Fiery Rivers by Daefyd Williams

Author:Daefyd Williams [Williams, Daefyd]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sex, ocd, magical realism, speaking in tongues, pentecostalism, midwestern fiction, fiction 1960s
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Lemuel had grappled with the doppelgänger of himself that was attracted to Derek in his mind for six months and had tried to avoid seeing him at all costs. At the end of six months, having tired of the battle, he found himself driving down West Third Street in Dayton after a night of unsuccessfully trying to drown the doppelgänger with alcohol. He slowly cruised west, looking for a black lady of the night to alleviate his fear that he was a queer.

Finally, he spotted a slender, buxom black woman leaning against a mailbox in a short dress and high heels, watching all the cars pass. He made a U-turn at the next light, went past her again slowly, and made another U-turn at the end of the block. He stopped at the curb in front of her, leaned over and rolled down the passenger window. She walked up and rested her elbows on the open window. Lemuel’s heart was beating fast. He had never been with a prostitute. She smiled at him. “Hi, honey,” she said, “you datin’ tonight?”

“I . . . yeah, I gesh show. How much?”

“Twenty dollars for a half an’ half.”

“What’s a half an’ half?”

“You never been with a workin’ girl before?”

“No, I ain’t.”

“It’s half suckin’ an’ half fuckin’.”

“Oh . . . How mush jus’ for the first part?”

“Ten.”

“OK.”

She opened the door and slid onto the leather seat. An overpowering smell of perfume filled the car. “Go down two blocks an’ pull into the parkin’ lot at the E-Z Inn. It’s on the right.”

“OK.”

She looked at him closely. “You ain’t a cop, are you?”

“Nah. I work in a fact’ry, makin’ lawnmower parts.”

“You sure you ain’t a cop?”

“B’lieve me. I ain’t no cop.”

“Here it is. Pull in an’ stop in front o’ 12. It’s on the left.”

“OK.”

They got out of the car. She took a key from her purse and unlocked the door. Lemuel followed her inside. There was a slender young white man with his shirt off standing at the foot of the bed and a naked black woman lying on the bed. They turned and looked at them when they entered.

“We can jus’ go in here,” she stated, as she opened a door on the left. It was the bathroom. They went inside, and she closed the door. “Gimme muh money,” she demanded. Lemuel reached into his back pocket for his wallet, took out a ten and handed it to her. She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Tell me when you’re about to come,” she instructed.

“OK,” Lemuel agreed. “Yeah, right,” he thought. “No way.”

She unzipped his pants. Memories of Gwen surged into his brain. As he watched her perform her ministrations on him, he suddenly felt powerful, invincible. She was his servant, his slave, her full black lips reserved only for him. He erupted without telling her. She sprang up and spat into the sink. She cupped her hands and washed her mouth out with water. “I tol’ you to tell me when you was comin’, you son of a bitch!” she remonstrated.

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