Chapter 3
A Night at the Movies
"I'd guess we got into our present kick from the very first time we made it together, Myrtle and I. We'd gone together a couple of months, if you can call coffee breaks and maybe a couple beers after the show 'going together.'
"We talked about things I guess all aspiring young actors talk about-how funny somebody's 'bit' was or how somebody was screwing up the blocking or the timing; did you see so-and-so in such-and-such, and that kind of thing. But the most important thing was that we liked each other's work. It can be difficult to get along with someone-not necessarily, but frequently-if you're putting them down about their talent or work.
"Myrtle, she was-well, with a name like that to start with, you'd almost have to be-she was a fine mimic in addition to being a good actress. I mean, she used a stage name and also a nickname that everyone called her: Marnie. So no one that I know of ever knew her real name. She gave me some song and dance about her parents having come over from their medieval fief-hold near the Marne River, and when she was a young kid in school and her class mates asked where she was from, she told them the Marne. But when she spelled it out for them, they pronounced it Marnie.
"Anyway, one night after the show we were sitting in a sleazy little bar at the end of Waverly Place in the Village, and she said, 'You know, nobody at the theater knows my real name,' grabbing a handful of pretzels to chomp, cocking an eyebrow at me.
"I'd been running off at the mouth about something and I stopped right in the middle of a sentence and said, 'Oh?' Wiping designs on the table with my glass. Fun. Miss Rheingold, all that.
" 'Yeah,' with this flat, brassy voice, clicking nonexistent gum with her teeth, 'it's Myrtle.'
"I broke out laughing, I mean I guffawed. Almost fell on the floor. Tears, the whole bit.
"When I calmed down, she said, looking at me levelly, 'You're the first one who's laughed when I told them my real name.'
"Well, I tried to keep a straight face as I told her my favorite aunt's name had been Myrtle. Which was the truth, but I'd always laughed at her name, too, behind her back.
"But Marnie smiled at me and said, 'Don't take it so seriously. What my parents had in mind was beautiful flowers and fragrant spices.' Giving me this Elaine May ingenue look. "There are worse names, you know. Hmm? " 'Oh,' earnestly. 'Myrtle is a very ... unique name.'
" 'My folks,' wide-eyed, 'just couldn't see calling me "Periwinkle" or "Moneywort." ' " 'Yes.'
"I was kind of numb for a moment. I hadn't yet caught on to her ways. Of course her name wasn't Myrtle, never had been. Marnie was just a name she liked to be called.
"I gave her my tight-lipped Humphrey Bogart 'Lissen, sweetheart,' and she decided I was Rick right there. 'Oh, Rick.' A very passable In-grid Bergman.
" 'What if my name was Murgatroyd?' I said. 'What would you say? ... Uh-nhi-ii, there, my name's Murgatroyd. What-'
" 'A noble name,' she shot back. 'Carried down from the Middle Ages by only a few honored descendants of the Knights of the Holy Rood of Murcat. When those staunch defenders returned to England, instead of making them Knights of the Round Table or the Garter, they were made Knights of the Murcatrood. The king was a cockney, though, and it came out "Murgatroyd." '
"That's the kind of wacky imagination she had. Before the night was over-after about a dozen beers-we were both a bit sloshed. We went back to her place and sacked out. Me on the floor. But it made things easier the next time we dropped in for a couple beers after the show. We split to her place to watch TV and save on the price of drinks.
"Now, I gotta set the scene. Sitting there in front of the TV, making snide comments about the late movies and the talk shows, drinking beer out of glasses no less, the two of us. Dim light in the kitchen-bathroom. Commode in a tiny closet all by itself. Typical Village-type New York apartment.
"Both of us sitting there on the couch-bed, the only real illumination coming from the eerie flicker of the idiot box. Our running commentary slowly losing steam. I think we were both becoming conscious of the other person sitting next to us on the couch. I know I was becoming acutely conscious of her. , "Marnie got up. 'I feel icky from all the grime in that theater.' Pouring the rest of her beer into my glass. 'But don't go 'way, Ricky-ticky-tin. I won't be a minute.'
"Well, it wasn't a minute. It was more like half an hour. But I spent the time profitably, divided between viewing the garbage on the idiot box and considering my incipiently new relationship with Marnie. It suddenly struck me that I might have a very good thing going here.
"I mean she was a real good-looking chick. I tried to visualize her without her old sweat shirt and baggy jeans that she usually wore. Her hair combed instead of hanging all around like a cross between Veronica Lake and Janis Joplin. I tried to conjure up a definitive vision of her face and couldn't do it. It kept sliding and melting and blurring out of focus. One minute: Raquel Welch, by God. The next: Brigitte Bar-dot. Then: Sophia Loren? When I think back, it was as much a comment on the power of my own imagination as it was on her talent for mimicry and makeup.
"But there is no doubt that, from that night on, she has been my fantasy queen. I mean, get this.
"I was sitting there watching this flick starring Rita Hayworth-this flick we'd both been digging. Now, Rita Hayworth was my original pubescent sex goddess. When I was pubescent, not her. I mean, the first time I felt a lustful tickle in my balls, it was when I caught a night-gowned, deep-decolletaged Rita Hayworth smiling sexily at me from the pages of Life. Instant lubricity. Gonads buzzing, hormones slavering.
