s Digest with true dirt inside. We were so excited at our find that we couldn’t ride our bikes home; we had to stop on the way and drag the pulp into the woods and absorb enough smut to last us the rest of the way. It took us weeks to read the stuff, locked in Greg’s converted room in the attic, inside a closet for extra protection from his powerful mother and threatening sister, reading stories like “Beach Party Girl: The Whole Story” and “From Prom Queen to Hooker on Summer Vacation.” There were pictures, too, enough to get our interest wet, but nothing explicit—you had to read the stories for that.

Velour was a true “dirty magazine”—every tale was one of degradation. Babysitters with peach cheeks were always letting their friend Eddie “do it” to them on the couch and someone would always walk in on it and that was all it took. Next thing those peach cheeks were gone and Bets or Sally was pulling trains on Saturday night with her clamdiggers round her ankles and no class ring round her neck, or worse, Dirty Eddie didn’t have no rubber and did it anyway and then joined the Army or wrecked his car, and boffed Betsy was big as a house and really, seriously, absolutely, no kidding in trouble.

In my mind Eddie looked like Eddie Haskell on Leave It to Beaver, and I couldn’t figure out how he was always getting to do it. But I accepted it. I could believe it about Eddie because he was a high school guy. There was something about high school guys. They were more than just older; it was as if they were a different species altogether than me. They had those stubbly mustaches and wiry bodies and that smell when they sweated. I was willing to accept that they could get Debbie and Betty to pull out their knockers—that’s what Greg and I called them—from their shirts just to show them off.

I

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