It was at that moment that Arnold Blumm noticed the iron pipe projecting above the surface of the water, not unlike a periscope.
An hour earlier, this Arnold Blumm, of whom little else need be known at this point than that he was bald, played the fiddle, and heard a bell ringing in the distance, had said to himself: "I should not be here; I have a morning class at the conservatory."
Yet he had remained where he was; he could not get his mind off the witches. He thought of them as "witches" only because there had been three of them and because he had once read Macbeth; the reader is in no way obligated to think of them in the same way.
Arnold Blumm's consciousness, like the sun, which could not yet be seen, had risen by semitones from a kind of numbness, through a sort of reflection, to a strange species of awareness-an awareness, that is to say, which fell somewhat short of objectivity, that is, dawn. For if the reader, or the author, had occupied the place occupied by Arnold Blumm-that place being the park bench beside the west seawall of that portion of the Intracoastal Waterway known as Lake Leethy, slightly to the south of the West Sago Beach Memorial Library, between the little stucco building which houses the city's sewage outfall pipes and the north end of what was once called Pirate's Cove but is now called the Municipal Parking Lot, the Cove having been filled in-and had we been gazing eastward as Arnold Blumm was, we would have seen the grey lake in the foreground, the dark line of hotels and palm trees which was Sago Beach in the middle ground, and in the background the whitish predawn sky, while Arnold Blumm saw something quite different: he saw cunt. Where we would have seen only water, land and sky, Arnold Blumm saw twat, tit, and ass.
But if we had kept our seat for approximately forty-five minutes and had at that time, for some reason, turned our heads to the right, we would have seen something which closely approximated what Arnold Blumm had seen all along; for coming up the concrete footpath from the Municipal Parking Lot, walking a dog, was a young woman, we might even say, a girl.
This girl had long beautiful sandy-colored hair, large rounded breasts, a narrow waist, flaring hips, perfect legs, and bare feet. She wore a pair of large round-rimmed, blue-lensed sunglasses, a thin white T-shirt, and green bellbottoms with pink stripes. The dog was a huge apricot poodle with a lion clip.
The girl looked radiant; the dog looked surly.
Concerning the girl, Arnold Blumm said to himself: "Lord! She's not wearing a bra!" Concerning the dog, he said nothing.
Slowly, leisurely, one might almost say, aimlessly, these two, the girl and the dog, approached the bench on which Arnold Blumm sat, his knees pressed together, his hands folded in his lap. If you had a sharp ear and had happened at this time to be leaning against the coconut palm growing some six feet behind the bench, or if you had wax in your ear, and were sitting beside him, you might have heard this brief soliloquy escape the lips of Arnold Blumm: "Lord! First the witches, and now this! How strange everything looks! Something is in the air! Oh, what a set of tits! What was it those witches were talking about? Something is afoot-but what? And that bell-why is that bell ringing? Lord!-one has a wife, children, obligations, the sun is coming up, one does not sit on park benches when he should be on his way to the conservatory; the students will come, they'll say: 'Where is Mr. Blumm?' 'Down at the lake, watching the girls.' Lord! Look at those knockers!"
The remainder of this speech degenerated into unintelligible mumbling, for as the girl drew closer Arnold Blumm's voice grew fainter.
Thus we see that, besides being bald, playing the fiddle and hearing the bell, Arnold Blumm talked to himself. But whatever his shortcomings may have been, we must say this for him, that his very first impression upon seeing this luscious thing meandering toward him-i.e., Lord! She's not wearing a bra!-was quite correct, for indeed she was not. Two things made this clear: one, the fact that her nipples, or rather the shape of them, the bulging circles of the areolae, the pulse-quickening prominence of the central protuberances, were perfectly, clearly, starkly, wondrously visible through the thin white material which was stretched over them; and two, the way they moved as it were independently-the way they swung, the way they swayed, the way they bumped, the way they bounced-when she walked. The explicitness of this second clue to the girl's underlying nudity was heightened by the manner in which she walked: we had said that she advanced slowly, at a meandering pace; to elaborate further, her steps had this peculiarity, that while the left foot was on the ground, sometimes on the concrete walk, which was narrow, sometimes on the grass, on whose dewy blades the sun's first rays sparkled, while this left foot was anchored thus, we repeat, the right one, having swung forward, hesitated there, moving from side to side, the toes sometimes curling, sometimes pointing, as though searching the terrain for a place to land; when a place had been selected, the right foot became the anchor, and the left performed a similar mission of reconnaissance. All the while her head remained bowed, as though she were examining her lacquered toenails, first those of her right foot, then those of her left.
But how did this leisurely, contemplative, hesitating pace aid Arnold Blumm in concluding that the girl wore nothing, neither a stay nor a bone, neither a strip nor a strap, beneath her T-shirt?
We will tell: the hovering foot, after choosing a landing site, fell upon it so decisively, so suddenly, with such a jolt, stiff-legged, that the reverberations of the impact carried rapidly up her body, one would say at the speed of light, and seemed to concentrate themselves in her magnificent bosom, so that her tits jumped, once, twice, sometimes thrice, with those jiggles and joggles, firm without hardness, fluid without softness, which one loves to see in the female breast, as though their underbellies had been struck with little mallets. There was in addition a third clue, not so easily detected as the first two, but whose observability increased in proport on to the decrease in distance between the observer (Arnold Blumm) and the observed (the girl), and that was this: that a sort of rosy darkness at the tips of her tits, that is, at her nipples, showed dimly through the white fabric of her shirt. These things, then, led Arnold Blumm to the aforementioned conclusion.
As for the poodle, unless a dog's hair be considered its clothing, it was, except for the gilt collar around its neck and a pink bow between its ears, quite naked. Nor is there anything to say about its gait; it walked as all dogs have walked since, so to speak, the beginning of time. Even in these few words we have said far more than Arnold Blumm would have been able to relate on the subject, for if you had asked him: what about the dog? he may well have said: what dog? In so saying, he would have expressed in a word, or in two words, our own sentiments; for we will not concern ourselves here with the animal kingdom: Man is our subject, and more specifically, Man's progress toward sexual happiness. Those who prefer animal books are referred to their local library where such volumes abound. And while we are weeding out our public: let the fastidious reader make no mistake, this book is about sex-pure, unadulterated, undiluted, raw, up-and-down, in-and-out, juicy, hair-and-hide, magnificent, marvelous, vibrant, grunting, panting, drooling, slurping, twitching sex; moreover, in referring to things sexual, which, as we have indicated, we will be doing throughout, we intend to use the common terminology, i.e., the popular nomenclature known to all, from priest to rag-picker. The author is reminded, in this connection, of an anecdote recently related to him by a lady of his acquaintance, which he will here pass on to the reader-the anecdote, not the lady.
The lady attended a bridge party. A house was being constructed on the lot next door, and the language used by the workers-which was rather loud and easily heard from the bridge table-did not, in the opinion of the hostess, harmonize with the language used by the bridge players. When she could endure it no longer, she rose from the table and approached the construction foreman with these words: "Sir! This is a residential neighborhood, I am giving a party! Really! this profanity is intolerable!" "Oh, it ain't that bad, lady," replied the foreman. "My boys, you know how it is, they call a spade a spade." "Oh, no they don't!" snapped the exasperated hostess; "they call it a fucking shovel!"
In this narrative, then, we align ourselves with the "boys." A penis-except for purposes of variation, rhythm, meter, and such like-will be called a cock; a vagina will be called a cunt; a breast, a tit; an anus, an asshole; testicles, balls; cunnilingus, cunt-lapping; fellatio, cocksucking; coitus, fucking. Thus we commit ourselves to the language of the People.
Now then: having eliminated both the animal-lovers and the priggish segment of our readership, let the rest of us return, breathlessly, to the appearance of that ravishing piece of girlflesh, which, on that fine dewy morning, the 28th of March, the day before Easter Sunday, slowly but inexorably, approached the park bench of Arnold Blumm.
Two things can be added immediately about the girl's T-shirt, first, that it was not tucked in, and secondly, that it was too short; in the second lay the reason for the first. Further, her bellbottoms were extremely low-slung, lower-slung in fact than any Arnold Blumm could recall ever having seen before; the unbelted hipband of these bellbottoms was as low as that of the skimpiest bikini the most perceptive and patient girl-watcher could have seen on a weekend-long vigil at the public beach; and that was low. Arnold Blumm said to himself: "Lord! any lower and her cunt hair would show;" this was an accurate observation. The result of her bellbottoms being so low and her T-shirt being so short was that her bellybutton showed.
This excited Arnold Blumm; it excited him almost as much as the indecent mobility of her tits; his hands perspired, his stomach shuddered, his cock hardened. It was, he thought, the most beautiful bellybutton he had ever seen. It was deep and mysterious; it seemed to open and close slightly with each step she took, like a little mouth, hungry, brazen, seductive, lascivious. The slow-climbing sun, peeking through the palms and the hotels across the lake, lit up a narrow line of the finest golden hairs, issuing forth from this delicious little pit; these hairs led downward over the gentle suntanned curve of her belly, widened ever so slightly as though in preparation to meeting her maidenhair, and disappeared into the front of her bellbottoms. The author trembles just to think of it.
These bellbottoms, moreover, besides being low-slung, were tight-fitting-that is, in the hips and crotch;-so that the contours of her pussy-mound whose upper slope began only an inch or so below the top button of her fly, were defined no less vividly by the cloth of her slacks than her nipples were by the cloth of her T-shirt. Arnold Blumm could see the plump little cunt-cheeks bulging out sweetly on either side of the narrow fly. He said to himself: "She can't be wearing panties! they don't make them that small. Lord! no panties, no bra, she's practically naked! right out in broad daylight! cars going by! people on the sidewalks! why, she doesn't even seem to . . . Oh, Lord!. .. Oh, God!. . .
We must pause a moment to examine this inner monologue. (The impatient reader will bear in mind that we are in the Adagio section of the work in hand-that is to say, the somewhat slow but very expressive section-and will not be surprised at certain asides and elucidations, not to say digressions. When we get into the Allegros and especially the Presto, things will move fast enough for the most high-strung speed-reader; until then, relax, take off your clothes, fondle your genitals, enjoy yourselves. You protest: but the world is rushing by! We reply: let it. It is our intention that this opening section, the Adagio, ma non troppe e molto expressivo, should resemble in its construction-as nearly as a piece of literature can be said to resemble a piece of ass-a slow fuck. Having said this, we return, with a certain defiance, to the examination mentioned above.)
In assuming that the girl wore no panties, because "they don't make them that small," Arnold Blumm may well have been in error; the author happens to know that they do make them that small, even smaller in fact. However, in consideration of this brief delay we have thrown in the reader's path, we give him this sop: that she was indeed quite free of undergarments of any kind, and in a moment we shall have proof of it. As to the "right out in broad daylight," it is true, the sun was up, the sky had gone from white to blue, the birds were singing, the pigeons were chortling. It was also true that the city was beginning to stir; people were walking about, and there was a more or less steady stream of traffic on Flagler Boulevard. To understand what follows, we must say to those not familiar with this city that the east curb of Flagler Boulevard lay very close to the bench on which Arnold Blumm was sitting: less than ten yards behind it; and further, that at the intersection of Flagler and Datura Street there was a traffic light. If Arnold Blumm had had a loaded pistol, and if he had pointed it over his left shoulder, that is, due west, with the barrel inclined at an angle of approximately 35 degrees, and if he had then pulled the trigger, he would have put a hole in the metal casing of this traffic light without ever having taken his eyes off the girl on the walkway to his right. Arnold Blumm, at this point in our story, had no pistol, loaded or otherwise; this was only for the purpose of orienting the reader.
Now, as these thoughts about panties, nudity, daylight and traffic were rushing through Arnold Blumm's feverish brain, the sandy-haired girl, her eyes still on the ground or on her toenails or whatever, seemed to see something lying in the grass beside the path; she looked at it, the dog pulled her past it, she stopped the dog by means of the leash, the dog coughed, she turned, retraced her step, bent over, knelt down, and picked up the object.
It was just as she bent over-the reader understands that her back was now to Arnold Blumm-it was just then, we repeat, that Arnold Blumm interrupted his interior apostrophe with that Oh, Lord!
For since the object of interest lay beside the path, and the girl at this time stood on the path, the alignment of her spine formed somewhat of an angle with Arnold Blumm's line of sight; combine this data with what we have already said about the looseness and shortness of the tail of her T-shirt, the front of which hung down when she bent over, and what do you have? this: that Arnold Blumm, during the brief moment in which the girl stood in this position, had a magnificent, perfectly unimpeded view of the entire underside of her left tit and half that of the right one, hanging down like ripe grapefruit, nipples and all.
This tantalizing view, as we said, was a brief one; but when the bending over changed to the kneeling down, another sight, just as tantalizing, presented itself to the bulging eyes of Arnold Blumm, a sight which gave the proof promised above, that the girl was in fact pantieless. For the action of kneeling down had the effect of drawing the middle of her low-slung hipband so far down behind that two tongue-hardening inches of the crack of her ass-at least that much, perhaps more-were exposed brazenly to the morning sunlight.
It was at this moment that the Oh, God! followed upon the heels of the Oh, Lord!
All this occurred not three yards from where Arnold Blumm sat, and when he saw that beautiful plump-cheeked butt half-naked before his eyes, he thought: Almost close enough to touch! He longed to spring from the bench and insert a finger into that shadowy groove between those sun-gold buns; ah! what ecstasy; but he dared not. The reader might not have dared go quite that far either; certainly the writer would not have; but we might have at least mustered a whistle, eh? Arnold Blumm dared not even to have a sound, he scarcely dared breathe, for fear his presence might be detected; such was the nature of this Arnold Blumm.
The butt-view lasted longer, it is true, than the tit-view, but both were much briefer than we, or Arnold Blumm, might have wished them to be. The former, that is, the nether vista, so to say, ended rather abruptly and took Arnold Blumm by surprise, the eye of his mind having plunged deeply into the narrow seat, even into the tight crotch, of those green and pink bellbottoms, far beyond the reach of his eyeballs proper, for Arnold Blumm, though timid, we admit it, was not an unimaginative fellow. What happened was this: All in one motion as it were, the girl stood up, spun around, her boobs all abounce, her lovely white teeth flashing in a radiant smile, cheeks aglow, her green eyes shining, the scrap of wet paper-for this is what she had found in the grass-in her right hand, the dog's leash in her left, looked straight at Arnold Blumm for the first time, as though she had known he was there all along, and cried in a joyous voice: "Wow! it's today!"
Between the moment her eyes fell on him and the moment these words burst from her peach-painted lips, Arnold Blumm regained sufficient control over himself to turn his head (his spine popped, he did this so rapidly, a chiropractor will understand) and to fix his gaze on the eastern horizon. His intention, though it was too late of course, was to pretend he had not noticed the girl. But since it was obvious that she was speaking to him, no one else being present, aside from the dog, and since he did not wish to seem rude, Arnold Blumm, surreptitiously pressing his unruly prick down between his clenched thighs with his folded hands, once more looked at the girl, taking care this time, with some effort, to keep his eyes on her face and not on her tits, and said: "I beg your pardon?"
This strange conversation ensued: "It's today."
"What?"
"This is Saturday, isn't it?" "Yes."
"I thought so. Listen, it's going to be groovy! You don't have to be under thirty or anything like that. Are you with us?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Hey, you're not afraid, are you? I mean, it won't be easy, but like tomorrow-wow!"
At this point the girl seemed to lapse into reverie, or anticipation, and her gaze drifted up to the sky. Arnold Blumm was confused by her words, disconcerted by her tits. For since she now stood at the end of the bench, Arnold Blumm sitting at the middle of it, the bench being short, not over five feet long, the result was that those outthrust, thinly sheathed, full-bodied, stiff-nippled mammae loomed-or so it seemed to Arnold Blumm-almost directly over him, swelling and falling rapidly with her excited breathing. At that last wow! she inhaled so deeply, in preparation for a sigh of happiness, that Arnold Blumm was certain that her T-shirt was going to burst asunder, split down the middle, lay all bare before she could exhale and relieve the pressure; unfortunately, the T-shirt held.
At the moment of this exhalation, this sigh, this lovely breastfall, as chance would have it, the dog growled.