"So. Half my mind getting turned on vicariously by Rita Hayworth, wanting to grab her thighs and lick her from the kneecaps up. The other half trying to capture the face, the figure, the voice, the form and pressure of Marnie and toying with the idea of grabbing her-preferably by her elusive ass-and doing the same thing to her.
"Slowly I became aware of a delightful scent wafting by me on the air. I felt, more than heard, someone approach behind me on the right. Perfume stronger, a growing aura. Ambient temperature up, barometer up. I heard a soft voice, husky close to my ear.
" 'Well, do you think...? ' I didn't hear all she said too clearly, but it was a dead ringer for the voice of Rita Hayworth.
"My mind clicked. She was right beside me
-the voice, the scent, I felt the warmth, heard her breathing.
"I turned and brushed warm lips with mine.
" 'Mmh-mhmmm-' Rita. I was kissing Rita Hayworth. Moist, warm mouth. Soft zephyrs, inhalations, Rita-scent. Pulse pounding in my ears, my fingers on her throbbing neck, soft. Soft liquid lips and tonguing, sucking. Stars whirling behind my eyes, the world inhaled into a warm kiss.
"Christ, my temples throbbed. I ran my tongue around her warm, trembling lips. Her mouth opened slightly and she nibbled tenderly on my lower lip. Her fingers brushed my cheek.
" 'Ga-a-a-a-a-a-a-awd.' I hadn't realized how horny I was until then. Half my head was tripping on Rita Hayworth and my senses tripping with this luscious, fragrant, soft and tender bit of pulchritude.
"Well, my head was into this double bag of Rita-fantasy and Marnie-live, flesh and blood. So when I drew back a bit and looked at her, I was mightily surprised at what I saw. Who should my eyes tell me I was kissing butJune Ally son.
"Remember her?-girl next door, husky, late-adolescence voice. Always remaining true to some poor man's Jimmy Stewart while he was in the army.
"Mind you, it was just a fleeting impression. The features coalesced for an instant and then scattered. But for one nostalgic, heart-fluttery moment I was gazing into the laughing eyes of everybody's 1940s' girl-next-door heartthrob. June Allyson-the girl whose pussy I most wanted to sniff when I was a teenybopper. Flower child that I was, I just knew it would smell like the lilac bush in my back yard. Clean, verdant, girl-next-door cunt.
" 'Say, there, fella,' still using a Rita Hay-worth voice, 'you're real easy.' It didn't fit the fleeting June Allyson image. Kind of fragmented her.
"Fragmented me, too, but not so much I was unable to reach out and pull her down on the bed with me.
" 'You wouldn't believe the deja vu I just had.' Cuddling her in my arms, the image of weep-a-minute June fresher than hump-a-min-ute Rita. 'For a while my gonads were convinced they had Rita Hayworth in their radar.'
" 'Oh, sir,' she said in a voice I couldn't immediately identify but later placed as coming from Mary Poppins, 'you do say the strangest things.' But there was a gentle, persistent rhythm of belly and groin on my leg. Suddenly she became-now get this-Jeanne Moreau, who has always grabbed me where it counts, and Gloria Steinem, who turns me on. I mean, I'll bet Gloria Steinem is great in bed. Imaginative. Articulate-in body English.
"I couldn't hold back these trippy sensations any longer and started to tell Marnie about them. About the fantasies she excited in me. She listened eagerly, squirming and humming with pleasure occasionally. Eating it up, she was. Then she stunned me.
" 'You know what I'd like to do?' looking at me with a 1949-vintage Margaret O'Brien look, for God's sake. 'I'd like to fuck Humphrey Bogart.'
" 'Play it again, Sam.' I was Bogey at his most irresistible. The damp towel she had wrapped around her fell away.
" 'I'm serious,' she said, looking at me for the first time with an expression that jelled as belonging to her, to Marnie. 'Do you think if you can see all those actresses in me, I can't see Humphrey Bogart in you? ... I ask you.' It was a good thing she didn't want to fuck Clark Gable.
"The body she had certainly wasn't that of a sub-teen Margaret O'Brien. Neither was it Anita Ekberg. But it was pretty astounding compared to some of the chicks I'd been picking up in the Village and the upper West side.
"As with her face and personality, she seemed able almost to change her physical qualities-one evening a svelte May Britt, the next a buxom Rosanna Podesta. So like a chameleon was she that I insisted once on taking her measurements just to fix things in my mind a little.
"Thirty-six-inch bust, a firm, comfortable handful of tit with large, stand-up nipples that never failed to erect proudly when I mouthed them. Twenty-two-inch waist, taut and well muscled as befits a dancer, but with the cutest, juiciest little bulge around the upper pubic area. A marvelously sexy belly button, from which I licked wine or whipped cream more than once. Her hips and ass had a beautiful can't to them and tapered into long, athletic thighs and well-shaped calves. Ass cheeks the size and firmness of Persian melons. God! how I loved to grab that ass of hers and knead it with my sweaty palms, feel the muscles flex under my hands, run my fingers into the long, deep cleft between the firm globes. Jesus, the smell of her ass cleft was pure ambrosia.
