My friend Matt and I used to visit Luisa when we were 16, and she was 15.
Luisa was tanned and blonde- a surfer girl.
She was always happy, and that made me suspicious.
Matt and Luisa used to disappear into her room to make out a lot, this is how I ment Margot.
Margot was Luisa's older sister, an ex-model, who had been all over the world, and had come back to New Zealand to sit on her parents sofa and smoke weed.
She had long brown hair, and was even more tanned than Luisa.
She draped herself across the sofa in a bikini top and lava lava, watched soaps, or read magazines, always with the stereo on.
She liked AC/DC, and made me a tape of Highway to Hell.
I still have it.
We talked a lot in those Luisa and Matt make-out times, not really about anything, just about everything.
I was in total awe of her, and constantly wondered what this perfect older girl who had seen/done it all, would want to talk to a punk kid like me for.
Maybe it was just that- there was no pretension, nothing to prove.
We both knew what we were, so there was nothing to get in the way of us just being ourselves.
I loved it obviously, and I have this sneaking suspicion she did too, when every now and then she would look up from her magazine and just watch me for a minute.
She didn't smile, she didn't do anything.
But the weight of her gaze was utterly intoxicating.
Luisa and Margot were killed when their faulty gas cooker exploded just before bedtime on Tuesday, a school night.
I cried, obviously, but it made a strange kind of sense too.
It's hard to put into words, but maybe they had been everything they were meant to be.
Like, for some reason, I just can't picture Margot ever leaving that house, or even the sofa for that matter.
And Luisa's perfection and positivity was too pure to survive long out there in the world.
It's like if that accident had never happened, they would have just grown old in that place, like it was the house that was alive, and they were just moving parts of it.
I'm 33 now, and every girl I have ever met since, I gauge against Margot.
No-one has ever come close.
Things were good at first.
When Margot moved in, it was a little bit exciting.
She'd made all the right noises in the housemate interview, and to be honest, I thought I'd found an ally.
Obviously not.
She broke the front door, which was 100 years old, slamming it repeatedly in a temper with her now ex-boyfriend.
She never cleaned anything.
She always wore high heels that clacked loudly through the wooden hallways of the house, like a team of clydesdales tilling a dance studio.
And she'd always ask stupid questions, like, "Do we have a trash can?", when she was sitting on it.
So, it's Wednesday night, and quite cold out- a good night to be inside watching TV.
We're watching a David Attenborough documentary on the dawn of the mammals.
We've just passed the late Eiocene period, and find ourselves looking at a forested piece of land, which is obviously in Germany.
And you want more than anything to say "Ah! Germany!", when there's no way you could have possibly known that.
That, is why you burn so badly to say it.
But you don't, and Sir David does instead, because out of the 3 of you, he's the only one who either doesn't hate Margot, or is Margot.
You don't want to say a single thing around her, for fear she will construe it as an intention to converse, when clearly all you want to do is show off.
Next place, and it's New Zealand.
The ferns are a dead giveaway.
But again, I'm biting my tongue.
I'm right again, too.
Just makes me hate Margot for existing.
Why isn't someone I want to impress sitting there instead?
All of these psychic/amazing powers just blatantly going to waste.
If it was Jenna Jameson, I'd be looking soooo clever!
Knifey- "That's New Zealand".
Jenna- "How can you guess that? It could be anywhere!"
Sir David- "Here, in the deep forests of what will become the antipodes of New Zealand..."
Jenna- "You were right!
Knifey- "I know."
Jenna- "Ohhh baby, do me now!"
Fucking Margot.
She's the only reason you come here.
I mean, clearly the first time was accidental, but everything after?
Guilty.
She works really hard, she's on the ball...wiping tables, serving coffees, blowing entire galaxies apart with jeans, a tee shirt, and the sexual organs of a Hibiscus flower, ripped right off the plant and placed among her follicles.
She makes you hot chocolate.
She makes funny faces at you.
She makes you believe in auras.
She makes you cum so hard neither of you were entirely sure you weren't actually dying.
Yeah, just you try staying away from Margot!
Way back when, when I used to take a lot of drugs, I lived in a big wooden box bolted to the top corner of an old biscuit factory in Amsterdam.
It had at one time brought a car to the Netherlands from France, but since the early 80's had served as a storeroom for old typography plates, and master artwork for past ad campaigns.
