14- Fortune Cookie

                                                         PART II: DEEPER AND DEEPER

There was this girl who was a cousin of a friend of a friend of mine when I was a kid.  I was about fourteen and just starting to figure out exactly how the whole game worked.  I was a virgin, but whatever.  This girl, this Korean girl, she had this beautiful raven hair, full tits, for a Korean anyway, a face that was smooth and unblemished like a doll’s.  She was eighteen or nineteen, and we called her Fortune Cookie- I don’t remember her real name.  She’s Korean, and not Chinese, so looking back on it, I guess the name is stupid.

            Fortune Cookie, she always knew that we watched her.  She had to.  We’d spot her walking by all the time where we hung out.  Summer afternoons we’d head on down to the playground in front of the Elementary school and play basketball, and she’d always walk by.  She lived a few blocks over from the school with her mom, dad, and about seven relatives in a small split level on 149^th Avenue, and she worked in some office downtown, filing papers, and shaking her ass for some lawyer or some accountant.  There wasn’t any particular reason I could figure that always put her walking past that long chain-link fence.  She must have known she gave us instant wood when ever we caught so much as a whiff of her sweet little ass coming up on us.  Like fucking wolves, we could smell her- we all knew the scent of her perfume even if still today I can’t tell you the name of it.  She knew it because she was a slut.  Everybody knew that.  Kevin had friends, older friends who had gone to school with her, who even knew her real name.  Some of them had even had her.  The stories blew my MTV-soaked mind.

            Threesomes, foursomes, whips, chains- this girl liked to fuck, and apparently, she’d do almost anything to get off.  At fourteen, we didn’t have much chance, but at least we could watch all we liked.  It was a ritual.  Fortune Cookie would pass us by because she knew what we wanted, and she gave us a look because she liked it.  Each time she’d prance by us with her firm fucking tits sticking out and that ass wagging back and forth- it was like a test of our on-coming manhood, a gateway drug.  She wanted to see who would step up to the plate and be the batter up to conversation.

            I didn’t have a tenth of the guts it would have taken.

            Kevin, he knew people who knew her.  He even knew her name.  Her real one.  It made sense that he was the first one to talk to her.

            “Hey,” he said, as she walked by, “you have a cigarette?”

           Fortune Cookie stopped.  She…actually…stopped.  She was wearing a cute little flower-print dress and no bra.  “You like menthols?” she asked.

            Kevin smiled.  “My favorite,” he said.

            She smiled back and she dug into her purse and pulled out a pack of smokes, putting one between her supple lips and passing one through the chain-link.  She looked around for a lighter, but didn’t seem to find it.  It was the first time I wondered what exactly was with all of the shit inside a woman’s purse.

            “I got you,” he said, and he took out a lighter, a shiny little Zippo that I recognized as my father’s.  Had he stolen it?  It didn’t matter, because of the cool way he lit it up and offered it.  He flipped it open and lit the flame and she leaned forward, the smoke through the fence and he lit it.  She took a long, cool drag, the cherry burning bright as he lit his own cigarette.  The rest of us were just watching.

            Her legs were long and white- I’d never seen anything that white before.  She smiled at him.  “You know Big Phil, don’t you?” she said.  “I’ve seen you around.”
            “I’ve seen you too,” he said.  We’d been playing ball for a half an hour, and Kevin wasn’t even sweating.  Completely calm, completely cool.  Always.  “Phil says you’re uh…really something.”
            Her eyebrows rose and her lips opened up to a big, laughing smile.  She was gorgeous.  Nice teeth.  “You’re a little young,” she said, “but you’re kind of cute.  You get high?”

            “Depends on the high,” he said.  He looked around.  It was a Sunday, and the street was pretty empty.  He smiled.  “I might know a guy I can score some good shit from.”

            “Really?” Fortune Cookie asked.  Her fingers grabbed hold of the fence and she pressed against it lightly.  Her nipples were hard, pressing against her dress like they were going to rip through it.  “You’re a pretty resourceful kid.”

            Kevin took a long drag from his smoke, trying not to cringe.  He hated menthols.  “But if I’m going to take you to him, my friends and I have a little something we’d like you to do for us.”

            The Fortune Cookie locked eyes with him and her smile disappeared.  She drifted back a bit from the fence.  “I’m not a whore.  Whatever it is you jerk-offs hear about me, I do whatever I do for fun.  I don’t fuck for drugs and I don’t suck for weed.”

            “Baby, baby,” he said, smiling a coy little smile.  “I don’t want you to do anything, or, well, any of us for that matter.  Me, maybe, but not today.  Not like this.  What I want…is for you to just take the edges of that cute little dress of yours…and pull it up so we can see what you have under the hood.”

            There were six of us, most of us fourteen, most of us sweating and nervous, and she looked over all of our faces, considering.  She looked especially long at me and then back to Kevin and then back to me.  “You two know each other?”

            “Something like that,” he said, laughing.

            “He’s cute too.”

            “Funny,” Kevin said.  He smiled at her.  “What’s it gonna be?”

            She took a long drag of Kool menthol and let out a long stream of smoke.  She flicked away the lit smoke and looked around, her eyes darting back and forth up and down the block.  Nobody was around.  We were the only ones in sight.  The Fortune Cookie grabbed the edges of her dress and she pulled just a little bit upwards, slowly, showing off those smooth, cream-colored thighs.  Her almond-shaped eyes watching all of our faces in turn, she lifted it up higher and revealed a smooth-shaven mound of wet female flesh, the thing we’d all dreamt about.  The thing I’d seen before only in magazines and in shitty, cheap, stolen porn tapes.

            It was pink and it was beautiful.  Probably because it was the first, I guess.  It’s just that way.  When I imagine what it must have felt like from the inside out, that tight-lipped, perfectly shaven gash was everything we’d expected it to be and then some.  It was living smut- the first and last thing we’d think about when we pumped our meats at night for the next few years of our lives.

            A few weeks later, Kevin fucked her.  I had her a few years later after I’d been with a couple of other girls.  She told me that Kevin had told her to let me.  She wasn’t what I’d expected.  She wasn’t as tight.  She wasn’t as good.  Fantasies are never lived up to.  That’s a fact of life.

            I heard a few years ago that she’d married into money- a nice American boy with a nice house with a nice job, living in some nice small town up near Poughkeepsie. 

That’s what I heard, anyway.