"Without her towel under the dim light from the TV, Marnie presented a fascinating sight. There was a sort of mysterious play of shadows on her face and body, forming vales and highlights.
" 'I'll just lie here,' she said, 'and think of Bogey. Just tell me who you'd like most to fuck right now.'
"I was beginning to get hard just listening to her voice as she carried on with that brazen talk. She felt my erection grow and started unbuttoning my pants with fast, eager fingers. Before I knew it she had my pants and shorts down around my ankles and was caressing my cock with a feather touch.
" 'Ohh, God, that stiff dick feels beautiful,' she said.
"I was out of my clothes in a flash.
"Slipping back onto the bed, I gave her a wet kiss, running my tongue around her mouth. She ran her hands up and down my body, lingering at my cock and balls, my nipples, my ass to squeeze and caress.
" 'Elizabeth Taylor,' I said.
" 'What about her?' with an edge to the question.
" "That's who I'd like to screw right now.' My eyes were closed and I was visualizing a rather, what shall I say, voluptuous Elizabeth Taylor, just a little on the heavy side. I'd been hot for her when I saw her in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Not grossly fat, mind you-not that. Just what they call saftig, round and firm and fully packed. I remember reading somewhere that Richard Burton had said Liz sometimes tended to a little heaviness in the thighs. Well, hell, I don't mind heavy thighs as long as they keep their muscle tone.
"Into my ear sifted soft words of endearment, while talented hands and fingers explored the textures of my skin. Down the small of my back, tap-tapping on my buttocks and into the crevice of my ass to my balls. An expert, feathery touch. Warm lips brushed my earlobes, and a wet tongue fluttered into my ear. Sturdy legs raised themselves along my flanks and squeezed around my waist with just enough pressure to force an appreciative sigh from me.
"But what really tingled and twisted my mind around a little bit was that the whisperings in my ear were those of Liz Taylor circa Butterfield 8. Or maybe the liquid cooings that she did in Suddenly Last Summer, where she absolutely turned me on in that read-through bathing suit. You know, that kind of material she wore you could almost see through but not quite.
"The bits of pubic hair that stuck out of her bathing suit-or maybe they didn't stick out, but just sat there under the sheer material-I seem to remember that vividly. And here, on this bed, by the light of the flickering TV screen, I had my arms around a body out of whose mouth was coming the voice of Liz, and under one hand was the warm, steamy thatch of soft, freshly washed pubic hair, which gave off a scent that turned me on and, strangely, seemed to be tuned in to the precise length of my brain waves in such a way that the picture of Liz Taylor became pulsatingly clear in my mind.
"That's only one example of the freaky ways she had of becoming, in my mind, somebody else. As I say, I don't know if that reflects on her fantastic ability as a mimic or on the power of my imagination. Imagine having your olfactory nerves provide the stimulus for visual hallucinations.
"Well, with this Liz Taylor voice in my ear and a Liz Taylor smell in my nose, the charade really began to envelop all my senses. The legs wrapped around my waist became Liz legs, the breasts firming up under my hand became Liz breasts. The pubic hair and plump cunt flesh I had my hand on began to take on the configuration, the very flesh and folds, I was convinced were Liz's. The belly pressed against mine took on the rounded firmness of Liz's.
"'Oh, you,' she said, 'cocksman! I was so jealous of Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca-' Deft fingers eased the head of my gorged dick into the crack between warm labia. '-and here she was willing to fuck you for a simple passport or visa-' Fingers dandled my balls lovingly while cunt lips nibbled the glans of my penis. '-and I would've fucked you for the sheer ecstatic joy-' The voice throbbed with passion.'-of getting your big dick and your hot, thick load!'
"I was into my fantasy so thoroughly that I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she was babbling about-what Liz was babbling about-all that about being jealous of Ingrid Bergman who wanted to fuck me for a passport. Then it hit me, of course-she was talking about the movie Casablanca, where Bergman comes to plead with Humphrey Bogart to help her and her husband get out of the clutches of the Vichy government in Morocco.
"Well, I was now in the clutches of thighs that were urging me toward imminent penetration of heated cunt lips. Preparing myself, lodging the pulsing tip of my dick firmly into the nibbling maw of Liz's cunt, I rasped in my best stiff-upper-lip style, 'Here's looking at you, kid.'
"That tired, hoarse line, that existentialist echo of Bogey's, triggered some switch that unleashed a torrent of passion. She pulled me into her with a force that, had she not been ready and lubricated, would've damn near torn her vagina. But I sank deep into a tight, seething pit where muscles grabbed my imprisoned rod and stroked it voluptuously. And always there was the voice of Liz cooing in my ear.
" 'Ooh, hot fuck!' she breathed, and her hands went to my ass to squeeze my buttocks and diddle around my ass-hole. Jesus, it felt like there was another pair of hands inside her cunt, squeezing and jacking me off. 'See if you can tell,' the throaty Liz voice asked me, 'which movie I'm in now.'
