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Not One Does What is Right, Not Even One pt. 2
by Curtis White (Continued from Cyber Corpse #4)

     "Oh hi, come on in! Glad you could make it. Any trouble finding the place?"
     A young man with long blonde hair and the build of a college quarterback enters with an Irish Setter on a leash.
     "I'm Karen and you must be Chad..."
     "I'm Chad."
     "...and this..."
     "Is Murphy. Shake Murph. He shakes hands. When he feels like it."
     "Guess he's not in a shaking mood today."
     "Sorry. He's a friendly dog once he gets to know you."
     "Well, come on in. I have some cookies and coffee and stuff first and some Science Diet treats for Murphy. I'm always very careful what I offer other people's dogs. Especially the special dogs I meet. Let's talk for a while and get to know each other."
     This woman is about thirty, brunette, slim and athletic with small rather loose breasts the cleavage of which Chad can see plainly through her lycra jogging halter. The little condo is in a posh, professional section of Austin but is rather cheaply decorated with new-smelling synthetic carpets and mass-produced furniture. Blue-gray print on couch and chairs. Blue-gray curtains, drawn tight.
     They sit at a small glass coffee table in the living room. The cookies are oatmeal, little ones from a big bag. Keebler. Murphy sits on the floor by the table and eyes the cookies, clearly preferring them to the Science Diet "treats" in front of him.
     "You know, I think he really wants a cookie," Karen observes.
     "He likes cookies. Especially oatmeal."
     "Well, isn't that funny! He's very welcome to a cookie. You sweetie! Here." She looks to Chad in concern. "If you don't mind, of course."
     "That's fine," says Chad.
     They laugh as Murphy eats the cookie.
     "Say, don't you have any dogs of your own?'
     "No. They're kind of messy. I don't like all the hair on the furniture and carpet."
     There is an awkward silence and then Karen turns to Chad and asks politely but seriously, "Now, Chad, I know we discussed this on email, but I just want to be clear before we get started. You don't want to be involved in any of the action, right?"
     "And you don't charge a fee?"
     "No, of course not. This is all for fun."
     "Do you want anything?"
     "I just want to watch."
     "Okay! That's cool. You're gonna be Eyes, then. That's just fine, isn't it Murphy?" She looks around, drums her fingers on the table. "Well, jeez, let's get going then. I'll put on some music and light some incense so we have a good mood. Excuse me."
     Karen gets up and goes through the living room and into a back room. Chad looks at Murphy. Murphy takes another cookie delicately from the tray and chews it forlornly.
     When Karen returns, she is wearing white leggings, white panties and a white-satin brassiere.
     "Okay boys! This way."
     Chad gets up and signals to Murphy. Murphy jumps down from the chair and follows the two into a bedroom made special for just such occasions. There is no furniture in the room, only cushions covered in bright, soft covers. Lots of printed flowers. There is one upholstered bench against the wall. Mirrors are everywhere and some top-flight video recording equipment is in the corner.
     "Karen, I know I didn't say anything about this, but no videos, okay?"
     "Oh, that's not for us. That's all about something else altogether that you don't need to know or worry about."
     "'Cause Murph's already under contract."
     "Under contract? Really? Murphy? What kind of contract?"
     "Like you said, nothing to know or worry about."
     "Hmmm. Okay. Whatever. He's that good, huh? Interesting."
     Karen then sits on the ground and pats the cushion at her side. Chad indicates to Murphy that he should go to Karen and he does slowly wagging his tail. He sits by her. Karen then lowers him to the ground and begins to pet him.
     "He's clean, I hope?"
     "I bathed him this morning."
     "Mmmm. He does smell nice. But what I meant was, is he clean? You know, clean?"
     "Well, yeah, sure."
     "Okay, honey, you just relax and let me get this going."
     Karen gently reaches for Murphy's penis and pulls back the foreskin. She lowers her head and sucks the dog's penis into her mouth. Soon Murphy is erect, although he shows no other reaction.