Relieved at this opportunity to avert his eyes from that magnificent display-for a vision of beauty can be excruciating: Tiglath of Phthyon was blinded by the angel, Samson by Delilah, etc.-Arnold Blumm looked at the dog.
The dog had its front feet, shorn and manicured, on the cap of the seawall, its back feet on the concrete footpath, its head lowered, and its fangs bared. It was looking into the water.
Arnold Blumm followed its gaze.
It was at this exact moment that the girl uttered in a clear and enthusiastic voice those two words the importance of which, in the eyes of the author, can be guessed at by the fact that not only did we choose them for the opening line of this section but for the very title of the whole drama, and those words were these: "Let's fuck."
The reader recalls that another thing happened at this instant, Arnold Blumm saw the pipe which resembled a periscope. This, in our mind, was important enough to follow close upon the Let's fuck; why? we shall see further on.
This pipe actually resembled a periscope only in one particular, that it had a right-angle elbow at its upper end. Other than that, it was not unlike other pipes which one could see at that time, almost at any place, standing in the shallows, on the mud flats, on the oyster bars, in the mooring coves, along both shores of the lake at all times of the day. How did they get there? no one knows; no one cares, certainly not the author. Concerned as little with pipes as we are with dogs, we will be brief. This pipe, like all the others, was of galvanized iron, badly corroded, ancient-looking, barnacle-encrusted, and had a coat of green algae; it extended, at this time of the tide, which was dead low and at the slack, all the nun bouys along the channel pointing at the zenith-it extended, we say, about three feet above the surface, and was more or less plumb, that is, vertical; it stood about ten feet off the face of the wall; the right-angle elbow at the top appeared to be of the same vintage as the pipe itself, being corroded and encrusted to the same degree. Having thus fully described the pipe, we move on to Arnold Blumm's impression of it.
Ordinarily, an iron pipe, even one which somewhat resembled a periscope, would not have alarmed Arnold Blumm; what alarmed him about this one was the fact that the horizontal end of the elbow was pointed directly at him. That he had the immediate and irrational impression that he was being watched, affords us another clue to the character of Arnold Blumm.
But if there was nothing very extraordinary in this object, as it seems there was not, why, you may ask, did the dog growl at it? We cannot say; the writer, for once, is as much in the dark as the reader. We only felt that we should not neglect this item?
Now, Arnold Blumm's state of alarm at the sight of this iron spectre, this eye on a stalk, this spy of the deep, was such that he did not hear what the girl said-or, more accurately, he heard it, all right, but his mind rejected it, as an analogue computer will reject certain data for which it has not been programmed. Arnold Blumm was not programmed to accept at face value the words Let's fuck from a beautiful girl without a bra. His stare shifted nervously from the pipe to the girl, and he said: "I beg your pardon?"
"I said let's fuck."
Arnold Blumm was shocked, he was dumbfounded, he was embarrassed, he was frightened, his jaw fell open, he was speechless.
"What's the matter?" asked the girl, peering at him curiously. "Don't you want to?"
"Want to wh-wh-what?" stammered Arnold Blumm.
"Fuck! Fuck!" She yelled this right in his face, leaning forward, her hands cupped around her mouth, forming a sort of megaphone.
The words resounded through the still morning air. Arnold Blumm was certain that they had not only been heard throughout the entire downtown area of West Sago Beach but that they had also carried across the lake to Sago Beach itself, which, to him had become one long gigantic ear stretched between the lake and the sea, all atuned and quivering.
He was thunderstruck.
In an apologetic tone, her expression softening, placing a hand-a hand with the softest, smoothest, warmest palm that had ever come in contact with the skin of Arnold Blumm, so far as he could remember-on his dome, she said: "Aw, I'm sorry, mister; I guess you don't hear too well, is that it?"
That was not it; Arnold Blumm had the ears of a rabbit-in keenness, not in shape. He shook his head in the negative.
"No?" said the girl. "You heard then?" He nodded his head in the affirmative. "Well then?"
He shook it in the negative.
"What!" She took her hand from his head and undid the top button of her bellbottoms. "Why not?"
Arnold Blumm, in spite of his terror, he was unable to do otherwise, lowered his eyes to her belly-crotch region, which could not have been, as we have indicated, more than two and a half feet from the tip of his nose. He did not gasp, he did not blink, he did not speak, he did not breathe; he resembled a dummy from a wax museum, placed there on the park bench, someone's idea of a practical joke. Only his eyes betrayed the spark of life. What did they see, these eyes? They saw hair.
As he stared, helplessly, she undid another button.
Thicker ringlets, denser tufts sprang into the apex of the resulting V of green and pink cloth; one more button and the top of her cunt, the slit itself, would be exposed. Exposed to what? let us remind the reader: to the passers-by on the sidewalks; to the motorists on the boulevard; to the early-risers in the upper stories of the Holiday Inn, which at this period was on the southeast corner of Datura and Flagler, fronting on the lake; to the birds in the air; to the pigeons in the eaves; to Arnold Blumm on the bench.
He said to himself: "Lord God! she's opening her fly! showing me her cunt! showing it to everybody! I, Arnold Blumm, musician, a member of the A.F.M., in good standing, married, a homeowner, a taxpayer, a citizen, I, the Mr. Blumm so well-known and respected at the conservatory, am looking yes, looking, point blank, at pussy fuzz!"
And he added: "There is some mistake."
There was no mistake.
We do not presume to know the means by which a wax figure produces sound, let alone speech; we tell only what actually occurred, that Arnold Blumm, without moving, without-it seemed to him-breathing, and without taking his eyes off that brazen bush, heard himself speaking these words: "Young lady, I am a married man; I have a son, I have a daughter; they are as old as you."
And he added, but not aloud: And I fear I am being watched. And again: If only I could take my eyes off your cunt.
The girl replied to the spoken portion of this announcement: "So what? This is the day! Don't you dig?" She waved the scrap of paper in his face; he did not see it; he did not dig. She withdrew the paper, put it into a pocket of her bellbottoms, an action which caused a few additional tufts of hair to pop out, smiled, shook her head slowly, put her hands on her hips, which were quite bare, and added: "Look, pops, you wanta fuck or not?"
Again Arnold Blumm heard a voice; it was his own: "Here?"
"Sure; why not?" "I love my wife."
"Groovy, but I only want to screw, not elope." In the same voice, a voice which resembled one of those recordings one hears sometimes on the telephone, which always end with the words: "this is a recording," Arnold Blumm repeated: "I love my wife." And he added: "I have children." The girl appeared to understand at least; she would have understood earlier no doubt if he, Arnold Blumm, had not had his eyes glued to her twat all this time.
"Oh," she said in disgust, "one of those, huh?" And she sighed, said "shit" apostrophically, and began to cast her eye about the intersection, as one might look about a crowded hash house in search of the waitress.
Now, the three lines of vision-that of man, girl and dog-formed at this moment a kind of cardinal cross; the reader should have this clearly in his mind: the girl was looking west, that is, at the populace; the dog was looking east, that is, at the pipe; and Arnold Blumm was looking south, that is, at the cunt. It is not necessary to add that the pipe was looking west, that is, at Arnold Blumm; it should be noted however, that he, Arnold Blumm, now had the cunt in profile, whereas a moment before he had had it in full face, for the girl had turned toward the boulevard, braless tits, open fly and all, as though she were not in the city at all but in the woods.
The time has now come to interpose a fourth line, that is, a diagonal, into this imaginary cross we have just drawn. This fourth line of vision bisected the cross's southwest quadrant, forming an angle of 135 degrees with its northern arm, i.e., Arnold Blumm's line of sight, and intersecting this arm precisely at the point of the V formed, as we have seen, by the girl's half-open fly.
From whence did this diagonal come? from the driver's seat of a northbound, pea-green Henry J which had just stopped at the south side of the intersection. What sat in this driver's seat? a boy with long hair.
The reader may have grown somewhat impatient with us a moment ago, when we took pains to call to his attention the traffic light at the center of this intersection, thinking, perhaps, that we were indulging in superficialities, items of no relevance to our tale; if so, he was mistaken, for this was not the case; no, for it was this very traffic light which brought about the interposition of that fourth line, described above. How? by turning red. It was this that had brought the Henry J to a stop.
A whistle, a very strident whistle, a wolf-whistle, as we say, just then destroyed the geometry of our figure; for the girl's line of vision now rotated rapidly around from west to southwest, until it coincided exactly with the diagonal passing through her crotch. That is to say, the girl with the flaxen bush looked at the boy with the long hair, and vice versa.
For it was this long-haired boy who had whistled.
The girl's face brightened, and turning to Arnold Blumm, she said: "Well then, how about holding my Bo Jo for me?"
Arnold Blumm begged her pardon?-for he was afraid she had again proposed something dirty.
"Bo Jo," she repeated impatiently, "my dog."
"Ah!" said Arnold Blumm, relieved and disappointed at the same time.
"Here." And she handed him the leash.
The dog, sensing this change-over no doubt, shifted its attention from the pipe to Arnold Blumm, apparently did not like what it saw, lifted its hind leg, and pissed on his shoes. Arnold Blumm was aware only of a strange warmth about his ankles; he was still looking at the girl, who, it seemed to him, was motioning to someone with her hand, causing her tits to swing violently inside the T-shirt. Suddenly she cried out: "Hey! wanta fuck?"
Came the reply: "Groovy!"
"Come on then!"
"You come on!"
"No, let's do it here! my dog is with me!"
"Where?"
"Here!"
"There?"
"Sure! Today's the day!" "No shit?" "No shit!" "Groovy!"
Arnold Blumm heard a car door open and slam shut. What door? that of the pea-green Henry J, left front. To whom was the preceding invitation, which, together with the response, was spoken at a high volume, that is, a shout, extended? To the boy with the long hair. It was he who had just emerged from the Henry J. Horrified, Arnold Blumm saw this unshorn fellow sprinting across the intervening turf like a young buck deer in the rutting season.
Horrified? he was petrified. He said to himself: Now what?
We shall see.
"Who's that?" asked the boy, unzipping his fly; "your old man?"
"No," replied the girl indistinctly, for she spoke through the cloth of her T-shirt, which she was in the process of pulling off over her head (Lord! thought Arnold Blumm); "just some guy. He's holding my Bo Jo for me."
"Your what?"
"My dog."
"Oh." He, the boy, pulled out his cock; it was stiff, thick, blue-veined, red-headed, and looked to Arnold Blumm about two feet long-which of course it was not. "Well, here's my bo jo," said the lad proudly, holding it in the palm of his hand as one might hold a brook trout, fresh from the brook. "He can have your dog, I'll take your pussy."
"You'd better!" laughed the girl, throwing her T-shirt at Arnold Blumm's head, where it hung for a moment before falling into his lap. "I never had so much trouble getting laid-and on the very day, too!"
"He wouldn't?"
"No; he's one of them."
Arnold Blumm, for some reason, wanted very much to say: No, I'm not! I'm not one of them, at all! I'm not! I'm not! but he could not.
"Oh," said the boy, looking with disdain upon Arnold Blumm; "one of them, huh?"
"Yeah. I like your dick."
"I like your tits."
"Thanks."
These latter, as we have indicated, were not quite bare: big, plump, delicious hills of golden flesh, only slightly paler underneath than on top, proof that she frequently went naked in the sun, and with rather large, puffed-up, stiff-tipped nipples of a dark rosy hue, brazenly nude, stark naked, stripped bare before the eyes of the world-or at least that percentage of it which at that hour found itself in West Sago Beach, Florida, at or near the intersection of Flagler and Datura. Arnold Blumm's tongue swelled up in his mouth like a sponge cake.
"Let's do it," said the girl.
"How y'want it?" said the boy; "on the grass?"
"On the bench. I'll sit on your lap."
"Right;" and to Arnold Blumm: "Wanta move over, dad?"
Arnold Blumm looked at the boy as though for the first time and said: "Pardon me?"
"I say, how about moving over a little."
"Ah!" replied Arnold Blumm. "Yes; yes, of course!" Whereupon he moved obediently to the other end of the bench, that is, the north end, dragging Bo Jo, who snarled, with him.
The boy, with a flamboyant toss of his shoulder-length hair, sat down halfway between Arnold Blumm and the south end of the bench, his knees spread, his cock standing tall in the sunlight, his back to the intersection.
Those of our readers who are familiar with the coital position about to be assumed by these young people will realize that, while it is true that the boy will be facing the street, i.e., the public. This accessibility of the public eye to the unclad bosom of this lovely young sandy-haired girl must be kept in mind in order to understand the strangeness of what occurred-that is to say: of what did not occur. We will return to this in a moment.
The girl now stood directly before the boy, facing him, smiling down at him-or at his cock, which smiled back-running her fingers through her long straight hair, her half-exposed cunt-hump thrust to the fore, practically in his face. He reached out with one hand, opened the last two buttons of her fly, folded back the flaps, turned his palm to the sky, and inserted the tip of his middle finger into the upper comer of her fuzzy slit.
"Oh, God!" she sighed, throwing her head back and jerking her pelvis. "That's nice!"
The boy chuckled, let his finger slide down that plump-cheeked groove, his hand entering the crotch of her bellbottoms, and one could have told, by the way the girl squealed and shuddered, the exact instant that his finger drove up her fuck-funnel, by which we mean, her vaginal tube. At the same time he, the boy, reached up with his other hand and squeezed both her tits, one at a time, first the left, then the right.
This done, he withdrew his finger-it came out slimy, Arnold Blumm noticed with a sort of anguish-took hold of the sides of her bellbottoms, and peeled them from her hips; these latter (her hips) she wiggled in assistance, saying: "Oh, take 'em off! take 'em off!" which he did, leaving her-it deserves a paragraph of its own:- Naked.
Lord! said Arnold Blumm, inwardly.
In utter awe he watched the girl mount the lap of the boy, placing her knees, one at a time, on the bench, astraddle his thighs. Lord! Taking his cock in her right hand, flattening her left tit against his lips, which opened to receive same,-God/-with that certain pelvic roll necessary, our experienced readers will know, to achieve entry in this sort of position (known in certain quarters as the "bus fuck," in others as the "lap jab" or "sit-down diddle"), and inserted his pintle into her gudgeon, -Lord God!-in a manner of speaking.
Thus began this carnal act, this sunlit fuck, on the morning of Holy Saturday, at 7:53 a.m., the 28th of April, A.D. 19-, between the girl who let it hang and the boy who let it grow, as we might describe them. (Despite the seriousness of this subject, the author is not averse to the injection of a bit of humor from time to time, some small ray of mirth, into his narrative, should an opportunity, in his opinion, present itself.*)
Returning now to the public reaction:-what have you expected? expressions of shock and outrage? horrified old ladies crying: This is intolerable! what is the world coming to? right out in the open, the shameless things! depravity! fornication! indecent exposure! help! police! someone call the vice squad! the Women's League! the D.A.R.! the Church! the Pope! lock them up! deport them! draft them! Mommy, Mommy! look, look! look over there! what are they doing? let's go watch! can we? huh? can we, can we? huh? huh? and such like? Were such things, in fact, uttered at this time? they were not.
Was anything uttered at all? it was.
What then? things such as this: "Hey, kid! you're blocking traffic!" and this: "Hurry it up, willya? some of us work for a living!" and this: "Whaduyuh own, the street or somethin'?" and this: "Goddamn hippies!" and other things of a similar nature, as though the boy had merely parked his car there in the middle of the boulevard to do a bit of fishing in the lake, or, say, to collect pop bottles from the gutter, rather than to do what he was doing, the nature of which, what with the up-and-down, the bare boobs, the grunts, the squeals, the flying hair, was not obscure. All these protests we have just mentioned came from northbound motorists who found themselves blocked by the abandoned Henry J, *cf. his Fornication Without Fear, or It's Fun to Fuck, soon to be released.
Flagler Boulevard being only a two-lane street at this point and comprising somewhat of a bottleneck anyway, even when free of obstruction.
Did the boy react to this reaction? only once, and with only two words, which he flung over his shoulder, and they were these: "Fuck you!"
Only it sounded like this: Faaahk you! It was a sneer.
As a matter of fact the boy's attitude concerning these pressures, these demands of the world, these goads from the go-getters, was precisely that which, a few pages ago, we advised the reader to take concerning the relaxed and unhurried nature of this Adagio section. Accordingly, we commend the boy for his singleness of purpose, and the reader for his, the latter having stuck with us thus far; rewards await him.
