Chapter 1
Suddenly, Perry Turner was frightened. Although the last few steps of the IND subway brought him up to the familiar scene of Sixth Avenue, he felt he had stepped back into a jungle as strange and as threatening as the one behind him in Vietnam.
His hands closed instinctively, to bring his rifle into instant readiness. His muscles tensed. That reassuring spurt of cold energy shot upward inside his guts. He was alert, primed, ready for anything the sons of bitches might try.
Perry squinted, trying to see more clearly through the moving twilight forest around him. Where was Marty? Or Zeke? Or, even the baby-faced Lieutenant? Shit, had Charlie gotten to all of them? Silent, invisible Charlie ... as much a part of the slimy jungle as the snakes and the rotting smell. It was bad enough being here at all. Being left alone was a nightmare.
"Shine, mister?"
A little black face was beaming white teeth and bright eyes up at him. A neat little package of personality.
"Best shine in the Village, man. Only thirty-five cents."
Perry looked down at his shoes. They were glistening. If the Marine Corps had taught him nothing else, he was a master at spit-and-polish. Maybe shoeshining was a natural talent for blacks, like dancing and singing. Shit!
The youngster latched on to Perry's hesitation; a born huckster.
"Come on. The chicks go for guys with a shine on their shoes. You'll make out like crazy. I guarantee."
Eight-years-old, and he's already using sex for selling, Perry thought. He reached into his pants pocket.
"I just had a shine," he said, "but I'll put down a deposit for the next time." He held out a quarter.
It took the boy a couple of seconds to finally put his hand out. Perry dropped the coin on the little palm, smiling at the recipient.
"You want my twenty-five-cent special, instead?" the boy asked, a frown of suspicion clouding his face.
"No, not tonight, son. The quarter's just for being a good salesman, and to help you get home earlier."
"Thanks, mister," the boy said, softly; then smiled a natural grin. "I'm here every night, all summer." He turned and ran back to where his shoeshine box was standing between the two subway entrances to announce his luck to a taller, huskier black boy who apparently shared the sidewalk spot.
Perry headed for Eighth Street, sharply aware that the strange fear he had experienced had almost completely vanished. He wasn't in Vietnam. He was in New York city, his home, and he was going to be here for a whole month. Maybe longer, if the idea floating around like a ghost in his skull took on a clearer shape.
Perry stopped at the corner to get his bearings. How long since he had been here? A year ago June, on his last furlough before leaving the States. Only fourteen months, but it might have been years. The buildings seemed the same; low, old-fashioned, squatting on three corners, with the dirty bulk of the Women's Prison looming across the intersection. The stores were apparently unchanged, hawking their endless supplies of orange drink and doughnuts, alarm clocks and cosmetics, candy and clothes.
Even the automobile traffic appeared to be the identical street-clogging assortment of buses, taxis, dirty sedans and slick open-top sports cars. What was it, then, making him feel edgy and out of place?
Perry started east on Eighth Street, walking slowly past the brightly lighted shops and eating places. He studied each window as he passed, but he did not pause. It was as if he were taking a fast inventory of shoes, desserts, bathing suits, jewelry, posters and books. He was almost at the corner of MacDougal Street when he was jolted out of his window-shopping trance.
"P.T.! " a voice announced, and a hand grasped his arm.
He turned, surprised. The nickname was almost forgotten. The first thing he saw was a beautiful face framed in long, sun-bleached hair. The light blue eyes were intent on him; the almost-white lips parted, as though waiting to be kissed.
Then, Perry looked at the man who had called out to him. His ruddy face looked vaguely familiar, but it was disguised by a full, curly beard and moustache, and a pair of owl-eyed, yellow-tinted glasses. The big hand let go of him.
"You are Perry Turner, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes." He felt foolish. The guy's clothes gave less of a clue than his face; a nondescript shirt with the sleeves hacked off, an equally mutilated pair of shorts which had once been levis, scuffed leather sandals, and a string of colored wooden beads around his neck. The other man turned to the blonde girl.