     After a few minutes, Karen is satisfied and lifts herself quickly and removes her panties. She is trembling and when she crouches on all fours and spreads herself in Murph's direction, it is plain she is already very wet.
     "Okay Murphy. Get up. Come on, honey."
     Murphy gets up and sits looking at Karen. His little pink erection still lingers but is slowly receding. He shows no inclination to mount Karen.
     "Uh oh. Chad, can you help a bit?"
     "I'd really rather not."
     "I know you'd rather not, but Murphy's not exactly gangbusters here and I think he could use some help. Please." She seems just a little irritated.
     Chad crosses the room and takes Murphy by the collar, trying to lead him to Karen. Murphy growls and bares his teeth.
     Karen turns and sits, appraising the situation. "Chad," she says, "I have a bad feeling here. I thought you said Murphy likes sex with girls?"
     "He does. He loves it. I don't know what's up."
     "Look. Is this dog your dog?"
     "Of course."
     "'Cause he sure doesn't act like it. Or if he is related to you, you're not the alpha."
     "He's mine. He's my fiancées."
     "Your fiancées?"
     "So he's not really your dog."
     "Well, not strictly speaking."
     "Does she know you brought Murphy here?"
     "No. But she wouldn't care."
     "Alright, that's it." Karen gets up. She walks straight to a coat rack and takes a bath robe from one of the hooks. Chad notices only that she has a terrific ass. "I think you guys better go before this gets any worse. You don't care, and your fiancée may not care, but for some reason Murphy here cares."
     Murphy stands and wags his tail a little. He clearly wants out of this scene.
     "I'm sorry, Karen. This is very embarrassing."
     Karen looks him in the eye as she pulls the robe tighter around her shoulders. "Just go away, Chad, and stay off the 'Twobackedbeast' site until you know what's what."

     How Sex Lost Its Body

     Hi, my name is Chad. I'm a bounder.
     (long pause.)
     Go on.
     That's it. That's all I have to say.
     That's it?
     You have to speak, you know.
     You're not going to pull that willed-where-willing-and-doing-are-one crap on me, are you?
     How do you know about that?
     So you're really not going to talk?
     What you know you know. That's it. Henceforth etc.
     You're being cryptic.
     No. I'm being allusive. Don't you know Shakespeare? Iago? No wonder you didn't get the Dante. I always loved that guy, Iago, his pose. "What you know you know." Awesome. Totally controlled.
     That's right. I forgot you and Michelle were English majors. So you're not going to say anything about the time you took her dog, Murphy, to that woman in order to watch them perform an unnatural act?
     Oh jeez, that time. That one was so embarrassing. But that was like hardly the first time I'd taken Murph on one of our little walks. I think he just hit the wall. I guess even dogs can get confused and depressed. You could kind of see it in his eyes: "What is this person to me?" Very moral, really. Especially for a dog. I would have been moved by it, I think, if I didn't like that scene so much. And that woman, what the hell was her name? She was fucking hot. I wanted to see that dog stuff all over her boobies.
     Hmmm. What do you like about bestiality?
     Oh no. Like I said, I'm not talking. Total silence. I'm like the grave, my friend.
     Unless what you wanna know is how Michelle got started in her little cottage industry.
     Sure. You can tell me that.
     As I recall, check with her on this, it was the first night we slept together. We got it on big time. Fell asleep around three in the morning. Then just before dawn, she woke up with a start, screamed and started pushing me out of the bed. I turned on the bedside light. She was looking at me in bewilderment like she didn't know who I was. This of course did make a certain amount of sense. It was, after all, our first night together. I figured a little first time anxiety was coming out. So I just said, "It's okay, honey, relax, it's me, Chad." Which was really a funny thing for me to say, come to think of it, because I don't even know if I'd told her my name, or my right name, at that point. So she said, quite appropriately, "Chad?" She didn't remember who she was sleeping with. I was humiliated, although for no good reason. Was I supposed to explain to her who I was? Then she said, "How did a dog get in my bed?" "What?" And she looked at me very hard. "You're not a dog, are you?"
