Chapter 9
Judy walked aimlessly through the streets of Bensonhurst.
She strolled past Mchardie's saloon, where Bill was usually to be found bending an elbow with his buddies after work.
On an impulse, she went inside.
It was only a little after two in the afternoon, and the place was nearly empty except for a few rummies who sat apathetically at the bar and sucked down Budweisers.
The barkeep—a beefy Irishman named Flannery—stared intently at Judy as if he'd seen her somewhere before.
"Can I help you, Miss?" he asked politely, his brogue thicker than a slab of back bacon.
"Uh...maybe a screwdriver," Judy replied.
Flannery went to work preparing the concoction, his eyes never leaving Judy. It wasn't every afternoon that a pretty young thing dressed to the teeth sauntered into his bar.
He brought the screwdriver over to the table where Judy sat, looking glum.
He set it down silently.
Judy sipped listlessly at the drink.
Was she any happier now than she'd been six months ago, before Bill was killed?
She honestly didn't know.
"Excuse me, Miss," Flannery said, eyeing her intently, "but aren't you Bill McGruff's widow?"
"Yes, that's right," she replied.
"Was a dirty shame about Bill, yes indeed," Flannery said. "A finer man there never was than Bill McGruff."
He never slapped you around, Judy thought.
Flannery started wiping the bar with a filthy cloth, reminding Judy of Jackie Gleason's Joe the Bartender.
"Used to come in here all the time, Bill did. Sometimes with his Jewish partner, Schwartz. Liked his whiskey alright."
"Yes, he did," Judy replied.
"His old man, too," Flannery reminiced. "Many's the night I watched McGruff Senior and Junior both suck down a coupla cases of beer or a quart of Clan MacGregor or two. Still, drunk or sober, they was both the berries. Dirty shame, alright, Bill Junior passin' on so young. How's that drink?"
"Fine."
"Have all you want," Flannery offered. "They're on the house. Wouldn't seem proper chargin' you, what with all the business the McGruff's did here. I must say, Missy, that you're looking well. Prosperous, too, if you don't mind me sayin' so."
"Thanks," Judy said, wondering why the hell she'd come in at all.
"Not living in the neighborhood anymore, I'd guess," Flannery observed. "Not dressed like that."
"No," Judy said. "I live in Manhattan now."
"I might have known," Flannery mused, drawing a draft for one of the regulars. "And why not, I ask you? You're young, can't expect you to spend the rest of your life mournin' old Bill Junior, no ma'am. Find yourself a rich husband, that's my advice. Marry a Jew if you can find one.
They'll let you have a colored maid and they never cheat with other women."
Judy nodded sagely.
"Maybe I will," she said, managing a small smile.
Finishing her drink, Judy rose and thanked Flannery.
She left.
She walked down Bay Parkway until she hit Eighty-sixth Street, the heart and soul of Bensonhurst. On the corner was Epstein's Luncheonette.
Judy smiled. She'd sucked down many of Epstein's malteds as a child.
She went inside to see if the place had changed.
It hadn't.
The counter was still long, still was covered with the familiar green formica. The swiveling stools were still there, as were the booths. Even the advertisements of the buxom Coke and Pepsi sweater girls smiling were there. It was like being in a time warp.
She didn't recognize the guy behind the counter. It wasn't Epstein, anyway. More like a younger version, only this guy was tall and thin. Not bad looking, either, Judy noted.
She sat down on one of the stools, bringing back a flood of memories.
The young guy behind the counter smiled at her.
"Good to see you again, Judy," he said.
"Do I know you?" she asked,
"I hope so," he replied with a boyish grin. "I'm Jeffrey Epstein. We went to school together. My dad used to run this place."
"Jeffrey Epstein!" Judy cried. "I remember you! Your face cleared up nicely."
"Thanks," he laughed. "What are you doing around here?"