As for the pedestrians, none of them appeared to notice anything out of the ordinary; they walked their dogs, they pushed their prams, they ignored each other, they went to work, they sat in the park, they played checkers, and in general did all those things which they would have done on any other Saturday morning.
Arnold Blumm found all this very strange.
He felt that something unprecedented was taking place around him; what? he could not have said.
He knew only that if this continued much longer, he would have a discharge. This naked girl, within arm's reach, her lashing hair, her golden tits thudding against the boy's cheeks, those fat little nipples brushing his lips, his tongue, plunging into his mouth, his face cushioned in flesh, her half-closed eyes, her open mouth, her flaring nostrils, her beautiful bare bronze-cheeked butt bouncing, shuddering, tightening, relaxing, the shock waves rippling up her belly, the tawny bush between her perfect thighs, the foaming mouth of her cunt, that long, thick, slick, shiny shaft on which she had skewered herself, appearing when she rose, vanishing when she fell-it was almost more than Arnold Blumm could stand.
Over and over he repeated to himself Lord! it might have been me!
But it was not.
Suddenly the girl cried out, loud enough for all to who cared to listen: Oh, God! I'm gonna come! I'm gonna come!"-and she made these sounds: "Gha! gha! gha! gha!-"
And the boy answered: "Me too! Here it comes!" and he made these: "Uhn! uhn! uhn!-"
And Arnold Blumm said: "Lord!"
He said it aloud; no one noticed. No one seem notice Arnold Blumm at all, not even the dog, who was now standing at the boy's feet, his mouth open, his tongue out, staring at, and possibly smelling of, his mistress's ass as it rose and fell upon the boy's lap. But if the dog was oblivious to Arnold Blumm, so was Arnold Blumm oblivious to the dog; both, apparently, were cognizant of little else than the fuck.
"Nh, nh, nh, nh-!" "Get that goddamn car outa the goddamn way, goddamn it!" Honk!honk! "Uhn! uhn! uhn!-"
Slop, slap! slop, slap! slop, slap!- "God!" "Eeeeeeee-!" "Mmmmmm-!" "Wow!" "Whew!"
"Jesus! that was..."
"Yeah
"
"Lord God!"
"Well, whaduyuh know! the bastard finally got his gun!"
" 'Bout fuckin' time!"
"Get that wreck outa the goddamn road!"
"Say, you got good cunt muscles, y'know that?"
"Thanks."
"Squeeze it again."
"Like this?"
"Mm! One more time.... Ouch! Wow! Well, I better split."
"OK. Suck my tits once more." "Sure."
Suck, slurp. Suck, slurp. "Now kiss them goodbye." Smack. Smack.
And then the girl laughed, offered her middle finger to the impatient motorists, and dismounted.
Shloop!-out came the waning cock. As she stood up, spraddle-legged, a stream of semen, or cum, as we say, dripped out of her frothy hole and fell, splat! on the concrete walk.
"Whoops," said the girl, slapping a hand over her crotch to stop the flow. "Well, thanks, man. See y' around."
"Yeah," replied the boy, turning toward the street, wiping his cock with his handkerchief, tucking it into his pants, and zipping up his fly; "stay cool, baby." And with that he sprinted across the strip of grass, got into his car, threw it in gear (for he had left the engine running), and, with a squeal of tires, a belch of smoke, and a peace sign, zoomed away, followed by a line of cars, trucks and busses stretched bumper to bumper from Datura southward around the bend to Okeechobee Road, westward up Okeechobee, across Federal Highway to the 1-95 interchange and beyond, halfway to Military Trail. A man in a blue station wagon, pulling out of Australian Avenue onto the Okeechobee overpass and finding himself trapped in this motorcade, turned to the woman beside him, presumably his wife, and said: "There's something funny going on in town today." This woman was said to have had champagne on her lips, hyacinths in her eyes, castles and forests in her smile; no further explanation was given. It was believed later to have been an omen.
"OK, Bo Jo," said the girl, "lick it up, baby."
"Woof!" replied the dog and fell to its task.
The girl sat down on the bench, spread her legs to the lake, took her hand from her crotch, and said the words we have just recorded to her dog. Arnold Blumm watched in amazement as this beast, whom he had forgotten, thrust its snout between her thighs and began to lap up the cum leaking from her cunt.
Lap, lap, lap!
Lord!
"Good dog. Mm. Nice Bo Jo. Sweet-oh, I forgot all about you! Ha ha!"
This last statement was directed at Arnold Blumm, whom she had just discovered, apparently by accident, at the other end of Bo Jo's leash.
"I beg your pardon?" said Arnold Blumm.
The girl just laughed, stood up, stepped into her bellbottoms, turned to her dog and said: "Thank the nice man for holding you, Bo Jo."
Whereupon Bo Jo looked at Arnold Blumm, lifted one lip, turned his tail to the man, arched his back, and, having pissed, proceeded to shit. Was this the animal's way of thanking Arnold Blumm? Let the reader be the judge.
"Hey, you're pretty good with dogs," said the girl with a smile. "He wouldn't shit for me."
"Er-thank you," replied Arnold Blumm, staring at her tits.
After looking at him for a moment, the girl added: "You just don't get it, do you? Don't you know who that was? That was my brother."
A tremor ran up Arnold Blumm's spine; he tore his gaze from her bosom and looked her in the eye.
"What?" said he; "what did you say?"
"Everybody's my brother."
"Ah!"
"And I'm everybody's sister."
Arnold Blumm made no reply to that; his eyes had fallen once more, titward, and he seemed not to be listening. "We're all brothers and sisters. See what I mean?" If he did, he did not let on.
The girl only laughed again, and when Bo Jo had finished unburdening himself, she took the leash from Arnold Blumm, tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, turned, and walked back along the path in the direction from which she had come, the dog at her heel, her ass swaying, one cheek rising when the other fell, the one falling when the other rose, the low-slung bellbottoms cutting her dead across the ass-crack, her hair swinging merrily from side to side, brushing the smooth, suntanned skin of her bare back.
Did we say bare back? we did. Did we err? we did not.
For her T-shirt still lay in the lap of Arnold Blumm.
Arnold Blumm noticed this with alarm.
"Ah-miss!" he cried; "oh, miss!"
If she heard this, she ignored it, and in a moment she was lost from view among the parked cars.
These thoughts raced through Arnold Blumm's mind: Perhaps she left it on purpose? Yes, probably so! I will take it to her! Her car must be parked in the lot; I'll say: "You've forgotten your shirt, miss, here it is, I have brought it to you?" "Oh, thank you!" she'll say, and then no doubt she'll touch my head again as she did before, and smile, and say: "Look, I can see why you would be a little shy right out there in front of everybody like that; this is my car; I have an apartment; with a bed; if you'll come with me to the apartment, you can fuck me in the bed." Oh, Lord!
Arnold Blumm sprang from the bench and started off at a run for the parking lot; those who saw it will never forget it; running was not among the things which Arnold Blumm did best. To tell the truth, we have called it running only for lack of a better word; if such a word exists, we are not familiar with it.
But whatever it might be called, it took him no more than fifteen yards at the outside, at which distance he suddenly stumbled to a halt, thinking: Why have I stopped? there isn't a moment to lose!
Then he realized why: he had heard the bell again.
Whether this was a church bell or a fire bell, a ship's bell or a child's bell, a knell or a tocsin, we are not yet prepared to say.
Arnold Blumm turned around, apprehensively.
On the footpath along which he had come he saw a curious zig-zag line of brown spots or blotches; in his haste he had stepped in the dog shit.
He noticed something else.
This something else sent a cold chill through his body.
What did he see? the pipe: the right angle elbow was no longer pointing west, at the empty bench, but south, at Arnold Blumm.
He turned up the collar of his coat, thrust his hands into his pants pockets, turned away from the pipe, as though to pretend he had not seen it, attempted to whistle the scherzo from Beethoven's First Quartet, failed, and started off toward the boulevard at a sort of nervous stroll.
At the curb he threw a quick glance over his shoulder; the pipe was out of sight below the cap of the seawall. The light turned red, he darted across the boulevard, turned to the right, crossed Datura, and hurried up the sidewalk toward the library.
II. ALLEGRO MOLTO VIVACE
Arnold Blumm noticed some scattered groups of people going into the park which adjoined the library. By the time he had crossed Clematis, these groups had drawn together to form something of a crowd; suddenly Arnold Blumm found himself enveloped in this crowd. He did not struggle, he had no particular destination, he had forgotten the conservatory, he let himself be carried along, whence, he knew not.
As he drifted along, like a chip in a sluiceway, Arnold Blumm noticed several strange things.
Let us back up a few steps: Arnold Blumm's eye, in which a strange light shone, a light which none who knew him would have recognized, this eye, we say, had fallen, as he stood at the south curb of South Clematis Street, waiting to cross, upon a strikingly beautiful young woman with dark hair; she was wearing a full-skirted white dress and a wide-brimmed white hat. He lost sight of her until he reached the other side of the street, where he caught another glimpse of her; this time she was not wearing the white hat.
Now, caught up in the press of the crowd, feeling something catch at his foot and looking down, what did he see? the white dress.
"Lord!" said Arnold Blumm.
This crowd moved with a strange urgency, quiet and inexorable, faster and faster, up the footpath between the palms and hibiscus shrubs toward the entrance to the amphitheater at the center of the park. Up ahead of him, going up the ramp to this entrance, wedged tightly amid the dense stream of people rushing through the narrow channel between the retaining walls, Arnold Blumm saw a pair of bare shoulders, female shoulders. To whom did these shoulders belong? Arnold Blumm did not hesitate: the dark-haired young woman! He said to himself: First her hat! now her dress! Lord!
As he himself was swept up into this inlet, Arnold Blumm became aware of voices: a man's voice, a woman's voice, a child's voice, and others, each sounding louder and closer than the last, traveling backward against the surge; each voice spoke the same three words, and they were these: "Pass it back." There was a certain halting rhythm to this chant: "Pass it back." "Pass it back." "Pass it back." "Pass it back." All this was very rapid; Arnold Blumm had scarcely made out the words when the man in front of him, against whom he was plastered as it were by the lady behind him, flipped something white over his shoulder and said to Arnold Blumm: "Pass it back."
It was a brassiere of white lace.
Arnold Blumm took this garment and handed it to the lady behind him with these words: "Pass it back;" whereupon he was caught in an eddy of children and hurled into the amphitheater, once more losing sight of the dark-haired woman.
We shall see this woman again.
Meanwhile, something, a program of some kind, a lecture perhaps, was taking place upon the stage. An old fellow with a pedantic look to him, wearing a tiny pair of wire-rimmed spectacles on his nose and holding a wooden stick, evidently a pointer, in his hand, was standing behind a podium. To the right of the podium was a small bed, standing broadside to the auditorium. On this bed sat a boy and a girl who looked to be about fifteen or sixteen years old; they wore nothing but their underwear and the blush of youth.
The old fellow-let us call him "the professor"-appeared to be reading from a sheaf of papers, though his words were quite inaudible over the shuffle of feet and the clatter of folding chairs, and in fact no one in the auditorium, except for several dozen young children who had gathered in the orchestra, their little chins resting on the lip of the stage, no one except these, we say, seemed to be paying the slightest attention to him; if the professor noticed this, it was not apparent. From time to time he turned to the teenage couple on the bed and pointed at them with his stick, of which they were within reach, the bed being short, the stick being long.
At about the time Arnold Blumm was squeezed through the south entrance of the amphitheater, not unlike a dollop of toothpaste squeezed from a tube, the professor, with the tip of his stick, first touched one of the boy's hands, then one of the girl's tits; whereupon the boy raised that hand and placed it upon that tit.
The children giggled; the adults shuffled. The professor muttered on.
What happened on that stage, in that bed, before all those people, prior to this moment must be omitted; what followed must be condensed. First, a brief description of the boy and the girl, in that order.
The boy was tow-headed, freckle-faced, thin, and he wore Jockey shorts.
The girl-ah! the girl: the author's quill quivers in his hand!-she had light brown sun-streaked hair fastened in a pony tail, willowy limbs, a flashing eye, a flickering tongue, and her plump, ripe little boobies bulged out of the cups of her bra like two pale moons rising out of the sea; her navel was like a tiny eddy in a pool of milk; and her little pink, innocent-looking, quasi-bikini panties hugged a pair of hips so round, so soft, so ... ah, but the words fail us.
After the boy had squeezed one of her tits with one hand, he squeezed the other with the other hand; after that, all under the direction of the professor's baton, the following things happened: The girl embraced the boy, the boy embraced the girl, and they kissed; the boy put his hand inside her bra, she put hers inside his Jockey shorts; she turned her back on him, he unhooked her bra, she took it off, he stood up, removed his shorts, and sat down; her nipples were stiff, his prick was erect; he kissed her nipples, she kissed his prick; the children applauded; she lay down on the bed, face-up, lifted her legs, he removed her panties; she had brown curls around her pussy, he had blonde fuzz around his cock; she spread her legs, he knelt between them; he bent over and sucked her tits, she reached down and stroked his cock; he cupped his hands under the cheeks of her ass, lifted her midsection, bowed his head, and kissed her pussy; she brought her knees up to her bosom and he kissed her asshole; he straddled her face, she licked his balls, kissed his ass, and sucked his cock; she rolled over, rose to all fours, tits down, butt up, he on his knees arrears, massaging her bosom from behind; she reached between her legs, found his cock, and-but it was just at this point that Arnold Blumm looked up and saw what was taking place on the stage.
What had alerted him? We will tell.
All this time the noise in the stadium had been decreasing; it had now ceased altogether, except for the tittering of the children in the orchestra. Why? because everyone had sat down. How is a mob transformed into an audience? by seating it in folding chairs. This is what had occurred.
Arnold Blumm, like everyone else, had found himself in one of these folding chairs. He was in the middle section, five seats in from the north aisle. He had not, until this moment, as he said, perceived either the professor or his assistants-if that is what they were, and evidently it is. There were two reasons why he had not: first, because he was too busy looking for the dark-haired woman, who by that time, so he thought, must surely be stripped to the skin, even though no panties had as yet passed through his hands; second-he was preoccupied by another matter; we shall see what it was in a moment.
As for what had alerted Arnold Blumm, it was the voice of the professor, which could now be heard quite clearly; these are the words that had attracted his attention: "-is that your penis, or cock, is by that means inserted into your vagina, or cunt..."
"Lord!" said Arnold Blumm, as the boy drove home with a loud uhn! and began to fuck the girl with short, eager strokes that made her titties jiggle. Between watching and hearing, it was the former that Arnold Blumm did best, so that he heard only snatches, so to speak, of the professor's lecture. Here are some of those "snatches": "... upon which your pulse rate, normally standing at 70 or 80 per minute, will increase to 90, 100, higher, ever higher as your copulatory phase proceeds, 110, 120, 130, 140,150... /"
With each figure the boy increased the tempo of his fuck-stroke.
"... known technically as your pelvic thrust, delivered in rapid series, as we see. Though they may vary in character, as a general rule, especially in an uninhibited situation such as we have before us at the present time, these thrusts are found to be strong, speedy, vigorous and deeply penetrating. As your copulatory phase, or your fuck proper, progresses, one finds that..."
The girl by now had let her upper body fall to the bed, her cheek resting on the mattress, and was driving her little ass backward against the boy's hard-pounding pelvis, whap! whap! whap! and you could see the cunt juice splash up between them on impact; we are put in mind of waves striking a seawall.
"... insofar as it lengthens, this nipple, by as much as one centimeter, accompanied by a marked tumescence in the areola region, or pigmented skin surrounding your nipple, or your knob, together with a deepening of color, brought about by vasocongestion ..."
"... during the approach of orgasm, or 'the coming of the come,' as some writers have characterized it; whereupon one finds an increased swelling of the tissues of the outer third of your vaginal tube, or cock-chute, followed closely by from five to twenty, sometimes more, rhythmical contractions, muscular spasms, occurring at the rate of approximately one per three quarters of a second, so that..."
But what was it besides the dark-haired woman, that had preoccupied the mind of Arnold Blumm?
