GOD’S COCK
“JESUS H. FRICKIN’ CHRIST, it’s fuckin’ cold!” Bella yelled. Her breath billowed in front of her as she ran down the icy sidewalk.
“Only three more blocks to the school bus stop! Let’s keep running!” Lulu squealed as she struggled to keep up.
Bella blazed along in a lobster-red, fur-trimmed swing coat and matching carmine cloche hat (poked with a couple of rooster feathers) that she had permanently borrowed from Terelli Lombardi’s house. Lulu gleefully baltered behind in their mamma’s shit-brown hand-me-down. The two of them galloped along until they crashed in front of old man Siano’s Christmas crèche.
After quickly crossing herself, Bella ripped off her mittens, dug into her pocket, and pulled out a tube of Tangee lipstick. She generously waxed her lips and blew the wooden baby Christ a kiss. Then she popped open a compact and expertly blushed her cheeks. Then she lined her eyes in the mini mirror before pocketing everything.
“If Papa catches you wearing that stuff again, he’ll kill you!”
“Not if that old stronzo can’t catch me!” Bella grabbed her sister’s hand and the two girls continued running. “My goddamned puchiacha is so cold I’m afraid it’ll freeze!” Bella screamed.
“Oh, no! You don’t want a frozen puchiacha!”
“Just a hard cazzo!”
The two girls laughed, they hee-hawed, they guffawed as they barreled to the bus stop at the corner of Krueger Place and Gregory Avenue, red faces stinging, snowflakes singing. They huddled in a fit of shivering giggles until across the street, in the parlor window of a two-story white house, a set of Sicilian lace curtains opened and snapped closed.
“Did you see that?”
“I sure did.”
Moments later, the front door popped open and a young man with the physique of an Italian stallone and a full head of lush hair stepped out and waved. He was wearing nothing but cuffed blue jeans, a guinea T, a pair of unlaced shoes, and a dandy-looking hand-knitted oarsman’s cap.
Bella tossed him a sly Gioconda smile as she waved back.
Lulu slapped her sister’s hand down. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sayin’ hi.”
“Why?”
The young man hop-crunched across the street.
“Now look what you did! He’s coming over here!”
Bella licked her teeth as he deftly sidestepped chunks of snow and patches of ice and landed in front of the girls with the ruddy color of Christmas blushing in his Christlike cheeks. Bella had never seen a boy (or man) swing his hips the way this one did.
Holy, holy, holy shit.
“Nice day for a walk,” he said and winked.
Up close, his wolfen eyes flashed green with flecks of gold. He had a strong, square chin and obscenely white teeth. He looked exactly like the Christ painting in Saint Anthony’s.
Bella could hear Terelli singing,
Simply stunning!
“You’re Francis Anthony Mozzarelli!”
The boy removed the cap from his head and took a deep bow. “Al tuo servizio, mia regina!” He popped back up and smiled handsomely. “How do you know who I am?”
Shoulders like boulders. Biceps popping. Charm bomb exploding. Terelli was right. He was a fucking masterpiece.
“A little birdie told me.”
Tweet! Tweet!
“You’re Belladonna Marie Donato,” Francis said. His lips were pink and wet and devastating.
“How do you know about me?”
Little Angel Queen flying. A single rose petal falling. Carnival Queen fighting. Strong arms lifting.
“All of New Jersey knows about you.”
“They do?”
Bella felt like she was dropping out of the sky again.
Papa! Catch me!
“Aren’t you freezing out here?” she asked, batting her eyes.
“You want to wait for the bus inside my house? It’s nice and warm in there. And I’ve cooked a big breakfast.”
Lulu clutched her sister’s arm. “We’ve already had breakfast,” she said. “Besides, the bus is gonna be here any minute, and we can’t miss school again.”
Bella yanked her arm free. “That goddamned bus is always late. Besides, I didn’t eat breakfast,” she lied. “And I’m starving. I’m so hungry I can eat a horse.”
Francis pawed the ground with his shoe and whinnied uproariously.
Bella squealed.
Lulu screamed.