"He doesn't recognize me!" he snorted. He looked back to Perry, flinging out his free arm as though he were a magician revealing a rabbit. "Al Park, you bastard!"
Perry frowned. The name and the person in front of him didn't fit together.
"President of the Senior Class!" Al shouted. "The man voted 'Most likely'!"
It seemed impossible; but in an instant recognition came, and with it a flood of mixed feelings and reactions. Simultaneously, Perry and Al put their hands out for a warm clasp. Perry felt a genuine sense of relief and comradeship. Al Park was one of the few white fellows in high school who treated him naturally and openly as a friend. "Handsome Al" had been THE big man, excelling in academic and social pursuits, and openly admiring Perry's skill as an athlete, which was Al's one area of insufficiency.
Even Al's parents had been great; accepted Perry in their home, not only as Al's friend, but as an individual. Perry wished his own family could be as unprejudiced.
"Yicky," Al was saying to the beautiful blonde girl, "this is the famous and fabulous
P.T., otherwise known as Perry Turner. We conned our way through the same high school together, me as a politician, and him as the captain of all the teams. P.T., this is Victoria Rushton, a refugee from Westchester County, who has come to the city to learn how to live," he paused, "with men."
Al laughed noisily at his own joke, and Perry saw a hint of a frown cross the girl's face.
"How do you do," she said, quietly, extending one hand.
"Fine," Perry answered, almost as formally, and shook hands with her very briefly. In that moment, he noticed how attractive her hands were, small-boned, well-kept. He had a moment to get an allover view of her, rather petite in a multicolored dress. It was short enough to reveal excellent legs without looking obviously sexy. There had not been that many minidresses around fourteen months ago. Now, the very number of them made them seem more acceptable, less suggestive. This girl was class all the way. Her neatness was in sharp contrast to Al's half-hippie get-up.
"Where the hell have you been since Diploma Day?" Al demanded. "Away at some bastion of higher learning?"
"For a year," Perry said. "On an athletic scholarship. Then, I upped and joined the Marines."
"The Marines?" Al put his hands together in mock piety. "You mean the walking, talking, fighting, fucking Marine Corps of the U.S. and A.? "
Perry winced at the crude adjective, and avoided looking at Victoria.
"You mean you've been out there defending us at Camp LeJeune, or some such awful place?"
Perry knew his smile was a bit forced. He had forgotten Al's conversational style, his satirical approach to every subject. He consistently knocked down every idol, including his own, taking the wind out of everyone's sails even as he seemed to be inviting angry reprisal.
"I've just come back from Vietnam," Perry said. "Last night, to be exact."
"Far out," Al said. "I bet you're fucking glad to be back on the old home soil. It's good to see you again. Why don't we do something together?"
"Look," Perry protested. "I can see you are going out together. I like you both, but I don't want to mess up your evening."
"Nonsense," said Vicky. "We were only going to a movie, and it'll be around a hell of a long time. We can see it later. The truth is, I'd rather get to know you better. Al's old friends always have been pleasant to me."
"First thought," Al added, "I want to show you the pad we have in the East Village. You'll find you like it a lot." He turned, walking-with his brisk attitude to the location of his apartment. Vicky followed half a step behind him, and Perry quickly caught up the rear, coming aside the two of them.
In the interval when they were ahead he saw how Vicky's ass wiggled, and he knew she was a real sex goddess. He imagined that she had a cunt which could give a man a good time from dusk to dawn. In the back of his mind he drifted to memories of the fucking he had done in Vietnam, of the beautiful Oriental girls that had given him release if not all the love he wanted. There were too many men wanting them for them to give love too all of them.
There was one who had been extra special. Her face had been young, though he knew she was at least twenty-two. She had charged him her regular price, but he knew she never would have charged a thing if she could have lived in some other way.
He found her one night on a street, a back street where even the roughest rarely went. He was there because of that, because of the silence and the aloneness he could find almost nowhere else. The dangers of being ripped off at knifepoint meant little to him when he thought of the quiet restfulness he could have for a few minutes.
