Originally published in Verbicide issue #21

I was as drunk as I’ve ever been — and that’s saying something, believe me, and I was at this party with these punk rockers, kids really, although I was 19 and pretty much still a kid myself, and there were these blonde hotties I was trying to b pick up, but I was blowing it completely, slobbering, stupid, no class at all…when one of them said, “If you’re so horny, you can fuck our friend.”

She pointed and they all laughed, it was like a dare, and I looked and saw a fat brunette standing a little ways off. She looked like Roseanne, that was my first impression, and all of the blondes snickered and whispered to each other.

I wasn’t afraid, hell, I was up for anything. So I staggered over to the girl and grabbed her by the hand and said, “Come on, baby, lets go to my place.”

Without saying a word, as if she had no choice in the matter, she let me walk her to my car.

I should never have gotten behind the wheel of an automobile, it shames me even now to admit that I did, but I managed, somehow, to get us back to my house without causing a disaster on the highway.

We pulled up to my place and I bundled her inside and sat her down on my bed. I had a bottle of vodka, almost empty, and I unscrewed the cap and offered it to her. She took it and had a small sip, grimacing, then handed it back. I had a hit, then set it down on the nightstand beside the bed.

I leaned forward and gave her a kiss, then got down, sort of hunched down, and put my hand on her leg and it went CLUNK and I thought, Something’s not right here.

I squatted down in front of her and tapped on her leg. It went CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK and I sat back, sort of dazed, and said, “You’ve got a wooden leg.”

She leaned back and tapped on her other leg and said, “Yeah, two of them.”

Let me tell you, I have never sobered up so fast in my entire life. She wiggled around a bit and I finally saw that, sure as shit, she had two prosthetic legs, but only from the knees down. She had these huge thighs, those were real, and then, well…

I must confess that my lust had pretty much evaporated as that point, but I could feel her hesitation, wondering how I was going to react to this new information, this surprising new twist. I knew, bone deep, that if I didn’t go ahead and do what I’d brought her out to do, she would be devastated. I couldn’t do that to her. I was too nice of a guy to do something like that.

I looked up into her face. Sure enough, she was looking at me with a mighty anxious expression.My heart grew two sizes right then, just like the Grinch.

So, I leaned up and gave her a great big, wet, sloppy kiss.

When we broke I could tell she was relieved. What the hell. I grabbed the vodka off the nightstand and drained the rest of it. Oh yeah! I stood up and turned off the light.

She pulled off her shirt. Her boobs were huge. She unhooked her bra and they popped out, an avalanche of flesh. I started to undress, watching her without being too obvious about it.

She unbuttoned her pants, then twisted over and pulled the bedspread down. I leaned down to get my shoes off. She wriggled out of her pants and slithered onto the bed and pulled the blankets up. I got my shoes off, then my pants and underwear. I stood there and looked at her pants with the two legs sticking out there next to the bed. I had this thought: No one is going to believe that this happened.

I crawled into bed. All that woman in there, minus a few parts.

I tried mounting her but was having trouble finding the right spot. She was a good sport, she reached down and guided me in. As soon as I was certain that it was in I started pumping away. I buried my face in her enormous chest, got one of her nipples into my mouth, it was like the rubber end of a baby bottle, I got that motherfucker between my lips and sucked it furiously.

I don’t know how long we went at it but finally I came. I have no idea if she did, but if she didn’t it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part. When I rolled off of her I was sweating like a whore in church and my heart was fluttering against my ribs like a moth against a light bulb.
—
I awoke the next morning to the sour taste of a hangover, like someone had taken a giant shit in my mouth, then mixed it around with some Indian food. She was still asleep next to me. I got up as quietly as I could and went to the bathroom. I pissed, then puked, then brushed my teeth. When I got back to the bedroom she was already dressed. She’d put on her bra, her shirt, her pants, and her legs.

I showed her where the bathroom was and when she was finished I drove her home. She directed me how to get there and she gave me a kiss when we pulled up in front of the place, then I watched her get out and walk up the sidewalk and go inside.
—
I moved to Arizona a few days after that and stayed for a year, and one night not long after I returned to Washington I was playing a show with my old punk rock band, and guess who showed up backstage? You got it.

She came up to me and said, “Do you remember me?”

I told her, “Of course!” How could I forget that night?

And she said, sweetly, “I just wanted to thank you for what you did. You did wonders for my self-esteem!”

“No problem,” I said, trying to be nonchalant, “anytime.”

She laughed and I leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“Well,” she said, “I’ve gotta go now. I just wanted to tell you that.” And she turned and walked out of my life forever (music swells) and damn my drunken ass all to hell, I don’t think I ever asked what her name was, or if I did, I can’t remember it. But I’ll never forget her and I wouldn’t want to.
—
Raegan Butcher is the author of Stone Hotel: Poems From Prison and Rusty String Quartet. He lives in the Pacific Northwest, and has regularly contributed fiction and poetry to Verbicide since 2003.