Visits From the Drowned Girl by Steven Sherrill

Author:Steven Sherrill [Sherrill, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: FICTION/General
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2014-06-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

What to do? Three more hours of darkness loomed before Benny could go out and check on Jeeter. It didn’t occur to him to check on Rebecca. And sleep, at that point, wasn’t an option for him. Benny thought of the tapes, of Jenna. Jenna in his dream and Jenna in the various realities she roamed through.

Benny stuck the “Prophets” tape into the VCR and rewound it to where Jenna offered up her stenciled belly for the camera. He paused the tape at the exact moment where the two thin swaths of her breast flesh became visible, fully intending to jack off to the scene. As fate would have it, a fate shaped by Benny’s stingy nature and the cheap purchases that nature dictated, the pause function on his VCR left a fat band of static across the screen, right across Jenna’s breasts.

“Fuck,” Benny said, his penis falling limp in his hand.

He fast-forwarded just a bit to where PROF. GOOD, written large across her abdominal plane, gave way to dark tufts of pubic hair. The band of static no longer an obstacle, Benny’s penis rallied. Briefly … But each time he reached the moment of truth, the turning point, a precise instant in the masturbatory process before which all thoughts and energies focus, hasten, and build toward—this body part, that movement, this pose, that reaction—and after which there are no thoughts and nothing, save death, could stop the spermatic outcome, each time he got close some dark door opened in his mind and filled it with unwanted images. Becky crying. Doodle embarrassed. Becky naked, with Doodle’s head. Doodle’s body and Becky’s head. Monsters. Disgust and revulsion, projected outward. Disgust and revulsion, directed inward. Who’s more monstrous than this man able to masturbate to the videotapes made by the drowned girl, then in the presence of her sister conceal or deny or transfer those feelings? Once, twice, three times Benny whipped his raw dick toward the finish line, to no avail.

“Fuck,” Benny said, wincing as he tucked his sore, shriveled organ inside his briefs.

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