He followed her to her place without question the minute she came up to him and asked him if he wanted a woman. She wiggled her ass just as well as Vicky did. Once they were inside she took off her clothes. The sight of her compact Oriental body turned him on immediately. She had beautiful smooth white and her black bush glistened vivaciously. His cock began to swell at incredible speed, and the hard feeling he had came all over him. She removed his clothing one piece at a time, always caressing gently the part of him she had just made nude until he was titillated from head to toe.
No sooner was he completely naked then she buried her face in his crotch as he lay on the mat with her. Her tongue worked wonders at his cock, streaming its wet caresses against that throbbing joint and thrilling him beyond anything that had happened to him in the past.
Her fingers were not idle. With her tiny right hand she stroked his hairy balls.
She knew exactly what to do to turn him on. Her actions made him feel good inside. The fingers of her left hand found the rounded opening between his buns, and she jammed them in his ass-hole as far as she could on the first thrust.
His body reacted with violent jerks to the touch of her cupped fingers about his balls. Whenever she wiggled the digits in his ass-hole he was well aware of the wonders that a good woman could give to a man. All his life he had wondered what it was like to have a good whore, and now he knew.
Her lustful tongue swept again and again over his cock, making him happier than he had been since he got into the war. Her caresses grew more affectionate with each passing second, and he had a feeling with her he had never had with any other hooker, that she liked him, almost loved him.
He liked that she did not say his cock was big. It was a good sized one, but a lot of people thought it was just because he was black, and they had to make some comment on all blacks having big ones. This woman merely did her job without commenting on a thing, merely gave him luscious titillations without ceasing while she worked in his crotch.
He could see her lithe female form all humped up so that she could better administer her caresses to his naked body. When she touched him he felt waves of succulent delight rambling all through him. His nerves and his muscles were satiated with sexual delights.
He came, blasting his come into her mouth at the full force of his power. He could hear her slurping at his cock to get all the juices down her throat, hear her sighing in pleasure to have him there with her, and her soft breathing sounds that echoed in the darkness.
While he came, she doubled her efforts at his ass-hole and his balls, jolting him with incalculable pleasure all the time. He wanted more and more of her body, more and more of that tightly wound flesh that covered her small frame.
He finished creaming his come into her, then relaxed to let her clean all his hairs free of the dredges. After that he brought her soft lips to his own, kissed her passionately, partly from the hunger he had inside his body, and partly from the need to thank her for the good suck job she gave to him. He appreciated those lips that had covered his cock with such delicate tenderness and thrilled him wonderfully into a glorious come.
Her fingers still played at his balls. She wanted him hard, he could tell. She wanted him ready to plunge his hot cock deep into the honey well of her naked body so that his caresses there would soothe her to the end of her pleasure. Incredible shoots of delight slammed into his brain as a result of the touches she gave to his crotch.
Perry's fingers went to her cunt, there pressing into her walls with the lustful desire in him to give her the same thrills that she gave to him. He worked steadily at her walls, giving them the full benefit of his manly caresses. His tips rubbed her membranes with a soft back and forth motion that simulated the action of his staff when he had it in there.
He did not forget to minister to her clit with the same delicateness he used on her pussy. His touches there drove her wild, made her filled with supreme pleasure, for her body thrashed and bounced on the mat as she reacted to the pleasure he gave to her.
. Unceasingly he labored to give her pleasure. Time after time he stroked her clit, making it hard and firm as it became blood-gorged. His cock was getting the same way from the touches'. she gave to him there, and he knew that soon they would be joined together with his pole blasting like a recoiling cannon into her pussy.
The smell of her snatch juices was on his finger, and he loved to sniff it from time to time. She had lubricants that were superb, that were undeniably the best he ever had seen. His cock was swollen with his desire to fuck her, and he reached a point where he could no longer deny his needs.
