CLEAN AS TWO DOGS' BALLS

          This tableau, how would it have appeared to Mrs. Rooney? What would she have said to her granddaughter about her actions? The spit dripped down onto Caitlin’s chest. She grimaced and looked away from the purplish face that loomed below her and continued wriggling. They would like the spit, since her instructions had been to get his DNA all over her. The fact that there would be no semen, at least not in her, didn’t seem to be a problem as long as she smeared something else of his over her. But maybe there was – maybe he was still wet from his longings. He might have expired in the very act and then withdrawn. Horrible thought, but she continued to wriggle, legs wide apart now, skirt hiking up so that her thighs were rubbing against the dead man’s pants. His head hung heavy and kept banging her as she moved. She could smell, what? Liquor still on his breath, something metallic, dentures maybe, and for a moment she thought she would gag.