she plucked her eyebrows like a monk removing leaves from the most perfect japanese garden until nothing was left but ...perfection.
how she knew that shit was unkown to her, but, she knew.
she knew, she was pretty.
that's all she needed to know.
no more.

she was going to the party that night down by the river.

the smell of the river was always there. this night...mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. take a breath...that southern mississippi was so sweet.
eat yourself sweet.

it was a honeysuckle and hootch night.

she was dressed to kill, and wanted something she couldn't even name.
the heat made your body melt.

the heat in her loins couldn't comport with what had been told her by the preachers or her parents.
nothing had prepared her for this desire.

she met Oran.

he played the keyboards; pounding those keys like drums or sweet young corn.
sweat dripping from his shoulders like streams from trees dripping into the river with jasmine blossoms while the sounds of boogie woogie pounded from his fingers onto the marble keys, the message, home.

the trees hung over the dirty river like silk leaving skin and the smell was like everything begotten and forgotten only interrupted by the smell of his breath and skin heaving and wanting and taking, and, of course her own juices rising and giving and they fucked under the tree overhanging the river. the great river.

she didn't even know where babies came from. didn't care.
she fucked in bliss.

she, much later told Iffy, this story. this was the birth of Iffy's mother.

BITCH FUCKED IN BLISS.....bless her fucking heart!!!!!!!!!!!!! she fucked in bliss!!!!!
and so did ORAN!

not so much to his regret, but, he told me later in his life, while i was changing his bedpan, to never give up my dream.

i never did....and...

my dream is you.


and so begin the stories of iffy and twitchy.