Night Creatures


For as long as I can remember, I have lived with my Aunt Bettie. There are pictures on the piano in the living room of a tall somber man and a petite sad woman. Those people are my parents. They died when I was ten, nine years ago. Aunt Bettie sometimes tells their story. I am a part of their story, but when Aunt Bettie describes me, small, wrapped in a white blanket from the hospital, with no hair at all, it is like hearing a story about Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty. Those are stories that everyone knows, but everyone knows they aren’t really true.

Aunt Bettie married Uncle Gus when I was a very small girl. I wore tiny satin slippers encrusted with rhinestones that I called diamonds. I wore a white dress, tied at the waist with a large creamy bow, and a white straw hat sat atop my head. Aunt Bettie liked to say that I was the perfect little Dolly that day—and the name stuck. So now whenever Aunt Bettie or Uncle Gus need me, they call, “Dolly!” or “Doll Baby!”

Now that I am nineteen, it seems like night is when they need me most. One or the other will call me from my bed, and I’ll stumble out into the hall and make the journey from my room to theirs. When it was just Aunt Bettie, she never called for me at night, when it was dark, and there wasn’t a light anywhere in the house or outside on the street. Things changed when she married Uncle Gus.

When I come to their room, they smile at me, and wrap me up in their arms with hugs that I never seem to get during the day. Aunt Bettie’s mouth is always warm as she kisses my forehead and cheeks, then whispers to Uncle Gus, “Have you ever seen anything so lovely?”

“No, can’t say I have,” Gus likes to say, “And I hope I never will. You’re a looker Doll Baby.”

Gus gets the pillows ready, propping them up against the headboard so that Aunt Bettie can lie on her back, her dark hair spread out beneath her, as she opens her legs wide. The dark hair between her legs reminds me of spiders, their dark legs tangled against the creamy white of her inner thighs. Gus helps me with my nightie, arms up, then it slides beşiktaş escort up and over my head, and the air rushes around my body and I feel so cold.

It is my job to lie on top of Bettie. I lie on my back, her skin warm against my back, my head resting on her shoulder, so I can hear her breath against my cheek. She strokes my hair and says in a voice that is like taffy, “Go on, Dolly, open up.” She wants me to open my legs as wide as they will go. She wants me to hook my feet around her legs. “Good girl,” she whispers when I’m done.

I’m most conscious now of the air between my legs. I keep this part of my body covered, my thighs clenched together, unless Aunt Bettie or Uncle Gus call from their room at night, and the sensation of cold air against my skin feels foreign. I am a different creature at night, sprawled across Aunt Bettie’s body, her soft breasts pushing into my back, my feet hooked around her legs, her fingers stroking my hair as if I were one of the kittens that play under the house. I can’t see Uncle Gus, but I can feel his hands, big and warm, as they run alongside the inside of my legs, up my thighs, and onto my belly.

“Tell him,” Aunt Bettie will whisper, knowing when we are all ready, “Be a good girl and tell him.”

Somehow this is the hardest part. I should know these lines by now, having starred in this play so many times before. The words are stuck, just above my belly, and some thread of indifference wants to keep them there, wants them to be cajoled out of me. Aunt Bettie knows that she’ll have to stroke my hair awhile, kiss my cheek, and promise me favors before I’ll speak. Uncle Gus grows impatient, I can feel it in the way he settles on the edge of the bed, resigned to wait for me to finish the game.

“Uncle Gus,” I stutter, “I want you.”

“Now that’s more like it!” Gus crows, moving up on the bed, getting on his knees between our outstretched legs.

“Come on, Dolly,” Aunt Bessie whispers as she kisses my cheek, “Tell him what you want.”

“What do you want old Uncle beylikdüzü escort Gus to do?” he’ll say, almost laughing the words, finding humor in the situation as much as he finds lust.

“I want you to fuck me,” I say, thinking my voice sounds different. It is high-pitched and light, like a little feather, that floats up for a moment, then gently finds it way back to the ground. Not my everyday voice, at all.

“You want me to what?” Uncle Gus booms, patting my belly.

“Tell him,” Aunt Bettie urges.

“Fuck me,” I say, a little louder now, the last of my part in this charade.

“Well, then, if that’s what you want,” Uncle Gus says, rubbing my belly now, with his big, dry palm, “That’s what you’re gonna get. Ain’t nothin’ too good for my Dolly.”

“She wants it, Gus, she asked for it,” Aunt Bettie chimes, as if we are in church on Sunday agreeing with the preacher.

With that, Uncle Gus leans down over us, his arms tense and knotted, one fist on the bed to the left of us and the other fist clenched on the right—his body hovering over us, but not touching our skin. He looks down and lowers himself to give Aunt Bettie her kisses…I listen to the sound of their lips moving together, the wet sounds, like licking, suckling. Then Uncle Gus raises his head up and looks down at me and smiles, “You, too, Doll baby.”

He kisses my mouth, his lips seem so big, that I wonder if they are swollen. I kiss him back, though we don’t make the same noises that Aunt Bettie and he make. The very first time, this was called a kissing lesson, and Uncle Gus said it would be good for me to know what to do when the love of my life came a calling. Now Uncle Gus’s mouth leaves my lips and he finds my right nipple, and he begins to lick. He rubs his tongue over the nipple over and over, as if licking a lollipop, before moving on to the other. My Aunt Bettie coos, “Now Dolly, don’t you just love that?”

Do I? I wonder, feeling the hard rock rub against me as he moves his body, feel it pressing against my thigh, feel it beyoğlu escort against my belly. I know that soon that hard rock will be inside me, moving back and forth, and I can feel my body beginning to ache . No matter how many times I’m called into this room, this bed, my body always rejoices at what takes place.

Uncle Gus always enters Aunt Bettie first, sliding in and out of her, making her move her hips, which automatically move mine because I’m lying on top of her. He moves in and out, thrusting hard, and I can hear the sound, knowing he’ll slowly slide himself out of her, hard and wet with her juice, and then slide himself into me. When it is time, he positions the tip of his cock against the entrance to my body, and Aunt Bettie grinds up against me, making me move. I know that Aunt Bettie is my teacher and I need to do as she does for everything to work. So I begin to thrust, wiggling my hips, raising my hips, trying to swallow Uncle Gus just as he tries to plunge inside of me. After awhile, our hard work brings a sudden popping sound and a rush as his cock slides into me, opening me up as it travels to the very back of my pussy. He can hardly stand it, he always groans, because I am like a vice, milking him, drawing his seed. Then he begins to thrust, just as he did with Bettie, and we all three move together, our voices mixing together in a loud thunder of sound. I do not sound human, his hard cock moving in and out of me, Aunt Bettie licking at my ears, whispering to me, and Uncle Gus’s mouth open like a massive cave as he shouts out his pleasure.

Then, Gus pulls out of me, and pushes his cock back into Aunt Bettie, but he leans down and kisses me, his tongue filling my mouth, until he pulls out of her and slides back into me, back and forth, back and forth. My body doesn’t want to let go of him when he pulls out—I find myself hating Aunt Bettie in those moments when she gasps and Uncle Gus pushes back into her. I imagine sometimes that Gus calls me into his room and Aunt Bettie isn’t there…and I get to feel him until he collapses, filling me up with his creamy, white foam…without sharing.

“Oh, Jesus,” Gus groans suddenly, pulling out of Aunt Bettie and plunging into me. Aunt Bettie’s hands are on my hips, guiding me, helping me to move against him. In moments, his body goes stiff and I can feel a warm stream inside of me.

Exhausted, we sleep.

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