Chapter 7
Where the hell am I going, Perry said to himself.
He had walked as far as the subway entrance, then realized he had no destination in mind. He looked at his watch. If he went back to the Village, he would still have to waste an hour or more before Al would be free for supper.
Maybe he should head uptown for his mother's apartment. And Harlem. As far as he could see it, his mother was right. There could be no understanding between white and black in the normal, easy social sense. They were brought up differently, and would never be able to erase the consciousness of that difference.
Oh, there might be occasional exceptions. Perhaps, Margaret was one of them. Or maybe, it was just that her purposes were not the same as Vicky's. Margaret had honestly wanted to explore his body, to become familiar with it in the most direct way possible. Vicky, obviously was out to satisfy her sexual curiosity; to prove that blondes can have more men than anyone else.
Why was he making jokes, he asked himself. He'd probably come closer to having sex more times in twenty-four hours than any man in New York. But there he was, still at Lexington Avenue and 96th Street, hard-up and hung-up. If everyone thought he was so damned sexy, why the hell didn't somebody lay him?
A flood of desire pushed through him again, and he suddenly realized he was soaked with perspiration. It made the decision for him, and he went down the steps to the uptown platform. He would go home, take a shower, maybe get his rocks off, too ... and stay the hell away from all parts of the white world. Including Al and his mixed-up friends.
He could go out tonight to one of the bars or night clubs in Harlem and have himself one helluva time. Or, he could call Cora. Hell, why was he wasting his time with all these complicated, phony-philosophical people when there was a girl waiting for him? A girl, ready to make love to him on his terms!
The thought of her increased his excitement, but the knowledge of her availability made the urge less demanding.
The train came roaring into the station, slid to a stop, and popped open invitingly. He stepped into the car and took a seat by the door. When he looked up, he was greeted by an interesting sight: Directly across from him was a girl, small, rounded and smiling.
She was Puerto" Rican, one of the dark mixtures of Spanish, Indian, and Negro blood which could combine into real beauty. She was sitting with her legs crossed, which made her short skirt ride up, temptingly close to her crotch. Her light-weight blouse revealed hard, young breasts, unconfined by a brassiere. If she had on a little too much make-up, and her black hair was too stiffly set, she still projected an image of sensuality.
He smiled back at her, and she uncrossed her legs, moving them slightly apart. She was wearing nothing under the skirt, either, and he could see the dark mat of hair there. His erection was pounding harder than before, and he glanced quickly to either side to make sure it was not being noticed. Much to his surprise and relief, there was no one else in the car.
Perry reacted 'swiftly to the situation and the opportunity. He stood up, knowing she would see the excitement in his pants. He waited only a second or two, then crossed over to sit next to her. "Hello," he said.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her accent a smooth slurring of the language.
"Nowhere in particular."
"Would you like to come with me?"
"Where are you going?" he asked, lightly echoing her question.
"To my apartment."
"Do you live alone?"
She smiled. "No. But you can come with me, if you want."
She was wearing a strong, sweet perfume. It made him think of dark, warm places.
"I think I'd like to."
She smiled more broadly, and looked down at his pants.
"I think you will like to, very much. We go off at the next station."
He was surprised at how short she was: just about five feet. She walked quickly, slightly ahead of him, up onto the street, and made no conversation until they turned in at a small apartment house, about two blocks from the subway.
Inside the tiny vestibule, she turned to him. She was no longer smiling.
"Look, honey," she said flatly, "you have some money with you?"
Perry wasn't really surprised, but he became a bit wary.
"Yeah," he said airily, "I've got some money. How much were you thinking about?"
He could almost see a little adding machine in her mind start to operate. The stupid hookers were all the same. Instead of having a flat price, they would try to see how much they could hustle extra. He had learned about this kind of bargaining in Vietnam. "I charge twenty-five to most," she said, "but I think you're kinda special, so I make it twenty."
He reached for the handle of the outer door.
"Wait a minute," she said, her voice taking on an edge of urgency.
"What's the matter?"
"My girl friend is waiting for me," he said, pushing the door just a little bit open.
She grabbed at his arm. "I'm better than your girl friend. I give you the best time you ever had. I do it French, too. Very good."
