Chapter 5

Sal drove away in his jalopy, past the cherry trees whose blossoms gleamed white like snowflakes in the fringe of his headlights, past the brook that was called the Second River. He had stashed most of the money, but he still had enough. He was entitled to a little splash, and a splash he was going to have. This wasn't the big time yet, but it was a taste. It was the shape of things to come.

He drove down a side street toward the river road and parked, throwing the ignition keys into a vacant lot just for the hell of it, and then he walked back to Broadway, got a Number 13 bus and went down into central Newark. He got off at the Four Corners and took another bus to Penn Station.

When he got there he went to a locker and got out the suitcase he had stashed there the day before. It was full of new clothes, all new clothes, and different from the kind he had been wearing. He grabbed a taxi and went to the Conestoga Hotel. It was one of the three or four best hotels in town, and he figured that was smart, too. Nobody would be looking for him in a first-class hotel.

A bellboy carried the suitcase to the desk, and the room clerk looked up inquiringly.

"Bennett," Sal said. "Mr. Bennett."

The clerk fiddled around with his registration cards and then said: "Oh, certainly. You phoned yesterday. Your room is all ready, Mr. Bennett. Three-Thirteen. Just sign here, please. Take the gentleman up, boy."

Sal didn't like those numbers, in bronze, on the door. Three-Thirteen. Three One Three. 313. Well, what the hell, what was a number? He tipped the boy and slammed the door. He checked the spring lock and it was locked. He opened the suitcase and got out the new suit he had bought the day before. He put it on and studied the effect in the mirror. Nothing flashy about this. He looked like a salesman for a big company, and that was what he wanted to look like. On the register he had signed "James Bennett, Chicago, Illinois," and in the space where it said "Firm represented" he had written "U.S. Steel." Well, if the cops ever checked that registration, there wouldn't be a thing to tip him off. It was a good touch. He gave himself a tight-lipped grin.

He shoved the .32 Mauser into the coat pocket, took all the price tags off, and went down into the lobby, flinging the key on the desk. He took a taxi back to Penn Station. Now he was going to find that girl, and there was enough money in his inside coat pocket to start breaking her down. If that wasn't enough, there was more, and even more. There wasn't any end to the money, in the game he was playing.

The name was Carola. It was plain Carola Jones when he first knew her, but now she was on the road up and she called herself Carola Dawn. Now she was in a night club. He read about her in the papers. The place was called the Rococo Room and it was in the upper fifties just off Seventh Avenue.

Not too hot a spot, but expensive enough.

When Sal was seated next to the stage, after paying off a snotty waiter, he let his mind wander to very physical thoughts about Carola. Although they had never fooled around, Sal had several ideas of what he wanted the two of them to do together. Wouldn't it be great to make it with her, hot and heavy like right in her dressing room!

Sal pictured them back stage after she finished her show that night. She'd be really worked up, the way all those performers get after giving it their all for a show. Sal would be waiting back there for her with a bottle of chilled champagne. Carola would be surprised, but very pleasantly so....

"What are you doing here?" Carola asked, bursting into her dressing room.

"I've got a surprise for you," Sal told her lasciviously.

"Is that it in your pants?" Carola asked, looking directly at his bulging crotch.

"You bet your sweet pussy!" Sal said, laughing out loud.

"Help me slip into something more comfortable," Carola said, motioning for Sal to unzip her form-fitting sequined gown. Sal came over to oblige her, inhaling the rich scent of her expensive perfume. As his fingers came in contact with her soft flesh, he felt his cock jump a little in his pants. He pressed his mouth to her naked back and rubbed his face in her soft skin.

"Go easy, baby," Carola told him, pulling away from him to slip out of her dress and hang it in the closet. Sal kept his eyes on her every second, taking in her lovely form, clad only in lacy underthings.

"Like what you see Mr. Hotstuff?" Carola asked him, covering her body with a rosy-pink satin robe.

