An Archive of Growth?
Girls and Boys

Post a previously unreleased chapter from one of your books.

Oh boy. This is from my unfinished 2004 NaNo project, UNTITLED MOBSTER CAPER. The story is about a guy who was born to the mob and moved away from them by his mother–but not before taking help from them and owning them a favor. When he enters college, the mob comes for him, asking him to use his l33t h4x0ring sk1llz for them.

This scene has nothing to do with any of that, apparently.

All errors [sic].

Photo: erik ERXON

Chapter Two

         In which we bare witness to the longest time for a man to orgasm… EVER.


              Antonio Narducci had, indeed, been a widely respected man. He was known for being quick on his feet, calm in tense and confounding situations, and trusted among the upper echelons of the chain of command. Everyone knew he had the ability to rise, and rise quite far at that. When the collision stripped him of all that bounty, many suspected foul play, and security tightened accordingly. Investigations were made into who was driving the SUV, who operated the traffic lights, and who had been on duty that day at Mr. Clairmont Hospital’s ER. Even Bhaskar was submitted to a routine questioning, which he gladly agreed to, feeling he had nothing to hide, and plenty to gain if they could find a reason for his brother-in-law’s senseless death.

                A connection was never found, but feelings were mixed when Aurelia Narducci chose to move with her son, Tony’s only child, to Virginia City, Nevada. What was wrong with New York’s school systems? the Narduccis asked. How can you take such a young boy away from his family?

               We can protect you both better here.

               On the other end of the scale, some agreed that Josh and Aurelia would have a more pleasant life beyond the family’s typical reach.

               Aurelia’s mother was inclined to agree. She had never been entirely comfortable with the large, boisterous, very Catholic and very Italian family. Her own family was British and Irish, and she had been raised to modesty and, some would say, prudery.

               The language occurring in Apartment 9F, 117th St., on the night of August 23rd, would have made the older woman’s ears bleed.

               “Oh, you son of a- a- Jesus, Mary and Joooooseph!”

               The circumstances under which said language was prompted might well have given her a heart attack.

               “C’mere, bitch-!”

               “No- no, I can’t move anymore!”

               “Dammit, Clarissa, what the fuck is this? I’m not just some gigolo, here for your personal pleasure! I got needs too, you know!”

               “Am I stopping you? Leo, am I stopping you? I said I can’t move anymore. So you go ahead, do what you need to do. I’m done.” Clarissa reached out from under him with an arm to grab her cigarettes and a lighter with a chipped image of the Playboy bunny on its front, from the bedside table. With him sweating and groaning above her, she neatly and expertly popped the cig between her lips, caught a flame on the lighter, and took a long and satisfying drag. “What’re you looking at me like that for?”

               “Dammit, Clarissa, it’s not enough for you to just lie there!” he grunted. “Wouldja at least move or something?”

               She sighed long-sufferingly. “I already told you, I can’t. Lookit me, I’m all limp?” she flopped the arm not holding the cigarette onto the mattress beside them. “Totally useless.”

               “Loose is more like it…”

               “What was that?” she tensed angrily.

               “Oooh…” Leo groaned. “Oh, baby, I like you when you’re angry…” He began to pound into her with new energy.

               “What the hell are you talking about?”

               “C’mon, Clarissa, do it for daddy…” Faster and faster; he was starting to make the bed rock now. Oh, the way she tightened around him! The delicious joy of it!

               “What the fuck is wrong with you, Leo?” She stared at him, dumbfounded. His stupidity was really starting to irritate her, and the rapturous look on his face was more than a little frightening. “You know what? Fine. This is good. Just- do what you got to do.” Her muscles began to relax…

               “Oh, no- Oh, baby, don’t stop now!”

               “Don’t stop what?” she demanded, waving the cigarette offhandedly.

               “Oh- ah-“ His sex-infected mind searched for release. “Ah- your mother’s boobs are bigger than yours are!”

               “They what!?”


               “Leo, you ass- she’s had five children! Of course they-“

               “Your sister is prettier than you are!”

               “EXCUSE me?!”

               “Hah- ha~”

               Clarissa sat up, cigarette clutched in her teeth. Around them she bit out, “If you think I’m gonna-“ The pressure of her weight against their joined pelvis’ pushed him over the edge.

