The Angel of the Centerfold
His bedroom would have been better, but the bathroom had one thing his bedroom door lacked: a lock. Hell, he couldn’t even close the bedroom door without his mom getting on his frigging case. It was a little dangerous keeping the magazine in the back of the cabinet under the sink where she could find it if she ever bothered to look, but it would have been worse carrying it back and forth all the time.
He knew the pages by heart. He probably wouldn’t need to look at it at all, but he’d had it for so long it had become both relic and scripture to him. It was part of the ritual now. It flipped open to the center almost of its own accord, and there she was, waiting for him. He’d jerked himself off to every picture in the book, but only for a little variety. This was the one he kept coming back to. She was a goddess, an angel, a vision. She was everything that his life lacked. Just looking at her, he knew that she knew how to treat a man… and he was sure he knew how to treat a woman like her.
“Geoffrey!” his mother called, just as he was getting going.
Christ, what a mood killer. He ignored her, focused on the task at hand. Classy girl like this deserved his full attention, didn’t she?
“Geoffrey!”
“I’m in here, ma,” he yelled back.
“You’re in there again?” she asked, still just as loud even though she was right outside the door now.
“I’m just going to the bathroom.”
“Maybe you’re not getting enough fiber.”
What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He didn’t say anything. He focused on the girl in the picture, the angel, his angel. He was so close… so close… he wanted to slow down and take his time, really enjoy it, but fat chance of that. He would have given anything for his mother to just go away… or better, if he could go away. Far, far away… somewhere where he could get a little God-damned privacy… somewhere where people would understand that a growing boy… a man… has needs.
People like the one in the centerfold.
The angel.
His angel.
He was so close… almost there…
“I said, maybe you’re not getting enough fiber,” his mother repeated.
She didn’t get a reply.
“Geoffrey?” his mother yelled shrilly. “Geoffrey, you answer me!”
Silence, within and without.
“Geoffrey… open this door!”
…and then…
“Geoffrey!”
…and a bit later…
“Geoffrey?”
When she finally made up her mind and popped the lock, the bathroom was empty… or at least devoid of human life. The magazine lay on the floor, face down and open to the centerfold.
She reached for it tentatively, like she thought it was going to bite her. She couldn’t bring herself to pick it up; she only flipped it over.
Her blood ran cold.