In his search for those bare shoulders, his eyes were focused at a considerable distance rather than close at hand, so that at first he did not notice the woman who sat immediately to his left, even though she wore a silk minidress of fire engine red, cut so low in front that her big white tits, except for their underbellies and their nipples, were in plain view and so short in the hemline that the voluptuous thighs of her crossed legs were exposed all the way to the crotch, where a few wisps of hair could be detected by the careful observer.
We have said that Arnold Blumm occupied the fifth seat in from the aisle; we have just seen what occupied the fourth seat; let us look now at the other three. To the woman's left sat a little boy; to the little boy's left sat a little girl; to the little girl's left sat a man, who, as it turned out, was the husband of the woman in the red dress and the father of the two children. We will go even further and say that in the aisle itself, standing near the man's chair, stood a policewoman of gigantic proportions, a veritable amazon; her arms were folded across her massive bosom and a nightstick dangled by its thong from her right wrist; her eyes were on the stage.
Now, if Arnold Blumm did not notice the woman in the red dress, what was it that had distracted him? a hand. Whose hand? that of the woman in the red dress. How? by creeping up his leg.
Lord! thought Arnold Blumm, stiffening up, just as he had when the girl of the seawall touched his dome; she's feeling my leg! look at those tits! God! I can almost see her nipples! no bra! and that skirt! all the way up to her-; Lord! no pants either! what's she doing? people will see! maybe she's mistaken me for-oh, Lord!- She reached inside the front of her dress. -Oh, God!- She pulled out her right tit; the nipple was red and swollen. -Oh, Lord God!
Her hand found Arnold Blumm's prick. He was beside himself; he boiled and froze solid at the same time. The woman was fumbling eagerly with the zipper of his fly; she found the tab and pulled it down. Arnold Blumm dared not move; he clutched the sides of his folding chair as though he were on the downgrade of a roller coaster ride. He said to himself: she's pulling my cock out!
And so she was.
When she had it out, pressed tightly between her two hot palms, she leaned toward him, her right breast, the bare one, flattening against his left arm, the other one about to fall out, half its nipple visible above the sagging neckline, brought her lips up to his ear, and in a fiery whisper said: "Let's fuck!"
It was just then that the auditorium fell silent and the professor's voice reached the burning ears of Arnold Blumm.
Arnold Blumm, it must be told, was in a state of shock. Something within him perhaps said: no, she didn't say that, I imagined it, she didn't pull out my cock, her tits aren't hanging out, her cunt hair isn't showing, I simply imagined it. In other words he blocked all that out of his mind and concentrated upon the stage. What he saw there, if just as bizarre, was more believable due to the distance involved; Arnold Blumm could accept the remote more easily then the near at hand.
The professor rambled on in his monotone: "... will notice the peculiar twitches of the male buttocks, these,"-he pointed them out with his baton-"and a certain contraction of the female abdominal muscles." (The boy and the girl at this moment were in the midst of their orgasms, and the bed was walking slowly across the floor like a Ouija puck in a psychic storm, which made it necessary for the professor to creep along with it, not without some difficulty with his papers and his podium, in order to keep the lovers within range of his stick. It would seem wise to us, in a demonstration of this kind, to have the bed anchored firmly to the stage in some way.) "These twitches, these jerks, these lurches, etc., are but your outward manifestations of the powerful muscular spasms of your penis, here, by which your seminal fluid is expelled forcefully, violently, one might say, into your vaginal tube, here."
"Hey, don't you want to fuck me?"
These words were spoken by the woman in the red dress, and they were spoken loudly enough to penetrate Arnold Blumm's consciousness. He said to himself: she's still there! but to her he said nothing.
"Well, of all the nerve!" said the woman; and with that she released Arnold Blumm's prick, turned, and said something, it is not known exactly what, to the little girl on her left; whereupon the little girl said something to the little boy, and the little boy, in his turn, said something to the man at the end of the row.
"The devil!" said the man upon hearing whatever was said. Immediately he turned to the policewoman, tugged on her skirt, pointed his finger straight at Arnold Blumm and cried in an angry voice: "Officer! that man is annoying my wife!"
"A molester, eh?" replied the policewoman, bristling up and glaring at Arnold Blumm. "On your feet, scum!"
"B-but, officer, I-!" stammered Arnold Blumm.
"Resisting arrest, eh? OK, creep, if that's the way you want it."
Before Arnold Blumm could say another word, a large hand had gripped the collar of his shirt, and he was snatched bodily into the aisle, his prick still hanging out.
"We got ways of dealing with your kind, buster. Stick out your hands!"
To say that Arnold Blumm was astonished would be to understate the case. He scarcely knew what was happening. In less time than it takes to tell it he found himself handcuffed, thrown across the rear fender of a motorcycle like a sack of potatoes, the great iron buttocks of the policewoman looming over him, a roar in his ears, a wind in his face, trees, cars, parking meters rushing past him!
With a burst of savage laughter the policewoman threw away her cap, shook out her frizzy red hair, threw her bike into a steep bank to the right, zoomed around the corner of Lantana Avenue and First Street, and headed east toward the lake at full throttle, siren screaming.
Across the street from the library there was at this epoch, a parking lot; it was bordered on the south by North Clematis Street, on the west by Lantana Avenue, on the north by First Street and on the east by Flagler. In an empty parking space at the northeast corner of this lot lay a blonde-haired girl on a beach blanket; she wore nothing but a pair of round-lensed sunglasses; beside her was a transistor radio, playing at full volume; her clothes were hung on the parking meter; her cunt hair was fluttering in the morning breeze. When the motorcycle over which Arnold Blumm was draped passed this corner, the girl lifted her head, smiled, and made the peace sign.
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, the author of this book happened to be walking the streets.
III. ALLEGRO MODERATO
Why? When beset by certain troubles of a personal nature, walking the streets affords him some small measure of relief; it is a "thing" with him, as we say. What were these troubles? they are none of the reader's affair.
As we walked thus, aimlessly, up along Olive Avenue in the center of town, a number of peculiar sights met our troubled eye and took our mind somewhat off ourselves, for which we were thankful. Here follows some of the things we saw that morning.
At the steps of the Post Office on the comer of Olive and Evemia Street a young girl was passing out sprigs of laurel. She wore a maxiskirt and love beads, nothing else. She had small conical breasts with delicate blue lines and bright pink nipples. If you accepted a laurel sprig, she would hand it to you with a pleasant smile and this announcement: "It's today." A strip of paper was attached to the lower end of each sprig; on this strip these words were mimeographed: Vive la revolution!
A half a block further on-we were walking north on the east sidewalk-just inside the alley behind the Comeau Building, a pretty, middle-aged woman was sitting on a garbage can; her skirt was pulled up to her waist, and a pair of black panties lay on the pavement at her feet. Between her legs, in a half crouch, stood a man in a business suit; his trousers and his underpants were down around his ankles; he was fucking the woman on the garbage can. Both seemed oblivious to the author, who, he admits, paused for a moment at the entrance to the alley.
During this pause a group of young people, boys and girls, came out from between two buildings about halfway up the alley to the east. They carried clubs, machetes, one had a pitchfork, another had a shotgun. Most of them wore jeans and T-shirts, but three of them-one boy and two girls-wore only jeans, that is to say, they were barechested. The girls, though their hair was cut rather short, had fully developed tits, which jiggled and bobbed as they walked, and could not have passed for boys; if that was their intention, they erred. They passed the two lovers at the garbage can without paying much attention to them and came out onto the avenue, laughing and talking loudly, weapons, tits and all. "Where are you going?" we asked. "To throw down the Government!" they replied.
Through the plate glass window of the shoe store on the southeast corner of Olive and Clematis a number of women could be seen sitting on the leather upholstered chairs facing the window, waiting to be fitted. On one of the chairs was a young woman of about twenty wearing a blue suit with a very short skirt. The shoe salesman, a young man with a neatly trimmed haircut, was kneeling at her feet, as shoe salesmen do. A pedestrian standing where we happened to be standing at that time, could easily have looked over the salesman's left shoulder and seen the crotch of the girl in the blue suit; would this pedestrian have been white panties? black panties? red? blue? pink? yellow? no, for she wore no panties at all. He would have seen, as he saw, a bush of very thick dark hair, divided down the middle by a pinkish slit; in short, he would have seen her cunt. As we watched, the salesman put aside his shoeboxes, his footstool, and his measuring staff, put his hands on the girl's knees, pushed them apart, bowed forward, plunged his face between her thighs, and began to lap her twat like a dog, head bobbing rapidly. The girl lifted her legs high and seemed to enjoy it immensely. The other women did not appear to be shocked by this, only impatient to be fitted-or perhaps to be eaten, who knows?
In the alley between Clematis and First a group of people seemed to be building a barricade of sorts-or rather two barricades, one at the west end of the alley, another at the east end. Some of the men and women in this group were naked, others were not. In the rubble of the west barricade-it was constructed of old tires, concrete blocks, garbage cans, parts of old cars, junk of all kinds-stood a bamboo pole from which fluttered a green flag.
Out of the west door of the department store on the corner of First and Olive came a voluptuous little redhead in a dress made of what appeared to be strings of pearl beads; these strings were arranged in circles about her tits and in triangles around her cunt. The strings were widely spaced, no two closer than an inch, and they hid nothing, neither ass nor nipples nor pussy, on which grew a shock of orange shag that blazed like a beacon and could be seen a block away. The beads clicked when she walked.
While standing on the corner, watching this oddly clad beauty crossing the street, her ass swaying, her beads clicking, our eye happened to catch some movement in the front seat of a car which was stopped there, waiting for the light to change. A man sat behind the steering wheel, a woman was on her knees beside him, her ass in our face, as it were, vigorously sucking his cock. The man was fully clothed, the woman was stark naked. Her buttocks were twitching in the bright sunlight, and from her hairy cunt oozed a whitish froth. Suddenly her head ceased to bob, she sat up, put her head out the left window, and spat an enormous quantity of semen into the gutter at the author's feet. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she looked up and addressed us, saying: "Ready?" whereupon the light changed, and they drove away.
A burst of gunfire brought our attention to the large parking lot across the street, between First and Second. Armed men could be seen darting among the parked cars. "What's that?" we asked a passerby. "The cops and the anarchists," replied the passerby, and he added: "today's the day."
Here we changed our course, turned east, walked one block, crossed the intersection of Narcissus and First, entered the lounge of the George Washington Hotel, took a seat at the bar, and ordered a double whiskey.
IV. ANDANTE, MA NON TROPPO CANTABILE
Arnold Blumm stepped out the rear exit of the Takeitoff Club into the dingy alley running east and west (the alley, not Arnold Blumm, who could hardly run in one direction, let alone two) between Clematis and First Street, connecting Olive Avenue and Federal Highway. He blinked his eyes against the glare, for he had come out of a dimly lit interior. He felt relaxed, exuberant, buoyant, light in the head: he felt wonderful.
He listened. The city was strangely silent. It was uncanny: the city quiet on a Saturday morning. Arnold Blumm smiled. He said to himself: It is beginning.
Suddenly a shadow fell over the alley; it was moving east from Federal, toward where Arnold Blumm stood. He sensed the danger, and looked about for a route of escape. He thought: / will not have time to reach Olive, it's moving too fast. (The shadow, not Olive.) All the alley doors will be locked; the fire escape is out; what then?
Just then he heard a voice: "Psst! In here! Quick!"
Arnold Blumm looked all about and saw nothing; he looked down at his feet and saw a sewer grating. Under the grating he saw a pair of eyes.
"Aha!" said Arnold Blumm.
It was the matter of a moment to lift the grate, leap into the basin and shut the grate behind him. Clang!
At that moment there was a flash of light and tremendous explosion in the alley. The ground shook so violently that if you had been sitting in the G. W. lounge, two and a half blocks away, your shot glass would have rattled against your teeth-we say it with confidence-and you might have exclaimed, either to yourself or to the barmaid, who had already removed her blouse, and who at that moment casually unhooked her bra, releasing a pair of blue-white jugs each the size of your head: wha!-an expression common in that day. Arnold Blumm, however, had escaped the blast without injury. During the tremor, as he clung to the slippery walls of the dark chamber in which he found himself, he looked back and saw a rain of rubble clattering down through the iron grating. It is said that he, Arnold Blumm, guffawed at that time; if true, it was the first time in several decades that anyone had heard so much as a chuckle from him, let alone a guffaw. Clearly, a transformation had occurred in the soul of Arnold Blumm.
But into what had Arnold Blumm entered? where was he?
He had entered the West Sago Beach storm sewer system; he was in the catacombs.
This was a world apart, unsuited to Roman type; allow us to italicize these depths.
"You're one of us?" said a voice, the same which had said: psst! etc. A dim shape stood before Arnold Blumm.
In reply Arnold Blumm handed the shape a sprig of laurel.
"Good," said the shape. "Do you have any other identification?"
Arnold Blumm fished in his pocket for a moment, pulled out a scrap of paper, handed it to the shape, saying: "Here."
A flashlight snapped on; in its yellow beam the shape became a man with a pistol in his belt. He trained his light on the scrap of paper and read these words: "Takeitoff, comer table, far left. Michelle."
The man returned the paper to Arnold Blumm and put his left hand on Arnold Blumm's right shoulder; whereupon Arnold Blumm put his left hand on the man's right shoulder.
"Vive la disintegration!" said the man in French.
"Hooray for chaos!" said Arnold Blumm in English.
A door was opened, and Arnold Blumm stepped into a sort of antechamber-it was a short section of the sewer (84-inch reinforced concrete pipe), closed off by partitions of corrugated metal, one of which Arnold Blumm had just passed through, and illuminated by a kerosene lantern. A young girl sat on a cushion before a little wooden table the legs of which had been sawed off to fit the curvature of the pipe; pencil and paper lay on the desk. This girl had long hair and big tits; she wore a pair of jeans and was naked from the waist up.
"Name, please," she said, taking up her pencil.
"Arnold Blumm."
"Ah, so it's you." She wrote his name on the paper, dropped the pencil, threw back her shoulders, smiled and said: "Wanta feel?"
"Yes!" said Arnold Blumm.
"Go ahead then."
He reached out and fondled her left breast; then he fondled her right breast; then he pinched her right nipple; then he pinched her left nipple. He said to himself: very nice; then he said it aloud: "Very nice!"
"Thanks. How about a blowjob?"
"I just had one."
"Oh. In the club, huh?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to make a testimonial?"
"Yes."
"Right through there, first pipe to your right. Nadine will set you up. Have they started fighting outside?" "Yes."
Arnold Blumm went through the door in the partition, walked about thirty paces down the pipe, and turned to the right.
"Hi," said a woman of about twenty-five, dressed only in a pair of black bikini panties.
"Hello," said Arnold Blumm as the woman embraced him. As he kissed her open lips, exploring her mouth with his tongue, he gripped her half-clad buttocks with both hands and massaged them vigorously; he had left his coat somewhere, and he could see her large hard nipples through his shirt. "Nadine?" he said as their lips parted.
"Yes," she replied with a little twitch of her pelvis, thrusting the hump of her cunt hard against the bulge in the front of Arnold Blumm's trousers.
"I would like to make a statement."
"Groovy. Right this way."
They were in a broad, low room, roughly rectangular, its ceiling shored up with odd-sized pieces of lumber; at one end of this room was a small wooden platform on which lay an old mattress; the floor was carpeted by all manner of things-blankets, beach towels, bed sheets, scraps of canvas, and so forth. There were a number of openings in the earth walls; when Nadine cried: "Testimonial!" in a loud voice, men and women, boys and girls, children and oldsters began to emerge from these openings. They all sat down on the floor, facing the platform where Arnold Blumm and Nadine stood. Some of them smiled reassuringly at Arnold Blumm and gave him the peace sign.
"Come on," said Nadine, leading Arnold Blumm onto the platform. "Sit down; relax." He sat down on the mattress, facing the spectators; he recognized some of his students among them, but if they recognized him, they did not let on. He said to himself: I have changed; they don't know me. Arnold Blumm in fact hardly knew himself at this time. When the room was filled, Nadine turned to Arnold Blumm and said with a smile: "Would you rather I took these off?"
"Please do!" said Arnold Blumm.
Everyone applauded.