"It's all right," Sal told her coolly, trying not to betray his rising excitement.

"I'd love a drink. Want to open this up?" Carola asked him fetchingly.

"Sure, doll," Sal said, popping the cork on the expensive champagne.

"I really need to cool my engine down," Carola said. "That show was really something."

"Don't get too cooled down, babe," Sal said suggestively. He came up behind Carola and put his arms around her. He felt her warm to his touch, so he lowered his mouth to the nape of her neck. He kissed her lovingly and then rammed his tongue into her ear.

"Ooooo...." Carola moaned. "That feels real nice."

Sal turned her around to face him and then he pulled her mouth to his. He let his tongue penetrate her roughly and then continued to suck and probe as deeply as he could. Carola responded to him with her entire body. Sal could feel the heat and moisture being generated from her crotch.

"Oh Sal...." Carola breathed out as the kiss ended. Her hands wandered down to caress his penis through his pants. Sal was just a bit embarrassed by his hardness, since he wanted to seem rather aloof to Carola.

"You are so hard, Sal," Carola said as she caressed his swollen shaft. She boldly unzipped his fly and removed his revved-up rod.

"Be gentle with me," Sal laughed, enjoying her tender touch on his privates.

"Hey! That's my line," Carola teased him.

She appreciated a rod like Sal's. It was big and meaty and extremely responsive to her touch. She let go of it for a moment and lifted a glass of champagne. She took a sip of the bubbly liquid and then offered Sal a taste of it. Suddenly she came up with an idea for a sexy, new, swizzle stick. She picked up Sal's erect prick and dipped it into the champagne.

"Yeow!" Sal screamed, expressing the sentiments of his surprised prick.

"Just thought I'd give you a little extra stimulation," Carola kidded him. She lifted his cock out of the champagne and licked it clean.

"That's more like it," Sal told her.

Carola took his dick in her hands and started to massage it gently. She stroked his balls, then lovingly ran her hand up and down his meaty shaft. She established a slow but intense rhythm, which she increased very carefully. Sal's cock was quite responsive and he decided to himself if that's what she felt like doing with him, he certainly wouldn't deny her of her pleasure. Carola rubbed it and rubbed it, till Sal, aroused out of his mind, released his hot, spermy wad, shooting it all over Carola's robe.

Sal was knocked out of his reverie suddenly by Carola 's singing. After her performance, she turned to go off stage. Sal noticed that she stopped for a moment and looked at him with infinite poise. Her chin stuck out, as she looked at him with undeniable disdain and something else in her eyes, and then the look changed. She recognized him. What was in her eyes now? Amusement? Scorn? Some kind of a mixture, and Sal didn't add it up but whatever it was he didn't like it, and the rage began to boil up within him again.

"Pint-size!" she said. "Why it's Pintsize!" The low voice was higher now, it wasn't moaning low, but still there was in it the echo of distant tolling bells....

"Hello," Sal said. "If you weren't high hat you would sit down for a minute."

"I'm not high hat," she said. She sat down at the table, bringing herself down gently as though she were infinitely precious, enormously fragile. It was the dress that made her do that, the dress designed for the concert stage, the long train, the bits stuck on here and there, the spangles.

The leader of the orchestra glanced down at them, the blue spotlight was gone, and the orchestra began playing. The jaded dolls came to life, forgot Carola who had given them a momentary jolt through the brain centers, through the bluish-gray mass of their brains where the instincts for life and passion lay. The jaded dolls began their lackadaisical dance once again on the postage stamp waxed square of the floor. The music was jumpy and they all moved like marionettes at the ends of strings....

"Why do you keep coming here?" she "It's a free country," said Sal.

She looked him over and, although he was seated, with most of him from the chest down hidden by the table, yet the way she looked him over was as though she had looked him over from head to foot. Her full underlip drooped, and the touch of scorn came back to it. There was amusement, too. Sal felt the savage twist in his belly, the hot surge of desire.

