Chapter 11
For the most part, the conventioning funeral directors behaved pretty much the same way as other men who get away from home and look around for a change from the sexual scene on the home front.
Debbie's John was different, though. She said, "I usually get the kinky ones. Maybe I have a natural talent for taking care of men who need something different." She grew pensive. "And you know, I think I'm beginning to believe in the ability of men to know I have unusual talents. I hardly ever get a trick who just wants to plain old fuck or suck. I wonder how they can tell just by looking at me, maybe having a drink with me, that I'm willing to do the things they want? I mean, hardly any guy comes right out and says he wants weird things until we're safely behind a closed door. And I certainly can't tell by looking at them that they're kooks."
She looked somewhere around twenty-five and had a pretty, friendly face with brown eyes and-auburn hair. Probably five feet two, she weighed around a hundred and sixty. Debbie came from a big family. "There were nine of us kids, and my dad was a real idiot. He drank a lot, and didn't have much ambition. Most of us left school as soon as we were old enough to get away with it, and went to work in restaurants or something. I was going to be sixteen in May when I left home. Didn't even finish out the school term. My mother just took things as they came. She tried to get us to stick around and finish school, to make something of ourselves, but that little town we lived in didn't offer much in the line of part time work and I was just like all the rest of my brothers and sisters. I hated going to school in hand me downs, never having any spending money. Couldn't even go with the rest of the kids after school to get a soda. I think the thing that grabbed me the hardest was knowing my folks got welfare. All the rest of the kids around school knew which ones got their school lunches free. They knew we got money from the welfare people for groceries, too."
Debbie had seen an ad in a newspaper asking for go-go dancers. "Not our town, of course. We didn't have anything like that, because it was a very small town, and most of the people are pretty hard-nosed against that kind of thing. But I kept looking at that ad in the newspaper and wondering if I would stand a chance of getting a job as a go-go dancer. I thought I could do it as well as anybody else, even if I was fat."
She said she'd always been fat, even as a baby. She kept looking at that ad, so one day she just stole the money from her mother's purse to pay for bus fare to the city where the ad was running. She was hired, and before long started dancing topless.
"The go-go craze began to dwindle, and I started sleeping with different men, and they'd pay me." She gravitated to the brothel where she's been for the past three years. "Oh, it's all right. They treat you pretty good there and I don't have to take much shit from the customers."
Debbie's mother thinks she is working in a factory. She sends her mother money once a month. She said another sister is a hooker in Chicago. "She never gets any Johns that want the things they ask me for. Take Clarence, for instance."
Clarence has a five-parlor edifice in a southwestern state. He showed Debbie a picture of his place during their initial meeting, and she said he was very proud of it. The establishment has been in the family for four generations, but it was only after Clarence took over that the original building where his great-grandfather first started out was refurbished and the addition put on. Until then, the memorial home had only one small parlor and one large one. He also told her his son is going to come in with him and help him run the business as soon as he graduates from undertaking school and gets his license.
According to Debbie, Clarence hinted around about his sexual preference before they went to her room. Brenda had one room of the section of the hotel where the hookers were set up for a bar, which is where the men could look the girls over and take their choice. Clarence gravitated to Debbie and started talking. He told her he didn't like the usual run of the mill kind of sex. He could get all he wanted of that at home. She said she'd try to please him. He said she might not be so agreeable when she found out what he really wanted.
She laughed. "Like I told you, I get all the freaks and weirdos. But I never had a guy tell me he couldn't do it in a bed before, not even with his wife. They do it on the living room sofa, and not very often."
Clarence said, after they were inside her room, "We've got to go out."
She asked why.
He said, "I can't get any good out of it inside a room. I got to be where there are people."
So he took her to a restaurant and ordered coffee and dessert. "I sat across from him in a booth. There were people all around. It was a real busy time of night. And that old bastard said that was the place, can you imagine that? I said, shit, I couldn't lay down across this table and fuck. He said he didn't want that, and if I'd just keep my mouth shut he'd explain. He told me to sit real still and spread my legs apart. I told him I didn't see how he could do any good there. Not unless his cock was three feet long. I was wearing pantyhose and all, too. But he said for me just to do like he told me, so I did, and pretty soon he put his hand under the table and I felt something make a zzzzzzz kind of noise down at the crotch of my pantyhose. I kept looking all around to see if anybody was noticing, but apparently nobody was looking. He had a knife. Cut out the crotch of my pantyhose clean as a whistle.