"With that, her legs whipped up and proceeded to wrap around me in a variety of ways. I found myself sort of cradled between her pneumatic thighs, while her calves and feet massaged and beat little tattoos around my back and sides. The way her goddam pussy was flexing its muscles it was as if it had a life of its own. I felt my hard on throb to greater length and girth, swell into mucous crevices and along pulsating walls.
" 'Ooh, lover,' she groaned, 'pump that big hot cock to me.' I grabbed on to her shoulders and pushed in an extra half inch until I felt the knob of my dick strain against the cartilaginous nubs of her cervix-exquisite pleasure! 'Great Caesar!' she yelled. The pulsing and flutterings of her body grew more agitated. Her nipples hardened against my chest. 'Sock it to me!' she shrieked in Liz's voice. Was it Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I wondered.
"She clutched and moaned and groaned, whipping her ass like a palsied viper. She shuddered. 'Annihilate me!' Her voice rasped, choked with lust.
" 'Cleopatra!' I shouted. That had to be it. My cock throbbed, my balls tingled with impending orgasm.
"The juices flowed from her cunt like soggy, thick paste. Our genitals mashed it around until our entire union was a marshy mass. 'No, silly,' she giggled. Her cunt lips trembled against the root of my flinty dick. With both hands gripping the globes of her ass, I could feel her anus begin to pucker so that the taut flesh around it jumped rhythmically.
"My hands flew over her body, squeezing her buttocks, caressing her flanks, caressing her breasts and calves. A thin sheen of sweat shone under the light from the television. Our bellies smacked together sweatily. I slowed the rhythm so I could plug her as deeply as my rigid cock would go.
"Her features, sodden with lust, gradually tightened; her eyes sparkled, glinting with a purplish fire, drilling into mine. 'What movie?' she demanded. 'Fuck me-deeper!' The voice was strangely, childishly petulant. It excited me.
" 'Oo-o-oh,' she trilled, 'fuck me-faster!' Her cunt clipped and her eyes brightened feverishly. 'What movie?' she hissed. Her heart pounded so strongly it drummed in my ears like the sound of the tide.
"Her hands seized my ass and pulled me to her with a sharply faster rhythm. In the depths of her cunt I felt the muscles grip the throbbing tip of my cock. The entire sheath then squeezed the length of the shaft.
" 'I ... I give up,' I whimpered, slamming my dick into her, rocking and humping to the frenzied pull of her hands. My chest tightened, my breath rasped, the muscles in my body spasmed. With a shout I felt the load in my nuts boil over.
"Her cunt gripped my shaft like a vise. Never before had I felt such a grip-sheer, oiled ecstasy. With a 'Hah!' I felt the muscles of my cock contract and spew out a long, searing rope of come. A pulse beat in the base of my skull.
"She bucked and twisted under me. Her cunt gripped my shaft from tip to root in tight, exquisite agony. Pneumatic thighs and flanks squeezed my body, urging spasm after spasm of electric jolts through my cock. Seized in the throes of thundering orgasm, our bodies leapt and vaulted.
"Her face glowed with a doll-like smile, and in a high-pitched, girlish sigh she gasped out, shuddering, 'National Velvet.'
Myrtle and Rick, the principals of this case history are not unique in their fantasy-playing where they pretend to be those whom they both admire the most and hate the most. The combination of this admiration-hate could be equated with professional jealousy, or envy, and the make-believe game of theirs could be compared to the juvenile games of cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, or-more specifically-the game of the Knights of the Round Table.
There is no pathology in the subject's fantasies. His fantasies, and Myrtle's fantasies, are not unlike the fantasies of innumerable men and women, husbands and wives, and precocious adolescents who "pretend" they are with their Silver Screen, TV, or radio idols. The only difference between Rick and Myrtle's game and the game of the majority of others is that in the case under discussion the subject and his friend volubly increase the arousal aspects of pretense by playing the roles of those they want each other to be.
Pin-up pictures of motion-picture stars and starlets-both male and female-to anyone who is not bound by inhibitions, are not bought and displayed by the masses (usually in their bedrooms, locker rooms, and other "intimate" areas) because of the esthetics of photography. There is definitely a sexual motivation for such possessions.
In the case under study, being gifted with the talent for mimicry, both Rick and Myrtle simply went a step further than the masses. Rather than fantasize in the closeted space of the bathroom-with the portrait of their idol before them-they chose to actually have intercourse as well as engage in various other sexual activities with those they had found "sexy" on the screen.
The arousal factor of such a situation cannot be minimized. Anyone who has had a matinee idol can understand the erotic value of such a situation. The question here is not so much the "what" or "why" of the fantasy as the "how much" of it. And the question, unfortunately, does not have an answer. The case was not obtained from a psychiatrist's private notebook or tapes; it was transcribed from a tape made by the case subject himself. There was no opportunity offered to have Rick interviewed, so the question of whether he and Myrtle engage in a "make-believe" sexual session every time they get together or not is moot.
