Dillon almost made it to bed. While he was watching the steam storm out into the kitchen darkness and waiting to brush his hair, he heard the door. Evie came in with Venus; both were suddenly quiet when they realized he was up. Apparently they didn't see the light on in the bathroom, or didn't notice it. What had they been talking about? He toed the door closed and reached for the mouthwash just as Evie was pushing the door back open. She smiled and lightly brushed his cheek before plopping herself down and releasing a loud, sizzling stream of piss while Dillon swished the astringent around in his mouth. Evie was quick, done and out before he spit. He had been looking forward to some sleep; he had nothing till late in the afternoon, but what now? Was she here to sleep? Fuck? Cry? Talk? Where had she been?
He made sure his towel was secure and in place before he walked in. Evie was still dressed but she got up off the bed and pulled him close.
-Hi, stranger, she said. I've missed you. I didn't feel well, but I'm better now. You smell nice.
He could smell that she was freshly showered; she must've showered before she left. Her hair under his nose smelled like flowers. She reached up with licking kisses, the tip of her tongue darting and hot.
-Missed you, she whispered.
Dillon didn't react when his towel dropped to the ground; it needed to be washed anyway. He went for her pants first; she continued kissing him. He managed to pull her clothes off between the kisses and get her onto the bed. She kept kissing him and wouldn't let go down on her. She dipped her fingers between her legs before grabbing him so he would know how wet she was. Maybe Dillon had not known how horny he was, but he didn't think it took very long before he popped. After he finished, she fell asleep quickly, between kisses. Dillon worked her into a more comfortable position and went to sleep with his hand on her ass and the smell of her shampoo in his face.
She woke him with kisses. He could tell it was early. This time she turned him over. Dillon wondered if she'd go all day without showering, reeking of his dick and her own alluring scent. She was riding him with a clumsily increasing rhythm. Dillon liked the mornings, and he realized that she was going for herself so he made sure he was following her, randomly bumping up into her sharply when he felt her cresting a peak. The sweat was collecting in her bush, and she was getting louder, loosing guttural yelps with increasing frequency. As her riding slackened, he grabbed her hips and pounded up into her until he came too. She was up quickly, kissing and giggling, with his jizz sliding down as she dressed. Dillon knew he had a few hours and was asleep again in minutes. He could smell her at his slumber.
When Dillon got back just after midnight, he found Evie asleep in his bed, naked under the covers, with his old copy of A Year on Mars near her head. She had told him that she hadn't read it; he believed her but it was fucking insane to think that 10, 15 years ago, so many of the students would have read it, as least as many as Vonnegut, way fucking more than Pynchon. Fuck, even Julienne Moriarty had read it in high school back in Eugene. George Calvert had had some success with his first novel, but it took more than ten years. By that time he had written much more, expanding the characters of Greg and Chris Calvert who also may or may not have somehow been his real-life brothers even though Calvert had only a sister, Juliette, as a sibling. His first post-Year work pretty clearly and seemingly pointlessly called out John Dos Passos, positing a world where Dos Passos had been so much more talented and courageous and intelligent, a political and cultural force, as opposed to his pathetic post U.S.A. career and dim-witted politics. Because Calvert's biography was importantly fictional bordering on farce, the Dos Passos significance was not widely-understood; in Year, Calvert stomped on Vonnegut and seemingly dangerously derogated a classically-reclusive (pre-TV, pre-MacArthur) but forbiddingly talented Pynchon while viciously and easily disassembling remaining phalanx of useless literary pretenders. But the Dos Passos connection was not as obvious to those who didn't know too much of anything of George Calvert before they had heard of his first book.
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