Chapter 3
On the night of the party I put aside my negative feelings, and even managed a slight sense of humor.
I think Florida had a certain feeling of humor about it, too, even though she was so deeply involved. She bought herself a special dress for the party, a peacock blue sequined sheath with a train attached behind at the small of the back which resembled nothing so much as a horse's tail.
She turned slowly for my inspection and appreciation, which I gave her heartily. She reached down and stroked the tail, glancing at me sideways with a devilish smile on her lips.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" she asked.
"Mr. F. will think so."
"And what about you, Joe? What about you?"
Her insistence gave importance to the question.
"Yes, I think you're beautiful," I replied truthfully. "Beautiful woman, though," said I, emphasizing woman.
"Oh, I know about that." Her voice was tired, almost impatient. "People keep telling me that I'm a beautiful woman."
"Doesn't it make any difference to you?"
"I don't really believe it."
"Why don't you?"
"Oh, I don't know." Her thoughts seemed to drift to other times. "I suppose if I were beautiful-I would have love by now."
From Florida this was a surprising sentence but then I realized once again how important love was to the female sex. Love junctioned for them as a nourishment without which they could not pursue any of their own life with vitality. They might try. They may put up a brave front of excitement but only love gave them a true feeling of being alive.
"I'm sure dozens of men must have been in love with you, Florida. How could they help it?"
The smile seemed to tell me that I was a sweet thing for saying so but that it was far from the truth.
"Well, my dear," I continued," you must have set it up against yourself if you're disappointed with men."
"How do you mean, Joe?"
I didn't really feel like explaining Florida to herself, and perhaps there was on my part a presumption in thinking that I could piece together the whole story of her psychology based on the short while we had known each other. But I did feel, in truth, that this horse substitution matter did not distract her from the essential starvation in her being for human contact. I
"Well, shall we go?" I said. "Mr. F. awaits you."
My grandiose manner, with its touch of burlesque, created an atmosphere which Florida accepted readily. She was, above all things, a good sport. She could take a joke played on herself as well as any woman I had met.
I had put on a dinner jacket and together, Florida and I, made a handsome couple, not at all visible as pimp and whore, for which I congratulated myself with profound appreciation.
Mr. F. had given me a different address for where the party was to take place and we arrived at the penthouse apartment of a high-rise building facing Central Park.
Mr. F. had a penchant for space, as so many wealthy men do. Space and distance, a feeling that one could move about easily, that there were no traps or cramping boundaries to life.
We had arrived about nine o'clock along with some others. The rooms were not yet filled with all his guests. I had a sensation that this was going to be a week-end affair, with people coming and going at will informally, despite the somewhat formal attire of some of us.
At first, Mr. F. was not in sight. He did not feel it necessary, I realized, to greet every arrival. A sense of protocol was obviously missing, which amused me and seemed to indicate that he really meant it about freedom. His guests were not guests, but at home at his parties.
Out of habit my professional eye came into play. I began to scan the men and women for possible future clientele. Sometimes one can spot the hungry ones, the frustrated ones, easily.
While I was doing this, I saw that Florida was already making a big hit. People's gazes went to her and remained upon the unique beauty which was tonight so highly dramatized. That exquisite mane of fiery hair flowing down to the exotic blue of her gown and set off by the gracefully moving curve of her shoulders was indeed something to dwell upon. Besides which, she gave again that aloof appearance of being so completely self-possessed and self-sufficient which had originally attracted me to her. One could not know at first glance the depth of hunger inside.
Florida acted like a magnet. People came over to be introduced, to make conversation, to try to stir her interest in them. Casually I met high-placed executives in some of the most powerful business organizations in the country. I made mental notes of names for future reference, my insides smiling with satisfaction at the multitude of possibilities opening before me.
Florida wanted a drink. We went to the elaborate bar which, at this moment, Mr. F. himself was tending. He had on a navy blue sharkskin suit and looked quite suave; also cheerful and energetic and more than pleased that we had arrived this early.
He came around the counter and kissed Florida on the cheek in what was obviously a sincere, warm welcome. One could tell immediately that he appreciated her, of course, in his own special way, but in a true way.
Florida leaned toward him slightly. Obviously, she enjoyed a personal understanding with him that fed her warmth.
