Hazel was shy, reticent, quiet and flat-chested.
Qualities that do not turn on the local mailman, or the neighborhood bus driver, or the rapist meter man.
Hazel was quiet because of her occupation. She was a librarian at Thomas Dewey High School.
Hazel was also quiet because she was nearing her fortieth birthday. She was shy because she didn't want people to know she was on the shady side of thirty-nine, and she was reticent about being thirty-nine because she wished desperately that her bust size was as large as her age.
Hazel had many gray hairs intertwined with her brown hair. Some people said Hazel had gray hairs because of her occupation.
Others, like Madeline, Hazel's beautiful friend, said that Hazel had gray hairs because she shouldn't wear, her hair in a French twist, that it caused too much of a stain on what few brown hairs she did have.
But Hazel knew it was her occupation that made her shy, quiet and gray-haired. Because, as a librarian for Thomas Dewey High School, site felt important and needed, and was acknowledged by the kids whenever she said: "Shush your mouths!"
Her job was very important – at least it was to Hazel.
There were many worries, and so many huge responsibilities. Such as knowing the alphabet so she could file library index cards. Such as picking up old lunch sacks, and broken pencils, and used rubbers that she found on the four reading tables. Such as worrying that the kids were abusing her books.
Like the time she found the pages of the Joy of Sex all glued together with Elmer's, or something icky that made all the pages stick together.
Careless kids! Book abusers!
Hazel, as mentioned previously, was also flat-chested.
She had always been flat-chested. Ever since she was a little girl. It wasn't worth the effort for Hazel to put on a bra, not when her nipples were her tits. But she made sure that the kids at Thomas Dewey High could see that she wore a bra because it was only proper that librarians be prudish and not form unions, or join liberation fronts, or Women's.
A sense of propriety and manners and staid grace proper terms to describe Hazel Turnbow.
The kids knew she was proper because she wore a different dress every day. Well, actually only the girl kids noticed that Hazel wore a different dress each day because they were gossipy kittens who had yet to learn how to be catty.
Hazel's dresses were remarkable. For one thing, she always wore white cotton socks with whatever dress she had picked for that particular school day.
Once, Cherry Whittaker had noticed the white socks. Which was a rare occasion because Hazel's dresses looked more like curtains that skirted the floor. And Cherry had directed the other kids' attention to the white socks: "HEY! Hazelnut wears white socks!"
Hazelnut had blushed. Which also was a rare emotion. The only other time Hazel had blushed was when she had seen a man's prick.
She was a virgin then, just like she was now. And she had seen a man's prick through some rather impressive books of knowledge.
It was the day that she had found some kid abusing Roget's Thesaurus. The kid's name was Eddie Boyle, and later on in life he would be a great artist – the same artist who would create a statue of a huge stainless-steel rocket.
Eddie Boyle was showing his artistic talent by underlining all the nasty words in the thesaurus; words like fellatio, labia, circumcision, hysterectomy, hemorrhoid and prepuce.
Hazel had nabbed him, grabbed him by the chin and whisked him off to the Dean of Boys, who would spank his ass and come all over Eddie's belly while the poor kid was in a bent-over position.
Hazel then returned to the library and returned the book to its place on the reference shelf.
She walked down the aisle surrounded by huge, formidable-looking textbooks. She stopped, then made a partition between a Rand-McNally Road Atlas and a pocketbook entitled: How to Learn Polish in a Day.
She was ready to stuff the thesaurus into the open slot when she saw her first prick.
It didn't look at all like those penises in the medical textbooks three shelves down from her. There were enough distinguishable characteristics on that cock, however, to make it appear like a penis – but it sure didn't look like any of those medical drawings.
Oh, there was a glands on this cock, but something gross had happened to it. It was inflated, balloonish and big. And it must have been full of milk instead of air because something creamy was leaking from the tip.
No, this cock didn't look like that anatomical sketch.
And the stalk of this cock was in direct proportion to the bulging, balloonish head; but there were so many veins, or arteries, or capillaries on the shaft that it looked like an old man's varicose arm instead of a middle leg.
Hazel blushed. Because it had taken her about three minutes to figure out what that thing was on the other side of the aisle.
It was definitely a cock!
Because Hazel could hear Yvonne Mandell call it a cock.
"Ooohhhhh! I'm gonna suck your cock to death! Oh, God! Look at your cock! Look at what's coming out of your cock!"
"Shush! You want Miss Turnbow to see what we're doing?"
Oh, Miss Turnbow was going to shush them all right. Hazel had her finger at her pursed lips, ready to shush them clear out, of her library. But what they were doing now stopped her.
GOD! No! Yvonne, no!
Hazel watched with startled eyes as Yvonne's lips touched that varicose cock. It was so nasty!
No! No! Get your lips away! That's vile!
Hazel's glasses fell from her awed face, dangled like a necklace against her chest. God! Hurriedly she put tern back on, quietly moved the Rand-McNally Road Atlas an inch to the left.
Look at her! God!
Yvonne was a despicable sight. She was absolutely naked! Even her cunt! Also her tits. Naked all over. In the buff everywhere!
