The Seduction of Harold O'Shea


The Seduction of Harold O'Shea ©1999
All rights reserved. You may not disseminate this work further without the express permission of the author.

Harry was the ugliest white man I'd ever seen. He had bandy legs and a belly
and wispy red hair fleeing the top of his head. But that much I didn't much
mind as the nasty reddened skin on his on his arm and on his neck. It made
me think of bad nights in Georgia. Hard for me to get past that.

Other than that I didn't pay him much mind, just another middle aged white
guy moving into the building--a middle aged guy with a big old truck that was
half the time blocking traffic out front. I guess it was a truck, but that
word is inadequate: the front half of a tractor trailer, (Thank God he never
brought the trailer home with him too!) But tractor didn't seem right either
for this thing--big and purple and aerodynamic like with a some kind of
fairing on top and a cute little bulldog on the hood standing up like a
little white pecker.

My ex, when he came over to pick up Jimmy for the weekend, said that truckers
call them 'rigs' and were real proud of them. He, my ex that is, thought
Harry's rig was something special too--couldn't keep his eyes off it.
Neither could little Jimmy; he was always climbing on it and I was always
yelling for him to get down.

But this Harry guy was real good about it. When he caught Jimmy climbing on
his rig, he didn't yell, he just opened the door and let my little boy climb
into the cab and look around. Jimmy was in heaven! I smiled to look at him
with his big eyes as he tried to horse that humongous steering wheel around.
And when Harry reached up and hit the horn! Jimmy's been running around
yelling "Awooogah!" ever since.

That's when I started to give him a second look. Men who are nice to
children are too rare in the world no matter their skin.

No, I'm lying.

It wasn't exactly then when I first started getting interested in Harry. It
was one day late at night and hot. The air conditioning was going whacka
whacka and not doing such a good job and I was laying awake. I heard Harry's
truck pull up outside--the whole neighborhood had to hear him pull up outside
with that shuddering rumble of those two big smokestacks of his rig--and shut
down. What followed was the loudest silence I ever heard in my life. Then
the door of the rig slammed and the front door. Then I heard his boots on
the stairs and I could even hear them hit the floor when he took them off. I
think I even heard his big belt buckle hit the linoleum too. Then the shower
started up and Harry started singing.

Oh my.

Who's that Italian guy? The one who sings opera? Harry was that good and
that powerful. But he didn't sing in Italian. He sang popular songs and
some others I never heard of. The one he sang that first night was something
else. Something about a Danny Boy going away. I think I'd heard it before,
but I don't remember, and never heard it like this...

It's a good thing Jimmy was sound asleep--he sleeps in my room when it's hot,
the a/c being as pisspoor as it is and not pushing the cold air much past the
door to the hall--or he would have seen his mommy do a very naughty thing as
she lay there in her night dress on top of the covers.

So the next day my landlady, Mrs. Kennedy, came over for the rent and we
talked. I didn't have to bring him up, she did it herself. She went on all
about how nice a fella he was and how he'd used to be rich and owned a bunch
of trucks but let his wife take the whole shebang of his business so he could
get visiting rights.

"And aren't his children just the cutest things?" she said to me. "Twins you
know. And so polite. Did you see Harold introduce them to your Jimmy? It
was so cute! They shook hands...."

I did remember seeing Harry with a boy and a girl. Two little redheads with
freckles. It was a sure thing they loved their daddy the way they hugged him
when that nasty looking bitch came to pick them up. I could see she hated
him for those hugs.

"And isn't it just such a shame the way things go for some folks..." Mrs.
Kennedy said and patted my hand across the kitchen table. "We all have our
crosses to carry, don't we dear. Now my poor dear Albert, God rest his

She went on about her dead husband and I listened for a while. When you got
a nice landlady who lets you slip on the rent sometimes, you let them talk.
But even if she wasn't my landlady, she was a sweet old lady and it was nice
to have someone over to talk. Anyone.

"Would you like some more coffee?" I asked.

"Oh no dear, one more cup and I'd have to pee." She struggled her large bulk
out of the chair and waddled to the door. "Anyhow, I must be off to get the
rest of my rent."