As I watched this interplay, again I wondered how come these two did not simply pick themselves up and run off to find their fate in sexuality, in total abandon and privacy. Yet they had not done it and I knew they would not try. Something was missing which prevented them from completing their circle of self-sufficiency.
I let them alone and went to the glass doors which led out to the penthouse terrace and stood there gazing over the city of lights which made a bright constellation in the darkness.
But they would not let me alone with my thoughts. Soon I heard Florida's voice behind me.
"What are you doing, Joe? Why aren't you sociable?"
I did not rum to her but continued gazing into the distance. I put my fingers to the cold pane, enjoying the sensation of chill to my fingertips.
"What would you have me do?" I asked. "Join us."
"What for?"
"We like your company, even if you don't like ours."
I turned half-way. She was there with Mr. F. They seemed to enjoy trailing after me and somehow it was getting to be a bit of a nuisance that they wouldn't leave me alone.
"What have you in mind?" I said to mr. F. "To do this evening?"
He shrugged, lifting his shoulders with a casual, easy-going manner indicating that the world was his, that he could take whatever he wanted, if he would just reach out and do so. But it wasn't an accurate gesture in terms of his outlook, really. He had to supercede my opinions. He had to achieve a certain triumph over me for some reason I could not at the moment guess.
"I have a project for you," Mr. F. said.
I turned my gaze directly upon his face, trying to anticipate the labyrinthine workings of his mind.
"Are you interested?" he continued.
"I don't know until I hear it."
"Ah, you are a difficult man, Mr. Canon," he said, sliding one arm around Florida's waist and drawing her casually close to him.
"Well, tell me your suggestion," I replied, ignoring his comment.
He rolled his eyeballs toward the ceiling with the first flicker of impatience I had ever noted in him and then said, "Well, perhaps another time when you are more at ease."
"I'm at ease plenty." My voice was a whip flick.
"Ah, no, no," he shook his head. "You are not agreeable this evening."
Actually, I was very agreeable, only slightly annoyed that he still insisted on pursuing me.
"Look," I said, "why don't you and Florida go someplace and enjoy yourselves together."
"I have exactly in mind to do that," Mr. F. grinned. "But I thought you might like to come and observe us for a while."
So they still needed an audience. At least Mr. F. required one and it was I, the chosen, of course.
There was no real reason why I should delay matters. After all, Mr. F. was paying me handsomely for my time and for Florida. So I went along as he led the way through some corridors to a private elevator. We rode up slowly for the distance of a single floor and came out on the upper story of the duplex apartment.
There was no party up here. The lights were on but not a single person inhabited what seemed to be more of an amphitheatre than an apartment.
I looked around me without surprise but curious to see what was coming next. By this time I had some knowledge of Mr. F.'s imagination about life and good times and I figured that he had something very special in mind for tonight, though I could not immediately tell what it was going to be.
I glanced at Florida and saw her looking around with a noncommittal expression, her gaze taking in the circular red benches fixed around the center, rather large stage area with ceiling lights focusing down upon it as though we had come gere to see a play.
I was still looking at her face when the first sound of horses whinnying came through what must have been hidden loudspeakers. The aloof manner dropped from her and surprise, mingled with delight, suffused her expression.
"Marvelous sound effects," I said, with all the casualness I could muster.
"If we can't go to the stable, the stable will come to us," said Mr. F. in his efficient, good-natured way.
It was then that I realized that a faint aroma of horse was being wafted into the air. I appreciated the great lengths Mr. F. had gone to in order to synthesize the proper atmosphere for his lovemaking.
He touched Florida's arm. "Would you like to come with me to the dressing room, my dear?"
When she nodded yes, he glanced at me with a silent expression that told me to wait here, which I did gladly as they went off and disappeared behind a small door.
I climbed to the top row of benches, sat down, crossed my legs, feeling that I was waiting for the show to begin. Actually, I was beginning to enjoy myself, too. There's nothing like a little bit of ingenuity to lighten the effect of sexual predilections. Somehow the artifice and artistic touch indicated a certain sensitivity in Mr. F.'s nature and gradually I began to realize that my fear on Florida's behalf was perhaps unfounded, that Mr. F. with his. eminent good sense and taste would manage to pull off the show without damage to anyone.
They took quite a while to change but, when they reappeared and went toward the podium, I began to appreciate the reason for the length of time they had spent in preparations.
They were both of them dressed beautifully in skin-tight elastic garments, black, each with an arched horse tail properly attached.