"The last time you came here," she said, "I asked you not to come."

"It's a free country," he repeated. Then he said: "This is a public place. I pay my way."

She looked at him curiously.

"I haven't got anything against you personally," she said.

"That's nice," he said. "What the hell made you say that?"

"I thought maybe you got the idea I didn't like you or something."

"That's the idea I got, all right."

"No, that isn't it," she said. "I just can't have guys stalling around here waiting for me, that's all. It's not good for my business." She got up.

"Sit down a minute," he said. "What the hell's the rush?"

She sat down again. "I have to go out and get a little rest and freshen up for the next turn."

"All right. You can talk to me for at least another minute without hurting your reputation or spoiling your rest, can't you?"

"Yes," she said. "About that long."

The headwaiter appeared at the side of the table. Sal looked up at him, waiting for some kind of a nasty crack.

"Everything all right?" the headwaiter asked. Then he added, as an afterthought, "Sir?"

"Everything's okay," said Sal. A piece of a small grin came to the corners of his mouth; that sixty bucks had finally penetrated the guy's thick skull.

A glimmer of interest came into Carola's eyes.

"What did you do to him?" she asked. "He must like you."

"I paid him to like me," Sal said shortly. "Oh," she said.

He saw that she was studying him closely, but she revealed nothing, her eyes showed nothing. She made another motion as though to pick up the train of her skirt and rise.

"Don't be in a rush," he said. "Are you afraid to talk to me?"

"No," she said. "I'm not afraid to talk to you. What would give you that idea?"

"I thought you were in a hell of a rush to go."

"I told you. I have to take a break and, besides that, the manager doesn't like me to sit at tables."

"What the hell do you care what the manager likes?"

"I have to eat. It's a living."

He spoke low and angrily. "You don't have to care. You don't have to give a damn. You're good enough so you can tell all the managers to go to hell. All the managers everywhere. .Aren't you?"

"No, that isn't 'so. I'm not that good."

But her eyes opened wide, the wide look looked at him hungrily, and he suddenly knew that he had found a way inside this girl-a way that was even better than money-and he marked it down where it would stay marked down, in his mind. The old ego. Well, he understood that; he had his share. Everyone was the same when you shook them down at last. All you had to do was tell them how good they were and you had them. They all came crawling for the little words of praise, the little crumbs of sentences that showed them they were as precious as they thought they were. Everyone, everywhere, wanted to hear those things. Except him. He didn't need anyone to tell him. He knew; he told himself; that was enough. Nobody could tell himself any better than he could tell himself.

But Carola ... She was giving him that look, and he knew that he had found the way inside her.

"I have to go now," she said, and this time she got up, pulled her train straight behind her and left the room. He thought she would be back, and, later, she was. He had pushed the right button, the button that made her work. It was like pulling the strings of a marionette.

The waiter came with the sizzling steak on a platter, the french fried potatoes.

"Vegetables?" Sal asked. "Aren't there any vegetables?"

The waiter looked surprised. "Vegetables," he said. "Them's extra. You want vegetables?"

"No," Sal said. "Rape the vegetables."

"You want I send the wine waiter?"

Sal looked at his drink. It was nearly finished.

"Yes," he said. "Send him. I want champagne."

The wine waiter came.

"Champagne," Sal said.

The wine waiter reeled off a list of champagne names.

"The best," said Sal. "I want the best."

He began eating the steak and fried potatoes and in a little while the wine waiter came back with the champagne in a bucket. He pulled the cork with a flourish and a pop and poured the champagne into Sal's glass.

Sal raised the glass and said: "Here's how."

The wine waiter gave him a stolid look and departed. Sal took a big gulp of the champagne and put down the glass. He didn't like the taste of it a hell of a lot, but champagne was what he wanted. The steak was rare and juicy with blood. Sal liked that all right.