It took me 3 full days to empty it of its blocked colon, and to move my stuff up and in.
I lived with an exotic dancer called...actually, I can't for the life of me remember her name now!
She had a degree in business management, and another in environmental science.
She rode a bicycle everywhere, even to bed, as her room was at the far end of the factory, and had a sister called Margot.
I recall Margot had broken up with her boyfriend of 3 months, and used to come to the factory and cry a lot.
She cried incessantly, until one night I came home from a 3 day crystal meth burnout to find her in my bath with her wrists slashed.
She was still conscious when I walked in, which is more than I could say for myself.
I sat on the toilet and let the last 3 days of stomach churning drug taking go in one utterly Satanic sonic exclamation mark, like the sounding of the trump for Armaggeddon, before I realised there was anyone else on the planet, let alone groggily trying to hide their nakedness and embarassment at having been caught mid-exit, in my bathroom.
Suicide is so passé, we both knew it.
She was like the girl at the party who has just caught sight of another girl at the party wearing exactly the same thing (and who was there first), while bleeding and passing out all over the hors d'oeuvres.
As she tried to cover her breasts, her arterial severance fired several warning shots across her face, the sight of which was so disturbing I instantly joined the ranks of the vegetarian elite.
When we got back from the hospital, I set her up in my bed with some Dr Seuss books, a chocolate cake, a pot of tea, and the cat.
She stayed 2 nights, had sex with me 8 times, and got back together with her boyfriend once.
I was so devastated I went straight into the bathroom and slashed both my wrists.
So if you're reading this, I'm either dead or rescued.
If you loved me, I am so sorry, and if you rescued me, I'm sorry you saw me naked.
By the way, I just remembered something-
her sisters name was Gretchen.
Margot always underlines her name when she writes it, which I always found to be strange, for an insecure person.
Or maybe it made sense for that reason, like, HERE I AM! I EXIST!
That sort of thing.
She lived behind the Department Store she worked in, but always walked right the way around the block to the front entrance every workday, because "that way is nicer".
She is a child of multiple divorce.
Like every other 12 year old, she took it for granted that one day she would be intensely famous for something or other, and was devastated to realise she was now 28-and-a-half, and had been gainfully employed at the cosmetics counter for 9 full years.
Margot always ate a lot of salad, just in case.
She is radiant and pretty, like a cool older sister, but she doesn't feel it.
She never leaves the house without makeup.
She has a cat too, but she doesn't like it.
Margot has a hard time reconciling her love for dogs, with the fact that one of the things that dogs love to do the most, is to hunt down and tear apart other cute little animals.
Her apartment is across the lane from mine, and I watch her through my reflective glass with the lights turned off every night.
I have a telescope, and I can read her diary when she's writing it.
I know everything she thinks and most things she does (I can't see into the kitchen).
And yesterday when I was tying my shoe on the street downstairs, she walked right into me by accident.
She apologised profusely, and seemed confused as to why I was so desperate to get away quickly.
She went upstairs and checked for new acne.
Margot was my girlfriends mother.
She was a MILF before we'd ever heard that word before...ahead of her time.
She was a journalist, and would call up from this star or that stars San Fernando valley poolside.
And she hated me for stealing her daughter.
But she was so undyingly nice to my face, and that drove me crazy.
She even flirted with me, in front of Karine, which made her crazy too.
They lived in this totally designer house out in the hills, and it always had the most distinctive smell.
The memory is so strong I can smell it now.
It was kinda like sawdust and lavender, with an edge of something else I haven't smelled either before or since, or anywhere else.
Once, when I had stayed over, Margot walked in unannounced to the bedroom, where Karine had just finished giving me head, and where I was lying in a post-orgasmic haze of spent pheremones and, well, the sweaty smell of someone who had just made like a fire hydrant in the ghetto summertime.
Margot totally knew, but didn't miss a beat.
She stood at the end of the bed and asked me if I would like an M+M.
I said "Sure."
She asked me to "Open wide", and then threw chocolates into my mouth, bending forward to give maximum exposure to her cleavage, and sending her furious daughter out to the kitchen to make breakfast, slamming all 3 doors on the way.
Now, I know what you're thinking.
This is hot, right?
It's totally wrong, and that's what makes it oh-so totally right.
But then she sat next to me, with her hand gently stroking my thigh through the sheet, and just when I thought she was going to lean forward and kiss me, she said "I want to tell you about Jesus".
