Starving Artist

My friend Susannah has started a new blog to promote her novel-in-progress: Porn Happy. It features excerpts from her book and assorted links to all things carnal. Obviously, some of the material may be NSFW. Go give her some love.
If I was ambitious enough, I’d set up a separate site for my own book. Instead, you’ll have to settle for another excerpt…
I looked over my shoulder and saw Erin Chambers coming out of the library. She was pushing her walker in front of her and I saw that her hair had changed from blond with blue streaks to blond with pink streaks. “Hey, Erin. Nothing, just hanging out. What about you? I thought you were going home for the summer.”
She shook her head. “Nuh. I’m ‘aking a ‘ummer ‘lass.” She pushed the walker up to the bench and sat down next to me. She wore a floral-patterned summer dress that revealed a generous amount of cleavage. I had known Erin since she started at the U three years ago and, like most people, I at first had some trouble understanding her when she spoke to me. But unlike a lot of people with CP, Erin never showed any sign that she was embarrassed or uncomfortable with her speech impairment. She once told me that the only reason people couldn’t understand her was because they weren’t listening closely enough.
“Oh, yeah? What class?”
“‘Exual Pol’tics ‘n Moduhn Amm�American Cinema,” she said with a hint of irony.
“Uh huh. I think I’ve heard of this class. It’s just an excuse to watch porn all summer, isn’t it?”
She looked at me with her chocolate eyes like I had just uttered the most obvious statement in the history of humanity. “Why eh�else would I ‘ake it?” And then she tipped back her head and laughed that convulsive, gasping laugh that every person with CP seems to have. I’ve been at parties with Erin where people almost called 911 because they mistook her laugh for some kind of seizure.
The commotion caught the attention of the two guys playing Frisbee. They turned around and I could see their gaze linger on the swell of her breasts and her bare thighs. Erin must have noticed too, because she managed to stop laughing and give them a coy smile. “‘Ay, ‘uys!” she said. They waved back and resumed their game.
“You know them?” I asked.
“Nuh,” she said. Erin gave them another glance and shifted slightly so that her sundress rode up a little higher. “No’ yeh.”
“Slut,” I said and she gave me a playful shove. Erin had never had trouble hooking up with someone, male or female, whenever she had the urge. Which is to say that Erin got laid more times in one week than some people do all year. Her sexual adventurism had earned her an awed kind of respect from a lot of the other gimps at school, including me. A lot of us wondered how she managed to get sex whenever she wanted while the rest of us were struggling to just get a date for Friday night. Sure, she was cute and all, but it was something more than that. Somehow, in a matter of minutes, Erin was able to make people forget about her slurred speech and her walker and the occasional strand of drool hanging from her lip. All they saw was what she wanted them to see. All they saw was her brilliant smile and her streaked hair and her firm tits. I’ve gone with Erin to nightclubs and watched in disbelief as men and women crowded around her within minutes of our entrance. I felt like I was observing some Gimp Goddess of Love being worshiped by her followers.