When Carola came out again, she was wearing a low-cut dress with a flaring skirt, like a ballet skirt. The blue spotlight followed her to the stage, and all the marionettes sat still at their tables to hear her sing. She sang all the old songs they liked and some new ones, too; and the flowing liquor had made its effect and the marionettes clapped and whistled and cheered. Sal watched her, saw the hungry look in her eyes, saw her drinking it in. She bowed deep and came down the stage. She looked at Sal and stopped, and the hungry look was still in her eyes. "How did I do?"

"You did fine, baby. There isn't anybody as good as you."

The drooping underlip curled upward a little, as though she were tasting something good, something luscious, sweet.

"Thank you," she said. She said it humbly and proudly at the same time, and the hungry look was still there, but there was another look, too; she looked at Sal almost as though she liked him.

"Sit down," he said.

"I'm not supposed to."

He looked at her blond hair, combed back straight and shiny across her forehead, and then falling in little ringlets around her neck and her ears and her forehead. She had a complexion to go with it, too; peaches and cream, it was called, that complexion. He looked at her body, undressing her in his mind to see how she was made. She was made small, delicately, and yet compact. There was a quiver, a vitality, to her body, and although she was delicate she was not weak, not fragile. She was all there, everything was all there. She had none of Angela's flabbiness, none of Angela's opulence, overblownness, she was built tight and firm everywhere. She was built, all right. Built like a brick outhouse.

"Sit down," he said again.

She sat down. "For a minute," she said. "That's my last show. I'm going home."

Sal looked at his watch. It was only a quarter to two.

"Lots of time to do things yet," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I've got a car as long as a block and plenty of money. Why don't we go someplace? How about the Crown Club?" It was the most expensive place in New York he had ever heard of. He wondered why he had made that crack about the car as long as a block. Well, what the hell....

She looked at him keenly, and there was another look in her eyes now. It also was a kind of hunger, but a different kind. He understood it better than the other.

"Where did you get the car and all the money?" she said.

Sal shrugged his shoulders. "I've got it," he said.

"But where from? You didn't used to have any money."

"My dad was a plumber," Sal said. "You remember that?"

"Yes, sort of. I sort of remember."

"Well, I got into the plumbing business, too. Only I became a contractor. None of that hard work, like my dad used to do. Materials are high, hard to get, but I know how to get them and I'm cleaning up. Before I'm finished I'll have a hell of a lot more money."

"Is that true? Did you really do that?"

"Of course it's true. Of course I did. Sal Naples is no dope. You didn't think I was going to turn out to be just a plumber, did you?"

"I never thought about it at all, Sal," she said. He noticed that she had used his name for the first time.

"Well, that's the way it happened. Tonight-tonight I'm celebrating a big contract. Twenty thousand dollars I made out of it. Big apartment in Belleville."

She looked at him with a look that he understood, the hungry look that had nothing to do with the hunger for praise, success, or whatever that other look was.

"I'm rolling in dough," he said. "I want somebody to help me spend it."

He watched her keenly. Then she said, with a brittle little laugh: "I wouldn't mind helping you spend it."

"Well, what in hell are we waiting for? Get on your pants and saddle up."

The language didn't shock her. He hadn't expected it would. He wouldn't expect a lot worse language than that to shock her. Not her, for all her delicacy, all her polite ways, all her playing high hat and hard to get. She had a belly like the rest of them, more so even than most of them; the hunger in her eyes told him that.

"We might get into trouble," she said.

"How? What trouble?"

"I've got a boyfriend. You didn't think I wouldn't have a boyfriend, did you?" She said it defensively, as though he had suggested a deadly insult. Damn, she wanted everything. Praise, she wanted praise; she wanted money or the things money could buy, and she had to have a boyfriend, too; she had to have a boyfriend so she could tell herself that she was all there as a female.

"Fuck your boyfriend," he said.

"I beg your pardon?" The ladylike manner asserted itself and he said to himself: The bitch. The goddamned bitch. The more ladylike they are the worse bitches they are.