"Come back again and talk, anytime," I said but she was already out the door.

I cleaned up the coffee things and tried to forget about Harry.

But I kept listening for that shower to start up every night. Or whenever.
Harry worked some pretty strange hours. You might forget Harry but suddenly
that shower would start up and then the singing. You can't forget his

So Saturday rolled around and my ex came over early to pick up Jimmy. I fed
them both breakfast so Jimmy could feel like he had both a mommy and a daddy
for a little while. Then they were out the door with Jimmy making awoogahs
and telling his dad all about being inside Harry's truck.

I went and took my shower and came out. I didn't hear the shower start up
but I did start to hear Harry singing. This morning he was losing his
religion or some such but the words and his voice were so beautiful.... What
the hell, I was naked and in the shower and Jimmy wasn't gonna come barging
in just to hear me yell. Soon I was quaking from the feel of my own fingers
moving in time to a capella lyrics of the ugliest white man I had ever seen.

Coming felt so good after such a long time but not good enough.

Harry was still singing when I turned the shower off and climbed out of my
big claw footed tub. Now he was singing something about philosophy and
slippery rocks--he knows the weirdest songs. Funny, his shower wasn't
running. His voice was coming from out front. I padded through the kitchen
and the living room, feeling guilty and naught y at being naked in my own
house, and peeked out the blinds of my front window.

Harry was washing his truck. He was wearing cutoffs and one of those old
fashioned undershirts without the sleeves. Nice. I watched the muscles in
his bandy legs and his but as he dipped what looked like the foam from a seat
cushion into a bucket of soapy water and spread the suds around the silvery
rim of the front wheel. He must be almost finished--the rest of his rig

I rushed back to my room and threw on my white sun dress over a pair of my
nice safe mommy white panties--wishing I had something sexier. I decided to
hell with the makeup in this heat but put on this tiny silver necklace I
never get to wear. And then the little pearls for the ears and... yeah... a
little ring on my second toe like I saw younger girls wearing lately. I
eased my feet into my slides and took a moment to assess....

Not bad. I'm a little short on tit and a bit over on the butt, the legs
still looked nice though. Momma had been half right when she said I only
signed up for the track team just to show all the boys my legs. I have very
dark skin and there were more Arabs then white folk in my family tree judging
by my long straight nose. I always keep my hair short, always thinking it
was the sexiest way to show off my heritage. But now I worried about what a
white man would think of it.

I felt a flutter in my belly. I debated taking the toe ring off as too
blatant but you can never be too blatant with men, right?

I went to the kitchen and dumped a tray of ice into the blender. Then I
poured in the iceless lemonade from yesterday and ground the whole thing up
until it was nice and slushy. I poured one glass, just one, and went out on
my front porch. I didn't see Harry and I felt gees, all that for nothing....

Harry came from around the back of the rig with a green hose and started
rinsing off the wheels. I pretended not to see him and sat down on the cheap
white plastic chair and put my knees up against the rail, hanging my legs
down and sipping my slushy lemonade.

I watched Harry start to wipe the drops of water off the fenders with a
chamois cloth. He wasn't buff like my ex. The muscles I was looking at
didn't come from any gym. They reminded me of my daddy, who'd been a
bricklayer and worked hard all his life, and they reminded me of those
pictures I'd seen of God on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

I wiggled my feet until the slides fell off and put one foot--the one with
the ring--up on the rail. Harry turned around at the sound of the thick
black soles of my sandals hitting the porch. I don't know what he could see
from where he was standing but he smiled.

"Morning," he said.

"Harold," I said. "You look hot, would you like some slushy lemonade?"

He was wring the chammy out in his hands and came over to stand close to the

"Call me Harry ma'am, and yes I'd like that very much."

Ma'am? Gees.

I smiled and got up and went to my screen door, walking on the balls of my
bare feet. I turned my head and said "come inside where it's cool."

I went to the kitchen and got another glass of lemonade ready, pretending not
to pay any attention as he came into my room carrying my slides like they
were something real delicate in his one hand. He looked at me and I said
"Just toss them in the bedroom by the foot of the bed."

