Pornographic Shrimp

Cellphone Fiction: Big in Japan, But Anybody can Write It

She and I were only seventeen but madly in love when we came up with this game. First, we would agree to skip school. I'd drive to the school parking lot and hide in my Vega as the buses rolled in. Hers was always the last. And she'd be the last person out. Then she'd slowly walk in the front door, turn around, and walk right back out, as if she'd forgotten something.

Next, she came running to my car, down past the buses just around the building corner. In she got, a wet kiss for me, and off we drove.

Second, a pit stop at Midway Market, where they always sold frozen shrimp. If she was feeling cautious, she'd pay for the pound bag.

Then, a fast drive down Zion Road, five miles pedal on the floor, straight to her house. Her mom was an elementary school teacher, and her dad a traveling salesman. The house was empty all day.

In the kitchen the stove was the gas burner type, a pain in the ass to light. But the water boiled real fast. In went the shrimp.

She always wore my favorite perfume on those days, Lavender Musk. The scent was so strong it covered the smell of shrimp on her fingers -- covered every inch of her body.

I'd bring the shrimp cocktail sauce straight from Mom's fridge. We'd use most of a bottle for each session. What didn't end up on her and in my mouth, or on the floor, well....

The warm bath she drew would take care of the rest.

.