Chapter 2
Eddie Pelter was on the phone. He wanted to sell me a lottery ticket. Eddie was one of those fellows. When it wasn't lottery tickets it was strippers, and when it wasn't strippers it was real sexy pictures, or he was promoting a stag party. Even so, he was always broke; even more than I was.
I didn't want his damn lottery tickets. His stag parties got raided, the pictures he sold were the saddest things ever to come out of the eighteen-nineties.
"How much?" I said.
He said they cost a dollar.
"I can't afford that," I said. "Don't you have something a little less expensive?"
"I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll put you down for half a ticket, and when I find somebody else who don't want to put up a whole buck, I'll let them in on the other half. Is that okay?"
I told him that was fine and he could send my money to Castle Lake when I won. When he found out that I was leaving town he wanted to know how he was going to collect the fifty cents, so I told him I would leave it with Evelyn down at the Club Bar. I hung up and went upstairs.
While I was talking to Eddie, the girl had been back to pick up her panties and garters, and had left. I took a look at my watch and saw that I had to get moving if I was going to make the train so I picked up my box and carried it down the hall. Then I hunted up Mrs. Katzen and told her I was leaving. I took the two keys from my ring and gave them to her, and she didn't say a word, but followed me when I went to get my bags and looked around the room suspiciously, as though she suspected that I might be trying
to make off with a towel or perhaps the broken chair.
I went out and walked to the corner. There was a free phone box to call the cab company from, and by the time I got back she had the sign out again. "PLEASANT SINGLE ROOM - SUNNY CONVENIENCES."
When the taxi stopped at the Club Bar I saw that I wasn't going to make the train, so I paid him and asked that he check my instruments and things at the baggage room and I got out and went into the place. There were two guys drinking beer at the bar and there was a shabby man asleep at one of the tables. Every few minutes he would rouse himself long enough to spout Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and fall asleep again at about the point where we were engaged in a great struggle.
Evelyn leaned on the side of the bar with her hands spread wide while I poured the drink from the bottle she had set in front of me. The two guys next to me were arguing about baseball.
"How about it?" I asked her.
There were some people who said that she was a push-over if you went after her in the right way, and they told about taking her out and getting all the jazzing they could take, and there were other people who said that you couldn't get near her. The one thing they all agreed on, though, was that it was a good idea to keep away from her when her old man was around. He wasn't around now, although I could hear somebody banging pans together back in the kitchen.
"How about it, Evelyn? I said. "When are we going to get together?"
"Any time you come around with a wedding ring in your pocket," she said. "How about paying for that drink?"
I gave her the money and then the half dollar to give to Eddie Pelter when he came for it.
"I'm going up to Castle Lake for the summer, Evelyn," I said. "Why don't you slip me something to remember you by before I go?"
Being interrupted with the girl up at the house had left me very horny, and I more than half meant what I was saying. The trouble was that I didn't know anything about Evelyn. Everybody kidded with her, and I had gotten into the habit of kidding her too, and there didn't seem to be any way to become suddenly serious. So we stood, and made stale wisecracks back and forth over the bar while the two men next to me drank their beer and argued baseball and the man at the table alternately slept and declaimed until I could have jerked myself off in sheer frustration.
Evelyn stood and fingered the two black buttons on her green uniform that were set right where you knew her big nipples must be and just smiled and said the things I expected her to say. I wondered if there was anything really worth fucking under that uniform. Somehow I thought not. There wasn't any reason to believe that it was the only thing she was wearing, but I got the idea of imaging her body beneath it.
It didn't take much to imagine the teats. Big. Soft. Her lips were full and red even without makeup. Big nipples, then. Red. Strawberry size and color. Knobby, and pointed like strawberries. There were blue veins at her temples and throat. Veins criss-crossing over her milky—white titties, too.
She had red hair. Flame red. Under her arms it was red, too, as you could see when she lifted them to do something and the short sleeve pulled up. At her cunt a frothing mass of red. I imagined it sticking out from between the cheeks of her ass. A big, solid ass, whose puckered pink hole was probably also rimmed with reddish hairs...
I could image all that, but that was as far as I could go. I couldn't take it to bed with me. I tried to imagine, in her voice, what she would say when I was jazzing her, and all I heard was another wisecrack. I looked at her mouth and imagined sticking my prick into it, and she yawned.
The two fellows paid for the last beer and went out, still arguing. I looked around. The fellow at the table had fallen asleep again, his head forward in his arms.
"I better sweep up," Evelyn said.
She got a broom from under the bar and started sweeping back of it. She swept along and down to the end, and I stood watching the muscles working in her forearms, and the swing of her back. I walked down to the end of the bar as she swept around it.
I caught the broom and stepped into the little pile of dirt and backed her to the side of the bar. She looked surprised and her eyes opened very wide. She began to talk rapidly.