He twirled the stem of the champagne glass in his hand. "I said, fuck your boyfriend," he said.

"But he's my agent. Bob Gatsby."

"What the hell's an agent?"

"You know, he takes care of my business for me."

"And you take care of his business for him?"

She gave him a blank stare.

Sal poured a little of the flat champagne into his glass, tossed it off and made a face.

"Well, rape your boyfriend," he said. "I can go to the Crown Club alone. Or pick up some other doll, I guess."

He pushed back his chair and she put out her hand as though to restrain him.

"Let me think," she said.

"All right. Think." A little gleam came into his eye. He knew what she was thinking about; she was thinking how she could ditch the other guy.

Then suddenly she turned on him a look filled with friendliness. These babes! They could put on any kind of an act they wanted to, at a moment's notice. He knew he had the whip hand and so he stared at her with hostility.

"Well? You finished thinking?"

"Yes," she said. "I wouldn't mind going to the Crown Club with you, Sal."

"That's nice," he said.

"Just give me time to change."

"Take all the time you want, baby. What about Buster?"

"Bob? You mean Bob?"

"Yeh. What about Bob?"

"He won't be back. He had to go to a late audition in Rockefeller Center."

"Is that good?"

"Well, he's an agent for a lot of people besides me, you see."

He was going to say something but he didn't say it. What he said was: "I'll meet you outside in half an hour. At the curb. I got to get my car out of the garage. Okay?"

"Okay," she said. She went along the edge of the postage stamp dance floor, with her head and chin up, trim as a sailing ship, her firm body etched sharply beneath the flaring ballet skirt and the low-cut bodice, and in his mind's eye he saw through the skirt, saw the firm round hips and the firm young round breasts. The great lady, the great artist. That was the act, he saw it, but he remembered what Shoney used to say, wagging his swarthy head while he said it: "All women are whores at the bottom, Sal, no matter how the hell they act or what they put on for a front. In the end, they're all whores,, and the blondes are the most whorish of them all...."

Sal watched her go through the door and he thought of what Shoney had said and he believed it.

He called the waiter, paid his check, left a tip and got out. The orchestra had come back once again and the marionettes, juiced up with alcohol, were bobbing around the tiny waxed floor. He got his coat and gave the sulky girl a dollar bill and she slapped it down on the counter with disgust.

"Go fuck yourself, sister," he said. He turned and went out the main door before she could raise a row. He ducked the doorman who wanted to call a taxi and began walking along the street. What the hell had he made that crack about the car for? Well, he knew why; he wanted to see how Carola would respond to it, and he found out; she responded just the way he figured she would. But the trouble was, he didn't have the car.

He walked toward Seventh Avenue, and glanced at his watch. He had said he would meet Carola in half an hour. He still had twenty-five minutes left. The air was fresh and cool from off the Hudson or wherever it came from, and he felt good, walking on air. The champagne hadn't made him drunk; just made him feel like walking on air.

He crossed Seventh Avenue, walking toward the river, and trying to think what he would tell her to explain away the car he said he'd have and didn't have. Then he stopped stock still. There was a dark parking lot between the buildings; it was closed for the day but there were still three cars there. One was a big, black, shiny Cadillac. He stood there for a minute and then he crossed himself. This was God; God did this. The big Cad had been put there for him. There weren't any two ways about it. He had told her about a Cad when there wasn't any Cad, and here was a Cad, waiting for him, just asking to be taken.

He crossed himself again; he had the sense of being overwhelmed by a mysterious and inscrutable fate.

Sal went into the parking lot, looked back once, looked inside the car. There was a copy of the Racing Form on the seat; nothing else. He felt for the ignition keys, they weren't there. The guy who left the Cad in a spot like that was pretty stupid but he wasn't all that stupid. He took the ignition keys. Whoever it was, he was probably plastered in a bar or nightclub somewhere around there. Sal thought of the dancing marionettes. Maybe he was one of them.