In the house, the kitchen walls danced with a pattern of bright yellow sunflowers. Fire-licked pots and pans crowded a well-seasoned stove. Above them hung a gold-framed picture of an old woman, beady eyes watching a metal-topped kitchen table where an oval platter teeming with a scramble of caramelized onions, red bell peppers, potatoes, and eggs steamed. Another platter held a pyramid of fresh cannoli, ricotta oozing. The table was set for three.
“Holy crapoli!” Bella cried. “Who did all this?”
Francis picked a set of dumbbells up off the floor and started doing curls. “Me!”
Lulu counted the plates. “You were expecting us to come in here, weren’t you?”
“Don’t be rude!” Bella pushed her sister aside and grabbed a cannoli. She took a bite. It was almost too sweet, but there was something in it that made Bella’s heart sing. What the hell was it?
“My crazy old lady made those!”
“What does she put in the cream?”
“It’s a secret recipe. If I tell you, she’ll kill me.”
Bella took another bite. “Well, whatever it is, it’s delicious!”
“It’s like sucking on God’s cock, isn’t it?!”
Bella guffawed.
Lulu backed against the wall next to the kitchen door. “That’s disgusting! Where’s your crazy old lady?”
“She’s at work,” the panting young Strongman replied. He was alternating arms with bicep-popping counts of five. “She runs the Star Barbershop over on Market Street.”
“What about your papa?” Lulu was unrelenting. “Where’s he?”
“My papa’s dead. He died when I was eight.”
Bella crossed herself and kissed her fist. “I’m so sorry!”
“Me too,” Lulu crossed herself. “I’m sorry too.” She turned to her sister. “Can we go now? Please?”
“No. I don’t want to go.”
“Bella, please!”
“Basta!”
Francis dropped the weights and struck a Popeye pose between the two girls. “Feel my muscles!” he exclaimed.
Bella cupped one of his biceps with her hand and squeezed. “My God! It’s as hard as a rock!”
“Bella …” Lulu tugged on her sister’s coat sleeve. “I said I want to leave.”
Bella took off her hat and scarf and dropped them onto the table. “Leave! No one’s stopping you, dummy!”
“If you make me go out there alone, I’m gonna tell Papa on you!”
“Fuck Papa! And fuck you!”
“FUCK YOU TOO!” Lulu screamed. Then she slapped her mittens over her mouth.
For a moment both girls were stunned.
“Lulu! You cursed!”
All bets were off.
“Well, at least I’m not a goddamned whore!”
“What did you say to me?!”
“YOU’RE A WHORE!”
Bella lunged, but Lulu yanked the door open, jumped out, and slammed it in Bella’s face. Then she bounded through the snow like a panicked chicken.
“I’m sorry,” Bella said after catching her breath.
“For what?”
“She’s not really my sister.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind.”
Francis dropped his weights.
“You’re not gonna leave too, are you?”
Bella glanced out the hoarfrosted kitchen window, at the brown smudge of Lulu standing at the bus stop, shoulders shaking. Goddamnit, she was crying. “No. I’m staying.”
“Thank you, sweet Jesus!”
Francis helped Bella out of her coat and pulled out a chair for her.
“Mamma mia!” he said as she took a sexy seat.
He straddled the one across from her and lifted the platter of cannoli. “You want another one of these?”
Bella pulled one off the top and took a bite. Then she took another one.
“Christ! I love to watch you eat!”
Francis grabbed one too. He slurped the cream off the end and crunched down. Then he took a magnificent swig off an open bottle of Yoo-hoo, burped like a cartoon monkey, and smiled like a clown.
The two of them laughed, bits of cannoli shell stuck between their teeth, Bella’s cuspid gap filled with ricotta cheese. “How come you don’t go to school?” she asked.
“I had no use for the crap school tried to shovel at me. It’s all a bunch of bullshit. None of it means anything.”
Even when he was serious, his face was so stunning it was holy. Francis caught Bella staring at him. “What are you thinking?”
“You look just like the Jesus painting hanging in Saint Anthony’s.”
The young man’s cheeks blushed the color of Christmas again. “That was my crazy old lady’s idea. She made me pose for it.”