     "I thought you were a dog."
     "A dog?"
     She fell back over onto her side, trying to remember what she'd experienced, that "far-away" look in her eyes. I just let her calm down and figure it out on her own.
     "I must have been dreaming," she said.
     "Guess so."
     "But it was so real."
     She paused, looking straight up, confused again.
     "And so erotic."
     "Huh?" I asked her, "Say what?"
     "The dog was fucking me so beautifully. It felt incredible. He was so kind and gentle and considerate and emotionally engaged."
     "The dog? The bow-wow dog was emotionally engaged?"
     I had no idea what to say. She just lay there, staring up, and kinda smiling.
     What your girlfriend experienced is called a "bed trick," if I'm not mistaken. There are hundreds of tales ranging across time and place in which you go to bed with someone you think you know, and when you wake up, you discover that it was someone else--another man, a brother is a very popular option, or another woman, or a god, or a snake, or an alien, or your mother or father.
     But a dog?
     Well, it's the first time I've heard of a plain domestic dog in one of these, but like I said the animal option is not unusual.
     It was really a very spiritual moment for her I suspect.
     (laughing) Oh, sure was, doc, sure was!
     Why are you laughing?
     Some people are too much, that's why. Anyway, that's just the beginning of my story. The next week I came over again and what do you know, she's bought a puppy. An Irish Setter. The famous Mr. Murphy. So I said, "I didn't know you had a puppy."
     "I didn't. I bought him from a breeder this week."
     I looked at her. "Am I supposed to feel jealous?"
     "Jealous? Why should my buying a puppy make you jealous?"
     "Well, don't you remember your dream last time? Is that what this is about?"
     "Oh. I forgot about that," she said, "How embarrassing. Gee, I don't think there's a relation."
     Anyway, I let it slide. Our relationship developed well. We got along, liked each other, had something to share because we were literature majors, after all, but also the sex was incredible. The strange thing here is that at the same time I had the clearest presentiment that I ought to kill the dog, the dog as a young rake, but it was also me who took the next step in Michelle's development as, how shall I say, a fancier of dogs.
     You know, according to Michelle, she doesn't even like dogs.
     How would you know that? Have you interviewed her, too?
     Not exactly. She says she does it for the money. She likes Murphy as a pet, but the other stuff is for the money.
     Oh, sure, I believe that. It's only that bounder old Chad that really likes the weird shit. Everybody else in this world is just right as rain. Okay, listen, about six months into the thing, we're high on something, coke I think, and doing a little bondage. Nothing outrageous, just some old cloth karate belts around the wrist and ankles. I've got her tied up. And Murphy wanders into the room. That's when it occurs to me. So I get him up there and try to stick his nose in her crotch. But you know what? He's not interested. Michelle is blindfolded, so she's not quite sure what's going on. I run to the kitchen and grab a jar of peanut butter. Spread a little messily on her cunt and now I've got ol' Murph's attention. He's lappin' it up and Michelle is screaming and moaning at the same time. Murph would finish one serving and look up for the next. I'll never forget that look in his eyes. It was, "Hey, I didn't think you even liked me, but this is alright!" He really loved that peanut butter. Seemed pretty oblivious to the rest of it. Believe me, Michelle was not.
     After that, she wouldn't even speak to me for a while. We went two-three weeks without talking. But by the time we got back in touch, she already had found a sponsor site and was into the on-line sex with animals scene big time. When we did get back together, she gave me a hug and a kiss. "I forgive you." "Okay, so, hey, why didn't you return my calls then?" Shrug. "I've been busy." You know, there's something about when women shrug that I just hate. It really makes me crazy. It's like, shrugging is not something women should do.
     As for "busy," I guess so! She and Murph were making buckets of money. Let's be honest, Michelle is a fucking good-looking woman, and the breast enhancements haven't hurt a damned thing, and in his own way Murph is an awesome dog. Check out that coat. And like most setters, he is hung okay. Better than me, I'd say, pound for pound, and I don't particularly like to say that. Some guys out there (but it wasn't just guys, let me say) couldn't stay away from Michelle's scene. I don't know how they explained those credit card bills, but they must have been huge. They were like mollusks on that site. Schlupp, I'm stuck here and I'm not leavin' unless I'm pried off.