She saw what he wanted, spreading her legs to expose to him her pink walls that waited for him in patient hunger.
When he plunged his cock into her snatch he felt how tight it was, and he noticed that her oils let him squeeze into that compactness with great ease. The wonder of her cunt was something he had not been prepared for, and the surprise was a happy one.
Over and over he drilled that hot cock between his legs into the snatch which she gave to him. Her kisses never ceased to be there with him when he needed them. His pole rammed harder than ever into the fleshy delights her cunt held for it.
She fingered his balls whenever she could, wiping more of her female pleasure into him. His reactions to her ministrations made him feel she was fantastic, was so incredible there would be no way he could forget what he was doing to her or what she was doing to him.
Time after time he plunged his steaming pole against her serpentine walls, and the thrill never got anything but better. He felt his cock starting to throb, felt his balls ready to discharge their juices and thrill him again with a magnificent come. The writhing of her membranes against the naked skin of his shaft made him aware that she was a wonderful cunt to be with.
His balls flapped hard in the breezes till he came down and smashed them into her buns. He liked the drafts which flowed through the hut, for they caressed his cock hairs and made them tingle. His lust had reached almost the high point in its career, filling him with the exorbitant luxuriousness of a come before he had reached that point. Her tiny body wriggled and shook beneath his, and he noticed the contrast of their skins, hers so smooth and his masculine one so rough and hard.
Then he was spurting into her, spewing his hot gism with the same force he had done at her mouth, filling her cunt with gallons of that precious fluid. She came at the exact instant he did. He could hear her moaning and feel her arms tighten about his back while she arched her back in pleasure.
He drained his balls dry of come, then rolled to her side, his cock limp and watery. She smiled at him, thanking him for the fuck he had given her. He knew she spoke no English, and he wondered what she would have said if they could have conversed. Her working vocabulary was some twenty street words that a good prostitute would have to know, but she could not express her emotions.
His eyes fastened again on that ass of hers, on the way it stuck out from her body like a young girl's, and he was mad for her. He wanted that ass under him, wanted to get his cock in her shit hole and feel those buns pressing into his groin.
The thought of the Oriental girl's ass turned Perry from his daydream back to the real ass in front of him. They were already on the stairs of the St. Mark's apartment building. He knew he didn't want white cunt that much anyway; no matter what a lot of white fellows thought. All the girls he had ever had, except one, were Orientals; and if it had been simply a matter of circumstances, it hadn't really made any difference. Sex had mostly been disappointing.
Only Cora had been different. Cora had needed him, and it had showed every time they got within talking distance of each other. Cora had been tender, responsive to every change of his mood and desire ... slow to arouse, deeply passionate, clinging warm and loving through the long downward glide from the peaks of excitement. Cora had been everything he could want; except willing to wait for him to build the basis of his life.
But, Cora had been afraid of his dream of leaving Harlem. Her life was bounded by its black borders. It was her birthplace; it was going to be her home; and eventually, her grave.
like all the satisfying things in Perry's life, Cora had been a barrier. Somewhere he had to find the good without the bad.
As they reached the top floor, he heard Al say, "I think we already have some company." Perry didn't understand the statement until he was at the top of the stairs. Al was kicking off his worn sandals, and Victoria was removing her low-heeled shoes to put them on a white rubber mat to one side of the door of the rear apartment. There were two other pairs of shoes already on the mat: one, a set of dirty white tennis shoes; the other, black, shiny high-heeled pumps.
"If you will," Al said to Perry, pointing to the mat. "You are about to enter the Spotless Heaven."
Perry frowned, but slipped off his glistening brown shoes, placing them side-by-side toward the wall. The insistent sound of music pulsated through the air on a strong .rhythm beat. When Perry was standing ready, Al opened the door with a ceremonious gesture.
The room inside was almost completely white, making Perry squint. Floor,' walls, ceiling, the low furniture and the Shoji screens concealing the windows were like brilliant snow, making a pair of sunglasses seem sensible indoor wear. A white ceiling fixture held a cluster of tiny spotlights which left no part of the room unilluminated, and made it seem to stretch away without boundaries.