Nadine laughed, hooked her thumbs in the hipband of her panties, pulled them down and stepped out of them. "Not too hairy for you, is it?" she asked, rubbing her shaggy cunt in Arnold Blumm's face.
"Not at all!" said Arnold Blumm, and he kissed it on the lips; they were plump, clothed in thick brown fur, and moist, these lips. He said to himself: delicious!
"Ha, ha!" laughed Nadine, flopping down beside him and stretching out on her back, legs spread, cunt toward the audience.
It seemed that Arnold Blumm had forgotten what was to take place; he just sat there, caressing with his eyes the luscious, lantern-lit nudity of the ravishing creature who lay beside him. Perhaps a minute passed; then someone said: "Well? spit it out, Charlie!"
Arnold Blumm cleared his throat and said: "This morning, I'm not certain of the time, perhaps four or five o'clock, my wife awakened me with the words: 'Arnold! Get up! go next door and tell those people to stop that horrible racket or else you'll call the police!' I said: 'What racket?' and she said: 'Just listen!' I listened; the bedroom windows of the house next door face our bedroom windows; coming from these windows-there are two of them-I heard, simultaneously, Beethoven's Quartet Number Fourteen in C Sharp Minor Opus 131 and Ball Me Baby, in Lord knows what, by Blue Cheer, the first from the east window, the second from the west. It was true that these two pieces did not harmonize with one another."
Arnold Blumm waited for the audience to laugh; it did not; he went on: "I arose, threw on a robe, and went next door. The face of a beautiful but rather wild-eyed blonde woman appeared; she smiled at me and said: 'So you've come.' I did not know this woman; I had never seen her before in my life. I said: 'My wife can't sleep. I wonder if you would mind turning your music down just a bit?' 'What music?' she said. I listened; I heard nothing. I said: 'I'm sorry, my wife was mistaken. Good night' But she laughed and threw open the door; I caught my breath! she was dressed in a red negligee, absolutely transparent, I could see everything she had, and she had plenty! 'Come on in,' she said; 'we've been waiting for you.' Before I could say a word, she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me inside.
"Sitting on the floor were two other women, both as beautiful as the first; one had black hair, the other was a redhead; like the blonde's, their hair was all disheveled, and they had that wild glint in their eyes. They were both stark naked. I should say, they were all three naked, because as I stood there staring at the brunette and the redhead, something fluttered across the room: it was the blonde's negligee. The redhead had the biggest tits; they looked huge to me, but they stood straight out from her chest like bombshells. She took these tits in her hands, rubbed the nipples, which were pink, and said: 'He's cute!' The brunette was dark-skinned, and her nipples were deep mahogany, almost black; she spread her legs, rubbed her cunt, which was very hairy, and said: 'Yeah!' The blonde, whose nipples and bush were both light brown, rubbed both her tits and her cunt and said: 'Let's fuck!' I was terrified; I spun around and bolted for the door, but before I reached it the brunette had tackled me around the legs; and they tore my robe off, pulled my pajamas down, and dragged me to the center of the room. It was as though an avalanche of flesh had fallen on me! I was smothered in tits, crushed by rumps, swamped by cunts! The redhead sat on my chest and battered my face with her tits!-Lord! they must have weighed ten pounds apiece! Thud! thud! thud! Slap! slap! slap! It made my brains rattle! And one of them-the blonde, I think-had her face between my legs, sucking on my balls and my cock and licking my asshole, and I felt her juicy hairy cunt rubbing on my leg-scalding my leg, I should say! Lord! was it hot! And then the brunette straddled my face, and I saw her tits flatten against the redhead's tits, and then I didn't see anything but hair and meat! My face was enveloped in her cunt!-the brunette's. Foam and froth poured out of it, and I thought I would drown! It became very confusing; I am not certain who did what; suffice it to say that they were all over me, and that I said to myself: Lord! I'm being raped!
"Just when I thought I would pass out, they dismounted. I lay there, naked, dripping with cunt juice from head to foot, gasping for breath. I heard one of them say: 'What's the matter with the son of a bitch? He doesn't even have a hard-on!' Another one said: 'It's too early; he hasn't gotten the word.' And another: 'Well, piss on him; let's eat pussy.' I opened my eyes and saw the blonde crawling over the redhead; they began to lick each other's crotch with loud slurps, and the juice splattered all over me. The brunette squatted beside me, picked up a large cucumber, and began fucking herself with it, drool running out of her mouth, syrup bubbling out of her cunt. I took this opportunity to gather up my robe and pajamas; they were engrossed in their love-making, blinded by cunt cream; they had forgotten me. I gained the door without incident, gripped the knob in my trembling hand and cried: 7 am a married man! I love my wife! I love my kids! Don't you understand?' The blonde continued to lap the redhead's cunt, the redhead continued to lap the blonde's cunt, and the brunette continued to fuck herself with the cucumber. They paid no attention to me. I took one more feverish look at those foaming holes, those slurping tongues, those bouncing, jiggling, swinging, sweating tits-and stumbled out into the darkness, thinking: 'Lord! Three witches! Three sex-mad witches! Was it an omen? A dream? Did I imagine it? Who were they? How did they get in that house? What did they mean about it being too early?' These and many other questions beset my mind.
"If my behavior seems odd to you, let me say at this point that the Arnold Blumm who entered that house was not the Arnold Blumm that has entered this sewer. The Arnold Blumm of this morning, unlike the Arnold Blumm of this afternoon, would not have dared to do this!"
And without any hesitation this new Arnold Blumm reached over and inserted four fingers into Nadine's gaping twat. The audience applauded and cheered; some cried: "Amen!" Nadine only smiled, squeezed her big boobs together, tightened her cunt muscles on Arnold Blumm's fingers, and said: "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."
Arnold Blumm went on: "At dawn I found myself sitting upon a park bench down by the lake. I am a musician, a violinist, a teacher; I had a class this morning at the conservatory; I did not go: I sat on a park bench instead, do not ask me why. I was sitting there, as I say, thinking about the witches, when all of a sudden..."
But while Arnold Blumm is telling about the girl with the dog, an incident which has already been related in detail, let us look in on another part of this subterranean hideaway.
A low room similar to the one we have just seen, only somewhat larger, had been excavated beneath the west entrance to the park, near the branching of North and South Clematis streets. This room was a sort of theater; it had a low stage in the center, surrounded by wooden benches. The benches were full; the stage was illuminated by a single light bulb, very bright; a play seemed to be in progress: "Did you get fucked?"
"Of course, silly. Did you?"
"No."
"Aw."
These lines were spoken by a boy and a girl, in that order, both in their early teens. There is a possibility that this was the same young couple which we saw earlier on the stage of the amphitheater, but this has never been proven. On this stage, as on that stage, there was a bed, perhaps the same bed, who knows? On this bed sat the boy, dressed only in a pair of Jockey shorts. Near the bed stood a dressing table with a cracked mirror; before this mirror stood the girl; she wore a red minidress. At the rear of the stage was a cardboard partition, painted to resemble the wall of a bedroom and propped up with sawhorses. Near the top was a sort of vent, or sheet metal grating. The partition extended across only about half the width of the stage, and behind it a large figure could be seen dimly, standing in the shadow.
The girl stepped over to the bed, turned her back on the boy, held her long brown sun-streaked hair away from the nape of her neck, and said: "Unzip me, will you?" He unzipped the back of her dress, and she stepped out of it. She was now wearing nothing but a pair of very brief, ultra-sheer bikini panties through which her fuzzy little pussy could be seen by all. She returned to the mirror and began brushing her hair. Her plump, round, pink-nippled titties bobbed and swung, lifted and fell, in response to the action of her arms; a few teeth marks could be seen around the nipples. The boy, stretching out on the bed, his head propped up, his prick a growing arch moving inside the crotch of his shorts, looked at the girl's beautiful little tight-cracked ass through the diaphanous seat of her panties, at the reflection of her tits and cunt in the mirror and said: "Don't you wear bras any more. Sis?" "Sure," she replied; "I wore one tonight." "Where the hell is it then?"
"Somewhere in Sam's back yard; I couldn't find it." "How did it get there?"
"Well, you know how Paula is; she insisted that we all go out there and fuck where the neighbors could watch. Some of the boys were playing catch with my bra, and it got lost somewhere in the bushes, I guess."
"Were Sam's parent's home?"
"Sure. They don't give a shit."
"I wish Mom and Dad were like that."
"Yeah. You know what Sam's father did?"
"What?"
"Do you know Kay Gordon-that little blonde with the big tits?"
"Yeah, I've seen her."
"Well, Sam's dad fucked her."
"No shit?"
"No shit. And while he was doing it, Steve Millard went into the bedroom and fucked Sam's mother." "Yeah?"
"Yeah; he says she's not a bad piece."
Something green flashed dimly behind the partition.
The girl put down her hairbrush, turned around and looked at the boy. He had rolled the waistband of his shorts down to the root of his genitals, exposing his buff-colored pubic curls; his cock was no longer an arch, it was a tentpole. The girl said: "What got you so excited, little brother?"
"You," said little brother, reaching into his shorts and pulling out his prick.
The girl laughed. "Oh, yeah; I forgot you didn't get any tonight."
"Why don't you take off those stupid pants?" "Why, so you can see my cunt better?" "Shit, I can see it perfectly." He hesitated, then added: "Maybe I want to do something besides see it." "Huh?"
"Let's fuck," said the boy.
"Sh!" hissed the girl. "You'll have Mom and Dad in here in a minute."
"Better hook the door." "Yeah."
The girl walked to the "door"-it was painted rather crudely with black paint on the cardboard partition-and went through the motions of hooking it. Then, facing the audience, she pulled down her panties and stepped out of them, saying: "So you want to fuck your sister, huh? you nasty little boy."
He pushed his shorts down and kicked them off. "Uh huh," he said, gripping his cock and pointing it straight up. "Sit on that and say 'little boy five times."
"I was just kidding, Danny. Christ! that thing gets bigger every time I see it."
"So do your tits."
"Thanks." She cupped them in her hands. "But don't say, so does my cunt; it's as tight as ever." "Show me." "OK."
She bent over the bed, took the head of his prick in her mouth, and slid her full, moist lips down the throbbing trunk almost to its hairy roots; she made a noise like this: "Owmf" and her brother (or the boy who was playing the role of her brother) made one like this: "Mh! mh!" She gave his balls a little squeeze, kissed the wet mouth of his cock (smack!), and climbed onto the bed with both feet.
"How's the view?" she said, straddling his skinny chest and raising her arms over her head.
"Jesus!" muttered the boy, staring up into the hairy mouth of her cunt, the cleft of her ass, the crimson button-tip of her oversized clitoris, the delicious curve of her smooth belly, and the pale, shadowy undersides of her outthrust tits, their nipples jutting out like bullets. He reached up with both hands and caressed her damp, bushy crotch, parting her cunt lips and pressing her clitoris all the way out of its prepuce with his thumbs. She groaned with delight, and her body rippled and twitched.
She squatted down on trembling legs, bringing her cunt close to his face. He peeled back the delicate, fluted edges of her inner lips and gazed into that palpitating tunnel of forbidden flesh.
"Oh, Danny ... I"
He put his hand into her vaginal orifice and smeared the hot juice over the drum-taut skin of her swollen bosom; her nipples were like little balloons ready to pop, and her breasts themselves had enlarged noticeably; the coating of cunt-honey made them shine like polished chromium in the garish light. He put out his tongue and licked her clitoris.
All at once, in a kind of spasm, she dropped to her knees, threw her ass backward toward his crotch, reached between her legs, clutched his prick, stuck it into her syrupy hole and sat down on it with a grunt: "Uhn!"
We shall return to this strange underground melodrama; but we must now return (we apologize for it) to Arnold Blumm's monologue, or else we will miss this account of what befell him between the time of his arrest in the park and the moment of his descent into the sewer, and the reader would be quite at sea, thanks to that omission, during the remainder of this history, if we may flatter ourselves by referring to it thus.
We pick him up in midsentence: "... traveling very fast, but nevertheless I recognized her flaxen hair during that brief glimpse. Now, I fully expected to be taken to the police station, thrown into jail, beaten, clapped in irons, perhaps, given the third degree, persecuted as a pervert; and yet, at the same time, I said to myself: 'This is not the way to the police station!' and indeed it was not: for whizzing past me on the right I saw water, dock pilings and the masts of yachts: we had crossed Flagler and were speeding northward along the bulkhead of the Sago Beach Marina. And then, too, there was that demoniacal laughter; was it customary, I asked myself, for policewomen to shriek like that over the arrest of a pervert, assuming that I was one, which I was not? It all seemed quite unnatural to me.
"Suddenly the motorcycle swerved sharply to the right, we seemed to leap into the air, there was a crash of splintering wood, another burst of laughter, and I saw boards and water rushing under the tires. She had jumped the seawall cap, crashed through a wooden gate, and was driving at full speed on one of the wharves, due east. Everyone here knows, I presume, that those wharves extend only so far into the lake and no further; that old saying came into my mind: 'a long walk on a short dock,' I said to myself: 'Lord! in a moment we will be in the lake!' But just then she slammed on the brakes, we skidded, I would say, some fifty feet, during which the motorcycle rotated until it was traveling broadside to the direction of its forward motion, and came to a roaring halt not six inches from the end of the wharf. Another split second and your nonswimmer, a term not inapplicable to myself, would have been lost.
" 'On your feet, skinhead!' snarled the policewoman, kicking me off the fender of her vehicle. As I sat there, stunned, shaken, terrified, I had my first good look at this monster in blue, as I might call her. She towered over me! a veritable giantess! Her cap was gone, and her frizzy red hair stood out from her head in all directions; she had beady black eyes, a square jau, and a nose like the blade of a hatchet; she had the shoulders of a wrestler, the arms of a weight-lifter, and bosoms that looked for all the world like the nose-cones of two deadly missiles, encased in blued gunmetal, each with a brass button at its tip; from this monstrous bust her huge body tapered straight to the ground, not unlike an ice cream cone, or a tornado, more accurately. This examination was terminated abruptly by a shoe in the ribs; the shoe was hers, the ribs were mine. As I fell through space, I was certain that it was all over for me, that I was on my way to Davy Jones' Locker, that is, that I would drown; for she had in fact kicked me off the dock.
"I did not fall into the water, however, but onto the deck of a yacht-a schooner that was moored in the easternmost slip on the south side of the dock. The impact of my fall was painful, but luckily no bones were broken. When the giantess jumped down beside me, the poor old boat shuddered from stem to stern. 'Get below!' she grunted, kicking me into an open hatchway. I fell into a sort of locker near the bow of the yacht and was immediately buried under an avalanche of little green bottles. A huge hand gripped me by the scruff of the neck, and I was dragged from under the bottles, through a short passageway and into the cabin. 'Sit there!' was her next order, whereupon she lifted me off the floorboards and slammed me down on a bunk. She was standing before me in the center of the cabin; I looked at her; I rubbed my eyes and looked again; I saw but did not believe: she was removing"-Arnold Blumm paused, perhaps for effect-"her face.
"Yes, that is what I said: her face; and not only her face, but her entire head!-that is to say, the outer layer of her head-ears, hair, etc.-peeled it all off before my very eyes, the square jaw, the hatchet nose, the beady eyes, the whole grotesque assemblage, off it came. What was revealed by this unmasking? ah! quite another head altogether: a head with one of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen-that is," he hastened to add, "until I had seen yours, my dear."
This last line was directed at Nadine and accompanied by an admiring caress of her left tit. If you had known Arnold Blumm prior to the 28th of April, you would have been shocked to hear him say such a thing, for if tact of this kind was a thing not wholly unknown to him, it was certainly a thing totally unused by him. Nadine responded with a smile and said: "Flatterer," slipping her hand between his legs. Was Arnold Blumm disconcerted by this hand? he was not; he simply spread his legs, patted her cunt, and went on in these words: "As I say, this face was beautiful; it was ravishing; it was the face of a goddess! Lord! I was stunned. Long flowing locks of spun gold came tumbling down over those massive shoulders; it was the head of Andromeda placed on the shoulders of Medusa! And then she began unbuttoning the front of her uniform, and as she did so she spoke. How? in the gruff tones of the policewoman? Lord, no! in a voice that was like a summer breeze blowing through willow boughs! She said: 'You thought I washer, didn't you?' And she laughed; a more melodious laugh is unimaginable. I said, still dazed: 'Yes!'" (Arnold Blumm gave no explanation to his listeners as to the meaning of this her and that yes, but perhaps the attentive reader will have deduced it for himself before we have emerged from this italicized labyrinth.)
