Turtleface and Beyond by Arthur Bradford

Author:Arthur Bradford
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780374712846
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

WENDY, MORT, AND I

I was dating a woman named Wendy who was an actress. Or, she was trying to be an actress. I’d seen her in one of those art-house productions where everyone ran around the stage yelling and the plot didn’t make any sense. A friend of mine was also in that show and afterward I went to the bar where they all hung out discussing the performance. Wendy had asked me how I liked the show and I told her she was the best part. This was somewhat true because Wendy had been naked throughout the second act and she looked great that way.

Anyway, we’d been dating for about three weeks, close to a month. We’d had sex after our second date. I, of course, had seen her naked once before, so it was a big turn-on for me to have her rolling around next to me now. I had noticed when she was onstage that she had a large mole just above her hip. It was kind of sexy and I’d thought, I’d like to be up close to that. And here I was! It was right in front of me!

We were like rabbits that first month, or at least we behaved how I’ve come to understand rabbits do, copulating at every opportunity. I’ve never seen evidence of this rabbit lust myself, but still I suppose the description is apt. It was an exhausting month. I was beginning to develop a theory about dating actresses because I had previously dated another one and she was voracious as well. Come to think of it, both of them, Wendy and this other one, were what you’d call struggling actresses, and so I think my theory, which stated that all actresses have large sexual appetites, actually applied more to the struggling ones. Not that it was a very scientific theory anyway.

Wendy would literally take a running start at me sometimes and we’d both fly onto her bed and land with a flop. Her bed consisted of this big saggy mattress and it wasn’t an ideal platform for the things we were trying to do. Her poor neighbors must have hated us. The springs would squeak and every so often we’d roll sloppily onto the floor. I had bruises all over my knees and elbows.

One time Wendy told me her father was coming into town to see her in this new show she was in. She’d been rehearsing it for the past two weeks and as far as I could tell she was onstage for a total of forty-five seconds. She walked on, got hit in the face with a pie, and then said some line about a sinking ship and how it was better to stay aboard than live life as a coward. It was all some kind of avant-garde theater piece, so nothing was supposed to make any sense, at least I think that was the point. I was afraid to dig very deep because her explanation of the “thematic proportions” sort of irritated me.

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