© Copyright 1993, by Diane Fenster
Johnny Come Lately, (146K gif)

Story by W. MILES STRYKER (396k .mov)

What's all this shit about Johnny Come Lately? When she said it I got a real nasty notion it meant a bunch of things. She smiled crooked. And tilted her head kind of like a dog hearing a duck whistle. You knew she had filed molars under those pursed lips. It made most men want to slap her. It made me want to ram my prick up her hard. And watch her throw her head back and grab my shoulders. I'm not Stephen Deadelus watching stupid children wallow in failure. Beowolf just able to despise his stench. Fuck that. Labor's unsung hero. I had a purple leisure suit when I was a union organizer. Labor aristocracy. She eats ribs like she came from a long line of hungry poor people. She pushed the small cowed men to one side and ate with the big boys. It was winter and she was getting fat. No one else was. She never got to sit at the science table and she was mad as hell. Now finally, she was hung. Her computer sagged to the floor with rams and bytes and megabytes. She took some ground you know from the Big Boys. She knew her shit. So the meat hung down her chin and the gristle and cartilage snapped between her twenty eight pearlies. She liked to suck the marrow. She liked to grind the bone. She had full lips and she slurped up the letters that spelled carnivore and success. She would make it till Spring. She would be warm. She would sleep alone. The fire burned below her and the light pushed the shadows up her body to loom behind her as she listened for the phone. "Christ" She said. A rib cracked beneath her teeth as she looked around toward the door. No one knocked. She moved slowly toward the table. "Johnny Come Lately" She snapped. "Johnny Come Fucking Lately". She put the skinned rib down onto her plate. It looked like she wanted to scratch me. So she could mean I ain't had any for a long time. I don't get much.... Slow on the draw. She could mean a hell of a lot of things. But it's that goddamned look that makes me want to ram her. Tattooes. Sweat. Hair. She eats ribs like she wants to live. Her big butt shimmering like the flanks of Fat Mother. Winter Mama's wet legs. Winter Mama's white tits. Winter Mama's winnin ways. She looked like she wanted to cut me.
When she picked up the knife I knew I had her. She held it wrong like a bad stabbing scene. Like Psycho. Likes Carrie's mother. Raised above her the blade pointing down at a ridiculous angle toward the floor. I grabbed her wrist and she dropped the knife. The train roared past. She pulled my hair. Tomorrow she would ride the 10:20 to Seattle. I touched her cunt. She moved closer and took my finger. "Johnny Come Lately" She whispered. I had no choice.