Well, the hell with the ignition key. He lifted the hood, crossed the wires, got in behind the wheel. The engine made a little moaning sound and began to purr, like something in a dream. Sal headed out into Seventh Avenue and drove up to the gaudy marquee of the Rococo Club. Carola was waiting against the doorway, with a mink stole around her shoulders. Sal made a mental note of that; those things cost money. Plenty.

"Come on, sister," he said. "Let's go."

He drove across town to the Crown Club and parked in a side street. He couldn't turn the motor off, naturally; he didn't have the keys. He saw that she was watching him, but he wasn't sure that she noticed there were no ignition keys. Some babes didn't know the front end of a car from the back, and maybe this was one of them. He hoped so. Not that it mattered a hell of a lot; he could always think up some explanation if she wanted one. And she didn't seem to want one.

"Can't seem to get the motor turned off," he said. He got out, lifted the hood, fixed the wires and the motor went dead. "That's got it," he said. "Come on, let's go."

Carola hesitated a moment, remaining in the car.

"Sal, why don't we just sit in the car and talk for a while?" Carola asked, not looking at him.

Sal reached through the window and touched her chin with his hand. "Feeling like a little intimate conversation, babe?"

"Sure. Aren't you?" Carola smiled up at him.

Sal chuckled to himself as he got back into the car. He could tell that Carola had love on her mind and he was happy to oblige her. He slid over close to her on the seat and Carola, somewhat unsure of herself, tensed visibly.

"Relax, babe. Let's just enjoy being with each other," Sal told her, trying to be reassuring.

"I know, Sal. It's just that I'm uh, feeling a bit chilly," Carola said, not comfortable admitting to him that the thought of being physically intimate with him was something that she'd have to deal with very slowly.

"I guess I'll have to warm you up," Sal said taking her in his arms and holding her close.

Carola felt safe in his arms. She knew that Sal was your basic animal, but for some reason she felt secure. Maybe it was because she knew somewhere inside her that Sal loved her and only wanted to please her. She didn't think that he would ever do anything to harm her and as crazy as it all seemed, she trusted him.

"I feel good in your arms," she confessed to him softly. Sal hugged her tightly and felt Carola press her body into his.

Sal moved his mouth towards Carola's and the two kissed deeply and passionately. Carola opened her mouth to him, loving the feel of his tongue probing into her. She kissed him back, too, sucking on his tongue and exploring the depths of his mouth.

"Where did you ever learn to kiss like that?" Sal asked her breathlessly, feeling as carried away and unsure of himself as Carola did.

"I just let my body respond," Carola told him frankly, kissing him on the mouth once again. As they kissed, Sal let his hands wander to Carola's firm breasts. He squeezed them gently and searched out the nipples through her silky blouse. He pressed his mouth to her chest and sucked at the nipples through her clothing.

"Mmmmmm...." Carola sighed. She reached out to touch Sal's face. It was smooth and rough at the same time. She pressed her face against it and their lips found each other again.

"Oh baby, if you had any idea how I felt about you," Sal said, breathing into Carola's ear. He rammed his tongue into it and felt Carola squirm excitedly in response to him. He deftly unbuttoned her silk blouse and Carola slipped it off her shoulders. Her ample breasts overflowed from her bra and Sal felt his heart race at the sight of them. He released them quickly from their fabric prison and set to work on them with his mouth. He lapped at them like a baby, then swirled his tongue around each areola in a circular motion.

"You certainly know how to treat a lady," Carola said, lying back and enjoying the attention her tits were receiving. Sal used his hands to caress them gently and then applied his fingers to the nipples, stimulating them as he would a clitoris. The rosy nipples started to harden and Sal lowered his mouth to them and sucked hard.

"Argh!" Carola squealed, feeling extremely aroused.

