Electra Woman and E-tarded Girl

Rebecca Shirley stared out the window of her plush Queen Anne apartment. She was now 36 years old and lost in thought. She felt her life was about to change for the better, but couldn't fathom how. Why was she still living in Seattle? It was too cold and much too rainy. She wanted another fix of heroin, but she feared her daughter was home.

 Libby, Rebecca's only child, entered the kitchen dressed in faded flare jeans and a Barbie tank top. The girl was generously adorned with candy necklaces and bracelets. Her flowing hair, almost metallic in its blondeness, immediately stole the attention from her well-glittered face.

 Rebecca hadn't talked to her daughter in nearly two weeks. Apparently Libby was 16 now and an advocate of rave culture. To Rebecca, this was all just a cute cover-up to downplay the early stages of amphetamine addiction. 

 "So how was school today, darling"

 Libby pouted. "It sucked. I wish the teachers would all go off and die somewhere. Schools are really fucked up places with no music or drugs allowed and people telling you lies all day." 

 "Come on now luv, how bad could it be?" asked Rebecca. 

 "Bad enough to ruin my whole life! If society truly loved its children, they would replace teachers with computers and schools with daytime raves. If I can operate a PC and dance, then what else do I need to do? Weekends could be spent quietly reading at home with the family." 

 "What family? Your father's left us. And you haven't any brothers or sisters." 

 "Not our family, silly. Some other family, like Billy's." 

 Libby had no time for her mother. She picked up a chair cushion and threw it at her playfully. 

 "Catch! Do we have any chocolate? I want to make a double mocha."

Rebecca rolled her eyes.  "Honey, we're out of chocolate powder. I used the last of it today in my oatmeal." 

 "Oatmeal?" Libby mouthed the words before finishing her thought out loud, "Oatmeal is gross. It tastes like mushed insects." 

 Rebecca watched her daughter's young bum bounce cutely across the room to the cupboard. Young flesh is the impossible material, she thought, it is both magically firm and squeezably soft at the same time.

 "What the fuck mum, we're out of soy milk too?" Libby pouted before cracking open a Diet Cherry Coke. "You suck." 

 Rebecca imagined parting her daughter's thighs and having a lick and a suck at the flesh that lied beyond the blond locks, like she had done with other women and girls over the years. Once Libby started cunmming, she thought, I would fuck her with a strap-on. Then she wuld know who her daddy was.

 Shocked at her own incestuous passion, Rebecca felt her upper lip for peach fuzz. There was none. She thought maybe she needed to start taking estrogen pills. Rebecca had done the whole lesbian thing before, but she had never been the man and certainly not both the man and the mother. This was new sexual territory for her. 

 "You look so thin, darling. So thin and sexy. You are no longer a little girl. You're a woman now. I can't believe you built a body like that on double mochas."

 "And ecstasy," Libby reminded her mother. "Ecstasy is why I can have any boy I want. I swear if it wasn't for me rolling everyone at school things would be much worse than they are." 

 Rebecca looked at her daughter's chest and how her twin breasts defied gravity. 

 "You're too young to sell E," Rebecca parented. 

 "Well, you're too old to shoot H," Libby kidded. 

 It was true. Rebecca was ageing. And using again. Like so many Seattleites. It was something she had dabbled in as a youth, and now the powerful new synthetics had turned her into an addict. Dope was the only thing that made Rebecca feel God was watching over her and everything would be all right. It was exactly same feeling she used to get when Phil held her in his arms. But now Phil was gone- replaced by a needle and a syringe. 

 Rebecca's eyes traced the curves of Libby's body from her pink bare feet to smiley face tattoo above her navel to the top of her bleached and well-pierced head. Rebecca was once so thin but it seemed like a million years ago.

 "Have you considered modeling that body? We could make a mint off that tight ass. Maybe we could do a photo shoot upstairs sometime?" 