Going on such an uncertainty, it can only be said that if the subject and his "costar" engage in mimicry only occasionally-to add variety to their lovemaking-then one can simply say that it is perfectly natural, considering their previously mentioned (and obvious) talents. If, however, they are unable to enjoy sexual congress without calling upon all the motion-picture greats of past and present; if, in other words, they-Rick and Myrtle-cannot attain gratification by being themselves, then their sexual lives could create obvious problems. A separation, for example, would eliminate any possibility of either one of their attaining the full enjoyment of the sexual act.
"We lay there for a while in the flickering light of the TV, getting our breath and letting the glow of our bodies, the heat and the sweat, radiate in the cool of the night. Most amazing was the metamorphosis of Marnie's body and features. I was still, uh, intromitted, and throbbing, and I gazed into her face and saw, I swear, the face of a very young Liz Taylor. The body felt ... late-adolescent blooming into womanhood. And as I watched, the face and body resumed the familiar attributes of Marnie. Fantastic.
" 'Play it, again, Sam,' she teased, bearing down with practiced muscles.
"But I was tired, drained for the moment, so I couldn't really respond. As a matter-of-fact, my whang fell out of her with a small plup sound. Along with it there came a miniature flood of thick, milky paste that shone softly in the dim light and made fascinating patterns against the red vulva and dark pubic hair.
" 'Ooh,' she crooned. 'I can feel a big, warm gob of come drooling all over my bohulideee.' With a slow, sensual movement, she reached between her legs and smeared the semen over her vulva and buttocks and insides of her thighs. She leered.
"My whang gave a couple of leaps at that. It stood out at half-mast and throbbed, but didn't have its heart in a full-fledged erection. It was pointed right at Marnie, though, and I think it was examining her with its one eye.
"I raised myself up momentarily and switched on a low, soft wall lamp. It gave a subdued light that filtered through the room and cast a warm glow on the couch where Marnie was stretched like a sylph. Still with the adolescent, nubile body of the young Liz-even the face suggestive of that lovely young visage from National Velvet. Amazing.
"It's really amazing how her hair, for example, can take on almost any hue from jet black to strawberry blonde. Without the benefit of a wig, although she has a couple of those. And her eyes can seem one moment the brightest blue and the next a deep, smoky brown, almost obsidian. I think probably the only person she couldn't convince me she was would be Ruby Dee in Raisin in the Sun. On the other hand, maybe she could. Hey, I'm gonna have to ask her to try that sometime. I find Ruby Dee very attractive.
"Anyway, we both stopped feeling horny for a while, so we decided to take a walk around the Village for a spell. We thought of dropping into a couple of coffee shops or pubs along Bleeker Street or Christopher Street. But all of a sudden we got sick and tired of stepping around the assorted freaks, dopers, prostitutes, and panhandlers. So we decided to take a subway uptown and drop in on a bar that used to be a neighborhood pub of mine. Congenial place, right near Columbia University on Broadway. Called The West End.
"Yeah, that's one reason Marnie and I both left New York a few years back. Slowly it changed for the worse. I mean, when we were both young and callow and in our salad days, New York was fun city, a summer festival and all that. The sight of all those dopers and hookers and freaks, the general atmosphere of paranoid madmen in a Kafka setting, finally brought home to us the fact that New York was really no longer fun city. That's when we first started thinking about splitting that scene and heading, maybe, to the Coast. That's what New Yorkers call Hollywood or Los Angeles-the Coast.
"So we figured we'd get out of the Kafka scene for a while by going up to this West End Bar, about 114th and Broadway. Waiting for the subway, we were aware of the station, dim, musty, smelling of months-old urine and puke. Murderers and rapists and strung-out heads seemed to lurk everywhere.
"On the subway train there were more drunks and madmen. Two homosexuals across the aisle were holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each other. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against gay people or gay power. But they just added to the total effect of bedlam.
"We got off at 116th Street, figuring we'd find a little sanity around the ivied halls of Columbia. I should have known what to expect when I heard somebody whistling what sounded like the Wieniawski Violin Concerto. I mean, can you imagine anybody trying to whistle the Wieniawski Violin Concerto. I don't see how anyone can play it on the violin.
"Sure enough, when we stepped out of the subway onto 116th, there was a scene of real bedlam going on. We'd walked into the middle of the Columbia demonstrations.
" 'Hi-de-ho,' whooped Marnie. 'We seem to have walked right into a scene from Marat-Sade.' I have to admit that, as we walked down Broadway, there seemed to be a lot of people that looked like they were inmates from the asylum at Charenton.
"But I sure as hell didn't feel like the Marquis de Sade, so we zipped into the cool of the West End as fast as we could. I mean,' the scene at Columbia was too much. Students running around, cops running around, lights flashing, people yelling and staggering around bloody or bandaged. Fun city.
"Of course the place was pretty packed. A lot of students in there, talking excitedly about the demonstrations, the busts. We got our beers and, just as we turned from the bar, I spied a young girl I hadn't seen for about three years. She must've just turned eighteen, because I remember feeling marvelously like a dirty old man when I used to stare at her when she was only fourteen. Yes, I used to get secret erections thinking about that girl's tight ass and fourteen-year-old cunt.