"Just visiting," she said, remembering that Jeffrey had been little more than a scrawny zitface the last time she'd seen him.
"Bambi Lipshitz was in here last week," he went on. "Told me you were a hotshot advertising executive now."
"Something like that," Judy replied.
"I'm sorry about your husband," Jeffrey said. "I didn't know him or anything, but I'm sorry anyway. Must have been a drag."
"Yeah."
"You want a soda or something?"
"A cherry Coke," Judy replied, once her favorite.
"A cherry Coke it is," Jeffrey said, and set to work making it.
"Is your father retired now?" Judy asked.
"You could say that," Jeffrey said, "he's dead."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Judy apologized.
"Thanks," he said, sliding the cherry Coke down the counter, where it stopped on a dime directly in front of her.
Judy suddenly remembered Flannery's advice on marrying a Jew. She smiled. Jeffrey was about as Jewish as they came, and pretty hot looking to boot.
She decided that a nice mid-afternoon fuck would be just the thing to chase away the blues. Maybe she could even teach him a few things.
"You married now, Jeff?" Judy asked.
"Divorced," he said, cleaning a glass. "After high school, I went on to NYU and got my degree in finance. Got me a high paying job on Wall Street, married a JAP and bought a house out on the Island. In Westbury."
"What are you doing here?"
"That's the good part," Jeffrey replied. "My JAP wife wouldn't put out, I hated my work and hated the burbs. I dumped all three and took over this place when my old man got sick and here I am. Let me tell you—people put this neighborhood down, say it's old fashioned and shit, but there's more life in one square block of Bensonhurst than there is in twelve square miles of suburbia. I wouldn't have it any other way."
"You live around here?"
"Yeah," he replied, not unaware of how nicely the skinny Irish girl had turned out. "Over on Bay Fifteenth and Cropsey."
"I'm thinking of getting a place around here," she lied, "and I'd like to see what you're getting for your money."
"Um...okay," Jeffrey said slowly, not believing a word of it. Could she possibly want to roll in the hay with him? Possibly. Didn't Bambi say she'd fucked half the agency she worked for?
Fortunately, the place was empty. Jeffrey locked the place up and together they headed for his apartment.
Ten minutes later they were in bed.
"I don't usually do this with married men," Judy gasped as Jeff, on top of her, rammed his mighty meat in and out of her.
"As a married man," Jeff replied in the heat of passion, "I didn't do it much, either. Don't worry. My divorce will be final in a month or two, just as soon as Lydia gets back from Curacao."
Judy held onto the guy for dear life, her arms wrapped firmly around his back.
She liked his no-nonsense approach to lovemaking.
She also knew that she would want something more and wondered how Jeffrey would react.
Judy wrapped her leg, shapely legs around his buttocks as they continued bucking and lurching all over Jeffs brass bed.
She clung to him as tightly as she could. She felt his swollen testicles slapping against her ass cheeks as he whipped his shlong in and out of her.
Jeffrey couldn't believe his good fortune. Less than an hour ago he was jerking lime fizzes and chocolate sodas for old ladies and now he was banging his brains out with a foxy lady he'd secretly had a crush on in third grade.
Growing more excited by the moment, he jammed his mouth down on hers and darted his slithery tongue deep into her throat.
Judy acknowledged the kiss gratefully and returned it threefold.
Their mouths glued together, their bodies a tangle of arms and legs, they continued thrashing on the bed with wild abandon.
Judy had a pussy as smooth as velvet and tighter than one of those Chinese handcuffs he'd played with as a youth.
Judy brought her legs further up his body, the soles of her feet rubbing against his ass.
Jeff slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her groin up, slamming it into his.
Judy could stand it no longer.
"Hurt me," she moaned. "Make it hurt..."
"Make what hurt?" he gasped, still banging his brains out.
"The sex..." she replied. "Make...make the sex hurt. Make me hurt, baby!"
"Oh, so that's your game, is it?" Jeffrey wanted to know. "You're into pain."