"Okay, so then he takes his hand and starts pulling on my pussy hair. I told him to stop that. It hurt. He said he wouldn't do it for very long and for a hundred dollars he guessed he had a right to pull a little pussy hair. And honest, he didn't do it very long. When he stopped pulling hair, he finger-fucked me, only I just thought he was finger-fucking me, because all of a sudden I knew he wasn't using his finger. See, he had both his hands on the table and he was eating strawberry shortcake as nice as you please. So I figured I was getting a toe-fuck.
"After a while, but before either one of us had finished the stuff he ordered, he told me to slip out of my shoes and start playing with his cock with my feet. I thought, boy, this is just what I need, but I went ahead and did it, because in my business more than most, the customer is always right. Well it wasn't too bad. Clarence wasn't an old man. He just looked that way. And he had a cock on him, I'll say that for him. Pretty good-sized and hard. He wanted me to use both feet and jerk him off.
"I thought it would take a while, but you know, he shot off about two minutes after I started using the soles of my feet on him. Shot right off onto my feet. Funny thing, too. I could feel it when it spasmed. Like, I knew when he was getting ready to come. Just then the waitress came over and filled up our coffee cups, when Clarence was in the middle of shooting off. He groaned a little and the waitress asked if he was all right. He said he was fine-just having a little trouble with his gout.
"Before we left the restaurant, he took a paper napkin and wiped off the soles of my feet and his cock. Then he shoved a hundred-dollar bill across the table and tole me I was a good girl. And that was that."
This gave Debbie plenty of time to do another trick. Back at the hotel room where the bar was set up, she became involved with a sandy-haired man from one of the prairie states who came right out and asked her if she would perform a little something special for him. "Asked while we were having a drink together. I said I supposed I would. He said he wanted to come between my tits. I said hell, that wasn't anything unusual. I used to think these big jugs of mine would be a problem. Not that I'd want a pair of little titties that look like they belong on a boy, but I used to be ashamed of how big mine were. Nearly wore myself out taking exercises to make them shrink down some. But a lot of guys take one look at my tits and want fuck in between them. So I told this guy okay, and we went on up to my room.
"He told me to sit in a chair after I took off my clothes. He took his off, too. He went at it just about the same way all the men do who want to do a little titty-fucking, but he never went off. He stood up, you know. Stood up with his body pressed close to mine while I stayed in the chair. He shoved his cock in and out of the crease in between my tits. I usually get hold of them by the sides and press them together to make it a tight fit for the tricks, but this guy wanted to do it for himself. But he still didn't come, and I was beginning to get galled with that big whang of his sawing in and out and not doing anything. I told him he was going to have to let me use some baby oil or something. He said no, he didn't want that. I said, then he ought to let me suck him off.
"He said no, he never could come that way either. So I asked him what would make him come, figuring just ordinary fucking surely wouldn't do the trick, or he'd have said so by then. He got onto his knees and whanged off right on the floor, just like he'd been holding his gush back all that time."
By then, Debbie was tired and went to bed for the night. At ten that morning her telephone rang. It was Brenda, asking if she felt like doing a morning trick. She said she felt fine, and before long a man who said his name was Harley stood there with a big grin all over his face when she opened the door to his knock.
She let him in. He had very thoughtfully brought her a glass of orange juice, two cups of coffee and some sweet rolls he'd had warmed and swimming in butter. While she ate, he told her he just adored big women. "He was a tall, skinny guy. Looked like a good strong wind would blow him away. But he sure could fuck. You know, I liked that guy. He didn't want anything far out, all he wanted to do was fuck and he did it on top and he kept both hands on my tits all the time he was hunching away. Took him about ten minutes and I enjoyed every minute of it. I came too, and he could tell I wasn't faking it."
Debbie said he learned afterwards, while they were talking and drinking coffee, that the cathouse where she works is only two hundred miles from the city where Harley has his funeral parlor. "So he can get up to see me once in a while." Her pretty face was flushed with delight. She looked forward to Harley's visits. "It sure was nice to have an ordinary man for a change. You want me to tell you about some of the guys that ask for me special when I'm at the house? I'm talking about the ones who ask for something different, because word got around that I'll do almost anything."