Florida's hair had been pulled up to the crown and was held there by a band so that the full length of it fell now like a true mane and glinted breathtakingly in the spotlight.
I must admit that the vibrations of their fantasy reached me. I felt a certain respect and admiration for the freedom that permitted these people to fulfill their fantasies. How many people in life have the courage to make their dreams come true? Particularly dreams that seem to the outside world to be outrageous. Mostly, human nature suppresses its deepest desires, holds those desires close in deepest secret, while at the same time leading a so-called normal, dull existence from day to day while continuing to hunger for the unspeakable need. ' x
But not these two.
I settled back with the utmost admiration for the play being presented to my view. I realized that, in fact, this was reality, a true, profound reality, for them and everything else a mere facade over life.
Mr. F. pranced round his love object, stepping high, stallion-like, his tail swishing and swinging, his head arched gallantly.
I could readily picture him outlined against the sky, trotting on the crest of a green hill toward his selected female.
Florida seemed to be waiting with impatient yearning. She shook her head. The mane of hair danced as though in a breeze. She turned in a slow circle, keeping her back toward him always, so that he approached her from the rear, sliding his hands upward from the small of her back over her shoulders and down. I saw his fingers widen as his palms clutched tightly over her high, moulded tits that stood proudly, acceptingly. She shuddered as he squeezed them and at that moment I heard the high whinnying sound of a horse in heat coming across the loudspeaker. The cry might have come from Florida herself.
She jutted her behind backward, spreading her legs, pressing her ass backward against the fronts of his thighs. She rubbed him in slow motion, as though trying to touch him with every inch of her flesh and muscle. I saw her flank quiver.
He pressed forward, rubbing himself up and down along that full, firm ass. Then she danced away and he had to pursue her again.
They played out the spectacle of a love dance beneath the staring spotlight and the mating ritual took on a particular magic of immortality. The world would always be thus, the pursuer and the pursued intent on love.
Apparently there was a convenience in their costumes which I could not, from my distance, have noticed. The results of this convenience, however, I soon saw quite clearly.
Florida reached her hand round behind her. Her fingers searched until she found and grasped his cock, drawing the erection out into view. She shoved back against it. He, thrusting forward, entered her through a similar aperture in her own apparel, spreading her ass wide with his hands. Then he pressed in deeply.
Now I heard a sound which would come from nowhere except Florida's own throat. The unmistakable cry of ecstasy of contact. His cock sunk deeper and deeper into her ass-hole as I watched on.
They worked their hips with hard, strong motion, greedily taking sex, grabbing and swallowing sensations with almost unmanageable hunger. I saw them throbbing beneath the spotlight, their flesh in motion detailed. How strong and direct their caresses were. How magnificently alive. Even the tremblings of their bodies as they galloped toward orgasm. His cock was flying in and out of her rapidly. He was almost like a fucking mad man.
There was a sound of twin voices from somewhere as I saw the beginnings of orgasmic convulsion which seemed to last and last as though the ocean itself were being drained.
All of a sudden they began coming like crazy. I watched their faces change to expressions of total ecstasy. The come shot in hot heavy gushes into Florida's ass-hole, and she was loving every fucking minute of it.
Afterward, they lay down side by side. Then Florida rolled over on top of him as he rested prone. She seemed to enjoy being stretched out upon his back, stroking his head and his sides and rolling about upon him as though tasting the last luscious morsel of passion. Gradually her movements became more languid and it seemed that she might fall asleep there and rest to recuperate within the silence and peace of oblivion.
I did not want to interrupt and waited for Mr. F. to end the evening's performance himself.
But as I sat and gazed down upon the players, I saw that now they were able to utterly forget my presence and drift away together into their mutual sleeping dreams.
I got up from my seat and went back to the elevator which took me downstairs where the party was still in swing.
I spoke to many people but their voices seemed to reach me from a great distance. My thoughts were still upstairs with the couple. Because I was so seemingly aloof to the goings on about me, I became more popular that night than I had been for a long while.
The situation between Florida and Mr. F. continued during the next week but then other matters called to him and he left the country.
Somewhat abruptly, I thought.
Florida, in my living room, put her legs up on the arm of a chair and gazed into the amber coloration of her scotch. She sat like this for hours and I knew of what she was dreaming. Neither of us had to say a word on the subject.