"Yes," Judy hissed. "I like to get down and dirty."
"All in good time," Jeff shot back.
For the moment though, he wanted to finish what he had started.
He continued plunging, her pussy a bottomless pit.
Her breasts heaved back and forth from the ferocity of his thrusts, jiggling invitingly.
Jeff helped himself.
He treated himself to one luscious, fully erect nipple, taking the little rosebud under his tongue and lapping eagerly at it.
He gave it a little bite.
Judy squealed in delight.
"Do it again!" she gasped. "Make me come!"
He did it again. She squealed a little louder this time.
They continued lurching all over the king sized bed until Judy's head was hanging over the side, her lovely neck in full view, her long hair flowing onto the Oriental rug on the floor.
He kissed her neck deeply, leaving a telltale hickey in his wake.
His eyes bulged wildly, reminding Judy of a guppie.
He could feel his groin tingling, his balls getting swollen and tender.
His cock erupted violently inside of her, making her entire body tingle with raw physical pleasure.
Jeff came like Old Faithful.
The truth be known, he hadn't had sex in nearly six months, a year if one included his marriage.
He wanted to make the most of this opportunity.
He continued spewing his load into her steamy twat.
Judy emitted a series of low pitched grunts as she felt his pecker erupting inside of her.
She could actually feel his semen squirting deep inside. His orgasm seemed to last forever.
He finished, wiped the sweat from his brow and kissed her deeply on the mouth.
"Did you come?" he asked.
"Yes," she lied.
"Well, as Al Jolson said, 'You ain't seen nothing yet.'"
He got up and fetched two cans of Pepsi from the ancient fridge. He cracked them both and handed her one.
"I guess it would be too much to hope for," he said to her as they lay comfortably sipping soda, "if I asked you to do the town with me some night."
She didn't reply right away, unsure of her feelings.
She liked him. He wasn't flashy like most of the men she encountered. And he wasn't some brainless macho shmuck like some of the other dudes at the agency who tried to date her.
No, Jeffrey Epstein seemed to be genuinely at peace with himself and the world around him. Judy envied him.
And liked him a little more for it.
"You never know," she replied noncomittally. "Ask me later."
"Sure," Jeff said, downing the rest of his Pepsi. "There's just one thing I wanna know."
"What's that?"
"What do you want? Why are you in my bed now? Are you looking for a quick lay, or maybe something concrete?"
"I don't really know why I'm here," Judy said truthfully. "You looked good. No, you looked great. You don't blowdry your hair or wear the latest fashions or seem to give a shit about what people think. It's not easy being yourself."
"And how about you?" Jeff wanted to know. "Are you happy, with your Upper East Side studio and your high paying job and zillion dollar wardrobe? Are you any happier now than you were when you lived here with an abusive husband?"
"How did you know about that?" she asked, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"About your husband beating you up?" he asked back. "I have my sources. If you must know, Bambi told me."
"I suppose she also told you that I had her canned?"
He nodded.
"She did. Is it true?"
It was Judy's turn to nod.
"Yes, it's true," she confessed. "Did she tell you anything else, like how I fucked my way to the top?"
"Yes," Jeffrey said evenly, "I believe that subject came up in the course of the discussion."
"And do you believe it?"
"When you tell me it's true, I'll believe it," he replied. "It's always best to hear both sides of any story. It's like my Aunt Meema from far Rockaway used to say: 'You can't ride two horses with one uchas'"
"Your Aunt Meema was wonderfully wise," Judy sighed.
He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth watering body.
"Stop gaping at me," she giggled. "How can you be interested in a girl who, in Bambi's words, 'uses her twat like spare change'?"
"Those were her words, not yours," Jeffrey replied.
"It doesn't matter," Judy told him, her grin fading again. "It's true. Every last word of it. I did fuck my way up the ladder."
Jeff leaned over and took her in his arms.
