The Remote Island by Bryan Christian Today on Nerve's TV blog: Dance, Hipster, Dance! Plus: our latest NewsCrush — and why one army brat is breaking up with Army Wives.
It arrived on Wednesday, in an unremarkable brown box. The package had no return address, but Keri could see from the postmark that it had been mailed from Amherst. It had to be from Jeremy, couldn't possibly be from anyone else. They hadn't spoken in four months. Maybe he still wants me to forgive him, she thought. Fuck him.
The box was light and made no noise when she shook it. She sat down on her hand-me-down couch — nearly
squashing her tabby, Priscilla — and tore it open so quickly that one of her nails ripped. Keri liked to think of herself as low-maintenance, a young-thirties gal who taught her eighteenth-century literature classes in jeans and T-shirts and only wore heels if someone got married or died. But all her life she had been complimented on her pretty hands — had almost been talked into becoming a hand model once — and she still manicured them regularly. Keri bit the nail off
promotion
in a swift, compulsive gesture.
She folded back the pink tissue paper, expecting to see — what? Chocolates. Something made of porcelain or glass. That was what lovers sent each other, wasn't it? When they wanted to reconcile? But this object was made of a soft, pliable plastic. Keri fished the object out of the box, and gasped.
Her first impulse was to throw it across the room. But she stopped herself. She had to admit that there was something worth admiring there, something about the handiwork of the thing. Although it had been awhile since Keri had seen the original, there could be no doubt this was an exact replica of Jeremy's erect cock.
It had that same gentle curve, as if bowing in deference. Prominent veins traversed its length. An impressive, yet not overwhelming, size. Most peculiar was the shape of the head. It had that same smooth helmet design that most circumcised cocks do, except that it puckered a bit near the tip. "As if it's trying to whistle," Keri remarked once during a languid, post-coital moment.
"He only wants to kiss you, my dear," Jeremy said.
There was, of course, the possibility that this was some kind of cruel joke.
That was before she'd caught him with the redhead from the coffee shop, the one young enough to be one of their students, months before she took the tenure-track position in Arizona.
"Oh does he now?" Keri slid her body down Jeremy's and pressed her lips against the cock's head. It was slightly sticky, and smelled like both of their bodies: a musk of salt and brine.
"Wait, don't," Jeremy said. "That tickles."
"Such a sensitive man." She slid back up until her chin rested on his chest. "How am I ever going to live with such a sensitive man?"
They'd been talking about adding her name to the lease — she spent most of her nights there anyway — but the remark made Jeremy go quiet. After six years, Keri could sense that internal shifting in him.
"Jeremy?"
"Sorry, hon, I'm nodding off."
Keri let it go at that. Her body was still rippling with the aftershocks of pleasure, enough to make her feel drowsy too. She curled into him, her head still resting on his chest, and traced a line down his torso with the tips of her nails. She'd painted them Seashell Pink. Her hand drifted down, until her fingertips touched the curls at his crotch. Jeremy was snoring lightly by then, but his cock had not entirely softened. It curled upwards, toward his belly, toward her hand, as if seeking her out on its own. When she smiled, it seemed to lift slightly. To pucker itself even more.
Now that same cock sat on her coffee table, curving toward her once again.
Keri was both offended and flattered. There was, of course, the possibility that this was some kind of cruel joke. She wondered if the redhead knew that Jeremy had sent her the likeness. Maybe it was something the two of them had planned. Then she had an odd thought — what did Jeremy's cock think of this new woman? Perhaps they'd had a rift, the cock and Jeremy. Perhaps the cock wasn't as happy as Jeremy had pretended to be during that last phone call.
While Keri pondered the possibilities, Priscilla, who had sulked in a corner of the room after having been almost sat on, approached the coffee table with her pink nose quivering.
"No, girl." Keri picked up the cock before the cat was close enough to swat it. "That's not for you."