I pointed at the old door with the cracked white paint and said "that one

When he opened it the a/c air hit him in the face like a wet fish and he made
an "ugh" noise.

"Don't that feel just great?" I asked. "Leave the door open so we can get
some of that out here."

Harry walked into my room and carefully set my shoes down by the foot of my
bed. He looked so scared and was oh so careful not to look around. I
covered my mouth and tried not to laugh.

"Harry," I said. "Your slushy is ready, come sit down."

He fled my bedroom and came and sat down at the table. He took a sip and
then held the glass to his face, right between his eyes. That was okay
because I was leaning against the counter and rubbing my glass on my bare
shoulders and along my chin.

"Ma'am, that's the best lemonade I've ever had."

Well, I'm real glad you liked it Sheriff. "Call me Teesha. Okay?"

"Yes ma'am... I mean Teesha. That's a nice name... so exotic."

Exotic to him maybe. Half the girls I grew up with were something eesha or

"Thank you Harry." I came over and sat down next to him.

"Where's your little boy this morning? He said he wanted to help me wash my
truck. Cute little fella."

"This is his father's weekend."

"Oh... I know how that is..."

"I know you know, Harry."

"You... do?"

"Harry," I said. "I've been hearing you sing in the shower when you come
home at night."

There, I'd said it.

"You do? I... I'm sorry. I'll try not to--"

"Harry," I said. "Your singing has been getting into my dreams at night."

I looked him right in the eyes. How plain could a girl get? He looked back
at me like I'd just hit him in the forehead with the blender. Which, I
suppose, I'd just did.

"Harry," I said. "It's much cooler in my bedroom."

That did it. Harry picked me up like a little girl and carried me into my
room. He kicked the door shut and, kneeling, laid me on the bed. He started
kissing my face. My ex was a good kisser but he only ever kissed me on the
mouth or sometimes on the cheek. Harry kissed me all over. I liked that. I
cupped his face in my hands and kissed him one long good one on the mouth.

"Harry," I said, voice all husky now. "Let me get out of this dress. You

Harry jumped back and pulled off his shirt. He dropped his shorts and undies
together. His old sneakers came off last. Me, with less to take off it took
longer. When I was ready I lay down on the bed and opened my arms to him.
He crawled onto the bed and I thought of the little doggie on the front of
his truck. But this was a bigger doggie.

I was ready for him and he knew. He started kissing me all over my face
again as he eased right into me. It felt like something I'd lost had just
been found.

"Harry," I said. "Sing to me."

"Uh?" He got that hit with the blender look again. "Sing?"

"Yeah Harry, that Danny song."

"Ah... Oh... Okay..."

And then he started singing:

Oh Danny Boy the pipes, the pipes are calling
>From glen to glen and down the mountain side
The summer's gone and all the flowers dyin'
It's you, it's you must go, and I must bide

And I closed my eyes and felt him stroking inside me... His voice and filled
the room and probably the whole house, maybe the whole town...

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's bare or white with snow
It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadows
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so

I bit my lip and turned my head from side to side and writhed my whole body
beneath him....

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's bare, or white with snow
It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadows
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so

And I screamed.

I never scream when I come. I grew up in a crowded apartment block and
learned to be very careful when I was in my bed learning my body as a young
girl with my parents in the next room. But when I felt Harry come inside me
and I felt my own insides shake so hard like a freight train was shaking the
house--I howled.

Harry was on top of me now and kissing my face. His voice was shaking as he
said "oh Teesha, that was so wonderful ... you are so beautiful."

Somthing wet hit me on my lips. I opened my eyes and looked up at him: tears
were running down his cheeks. I grabbed his face again and held it still
while I sucked the wetness from his face and then kissed him.

"Hush baby, lie here and hold me."

And that's what we did while the air conditioner mader rude noises and
squirted cold air onto my ass. After a time, I reached out my tongue and ran
it around Harry's big jug handle ear.

"So Danny... I mean Harry, what other songs do you know?"

The Seduction of Harold O'Shea ©1999
All rights reserved. You may not disseminate this work further without the express permission of the author.

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