"If it makes any difference," he whispered, "I don't care what you did or thought you had to do. Like Walt Whitman said, 'we contain multitudes.'"
Judy wasn't too sure what that meant but liked the sound of it all the same.
"You're sweet, Jeffrey," Judy said. "Really. I wish I'd met you before all this shit started happening."
"It's not too late."
"Yes, it is," she replied.
"But it's never..." he started to say.
Judy put her hand over his mouth.
"Don't talk," she said softly. "Just make love to me again."
"I...I can't do what you want," he stammered. "I can't hurt you. If you were Lydia, my soon-to-be-ex, maybe, but..."
"Do whatever you want," she said, and kissed him.
Somehow, with Jeffrey, she didn't feel the need to be abused or treated roughly. That particular urge—fetish, some would call it—seemed far away now.
They made love a little slower this time.
Judy kissed his chest and his navel.
Her fingers curled around his semi-erect member. She massaged it skillfully, manipulating it between her long, thin fingers.
She kept massaging it until it was rock-hard.
Her cheek resting on his belly, the throbbing penis towered above her like a flesh colored monument.
She gripped it firmly and wrapped her ruby red lips around the purple tip, sliding it ever so slowly into her mouth.
Jeff massaged her back as he felt her warm, loving lips paying him the most expert lip service.
He felt her moist tongue sliding up and down his huge shaft, now slick with her saliva.
She cupped his balls in her hand and squeezed them gently, making him flinch under her.
"Lydia would never do THAT!" he muttered.
Her head started bobbing up and down as she took every last inch of his pulsating pecker into her hungry mouth.
She started jerking him off as she continued slurping.
She continued jerkin' his gerkin as she dabbed playfully at the tip, running her smooth tongue up and down the sensitive underside of his manhood.
She had never enjoyed giving head this much, at least, not that she could remember. It had always been you-do-mine-and-I'll-do-yours with every guy she'd been with. Now however, she found herself loving every last inch of it, seeing how much pleasure Jeffrey was deriving from her oral efforts.
She could feel his balls tense in her palm and knew from experience he was on the brink.
She lifted her head from his crotch before he could come.
"God, what are you doing," he gasped. "Don't fucking stop, whatever you do."
She said nothing.
Instead, she turned around on the bed and raised her ass up into the air, so that her asshole pointed straight at him.
He said, "I want to fuck you in your hot, sweet, dripping pussy."
She shook her head.
He spit in his hand and rubbed it all over his cock.
"Have you ever done an ass-fuck?" she asked.
"No," he said, "but I was married to one."
She giggled.
He slowly inserted the tip of his pecker into her strawberry-shaped pucker hole.
He could feel her entire body tense as he worked his way into her pooper.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No...yes...a little..." she whispered.
"Should I stop?"
"No."
He didn't.
He eased his way in deeper, wondering how any woman could find enjoyment in getting it up the end.
Lord, but it was tight in there. His cock felt like an orange on the Tropicana assembly line. The pressure on it was intense.
He buried it in her all the way to the base.
She remained motionless, savoring the pain and pleasure of being violated.
He grabbed her hips and held them firmly as he started pumping her.
Back and forth he went, in and out, the pressure on his rod growing with each additional thrust.
Judy groaned.
She reached behind and grabbed his ass, forcing him deeper into her, as he seemed reluctant to do so himself.
His cock was buried in her up to the base.
He could hold back his climax no longer. He started spurting his sizzling seed into her anal cavity .
She could feel Jeff's pecker contracting deep inside and started quaking with orgasmic delight.
She moaned, loudly and freely, not caring who heard, despite the fact that Jeff was being as gentle with her and seemed to genuinely concerned about her pleasure ratio.
"Come in me," she begged. "I love it when men come inside of my asshole!"
Jeffrey felt a tinge of jealousy but not for long. He was too wrapped up in orgasmic ecstasy to worry about it now.
