"Oh yes! Oh yes! Sí! Harder!"
He did so, plunging into her harder while reaching one of his deformed fingers down to rub her sensitive pearl, making her gasp and beg for more.
"Ah! Dios mio!"
"Yeah, baby."
"Make me cum! Oh yes! Sí!"
She was the seventh girl Jimmy had casual sex with since moving back to Jupiter—at his age, he had no problem getting an erection. It was simply as though he were a young man again, even though he was fifty-one years of age. This woman, younger than him by at least twenty years, had been looking for some casual fun because her own husband had been distant and aloof. She even paid him handsomely just to have a night of fun; $300 was the amount given. When he felt himself about to climax, he pulled himself out and stroked his hard member until his warm, sticky cum splooged all over the woman's shapely abdomen. She had an olive skin tone with black hair and great dark eyes, and her makeup was quite heavy with her eyelids overdone with purple glitter and fake lashes, her eyebrows filled in to a perfect arch, and her lips painted bright crimson with lipstick—she was pretty, for sure, and Cuban-American.
She moaned, looking down after he had released all over her and swiping a finger over the white, sticky fluid before putting it to her devil red lips, sticking out her tongue to taste it. She savored the taste as she sucked on her finger, gazing up at Jimmy's handsome yet aged face. She knelt up, and looked up, feeling his deformed hand caress her lower face and chin with a boyish grin.
"Oh, that was amazing," the woman said, laying back on the bed with her head on one of the brand new pillows that had come with Jimmy's new bed. The bed was already in the apartment when he got there; had he used the bed he had with Britta, he would've felt ashamed on so many levels.
"Yeah," he replied, pulling the sheet over them as he sat up to light a cigarette. Once he took his first drag, it became evident that music was playing very loudly from his daughter's bedroom. "Damn it."
"What, cariño?" the woman asked, leaning on Jimmy's chest; it had some hair which had come in over the years, but when he was younger, he had none at all.
"My daughter," he said, listening to the heavy music blaring:
"It was the heat of the moment
Telling me what your heart meant
Heat of the moment shone in your eyes
And now you find yourself in '82
The disco hotspots hold no charm for you
You can't concern yourself with bigger things
You catch the pearl and ride the dragon's wings…"
"How old is she?" the woman asked, her heavy Cuban accent sounding soft.
"Fifteen," he replied. He raised his voice ever so slightly. "Elina! Turn that down!"
She could hear him, but she didn't want to—she had been blaring her stereo for a reason. She did not want to hear her father doing the nasty with yet another girl he's brought home since they moved down there. Elina rolled her eyes and continued to drag on the cigarette she'd been working on, adjusting the bow that was in her voluminous, permed blonde hair—she would have snuck out totally from the apartment, but where did she have to go? Nowhere. So she just stayed put.
Late that night, Elina, clad in her pajamas, walked to the phone in the living room area of their apartment, dialing Adam's number to try and reach him. They had communicated once a week or every other week—he had been busy at his new job writing songs for recording artists, and he had been making more money than his previous job. She heard ringing until she finally heard a click and his voice.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Adam. I hope it's not too late for me to call you," Elina said. "I couldn't earlier."
"Oh, that's ok," he replied. "What's up?"
"Not much. I needed to talk to someone," Elina replied, leaning her back on the couch.
"What is it? Are you ok?" he asked.
"Dad is getting a bit…uh…" She stuttered a little, thinking of the right wording. "He's acting strange."
"He's been that way since mamma passed," Adam replied. "How's he been?"
"Well, ever since we moved here, he's been seeing girls and bringing them home." Elina lowered her voice to a whisper. "I hear them doing the deed, and I have to turn up my stereo to block it out. It's so annoying!" There was a slight giggle in his voice, and Elina hated it—he had no clue what went on everyday in their household.
"It's not funny, stop," she said.
"I'm not saying it is, but you gotta understand. He's trying to move on. He's trying to see other women so he can get his mind off…uh…you know what I mean, right?" Adam responded.
"But the girls are in their twenties and thirties! They're so much younger!" Elina exclaimed in her whisper. "It's really weird. Dad's, like, fifty."
"Sis, age is just a number" Adam said, clearing his throat. "Maybe he's having a…uh…you ever hear of a midlife crisis?"
"What?"
"Yeah. It happens to men dad's age. They try to act younger and like they're all that but really, it's all in their heads. It passes," Adam explained.