     So, the bottom line is, this whole bestiality thing was your doing?
     How do you conclude that? I had a role. I'd call myself a bit player.
     Then came the dog abduction and abuse, right? You snatching Murph away for various escapades?
     Our little walks? Yeah. God that was funny. Murph loved going for walks, but after a while when I got the leash he'd fight like hell. I had to drag him out. Michelle didn't know what was going on.
     And because of that, you and Michelle are no longer together, right?
     She took it the wrong way, really. It still hurts me to think about.
     Treachery affects some people that way. But what about you, did it also affect you negatively?
     I guess so. I live alone. I work on my master's thesis. I'm doing an analysis of C. P. Snow's Strangers and Brothers series. A low-tech approach theoretically. Beyond that, I try to cultivate Iago's silence, not very well obviously. But I feel that I have learned a lot about life, even if what I've learned comes under the heading "tragic knowledge." One very interesting and unexpected thing is that I'm starting to understand my father. He was a very quiet, uncommunicative, withdrawn man, and I always interpreted his silence to mean in some awful way that he didn't love me. This famous taciturnity of men in marriage feels like lack of caring to the others in the family. Especially to wives, who accept their husbands' self-absorption as a final, long burden which they must suffer without comment. So marriage becomes a forced yoking of two people without comments. From the father's perspective, however, this silence is in fact--and this is the substance of my insight--the kindest and most polite but personally resigned consequence of his profound sense of disappointment in and betrayal by the wife, marriage, family, children, human relations in general, and life universally. This is a disappointment and sense of betrayal--a knowledge of failure--which he comes to think of as impenetrable to words, inexpressible, and uncorrectable by anything he might try to do. This all becomes, finally, the sadness which is his life's most conspicuous Truth. The simplest form this Truth takes is silence. What it means is that though he may be married, and he may have children, he will die alone.
     Chad! That's so deep! Especially for a dog kidnapper, molester, abuser. I have to say that your reputation doesn't entirely do you justice.
     Oh, I know. I'm more than Chad dog-sex-voyeur. We're all more than we are. On the other hand, I did those things. They're concrete in a way my "truths" can't be.
     Well, it was a pleasure to meet you anyway. May I shake your hand?
     Whoa! No one's wanted to do that in a while. Aren't you afraid of what might come off?
     Don't get me wrong. I think your conduct is disgusting and reprehensible. But I'm impressed with your self-awareness of your utterly flawed humanity.
     But we're not done are we?
     Yes. You can return to the depths of your Iago-like inscrutability.
     You're not leaving, are you?
     Yes. I've got to run along. You're not the only guy on today's list.
     Look, man, don't leave yet. I don't want to be alone. I'm not as brave as my father. Besides, there's other stuff I could tell you.
     Jesus, you're becoming a regular Chatty Cathy. There's a difference between Chatty Cathy and Iago, you know.
     Don't rub it in.
     Okay. What do you want to talk about?
     I haven't told you about my site.
have a site.
     Oh yeah. Fucking hell yeah.
     What is it?
     My site is a real-time video feed. I rent a loft downtown with three video cameras in a line hook-up to a collaborative site called www.sevenjewels.com. I'm on live from about 9 in the morning to dinner time. Working hours, more or less. It's called "Chad's Rich Inner Life." I do two things. I lift weights and I masturbate.
     You are a pumped guy.
     Everything gets archived too. DVD so it's real compact. Sometimes I watch my own archives while I'm masturbating. My clients love that one. Some of them tell me that they video themselves masturbating or having sex while watching the video feed of me masturbating while watching a DVD of myself masturbating or being blown by a temp worker.
     Don't tell me they have temp workers for this stuff.
     Welcome to the 21st century.
     So what do you think?