French, shit! He didn't want a blow-job. He wanted a one-hundred percent up-the-snatch screw! Why couldn't any broad in this town come right to the point? The whores in Vietnam knew what you were paying them for. Even the pickups there figured it that way.
He swung around to her, grabbed her hand and pressed it against his crotch. She had shown him what she had, he was returning the favor.
"Ten bucks, honey," he said to her. "Ten bucks for as long as it takes me to come twice. I can spend all night with my girl friend for a subway fare, but I'm ready to go now, with no
French, no tricks, not even any conversation. Take it or leave it."
Her hand tightened on his organ. "Okay, handsome man." She reached over and pressed one of the call buttons several times. After a couple of seconds, the buzzer unlocked the inner door.
The woman who opened the door of the third floor apartment had tired eyes, bleached white hair, and smelled of cold cream and garlic. She was in her forties, wrapped in a lightweight robe of an incredibly ugly flowered pattern. She made no attempt to be friendly, just said to the girl, "Use the back room." Then she slammed and locked the apartment door as Perry followed the girl down the hall.
The back room was decorated as depressingly as the older woman; everything cheap, tinselly, over-designed. Dark window shades were pulled down, and the overhead light made the room as harsh as a subway platform. Perry tried to ignore the persistent odor of perspiration, and something more cloying. What did he expect, for ten dollars?
The girl put her little pocketbook down on the dresser, kicked off her shoes, and was out of her blouse and skirt in less than fifteen seconds. She lay down on the bed, her legs out straight, her hands by her sides.
He looked at her as he skimmed off his own clothes. She was built on a small frame, except for very wide hips. Her breasts were exceedingly firm and pointed, with small nipples. Her skin was smooth and even colored, not unlike Olivia's, but she had none of the other's conscious sexiness. She had too much weight on her body. He imagined in a very few years she would be irreversibly heavy, with a bulging belly which would make her look always pregnant.
She did not move when he came to the bed. He had made a strong bargain with her, and she was going to hold him to the letter of it. Nothing but fucking, and he would have to do all the work. So what? It was a live hole, instead of a sweaty palm.
Perry pushed her legs apart, and kneeled between them. He reached out with both hands to cover her breasts, forming to them, cupping them and gently kneading them, till he felt the tiny pressure from her nipples pressing into the palms of his hands. Her eyes were turned down away from him, and he knew she was trying hard not to react to what he would do. But she was young. Maybe twenty. Maybe less; and too new at this game to be able to control her physical reaactions, even if she kept her face, poker-blank.
His fingers took hold of the nipples, now fully distended, and twirled and teased them with a continuous circular motion ... drawing up on them, flicking them gently, pushing down against them. He could see her breath come faster, revealing the delicate cage of her ribs.
Keeping one hand at her breast, Perry moved the other over her stomach, brushing the skin lightly and smoothly, circling a fingertip in the tiny pocket of her navel, working slowly but inevitably toward the black patch of hair at the base of her belly.
Then, abruptly, he placed his hand directly over her crotch. He felt a quiver dance through her, and he was simultaneously aware that his erection had come fully up again.
What was he waiting for? What kind of a game was he playing with her? What was he trying to prove with the slow arousing? She was not Cora, or Olivia, or Vicky. She was a New York whore, and she had no interest in him beyond the ten-dollar deal she had made.
He reached under both her knees, bringing her legs and buttocks up from the bed, exposing the already parted lips of her vagina. He moved toward her. His rod was so stiff he had only to guide it with a shifting of his hips up against her, and with one easy falling move, into her.
She gasped, and pulled her breath in hard. He had filled her entirely, he knew, and she was trying to relax and let herself adjust to his size.
He kept himself without moving while that familiar, wonderful internal change took place. He had experienced this several times with the tiny Oriental girls, and one of them had taught him to insert his organ easily and completely at the beginning, until she let herself flow around it. This produced a concentrated sensation which bordered pleasure with pain. The whole time he had to fight the urge to start moving his hips; to stifle the masculine need to expend his energy in a battering-ram drive.
As always, there came that long moment when he thought he was going to come; but he waited beyond it ... feeling the tingle which moved outward from his testicles through the rest of his body ... and then passed away into a glow of heightened pleasure.