"My tongue is good for lots of things!" Sal told her provocatively, working her breasts relentlessly.

Carola felt her cunt start to lubricate, readying itself for the potential penis. She stroked Sal's arms and shoulders as he busied himself at her breasts.

"Take off your clothes, Sal," Carola urged him. She helped him remove his jacket, his shirt and t-shirt, so that they were both bare-chested. Carola pressed her face into Sal's hairy chest and swirled her tongue around his breasts as he had done to her.

"Nice ... Oooooo real nice Carola," Sal said appreciatively. He realized that his breasts and nipples were just as sensitive as a woman's and he really enjoyed having them stimulated. He ran his fingers through Carola's thick, soft hair and felt his prick perk up inside his pants.

"I feel like a kid, Sal, fooling around in a car like this," Carola told him with a giggle.

"Yeah well, I can't remember feeling this good in high school," Sal told her frankly. They held each other close for a moment and each could feel the other breathing and their hearts racing. Sal moved his hand slowly up Carola's thigh. It was lean and firm and he let his fingers do the walking right up to her lace-covered cunt. As they tongued each other again with nervous passion, Sal let his middle finger brush the center of Carola's crotch. He was pleased to discover that it was wet to the touch; her love juice machine was working overtime.

"Please don't touch me there," Carola said, pulling away suddenly. She fumbled with her bra and blouse and finally got them back on again. Sal stared at her in amazement.

"What are you doing? I thought you wanted to fool around a little?" he asked, hurt and angry.

"I thought I did, but I don't feel like it now," Carola told him honestly. Sal lunged for her, not thinking clearly and Carola, who happened to have her purse in her hand, bopped him hard on the head.

"God damn it to hell!" Sal said fuming. He ran outside to start up the car again and recklessly drove Carola home. He dropped her off and as he drove away, Sal saw a man with squarish shoulders, a stockily built man get out of a taxi. Sal watched as he walked up the brownstone steps, let himself into Carola's front door with a key and shut the door behind him.

As Sal sped away, he attracted the attention of the police. But the Cadillac leapt from seventy to ninety miles an hour and the lights from the police car dropped out of sight. Sal skidded down a freeway ramp to get out of the way and ended up smacking right into a pillar. He bounded out of the car and ducked into the nearby produce markets, which were at that time of the morning in full swing. Then, when the coast seemed clear, Sal caught a tube train at the Hudson Terminal and made his way back to his hotel in Newark.

Once in the hotel, Sal walked quickly to the bar. He'd had a rough night and he just wanted to forget. Carola had left him more frustrated than ever and all that he wanted to do now was choke down a little booze and get his rocks off.

Sitting down at the bar, Sal was joined a few moments later by an extremely sexy young woman, practically wearing her pussy on her sleeve. Sal sensed right away that she was a prostitute, but that didn't bother him.

Snatch was snatch, he thought and now that I've got the money to pay for it, I might as well get some. Besides, he told himself, it was easier this way. No games to play, no nothing. Just open your wallet and drop your pants. It was almost too simple.

After a few drinks and some rather provocative conversation, Sal and his new friend, Mona, decided to go up to his room to get to know each other a little better. They happened to be alone in the elevator, and Sal checked Mona out; his eyes moving up and down her shapely body, imagining how she would look naked and stretched out for him in his bed.

He moved over to her and bluntly caressed her vulva outside her clinging dress.

"Ooooo!" Mona squealed. "You're really hot for it, aren't you sport?"

Sal was pleasantly surprised to discover that the young woman had no underpants on. He hiked up her dress quickly and copped a cheap feel before they got out of the elevator.

Once in his room, they undressed each other hastily, especially since Mona didn't have all that much to take off. They faced each other, completely naked, and Sal smiled appreciatively at her young, shapely body. She looked almost innocent to Sal, but he realized that she must know more and must have had more tricks than he and all his friends had had put together.