So fucking Hollywood, right to the last.
Margot was 6 when I was 6.
She was in my class at school.
She had asthma, back in the 70's when you could still die from things like that.
And die she did.
She died the same day as my friend Steven, who was a spastic back before we learned to call it 'Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia'.
None of us knew what to do, because when you're 6, all you think about is food and TV
The last thing you are programmed to compute is the news that 2 from among your number have been in indescribable pain and fear, and were killed dead for ever and ever by God and the little baby Jesus.
The Sisters decided to plant 2 trees, with a little sign on each to say who they were for.
26 years later I passed through the town of Toowoomba, on tour with an oh-so-famous-right-now rock band, and asked if they'd be into pulling over here, so I could stretch my legs for a minute.
I walked through Gabbinbar State School, and cried my fucking eyes out, looking at two enormous and beautiful trees.
It's the future, Margot and Steven.
We've got one-man spacecraft, laser corrective eye surgery, and cloning for your dead pets.
And I remember you.
Margot is my transexual hairdresser.
And I've gotta tell ya, I don't know what all the fuss is about.
Margot is fine as all get-out.
I don't care if she has a penis, with boobs like that.
My friends and I were talking about it, and they all said to a man that they wouldn't go there if you paid them, even though they all agreed Margot looks like a walking wet dream.
But then, they went to school with Margot when she was Tarquin, and I didn't.
All I know is, when she's washing my hair, and her fingers are sending my reflex arc into a neuron-exploding frenzy, I definitely think about what it would be like to return the favour.
I mean, hey, I love my dick, right?
Why not learn to love someone else's?
I know for a fact I could never get with a man, like, you know, a man.
But Margot's different.
Margot's a lady.
Margot is coming to visit me.
Margot's at the door.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Luisa was tanned and blonde- a surfer girl.
She was always happy, and that made me suspicious.
Matt and Luisa used to disappear into her room to make out a lot, this is how I ment Margot.
Margot was Luisa's older sister, an ex-model, who had been all over the world, and had come back to New Zealand to sit on her parents sofa and smoke weed.
She had long brown hair, and was even more tanned than Luisa.
She draped herself across the sofa in a bikini top and lava lava, watched soaps, or read magazines, always with the stereo on.
She liked AC/DC, and made me a tape of Highway to Hell.
I still have it.
We talked a lot in those Luisa and Matt make-out times, not really about anything, just about everything.
I was in total awe of her, and constantly wondered what this perfect older girl who had seen/done it all, would want to talk to a punk kid like me for.
Maybe it was just that- there was no pretension, nothing to prove.
We both knew what we were, so there was nothing to get in the way of us just being ourselves.
I loved it obviously, and I have this sneaking suspicion she did too, when every now and then she would look up from her magazine and just watch me for a minute.
She didn't smile, she didn't do anything.
But the weight of her gaze was utterly intoxicating.
Luisa and Margot were killed when their faulty gas cooker exploded just before bedtime on Tuesday, a school night.
I cried, obviously, but it made a strange kind of sense too.
It's hard to put into words, but maybe they had been everything they were meant to be.
Like, for some reason, I just can't picture Margot ever leaving that house, or even the sofa for that matter.
And Luisa's perfection and positivity was too pure to survive long out there in the world.
It's like if that accident had never happened, they would have just grown old in that place, like it was the house that was alive, and they were just moving parts of it.
I'm 33 now, and every girl I have ever met since, I gauge against Margot.
No-one has ever come close.
Things were good at first.
When Margot moved in, it was a little bit exciting.
She'd made all the right noises in the housemate interview, and to be honest, I thought I'd found an ally.
Obviously not.
She broke the front door, which was 100 years old, slamming it repeatedly in a temper with her now ex-boyfriend.
She never cleaned anything.
She always wore high heels that clacked loudly through the wooden hallways of the house, like a team of clydesdales tilling a dance studio.
And she'd always ask stupid questions, like, "Do we have a trash can?", when she was sitting on it.
So, it's Wednesday night, and quite cold out- a good night to be inside watching TV.
We're watching a David Attenborough documentary on the dawn of the mammals.
We've just passed the late Eiocene period, and find ourselves looking at a forested piece of land, which is obviously in Germany.
And you want more than anything to say "Ah! Germany!", when there's no way you could have possibly known that.
