Three Types, Hidden

by Noah McGee

I. Children

It happens all around you. There are times, quiet, hidden times, when a child steals a secret kiss from another. Never wet, but a peck, barely contact.

Of course any kiss, between children, is a failure, and is regarded only for honesty. They try again: again failure. But worse: they see that each kiss, while closer now to perfection, fails.

The children curse their parents for the letdown. “How dare you make believe that this awkward thing possesses such pleasure?” One child cries out to his mother. “It is nearly as embarrassing as that awful maroon coat you made me wear when I was a child.”

“The coat was to keep you warm, not to give you grief.”

“Well, it is grief you have provided me.”

The child sits on the floor and pouts. Thinks about kisses. Improves them.

II. Men

There are men everywhere. For instance, to your left, just about nine o’clock, you will see one jostling with his overcoat. His heft tumbles over his belt and down onto his shoes. He pants, over-exerted.

You watch without looking. Today, as always, he loses his pen. Never-endingly misplaces it. Panting, he parts his folds. Hopes to discover the missing writing implement, jockeying with his outsides while
his beard grows.

His cologne wafts in your direction. You wonder where among all that flesh he might keep his penis. He has misplaced that, too. Miraculously changed sex like an African tree frog, so that he might jostle towards you, asking, “In which aisle might I find the feminine products?”

III. Peeping Toms

They surround you, the Peeping Toms… and Michaels, and Kyles, and Jasons, and Brians. You could cut down every tree around your house. Draw the blinds and install curtains. Carefully turn and double back and double back again.

But the challenge only encourages the Toms. The Toms see you cook bacon. The Toms see you pick your nose. They see showers. They see the dust on the cabinets in the corner of the study. They see you piss on the rim of the toilet and listen with your ear against the wall when your neighbors moan in moments of ecstasy. They see you sit in front of your computer, quietly clicking with one hand while you masturbate with the other.

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Noah McGee is thrilled to be published for the first time in Ghoti Magazine. He is a graduate of Carnegie Mellon University where he won the Adamson Award for Short Fiction. When not working or writing, he's usually riding his bicycle up the hills of Pittsburgh or having a beer and hot dog with his
wife at D's.


	Three Types, Hidden by Noah McGee I. Children It happens all around you. There are times, quiet, hidden times, when a child steals a secret kiss from another. Never wet, but a peck, barely contact. Of course any kiss, between children, is a failure, and is regarded only for honesty. They try again: again failure. But worse: they see that each kiss, while closer now to perfection, fails. The children curse their parents for the letdown. “How dare you make believe that this awkward thing possesses such pleasure?” One child cries out to his mother. “It is nearly as embarrassing as that awful maroon coat you made me wear when I was a child.” “The coat was to keep you warm, not to give you grief.” “Well, it is grief you have provided me.” The child sits on the floor and pouts. Thinks about kisses. Improves them. II. Men There are men everywhere. For instance, to your left, just about nine o’clock, you will see one jostling with his overcoat. His heft tumbles over his belt and down onto his shoes. He pants, over-exerted. You watch without looking. Today, as always, he loses his pen. Never-endingly misplaces it. Panting, he parts his folds. Hopes to discover the missing writing implement, jockeying with his outsides while his beard grows. His cologne wafts in your direction. You wonder where among all that flesh he might keep his penis. He has misplaced that, too. Miraculously changed sex like an African tree frog, so that he might jostle towards you, asking, “In which aisle might I find the feminine products?” III. Peeping Toms They surround you, the Peeping Toms… and Michaels, and Kyles, and Jasons, and Brians. You could cut down every tree around your house. Draw the blinds and install curtains. Carefully turn and double back and double back again. But the challenge only encourages the Toms. The Toms see you cook bacon. The Toms see you pick your nose. They see showers. They see the dust on the cabinets in the corner of the study. They see you piss on the rim of the toilet and listen with your ear against the wall when your neighbors moan in moments of ecstasy. They see you sit in front of your computer, quietly clicking with one hand while you masturbate with the other. ____________________________________________________________________________________________ Noah McGee is thrilled to be published for the first time in Ghoti Magazine. He is a graduate of Carnegie Mellon University where he won the Adamson Award for Short Fiction. When not working or writing, he's usually riding his bicycle up the hills of Pittsburgh or having a beer and hot dog with his wife at D's.