The only area of color Perry noticed was someone lying on the floor near the far end, taking a gulp from a can of beer as the door swung ajar. It was a young fellow, tall, slim, deeply tanned, wearing nothing but a pair of jockey shorts.
"Shit!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet, holding the beer in front of him, unsuccessfully trying to hide his erection. He looked desperately toward the door at the side of the room. "I thought she lived here!"
"She does," Al said. "From time to time. And her friends are our friends. I'm Al, this is Vicky, and the other nervous gentleman in the doorway is P.T." He looked toward Perry. "Come in, and close the door."
Perry did, but stood as uncomfortable at one end of the room as the other fellow was at the other.
"My name is Joe," the guy said. "I guess I should put some clothes on."
"Not for us," Al told him. "It's a warm night and probably going to get warmer. Nobody has to wear clothes in this pad unless he really wants to. I'm sure Olivia went into the other room to get out of hers."
"You're damn right I did!" The husky voice preceded the speaker during the length of time it took for the side door to swing open.
Perry caught his breath. No wonder that white kid had been standing there with his pants bulging! The girl framed in the doorway was just a shade or two darker than the tanned young man. You couldn't really call her black. Or Negro. And, he felt instinctively she would hate the term "colored." She wasn't beautiful, either. Her mouth was too wide, her eyes too large for the size of her head; her legs a bit too muscularly heavy.
But, she was sexy. And, she knew it. She had nothing on except a tiny brassiere and brief panties; both almost the exact color of her skin. She was obviously aware of the almost-nude effect it gave as she posed in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, the other flat against the side of her thigh.
"I thought you were going to the flicks," she said to Al.
"We were. But, we ran into an old high school buddy of mine. Olivia, this is P.T."
Perry started to acknowledge the introduction, when she said, coldly, "What happened? Was your family so poor they ran out of names by the time you came along?"
Perry saw Victoria's hands clench. He felt as though he had been slapped in the face.
Al turned to him, the big warm smile bursting through the curly beard. "You'll have to understand Olivia," he said. "Her looks are a disguise. She is a secret agent for the East Village chapter of the Ku Klux Klan. Her motto is, 'If lynching is good enough for Georgia, it's good enough for New York.' "
He turned back toward her. "P.T. is just back from the war, and he's our guest of honor. We're about to organize a party. You can stay and join it, if you like."
With no change of expression, Olivia walked over to Joe, and ran one hand over his chest and stomach.
"It's up to you, honey," she crooned, putting her head on his shoulder.
Perry wanted to laugh at the guy's attempt to hide both his embarrassment and excitement, but at the same time, the girl's purposeful combination of disdain and come-on made him angry. She was suddenly a challenge to him, an enemy in some way, an obstacle to be overcome.
Joe finally caught his breath. "Sure," he said. "Let's stay. It might be groovy."
"Fine," Al said. "Glad to have you. There is, however, one rule of the house which Olivia might not have had time to make clear to you."
"What's that?"
"This is a sanctuary from the world. This is a place of total freedom of self. It is outside of and apart from all the rules and restrictions with which our lives have been limited." He spread his arms in an inclusive gesture, and Perry saw the politician being replaced by the preacher. "Because the rest of the world is what it is, freedom is more than treason, it is punishable by brutal excision; ripped out of you alive and screaming by the minions of The Order. Since we all want to avoid pain, we simply agree to keep this sanctuary sacrosanct. Whenever you are away from here, it will be as if this does not exist. Whatever transpires here will be forgotten as completely as if it never happened. However you live here will be no part of your endless death outside these walls."
Joe was staring at Al transfixed. Perry wondered how much of the message was getting through the kid's senses-for the meaning of what Al Park was saying was burning deep into his mind and his emotions.
Shit, it would really be something if it were true! Maybe he had actually come upon a safe place. However much of it might be true, he was sure as hell going to stick around and find out.