When she bathed, she practiced more. The water lubricating her, in went one finger then two then three. Soon her hand slid deftly in. She then put bars of soap and within weeks, shampoo bottles inside of herself. Up went her rubber ducky. Up went the washcloth. Her mother would knock impatiently on the door, saying, Maddy, get out of there, you’ll shrivel up like a prune. She left the bathroom damp and cold, water splashed on the floor, wet towels everywhere. How can you make such a mess, her mother asked. Madeleine ignored her, huffed and shut the door to her bedroom. She’d lie in bed, her skin dry and tight, her body cleaned and stretched. She pulled her pubic hairs up, tugging the still damp strands, twisting the course hair around her fingers, until with a quick burning sting, they came out.
She got infections. Ingrown pubic hairs. Yeast infections. Bladder infections. Pelvic inflammatory disease. Her mother took her to a gynecologist, sniffling, asking, what’s wrong with my girl? Are you having sex, Maddy, oh God, be careful. The doctor, a youngish man with an eye twitch asked, are you currently having sexual intercourse with anyone? She lay propped up on a table her feet in stirrups as he put in a speculum and said just relax, oh that’s great, and she thought yeah, you think that’s relaxed, you should see what I can fit up there and she closed her eyes as he prodded around inside of her and she imagined sucking him up there, where she had had the rubber ducky last night. She said I’m not having sex with anyone. He mother drove her home, sniffling. Maddy sat with her arms crossed across her chest, her thick bottom lip sticking out. She’d look out the car window and count the trees passing by. The doctor fit her with a diaphragm that she never used except sometimes late at night, by herself, pushing it in and out of herself before placing the saucer back into its plastic container. She put it in her drawer by her bed — but she knew her mother checked on it while she was at school, checked to see if the spermicidal jelly had been used.
She woke in the mornings tired, dark rings under her eyes, her fingers smelling that mossy smell. Her insides would be tender at times and she carried this tender feeling around with her at school like a secret trophy. In classes, she’d look at certain boys, boys who once seemed intimidating and powerful and she’d smile at them knowingly, thinking, I could put you inside of me, I could eat you up.
Once, when her parents had returned to bed early and she sat up with her older sister Amanda watching TV, she asked her how big she thought she was there.
What?
You know, down there. How big are you?
You’re disgusting, Maddy.
Just tell me.
I don’t know.
Can you put a finger up there?
Of course I can. I can put a tampon up there.
Can you put all your fingers up there?
I wouldn’t know. Honestly, you are sick.
Shortly thereafter, her mother approached her bedside. Nervously, she discussed the facts of life with her daughter, explaining how the size of one’s vagina changes to accommodate different things. A man’s penis. A baby. Her dark eyes darted around the room. She wiped a greasy strand of hair from her forehead. She coughed and kissed her daughter goodnight on the forehead, her lips hard and tight.
Jennifer no longer talked to Maddy. Maddy’s new best friend was an equally small girl with dull, tan eyes and an extensive knowledge of sexual things. Her name was Carrie and she had had sex with many high school boys. Carrie was in Madeleine’s math class and they often did homework together, which meant Maddy let her copy her homework.
How big are you down there? Maddy asked her one day.
Big enough.
Big enough for what?
For dick, silly. For big dick.
I think I’m bigger than most.
Oh yeah? Well, you’re a big girl.
Yeah, but even for a big girl.
At Carrie’s house, Maddy convinced her friend to show herself. Carrie’s mother was spending the night at her boyfriend’s house and the two girls had smoked a joint and were watching TV.
Come on. Let me see. I want to see what yours looks like.
You’re a pervert, Carrie said, her eyes narrowing, but she appeared intrigued.
Come on, Carrie. I’ll show you mine.
Carrie stood up and pulled down her jeans.
Promise not to tell anyone we did this? I don’t want people thinking we’re lesbos or anything.
Yeah. Of course. I won’t tell.
She wore striped blue panties that were delicately stained yellow in the crotch. She pulled them down and kicked them off. She stood there, revealing a tan-colored patch of hair between her thin legs and nothing else.
See, she said.
I want to see the inside, Maddy said.
Carrie blushed and frowned. The TV illuminated her from behind and she sat down and spread her legs.
There.
Maddy looked. She saw two, small pink mounds. She was disappointed.
Let me spread it open.
Carrie didn’t say anything and Madeleine with one hand, gently opened up the pink flesh. Nothing there, she again was disappointed. She wanted to see a dark hole, an endless, vast tunnel.
How big of dick have you put in there?
I don’t know.
Carrie got up and dressed.
Show me.
Carrie distanced her hands in front of her face. Like this big, she said and shrugged, like ten inches. Fat ones, too.
Madeleine leaned back on a cushion and looked toward the TV and said, do you want to see mine?
Sure. Why not.
Maddy removed her pants and sat like her friend had, with her legs spread apart. With one large hand she pulled herself wide open and looked up at Carrie, who squinted between her legs.
Ugh. That’s disgusting.
It’s big, isn’t it?
I don’t know. It’s gross, though. All pussy is gross.
What do you mean you don’t know? It’s big!
I guess so. It’s just gross.
Carrie looked at the TV.
Maddy buttoned up her clothes. The next night, at her own house, she took her father’s shaving mirror out of the bathroom and locking her door, peered at her insides in the mirror. Carrie was right. From the outside its capacity wasn’t entirely visible, but she was not so easily deceived. She put three fingers inside and then looked. Yes, indeed, she thought. Yes I do.
She began stealing vegetables from the fridge. Cucumbers, carrots, whole bunches of celery. Her mother thought she was eating them and occasionally said something to her daughter. When did you eat all of those, she’d say, looking at Maddy with narrow, suspicious eyes. Well at least it’s just vegetables, she’d say to her daughter. And Maddy did eat them — but only after she put them inside her. She shopped with her mother, buying the large, economy-sized bottles of shampoo. During her nightly bath, she worked up to putting them inside of her. Her crotch was smooth, baby peach, from pulling at all the pubic hairs. She wanted the whole world in there, she wanted the whole world to disappear in her cunt so that she could slide it — gleaming, coated damp — back out again. By the end of the seventh grade, she decided to do so.
4
She fucked the rink guard Oz again and the other one that Jennifer was never going to fuck. She fucked friends of theirs, too. On Friday nights, her mother would drop her and her new friend Carrie off at the rink. Sometimes Jennifer would be there but she never said hi to Carrie and Madeleine. Oz told his friends about her and they drove to Howard Park to see her, their souped-up cars roaring. She imagined the things he said to them. She’s beautiful. She has beautiful breasts. She’ll make you come so hard. With her mouth. With her cunt. She’s the best there is. And she’d think about their cocks, all big and hard, just for her. She made them that rigid, that sleek. They lost control for her. She drove them wild.