And she was naked here in Hazel Turnbow's library. Hazel's home, her castle, her retreat, where Hemingway had taught her how to survive a shark attack when she had a marlin lashed to the boat, where Vonnegut had made a pilgrimage to a chuck-steak factory, where Holden Caulfield picked his zits.
No! Sacrilege!
"Mmmmmmggggggfffff!"
"Shhhhhhh! Yvonne, you want that old bitch to hear you?"
"Mmmm!"
Hazel's glasses fogged up again. More gray hairs.
Unlike those curly ones that Yvonne spat out between sucks on a man's bloated cock.
Hazel couldn't believe what she was seeing! This didn't happen in books – at least not in her books! If it had, Hazel would have burned the infernal pages a long time ago. Nothing passed her censoring eyes. Not the Hardy Boys, or Nancy Drew, or the Hulk.
Anything that reeked of flesh, or smelled of sin, or tasted of perversion was dawned – removed from the library list and sent back to the. National Council of Librarians with a serious recommendation that they burn the books at a certain fahrenheit.
But this!
This reeked of flesh – the odor of perverted, demented, foul, crushed walnuts was in the air, pervading the minds of Gorki and Greene and Godwin who were up on the shelf opposite the cock-sucking couple.
The smell of sin was heavy in the air. It lingered, then searched out dictionaries and word-finders and periodicals and Reader's Guides. The smell of sin was everywhere! As musty as the books on every wail.
And the taste of perversion was like walnut that had turned green in Hazel's mouth. She swallowed hard, moved the walnut-sized lump down her throat.
Beasts! Perfidious souls! Children of the damned!
Yvonne said: "Mmmmggcgffff!"
"Goddamn it! Be quiet! That fuckin' old spinster will hear us!"
Hazel gulped; the walnut settled in her belly. Spinster? Was that what they were calling her now? Spinster? Old woman? Virgin hag? Whatever happened to Hazelnut?
Hazel shook her head. No! She wasn't a spinster or a virgin hag. She had had plenty of men in life.
Once, she had a blind date with Jarvis, the hick kid who was interested in medical books and anatomical sketches. In fact, that was how Hazel had become interested in a library career – through her date with Jarvis at the Macon County Library For Whites Only.
Yvonne looked so dreadful now to Hazel.
She looked so… so devilish, so tainted and abused.
Letting a man put his prick in her mouth. Letting a man feel around with her tits. Letting a man guide her hand to his asshole.
Depravity! Sin most obdurate! Multifarious perversion!
The little girl was actually… actually… putting her finger… her clean, untamed finger into that man's… his… God! No! His… his RECTUM!
Hazel wanted to faint. It was so stuffy in hr library. It was so reeking hot in her library. Her dress felt like wilted cardboard that stuck to her bony hips and nippled tits. Her pandas felt like wet mosquito netting. Her socks drooped. Her bunions hurt.
She had never seen anything so perverted in her life!
And Yvonne looked… God! She looked like she wanted to finger the man's dirty asshole while his filthy prick was in her mouth!
Then the man's hips were moving back and forth in continuous, unbroken thrusts. His prick appeared foamy with spit every time Yvonne's cock-sucking lips released his cock. Then all the foam was pushed back against the pubic hairs as the man thrust his prick into Yvonne's hot mouth.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
God! Animals! Unhousebroken!
The walnut bile rose in Hazel's throat once again. Jarvis was talking to her in her lust-shredded mind. His head was buried in a thick book called Sexual Behavior in the Human Male and he was reading from the chapter entitled: Ejaculation.
"If the penis has been stimulated to the degree that erection is at its peak, the testicles will produce sperm. The sperm will travel up a series of tubes situated in the prostate gland, moved upwards in continuous streams until it reaches the glands. From hence, the sperm will spew out, and fertilize the nearest ova."
Hazel opened her eyes. Very wide. No… that man wasn't going to do that in her mouth – was he? Was that possible? But there wasn't any ova around. The sperm was meant to fertilize an ova, not a girl's mouth!
There weren't any ova in a girl's mouth!
No! Ejaculation into a girl's mouth was against the laws of Nature and of God. Were they that ignorant? Were kids, like Yvonne and whoever that ten-inch erection belonged to, that ignorant that they didn't know where a man's sperm was supposed to go?
God! That's why there were libraries and books and pages and pages of knowledge about life and what to do with it.
"Mmmmgcggffff! Mmmmggggffff!"
Foamy spit no longer backed up to the pubic hair. Something white and sticky was backing up to the hairs that surrounded the base of the man's erection.
It was white, so Hazel knew it had to be sperm. She had never seen sperm before in her life, but from books like Moby Dick she knew that sperm oil was white. Like ambergris.
And because it was sticky, it pasted to Yvonne's grinning mouth as she licked the tip of that evil erection, cleansing it of all the sticky mess.
Hazel's walnut bile was betwixt her throat and her tongue.
The sperm on Yvonne's tongue was on her way to her belly.
Hazel slapped a hand over her mouth, like all the kids did when she shushed them with an indignant finger to her pursed lips.
But it was hard to shush Hazel because she was expelling the walnut bile, vomiting the hamburger with lettuce, cheese and tomato on a sesame seed bun that she had had for lunch.