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Novels by Mary Marcus
New on the Blog
Tommy/Tom/Tom/Tommy
“I’m a little early, hope you don’t mind! It’s weird, I’m usually late!” “Come in, Tommy! You don’t mind if I call you Tommy, it’s how your mom always spoke of you. My boy Tommy, she’d say.” Inez got up on her tip toes and kissed him on both cheeks and then strangely, on the mouth, mitigating somewhat his hatred of being called Tommy. His mother knew since he was four his hatred of Tommy and had honored his wish from then on, though obviously once he left home, she had reverted back to his toddler-hood. “Sit down! Sit down!” Photo: Joel Goodman Inez’s living room in West LA was small and cramped with furniture. A lattice child’s gate separated the living room from the kitchen. She was little, like a Barbie doll with big real boobs and perfect little legs and feet. She was, he supposed, around his mother’s age. “Water? A glass of wine? I know it’s early.” “Sure. Wine would be great!” Now she was sitting next to him on the vaguely uncomfortable sofa that had two pillows embossed with Disney characters. The wine, white and chilled was surprisingly good. “This is delicious, thank you!” Inez took a sip. Then another. Tears fell from her eyes, down her cheeks. She had a long sleeve T-shirt on, and she pulled a cloth handkerchief from the cuff. This she used to mop her face. “I’m sorry! I didn’t want to cry!” “I’m glad you’re crying. I wish I could! Poppy always told me I better cry at her funeral.” He watched her sniff. “Your mom told me...Forever Home
“Ever do it with one of your patients?” This, she asked him a few minutes after one of the best orgasms of her life. She was still underneath, he was pressed against her, covering the back of her on the examining table where he’d thoughtfully laid a long cushion and placed a pillow for her face. Both smelled faintly of the antiseptic they used here at the vet hospital. “Depends on what you mean by done it?” “You know what I mean!” “Are you calling me a dog fucker?” He laughed and she liked his deep hearty laugh, which was cheery, and sort of bark-y. Photo: Joel Goodman He rolled off her now. She in turn rolled over. Her skirt was hiked up. She pulled her underwear up. And he smoothed her skirt down. She sat up, and he hoisted himself up and sat down right next to her on the examining table. “What do you weigh? Should we go weigh you before I tell you about it?” She followed him out of the examining room and into a larger office where there was a great big metal scale, the kind suitable for four legged creatures. “Step on!” he told her and patted her backside again.” That’s a good girl.” “One forty one.” And patted her behind again. “Too many treats!” Why weigh her? It seemed kinky at best. But maybe there was a deeper, darker reason, like how much would it take to put her out? A chill shuddered down her spine. A minute before, she’d been elated, now she was terrified. She glanced over at him...Hot Water
“Over there!” she called out cheerily. “There are towels in the bathroom. Take your time, forget the drought. While you’re in the shower, I’ll leave you some fresh clothes outside the door. You’re a little taller than my husband, but I think the stuff will work.” “Thanks,” he replied. “You’re great!” And then he pulled out one of his brother’s old phrases, “This will be life-changing!” Her laugh was relieved, she was glad to be helpful, this good hearted woman who knew how lucky she was, why else take a bum in off the street, let him use her shower, give him some clothes, even if she was dead wrong about who he really was… She lived in a fancy townhouse in West LA. And this was the first floor, an office, it looked like, hers? And this was probably the guest bathroom. In former times, on his once a month dinner with his twin brother, they used to go eat noodles near here at one of those noodle joints on Sawtelle where you could eat for ten bucks. Probably those restaurants were gone now too. After the shower, he might walk over and see. Photo: Joel Goodman On the ride here, it was obvious, the neighborhood had changed. Santa Monica had changed radically in the past ten years or so. And now it was happening here. Down with the little bungalows, up with the three-story town homes with plate-glass windows and the BMW’s parked in front. He was currently living in an old van, pan handling, and so far, so good. No one suspected who he really was,...
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