"Without saying anything else, she proceeded to undress. With the shedding of each garment a part of her body was transformed; she was like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. With the blue, brass-buttoned jacket came the wrestler's shoulders and the weight-lifter's arms; with the blouse, skirt and girdle came the tornado shape; with the bra came the nose-cone bosoms. What remained? a Venus in the flesh! an Amazon in the nude! a colossus of seduction! Lord! Big ovoid breasts, perfectly shaped; conical, stiff-tipped nipples of dark rose; a narrow waist; a deep navel; broad, flaring hips, thighs like the columns in the Palace of Minos; a high-humped, deep-cleft cunt covered with ringlets of golden silk-ah! all that and more. She said to me; 'Wouldn't you like to undress, too?' and I said ..."
At this point Arnold Blumm took his hand from Nadine's crotch and stood up, still facing the audience.
". . . I said: 'Why, yes; I believe I would. 'And 1 did."
Upon saying that, Arnold Blumm began to unbutton his shirt, from the collar of which his tie already hung unknotted. When his outer shirt was off, he removed his under shirt. (The torso thus revealed does not warrant a detailed examination; we will say only that had Arnold Blumm been so rash as to enter a Mr. America contest, he would have been among the very first eliminated, and that if, on a given day, by some clever ruse, he should have succeeded in securing a job as a male model, he would have been fired before that day was out; concerning the lower parts of this peculiar trunk, and the legs affixed to it, we say nothing at all.) These upper garments shed, Arnold Blumm set to work on the lower ones, and as he disrobed, he continued his testimonial as follows: "As I undressed, as I am doing now, the lovely creature pulled on a rope which hung from the overhead; there was a tinkling of bells, and the bunk on which I had sat came sliding out into the cabin, unfolding, or unrolling, I don't know how it was done, until it was no longer a bunk but a full-sized double bed, upholstered in some red silky fabric that smelled as though it had been sprayed with perfume. As soon as I had removed my undershorts,"-Arnold Blumm removed his undershorts (this was the only time during his entire address that the audience laughed)-"she came up to me, embraced me, enveloped my face in those magnificent jugs, rubbed her..."
"Like this?" said Nadine in a sultry voice. She had risen from the mattress; she put her arms around Arnold Blumm her naked body rippling against his.
"Yes," replied Arnold Blumm, nuzzling between her tits (which should give the reader some inkling of Arnold Blumm's height, Nadine not being an especially tall woman), and taking the full, round cheeks of her ass in his spidery little hands; "and she rubbed that big silky cunt against my cock ..."
"Like this?"
"Yes! And she put her lips to my ear and said ..." "Let me guess." "Very well." "Let's fuck?"
"That's it!" cried Arnold Blumm; "that's exactly what she said! It was the fourth time today I had heard it, but this time it was different! Lord! I gathered up that blue uniform, that cast iron brassiere, that armour-plated girdle, that rubber mask, that frizzy wig, and I opened a porthole and threw it all into the lake! Ah! what a sense of relief I had! I turned back the woman, took her cunt in one hand, like this, and a tit in the other hand, like this, and I said: 'Yes! let's!' "
And with that Nadine and Arnold Blumm fell onto the mattress, Arnold Blumm on top, luckily, we might add, for he would most likely have been injured had it been the other way around. He bit her tits, he sucked her nipples, he nibbled her belly, he wallowed in her bush, he lapped her clitoris, he sucked her cunt and he tongue-fucked her asshole; he did all that, this Arnold Blumm, as though he had been doing it all his life, which he had not.
When he had drenched Nadine's undulating body in saliva, cunt-juice and cock-spittle, from the base of her neck to the bend of her knee, he straddled her thorax, sandwiched his cock between her slippery boobs, wiped the twat-suds from his mouth with his forearm, turned to the crowd, and said: "All that I have done just now-the tit-biting, the cunt-sucking, the ass-tonguing, and all the rest-is exactly what I did then, in the cabin of that schooner, moored in that slip, in the heart of the Sago Beach Marina, in broad daylight, on that red bed, rocked by the gentle waves, the slap slap on the hull, the honk honk in the distance, atop that gorgeous creature, who yielded to my every whim, thrilled to the touch of my hand, trembled under my tongue-ah! Lord! it was wonderful!"
Arnold Blumm stopped to catch his breath.
Then, laying his palms upon the outer swells of Nadine's fantastic breasts, his thumbs near her nipples, his pinkies in her armpits, he mashed these great globes of flesh tightly around his cock, which, by means of certain pelvis motions difficult to describe, he began to drive back and forth, in and out, and continued: "I sat on her chest and fucked her between the tits, just as you see me doing now! Ugh! ugh! ugh! Lord! I remembered a poster I had seen someplace! Uhg! It had a picture of a cunt on it! Ugh! ugh! ugh! a big hairy cunt! Ugh! The kind I like! Ugh! ugh! And across the top of that poster-ugh!-it was written: 'Vive la Revolution Sexuel!' and I said to myself-ugh!-'Today is the day!' UGH!"
So quickly did Arnold Blumm respond to this passionate plea, that this fourth fuck-me was chopped in half by the violent entry of his cock into her cunt, and the me became an "uhn!" This brought a spattering of applause, as well as a few bravos, from the audience.
To say that the rhythm of Arnold Blumm's stroke was uneven would be to euphemize the matter, even to call it erratic would be misleading: it is not our intention to make of Arnold Blumm, even this new Arnold Blumm, something which was not. No doubt our male readers have fucked, and no doubt our female readers have been fucked, now rapidly, now slowly, a series of rapid strokes followed by a series of slow ones, the one alternating at reasonable intervals with the other, the other with the one, adding variety to the encounter; this was not the case with Arnold Blumm, who somehow found means to do both at the same time. A fast jab was followed by a searching probe, a rolling plunge by a spastic stab, a shuddering vibration by a dead stop, and so on, without any purpose. However this may be, the beautiful dark-haired woman beneath him, this Nadine, strange to tell, appeared to be perfectly attuned to these peculiar gyrations of Arnold Blumm's body; for whenever Arnold Blumm's ass fell, Nadine's cunt rose, and whenever Arnold Blumm's ass rose, Nadine's cunt sank, as though she were following a score and knew in advance the nature of each thrust. All during this curious fuck Arnold Blumm continued to speak: "-And I got on her-and she opened those big-luscious legs-those wonderful thighs!-and she said-'Fuck me! fuck me!'-and I stuck it into her!-stuck it right into her cunt!-that big, juicy, golden-haired cunt!-with those fat hot lips!-ah! how it frothed! how it foamed!-it clutched my prick like a hand!-a big, warm soft, wet hand!-ah!- oh!-yes!-just like thatf-yuhn! yuhn! yuhn.'-and she-yes! like that!-she wrapped her legs around my waist-just like that!-and I propped myself up like this!-and looked down at that fantastic bosom!-those massive tits!-so firm!-so soft!-so hot!-the nipples so stiff!-so fat!- swollen!-ah!-standing straight up!-pointing skyward!- how they jiggled!-how they joggled!-how they bounced!-oh!-boombitty, boombitty, boombitty .'-like that!-yes!-and I lowered my face to them-like this!-and I opened my mouth and caught the left nipple in mid-bounce!-like this!-mmmmmm!-sucked it like that!-and like this!-mmmmmmmm!-and then I sucked the right one!-like this!-mmmmmmmmmm!-and she said "Ah! ah! ah!-"
"-Yes!-like that!-I bit them!-I chewed them!-I slobbered!-I drooled!-ah!-how those big boobs gleam with spit!-mm!-Lord!-the cunt juice splattering up between our bellies!-slop! slop! slop!-splash! splash! splash!-and then I saw her lovely belly begin to knot up!-to twitch!-to contract!-yes!-like that!-and we were-uhn!-ah!-oh!-coming!-coming!-uhn!-squirt! squirt! squirt!-gh! gh!-together!-at the same time!-ugh! ugh!-shooting my cum up her fuck hole!-me!-Arnold Blumm!-who had not said-ugh!-'I love my wife!'-ugh!- nor: 'I love my children!'-no!-who had said none of that!-who had thrown that hideous mask in the lake!-who had-uhn!-crawled between the thighs-uhn!-of that fabulous creature!-and fucked her!-fucked her!-yes!- fucked her!-uhn!-and I felt all those hot jets shooting out of her cunt!-and I-uhn!-and I-uhn!-and I-!"
Arnold Blumm collapsed like a deflated balloon, drained, empty, utterly satisfied, as content as a dead man. His head cradled between Nadine's warm slippery breasts, he smiled at the applause, without opening his eyes, and gave a little wave of his hand, as though to say: it was nothing.
What was happening meanwhile on the stage of that other cavern? We take this opportunity to have a brief look.
On the bed the boy playing "Danny" was still fucking the girl playing "Sis," and behind the cardboard partition, upon which, have we mentioned it? hung a poster, or rather such a poster was painted thereon, reading: Vive la Revolution Sexuel! behind this partition, we say, could yet be seen that dim shape, that hulk, mentioned previously; but now, instead of Sis being upon Danny, Danny was upon Sis, and instead of simply lurking, as before, the hulk now seemed possessed of some furious movement, a sort of imperceptible lurching punctuated intermittently by dull greenish flashes in the gloom. What was this hulk? we will see, presently. But first: "I left the yacht in a daze," said Arnold Blumm, sitting up; "my feet, or so it seemed to me, hardly touched the ground. I was buoyant, jubilant, triumphant-yes, triumphant!-and full of life. Lord! I did not even hear the bell. If I had heard the bell, what would I have said? I would have said: 'Fuck you, bell!' " (Some took the noise that Arnold Blumm made at this moment for a laugh, and we are inclined to agree with them; other sources, however, considered it an asthma attack. Whatever it was, luckily it did not last very long.) "The first thing I did," he went on, "was to walk directly to the corner of First Street and Flagler where I had seen the naked girl sunbathing in a parking slot. The parking slot was still there, the girl was not. A search of the area led me to the discovery of a small slip of paper; when I saw it, lying there in the gutter with the rest of the debris, my heart skipped a beat!-for I was certain that I had seen it before, that very morning, that very slip of paper. With trembling fingers I uncrumpled it and read these words, written in blue ink, in a very feminine hand, all in a single line, running from the lower left-hand corner to the upper right: Takeitoff, corner table, far left. Michelle.' Putting this scrap of paper into my pocket, I set out at a brisk pace, straight up First Street, past the George Washington," (where the author was downing his fourth double) "across Narcissus, past the parking lot where a battle of some kind seemed to be in progress, across Olive, turned into the Arcade on one foot and without hesitation, even with a sort of, if I might say so, flamboyance, rapped three times upon the door of the Takeitoff Club. A tiny panel slid back, revealing a slot; I took my scrap of paper, rolled it, and inserted it into this slot; it disappeared; there was a pause, and then the door opened. I went in.
"The interior was dark; there were little lamps on the tables here and there, shaded with cylinders of green frosted glass, but they gave only a dim illumination. Dark shapes were huddled about the tables; men and women were mumbling over maps and plans; some were reading off inventory slits; handguns were piled up on the bar; rifles were stacked in the center of the floor; machine guns stood against the wall; I said to myself: 'an arsenal!' About every third woman, I should say, was completely naked; all were topless; most of the men had bandoleers draped across their shoulders. But no: not quite all the women were topless: a little redhead stood beside me; it was she who had taken my slip of paper and opened the door, which she then shut, locked, and bolted: she was wearing a dress made of pearls. There were wide spaces between the pearls, nothing was hidden from my view, neither nipples, nor navel, nor bush, which was red, nor slit, which was adorable, nothing; this dress was mere adornment, decoration, body jewelry, one might say, not intended as a covering; it was-I thought this at the time-like the frame of a picture-and what a picture it was! In any case, she handed back my paper, smiled, and said: 'Welcome!' She nodded toward the far end of the room, past the bar, where the stage was, and added: 'She'll be out in a minute.' I thanked her, picked my way through the gloom, between the stacked arms, the maps, the naked women, toward the little table in the corner at the edge of the stage. Behind me, I heard a man ask: 'Who's that?' and the redhead replied: 'Michelle's trick.'
"I sat down at the table. On it was a lamp, a bottle of white wine, and two glasses. I filled one of the glasses and took a sip. Immediately, I heard music; whence it came I know not. It reminded me of my fiddle, and the conservatory; I said to myself: 'Fuck the conservatory!' "
The audience, in one voice, echoed this exclamation.
"FUCK THE CONSERVATORY!" they cried.
For a moment Arnold Blumm seemed taken aback; then he smiled, cleared his throat, and went on: "Yes, well, so then, after that, out onto the stage came a girl in a red minidress. She had long, beautiful sand-colored hair and breasts like ripe grapefruit. Ah! I recognized her immediately: it was the girl who had wanted to fuck me on the bench, the girl who had been sunning herself in the parking lot, the girl who had left the note for me, the note she had found beside the seawall, having perhaps written it earlier, I do not know, it was Michelle! My head spun with joy! my cock stiffened with desire! She smiled at me! at me alone! and began to dance. Lord! how she danced! She shook her breasts, and it was perfectly obvious that she wore no bra under her dress; I could see her nipples protruding through the thin material. She tossed her wild hair, rolled her ass, shook it in my face, bent over, smiled at me between her legs, threw up the back of her little skirt!-ah! I could see everything. Her black bikini panties were perfectly transparent! I saw her hairy crotch! I saw where the slit of her cunt merged into the crack of her ass!-and then she reached back and pulled down the seat of her panties! Lord! bared her ass completely! showed me the hole! ah! the hole! how sweet it looked! Then she pulled them up again, laughed, straightened up, whirled around, jerked her cunt, squeezed her tits, and danced back to the edge of the stage where I sat leering-yes, leering! who would blame me? She spread her legs and ever so slowly lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing her thighs, crotch, and finally her entire belly, holding the skirt up around her waist. The panties were so small that a few lovely tawny ringlets could be seen above the elastic hipband; more than a few stuck out along the edges of the narrow crotch. Then, slowly still, oh so slowly, she slipped her fingers, both hands, into the front of her panties! I watched them, those fingers, proceeding downward through the lush foliage of maidenhair, slipping into the slit, oh that lovely mouth! parting the lips, rubbing her clitoris, cupping her mound, exploring her hole-! Ah! it was too much: watching all that through that black veil which concealed nothing but added mystery to everything, seeing her entire cunt roll up before my face, her knees bending, thighs spreading ever wider, twitching, jerking, little moans escaping her luscious lips-! Lord God! before I knew what I was doing I had my cock out and was masturbating like a schoolboy!"
Saying which, Arnold Blumm spat in his hand and began to jack off, as they say; for during this last paragraph his erection had fully recovered itself, and Nadine had risen to act out the dance being described by him. The audience of course had to imagine that she was wearing a red minidress and black bikini panties, for in fact, as the reader knows, she, Nadine, was wearing nothing at all. It was effective nonetheless, this dramatization, as evidenced by the fact that it was not only Arnold Blumm who had begun to masturbate at this time but several members of the audience as well, both men and women, boys and girls. Arnold Blumm, gazing raptly into the juicy depths of Nadine's cunt, continued: "Well, when she saw me doing that, doing this, she laughed, pulled off her pants, and put them over my head; my ears stuck out the legholes, the crotch lay atop my dome, and the seat covered my face. Ah! the smell! I was intoxicated! I was "Here!"
This "here!" came from a girl who had been sitting near the platform; she was wearing a black lace bra and a pair of panties very much like those Arnold Blumm had described. At the words, put them over my head, this cute little thing had jumped up, yanked off her drawers, and offered them to Arnold Blumm as a prop.
"Ah," said Arnold Blumm, and he thanked her while slipping the little garment over his head. "There; they were like this, I was looking through the seat, you see. Ah! she looked even more seductive through that sweet smelling veil than .. . mm .. . my goodness. . . these, too, have a certain . . . mmmm . . . what shall I say?. . . aroma . . . Lord..."