 Libby appeared flattered yet slightly nauseated at her mother's compliment. 

 "No, I haven't considered modeling. Supermodels are so 80's. And you're my mum. I wouldn't pose for you. Especially not nude." 

 Rebecca frowned and understood for the first time how youth was wasted on the young. "I wish I wasn't so hungry," Rebecca changed the subject. "I haven't eaten anything since Wednesday. I'm trying to fit into my blue dress for Saturday night." 

 "You look good for now," advised Libby, "But you are getting old. Pretty soon you'll get wrinkles and no one good looking will want to sleep with you. My boyfriend Billy says he'd still fuck you if you weren't my mum though. And that's a compliment coming from him, because he's really picky." 

Rebecca laughed.  "Billy? Your Billy? Honey... Billy wouldn't last a minute in my bed. Boys are like putty in my hands."

 Libby scrunched her cute face at the thought of Billy and her mom doing it.

 "Oh Billy!" Libby teased, "Harder! I am SO attracted to younger men. Do me all night!"

 "Enough, Libby," scolded Rebecca.

Rebecca felt her tummy rumble.  "Yeah, I 'm hungry too. I haven't eaten anything all day, except for a banana nut muffin and a double mocha at the Ambient Cafe on Second Ave. Me and Lin skipped 3rd and 4th period. We smoked a joint instead of gym and then got hungry. 

 "You are what you eat, baby. Try to be healthy," Rebecca almost caught herself saying before realizing the instant hypocrisy. 

 Oblivious, Libby began chatting away... 

 "There are so many people who cut class to get lattes it's like ridiculous. Half our bloody school was at the cafe today. When I slam a double mocha after smoking pot it makes me feel like I'm on ecstasy again, hee-hee. Our health teacher told us that heroin is worse than murder, hee-hee. It says on the Internet that ecstasy is more spiritual than Jesus, hee-hee. I made flirty eyes with the barista and he gave me my muffin for free, hee-hee. Billy would have been jealous, but Billy didn't come because had Drivers Ed. He would have skipped but they were showing car wreck movies again. I saw this one film last week where a motorcyclist's head flies off his body in an accident, hee-hee. Lin passed out and had to go to the nurse. Today was the first time we ever went to the Ambient Cafe during school hours. But now we're gonna do it all the time, hee-hee. Billy might even get a deejay gig there during school hours. The cops don't even care. Some of them even come and smoke us out." 

 Rebecca cringed. Her daughter was skipping school. The authorities might find out about her heroin habit if they sent a cop to the house during school hours. What would they do if they peeked in the windows and saw her dancing naked with a needle in her arm? This tardiness must be officially discouraged. 

 "Libby honey, listen up for a moment, no joking. If you ever get caught skipping school, I'm going to have to agree with whatever the Principal says. I'm not going to stand up to him like I did last time when you were caught having sex with Billy in the showers." 

 Rebecca winced. "Mum, it's a 'she', I mean the Principal is a 'she'. Her name is Mrs. Franklin, not just plain 'Franklin' like you called her. All that heroin is making you senile." 

 Rebecca cringed again, pondering the nature of the hopelessly androgynous.  "Oh dear I thought Franklin was its first name. Do you think she's a lesbian?" 

 Libby gave her mother the most biting look in her entire repertoire of biting glances. 

 "She's no lesbian, mum. She's a fucking dyke. I can see the repressed lust in her eyes when I step inside her office. Lesbians are as easily distracted as boys. Dykes don't even consciously think about sex until they knock out some poor girl with Rohypnol or something and start grinding. What do they call them, bulldogs?"

Rebecca laughed again. "Bull dykes, honey. Bull dykes. And lesbians aren't so bad. You'll understand some day. Remember Auntie Greta in Paris? She was always nice to you. 

Rebecca freaked out a bit with old memories. "Wait? What? Aunt Greta was your lover? I thought she only came over here when Dad was gone because you were scared to sleep alone. How gross is that? At least I know why she bathed me so much now. I was only 7. I must have been the cleanest child in Paris." 