"Huh."
"It's not entirely bad," he said. "I know he's got a bit of a drinking problem. He's gotta see someone for that."
"I try to help him here. I've tried using my powers to heal him up from days of heavy drinking but he just gets up and drinks again the next day. I can't win," Elina explained, still whispering. "And…he has mood swings. When he's drunk, he loses it so easily."
"Mhm," Adam said, listening to every word. "I understand. Addictions are terrible. I would know. I did heroin and cocaine. They're a hell of a drug. Alcohol isn't as bad but…still causes problems." Elina had remembered when Adam first told her about his addictions—she was quite shocked, but admired how he pressed through and loved Audrey for getting help for him.
"It's not like he can see anyone. I don't know how else to help him," the girl said. "I want it to stop before he gets out of hand."
"Hm, well, it'll work out. Try making breakfast tomorrow morning for him. Give him orange juice or coffee instead of allowing him to go to the fridge for his fix," Adam suggested. "Start there. Maybe give your powers another try?"
"Thank you, Adam," Elina said with a smile. "Have a good night." She hung up and went straight to bed.
The following morning, Elina did her hair and got dressed and ready for school. She had picked out a denim jacket with a black lapel on the back with a cityscape etched in white. Her jeans were straight leg, like usual, but they had a distressed design to the front with abrasive rips in the denim. Underneath her denim jacket was a bright yellow bandeau with black polka dots and a sweetheart neckline to accentuate her generous cleavage—at fifteen, Elina had breasts larger than anyone in the classes at her new school, and the hourglass that had begun to take form in her preteens was now full fledged. She took a lot of liberty in the way she dressed after Britta's passing, and to her knowledge, Jimmy was too much of a drunk to even care how his daughter dressed.
However, Jimmy woke up not long after to the sound of familiar singing and the searing of a frying pan. The smell of toast filled the air, and he cocked his eyebrows suddenly to get a whiff. It also came to mind that the young Cuban woman had left during the night; he was somewhat disheartened, but luckily she had left the money she'd promised him on his bedside table near the cheap lamp. She was the only one of the seven women he had been with since being back in Jupiter to have promised him money for "services"—he hadn't serviced women in a long, long time. He focused his ears on the singing again, walking out of his bedroom and down the hall to see the back of Elina's voluminous blonde hair as she sang an all-too-familiar song:
"När de gamla såren heta tära
När din kind är vätt av ensamhetens gråt
När att leva är att stenar bära och din sång
är sorg som vilsna tranors låt
Gå och drick en fläkt av höstens vindar
Se med mig mot bleka blåa skyn
Kom och stå med mig vid hagens
grindar när de vilda gässen flyga över byn…"
He remained perfectly quiet as he heard his daughter's beautiful, ethereal voice—the sound had definitely improved since the last time he heard her sing. She had not sung in Swedish since before Britta passed, and hearing her was a breath of fresh air for him—he remembered how beautiful his wife's singing was, and his daughter had inherited that quality among many others from her. Elina had not sung in Swedish for a reason, and it was because it reminded her too much of her mother and how much she missed her. In fact, Elina's voice seemed to have a heavenly echo to its soprano tone. It's better than Britta's was, Jimmy thought as the girl sang the final note.
"Morning," he said. Elina, startled to see him there, turned her back on the stove and looked at her father. He gave her such a look; it was a very unusual kind of gaze. She didn't know how it was so strange, though. Was it her clothing choice?
"Oh!" she gasped. "Hey, dad."
"What are you doing?" he asked. Why is he so calm, she asked herself.
"Just thought I'd make some breakfast. Nothing major," Elina said as she put her focus back on the eggs.
The girl remained quiet, and Jimmy walked a few steps closer to fully analyze the image his mind had captured of his daughter. She only had gotten more beautiful as time passed, even though she always was an exquisite child. Now, it was like she had grown up; the poor girl was thirteen when his wife died, and despite his frequent drunkenness, he didn't fail to notice the changes that had come to his daughter—he had noticed when she dyed her hair a more normal shade of blonde, yet he didn't find anything wrong with her platinum, snow-white locks; he had noticed the change in her wardrobe and clothing choices, as he knew Britta would roll in her grave to see her wearing midriff-bearing bandeaus or even pants; he had noticed how outgoing she became back in Barnwell, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it due to his own personal problems; he noticed how her behavior had changed, as she began to wear makeup, smoke cigarettes, and be more distant from him—yet she got the impression that he couldn't care less about her. He did, truly he did. Aside from Britta's untimely demise, his frequent alcohol-induced tantrums, incoherence, and blackouts prevented him from showing her the love and care of a father.
