«Can you still hold it?» she murmured huskily, trying again to look round and catching her reflection in the mirror.
«I can hold it,» I said, not making the slightest movement, knowing that that would encourage her to unleash all her tricks.
«It feels wonderful,» she said, her head falling limp, as if it had become unhinged. «You’re bigger now, do you know it? It is tight enough for you? I’m terribly opened up.»
«It’s all right,» I said. «It fits marvelously. Listen, don’t move any more… just clutch it… you know how….»
She tried but somehow it wouldn’t perform, her little lemon squeezer. I withdrew abruptly, without warning. «Let’s lie down… here,» I said, pulling her away and placing a dry towel under her. My cock was glistening with juice and hard as a pole. It hardly seemed to be a prick any more; it was like an instrument I had attached, an erection made flesh. She lay prone, looking at it with terror and joy, wondering what next it might think to do— yes, quite as if it were deciding things and not me or her.
«It’s cruel of me to keep you,» she said, as I socked it in swiftly. The suction created a smacking sound, like wet farts.
«Jesus, now I’m going to fuck you good and proper. Don’t worry, I won’t come… I haven’t got a drop left. Move all you want… jerk it up and down… that’s it, rub it around, go on, do it… fuck your guts out!»
«Shhh!» she whispered, putting her hand to my mouth. I bent forward and bit into her neck, long and deep; I bit her ears, her lips. I pulled out again, for one tantalizing second, and bit the hair over her cunt, caught the two little lips up and slid them between my teeth.
«Put it in, put it in!» she begged, her lips slavering, her hand reaching for my prick and placing it back in again. «Oh God, I’m going to come… I can’t hold it any more. Oh, oh….» and she went into a spasm, slapping it up against me with such fury, such abandon, that she looked like a crazed animal. I pulled out without coming, my prick shiny, glistening, straight as a ramrod. Slowly she rose to her feet. Insisted on washing it for me, patted it admiringly, tenderly, as if it had been found tried and true. «You must run,» she said, holding my prick between her two hands, the towel wrapped around it. And then, dropping the towel and looking away—- «I hope she’s all right. Tell her so, will you?»
Yes, I had to smile thinking of this last minute scene. «Tell her so…» That extra fuck had softened her up. I thought of a book I had read which told of rather strange experiments with carnivorous animals—lions, tigers, panthers. Seems that when, these ferocious beasts were kept well-fed— over-fed, indeed—one could put gentle creatures in the same cage with them and they would never molest them. The lion attacked only out of hunger. He was not perpetually murderous. That was the gist of it….
And Maude… Having satisfied herself to her heart’s content, she had probably realized for the first time that it was useless to harbor a grudge against the other woman. If, she may have told herself, if it were possible to be fucked like that whenever she wished, it wouldn’t matter what claims the other one had on me. Perhaps it entered her mind for the first time that possession is nothing if you can’t surrender yourself. Perhaps she even went so far as to think that it might be better this way —having me protect her and fuck her and not having to get angry with me because of jealous fears. If the other one could hold on to me, if the other one could keep me from running around with every little slut that came across my path, if together they could share me, tacitly of course and without embarrassment and confusion, perhaps after all it might be better than the old arrangement. Yes, to be fucked that way, fucked without fear of being betrayed, to be fucking your own husband who is now your friend (and perhaps a lover again), to be taking what you want of him, calling him when you need him, sharing a warm, passionate secret with him, reliving the old fucks, learning new ones, stealing and yet not stealing, but giving oneself with pleasure and abandon, growing younger again, losing nothing except a conventional tie… yes, it might be ever so much better.
I’m sure something of this sort had been running through her head, had spread its aureole about her. I could see her, in my mind’s eye, languorously brushing her hair, feeling her breasts, examining the marks of my teeth on her neck, hoping Melanie would not notice them but not caring too deeply whether she did or not. Not caring greatly any more whether Melanie overheard things or not. Asking herself wistfully perhaps how it had ever come about that she had lost me. Knowing now that if she had to live her life all over again she would never act as she had, never worry about useless things. So foolish to worry about what the other woman may be doing! What matter if a man did let his feet stray now and then? She had locked herself up, put a cage around herself; she had pretended she had no desires, pretended she dare not fuck—because we weren’t man and wife any longer. What a terrible humiliation! Wanting it dreadfully, longing for it, almost begging for it like a dog—and there it was all the time, waiting for her. Who cared whether it was right or not? Wasn’t this wonderful stolen hour better than anything she had ever known? Guilt? She had never felt less guilty in her life. Even if the «other one» had died meanwhile she couldn’t feel bad about it.
I was so certain of what had been going on in her mind that I made a mental note to ask her about it next time we met. Of course next time she might be her old self again—that was only too possible with Maude. Besides, it wouldn’t do to let her see that I was too interested—that might only stir up the poison. The thing to do would be to keep it on an impersonal level. No sense in letting her relapse into her old ways. Just walk in with a cheery greeting, ask a few questions, send the kid out to play, move in close, quietly, firmly take out my prick and put it in her hand. Make sure the room was not too bright. No nonsense! Just walk up to her and, while asking how things are going, slip a hand up her dress and start the juice flowing.
That extra last minute fuck had done wonders for me too. Always, when one digs down into the reservoir, when one summons the last ounce, so to speak, one is amazed to discover that there is a boundless source of energy to be drawn on. It had happened to me before, but I had never given it serious attention. Staying up all night and going to work without sleep had a similar effect upon me; or the converse, staying in bed long past the period of recuperation, forcing myself to rest when I no longer needed rest. To break a habit, establish a new rhythm—simple devices, long known to the ancients. It never failed. Break down the old pattern, the worn-out connections, and the spirit breaks loose, establishes new polarities, creates new tensions, bequeaths new vitality.
Yes, I observed with the keenest pleasure now how my mind was sparking, how it radiated in every direction. This was the sort of ebullience and elan I prayed for when I felt the desire to write. I used to sit down and wait for this to happen. But it never did happen—not this way. It happened afterwards, sometimes, when I had left the machine and gone for a walk. Yes, suddenly it would come on, like an attack, pellmell, from every direction, a veritable inundation, an avalanche—and there I was, helpless, miles away from the typewriter, not a piece of paper in my pocket. Sometimes I would start for the house on the trot, not running too fast because then it would peter out, but easy like, just as in fucking—when you tell yourself to take it easy, don’t think about it, that’s it, in and out, cool detached, trying to pretend to yourself that it’s your prick that’s fucking and not you. Exactly the same procedure. Jog along, steady, hold it, don’t think about the typewriter or how far it is to the house, just easy, steady like, that’s it…
Rehearsing these odd moments of inspiration I suddenly recalled a moment when I was on my way to the burlesk theatre, «The Gayety», at Lorimer Street and Broadway. (I was riding the elevated