That, is why you burn so badly to say it.
But you don't, and Sir David does instead, because out of the 3 of you, he's the only one who either doesn't hate Margot, or is Margot.
You don't want to say a single thing around her, for fear she will construe it as an intention to converse, when clearly all you want to do is show off.
Next place, and it's New Zealand.
The ferns are a dead giveaway.
But again, I'm biting my tongue.
I'm right again, too.
Just makes me hate Margot for existing.
Why isn't someone I want to impress sitting there instead?
All of these psychic/amazing powers just blatantly going to waste.
If it was Jenna Jameson, I'd be looking soooo clever!
Knifey- "That's New Zealand".
Jenna- "How can you guess that? It could be anywhere!"
Sir David- "Here, in the deep forests of what will become the antipodes of New Zealand..."
Jenna- "You were right!
Knifey- "I know."
Jenna- "Ohhh baby, do me now!"
Fucking Margot.
She's the only reason you come here.
I mean, clearly the first time was accidental, but everything after?
Guilty.
She works really hard, she's on the ball...wiping tables, serving coffees, blowing entire galaxies apart with jeans, a tee shirt, and the sexual organs of a Hibiscus flower, ripped right off the plant and placed among her follicles.
She makes you hot chocolate.
She makes funny faces at you.
She makes you believe in auras.
She makes you cum so hard neither of you were entirely sure you weren't actually dying.
Yeah, just you try staying away from Margot!
Way back when, when I used to take a lot of drugs, I lived in a big wooden box bolted to the top corner of an old biscuit factory in Amsterdam.
It had at one time brought a car to the Netherlands from France, but since the early 80's had served as a storeroom for old typography plates, and master artwork for past ad campaigns.
It took me 3 full days to empty it of its blocked colon, and to move my stuff up and in.
I lived with an exotic dancer called...actually, I can't for the life of me remember her name now!
She had a degree in business management, and another in environmental science.
She rode a bicycle everywhere, even to bed, as her room was at the far end of the factory, and had a sister called Margot.
I recall Margot had broken up with her boyfriend of 3 months, and used to come to the factory and cry a lot.
She cried incessantly, until one night I came home from a 3 day crystal meth burnout to find her in my bath with her wrists slashed.
She was still conscious when I walked in, which is more than I could say for myself.
I sat on the toilet and let the last 3 days of stomach churning drug taking go in one utterly Satanic sonic exclamation mark, like the sounding of the trump for Armaggeddon, before I realised there was anyone else on the planet, let alone groggily trying to hide their nakedness and embarassment at having been caught mid-exit, in my bathroom.
Suicide is so passé, we both knew it.
She was like the girl at the party who has just caught sight of another girl at the party wearing exactly the same thing (and who was there first), while bleeding and passing out all over the hors d'oeuvres.
As she tried to cover her breasts, her arterial severance fired several warning shots across her face, the sight of which was so disturbing I instantly joined the ranks of the vegetarian elite.
When we got back from the hospital, I set her up in my bed with some Dr Seuss books, a chocolate cake, a pot of tea, and the cat.
She stayed 2 nights, had sex with me 8 times, and got back together with her boyfriend once.
I was so devastated I went straight into the bathroom and slashed both my wrists.
So if you're reading this, I'm either dead or rescued.
If you loved me, I am so sorry, and if you rescued me, I'm sorry you saw me naked.
By the way, I just remembered something-
her sisters name was Gretchen.
Margot always underlines her name when she writes it, which I always found to be strange, for an insecure person.
Or maybe it made sense for that reason, like, HERE I AM! I EXIST!
That sort of thing.
She lived behind the Department Store she worked in, but always walked right the way around the block to the front entrance every workday, because "that way is nicer".
She is a child of multiple divorce.
Like every other 12 year old, she took it for granted that one day she would be intensely famous for something or other, and was devastated to realise she was now 28-and-a-half, and had been gainfully employed at the cosmetics counter for 9 full years.
Margot always ate a lot of salad, just in case.
She is radiant and pretty, like a cool older sister, but she doesn't feel it.
She never leaves the house without makeup.
She has a cat too, but she doesn't like it.
Margot has a hard time reconciling her love for dogs, with the fact that one of the things that dogs love to do the most, is to hunt down and tear apart other cute little animals.