"Your mother sang just like that," Jimmy finally said, going into the fridge to get out the bottle of vodka he had purchased the day before. Elina, knowing what he was doing without even setting a glance on him, turned around and concentrated on the bottle, which was only ¾ full and had signs of consumption. She closed her eyes and then opened them to see that she had successfully broken the bottle; the strong alcoholic beverage had spilled all over the floor and on the counter.
"Elina, c'mon!" he exclaimed. "I didn't even have one sip today."
"No, dad. No drinking," she replied sternly, looking up at him.
The look in his eyes was apologetic, but still very strange. He then glanced down at what she was wearing, from her denim jacket to her midriff-bearing yellow bandeau with black polka dots, to her distressed jeans and worn sneakers, to her voluminous, permed hair with a hair ribbon that matched her bandeau, to that cleavage that showed a big portion of her large breasts—yes, those breasts. He also noticed how womanly her body had become. It made him strangely uncomfortable, so he stuttered at her.
"E-Elina?" he began nervously. "P-Please cover y-yourself up. P-P-Please?" She was preparing his dish, taking two strips of bacon, an egg sunny-side up, and a slice of golden toast from whatever she used to cook and put them on a plate, walking over to the small card table that served as their dining area.
"Breakfast is served, dad," she said, ignoring his request. "Now, about that mess—"
"Elina, please c-cover yourself up," he repeated. As she grabbed paper towels, she cleaned the mess made from the vodka and threw any fragments of broken glass away in the trash. As she cleaned, Jimmy couldn't help but stare down as she knelt to wipe up the mess—her cleavage was huge. He couldn't help but just stare; he felt extremely guilty, but it was right there in front of his face.
"Cover up," he repeated. She stood up and looked at him, throwing the last paper towel away.
"Why do you care all of a sudden so much about how I dress?" Elina asked arrogantly.
"Because…look at you!" Jimmy exclaimed, taking a bite from his breakfast. "You're hanging out everywhere! Have some decency!"
"Ugh, now you sound like mamma. Don't act like that, please. I'm begging you," his daughter answered. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I'll zipper my jacket a bit. Does that sound ok?"
"Well, I guess," Jimmy replied, his eyes fixed up at his daughter's, their fiery green-hazel color magnetic and frighteningly gorgeous. As she zipped it up, he stared, but also kept his eyes on his food. She looked better, and he was more comfortable—her cleavage was not as prominent, but their size definitely was.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yeah. Go to school. I'll see you later," he said.
"I haven't eaten yet, though," she protested. Jimmy took a sigh, rolling his eyes and staring up at her with their dark color.
"Elina, just go," he said. She threw her hands up in the air and dropped them to her sides, making a sound against the denim of her jacket, and walked out of their apartment—he watched her before resuming eating his food.
Elina walked to school in the springtime Floridian heat with the sun reflecting off her light blonde hair, making passersby stare at her as they moved past her on the sidewalks leading up to the high school, where, upon reaching the campus, she walked past groups of people who looked at her in different ways; one girl looked at her condescendingly, while a group of boys whistled at her and looked at her lasciviously. One even approached her, moving the sides of his open, button-up shirt aside to reveal his t-shirt underneath as he made his way over suggestively. "Hey, snow bunny," the boy said breathily.
"I wanna see how good that denim looks on my bedroom floor." Elina, feeling uncomfortable, looked him straight in the eye and lashed her razor sharp tongue at him.
"I'm so glad you never will," she retorted. The group of boys was so shocked at her backlash, and she smirked proudly when she saw that the boy she shot down was embarrassed.
"OOOHHHH!" the boys shouted in unison.
Elina managed to walk off and go into the building to the cafeteria, where they were serving small breakfast items—she grabbed a chocolate chip muffin and a small carton of orange juice, taking a seat by herself. She took a bite as soon as she placed her backpack on the table in front of her, and she put a straw into the carton and took a sip. With her fiery, passionate hazel-green eyes staring into space, her mind got stuck in a daydream—she pictured flames invoked from her own mind consuming the cafeteria, roaring down the halls to melt the metal lockers and flesh off the students, turning every piece of paper from workbooks and textbooks to charred ash, exploding the building to smithereens until—
"Elina? Is that you?"