There was a brief pause while Arnold Blumm sat there inhaling. That strange black hood with its ruffled earholes gave him somewhat the appearance of a medieval headsman; all he needed was an axe; nor is this comparison totally out of the way: the reader may catch our meaning further on. At length, not without some difficulty, he resumed: "Through that aromatic veil I saw her go into the most lascivious gyrations, lurching, swaying, whirling, spreading her legs, lifting her skirt, shaking her tits, falling down on the stage, her delicious little cunt twitching, drooling, opening and closing-ah! yes! like that! how is that done? never mind, it is a thing, apparently, which some women can do, she, Michelle, was one of them, you, Nadine, are another, so be it; I was entranced, stupefied, enthralled! Lord! I said to myself: 'She is doing all this for me! for my eyes alone! I am her-what was it the redhead had said?-her trick!' I, Arnold Blum, Michelle's trick! I could ask for nothing more in the world than that! it was enough.
"When she unzipped the back of her dress and let it fall from her breasts. Oh! what breasts! what tits! what a set! what jugs! what knockers! Lord! they looked even more beautiful then, if that were possible, than they had this morning! They were like globes of amber! ah! She shook her shoulders and made them swing! she jerked her hips and made them bounce! Lord! And then she released the dress and kicked it off the stage: she was naked! She came close to me; very close; she put one foot on my table; I stared into the wonderful crevice between her thighs, that silky mouth, that pit of love! ah! just as I am staring into yours, Nadine; and she leaned forward, her tits dangling very close to my face, the pungent odor of her panties filling my nostrils, her naked body filling my vision, and she picked up the wine bottle, there I was with my cock out, stroking it without the slightest embarrassment, she picked up this wine bottle, I say, and. . . !"
"Here!"
The voice was from the audience, a bottle came flying through the air, Nadine caught it, squatted slightly, knees spread wide, inserted the mouth of the bottle into her vagina, and said: "Is this what she did?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Arnold Blumm, spitting out a mouthful of nylon; "that's it! that's exactly what she did! She took that bottle in both hands, yes, like that, and pushed it right up into her cunt! Deeper and deeper it went! slowly! in little starts and stops! yes! that's it! little jerks! each jerk going deeper than the last! deeper! keep going! further! deeper! ah! oh! go on! more! shove it in! all the... !"
"Honey, it won't go any further."
"Eh?"
"I'm hitting bottom."
"Ah. Er-yes, of course; I, ah, heh, heh, became somewhat carried away. "Arnold Blumm cleared his throat. "Yes, well, then when I thought the bottle was going to disappear altogether, which of course, as you point out, would have been impossible, just then, I say, she pulled it out and-yes, like that, and it was all slimy just as this one is-and what do you think she did? she filled both glasses with wine! I had drained mine by that time, my first one. I picked up my glass, she picked up the other one, we clinked the rims, and drank. Ah! such wine I had never drunk! True, it was odd, drinking through a sieve, wine strained through the seat of a pair of panties, and I must admit to spilling a few drops in the process, but Lord! the taste! I tell you, it was ambrosia! nothing less! the nectar of the gods! I nearly swooned!"
He nearly did so again in the telling, but recovered quickly and proceeded: "Michelle then came down off the stage; one would say she floated down, like an angel, her hair spreading, fanning out and falling like golden wings. First she removed her panties from my head and cradling it, my head, in her arms, yes, like that, she offered me one of her tits to suck, which I did, like this!. . . mm!. . . mm!... ah! yes!.. . and like this!. . . mm!.. . mmmmmmm! Lord! And then she helped me off with my coat, loosened my tie, took my hand and, placing it palm up, like this, pressed it into her wet furry crotch! yes, like that! mm! and rubbed her cunt with it! like that! Lord God! that flesh! that meat! that hair! that syrup! ah!-and I slipped a finger up her hole, like this-!" "Oh-!"
"-and wiggled it around, like this!" "Ah!-"
"How tight! how hot it was! My hand was aflame! nay, my whole arm, my neck, my brain! all blazing with the fire of lust! And then, thrilling to behold! she settled to her knees on the floor before my chair, between my legs, took my cock gently in her hands, like that! yes! put out her little pointed tongue and began licking its underside! Oh! I cried out: 'Ah!' and she laughed softly, in her throat, very musically, and said: "How about a suck?"
"How did you know?"
"A wild guess."
"Ah. Well, then I said: 'Yes!' and she-ah!-oh!-mm! -yes!-that's what she-mm!-did!-curled those beautiful lips around my prick and-ah!-tongue fluttering.'-mm! -like that!-Lord!-down!-up!-up and down!-slippery! hot! soft! up and down! up and down! sucking my cock! my-Arnold Blumm's-cock!-UHN!"
Whereupon Arnold Blumm's semen began to squirt into Nadine's mouth, exactly as it had squirted into the mouth of Michelle a few hours earlier; and this big brunette, like that little blonde, undertook to ingest this flood, this surge, this load, this spurting torrent blasting from the loins of this Arnold Blumm, and she did it eagerly, hungrily, strange to tell, as though he were not Arnold Blumm at all, but some Olympian stud who had come down from the mountain and into this mole-hole, if we may call it that, for the sole purpose of bestowing upon her, this lowly earthling, the honour of sucking his dick. If this seems strange to us, it seemed no less so to Arnold Blumm; it did not, however, either in the night club or in the sewer, diminish in the least the force and fullness of his orgasm.
"Oh, stick it in my ass, Danny! Stick it in my ass!" (The reader who is paying attention, who is ready at all times for a sudden shift of scene, will realize that we are now back in the "theater" again.)
"Spread your cheeks. Sis!"
This is but a sample of the dialogue carried on between Danny and Sis as the former back-scuttled the latter, that is to say, as he fucked her in the ass, dogstyle, as we say, she on all fours, he squatting behind her, squatting, we say, not kneeling, which is the norm, but squatting, which is the exception, requiring strong legs on the part of the fucker and a certain stamina on the part of the fuckee, his feet planted alongside her knees, his hands gripping her waist, his skinny but sinewy belly pounding rapidly and powerfully against her well-padded behind, the cheeks reverberating, shuddering, quaking before the blows, thud, thud, thud, slap, slap, slap, and, at length, splat, splat, splat, and even splash, splash, splash, a word (splash) which we have used on other pages of this book, and which we use at the present time, to indicate the leakage, or secretion, of certain sexual fluids of a lubricatory function from the female sex organ, i.e., the vagina, and even, though this may come as a surprise not to say shock to the reader unfamiliar with anal intercourse, as the professor would call it, from the anus, or to use the common term, as is our wont, the asshole. It is true, the author speaks from experience, a kind of cream, not unlike cunt cream, yet different somehow, will, after some half-dozen strokes of a rigid phallus, be it a real phallus, that is, one of flesh, or an imitation one, that is, of rubber, plastic, wood, brass, or, as among the rich, ivory, will be secreted from little-known glands within the rectum, evolved apparently to this end, no pun intended, which will thoroughly coat the said phallus, making for smooth passage, this fluid, this cream, sometimes, as in this case, being produced, or manufactured, somewhat in excess of the need and therefore spreading out, leaking out, pooling, dribbling and the like, about the anal orifice and resulting in the auditory phenomenon which we have rendered onomatopoetically in the word splash; but to continue with this dialogue, recorded in part above, to give it in its entirety, these uhns, these ahs these oh shits, and these oh fucks, would be to burden the reader with gross repetition to no purpose, for we seek, above all, to be concise, and even laconic when the need arises, in our treatment of this drama, this poignant parable of the rise of humanity out of sexual bondage, to which we add, for what it is worth, our amen.
Now, as these young people were having their fun, as this little brother buggered this big sister, on the bed upon the stage of this grotto, this theater-in-the-round, a thing occurred, or rather, two things occurred, but they occurred at the same time, and it is upon these two simultaneous occurrences which we must focus our attention.
First (not truly first of course, see above, but it is necessary after all to break them down, to give first the one, then the other, literature being linear in nature and not suited to superimposition as is, for instance, music by means of polyphony, and cinema, though this is not wholly satisfactory, by means of your "split screen," a term which does not signify, as some have supposed, a pornographic film, but rather a division of the projected image), a second light was switched on, revealing the figure behind the partition, which we have seen only dimly heretofore, the figure, not the partition, and second, a narrator, or chorus, as Shakespeare would have called him, stepped up onto the stage with a sheet of paper-it was a script, as we will see-in his hands.
Before describing the figure and telling what it was doing, we give the speech read by the narrator. We might first add, however, that neither the speech nor the revealed figure had any noticeable effect on Danny or Sis, who continued to fuck in the manner previously detailed. Here, now, is the speech: "Unbeknownst to Danny and his sister, their mother had for some time watched-no, wait: mother had-let's see-yeah-been for some time-no, had for some time" (this narrator, it would seem, was a stammerer) "been watching their lovelplay. Lying in her bed, she had heard her daughter come home and go into her room; then she had heard her son leave and go-uh-wait a minute . . . Oh, yeah: heard her son leave his room, aadr-tth-when she heard that, she crept steal-steal-ste-hey, what's this word?" He showed the script to Danny, pointing out the difficult word with his forefinger.
"Uhn!" said Danny without slowing his stroke. "Stealthily!-you imbecile.'
"Thanks. Crept stealthily out of her bed, tiptoed past her husband, who was asleep on the other bed, out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. There she climbed up onto a vent-no-she climbed up onto a stool and looked through a vent. This vent commun-communi-comm-"
"Communicated!" called someone from the audience.
"Yeah, communicated with the girl's bedroom, and it comm-common-something-a view of the bed, so that she saw everything, her daughter stripping, her son stripping, the fuck with her on top, the fuck with him on top, and now the ass-fuck, which we see there."
"Here!" someone hissed, possibly the director.
"Oh, yeah: which we see here." And he pointed to the bed, which gesture caused a delay, for he had lost his place; after some awkward moments of mumbling to himself and searching the script, he resumed: "Ah, here we go! Which we see here. Um-yeah. OK. And she also heard all about the party that her daughter had been to, where everybody, it would. . . seem-where everybody, it would seem, fucked by-fucked-wait a minute-shit-fucked everybody-goddamn it!-where everybody fucked or was fucked by everybody else. (Whew!) Seeing all this and hearing all that, this woman picked up a bottle of shampoo, which was green and shaped like a palace-"
"Phallus, you idiot!"
"Oh, yeah-phallus, jerked up her nightgown, applied the bottle to her hair and cracked-no-applied the bottle to her hairy crack, pushed it in, and began to fuck herself with. .. it as she watched-fuck herself with it as she watched. Period. Uh, let's see ... "
The narrator searched through his papers, mumbling to himself again, and, somewhat doubtfully, read: "Unbeknownst to Danny and his sister, their-"
"Get the fuck offstage!"
"Huh?"
"That's the end of it, you moron!" "Oh ... Oh, yeah, I see-AH!-"
In backing hurriedly to the edge of the stage, this bumbler had backed one step too far and, instead of stepping to the ground, had fallen upon it, which gave rise to his AH! He was not seen again.
Now concerning the figure behind the partition, the reader has no doubt already formed some picture in his mind. Let us illuminate this picture.
Mama, as we will refer to her for the moment, was big, that is to say, huge; she had broad shoulders, a massive bosom, a shapeless trunk, waistless, thighs like bridge pilings, knees like great wads of bread dough, and the calves of a gorilla. Her arms were too thick and too long; her ass defies description. Set atop this terrible form, this huge hulk, this beast's body, a head about the size of a cantaloupe (perhaps we exaggerate at times to drive home our meaning), hang from it a square jaw, affix to it the beak of a flesh-eating bird, punch into it two beady eyes, crown it with a wig of red wool, done up in curlers, and you will have before you something resembling the creature that was perched upon the stool behind that partition, frigging herself with a shampoo bottle. To give a more lucid description of this being, we fear, would be to sicken the reader, or perhaps frighten him, and that is not our aim.
Jumping rapidly, in a few words, across several minutes which the reader will fill with his imagination, we say only this, that Mama came.
The partition did not fall down, but it almost did; the stool did not collapse, but many expected it to; and the shampoo bottle, while it was, it is true, swallowed up, was subsequently disgorged and hence not lost, but it might have been.
Mama's bomblike boobs were still flopping in the afterwaves of this ponderous orgasm, when the unsuspecting children achieved their third climax. There were squirts, there were spatters, there were grunts, there were groans, there were ohs, there were ahs, there were ughs, there were all these things and more, and then they collapsed, the boy atop the girl, his cock lodged in her asshole, his balls stuffed in her twat, his hands clutching her tits, and in one voice they cried: "Wow! what an orgasm!"
One had the impression that not only had they not heard the curious guttural noises coming from behind the partition, which were something like this: gruh, gruh, gruh, but that they had forgotten the audience as well, for if it took a good deal of off-stage coaching not to say cursing just to produce a "huh?" from the boy and a "what?" from the girl, it required a series of actual threats-all this from the director-to bring about their uncoupling and subsequent exit. This done, the scene was changed in the following way: A second bed, containing a curious little man who was bald and asleep, was brought upon the stage and placed near the first bed, now empty, and a curtain was hung over the "Sexual Revolution" poster to represent a window: this was how the scene was changed, and it was apparent to all that the action had shifted to the bedroom of the parents. The play proceeded in this way: Mama, having mopped the suds from her gash (and these suds, we might mention in passing, were not solely of an organic nature, that is to say, they were not produced entirely by Mama's cunt but also in part by the shampoo bottle, which was not empty and whose cap was missing), descended from the stool, rearranged her clothing, not necessarily in that order, emerged from behind the partition, i.e., left the "bathroom" and entered the "bedroom", with these words: "Arnold! Wake up! I have just seen a horrible thing! Oh! I think I'm going to be sick. You wouldn't have believe it! I can hardly believe it myself! Ah! the things I heard! The things I saw! With the lights on and everything! Oh, the shameless things! Why anyone who happened to glance through that grating could have seen them! Where did we go wrong, Arnold? How have we failed them? Oh, if you had seen! It was disgusting! Repulsive! It was incest, Arnold! Incest! Oh, horrors! And it was not the first time, either, oh no! Michelle, it might interest you to know, is not, I say not, a virgin, Arnold. No. She is not the pure little thing we thought she was-far from it, I'm afraid. Oh, the shame! Not only did they engage in normal-ah! if such filth can be called normal!-sexual intercourse, which of course, no matter how normal, is still fornication-oh, no, not only did they do that, but they also-oh, it sickens me to think of it! Our little girl, down on her hands and knees like a dog-like a dog, Arnold!-and our little boy, little Danny, he got behind her and-well, I hope you know what I'm trying to say, Arnold, because it is just too repulsive to put into words. Now, the first thing in the morning-do you hear me, Arnold?-the very first thing, as soon as the alarm rings, you must speak to them about this. They must be punished severely! Do you hear, Arnold? You must punish them for what they have done. You must say to them: 'you have sinned, children.' It is your place as their father to do this, Arnold. Oh, if you had seen it! I believe I am going to throw up. Our own children! What is the world coming to? It must not be postponed, Arnold; this is serious. As soon as the alarm rings, you must. . . Arnold? Arnold, wake up!-'
Meanwhile, Arnold Blumm was saying: "Just as I was wiping my cock, there was a loud knock on the door. Knock! knock! knock! It was a knock such as you hear in those Nazi movies when the gestapo comes to the Jew's door, perhaps some of you are old enough to have seen some of those movies? Well, the knock alone would have been frightening enough, but it was accompanied by a voice, which made it worse, and that voice-it was a growl, actually-said: 'Open up! Police!'
"Immediately all the lights went out, and the frantic shuffling of feet filled the darkness. I heard the rattle of guns and the crackling of the maps being rolled up. 'It's a raid!' somebody shouted-he shouted it in a whisper, if you get my meaning. I jumped to my feet, not knowing which way to turn, unable to see a thing, confused, bewildered, frightened, and yet-how shall I say?-somehow I felt very good, almost calm, relaxed, fulfilled-happy?-yes, even happy. A strange confidence had come over me, a certain sensation of invulnerability, and I said to myself-I remember this distinctly-I said to myself: 'Fie! the bullets cannot hurt me.' I was about to laugh out loud, I believe, when suddenly I realized that I was alone. Everyone was gone. How did I know this? what led me to this conclusion? the silence. There was no more shuffling of feet, no more crackling of paper, no more rattling of guns, nothing but absolute silence. I could not even hear the drone of traffic outside. I said to myself: 'So; it is beginning.' At that moment I heard something that sent a chill up my spine: a sound, a series of sounds, coming from where I know not. What was that sound? this: 'gruh, gruh, gruh,' or something very much like that. 'Lord!' I thought. 'What is that hideous sound?' And just then a door opened behind, just to the right of the stage; I had not noticed it before. The light of day streamed through this door. 'Aha!' I thought, and as the light came in, 1, Arnold Blumm, went out.