Her apartment is across the lane from mine, and I watch her through my reflective glass with the lights turned off every night.
I have a telescope, and I can read her diary when she's writing it.
I know everything she thinks and most things she does (I can't see into the kitchen).
And yesterday when I was tying my shoe on the street downstairs, she walked right into me by accident.
She apologised profusely, and seemed confused as to why I was so desperate to get away quickly.
She went upstairs and checked for new acne.
Margot was my girlfriends mother.
She was a MILF before we'd ever heard that word before...ahead of her time.
She was a journalist, and would call up from this star or that stars San Fernando valley poolside.
And she hated me for stealing her daughter.
But she was so undyingly nice to my face, and that drove me crazy.
She even flirted with me, in front of Karine, which made her crazy too.
They lived in this totally designer house out in the hills, and it always had the most distinctive smell.
The memory is so strong I can smell it now.
It was kinda like sawdust and lavender, with an edge of something else I haven't smelled either before or since, or anywhere else.
Once, when I had stayed over, Margot walked in unannounced to the bedroom, where Karine had just finished giving me head, and where I was lying in a post-orgasmic haze of spent pheremones and, well, the sweaty smell of someone who had just made like a fire hydrant in the ghetto summertime.
Margot totally knew, but didn't miss a beat.
She stood at the end of the bed and asked me if I would like an M+M.
I said "Sure."
She asked me to "Open wide", and then threw chocolates into my mouth, bending forward to give maximum exposure to her cleavage, and sending her furious daughter out to the kitchen to make breakfast, slamming all 3 doors on the way.
Now, I know what you're thinking.
This is hot, right?
It's totally wrong, and that's what makes it oh-so totally right.
But then she sat next to me, with her hand gently stroking my thigh through the sheet, and just when I thought she was going to lean forward and kiss me, she said "I want to tell you about Jesus".
So fucking Hollywood, right to the last.
Margot was 6 when I was 6.
She was in my class at school.
She had asthma, back in the 70's when you could still die from things like that.
And die she did.
She died the same day as my friend Steven, who was a spastic back before we learned to call it 'Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia'.
None of us knew what to do, because when you're 6, all you think about is food and TV
The last thing you are programmed to compute is the news that 2 from among your number have been in indescribable pain and fear, and were killed dead for ever and ever by God and the little baby Jesus.
The Sisters decided to plant 2 trees, with a little sign on each to say who they were for.
26 years later I passed through the town of Toowoomba, on tour with an oh-so-famous-right-now rock band, and asked if they'd be into pulling over here, so I could stretch my legs for a minute.
I walked through Gabbinbar State School, and cried my fucking eyes out, looking at two enormous and beautiful trees.
It's the future, Margot and Steven.
We've got one-man spacecraft, laser corrective eye surgery, and cloning for your dead pets.
And I remember you.
Margot is my transexual hairdresser.
And I've gotta tell ya, I don't know what all the fuss is about.
Margot is fine as all get-out.
I don't care if she has a penis, with boobs like that.
My friends and I were talking about it, and they all said to a man that they wouldn't go there if you paid them, even though they all agreed Margot looks like a walking wet dream.
But then, they went to school with Margot when she was Tarquin, and I didn't.
All I know is, when she's washing my hair, and her fingers are sending my reflex arc into a neuron-exploding frenzy, I definitely think about what it would be like to return the favour.
I mean, hey, I love my dick, right?
Why not learn to love someone else's?
I know for a fact I could never get with a man, like, you know, a man.
But Margot's different.
Margot's a lady.
Margot is coming to visit me.
Margot's at the door.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
8 comments:
Margots are always the personification of feminine perfection... you are one lucky fellow.
Quite a lovely piece Knifey.
Knifey, just wanted to give props on the piece. What fiction books are you reading these days? I need some new stuff to dig into.
Similarly to Le Ratch I've never commented before, but your writing continues to kick arse to the extent that I have to applaud it.
Now that was a piece of writing you can sink your teeth into.
I don't care if she has a penis, with boobs like that.
What a great line, memorable really.
Good stuff.
Thank you, nice people.
Kranki- I haven't read a book on about a year, I really haven't.
Clearly BBCC is the man with the reccomendations, and I recall Buck Fudd saying something about his read du jour.
I'm useless- I like graffiti.
Thank you.
Fucking ACE!
xxxx
That was brilliant!
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