involuntary reaction
Involuntary Reaction
by Kristie (Drew) Alshaibi
At twelve, you liked to sit outside your dad’s stereo repair shop. He and your mom kept the air conditioning running inside, and you got cold easily. A driveway and a sidewalk separated you from the busy suburban street. You liked to wear striped sun-dresses and knee-socks and big chunky suede shoes. You sat writing in your diary, your legs spread so that your panties were visible to those who drove by. A few times a day someone would drive past and whistle or howl and you would make a little mark on the back page of your book. You had one column for cars, one for trucks and vans, and one for stretch limousines. You never had any marks in the limo column.
Your dad had an employee named Martin. He was a skinny guy who road his bicycle to work every day. Your mom said he never slept, and that was why he always acted so nervous. One day Martin took you aside and showed you a pen he had. On it was a woman riding a bicycle. The picture was taken from behind and she was wearing cut-off shorts that barely covered her bottom.
“That’s what you’re going to look like someday,” he said.
You smiled and felt your face get warm. He just nodded his head and winked and made a clicking sound, then went back to work.
During that same year, you started to sneeze. Whenever you thought of something that had to do with sex, a funny tingle started at the base of your skull and worked its way to the front of your face. Your nose began to burn. You drew in a quick breath, then the force of the air threw your head forward. It was like an orgasm in your nose. “Nose-gasms” you began to call them. You had three or four in a row sometimes.
For a while, whenever someone sneezed, you wondered what they were thinking about. Then your nose-gasms would begin, and the other person would smile and say, “I guess it’s catching.”
You thought, “It must be.”
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