Perry lowered his whole body onto hers, his elbows outstretched for support, his hands back on her breasts, and slowly started riding in and out of her. If there were .any real advantage in being hung big, he knew, it was the added length of each of these sensual strokes. He could feel the wetness increase inside her making the movement even more easy, and always more exciting.
like two tiny penises, the nipples under his hands grew harder and longer. If she would not openly show her own pleasure, she was just cheating herself. He no longer really cared about it.
The world was starting to narrow down to the place where their two bodies were joined, and all the temptation and frustration of last night and this afternoon was being transformed into an electricity running through his legs, his ass, his balls, right out to the end of his dick. The girl beneath him no longer existed. She was just a cunt; every cunt in the world; the ones he had been into and the ones he had tried for Nothing else mattered now.
Faster and faster he moved, but his awareness was so acutely tuned, it was as if he could sense every fraction of motion, every millimeter of sensation, every lick of hot, wet fire swirling up and around exposed nerves.
And then, he knew he had come up over the top of the beautiful hill. That secret message had flashed from somewhere between his legs, telegraphing itself along his spine, across his shoulders, down through his arms, hands, fingertips, and right into those two rigid nipples.
He dug his feet into the mattress, and arched himself more completely into her.
She reacted. The passively spread legs clasped around him like an enormous vise. Damp, trembling, hands came up onto his back, grasping into his muscles. And her turned-away face came up against his, her lips on his ear, the side of her jaw brittlely hard against his cheekbone.
He came; the first jolt sounding through his blood like the long, screaming wake of a rocket. He came again. And he felt her pulse inside as though a bullet had entered her. Again and again! Her heels against his lower back seemed to be pressing the explosions out of him. Another, and another, and another.
Somewhere up ahead there would be quiet and drifting peace and silent satisfaction, but for now, he was in the middle of a battle, and the only way to stay alive was to keep going ahead.
Suddenly, a fantastic vagina was alive and demanding. Hips rolled into a long, side-to-side dance, drawing his. prick like a thousand hands ... or a hundred mouths, keeping it ever more wide awake. Awake, and alive and racing ahead to the next fire fight, the next battle, the next hill to conquer. .
But now there were two of them. Words and sounds passing from one to another, hands reaching and touching, exchanged bites and kisses.
They rolled onto their sides, freeing their hips for more independent attack and counterattack. Then, finally, she was on top of him, forcing herself further down in a mounting fury of passionate movement.
"Now!" She sounded as though she were about to lose her breath.
"Now!" Her body twisted suddenly, and held. Then to the other side.
"Now! Now! Now!" she demanded, and he answered by jutting his hips violently upwards and letting the new volley of cross-fire take over.
"More ... more!" She clung to him.
"Yes, baby! Yes!" He accentuated each driving spurt.
And then there were long, long quiet minutes of absolute silence. The victory was like a rich honey flowing through him, and the tiny figure he held protectively was the precious source of this satisfaction.
They were still joined, and Perry could feel himself floating in that unreal cloudland of unexpended passion. The tiniest buzz of electricity still sparkled in the secret darkness where they touched. Maybe, by the wildest kind of chance, he had stumbled on the person he was looking for.
She lifted her head, and they looked at each other. Yes, she was really just a pretty little girl behind the false eyelashes, the hairspray, and the cosmetics.
"You know," she said, "you are really something." And her smile was great.
He had gotten through to her. She was a real human being caught in a foolish unreal situation.
"Thanks," he smiled back. "So are you. I'd like to see you again."
"You would?" she beamed. "When?"
"Tonight, if you can. I know a great place to go dancing."
"Dancing?"
"Sure. You do dance?"
"You want to pay me just to go dancing?"
Perry pulled out of her sharply, almost pushing her away. He sat up on the edge of the bed. What in hell was wrong with him, anyway? A whore is a whore is a whore. Was his need so desperate he couldn't see that?
"What's the matter, honey?" she said. "I'll go dancing with you if you want."
"Is there a place where I can wash off?"
"Sure. There's a sink in the corner, behind that screen."
He nodded. "Do you want to make another five bucks right now?"
"You want to do it again?"
He stood up and turned to her. "No, not that. This time I want it French."