               “I LOVE YOU!” violently, he came, taking them both by surprise and knocking them both down flat onto the mattress. All he could do was pant as she tried, completely confusedly, to figure out what she had just done to give her husband the best orgasm of his life- and why it had involved her mother’s sagging tits. As Leo regained his composure, he buried his face in her not exactly lacking bosom. “Oh, Clarissa… Oh, God… I love you… I love you so much, baby… Ohh yes…”

               She let him nuzzle for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. “Leo,” she said at last.

               “Yes… yes, oh, yes, love of my life, light of my fire, noodle of my Chow Mein?”

               “Do you really think Simone is prettier than I am?”

               “…yes…Yes, baby…”

               Brutally, she shoved him up, off, and out of her. “You dickhead! I knew it! You were thinking of her, weren’t you!?”

               “What?! Who-? No! Clarissa!”

               Clarissa reached for her nightie, grabbing it were it had been dropped eagerly to the floor not half an hour before. “I always knew you were nothing but a sexmonger,” she said, pulling it over her head. “How many times you banged her, huh? Wanted to? Maybe you just look and don’t touch? Well let me tell you, Mr. Leonzio Disunno, lookin’ is just as bad as touching!”

               Baffled, Leo watched from the center of the bed. How had they gone from blissful sex to yet another argument where he was VERY wrong and didn’t for the life of him know why? “Clarissa, baby, where’re you going?”

               “Outta here. I’m leaving.”

               “What? Why!?”

               “Why? WHY?!” slowly she pivoted, coming to face him again. Though she wanted to be ice-like, a hard, cold, bitch-queen, she found her throat closing instead and the tears starting to flow hot and ready behind her eyes, ready to spill forth the moment she opened her mouth. “Because you don’t LOVE me anymore, that’s why!” With a fitful sob, she ran from the room, straight for the hall closet with her purse, Metro card, and- yes, a raincoat over her slinky nightie would be a good idea, too, wouldn’t it? Fighting back sobs, she pulled it on and tried to button it closed, but that was more than she could handle just then, so she held it close instead.

               From the bedroom Leo called, “Clarissa? Babe, please- can’t we talk about this?”

               “No!” she yelled back, and it was as though her heart were breaking. Fumblingly, she tore at the lock of the apartment door and flung it open- only to find Marco, her brother-in-law, standing just outside.

               “Did I come at a bad time?” he asked, less than enchanted to find such a scene of domestic ribaldry in progress.


               “Go to hell!” she shouted over her shoulder. “What do you want, Marco?”

               “I’ve got work for Leo.”

               Inspiration tapped Clarissa on the back of her head, triggering something deep inside the reptilian cortex. She shoved Marco aside and stepped out, pulling the door closed with her. “I’ll take it.”

               Marco blinked. “What?” She was only distant family- several cousins thrice removed or some shit, from the same town in the Old Country; he marriage to Leo brought her closer to the fold than any blood did. Why the hell would she do this?

               Hastily, but now perfectly coordinated and back in control, she locked the door with her key and gave it an experimental tug. “I said, I’ll take the job. Whatever it is, I’d rather be there than here.”

               Marco’s experienced eye slid to Clarissa’s bare feet, disheveled hair, and the lacy bits of lingerie peeking out from beneath her less effective than fashionable raincoat. Who was he to argue with an already smited lady? “Alright. You’d probably be better at this than he would, anyway.” Without asking for an explanation, he turned and headed back to the elevator. She hurried after him, pulling the raincoat more tightly closed- against her breasts, of all things.

               “So- what is it?” she asked, trotting behind him.

               “I can’t tell you that.”

               “Why not? Don’t you know?” He didn’t answer, staring stonily up at the LED indicating what floor the elevator was currently held up on. “Oh- is it private?” Her eyes darted from side to side, though there was no one in the dimly lit hallway but them. Obediently, she kept her mouth shut, until they were inside the elevator. There, the moments passed slowly, stoically… “Where are we going?”

               Not for the first time, Marco wondered why his baby brother had chosen to marry Clarissa. When he looked down to answer her, and saw her burgeoning raincoat, he remembered. “To see Mo.”

               “Oh.” Clarissa let this digest. The elevator dropped four out of five floors. “Who’s Mo?”

               As the elevator slowed to a stop and the gravitational pull released, Marco stuck his hands in his pockets. “Your new boss.” Without waiting for her reaction, the doors opened, and he walked out.

               It wasn’t until her feet hit the marble floor that Clarissa realized she had left her shoes in the apartment. “Hey- Hey! Aw, shit…”

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