The Best Fucks In Town!
Weird fiction piece by Clark Humphrey
5/30/94
Chet and Vivian were the best fucks in town, and they knew it.Chet learned as early as the eighth grade that he had just the right cute/rugged good looks to attract the girls, and just the right equipment and stamina to keep them returning to him. By his junior year in high school, he had bedded nearly every non-religious girl in his school (and several of the religious girls), and invoked enough lifetime ire from those girls’ boyfriends to ensure that he would never attain any respectable adult social standing. He realized long before graduation that if he ever attempted to take over the family gas station, he could rely on not getting a single male customer from among the town’s residents of his generation.
He also knew that if he stayed in town long enough, he would be destined to marry Vivian, his true female counterpart. She considered it a mark of personal pride that her first score preceded her first period. By her senior year she had made half the boys in school happy, the other boys frustrated, half the girls jealous, and the other girls angry. Her sexual appetite got the better of her many times. She couldn’t prevent herself from stealing away the affections of the boyfriends or desired boyfriends of the most influential girls in school, the daughters of the most influential families in town.
Chet and Vivian never slept together as teenagers. They both preferred to be the one in power. They both preferred the challenge of curing naive innocents of their pesky virginity instead of the chore of proving themselves to a knowing, experienced player. But Chet knew that the girls he so attentively pleasured would, one by one, marry “nice” boys and/or leave town. The only people moving to the depressed logging town were grownup hippies in search of The Country Life, the kind of college graduates from rich suburbs who always turned their noses up at working stiffs like him. Any boys with anything better to do would leave town, taking their wives with them. And any girls with anything better to do would go off to college and never come back. Chet couldn’t get into anything beyond community college or voc-tech, and there weren’t any worthwhile jobs in town to train for. Vivian, Chet saw, was on the career path toward Town Slut, whose employment in any local retail or service business would cause said business to be boycotted by the Respectable Women of the community.
Since they weren’t going anywhere and both their libidos were still raging, Chet knew that Vivian would tacitly accept her fate as his bride. He proposed to her in the coffee shop the Monday after the Thanksgiving after their graduation. She knew what he was going to ask, more or less; she thought he was going to try to pick her up first, instead of proposing marriage. She agreed to move in with him on a trial basis as soon as she could explain it to her parents, with whom she still lived.
They didn’t sleep together until the day she moved in to his apartment. They both looked on the encounter with a sense of dread and fear; neither had had a sexual relationship based on mutual strength. Their fears proved unfounded. They discovered that they were two of a kind, ready and able to screw through the night and half-sleep through work the next day with almost obnoxious-looking grins on their faces.
Chet took over the family gas station, which indeed lost all business from the men of the town’s old families. The women of those families, however, often came by. Sometimes they spent a little time with Chet in the stockroom, with Vivian’s approval.
Chet’s station began to prosper again when the oil company paid him to move it to a new spot on the highway. A year later, the oil company turned the garage part into a convenience store. Vivian came on as the day clerk, since she was more capable at early hours than Chet. It was true what the grownup hippies who got gas at the store said about how, in bad sex, men take strength from women, but in good sex, women take strength from men. After a typical night of agonizing sheet-surfing, Vivian usually awoke refreshed and ready to take on the world. Chet was usually ready to sleep in until noon, take a hit or two of caffeine pills, visit a newly-divorced classmate while Vivian worked, join Vivian for the peak afternoon hours, take over the store for the evening shift while Vivian (with Chet’s approval) carried on affairs with the grownup hippies (the only guys of fuckable age left in town with any money).
As the years dragged on, Vivian remained popular among the local men while Chet became less and less of a prize dalliance for the local women. He let his appearance go to hell as he settled into the dead-end life of selling six-packs to truck drivers. He gradually became resigned to his fate. Every afternoon before his shift, he indifferently watched Vivian cheerfully leave the house for a midafternoon tryst while he settled down to porn videos and beer.
Chet and Vivian had three daughters. Vivian carefully taught them to respect their bodies and protect their hearts. She taught them to love themselves and to spread that love out to the world around them. She arranged for each of them to enter sexual life at the earliest opportunity, scheduling long weekend trips with Chet and the rest of the family to provide each girl with an unoccupied apartment. Chet proudly realized that his life had served a purpose on the day when he overheard two teenage boys in the store describe his daughters as the girls they’d most like to be caught with by the cops on the beach at sunrise.
But then the middle daughter disappointed her parents badly when she married into the LDS Church in her senior year, without even being pregnant. Vivian’s only consolation was to remind herself that with all the kids Mormons have, there must be some great balling going on.
Then the oldest daughter phoned home from college with the news that she was moving into a platonic common-law marriage with a gay celibate poet.
It remained for the youngest daughter to carry on the family tradition. But her soul wasn’t into it. Sure, she had the urge to kiss every pair of tender male lips in school, to bring boys into her hormone-enraged lower body; but she valued her friendships with the girlfriends of some of those beautiful boys, enough that she could manage to stay away from those boys’ deep eyes and well-defined muscles. But as soon as one of those boys became available, and as soon as she got the assurance that his ex-girlfriend wouldn’t mind, she let him know clearly that she would be more than willing to go with him to the hippies’ private hot-tub salon and that he wouldn’t need a suit.