"They got those two guys who held up the gas station last week," she said. "They went back to try to rob the same place, but the fellow had bought a gun and he shot one of them—"
She raised her head and looked back toward the kitchen and talked louder and faster. I pushed her against the bar and felt for her teats and felt her knees give a little when I slid my leg in between hers. I rubbed my knee against her pussy and pulled her uniform up slowly. I got it up to her knees, and she stood slumping against my leg while I pressed it against her.
"If they hadn't gone back they never would have caught them," she said. "He had a gun and he shot one of them—in the ass."
I yanked the uniform all the way up, and Evelyn's mouth pulled out and down at the corners, while her eyes went soft. She didn't have anything on under the uniform, and that big fluff of red hair stuck out on her just as I had known it would.
I ran my hands on her belly and thighs and into her pussy. Her legs spread, and she slid lower against the bar when I hooked my fingers under her hair and onto her cunt. I stuck my fingers into her wet, slippery cunt.
"Four score and seven years ago..." said the man at the table. He looked at the wall without seeing anything.
Suddenly there was no more noise from the kitchen. Evelyn pushed me away.
"Oh, damn," I said.
She let her dress fall and began to sweep. I went back and finished my drink. Then I went out.
I walked along the streets feeling drunk, although I hadn't had enough liquor to bother me. I was almost ready to go down to Duffy's Court and get jazzed in a whore-house. I had a bigger hard-on than ever between my legs. But I knew I would come out feeling gypped and then be worried for the next seven days whether I would get clapped up or not. I had an hour and a half before the next train.
I stopped by the Symphony Shop. I was a pretty good customer there when I had money, so I decided to go in and see if anybody I knew was in there.
Sammy, the only clerk who was around, nodded at me. He had about a half a dozen customers who were keeping him busy. I walked to the back of the place, where the records that not many people buy are kept. I didn't see anybody I knew, but there was a girl there going through the stacks. She looked fine from the ass-view, but I have been fooled too often that way, so I stepped up to the bins to get a look at her face. She was young and fresh looking, and had a very fuckable figure. I could feel her glance back at me while I dug through the records. I put her age at about twenty. She was holding a record then, and she looked toward the front of the store. Sammy was busy and didn't notice her.
"Do you want to play it?" I said.
She said yes, she wanted to hear it, so I led her back to one of the three closed booths were the machines were and we went in and I shut the door.
The booth was big enough for the machine and two people, and that was all. The girl stood in the corner and I turned on the machine and looked at the record she had picked out. The side she wanted to hear was Lux Lewis' "Honky-Tonk Train Blues" which is, in jazz, about what Ravel's "Bolero" is in another medium. I put it on and leaned back against the wall of the booth and watched the girl while the record was playing.
When it was finished she laughed and lifted the playing arm back to the starting place. The censorship in this country of ours is constantly amazing me. I remember the older cats telling me, when the depression was still something to talk about—when a horrible ballad called "Brother Can You Spare a Dime" was pulled from the air because the philosophy of it wasn't in accordance with the Horatio Alger tradition that the good citizens were supposed to have faith in. Then there was "Gloomy Sunday," which was also banned because an epidemic of suicides was feared. But of all the "Jazz Me Blues" and Jellyroll Blues" and "Empty Bed Blues" and "I'll Keep Sittin' On It" and "Tight Like This" and "What's That Smells Like Fish" songs and all the hundreds of others like them, I can think of only two that are not played freely. One is a very badly played and very unmusical rendition of "Old Man Mose" In which a female vocalist for no very good reason, shouts "fuck, fuck, fuck it," and the other is "Hold Tight," a simple vernacular glorification of homosexuality. But the music itself has seldom been attacked except in a most sweeping and general way. Which takes us back to where we started.
The music which we were listening to was a bald-faced sound picture of a good hot fucking, and nothing else, and for a person of any musical sensibility at all it isn't possible to overlook that. It bumped and ground on and on, and the girl looked at me with fuck in her eyes, and laughed again and then looked away.
I had to take one step to reach her, but before I made it she was almost out of the door of the booth. I caught her arm and pulled her back in.
"We both seem to have the same idea," I said. "That is, mine and yours ought to get together."
She didn't struggle or become angry. She seemed to resign herself immediately to being made a party to a hump-adventure right there, and the only thing she did was to glance out through the glass of the door to see if anyone could spot us.
I backed her ass against the wall and when I slid up to her, I got my first really good look at her face. Her eyes had that vacant, burnt expression that some women get when they're ready to be jazzed, and she was breathing hard, as though there wasn't enough air in the booth. She looked down at my hands opening her blouse, and she kept staring down at herself when I started to turn the record on again.
She wore a white lace brassiere that left a red line under her knockers and across her chest when I took it off. She opened her purse as calmly as though she were about to power her nose, and she put the brassiere into it and snapped it shut.
I mauled her teats and nipples roughly, the way you maul a favorite and playful pup. They were not as big as Evelyn's nor as big as the girl's at the rooming house, but they were very soft and delicate. She was a blonde, and like most blonde women, she had pink nipples.