“It’s so beautiful.”
“It’s embarrassing. I hate it.”
“I think it’s the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“No, I’m not. Not really.”
“Are you kidding? You’re a fucking masterpiece.”
A bank of wind slapped against the house.
“Bella!” came Lulu’s muffled cry.
Christ, Bella thought, I hope Lulu isn’t freezing out there. She eyed the framed photo of the tough-looking woman hanging above the stove and shivered. “Who’s that?” she asked.
“That’s my crazy old lady! Mary Mozzarelli! Ain’t she something?!”
The eyes in the picture narrowed and the lips curled like an angry dog.
“Bella!” Lulu cried.
“She looks scary,” Bella said.
Francis plated a bunch of eggs for his bodacious guest. “She ain’t nothin’ but an old pussycat. Tell me about your family …”
“I have another older sister and an older brother. I also have a little brother. He’s my favorite.”
“I wish I had brothers and sisters,” Francis said as he plated himself some eggs. “Sometimes I get so goddamned lonely it hurts,” he admitted as he wolfed down his food. “Someday I’m gonna get married and have a great big fucking family.” He grabbed his empty plate, placed his elbows on the table, and licked it clean. He licked it like a wolf in heat.
“Not me.” Bella said.
“You don’t want to be a mamma?”
“No fucking way.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve been a mamma to my entire fucking family my entire fucking life and I’m fucking done with it.” She looked directly into the holy face of the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. “And I’m never getting married.”
“Never?”
“Not ever.”
A rumble of snow thunder rattled the kitchen windows, threatening to shatter the glass. The picture of Mary growled.
“What’s your mamma like?” Francis asked.
Bella fingered her plate of eggs.
“My mamma always sleeps. And she never speaks.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What about your papa?”
“My papa hates me. He makes me wash his stinking feet.”
“That’s fucking disgusting.”
Francis thought about his old man. “Does your papa ever hit you?”
Bella’s tongue felt the gap between her teeth.
“No,” she lied.
“My papa used to beat the shit out of me,” Francis confessed. “I was my old man’s fucking punching bag until the day he died.”
The picture of Mary Mozzarelli growled again. The blast of a gunshot echoed over their heads.
“How did he die?”
“I don’t remember.”
Bella took a bite of her eggs. “I wish my papa would die.”
Suddenly Francis jumped to his feet. “Don’t say that! Don’t ever wish death on anybody!”
Bella was stunned. “I’m sorry.”
Francis slowly sat back down. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he whispered into his empty plate.
“Bella!” came Lulu’s distant, snow-swaddled cry. “The bus is coming!”
I can make it, Bella thought as the engine’s muffled rumble came to a wheezing stop. I can make it if I run. She stood up and Francis stood up too. He walked over, put his arms around her, and buried his face in the warm flesh of her neck. He nibbled and licked. Then he slowly kissed his way to her lips. When their tongues met, they danced. Eggs, potatoes, onions, peppers, Yoo-hoo. And delicious remnants of sweet cannoli cream.
Francis caressed Bella’s breasts and she moaned. (She wanted to scream.) “I think I better go,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Please don’t leave. I want to fuck you. Can I fuck you? Please?”
Waves crashing.
Saltwater taffy.
The Glasgow-grinning face of Steeplechase, laughing and cackling.
Mary Mozzarelli growling.
“Okay.”
As the bus backfired and farted away, the two of them dropped to the kitchen floor. Is this what her papa did to her mamma? For a horrifying moment Bella was a little girl again, pounding on her mamma’s door.
“Stop!’ she cried.
Francis was panting. “Are you okay?”
Bella blinked and the violent ghost of her papa slipped away.
“I think so. Yes.”
Francis took Bella’s face in his warm hands and gave her a soft kiss. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”
“I want you to take me. Take all of me.”
Francis quickly wrapped his hands around the bottom of her voluptuous behind and hiked up her dress. Then he slowly (sweetly) peeled down her woolens, exposing her damp (and shivering) bloomers. Then he sniffed between her legs.