I said I'd love to hear whatever she wanted to tell me. She launched into a description of a man I'll call Herman. "He's just about the best looking man I ever saw in my life. Looks a little like pictures I've seen of Tyrone Power, but of course he died before my time. Well, Herman has a little gadget he brings along. It's his own invention and anybody can see that he's put a lot of thought on it. He took these ball bearings, see? New ones that were still real shiny, right from the factory. Then he punched holes in them all the way through like putting a hole through a bead. Then he strung a nylon cord through them. There are twelve all strung together, but each one has a knot in the nylon in between it and the next one. They're about a half-inch apart. And they're about as big around as-oh, say about the size of a marble like kids play with. Maybe not that big.
"What Herman wants is to take off his pants and underpants, nothing else. He leaves on his shirt and suit coat, even his necktie. And shoes and socks, too. Never did find out why he wants to keep most of his clothes on. He comes to see me about once a week, always carrying along this string of ball bearings. Has them right there in his pocket and almost as soon as he's inside the room he starts taking them out of his pocket and getting an erection I can see right through his pants, because it sticks right out there.
"It's always the same for Herman. As soon as he's got his pants and underpants off, he gets on his knees at the side of my bed and falls face down across it. He raises his rear end up and I know what to do. I take this jelly and grease up his ass. Then I take some more and grease up the ball bearings. Herman doesn't say a word and neither do I. I just start with the first ball bearing and put it in there. They slide real easy with that stuff on them. Herman never moves a muscle, but sometimes he sort of sighs a little like it feels good.
"One by one, I put every one of those ball bearings in. Then Herman begins to count out loud. One hundred and one. That's the first thing he says, so I yank out the last ball bearing I put in. There's plenty of string left over. Then he says one hundred and two. So I yank out the second one. And I keep on doing it until we get down to the very last one, and when he says one hundred and twelve, I yank it out and jump astraddle of his back. As soon as I'm on his back, he starts bucking like a wild horse and I know he's shooting his wad. I have to hang on pretty hard because he's strong and big and when he's coming he really ramrods, only he doesn't ramrod into anything. He won't even let the bed touch his cock. Has to shoot off into the air, but it takes all those things done, and in perfect order, for him to shoot off at all. He doesn't want me to put my hand on his cock, either. He told me so right from the beginning. Said if I did, it'd spoil everything.
"After a while he stands up, and that's my signal to slide off his back. He looks down at the blob of come on the floor by the bed and kind of shakes his head a little, like maybe he's not too pleased with it. Then he gives me my fee and leaves as soon as he can get into his pants. Never says another word."
Another girl Debbie knows told her that Herman is a mathematical genius who's spent some time in a mental institution. "Corrine is real smart. She reads all the time and knows a lot of things most people don't know a thing about. She said she bet Herman would probably have to go back to the mental hospital if he didn't have somebody to go to like me-somebody he can trust, you know? Corrine told me his mental problem started a few years earlier when he got so he couldn't walk up a flight of steps without counting them as he climbed. Had to count all the buttons on his own clothes, then before long he got so he had to count the buttons on other people's clothes. Then he had to count cars on the streets, stars in the sky ... Jesus! A person don't know how lucky they are. But I'm glad it helps Herman keep his head on straight to come to the place and get his nuts off ... if that's what helps him."
Compared with what Debbie had to say, the other girls who had attended the April Funeral Directors Convention had experienced nothing out of the ordinary. Francine's description is typical:
"My john was a middle-aged man, and not interesting. He wanted me to get on top and said his wife wouldn't ball that way. She wants to have sex once a week, every Saturday night. He said she always comes, but she doesn't want it any oftener than that. He also said she doesn't take her clothes off in front of him, sleeps with a nightgown on, and won't let him touch her pussy. I bet she doesn't come. I bet she just tells him she does, puts on a show for him, and he doesn't know the difference. Except for his wife and a young girl he had before he was married, he's never been around except for an occasional hooker, so how the hell does he know the difference when a woman comes or not? He even thought I did!"
Polly: "I turned two tricks last night. The first one wanted a blow job and the other one went to sleep on me. I didn't care because I was tired and had had too much to drink anyway. This morning he woke me up and stuck his cock in. No foreplay, nothing. I didn't even have a chance to use any jelly because I was sound asleep and the last thing I wanted was sex. I pulled away from him and said I had to go to the bathroom. He seemed put out about that, but that wasn't any lie. I did have to go to the bathroom. While I was in there, I squirted some K.Y. jelly up inside my cunt because I've got a tight one and it hurts like hell whenever I get screwed dry. He was just an ordinary fuck, not good and not bad. Just your run-of-the-mill dude who goes to a convention and feels like he deserves to have some strange tail."