|The Story||The Authors|
|...accompanied by incidental harp music and just a bit too much dry ice. He looked around. Where was he?|
|Stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes populated the room, but it was the two five-foot-high posters of Duran Duran's dashingly effeminate lead singer Simon LeBon that gave it away -- but of course! Esther Schimmelbaum! This was Esther's bedroom... He shook his head. "Damn," he said, "God-damn. I'd forgotten..." He almost felt tears welling at the edge of his vision; he gulped; Stevie gave his hand a little squeeze of encouragement...|
|The door opened and in came Esther, leading -- Jake gasped -- none other than Andy Diamond, that pipsqueak -- and on a leash, attached to a dog collar girdling Andy's neck, no less!|
But -- but -- Esther was his girlfriend, Jake's! How dare she, how, how...his very mind stammered. Stevie gave a little giggle. Esther and Andy had undressed each other, and Jake watched in horror as she unclipped his leash from the studded collar and asked in mockingly, "Have we been a good dog today?" |
"Arf! Arf!" replied Andy, nodding earnestly.
"Then we get a Scooby-snack!" chirped Esther, slamming her muff into Andy's face with a giggle. |
What the devil is this? puzzled the aghast Jake -- she'd never spoken to him that way, or acted that way, and she'd never even put out below the waist, but teased him through an entire summer in which painful cases of blue-balls became an almost daily occurence -- but this, this was like a whole different Esther, emitting the first and softest in a series of low, throaty moans as Andy's tongue began to work its magic. "You never took her seriously," said Stevie sadly, "As so she never revealed her true self to you. Esther possessed the most preternaturally precocious libido of all the woman of Hiram Benlevi Synagogue, and you never even knew it. She thought you wouldn't understand. She thought you'd make fun of her."
"But -- but I was only fourteen," sputtered Jake. "How was I supposed to know these things?"
"Excuses, excuses." Stevie shook her head mournfully, and took his hand. They floated through the window and up into the sky, and sailed over the houses in that northernmost subdivision of the little town of Woodchuck, New Jersey. Jake thrilled at the feeling of flight, the fizzing and turning in his stomach and the wind in his eyes, and the way Elm Street looked from above. There on his bicycle rode little Peter Goldhamer, the paperboy, tossing evening Globes to his left and to his right, and there was old Mrs. Kuelzer shaking her fist and swearing in Yiddish at him for missing the porch and landing her paper in the bushes again. His heart exbanded like a bellows with love for these people -- these were his roots, his kith, the cornerstone of himself! He adored them. |
They now began to descend, and he saw his own house before him, spangled with the shifting lights of eventide falling through the swollen umbrage of the oaks. Stevie aimed them for a second-story window which he recognized as looking in on not just his bedroom, but his very bedroom, and his cheeks grew hot with shame and embarrassment as the two of them entered to the truly upsetting site of the young Jake, his Levis pooled at his ankles, humping away for Kingdom Come at the Jergen's-moistened hole he'd made in the synthetic stuffing of an old pillow which he kept hidden away at the back of his closet for such times as this. "Oh, oh, oh!" moaned this 14-year-old Jake almost histrionically; "Esther-uh! Esther-uh! Esther-uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh UH!"
Stevie Nicks, Ghost of Masturbation Past and all-around mystic lady, rippling spectrally and tracing finger-circles in his palm, giggled a secret little giggle, not -- as Jake thought -- at the sight of the ardent lad inside, but at the huge poster of her Belladonna album cover tacked to the wall directly over the still faintly-jiggling bed; and Jake (the older one), seeing Jake (his younger self) begin to disengage from the pillow, looked at his otherworldly escort, rolled his eyes, sneered, and asked, not without a liberal dash of sarcasm, "Can we, like, go now?"