Rebecca thought that was unfair and a bit ungrateful. "I'm not a lesbian honey, I'm just honest. I love a pretty little bush as much as the next guy, err, person. Anyway, I've been seeing men too, remember that Danish punk rocker, Mats. 

Libby could not believe it. "Are you serious Mom? MATS? LOL! He tried to shove his cock in my mouth while I was sleeping? And when I screamed STOP he slapped me in the face and called me a bad word in Danish?" 

 Rebecca looked at her daughter quizzically, "Since when do you speak Danish?" 

 But the powerfully disquieting image of the drunken green-haired so-called musician shoving his multiple pierced dick in her daughter's mouth made Rebecca feel queasy. Libby had screamed. The whole thing had been a bad mistake, a dare of sorts, a result of too many drugs and oral sex. Cocksucking is bad, Rebecca thought, it goes straight to a man's head. 

 "Jesus fucking Christ, Libby. I am so sorry and so ashamed. I didn't know. I swear to God if you had told me sooner I would have had him arrested." 

 "Either that or shot film", squeaked Libby's voice box, as if from nowhere. 


 Libby stepped backwards and Rebecca threw the seat cushion back her, knocking poor Libby on her delicious little ass. 

 "Why can't you be a good child like your friend Lin? She's never rude to me like you." 

 "Lin? Now that girl has problems beyond your wildest dreams. I may be be rude but Lin pukes her food," Libby stated as she stood up and started digging in her mother's purse for a cigarette. 

 "What?" asked Rebecca 

 "Lin pukes her food," restated Libby lighting up the smoke. "Just today at Minnies she inhaled her dutch baby lunch  like a starving hyena. And then after coffee and a cigarette she immediately ran to the bathroom and projectile vomited it all up. She does it almost every time she eats anything fattening. I was wondering about her for a while, but now I know why she eats so much and still stays thinner than me. She's a fucking bulimic. I hope I never get like that. It's not fucking worth it. 

 Rebecca pictured the young Asian American girl.  Lin bulimic?  Lin anorexic?  The reality of being sixteen, so young, so asian-american, and so alone, hit her hard.   "Poor girl. Afraid to fuck. In fear of disease, pregnancy, and violence. What she needed was a gentle poet boy like Phil when he was still young and heterosexual."

 Libby continued... 

 "And Lin's a kleptomaniac. She steals anything you get within five feet of her. I'm afraid to go to the Northgate Mall with her. She walks out with half the store. And when when I try to get her to chill out and drop ecstasy, she won't even join Billy and me when we're doing it. She says she gets queasy when she sees a naked boy." 

 "Jesus Libby," responded Rebecca. "I had no idea Lin was such a klepto-bulemic-frigid-little-cunt. And she looks so normal. Really Libby, maybe you should find some other friends." 

 "No, mum, honestly. She needs me. I make her feel popular. She's fucked up. Her parents even take her to church sometimes. She's fucking Catholic on top of everything else wrong in her life."

 "A Catholic Asian girl, what the fuck? I thought Asians were supposed to be smart?"

 "I guess not all of them, mum." 

 Rebecca's thoughts drifted to her own youth. She herself was not a shy one. At 16, she would slink around London wearing almost nothing at all- trying to pick the cutest rocker boy out of the crowd to take home and play sex games with. She felt society was too moralistic. She felt Anglo Saxon culture bred social misfits with no sense of adventure. A cock up your fanny puts things in perspective when you're a young English girl. 

 That was when Phil stole her heart. Before that, she could think of only one reason to be monogamous- fear of never getting anyone better. Phil was, for a few years anyway, superlative in every manner. He shared his coke and bought her jewellery, clothes, and the finest wines money could buy. His family owned flats all over the world. When they moved to LA, it was all swimming pools and movie stars. He had even given her Libby, the thing she prized the most. The sexiest teenager ever created.

