Marty was both exhilarated and exhausted. Ted and Mariana managed to get his tie and jacket and shoes off before he collapsed onto his bed. Mariana gave him a kiss on the top of his head and left the room. When Ted stood to go, Marty grabbed his hand and asked with childlike innocence, “Was I such a bad man back then, Splinter?”
“No,” Ted said as he leaned down and kissed his father on the forehead. “You weren’t such a bad man then. And you’re not such a bad man now.”
Ted flicked off the light, left his father, and walked a little ways down the hall. He stopped and put his forehead against the wall and began sobbing. He had not cried like this since he was a child, deep uncontrollable spasms. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t seen Mariana standing right there. She turned him to her for a hug. They hugged, and when Ted had stopped shaking, she pulled back. They began to kiss. A kiss that began as consolation and escalated quickly into a chaos of need.
Mariana pushed Ted up against the wall and leaned into him. She grabbed his pants and started to pull them down. Ted stopped her. “My dad,” he said. He’d already heard his father have sex tonight and wasn’t sure if he wanted to return the favor. You know, maybe some other night, maybe just not tonight?
She said, “Take me right here, now, before I think too much about what I’m doing.”
“No, don’t do that. Don’t think, stop thinking.”
He put his hands under her dress and held her ass. He could feel her wet already. He felt the room spin.
“I’ve never done this,” he said.
“You’re a virgin?”
“No, I’ve never had sex in the house I grew up in, I mean, the house in which I grew up. In.”
“You’re not turning me on.”
She grabbed him and pulled her underwear aside. She lifted one leg and curled it around his waist, holding him. She swayed away against him till he was all the way inside her. Ted was holding her off the ground as she grinded against him. Ted felt weak in the knees. He spoke in her ear. “I’d have to be in better shape to hold this position longer … my quads. Can we go to the floor?”
“You calling me fat?”
“No, no, no … never. You’re fucking perfect.”
And down they went, horizontal. Ted couldn’t believe this was happening, after he’d thought about it so much. He knew if he didn’t distract himself, it would be over in a matter of seconds. He was thankful it was easy to look around his childhood home and lose the desire to come. There was that old chair his mom used to sit in and knit. Mom knitting! Perfect. Throttling down. He could fuck forever. He knew that was there if he needed to stall the moment. Worked like a charm. Uh-oh. Maybe too well. He felt himself getting distracted and distant. No more Mom knitting. He took his eyes off the Mom chair. Mariana could feel him going away, in conversation with himself, and she took it a little personally. She looked at him that way.
She spoke to him in Spanish now, “Venga muchacho tomame.” He didn’t know what she’d said, but he had an inkling, and the Spanish sounded good, too good.
He said, “If you’re gonna talk Spanish, nothing good will happen, this is gonna be over in seconds.”
She laughed. “No te olvides de la leche cuando vuelas el elefante.”
“Stop!”
She said, “I said, ‘Don’t forget the milk when you fly the elephant.’”
“Doesn’t matter, it sounds too sexy in Spanish. Everything does.”
“I speak French, too.”
“Don’t you dare speak French. German, maybe. Chinese could be good, too.”
She opened her mouth to speak. He didn’t know what language might come out; she seemed to have infinite capability in his eyes at that moment. She was worlds. The language didn’t matter. It was all deadly perfect. Even her breath unformed into words spoke volumes and gave him butterflies from his stomach on down.
“Hoochie-coochie-coo…”
“Is that Charo?”
“Yes. Thought that might be a turnoff. Turns me off. Hoochie-coochie-coo…”
“I need quiet, please.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re breathing.”
“I have to breathe,” she said with a smile.
It was like there’d been no foreplay so the foreplay was happening during the play. Time compressed itself. Past, present, future. Everything was happening at once.
She looked in his eyes, saw how badly he wanted to do well, get a good grade, get to write the sequel. It was sweet. She stopped moving. She bit his ear softly and said, “Don’t worry, Ted, you feel so good. Just make love to me. That’s all. That’s all you have to do. For me, okay? Please?”
Her words shored up Ted’s confidence. He would be strong for her. She sensed it, she felt it. He said, “Okay, but no more Spanish. Deal?”
“Trato, Papi.”
“Stop!”
She laughed and arched her hips up toward him.
“Dass it, baby. Should I call you ‘Lord’?”
“Only if I deserve it.”
“Dass it, Lord…”
They were in sync now in mind and body. As they moved together, he rose up to look at her beauty beneath him. He gazed at her up and down. They were naked now. He tried to squint so he didn’t see his own fat, hairy belly, just her. It almost worked. He saw the Dead tattoo on her ankle, and the Christ one on the other, which he could now clearly see was not “Christ,” but rather “Christina,” as it snaked around the turn of her shin. She saw him looking at the ankle and twisted away slightly, almost as if she were covering up a scar; she whispered in his ear again, “Don’t stop, I’m gonna come.”
He didn’t stop. He would never stop.