Had she bathed that morning? Bella tried to remember.
“My God, you smell delicious,” Francis whispered.
Bella farted.
Did he hear it?
With frantic hands, Francis unzipped his jeans. His dick sprang out like a Mars-bound rocket. It was huge! God’s cock grinning and dripping.
Oh, holy cannoli!
Here we go!
This is it!
Bella couldn’t stop shivering.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
Francis covered her with his whole body. Then he started to thrust himself into her and she screamed. “Stop! Please!”
Francis pulled the tip of his stiff dick out. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”
“Is it supposed to hurt like this?”
“Only for a minute. I’ll go slow. I promise.”
“Okay. Go.”
He gave her a tender kiss and gently pressed against her again. Then he started rocking his hips and Bella rocked too. The two of them rocked together. They rocked and rubbed and grunted. Then Francis slowly pushed back in. Another sharp sting. Bella’s bowels constricted. Her legs melted. She felt like she was swimming in a warm sea. “Jesus, fuck me! Jesus, fuck me!” she hollered.
“I am fucking you! I am fucking you!”
Francis didn’t hear his mamma barking.
Bella didn’t hear her mamma wailing.
Neither of them heard Terelli Lombardi screaming.
The floor spun. The room turned upside down. Bella couldn’t breathe. For a split second, she felt like she was drowning. Then she was floating in honey.
“I’m coming!” Francis hollered as the cream shot out of his cannoli. “I’m coming!” He shuddered and bucked like a bull.
“I’m coming too!” Bella screamed as Francis collapsed on top of her, panting. “I’m coming too!” The bulbs in all of her sockets blew. Her corpuscles hummed, her veins strummed, her heart drummed. The room filled with a million carnival lights, and she shot all the way to Heaven.
She was a little Angel Queen again.
Flying in the glory of her Lord.
Somewhere over the rainbow.
Bella Belladonna.
Bella bellissima!
Mary Mozzarelli’s Secret Cannoli Recipe
Mary Mozzarelli carried
this sweet recipe
all the way to her nasty grave.
For the cannoli shells:
4 cups flour, sifted
3 tablespoons butter, softened
2 egg yolks
2 tablespoons sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
¾ cup dry white wine
1 tablespoon distilled white vinegar
shortening for frying
For the filling:
4 cups whole-milk ricotta cheese (preferably homemade)
1 cup powdered sugar (or less, careful not to make the filling too sweet)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon lemon or orange zest
¼ to ½ cup chocolate chips or small chocolate chunks
a pinch of nutmeg, only enough to give the cream a gentle nutty aftertaste
1.Mix flour, salt, and sugar in bowl. Cut in butter. Add egg yolks and stir with fork. Stir in wine, one tablespoon at a time, until dough sticks together. Stir in vinegar. Form ball with dough and let stand for 30 minutes. Sing a song to your favorite son while you wait. Give him a haircut. But don’t introduce him to a priest.
2.Roll out dough almost paper-thin on a well-floured surface. With the rim of a nice-sized (wine) glass (about three to four inches across), cut circles out of dough. With a paring knife, make sure circles are cut all the way through. Wrap each circle of dough around metal cannoli tube, overlapping the ends and pressing to seal. Flare out the edges slightly. Make them pretty.
3.Fry one or two at a time in a kettle or sturdy pot of hot melted shortening (about 360 degrees) for about one minute, turning to brown all sides. Remove from oil and drain on paper towels, seam side down. Cool before removing from tubes. Take a moment or two or three to pray for your enemies.
4.Drain ricotta over cheesecloth. In nice-sized bowl, combine ricotta cheese, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, lemon or orange zest, and nutmeg. Stir in chocolate chunks or chips (be careful not to overmix). Chill for about 30 minutes. Then pipe the ricotta mixture into cooled cannoli shells.
5.Serve immediately with a hot cup of espresso or favorite coffee.
6.Lick and nibble the cannoli as long and as slowly as you can before you crunch into it.
7.When you’re finished, see if you don’t make crazy love with somebody.
8.Buon appetito! Mangiare bene! Stare bene! Delizioso!