"She looked a little distraught, as though she might've been crying, so I told Marnie I knew her and let's go over and say hello. Marnie agreed with alacrity.
"So we walked over to where this young chick was sitting with her beer. 'Zinka,' I said-it was some kind of nickname I'd known her by and what everyone called her-'Zinka, you look a little bit the worse for wear.' She looked up with a wan smile and motioned for us to sit down. Miraculously, she had an entire booth to herself. I say 'miraculously' because not only was the place crowded, but it is notorious among those who know it as a place where a single girl excites the same response as a raw steak thrown into a shark tank. And Zinka, I was quick to note, had fulfilled breathtakingly the promise she'd held as a fourteen-year-old.
"We sat. I introduced Zinka and Marnie. 'You look down in the dumps,' I said to Zinka. Well, it turned out that her boyfriend had been a casualty of the demonstrations and had had to go to the infirmary. He was going to spend the night at home with his parents.
" 'Oh, you have to spend the night all by yourself,' Marnie said.
"Now I'd noticed right off the bat that there were some interesting vibes passing between Marnie and Zinka. And when I heard Marnie say that about Zinka shouldn't have to spend the night alone, I pricked up my ears. Is it possible, I thought, that there is a strain of AC-DC in Marnie? The thought really didn't shock me, but it offered a new insight. If you're in theater, you can't let homosexuality or bisexuality bother you.
" 'I have,' Marnie went on, 'a lovely little place in the Village, and Rick and I-' She's always called me Rick and when people ask why, we just tell them it's a pet name and so I've been Rick ever since we've been going together. '-Rick and I would be more than happy to take you there and see that you get a nice night's sleep.' Marnie turned to me. 'Wouldn't we?'
"I nodded. 'Yeah, sure.'
"Well, Zinka got this glowing, soft look on her tragic but cherubic face, and her eyes glistened gratefully. Or maybe I should say her eyes twinkled mischievously, because she said, 'Oh, that would be nice. And you'd both stay with me, would you?' And thereupon the little scamp smiled with a certain amount of saccharine pathos, furtively lifted a foot, and nuzzled my unsuspecting privates with her bare toes.
"I suppressed a buck-and-wing as Marnie answered, 'If you want us to,' with a motherly smile.
"Of course I began to erect instanter. Zinka, the imp, tweaked and twiddled with her toes, plied them under my balls, poked them against my perineum. Keeping my face as expressionless as possible under those difficult circumstances, I chanced a cautious peek under the table to see if the flurry of toes, or perhaps the gross bulge in my fly, was obvious to bystanders.
"A quick check told me that luckily it was fairly shadowed under the table, and the bystanders were too engrossed in their discussion of the day's events to notice anything. Then my glance slid to the right, toward the wall and away from the bystanders. What should my wondering eyes behold but Zinka's twinkle-toes busily twiddling the crotch in Marnie's jeans. What's more-and I'd thought that Marnie was playing a game of kneesies with me-Marnie had her thighs spread as far apart as she could and was sitting with her hips humped forward to give Zinka's little tootsies the whole field to play in.
"Marnie still wore her motherly smile, but now it had a slightly distant cast to it.
" ' ... won't we, Ricky, darling?' Marnie was saying, and I answered yes because I didn't know what the hell was going on.
" "Then it's all settled,' said Zinka, and she reached across the table and took Marnie's and my hands in hers. 'It would be nice to stay somewhere away from Columbia tonight.'
"Well, I figured, what the hell. If Zinka was playing twiddle-toes in the crotch with both of us, I might as well respond a little-you know, give her an idea that I wouldn't mind at all helping a young damsel in distress. Especially a damsel whose pussy I'd wanted to sink my tongue into since she was fourteen.
" 'We'll take care of you, sure,' I said, leaning forward reassuringly. As I did, I eased a hand under the table and planted it firmly, and I hope paternally, on her upper thigh. My fingers gloried in the sleek, well-toned young flesh and the fine down as I slid my hand under her dress, further up toward her hip. My hard on really bucked a couple times as I tested the tone and heft of her young, keen, teen thighs. And before I knew it, my hand was resting on her hipbone and caressing her firm little belly and quivering groin.
"If eyes could slaver, I'm afraid mine did. My vision blurred for a split second and when it cleared, my eyes felt hot and humid. The muscles in her thighs kept doing tiny flicks and shimmies. Her eyes, as she gazed into mine, were clear and unclouded, held nothing but innocence.
"In an overpowering rush of lust, I groped swiftly into the heated crevice where nestled the downy honey-pot my fingers craved. In one fell swoop I gained my prize and felt-a foot, bare-toed, sweaty, diddling a mile a minute at the firm, moist flesh. The toes, the foot-Marnie's, of course.
"We all kind of looked at each other, but innocent little Zinka was the only one cool enough to keep the sweet smile on her rosy face.
"After a moment Marnie said, 'Well, I guess we're all agreed.' There was a genuine pleasure in her voice that somehow communicated itself to Zinka and myself. So it was in ruttish high spirits that we all rose and trooped out when Marnie said, 'Shall we go?'
