“Why don’t you buy him a suit?” I ask her, “And maybe a coat and hat?”
A suit? But how can she get his measurements to a tailor? And it always takes three or four weeks for Sam’s suits to be made. Finally I argue her into buying a ready-made one … if it doesn’t fit he can bring it back. I’m so fucking mad now that I don’t care what she does. I even let them use me as a clothes dummy while she picks out what she wants. But I’ve decided that I won’t carry those damned packages another stop. I plunk them down in front of the spider who runs this joint and tell him that he can send everything. Of course it’s going to cost a little something to send them tonight, he tells me… . .
At the next bar we turn into I steer Ann far to the back, in a corner, and face her toward the wall so that she won’t see anything she doesn’t like … . I want to rest my ass for a while. But we haven’t been there ten minutes before Ernest comes in … with Sid.
“We got your notes,” Ernest yells, and he waves them. A light bulb drops from somewhere on him and the report almost precipitates a panic at the bar. He’s carrying a suit case and all his pockets are bulging. Sid has a tripod and a half dozen reflectors and some stands for lights. He’s like a man who has been split open and is trying to keep his guts under his coat … miles of coiled black tubing keeps popping out of him. Light cord, when you take a second look.
“You dope,” I say to him as soon as I get him out of Ann’s range, “do you want to scare her away altogether? Why the fuck didn’t you leave it in a taxi?”
“Nuts … she doesn’t know what it is. I’ll tell her it’s machinery to make root beer …” He turns to Ann and tells her: “It’s to make homemade root beer… .”
Ernest wants to go for a drive after a couple more drinks, so we get into a fiacre and cross to the right bank by way of the Ile de la Cité. But I make damned certain that I get a place next to Ann. She’s all right now … she’s warmed up, and in the dark of the musty smelling cab she’s quite friendly. We go as far as the Place de la Bastille, and when we get to Ann’s place, where the horse immediately takes a piss, we’ve finished one of the bottles which Sid has brought. Passing Notre Dame on our way over, I had my hand under Ann’s skirt and she was feeling of my fly … . . coming back she had my dong out as we passed the morgue at Place Masas, I had her pants half off, and what she was doing with her other hand I couldn’t say.
All the junk which Ann bought arrives just as we do. As soon as we’re in her place she hands everything over to Ernest. He’s in a fog, he doesn’t know what it’s all about.
“It’s for your birthday, you dope!” I yell at him. “For your God-damned fucking birthday!”
He can’t look me in the eye, but Sid takes everything in his stride. Sid slaps Ann across the ass and tells her it’s his birthday too.
“How about a present for me too?” he keeps asking her. “I don’t want much… .
Just a few minutes of your time… .”
He gets her off in a corner and starts playing with her. Ernest looks at them and then at me. He shakes his head.
“I can’t understand this … . . I just can’t understand it,” he says. He shakes a box that’s among all the crumpled wrapping paper and another necktie falls out.
He puts it absently in his pocket. “You know me, Alf.”
Just then Ann lets out a screech. Sid has her on the floor and he’s sitting on her. Her dress is over her head and he’s pulling her pants off her ass. When he gets a nice juicy place bare he smacks her a couple of times.
“She won’t take her dress off,” he explains. “I think she just likes to have her ass warmed.”
“Thought we were coming up here to have a drink or two,” Ann wails. “If I’d have known you intended to try this… . .”
Ernest begins to stumble over his wires and lights. He sticks the camera up on the tripod and takes a squint through it.
“Wrestle with her some more, Sid,” he says, “We want her to look real mussed up, like, for the first ones.”
Ann gets really sore at that. We’re not going to take any pictures of her, she insists. But Ernest goes on setting the lights around and trying them and Sid musses her up some more.
“Hey Ernest … . you want her cunt showing? You want her legs open: what do you want?”
“Just show me plenty of belly … . . yeah, one of her bubs, too … . just let her brassiere hang down. Maybe you ought to get in this too, Alf… .”
“Fuck that! You’re not going to get my picture committing rape! Do you know what that picture’s going to look like?”
It’s going to have plenty of juice no matter what else it has. Ann’s half naked, while Sid still has his hat on and is chewing what’s left of his cigar; and they both look just about as stewed as they are. Ernest finally presses the button and gets some kind of a picture. Sid lets Ann go then, but she still lies on the floor wringing her hands and kicking her feet.
“To think of such a thing happening to me!” She howls. “Oh, if Sam ever found out! Oh my God, if Sam ever found out!”
“Let her enjoy herself as long as she doesn’t make too much noise,” Ernest says while he’s opening another bottle. “She’ll come around.”
Ann takes a drink when it’s passed to her and sits up with her back against the wall. She wants to try to reason with us. A woman in her position really can’t afford to have such a picture of herself taken … . can’t we see that? Ernest swears that they’re only for her own collection … . she said she wanted to buy a camera and take some… So here is the camera and here we all are… . .
“Here’s another drink for you,” he says. He sits down beside her and begins to feel her up. I felt like sitting down myself, so I take the other side of her. One more drink and she lets us put her dress up to her belly. Ernest and I take turns feeling her bonne-bouche while we try to get her to play with our cocks.
“All right,” she says suddenly, “you may take your damned pictures… . .’
She puts her empty glass between her legs and runs one hand into my fly and the other into Ernest’s. Out comes Johnny and out comes Ernest’s dick. I have a sweet dong on, and it’s getting bigger by the minute. Ernest’s isn’t exactly a peanut, either. Sid chooses that moment to press the camera button. I’m too drunk by now to think much about whether or not I want my physog recorded for the ages.
“Undress me,” Ann says, and then the bitch throws herself across our knees.
From then on it seems that every time I turn around that fucking camera is clicking in my face. It has an attachment, which Ernest tries to explain to me, and which I’m too drunk to understand, that delays the action so that the guy who presses the button can get into the picture before it goes off. After the first few times it doesn’t bother us much.
As soon as we have Ann’s clothes off she’s after our dicks. The bitch can’t even wait for us to undress. While she’s still squirming around on her belly, and while Ernest is taking off her stockings, she pulls my fly wide open and shoves her face in it. She curls her tongue around my balls and licks them, jerking me off while she’s doing it, and in about ten seconds she’s grabbed John Thursday in her mouth and is washing his face.
“Feel my ass!” she yells at Ernest, “Feel me up good!”
She spreads herself and shows us everything she has between those big thighs. Ernest tickles her fig and pokes his fingers into it, and back into her mouth goes Johnny. She rubs her teats on my legs and tries to crawl into my pants head first. Then she hops up and shakes her ass in front of our faces like a hula dancer.
“Come back here, you bitch!” I yell at her. But it doesn’t do any good. When I make
