Bloody River Blues

which tumbles down her neck. The hair is like white light. It ends just above her substantial bra. She smooths her hands along it, from her neck over her breasts down to her waist. She tosses her head. Her hair terrifies Donnie Buffett.
    Not saying a word, she leans forward and lets the hair stream over his arm and face. His eyes are locked on to her hair. Terrified but unable to look away. His hand closes on it, he rubs it between his fingers, he weighs a huge handful.
    No. Don’t do this to me. Please. Don’t . . .
    She looks down at him, at the terror on his face.
    I want to go to sleep. I want to—
    But she is bending forward, a slight smile on her face. He is enveloped in her perfume, strawberry and spice, and she is kissing him, her mouth firm against his. He feels her tongue, just its tip against his lips, then through them. She is kissing him hungrily.
    He is trembling.
    She backs away.
    She is wearing a large silver sparkly bra, garter belt and stockings, and white panties. All white, all lacy and glistening in the low light.
    “Look,” Donnie Buffett says and he is sweating. “Don’t—”
    “Shhhh.” She bends forward and kisses him again. He feels the pressure of her breasts under the silky cloth. She knows he feels it and rubs against him as she kisses him. Her tongue slips farther into his mouth. He doesn’t know what to do. He kisses her back.
    Wondering if he’ll feel anything, if he’ll feel that twisty-warm sense, but then no, he doesn’t. And then he wants her to go away, wanting that more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life . . .
    She backs off again, still smiling. He is terrified and begs her to leave. “The thing is, with this accident . . . Like I was saying. You . . .”
    She turns her back to him, ignoring him. He hears her whisper, “Help me.”
    His arms slump. “I’m sorry . . .”
    “Please,” she whispers. “For me? I want it for me.”
    Somehow this changes everything. He lifts his hands and undoes the hook of her bra and she is backing into him, forcing his hands to encircle her breasts and grip them. Her neck is inches from his mouth. He lowers his mouth to it and is caught in an avalanche of her hair. He tastes it. He smells strawberry. When she rubs against him it is as though they are underwater and their bodies are sliding past each other on the current. He turns her around in his arms and kisses her hard.
    She slides off the bed and stands in front of him as she slips her panties down. He sees the blond fuzz. This hair, too, fascinates him; it is so fine you can’t really see the hair, it’s more a blur of focus where her legs come together. She begins to touch herself, running her hands over her body, taking handfuls of her head hair and spreading them around her flesh.
    Then she hops up on the bed again, puts one leg on either side of his head, and bends forward, kissing his chest and stomach as she pushes the blankets aside.He is muttering no no no, but the way it is working out, his mouth being where it is, she can’t hear his words anyway and he gives up talking and all he can do is think, hell, let’s do it do it do it . . .
    This—a memory, not a fantasy—was prominently in Donnie Buffett’s mind when he opened his eyes and saw John Pellam standing in the doorway of his hospital room.
    Buffett blinked then he cleared his throat. “Hey, chief. I wasn’t expecting you.”
    “Hello, Donnie.” Pellam walked into the room. His boots made a particularly loud noise.
    Oh, Christ. He knows.
    “Listen, John . . .” Buffett looked up at the blank TV screen, then at the row of flowers. His face felt suddenly thick and hot, as if filled with steam. Oh, man, here’s the guy bought me beer and has treated me like a real person, he’s the first one in the whole world after the accident to tell me to go to hell, no kid gloves, no bullshit, and what do I do? I fuck his woman. Oh, man. Oh, man . . .
    “John, listen, I was going to tell you.”
    Pellam was grinning. This made Buffett feel a thousand times worse.
    “It wasn’t like I planned it. I know I was ragging you about the casting couch thing but it’s not like I said to her, ‘Oh, poor me, I can’t get it up.’ It wasn’t a trick or anything.”
    That did work, though, come to think of it.
    “It’s all right, Donnie.”
    “I’m not saying she came on to me. I’d never say that to avoid taking my own lumps, you know? But she was easy to talk to and I was