He pulled his still-spurting cock out of her butt-hole and shot the remainder of his seed all over her back and ass-cheeks. '
His cock continued to pulse wildly as he shot out more and more of his hot load.
His orgasm finally dwindled down to a few lonely drops of jizz. His cock fainted from exhaustion.
"That was nice," Judy said, stroking his hair.
"Yeah, I guess it was," Jeff replied. "Do you do that sort of thing often?"
"What sort of thing?"
"You know..." he said haltingly. "Getting it...up the end like that."
"I've done it a few times," Judy said. She had an inkling as to where the conversation was headed.
"And it doesn't hurt?"
"Sure it hurts," she replied, "but..."
Suddenly, the apartment door flew open. A gray-haired, stout lady burst in carrying a Waldbaums shopping bag.
"Mom..." Jeffrey gasped.
"You should lock your door, shmendrick!" she cackled cheerfully. "You never know who might be lurking..."
Her words trailed off abruptly when she saw that her son was not alone.
"Oy vay!" she said. "You got company."
Judy scrambled under the covers and pulled them up over her face. Jeffrey did the same.
"Jesus Christ," Jeff muttered. "Mom, what are you doing here?"
"What, all of a sudden I'm not welcome in my own son's home?"
"Uh..sure, Mom, but..." Jeff tried to say.
"So who's your friend?" Mrs. Epstein wanted to know. "Is she Jewish?"
Uh..this is Judy McGruff," Jeff said to his mother. "Judy, this is my mother, Mrs. Epstein."
"Hi," Judy said from under the covers.
"McGruff?" Mrs. Epstein said. "That doesn't sound like a Jewish name to me."
"Well..."
Mrs. Epstein started to straighten up the apartment, oblivious to everyone's embarrassment. She gathered dirty clothes from the floor and piled them in a corner.
"Your father, may he rest in peace, would be happy to see his son having so much fun, but as your mother, Jeffrey, I gotta tell you..."
"Mom, can we talk about this later?" Jeff asked, reaching for his pants. His mother grabbed them away and examined them.
"Filthy," she snorted. "Jeffrey, you're a sweet boy, but oy are you a slob!"
"Mom, I really think we should talk later..."
"For your mother you can make time," Mrs. Epstein said. "Your sister Phyllis doesn't wanna know from me anymore. Always shopping, shopping, spending her husband's blood stained money! So help me God, when I die, I want you should have me cremated and scatter my ashes over Bloomingdales!"
"Why?" her son asked.
"It's the only way I'll ever get to see her!"
She pulled some Comet and other cleaning fluids out of the shopping bag and then pulled some rags out of her whale-sized purse. She went into the kitchen and started scrubbing the stove.
"Jeff...hand me my clothes," Judy whispered.
He reached down and handed Judy her stuff. In the kitchen, Mrs. Epstein talked to no one in particular as Judy dressed under the covers, not the easiest of tasks.
"I don't know why you ever broke with Lydia," Mrs. Epstein lamented. "Such a nice, quiet girl. A perfect wife. Even kept a kosher home. But no, my son doesn't want a nice girl. He only wants a tramp. Trust me, my son. This shiksa will break your heart."
"Mom, please.." Jeffrey pleaded.
"Tell her to leave, Jeffrey," Judy begged.
Jeffrey brushed his hair with his hand in frustration as his mother went about cleaning his kitchen.
"All anyone cares about these days is having stinky orgasms," Mrs. Epstein complained." In my day, we didn't know from such things. Everything was saved for the wedding night."
"Jesus, Jeffrey," Judy whispered. "Assert yourself. Get her out of here!"
"Let me handle this, okay?" he snapped back, and leaped out of bed. He wrapped a bedsheet around his lower torso and went into the kitchen.
Mrs. Epstein looked at her half naked son with amusement.
"Now he's ashamed," she said with a cluck of her tongue, "relax, darling. I've seen you naked many times."
