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Show Acting Alone Page 242 fatigues long enough to coo like a junior high student. She ran her palms down her bekhakied sides, copping an imaginary feel of Spikey's triangular torso. When she got down to his hips she opened her legs a bit and pressed her little pelvis forward to make room for a pair of stegosaurus testicles to flop forward over the edge of Sam's cot. Even drooling Down's syndrome babies, if they're female, possess a sexual sophistication and cynicism before which any male must remain supine and helpless. Shannon knew that the distracting tugs of his spleen stitches kept Sam from being able to complete the sex act these days, even into his own hand. And she must have plainly seen that his spleen stitches did not prevent him from getting painful, peremptory boners whenever she made moves like the one she'd just made. She eyed the olive-drab teepee in the middle of Sam's army cot with an expression that said, in a voice other than her own, "All right. My mouth may not be as efficiently hooked up to my frontal lobes as yours, Edwine; but I more than compensate for that with the acid eloquence of the rest of my hot little body." And the really infuriating thing about it was that, deep inside, she obviously despised her cousin for the dipwad he really was. "Gimmee my fucking presents," said Sam. At that moment, the two most important objects in the cosmos popped out from under the buttony flaps and sailed out to bounce off Sam's big forehead. He knew she didn't do it on purpose; but still, to make her feel like an attempted murderer, like her cousin, he bellowed, "Hey! Watch the nose! Watch the spleenhole, mushmouth!" Shanny was shocked. "Nobody never called me mushmouth," she said. |