Hearing the voice, she snapped out of her disturbing reverie and looked side to side and looked up to her left to see a familiar face on a tall frame; he had dark blonde hair, and his blue eyes looked down at her kindly as they tried to delve deeper into her own hazel-green ones for his answer. He looked enchanted by her unearthly beauty—the gaze in her eyes was like pure fire, warmth infused with a hint of mystery; her high cheekbones were defined by a thin layer of pink blush, allowing them to stand out more; her heart-shaped jawline made her face look smaller and more dainty; her black eyelashes, made longer by a thick layer of mascara, framed her eyes perfectly and contrasted the bright metallic pink eyeshadow that covered her eyelids. The makeup was pretty, despite being a bit heavy, but she still looked beautiful. Elina realized who it was—it was Nick, the son of her mother's old friend Sigrid.
"Nick?" she asked. He took a seat across from her, and the faux leather of his green and yellow letter jacket glistening slightly from the lights in the cafeteria.
"Yeah, you remember me!" he exclaimed, giving a smile—he had gotten much better looking since she last saw him.
"How've you been?" she asked.
"I've been alright," Nick said, staring into her eyes and admiring her beauty. "What are you doing in Jupiter?" Elina sighed reluctantly and thought of her dad, rolling her eyes.
"I just moved here a week or two ago," she replied. "My dad wanted to come here."
"Yeah? Are your brothers and sister ok?"
"It's just brothers," Elina said, taking a sip of orange juice.
"What happened to Annika?" Nick asked with confusion upon hearing her statement.
"It's a long story, but I'll tell you," she said. "She is now a he, you see. Apparently she wasn't really born a female, so…"
"So they fixed her up? Surgery?" he asked.
"Yeah," Elina said. "Adam is his name, he lives in New York. Jules is in the Army. Toby is in college, and Christopher got married and still lives in Barnwell. It's just me and my dad here."
"Just you two?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows inward. "What about your mother?"
"She passed away," Elina said, taking a bite of her muffin. Nick gasped—why hadn't he heard about this? He knew his mother, Sigrid, would have wanted to attend the funeral.
"Oh my god!" he exclaimed, a horrified expression on his face. "What happened to her?"
"She just went in her sleep. They couldn't find out how or why," Elina said, pursing her lips downward. "My dad's had a few screws loose ever since."
"Oh, Elina, I'm so sorry," he said apologetically. "That's terrible."
"I'm over it now," she said—that was a lie in its purest form.
"Well, let me know if—"
The bell for the first class of the day rang loudly, encouraging groups of students to scurry down the halls to prevent angry teachers asking for late passes. Elina stood up in a flash and collected her trash, slinging her backpack over the left shoulder as she walked toward the trash bin to throw out the remnants of her breakfast—Nick followed her, staring at the back of her voluminous blonde hair and, even more, at how good her butt looked in her jeans. He raised his eyebrows when she turned around to see him still there.
"Oh! Uh…" He suddenly felt nervous. "W-What class do you have?"
"I think…French?" Elina guessed, trying to remember her schedule. "Yeah. French."
"Aw, crap. I have phys ed. I guess I'll see you around?" Nick replied, taking a few steps back from her and smiling.
"Maybe," she replied.
When Elina came home from school that day, she opened the door of the apartment to see a stack of boxes situated on the card table in the dining area. Walking closer, she looked into the open one on the top only to see that it was empty; she turned around to see her father slouched back on the couch, his head turned downward as if he were dozing off in a drunken stupor. Elina walked rapidly over to him to see that he was neither asleep nor drunk, but looking down in a photo album with a worn brown hardcover.
"Dad?" she asked. Jimmy glanced up, seeing his daughter standing in front of him out of the corner of his eye, before looking back down into the black and white pictures of the photo album.
"Hey," he said somberly.
"You seem happy. What've you been doing all day?" Elina asked haughtily. You better not have drank anything, she thought, hoping he would say no.
"Just…looking through photos," he said, turning the page.