"We started toward the subway stop at 116th Street. When Zinka seemed oblivious, lost in her own thoughts, I whispered to Marnie, wondering whether we might be able to instruct Zinka in the ways of our little fantasy game. We agreed there were certain fantasies that she might be able to fulfill, but we weren't sure just how to broach the subject to her.
"When I think back now, I wonder why we should ever have been worried. Here I'd been thinking of 'innocent little Zinka,' and Marnie and I weren't all that old. I was twenty-six, Marnie was twenty-four, she said. And, God, the way kids grow up nowadays, some of them might as well be middled-aged by the time they're eighteen.
"Zinka placed herself between Marnie and me, taking both our arms. It was as if she were somehow taking charge of us, rather than the other way around.
" 'I feel devilish tonight,' she announced. 'Let's walk over to Riverside Drive first. Wanna?'
"Marnie and I agreed, so at 116th we turned left and walked to the drive. Then we turned uptown and walked toward Riverside Church, which was an awesome sight when I first saw it. It stands there taking up a whole city block, rising impressively, spire on Gothic spire, with its massive main door fronting on the drive. Made famous by Harry Emerson Fosdick. A fitting monument to man's indefatigable faith.
"We walked up the broad main steps and stood, surveying the broad street, the trees and the park, the vista of the Hudson with the lights of New Jersey across the river. There was a moment of almost saintly otherworldliness.
" 'Feel naughty?' Zinka asked, and I nodded tentatively.
"She dropped to her knees in the same instant my pants fell to my knees and, before my cock had sprung to full length, she gobbled it right to the base, applying exquisite pressure with her cheek muscles while the breath whistled through her nose. She fondled my balls expertly.
"I was so stunned I could feel nothing but the root of my cock pounding in my head. My eyes bugged and my knees turned to water.
"Marnie held out a steadying hand and whispered to me, "Think Margaret O'Brien.'
"Before I could gather my wits, Zinka rose, planting a juicy kiss on my mouth and laughing gaily. 'I've always wanted to do that.' A gust of wind off the Hudson chilled my cock. 'Always wanted,' she yelled, 'to bloiv somebody on the steps of a church.' She skipped off down the steps.
"Struggling to haul up my pants, I hurried after her, with Marnie close behind. I thanked God-although I'm not sure God was the one to be thanking after that little exhibition-that we were around the corner, now, on a side street and out of the glare of the streetlights.
"We hustled down the street until we were in front of Union Theological Seminary. Zinka was laughing quite loud and even Marnie emitted a few tee-hees. I mean, there were riots a block away and a thousand cops in the area, and I'm with two chicks who think it's fun to fornicate publicly on the steps of a church under bright lights. Fun city.
"Zinka hoisted herself up on a high wrought-iron fence-this with her back to the fence-and before I knew it she had both fragrant, athletic thighs draped over my shoulders. I was taken by surprise and completely helpless. With a slow, inexorable flex of her legs, she brought my face closer to her unpantied groin. The fine, blonde down on her tan thighs grazed my cheeks. I caught a clean smell of sea breeze and a glimpse of brown-blonde hair at the apex.
"To hell with the cops, I thought.
" "Think Shirley Temple,' said Marnie.
"I buried my face eagerly in the warm pussy and sank my tongue into it with as much relish as I'd ever sunk it into a cream puff. Marnie knew I felt like a dirty old man.
"I inhaled pure ambrosia. My tongue lapped vigorously at honey and glue, probed deeply between hot, wet labia. I seized firm basketball buttocks and kneaded them playfully.
" 'Oh!' sang Zinka, 'always I've wanted to be eaten like this!' She squirmed and twisted like a dolphin harpooned on my tongue. 'Really,' I heard her say, 'I don't see anything wrong with a little good healthy irreverence, do you?' If she was talking to me she didn't expect an answer.
"My rumination was suddenly interrupted.
" 'Jesus God!' Zinka yelled at the top of her voice.
"The hackles on my neck went up, but Zinka grabbed me with one hand and they went down. Christ, I damned near went down, because she was riding me like a bronc-buster.
" 'Eat my CUNT,' she called to the Jersey shore. 'LICK my TWAT till you RAISE BLISTERS!'
"I pulled my face from her crotch, my lips gluey and spluttering. Already half a dozen lights had gone in assorted monastic cells. I swept Zinka and Marnie up and, like some phantom of the opera, spirited them up the street. My neck was sore. They laughed.
""Think Shirley Temple, shit,' I blustered. Marnie gave a throaty laugh. I pressed on. "Think Zinka Milanov,' I said. 'If not Enrico Caruso shattering glass.' We almost bumped into a posse of peace officers rushing to see what the disturbance was.
"When we reached Broadway we slowed our pace a bit so we wouldn't be mistaken for any of the rioters. We reached the subway with no incident.
"The trip downtown was quick and, as we walked along the street, Marnie and I, in a few hurried asides, figured that Zinka, with her far-out sense of fun, might be the perfect player for our little screw-your-favorite-celebrity game. Zinka readily agreed to ponder who she would be and want.
