Olivia's Twi-light Time Eyes

"Are you vucking with me?" Olivia said, using her German-French-Italic accent for emphasis; in her most dazzling display of condescension that reminded Byrom of his father's contempt for the failings of inferiors.
Byrom Hoover Bush stuttered that that wasn't fair using her Berlin University education to impress her superiority over him. 
He left unsaid how it annoyed him when she told her son, "Moneybags", that she and Byrom needed a "vucation" after only six months of managing his custard stand and the way she said it, he could see had angered Ron: "We need to go on vucation bad!" But on their return, Olivia told Ron and his wife, Byrom's half-sister Magnolia Tara, that the time was a total impotency - like after Munich was bombed!  She pronounced the city's name eunuch: "Munich!  Munich!"
Jesus Byrom knew the French talked while doing it unless they were greedily munching on each other's private parts which they made sure were visible in the minds of viewers when the king and queen who were guillotined forced men to wear pants to show a bulge and women to wear see through dresses to fire up imaginations but Olivia's constant talking was getting a bit too much - even for him.  The words made him fall way out of Olivia - who attempted to cover a giggle by doing her pseudo tavern cough.
"OK. OK," he said clumsily finding his way back in; trying even harder to find her G spot; wondering if there really were such a damn thing!  He knew this one thing for sure - Olivia had yet to suck in her breath out of respect for him
How he disliked the way Olivia attempted total domination over him and yet he was more than grateful she insisted her son start him off with such a good salary. He knew the reasons he was hired: to do the work better and quicker than some illegal immigrant even though he knew it irked the Custard King that he could have saved at least two dollars an hour as he was in all his other custard stands scattered about the great state of Pseudo Democracy Ohio.

"Can you move a little faster? I have a big vucking maintenance appointment at the beauty parlor in an hour!" Olivia said thrusting vehemently upward and sideways; attempting to make him fall out again.

While he tried to lose the stutter of his movements, he imagined he was pleasuring her fully  getting a mighty "scream" to ooze out of her mouth; making her become for an instant Durer's wood engraving of a double goblet that displayed on a closer scrutiny two figures copulating their brains out. That art work was Olivia's favorite which she thought surpassed the magnificent statues of naked uncircumcised men in Italy.

"So Byrom you say you now want to be a writer making millions of dollars!  That shows how the super elite hiding deep inside their bunkers have brain washed you into thinking you could do what they are the most afraid of - being a thinking person!  Why do you think your dear politicians have fabricated the notion that there is a so called free education and you will be able to serve your country with your brain when they made sure your brain would have water drowning it from putting two thoughts together to vuck with pleasure One on the Other to come out to an understanding?  That's why they keep hate alive by having races and ethnic groups calling each other ugly names. Were your normal school teachers like priests not allowed to marry?  They weren't because that would have cost money and that's the real god in people's hearts and if there is a true God he will compassionately say all you bastards must go to the great poet's ninth circle of hell for you have betrayed yourselves and all others who trusted you!  Did you ever read Luis Bunuel's words where he said:  'In any society, the artist has a responsibility.  His effectiveness is certainly limited and a writer or painter cannot change the world.  But they can keep an essential margin of nonconformity alive.  Thanks to them, the powerful can never affirm that everyone agrees with their acts.  That small difference is very important.  When power feels itself totally justified and approved, it immediately destroys whatever freedoms we have left, and that is fascism.'  You know my dear Byrom Hoover Bush, your great country is now in the womb of all that with no enjoyment.  You and all the phonies are being swirled down a toilet bowl but you think it's a ride in an amusement part!  And it was you who wanted to come to this city that will find itself one day in Dante's ninth circle because these so-called leaders sold the country out while wearing their flags and phony smiles!  Don't they see they're killing the very thing that is sustaining them?" 
He looked at her face that could have been his father's - with all the "Old Warriors" dismissive and contemptuous expressions chiseled into it. He tried to kiss her face with those eyes of hers at half-mast.  He felt just as when his father would burn the palm of his hand with the long wooden matches used by lamplighters in the town called New World Order, New Jersey - after Byrom had done his fifth infraction - to make day appear where there was night. 
Olivia's babbling on as usual and since Byrom could little afford to offend her since she held the keys to his finally making it in his dog eat dog world.  With just a few words to her son, whom he called "Moneybags" behind his back, would have him be dismissed as manager.   
When Byrom sang in the shower, he did not stutter so he did not need to whistle before a word beginning with a consonant so to say the word fully and his speech therapist's suggestion did work.
Oh he hated the cocky bastard who when not swallowing a whole custard within a second or two was shouting at him about getting his ass in gear or else he'd be working back on the Great Lakes on steamships with captains like Eddie G. Robinson looming over him while Byrom was jerking off the ghost of Jack London.
"I'll ask you again.  You better go have your hearing checked.  Why couldn't God have invented evolution?" Olivia said.
("Whistle) why (whistle) not?"
After three drinks the distortion of visible occurrences for the man Byrom, fathered by the same child eating meals at his grandfather's "buzzer table" would make mighty attempts to elude definitions so as not to be engulfed by a flickering sun attacking with unbearable heat his trembling hand, also created large dozes of anxiety for him which were being pounced upon by a series of delusions of an even greater variety that had eyes becoming mirrors in an Orson Wells' movie that just as suddenly became creatures with craning necks and upside-down nostrils harboring cobwebs above lips that became swollen thighs, which was a feat his grandfather could do when sticking his neck so far out that it almost touched Byrom's bowing forehead as the old man shouted to his son, Percival, that he thought the stuttering boy had indeed reached his fifth infraction for refusing to rotate his foods properly like all good high class peoples did and a just punishment should be meted out like a sunrise to a dark sky just as he had done on his son and daughter Daisy when not belittling his wife - the mother of his two children  ....
Byrom could almost bring himself to feel sorry for this woman, ten years his senior, with her stern melancholy twi-light face.  He watched her closely: a twitch on her bony cheek or a sideward glance would have told him much.  He really didn't care how many bottles of scotch he had to destroy to prevent his losing once again.  Despite his father saying to always watch a dollar for it was better it died in one's pocket from suffocation than to have it see the light of day and be gone before the worth of it could define one's own mighty worth.
Olivia began to talk to the wall about how all their beings were formless shadows living in uncontrolled dreams created by so many orphaned thoughts of the day; becoming the real makers of the life of shapes and forms called dreams of twilight time.
This could not do, Byrom thought, and he decided to take the initiative by changing the subject and without using his whistle he told her solemnly that he could not fail again.
He told her he would allow her freedom - if she promised to stop drinking.
She told him to never mind hopes and dreams for they were all at best purblind doomsters tossed around by chance and circumstances and before he realized it, she was guzzling from another bottle of scotch that had been hidden under the couch cushion.  He raced toward her on stuttering steps; before grabbing it with both hands making it go on a journey of a great arc.
She kneed him in the genitals; making him collapse to the floor in deep agony just as he had often done after the flame from the match his father was holding beneath his palm; a hot sun.
Standing over him with her legs spread wide opened, she made great sucking sounds while draining as much liquid as her small mouth could take.  Some of the liquid spilled onto Byrom's face as he grabbed for her sensuous legs -  making her fall into his eyes.    

© Jerry Vilhotti   8-22-07