She walked over to the couch and placed her backpack on the coffee table, sitting down next to her father and peering into the open album to see a rich, black and white photo of a handsome young man with the spotlight creating an exaggerated backdrop shadow of his form. The front of his hair was curled and loaded with gel, and he wore plain blue working jeans and a short sleeved shirt as the spotlight illuminated his grotesquely deformed hands—his index and middle fingers were fused as one large digit on each hand, while the ring and pinky fingers were fused as another. Elina then noticed a messy signature and illegible writing on the lower right hand corner of the page; she also noticed Jimmy's proud look on his face.
"That's me," he said.
"When was this taken?"
"1952, I think. I was twenty-one, I think," Jimmy answered.
"What does all that say?" Elina asked, pointing at the handwriting in black that she could not read.
"My signature," he said. "Then it says, 'Lobster Boy'."
"Why is it so messy?" she asked; he then raised one of his deformed hands for her to see, looking at her as though she had asked a stupid question.
"I always had trouble writing because of my hands," Jimmy said with a sad sigh. "I learned how to, you know, write better as years went by."
"Is that what they called you? Lobster Boy?" Elina asked.
"Yeah. That was my most hated insult-turned-stage name," Jimmy replied, turning to page of the album to reveal Jyoti, the world's smallest woman, and Amazon Eve, the tallest woman, who had posed in a photo together dressed in winter gear while in Wisconsin. Jimmy remembered the year; 1947. As he continued to turn the pages, Elina saw Dell the Strongman, her grandfather, and Ethel Darling, America's Bearded Sweetheart and her grandmother.
"Who is that? She has a beard," she asked, pointing at the photo of Ethel staring into an ornate mirror.
"Your grandma," Jimmy said, smiling a little down at the photo of his mother. "Don't you remember me telling you she had a beard?"
"I never met her," Elina said, disregarding his last few words.
"She would've loved to see you all grow up," he said with a proud tone, turning the page.
The next photo was also the last in the album, and unlike the rest of them, this one was in full color showing a beautiful, young blonde-haired woman with a crown braid and light makeup. Her lips were soft and pink, and on the bridge of her nose were faint freckles that were few in number. Her face shape was distinctive with a heart-shaped, feminine jawline and graceful cheekbones. Her eyebrows, plucked thin to perfection, were filled in to a perfect arch, and her eyes were a magnificent, mystifying green shade that had a distinct sparkle to them. She appeared to be wearing a simple button-up blouse, but it was unclear about the bottom; her frame, however, was extremely slender with graceful collarbones, a small waist, and other unbelievably small proportions for a woman. Elina gasped, knowing exactly who it was.
"Mamma," she muttered. Jimmy nodded slowly, gazing down and admiring how beautiful his late wife was when they were young. She had been beautiful even as she got older; ageless, as her beauty defied the amount of years that passed.
"Yes," he began, getting tearful with emotion. "It is, sweetie."
Jimmy suddenly broke down, jerking back on the couch and pressing his palms into his dark eyes, preventing himself from breaking down in front of his daughter. Elina looked at him with concern as she heard him sobbing; she didn't quite know what to do to console him, but she didn't want him to flat out get up from his seat and walk to the fridge to grab more liquor to drown himself with along with his misery. He whined softly, shaking his head as he took his hands away from his eyes—Elina reached and patted the side of his muscular upper arm, looking at him sadly.
"Dad," she said softly. "She loved you."
"I love her still, so much," he cried, sobbing into his deformed hands once more as he leaned over. "I wish I could've done something to stop her from dying so soon like that."
"Dad, don't feel guilty," Elina said, tears developing in her eyes shortly after. "There was nothing you could do. I guess…" She began to cry, empathizing with her father. "God took her when he saw fit to."
"Oh god," Jimmy said, beginning to shout. "My life's been falling apart! I just don't know what to do anymore! It's so hard! I just…can't!"
"Dad, please stop," Elina begged, tapping the side of his arm as she cried with him. "I know mamma dying was hard but—"
"But nothing! It's no use! The damage is done!" he shouted, sobbing as he rubbed the front of his head. He then pointed his finger to away from the living room area and stared blankly at his daughter's jacket. "Leave."
"Dad, you can't be—"
"Please! Elina! For a little bit! Please! Please!" he begged.
Elina, frightened by her father's sudden mood swing, got up and ran to her room, closing the door and collapsing on the carpet, worried for him. As she calmed down, she heard the fridge open and a beer bottle come out of it. She leaned her head back against the door, whining softly to herself—he needs to stop, she thought hopelessly.