Mona grinned at him and lasciviously licked her lips. She came over to Sal and took his cock between her hands. Rolling it back and forth gently, she appraised the size of it and admired the way it had already started to swell.

"Ummm hmmm, it's nice and big," she said. "Real big."

"Aw come on, honey," Sal said, wanting to believe her. "I bet you say that to all your customers."

"But maybe all my customers have big ones," Mona said slyly.

Sal let Mona lead him over to the bed. He felt tired suddenly from all he had been through, but this was no time to take a nap.

Mona positioned herself between Sal's legs and started to lap hungrily at Sal's balls. She let her mouth slip down to his thighs, licking and biting them and building up the anticipation of when she would put her pretty mouth on his prick proper.

"I'm gonna suck you off real good, honey!" Mona promised provocatively. She worked her way back up his thighs and planted wet kisses on Sal's hairy balls. His cock wagged anxiously, and Mona took the semi-flaccid member in her mouth.

"Ooooo, baby ... Suck that thing!" Sal told her.

Mona moved his meat around in her mouth, flicking her tongue deftly around the head and shaft of his penis. She took him quickly back into her throat, stroking his balls with her hands and fingertips. After sucking on his thick tool for a while, Mona released it from her mouth for a moment to work it over with her hands. She wet them with her tongue and used one hand to jerk him off and the other to concentrate on the stimulation of the head, "Mmmmmmm ... mmmmmm...." Sal moaned contentedly.

Mona forced his cock back into her mouth with a ferocious suction action. Sal felt like she was going to swallow his rod whole. But, when she started to move it in and out of her mouth again, Sal realized that his prick was still in one piece and attached to his body.

"Oh God ... you're going to make me come!" Sal wailed.

"That's the general idea," Mona said, stopping the sucking action for a moment.

"But I don't want to come in your mouth. OOOOO! I want to fuck you!" Sal screamed.

"SSssure! It's your dollar," Mona laughed as she eased his cock out of her mouth. "But you can't just ram your rod into me. You gotta get me ready first. Make me kinda wet and all that."

"What do you think I am, some kinda stupid jerk?" Sal asked her indignantly. "Jeeze, baby, give me a little credit."

"Sure, hon. I'll give you credit," Mona told him, smiling at his sensitivity.

Sal stretched the young woman out on her back and proceeded to explore the upper portion of her body with his tongue. Their lips finally met and Sal plunged his tongue as deeply as he could into her mouth. He nibbled at her neck and shoulders and then smacked his mouth at her champagne cup tits.

Mona was responsive to Sal. She knew that he was indeed, kind of a dumb schmo, but his special brand of street sense made him sexy.

As Sal lowered his mouth to her belly, he inhaled the familiar scent of her moistened cunt. He buried his face in her pubic hair and pushed his mouth awkwardly into her vulva. Searching out her love button, he licked at it hard with his tongue, while he inserted his thick fuck finger between her labia and into her vagina.

"Ooooo ... that feels good!" Mona moaned. "I'm just about ready for you, sport," she told him, a little anxious to get this trick over with. It had been a busy day and a very long night and she really wanted to get some sleep. It did feel good to be with this guy, but she was much to tired and distracted to really get into it. But, all of her acting lessons had really paid off. She thought of herself as the Sarah Bernhardt of the street.

Sal's cock stuck up straight, indicating that he was good and ready to get down. He positioned himself so that his prick was in the immediate vicinity of Mona's snatch and then he entered her slowly. It felt good to be inside finally and Sal pumped his prick into her pussy hard. Mona moved her hips to complement his thrusting action and she put her legs on his shoulders so that Sal could penetrate her vagina even deeper. Mona was highly aroused at this point, in spite of her distractedness and to her excitement, she felt herself approaching her climax. She came suddenly, her body spasming wildly and when she was finished, Sal who had been watching her with delight, shot his hot load deep into her honeypot. When their passions were spent, they collapsed into each other's arms and fell asleep.