Beautiful Blemish (7 page)

Beautiful Blemish

"Night after night my skin is killing me," said Joseph.

    
Helen lifted his sagging scrotum and rubbed oil near his asshole.
 
What used to be disgusting for her had over the years turned into a task she took on with clinical indifference.

    
"What ever happened to that thing we used to have?
 
That thing that was like a box and you put salt water in it and soaked your feet in it.
 
And it had a switch you could turn and it would vibrate and massage your feet.
 
Do you remember that thing?"

    
"You mean that blue thing that Jerry got us?" asked Helen.

    
"Who?"

    
"Jerry- you
know,
your grandson."

    
"I know who Jerry is.
 
I just didn't hear you.
 
Always mumbling all the time."

    
"Well?"

    
"Yeah, yeah.
 
That's the one.
 
Do they still sell those things?" wondered Joseph.

    
"We still have ours I think.
 
Up in the storage."

    
"God damn it," Joseph spat.
 
"What I need is a big piece of sandpaper to rub all over me.
 
God damn it.
 
What in Hell's going on with my
body.
"

    
Helen squeezed a little more of the oil on her hands.
 
It was green and had no smell.
 
The two of them watched TV every night as she did this.
 
The scrotum, the armpits, the back, a strange patch of dry skin on his breast; they all needed attention night after night.
 
Without Helen, Joseph would probably have gone insane.

    
"Ooh, yeah, get the patch, honey," groaned Joseph.
 
Helen rubbed his chest with the oil.
 
"Little scratches," he said.
 
"Get in there good and deep."
 
Whenever they did this Joseph's tone was similar to dirty talk.
 
He regarded his itchy skin, every sensitive cell and sore muscle underneath, with a hate that was only overshadowed by the pleasure of fighting against it.
 
Whenever there was an itch being scratched exactly right Joseph would moan with a violent passion.

    
"I can't believe that NBC is replacing Tom Brokaw," said Helen.
 
"He's one of the few trust-worthy people on anymore."
 
Tom Brokaw smiled and faded off the screen.
 
Helen hit the remote and the TV was off.

    
Joseph squinted through his pleasure and tossed his head back.
 
"God damn it.
 
It's killing me," he almost shouted.
 
He suddenly bolted upright and stood.
 
He rubbed his bare feet on the carpet as if he was putting out a cigarette.
 
"It's the balls, you know.
 
The balls of my feet."
 
He rubbed the balls of his feet into the carpet, his toes smashed into the shag.
 
"What's old Jerry up to these days anyway?
 
Wasn't he supposed to visit us this summer?"

    
Helen rubbed her chin, stood up and walked over to a framed photograph of the smarmy teen-ager.
 
"He was going to, but he had to take some summer school course.
 
Or else he wouldn't graduate next year."

    
Joseph walked up behind Helen and embraced her.
 
The soft, thin fabric of her red summer dress made him feel frisky.
 
She'd always looked great in a dress, he remembered.
 
Couldn't think of a time when she didn't.
 
They had met and quickly married when he was 36.
 
She was 25.
 
He had always looked younger than his age and as they grew older so did she.
 
Now, almost 60 years old, she still radiated an almost sinister youthfulness.
 
It was as if both their bodies stopped aging at 45.

    
"I hope you're not wearing panties," said Joseph, "because I'd hate to have to rip them off your little ass and make a mess."

    
Helen giggled and pushed herself into his sturdy body.
 
"Why the fuck would I need to wear any panties for?" she invited.
 
Joseph loved it when she said "fuck" and "panties".
 
He preferred "fuck" and "panties" over "make love" and "underwear".
 
"Don't rip the dress though, old man," she told him then.
 
His arms tightened roughly around her, his right hand grabbed her right arm and squeezed sharply.

    
Helen grimaced and let Joseph lead her to the living room couch.
 
"Take your pretty dress off," he instructed her.
 
He let her go and she slipped the garment over her head.
 
Joseph watched her as he walked backwards to his small desk in the corner of the room.
 
He opened a drawer and grabbed a plastic bag.
 
"You're going to make me look nice," he slurred, then tossed the bag at her.

    
"Don't just stare at me," she said.