At last she said, "Do you suppose he'll ever come back to me, Joe?"
"If not he," I replied, with hope of consoling her, "there will be another man."
Florida shook her head. "Somehow, Joe, I doubt it." Her voice was wistful but accepting.
Some days later Florida left my apartment and never came back.
Florida, as I think back upon her now, was one of the few women who was a whore for me based on a single precious circumstance. The needs of my life and hers had converged accidentally. She had taken her fill of satisfaction and was smart enough to know when the end had come. I think of her always with a private pleasure and sometimes I'm not sure whether Florida herself was a reality or a dream.
There is a place, not too far from Lincoln Center on the West Side of New York, where the ten dollar whores congregate from about eleven at night till three. It is a busy corner and, logically, they should pick up a lot of trade.
It was my habit to cruise that neighborhood from time to time to see what the world was doing and how it was progressing for the girls who were not so fortunate as to have the direction of a strong-minded pimp.
Actually, the area is quite pleasant, particularly in the fall. There is a small, park-like island that dissects the broad avenue lengthwise. Along with the whores congregate drag queens, mostly young boys, quite attractive, lively and ready for anything. I sometimes would sit on a bench not far from their group. At first they ignored my presence, then they recognized it, and the more fun-loving of them would even flirt with me.
It came to pass that one night I was sitting by myself in a swank bar on the east side. The reason I was sitting alone I cannot remember but I do recall that I was thinking about taking a vacation from it all and going to Europe for a couple of weeks. I was playing with my drink and mulling over the idea of this pleasant change from my daily occupations when a man whom I did not know sauntered over to my table and hesitated, looking down at me.
He was a tall, slender, rather attractive person, shy-looking, with horn-rimmed glasses and well-tailored clothing that emphasized the neatness of his athletic manner.
"Pardon me," he said, "but you're Joe Canon, aren't you?"
I nodded, aware that fame travels fast, that my name and reputation were probably known in corners I would never think of. I'd also sensed that he needed to talk to someone and, from the looks of him, he needed to talk to someone especially like myself. I was immediately interested.
"Sit down, sir," I said, motioning to a chair beside me. "What are you drinking?"
His face, which had been vacillating between tension and friendliness, showed strong signs of relief as he lowered himself into the chair and ordered an Irish coffee.
After the waiter had brought and left it, my new acquaintance introduced himself as Kent T. and handed me a business card.
I glanced down at the raised letters and realized that if I had not seen and done so much in the world, I would be impressed by this man's position in life. But I knew better. I especially knew that since he was coming to me, he was no one high and mighty at all, but some kind of starving soul seeking some kind of companionship which he hoped I would supply.
As I slipped his card into the inside of my jacket pocket, I examined his face. There was still much trace of nervous uncertainty in the dark brown eyes behind the glasses. He was so overwrought that it did not occur to him that perhaps we ought not to talk about his troubles here in public.
When I suggested that we leave for someplace more comfortable, he put a restraining hand upon my wrist and said that it was all right to talk where we were, that there was no place to go which would be private.
He seemed to think that the whole world was tapped and listening in on his private thoughts. I wondered if he ever had a full night's restful sleep with such an attitude burdening him.
"Well, then, Kent," I said, "what's on your mind?"
He drank some of the Irish coffee and seemed to be searching for the right words with which to open his private world to me.
I pulled my chair forward and tried to appear attentive without pressing. The fact was that I didn't much care to be delayed from my own thoughts at that time. Only how could I help but listen to a fellow traveler on the road of life when I knew so well the rocks and pitfalls on that route.
"I have something in mind," he said, his voice half-whisper, half-hoarse with the rise and fall of erratic nervousness. "Something I have to do, you see."
"We all have something we have to do," I smiled.
He shook his head. "Not like this, Joe. Not like this."
I could feel the weighty burden upon him. He thought he was unique, that no one suffered a trouble similar to his own. Perhaps he had concluded that there really was no help for him on earth. I was his last resort, a desperate attempt at salvation.
I waited, without pressing him, knowing that the words would tumble out soon enough, and they did.
"You see, it's this way, Joe," he said and squinted down hard into his coffee as though seeing an evil mask there. "I need to be a woman."
I still didn't say anything. There were many men who felt they needed to be women. It would seem that Kent would have an easier time accomplishing this than many who were not quite so attractive.