"Marnie's apartment is a three-flight walk-up, so we were pretty hot by the time we'd climbed all those stairs. And Zinka, wearing a beige long-sleeved blouse and a wraparound skirt, was perspiring prettily-so prettily that I felt an almost irresistible desire to give her a juicy kiss and lick the glow off her upper lip.
"But Marnie, bless her heart-or damn her eyes, I'm not sure which, 'cause my reaction was ambivalent-Marnie put her arms around Zinka and said, 'You look hot, dear, why don't you take your things off,' and planted a big kiss on her. Zinka immediately caught the one button on her skirt with a thumb and forefinger, deftly undid it, and dropped her skirt to the floor.
"Jesus, did she ever present a beautiful obscene sight naked from the waist down. One thing that especially turns me on is good legs, and Zinka had the legs of a ballerina. Marvelously smooth, well-muscled calves that tapered into slender ankles. She'd come back from a week in Florida, and her thighs had a golden tan that set off a fine down of blonde hair. There was an erotic contrast between the tan of her thighs and the milk-white flesh of her groin and mons. I wanted those legs wrapped around me, that golden-haired mons pressed against me, in the worst way.
"I felt a pang of lust sweep my groin, and sat down weakly on the couch. I must've made an audible groan, because Zinka broke away from Marnie and, doffing her blouse to reveal perfect milk-white breasts tipped with bronze, erect nipples, approached me. When she was close enough that I could smell the perfume of her cunt, she smiled at me and said, 'I think I'll be Peggy Ann Garner.'
"Without another word she pressed my back on the couch and proceeded to sit on my face, spreading her luscious cunt all over my mouth and nose. I felt eager fingers undoing my fly and pushing my pants and shorts down to my ankles.
"Now I hadn't tried to get any picture in my mind about how Peggy Ann Garner might do it, but Zinka had an absolutely fantastic mouth on her, and a way of tonguing your cock that sent shudders of pleasure through my body. I sank my quivering tongue into her wet snatch, savoring the taste and the fresh smell.
"But I wasn't getting anywhere trying to visualize Peggy Ann Garner. I found it much easier, because of Zinka's lovely, fresh face, twinkly eyes, and voluptuous mouth, to think of the young Ingrid Bergman. All I had to do was imagine a sexy Scandinavian accent. As a matter-of-fact, when I did that, I got so turned on I just had to watch-had to watch that lovely mouth, those adoring eyes as she blew me.
"I pulled my face from her crotch, slipped my pants and shorts off my feet, and stood in front of her with my gorged whang inches from her devouring eyes. 'You're Ingrid Bergman,' I said. 'And you're a fantastic cocksucker.' With that, I grabbed her head with both hands and pulled her forward, trembling with exquisite ecstasy as her strong, wet lips took the head of my dick and slid up the entire length of my cock, till her breath fanned my pubes.
"Marnie, not to be left out, dropped on her knees at the edge of the couch, spread Zinka's tanned and trembling thighs, and pushed her greedy face against Zinka's pussy. I had a moment of sharp envy, but overcame it by slipping my hand between the cheeks of Marnie's ass and easing two fingers into her pulsing twat. Lustful squeals and moans rewarded me.
"Somehow I managed to lie on the couch and bring Marnie's ass over my face. Zinka, half standing, straddled me so Marnie could get a good angle to continue her licking. And I could view the frantic blow job Zinka was lovingly applying to my hot cock.
"Marnie dropped her ass insistently onto my face and gave it a couple lusty shakes. 'Guess who I am now,' she said, pulling her tongue from Zinka's cunt for an instant.
"I gave a few tentative licks at her parted wet labia and announced, 'Ava Gardner.'
" 'Right!' she squealed in joy, diving into Zinka's glistening muff.
"Zinka pulled her mouth off my throbbing joint, careful to wrap her hand around it and jerk in a happy rhythm. 'Hot fuck!' she crowed. 'Shit! Eat me! Yes!' She shimmied her ass bawdily in Marnie's face. Bless the dear child, she had the perfect accents of Ingrid Bergman.
"I felt my balls tingle and tighten, my cock fill to impossible hardness and pulse wildly. Moaning, I seized Marnie's ass and jammed my tongue into her pussy as deep as it would go.
"Marnie dug her face even more feverishly into Zinka's palpitating cunt and squealed in muffled delight. Zinka gave an explosive gasp, sighed, 'Oh, Rick!' and plunged her mouth onto my throbbing shaft.
"That did it. Knowing full well that one of my lifelong desires was to be blown by Ingrid Bergman, I bucked a few times and shot bolt after bolt of hot come into Zinka's sucking mouth. At the same instant, Marnie gave a squeal and settled her pulsing cunt heavily on my face and deluged me with creamy Ava Gardner come. We all enjoyed our charades hugely."
As was mentioned in the brief commentary to this case, there can be no prognosis to the two principals, or Zinka, who was drawn into the principals' make-believe games. Generally speaking, one should remember that actors and actresses are the masters of make-believe; Rick and Marnie-though no luminaries-are an actor and an actress playing roles. Perhaps the prognosis could be that which could be applied to any luminary (optimistic), except for the Othello of Double Life (pessimistic).