Judy, fully dressed except for her panties and bra, threw the covers back and got out of bed.
Mrs. Epstein looked at her with contempt.
"For this you closed the place five hours early?" she asked, waving her hand in Judy's direction.
"Mom," Jeffrey said, unaware that the sheet was now down around his ankles. "I really think it would be best if you came back later."
Mrs. Epstein threw her hands up in exasperation.
"Sure, throw me out!" she guilt-tripped. "My own son doesn't want me in his house. You raise them up right, take them to your breast when they're hungry and they give you nothing but &nochas!"
"What's that?" Judy asked, curious.
"Grief," Jeffrey replied.
"It's all grief to me," Mrs. Epstein moaned, gathering up her dirty rags and cleaning stuff, throwing them back into the Waldbaum's bag. "I'll go, Jeffrey, but I want you to know that your mother is very hurt that you should ask her to leave."
"Maybe I'd better leave," Judy offered, going for her coat.
"Yes," Mrs. Epstein agreed. "This is all your fault! When my son was married to Lydia, she would never have dreamed of throwing me out!"
"Mom!" Jeffrey wailed. "You apologize to Judy right now!"
"Don't bother," Judy sniffed, brushing by them as she went to the door.
"Judy..." Jeffrey pleaded, but she was already gone. He could hear her footsteps on the stairs.
He jumped into some pants and ran after her, barefoot and naked from the waist up. His mother grabbed his arm.
"Let her go, Jeffrey," she said. "She'll give you nothing but heartache!"
"Dammit, Mom," he snapped. "You shouldn't have said that to her!"
He ran down the stairs after her and tore off down the street, where she was headed for the subway.
He caught up with her and grabbed her arm.
"Jeez," he panted, out of breath. "I'm really sorry, Judy, really I am. You gotta understand— my mother's from another era, another time..."
"I do understand," she replied."All too well I understand. She's right, you know. I am a tramp, and I WILL break your heart."
"No," Jeffrey replied, shaking his head wildly. "I think you're wrong, Judy. I wanna see you again, and again and maybe forever! I don't care about the past. It's history."
Judy smiled indulgently.
"You're a good person, Jeffrey," she sighed. "You deserve someone better than me. You should have the best."
"Hey, don't give me that singles' bar crap," he replied. "I really think we can make a go of it, you and me. Let's give it a try at least. Hell, you owe me that much."
His heart leaped as he watched her face; she seemed to consider it for a moment. Then she shook her head.
"No, Jeffrey," she said. "You'll remember all the bad things everyone's been saying about me.
It'll be there, tucked away in the back of your mind somewhere just waiting for the first time you get mad at me, or we have a fight or something."
"I won't!" he insisted. "I don't care about any of that! We'll wipe the slate clean, move out of town somewhere!"
She touched his face affectionately.
"You really are sweet, Jeffrey," she smiled. There was an edge of sadness to it.
"Then give me a chance, Judy. I know we can make it work."
"No," she said in a tone that Jeffrey knew was final.
She started down the subway steps, looking up at him.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I came here today and turned your head around, Jeffrey. I had no right. I guess I was just trying to find something that's lost forever."
"You sound like a soap opera," he said, leaning over the cold metal subway entrance wall. "It's all bullshit, Judy. All that matters is how you feel about me and vice versa."
"Take care, Jeffrey," she said at the bottom of the steps, looking more beautiful than ever. Jeffrey's heart began to do an Irish jig in his chest.
"Judy, please!" he pleaded.
"Find yourself a nice girl," she told him.
"I did, today!" he wailed, but she was gone. A little old lady passed him on the sidewalk.
"Do you always run around like that when it's thirty degrees out?" she asked him.
Jeffrey looked down and realized that he was, indeed, half naked.
"Shit on toast," he muttered, and went back upstairs where his mother was Mop'n'Glowing the kitchen floor.