     Vertiginous. I don't know whether to be aroused or nauseous.
     Well, don't get either right now. I'm not in the mood.
     Does Michelle know about this adventure?
     Yeah. She checks it out all the time. She's not threatened, though. There are thousands of sites like mine. People want it, but they get lost in the options. Actually, my venture into on-line sex has kinda brought me and Michelle back together. My site is more cutting edge. The erotic content is actually part of the formal features of the site and the emerging technology of the Net. Hers is more straight ahead. For her, the computer is just a modern dirty magazine. She's capable of being culturally punky in some ways. Especially if you request and pay for punk. I'm still a fan of her work. Frankly, I believe sites like ours are reinventing the species.
     The human species.
     Of course.
     Is that a good thing?
     We'll see.
     I'm a little overwhelmed.
     Buck up, kiddo. The bottom line is good. Michelle and I are no longer engaged in the old-fashioned sense, perhaps, but in some very unexpected ways we are closer than we have ever been.
     And Murphy? Is he doing okay?
     Actually, that too is a complicated story. I don't know how he is and neither does Michelle. He's gone.
     Gone? Did you lose him? Did he run away? Hit by a car? Stolen by another woman? What?
     I'd put it this way: Murph is off doing his own thing. I suspect he has his own site by now. That dog is capable of it. I search for it, but there's just so much out there. Sometimes I think every American--fat, skinny and indifferent--has a site. In one sense or another. We're each one lost in his or her own site of his or her choosing. I think it goes back to our nation's founding principles. The only problem is it just gets so darned dark. As for Murph, I'll find him eventually. How many dog sites can there be, after all? I got a tip the other day that he was involved in that Dogs Against Sadness movement. Dogs Against the Sexual Abuse of Dogs. Something like that. I'll have to warm up the old search engine and see.
     Look, there's one more question I was supposed to ask but I didn't quite have the heart for. Did you ever fuck a dog yourself?
     Do you have to ask that?
     I tried to avoid it and if you'd let me out of here earlier we might have, but now I must.
     What is this "must" stuff? I don't get it but you're right. I can feel the little sucker of awful compulsion moving up like poison through my veins. Lord. Yes, I did. I fucked a little schnauzer-type dog one afternoon. It was my aunt's dog. Name of Diane, or Deedee. I did it right on my aunt's crinoline sofa. With the doilies. I was fourteen and my aunt was supposed to be "watching" me. Watch this, you old hag. She was "viewing" (as she used to say) reruns of Lawrence Welk in her little television room. Couldn't have the old box in the living room like regular people. That black and white world, those sounds. Pure despair. At the same time, I found Welk's music weirdly erotic in the way things have to be erotic to want to fuck your aunt's schnauzer-type dog.
     Go on.
     I can only remember the look of lostness, dog accumulation of horror, shaky pain, faint wet pushing sounds from her mouth, abject belligerence, as if she would snip me if she weren't so sad, the thought of having any old thing for dinner afterwards, sitting with little girls on the porch, standing still, leaning slightly and warmly, a certain kind of shock setting in, the idea of armchairs as places of comfort, sparks in her cerebellum, the intense desire to run away, run away, run away, and never stop. I didn't come though. At one point she gave me this little grieving look back over her shoulder and I realized I had hurt her feelings. Plus the smell. It was like....
     Stop. (bows his head into his lap)
     (puts his hands to his head) I can't take this anymore. I don't care what I'm supposed to do. This I can't take.
     Wait a minute. Hold on. I heard this about you. You're not going to start...oh yes you are...crying on me. Yep. You are. Too late. Okay, that's it, get outta here. We're done. I know I'm done. What you know you know. From this point hence etc. I'm outta here.


Curtis White's most recent book is Memories of My Father Watching TV. "Not One Does What is Right, Not Even One," is from Requiem, forthcoming from Dalkey Archive Press.


Other stories and essays are online at Alt-X.com, and dalkeyarchive.com/context.

Email: ckwhite@ilstu.edu

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