ANGRY - andrea kneeland


andrea kneeland

“I want to cum in your eyes,” he says. I think he’s kidding but then I look at his face.

“That would hurt,” I say. He stares at me but doesn’t respond. “That would really sting.”

I’m not sure if the conversation is finished. He keeps staring. I wonder if he’s still mad at me because I won’t watch porn with him.

First of all, his computer screen is too small and the sound coming out of the speakers is ridiculously disproportionate to the tiny writhing bodies.

Second, all the porn he watches is exactly the same: angry men having sex with sad little girls. Everyone is choking, crawling around on their hands and knees, water falling out of their eyes. Girls get covered in all different kinds of bodily fluids. Men grimace and stand next to each other wearing nothing but white tube socks. Once in a while, a penis gets slapped against a forehead like it’s serious business.

Nobody looks like they’re having fun.

I know that I’m sad most of the time, but I don’t know if I’m that sad, to let somebody cum in my eyes.

I stop to consider.

Andrea Kneeland
Nine Stories
J.D. Salinger