I am lying with my high school girlfriend Jeana on a mattress on the floor of a cluttered upstairs
room which feels dusty and unused, like an attic. Piles of old clothing are scattered across the
floor and what furniture there is in the room, perhaps a couple of single beds, is old and shabby.
Jeana is lying on her stomach and we are both clothed. I want to have sex with her but am reluctant
to ask her so I caress her naked back, sliding my hand into the dip of her lower back then up the
little rise to her tailbone and a little further, down into the valley where her trim buttocks
converge. She does not respond and I wonder if I am imposing on her. In front of her now, I slide
one hand under her shoulder and down to her breast. Cupping it in my hand, I can feel the nipple
through her flannel shirt; she is not wearing a bra. "You found one", she teases, then we get up.
We are no longer alone in the room anyhow so we won't have sex; our friends Donna and Stacy are
lying on the single beds, one on either side of the window beyond our mattress.
The air is filled with big house flies, buzzing around over our mattress and over the beds where
Donna and Stacy were; they are probably still there but I am not aware of them, just the flies.
I wonder, perhaps out loud, if I could kill all the flies with one of those electrified fly
swatters; maybe if I had a really big one I could. As we are walking away I announce "We are going
out to have sex, I mean, to get dressed", intending it to sound humerous, like a Freudian slip, but
no one laughs.
Looking over to my right, I see Liam's crib where extra-large flies are clinging to the inside of
the frame as if unable to get out.