 Rebecca and Phil had never been married. It just seemed less sterile and more natural for them to have a kid and raise it. Libby was their love child. What could be more natural? Rebecca never liked weddings. She saw them as a sign of disaster and disease. Phil felt mostly the same way: 

 "Bunch of poofters running around with their pants down wanking, weddings," Phil used to say. 

 But that was all over now. Phil had run away to Belgium and gone from poking fun at queers to actually poking them. Rumor has it he spent the last two months doing crystal meth and hanging out with his entourage of rent boys. He would dress them up like girls, give them shitloads of speed and champagne, and then party for weeks on end. Or so she was told. She had her contacts. The legal age of consent in Europe is only 15. And that's what age he liked them. There is nothing dumber or hornier than a 15 year old male in a dress on tweek.

 Rebecca had initially felt jealous. That's why she took on the young punk rocker heroin dealer Mats from Copenhagen. He had been forced out of his territory in San Francisco and now was dealing in Seattle. That was the main reason for the family move to Seattle. The heroin lingered even though the relationship didn't. Mats had an over-healthy obsession with piercings and loud screaming at inappropriate times. 

 "The terrible thing about your father is..." Rebecca started and then paused. 

 It was clear that Rebecca could not handle her feelings about Phil. She stopped short with a slightly puzzled look as if she couldn't quite figure out exactly what the terrible thing about him was. 

 "The terrible thing about dad is," Libby started, "is that he's fallen on his head and can't remember which end is up," finished Libby, hoping to end that particular thread of their conversation. 

 "Is he happy?" asked Rebecca to her daughter. 

 "He sure as Hell seems to be," responded Libby 

 "What would a man see in a boy's ass that he couldn't see in my own?" Rebecca questioned. 

 Libby's head rolled back like she was deep in a thoughtful trance. As her eyes returned to meet her mother's gaze she blinked and blurted out as if from nowhere, "Maybe it was like the time when I was rolling hard in the chill room at Spundae and Lin confessed she would go down on me if I let her. It excited me in strange ways. It felt so natural like two puppies playing." 

 "Whatever. Phil will be back. It's only a matter of time. I still love him," answered Rebecca, lost in remembrances and not comprehending or even noticing her daughter's sexual confession. 

 Libby's brain started churning overtime, trying to think of why her Dad liked to sleep with boys so much. She consented that maybe it was just natural for some guys to do that. "No wait, Mom! You made him feel like a freak of nature. That's why he left us, I'd bet. As long as he's happy it's okay with me."

 Rebecca did not take the departure of Phil so gracefully. Why? Because he seemed so much better than well, a new man, an angel liberated from heaven. She wanted him back. Depression and Mats was how she got so heavy into junk again. What else does a woman do without her freedom and her one true love? 

 But Libby was through thinking about Phil. 

 "Mum, I'm going up to Seattle for a weekend rave. DJ Jism is gonna be spinning up there. Me and Billy and Jism all hung out last show. Now we know how he got that name. He can shoot a bucket load. Billy thinks we can see it again if we fly up there. Lin and Peter want to go too, but they'll probably just spoil it for the rest of us."

 Rebecca was shocked. "You guys have had group sex with DJ Jism? The famous house deejay? I don't believe you." 

 "It was fun. Jism says he would have sex with every beautiful person he meets. He says the only thing he likes more than DJ-ing is sex. What do you like better, Mom, drugs, music, or sex?" 

 "What kind of a question is that to ask your mother? Really. I don't know. Drugs probably. I mean, sex is a great thing but there's nothing like heroin. Which do you like better?" 

 "Oh, easy," Libby replied, "I must simply have them all. All at the same time. Sex with techno on ecstasy, it's sextasy." 

 Rebecca sighed heavily and grabbed her daughter around the waist. "I guess we both have problems, Libby. But at least we understand each other."