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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 165 laughs and waves the cloth in my face. I see that it's a pair of panties. He steps across in front of me and grabs the chain of Linda's swing. "Right, girls?" Linda jumps away and he reaches for her, but he makes the mistake of grabbing my arm in his lurch. If he hadn't touched me, I might have spent the rest of the night, my knuckles frozen white on the chains of my swing. But, somehow, it clears my throat. I can breathe. I remember him hitting my brother Bobby, and I grab his arm as hard as I can and pull him back in front of me. There is no argument. I had kind of expected myself to tell him off or warn him or cry or complain or do something else which involved words, but I don't. First, because I push him reflexively back two steps, and then because he throws the panties in my face, slaps me once in the neck, and begins pulling my head apart with his fingers. They are in my mouth pulling, and one thumb is above my eye, trying to gouge the top of my head off. We go down, that is, I go down first and he falls on me with a knee on my chest. I'm kicking for balance, and I suck a lot of sand, but Cling doesn't hit me. When I reach up and seize his arms above the elbows I'm surprised at how soft they are. He is still just prying my face off, not hitting me. He is too stupid to hit me. When I realize that, I'm just not scared anymore. I squeeze his arms and push and arch my back and thrust him sideways off me into the sand. He rises growling and smiling. He is so stupid he loves this stuff. He |