"This is insane," she said, breathing hard, "I never in my life did anything so completely mad."
I held her skirt up and clapped my hand to her pussy. She was wearing lace panties to match the brassiere, but they were not as tight as the bra had been. It was easy to get my hand under the elastic and down on her belly into her bush hair. I pushed up against her and got the panties down on her thighs, and I put one of her hands on my pants and over my stiff prick.
I pushed back and forth and she kept her hand against my hard-on, but with her other hand she held her purse, and she stood there with her skirt up and her pants down holding the purse and rubbing my prick while I felt her up.
"If you'll come home with me," she said, "or if you want me to go home with you..."
I tried to get her legs further apart.
"I can't. My panties will have to go up or go down. Come home with me and let's fuck right." She panted.
I pulled her panties down and she lifted one leg to step out of them. Her heel caught, and she stood with one leg raised. I stuck my fingers in her cunt and she got her heel free. I held her leg up and pulled open my fly and she reached in and grabbed my prick. Her hand was hot and sweaty as it closed over my shaft.
The record had played to the end again. I started it over. The girl began jerking me off, holding the top of my prick on her belly and punching herself against it. I let it dig into her a few times and then I sagged my knees and brought it up under her. I pulled my fingers out of her wet cunt and shoved my cock into her bush and lifted myself until my cock was going up between her cuntlips.
I shoved her until her cunt was pressed on my pants, holding up her leg and jazzing my dong in little by little. She held my shoulder to help balance herself, and she still held the purse.
"We shouldn't do it here," she said. "If you'll come home with me we can fuck all we want to there."
Telling her that I had to catch a train would have been out of place.
"I can't stop now," I said.
I jazzed her a little, and when I looked down I found that her oozing cunt was making two dark, damp spots on my pants, so I opened a couple more buttons on my fly and opened it wider and took my balls out.
"God, I love the feel of your big nuts between my legs," she said.
She worked her twat up and down. Her cunt was open as widely as it could be that way and I was sliding my bush hair into it every time that I rammed my prick in. Her cunt was not very big, and because she was standing it seemed even smaller than it really was. I felt as though I was jazzing someone much younger, it felt so tight.
She leaned her shoulders back to the wall and shoved the lower part of her pussy out to me. Her belly made a wide curve against mine and her hips jerked. I thrust my cock up her so hard that she was lifted to her toes. The piano thumped.
The under part of her thighs were all wet now, and my hand slipped on her skin while I held her leg up. I leaned back and looked at my prick ramming straight up and disappearing into her hairy bush. The girl's panties had fallen down on one leg to her ankle; she was flinging her belly around and around and rubbing her ass against the wall of the booth as I fucked away.
"This is insane," she said. "This must be happening to somebody else. Do you know that I have a husband, and I never once so much as looked at anybody but him?"
I stopped jazzing her.
"What about your husband?" I asked.
"He's at work now. We could go to my house and he'd never know. I'd show you something. There wouldn't be anything to be afraid of."
I shoved my prick back, and she squirmed slowly up and down the solid shaft.
"You haven't been married very long, have you?" I said.
"Four months," she said.
All right. If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else. If I were someone with the money and time to hang up some kind of record I would go after young married cunt.
"I can't show you everything I can do here in this little booth," she said.
I could imagine some man being very patient in teaching her to French him, and I wondered if she would go down on me there if I asked her, but I didn't try to find out.
"That's fine. What if your husband did come home?" I said.
"He'd kill me," she said. "He's told me that if I ever tried two-timing him he'd horsewhip me and shove the whip-handle up my ass-hole. He would, too. He's awfully jealous, you can't imagine."
"We'll just stay right here where we are. This is fine."
I felt her twat begin to twitch, and just as she did I shot. I grabbed her leg and lifted it as high as I could and speared her all the way up and let it pour. My prick ejaculated and she jazzed with everything she had when she felt it shooting up in her, but she couldn't make herself cum and I couldn't help her much. I kept my cock in until I saw that it wasn't any use, and then I stepped away from her.
She stood there, holding her dress up over her belly.
My white cum running down one leg.
Her panties hanging to the other.
Her blouse open and her titties out.
"I have to cum," she said "Please... Come home with me. I'll pay you. I have ten dollars saved out of the food budget."
She was still holding her purse. The record had played to the end again, and I shut the machine off. I looked out of the door and saw that Sammy was waving the last customer out of the shop.
I buttoned her blouse and she looked hopelessly at me. I stooped and helped her get her panties on again before Sammy came back.
"You can't do this to me," she said.
"It's like a chain letter, honey. You go to somebody else now," I said smiling.
I might have gone and humped her again to a rousing cum if I hadn't had to catch that train. I told myself that I would. I smoothed down her skirt and walked out of the booth.
Sammy was coming toward us.
"You sure like that record," he said.
"Sammy will take good care of you now," I said to the girl. "He's a good man."
I winked at Sammy and then I went out, leaving them both there and feeling a lot better than when I went in.