    
Joseph shook his head, walked over slowly.
 
"What do you have in mind, little lady?"
 
He held out his arms then, not waiting for an answer.
 
His wrists were crossed.

    
Helen opened the bag, pulled a noose-like rope from it.
 
She put it around Joseph's wrists and tightened it.
 
She undid the belt on Joseph's shorts and they fell to his feet.
 
She pulled down his boxer shorts and his penis appeared, semi-hard, straight.
 
"This little thing still work," she sneered.
 
She could smell the oil on his skin down there.
 
She slapped it against his belly as if trying to wake it up.
 
She reached into the bag.
 
Out of it came a handful of markers.
 
She took a thick red one and circled around his penis like a barber shop pole.
 
"Sing me a Christmas song,
Grampa
.
 
I found me a candy cane."
 
She licked softly around it.

    
"Here comes Santa Claus/Here comes Santa Claus

 
   
Riding down
Santa Claus Lane
..."

    
This only lasted a minute.
 
She then had him turn around.
 
She wrote the words Bang Me on his ass.
 
"I wrote the words Bang Me on your ass, old man.
 
You wish I had a dick so I could bang you in the ass?"

    
"No."

    
"I wish you had a dick so you could bang me
anywhere,
" she laughed.
 
Joseph looked down at his dick and saw it rushing with blood, getting harder.
 
"Which do you like better?
 
Bang
my pussy?
 
Fuck
my pussy?
 
Ram
your dick in my pussy?"

    
"I like to do everything to your pussy."

    
She pushed him onto the couch, sat on his lap, his hands tied and motionless between her legs.
 
She took the cap off a thick black pen and drew a dark black mask around his eyes.
 
When she was done he looked like the Lone Ranger without his hat.
 
She climbed off him and threw the markers down on the couch, then in the same motion swiped the rope off of Joseph's hands.
 
"I'm sorry," she said.
 
"Take anything you want, just don't hurt me."

    
"How old are you," asked the masked man.

    
"I'm old and I'm fragile."

    
He grabbed the red marker and slashed a line across her chest.
 
Helen's hands flew up to her chest.
 
She covered her small breasts and stumbled toward the couch.
 
"On the floor," he ordered.

    
She slid to the floor with a look somewhere between passivity and impatience.
 
She watched him step sluggishly forward, as if walking in a pool of water.
 
"Here," he said, handing her the pen.
 
He looked at her stomach.
 
Neither chubby nor thin, she looked healthy despite a couple of age spots.
 
"I am a slut," he said.
 
She took the pen and wrote across her belly: I am a slut.

    
"Say it," he said.

    
"I am a slut," she said.

    
"What else?" he said.
 
She looked at him, thinking to himself.
 
She brought the pen up to her breasts and wrote Bitch between her nipples.
 
"Good.
 
Good.
 
I'll get the mirror," he said.

    
He grabbed a large mirror from the bathroom and brought it out to where his wife lay.
 
He set it against a foot stool.
 
He grabbed a blue pen and began marking on her body himself.
 
He drew a pair of arrows pointing to her vagina.
 
He gave her a fake black eye.
 
She gave up her skin for him.
 
He marked her carelessly, waiting for something to appear in the blemishes.
 
Then she watched her body in the mirror as he entered her from behind.
 
He watched too, and they became angry with excitement.
 
She whimpered a little as he moved.
 
"You fuck like a dog.
 
You fuck like a dirty dog," she told him.

    
"What's your pussy feel like?
 
What's my dick feel like?"

    
"My pussy is wet.
 
Your cock is hard."

    
"Is this too hard for
ya
’, grandma?"

    
"No way, old man.
 
You got to tear my pussy up."

    
A puff of air blew out of Joseph's mouth like a tire exploding.
 
His penis was out and it oozed a small amount of semen.
 
Helen flattened underneath him, quivering slightly herself.
 
Both bodies sucking air.
 
Helen twisted around and smeared his
goo
across her belly, smudging the words there.
 
Joseph spooned himself against her.
 
"That was a good one," Helen panted.
 
Joseph chuckled lightly into her back.
 
"What's so funny?" she asked.