"Finding myself in the alley behind the Arcade, I.. . "
But this is where we came in, as movie-goers say; why sit through it again? Let us, instead, skip completely over the next half hour and go directly to another part of the sewer, locating it only vaguely, in these words; that it is somewhere under the pavement of Datura Street between Olive Avenue and the lake.
If you had been in this part of the labyrinth at that time, you would have found yourself quite alone, for there was no one there. When your eyes became somewhat accustomed to the darkness, you might have perceived, lying in the flowline of an 18-inch branch pipe which emptied into the main line at this point, something white. There being nothing else to do, you might, out of curiosity, have picked up this "something white" and examined it more closely. In so doing, you would have discovered that you had in your hands a pair of woman's panties, bikini-cut, made of white lace. Here you would perhaps have had a scare.
What do we mean by that? this: that if you had indeed picked up those panties, they would have been immediately snatched out of your hand. What! you might have exclaimed. By what snatched? by a small bald man with a tommygun slung over his shoulder. Who was this armed snatcher? none other than Arnold Blumm.
That is what would have happened had you been there, but you were not; therefore that is not what happened. What happened was this: it was Arnold Blumm who found the panties, and Arnold Blumm who said: "Wha!" He felt them, he shook them, he sniffed them. These words formed in his mind: Pass it back.
"Lord!" he said aloud, and putting the garment on his head like a hat, the elastic cutting him just above the ears and eyebrows, he proceeded on down the pipe, down being east, toward the outfall.
How did Arnold Blumm get to this place? Where did he get that tommy gun? What befell him during the last half-hour? Let us consider these questions, as best we can.
The first one is easy: Arnold Blumm got there by walking, that is, wading, this being the only practical mode of travel in a storm sewer, unless you have a boat, which Arnold Blumm did not. But as for the other two, the second and the third, we apologize, but we are afraid we can shed no light on them; the reader is welcome to his interpolations, his theories, his conjectures, or what have you. Ourselves, we do not consider this lost half hour of the least importance; on the contrary we find it expedient to our narrative, which we now continue without further delay.
Presently, in the distance, far down the tube ahead, Arnold Blumm perceived a sort of watery phosphorescence. "Hello!" he thought with a flamboyant toss of his strange headdress. If anyone had seen him at this time, they would have said that he put them in mind of a knight of the Middle Ages, his lance at the ready, the scarf of his lady fluttering from his helm; but of course there was none present to make this observation, and Arnold Blumm pushed on in solitude.
The phosphorescent glow at length took on a humanoid shape. This shape went through the following refinements in Arnold Blumm's mind as he advanced upon it through the sludge: Female.
Perhaps the reader has guessed the identity of this "naked female" and that by his "her"! Arnold Blumm was referring to the dark-haired woman whom he had pursued in the park that morning, the one whose bra had passed through his hands; if so, that reader has guessed correctly.
"These belong to you, I believe, miss?" said Arnold Blumm, making a little bow and snatching the lace panties from his dome.
"Why, yes," replied the young woman, "I believe they do." And with a subtle undulation which began at her shoulders and ended at her pelvis, she added: "But you can keep them."
"Thank you," said Arnold Blumm, replacing the panties upon his head and pulling out his cock. "Let's fuck."
It was Arnold Blumm who said that, not the young lady.
She smiled, looked at his cock, turned around, placed her hands on the damp walls of the pipe, spread her legs, and thrust her ass backward toward his pelvis. Arnold Blumm stepped up behind her, his cock sliding into the hairy groove between her legs, his belly pressing against her bare ass, stroked her hips, her tummy, ran his fingers through the soft dark curls of her bush, cupping her cunt-hump, wetting his fingers in her crack, then brought his hands up to her tits, gripped them, rubbed them, squeezed them, smeared the pussy juice over their firm-soft surfaces, fingered her hard-knobbed nipples, pinched them, pulled them, rolled them and so forth. He had his cock in his hand and was just about to insert it in her cunt, in fact he was in the very process of doing so, when she said: "You had better do the other first."
"The other," said Arnold Blumm.
"You were sent to eliminate the spy."
"Ah," replied Arnold Blumm, stepping back. "Yes, that's is correct."
"That's why you followed me this morning." "True."
"It must be done." "Yes."
"It's that way." She pointed south.
Here it is necessary to describe the surroundings. Arnold Blumm had found this woman at an intersection, at a T, actually: the pipe in which he had been walking, the one flowing east under Datura Street, came to an end here, and two larger pipes branched off at right angles, one to the north, the other to the south. The reader remembers that the naked woman was illuminated by what we called a "watery phosphorescence;" this south branch was the source of that illumination. If you had looked down this pipe from where Arnold Blumm stood, you would have seen the blue-brown surface of Lake Leethy in the distance, its little waves flashing in the afternoon sunlight. If you had looked carefully, you would have noticed, perhaps not without the aid of binoculars, rising above the water some distance beyond the outfall of the sewer, an old iron pipe with barnacles on its sides and a right-angle elbow on the top. "Aha!" you might have said to yourself; "is that not the very same iron pipe that gave Arnold Blumm such a fright on the first page of this story?" "It is indeed!" we would have replied, if we had been there with you. After saying It's that way, the dark-haired woman added: "Ten joints down, an opening on the right."
"Ah," said Arnold Blumm. After a moment, stepping up to her again and sliding the head of his cock up and down the crack of her ass, jabbing once or twice at her anus, he added: "But, uh, couldn't it wait a few minutes? Just until we...?"
"No."
"Oh."
Then she laughed: "Don't worry; it'll be here when you get back."
And presumably to make sure that Arnold Blumm knew what she meant by it, she took his hand and pressed the palm against the underside of her cunt.
"Hurry."
"Yes," said Arnold Blumm. "I will!"
He tossed the seat of her pants out of his eyes, unslung his tommygun, released the safety, tucked his cock in, drew a deep breath, and started off at a resolute step, down the tunnel, away from that hot cunt, toward . .. what? We shall see.
He counted the joints of pipe as he went: One. . .
RATATATAT! RATATATATATATAT! RATARATA-RA TA RATARATAT.'RA TA TA T!
That was the sound of Arnold Blumm's tommy gun. But let us back up a few steps. For obviously we have left a gap.
This gap is not a large one: only three seconds are said to have elapsed between the moment Arnold Blumm leapt through the opening in the wall of the pipe and the moment he opened fire. During those three seconds, what did he see? A grotto, or cavern. Did it resemble those other grottos, or caverns, which we have already visited? It did not. What then? The interior of a submarine.
Note that we do not say it was the interior of a submarine, that would have been impossible, but only that it resembled such an interior. This room was long and narrow with all manner of gadgets on the walls, gauges, meters, levers, buttons, blinking lights, shampoo bottles, etc., and in the center, extending downward from the ceiling, was the T-shaped ocular end of a periscope.
Standing behind this periscope, hunched forward, earphones over his ears, knees slightly bent, was an enormous broad-shouldered woman with frizzy red hair and a great square jaw. She was dressed in a blue uniform, huge black boots, and a gold badge on which the word "SPY" was imprinted. As soon as she saw Arnold Blumm leap through the opening, she cried out in a loud voice: "Dive! Di.. . !"
She never finished this last dive; it was then that Arnold Blumm mowed her down.
Two hours later, about five o'clock in the afternoon, Arnold Blumm could be seen upon the stage of the subterranean theater under the park. (If the reader desires to know the exact location of this theater, perhaps for archaeological reasons, he should imagine the park, which lay in the fork of North and South Clematis streets and bordered on the east by Flagler Boulevard, as being a gigantic vaginal triangle, that is, a cunt, with the lower point, i.e., the crotch, to the west; he should then visualize for himself the position of the clitoris, which, incidentally, if it had actually existed, which it did not, we estimate would have been somewhere in the neighborhood of eighty-five feet in length and seven yards in girth at its thickest point; the theater lay directly beneath the westernmost tip of this imaginary clitoris. If the reader was not desirous of the above information, he should not have read this parenthetical explanation.) He, Arnold Blumm, was stretched out upon a sort of makeshift dais and flanked-or more accurately, inundated-by a group of lovely young girls, all of them stark naked, as was Arnold Blumm himself. Not only could Arnold Blumm be seen in the theater at this time, he could also be heard there, and as he spoke to the multitude at his feet, the girls who surrounded him caressed him endlessly, lovingly, adoringly; they caressed him with their hands, with their tits, with their feet, with their cunts, and with their buttocks. It was obvious that this Arnold Blum had become a hero.
Let us see what he was saying to these people. Once again, we pick him up in mid-phrase: "... shattered everyone of them! every one of them! The entire place was illuminated with a green light because of the bottles, and when they were broken it seemed to grow even brighter in there, all those suds, foaming up around the periscope, covering the spy's corpse, green bubbles floating about-ah! it was indeed a satisfying experience. Odd, though, it seemed to me, that there was no blood. Nevertheless-ah! oh! hee, hee, hee!"
One of the girls had just slipped her finger up Arnold Blumm's asshole. It took him a few moments to grow accustomed to it. Presently, he went on: "Shouldering my weapon, I pushed my way through the bubbles and re-entered the sewer. Back at the TI found my dark-haired beauty ready and waiting. She said: 'Come on,' and let me into a little alcove furnished with a bed and lit by a torch. Ah! how lovely she looked in the light of those yellow flames! That wonderful hairy crotch bristling eagerly between her perfect legs; those big firm, swollen tits, rising and falling; those stiff, dark nipples casting flickering shadows across her bare bosom-ah!-"
Arnold Blumm disappeared momentarily beneath five or six writhing girls who had evidently become carried away with passion; when he emerged again, his face was slick with cunt honey; wiping his mouth on the nearest tit, he continued: " 'Come on,' she said, pulling me toward the bed; 'let's fuck before the others arrive.' Not knowing what these 'others' would be, heh, heh, heh," here he put his hands upon the two over-ripe, rose-tipped titties of a young nymph who lay on her back across his waist, her head dangling off the dais, while one of the other girls licked her pussy, gave them (the titties) a little squeeze, and kissed a pair of nearby buttocks, "not knowing, I say, I was none too anxious for their arrival. I said: 'Yes! let's!'-fuck, that is; and we did.
"She said: 'Lie down on your back;' which I did, and she added, while straddling my waist and rubbing her damp, bushy cunt on my belly: 'This is the way you want it, isn't it?' and I said: 'Yes!' and she said: 'I thought so.' Lord! the sight of those wonderful tits looming above me, swelling and swinging, rising and falling, those dark-stemmed nipples jutting out-ah! they set a fire in my loins! a fire, I say! She leaned down and swung those beautiful breasts across my face, the nipples boring into my eyes! my ears! my nostrils! my mouth! Lord! I sucked them, I bit them, I chewed them, I covered them with kisses! I was free! A new day was dawning! When the sun rose tomorrow, I thought, it would, rise in the form of a great bright tit, and the whole world would be irrevocably altered by its benefic light!"
The audience cheered and applauded wildly.
"As she smothered me in her bosom, I reached down, took my cock in my hand, and rubbed her clitoris with its head. Lord! how she moaned with joy! how she slobbered on my head! ah! I can still feel that hot spit trickling down around my ears! Mm! As soon as she started to come, I pushed my member down along that bubbling trench, found her fuck-hole, and drove home! Ah! Lord! you should have seen her buck and lurch! She cried: 'Ahg! ahg! ahg!' and her whole body shook as though undergoing the most vigorous vibratory massage in the world! My bones, my very teeth rattled! Her cunt juice came pouring down around my balls like boiling oil! her ass thrusting, grinding, swiveling, pounding, twitching! and her cunt muscles clutching and grabbing at my cock; clutching! grabbing! Lord! I could have sworn she had a tongue in there! And she just kept coming and coming and grunting and grunting and drooling and squealing, and I had intended to make it last longer, but I could hold back no longer, and crying: 'Here it comes, baby!' I shot my wad! Lord; I had never had such a-uhn!-orgasm-inn!- before-ihn!-"
If, in seeing these uhns, the reader said to himself: "Aha! Arnold Bloom is having another one," meaning another orgasm, he is to be congratulated upon his reading skill; he had guessed correctly. For the girl whose titties he had-but let us first finish Arnold Blumm's sentence, which we nipped off in the last paragraph: "-in my-uhn!-entire-uhn!-life! UHN!"
The girl whose titties Arnold Blumm squeezed a moment ago had for some time been manipulating his penis; that is to say, she had been jacking him off. This action culminated in squirts and splats. Against what surface did his semen strike, for a splat does not occur unless a surface has been struck, to create this sound? A girl's face: this was that surface. For she who had been lapping the pussy of the girl whose titties Arnold Blumm had squeezed, seeing that an ejaculation was in the offing, had lifted her face from one crotch (that of the girl with the titties) to another (that of Arnold Blumm), and had thereby intercepted that gushing fountain of sperm at a distance of some four or five inches from its source, i.e., the end of Arnold Blumm's prick. What part of her face did it strike? all parts: her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, her forehead, her chin; and as he watched those exploding dollops splashing about the angelic features of this lovely young face-she could not have been older than fifteen-Arnold Blumm said to himself: "Lord! just what I have always dreamt of! shooting in a girl's face! God! cum in her eyes! cum in her nose! cum in her mouth! cum in her hair! Lord God!-" and other things of this nature.
Presently, taking a deep breath and letting his head fall back onto a large tit, Arnold Blumm took up where he had left off (it is interesting to note that notwithstanding this last ejaculation Arnold Blumm's cock was still as stiff as a stick): "Ah, yes. Well, so, then, after I fucked her like that, or rather, after she fucked me like that, she in the upper position, I in the lower, after that, I say, she rolled off me, rose to her hands and knees, and-yes, like that, exactly in the position this young lady has just assumed. And she said: 'Oh! ah!'-for she was still coming, she had not stopped-'Oh! ah!' she cried; 'give it to me in the ass! Stick it in my asshole!' and I said: 'Yes! yes!' for my prick, strange to say, was still quite hard and erect, able, I believed, to penetrate anything, even a tight asshole-although, to tell the truth, this asshole that now confronted me would be the very first one I had ever had the pleasure to penetrate; nevertheless, I was confident; 'henceforth, Arnold Blumm,' I told myself, 'nothing is beyond your power! nothing!' It was in this spirit that I got on my knees behind her, like this, slipped my hand into her cunt, like this . . . and this ..."
"Mmmmmmmm!"
"...(heh, heh, heh) scooped out some syrup, like this-"
"Oooooooo!"
"-and lubricated her anus with it, like this." "Ah! ah! ah!"
"Yes, she made very much the same sounds as this child is making now, yes, very much the same indeed. Every time I did this, she would say-"
"Igh! igh! igh!"
"Yes, it was almost exactly like that! And just to hear her say it, I did it again and again, like this-!" "Igh! igh! igh!"
"-going in all the way to the knuckle on each stroke!" "Yigh! yigh! yigh!"
"Hee, hee, hee!" laughed Arnold Blumm in transports of delight. "And then I set the nose of my cock against her hole-it was well lubricated, just as this one is-set it against the hole, I say, like this, gripped her torchlit hips, like this, gave her a little nudge, like this!-"
"Oh!"
"-and this!-" "Ah!"
"-until the head was in-" "Uhng!"
"-as it is now. Then, with a powerful thrust, like this-" "AIIIIIII!"
"-I drove into her rectum! Ah!"
"Uhn!"
"Ah!"
"Uhn!"
"Ah!-in and out! in and out! Uhn!-" "Ah!"
"Oh! It was-uhn!-it was-! It was just-! It was simply-!"
At this moment a cloud seemed to darken the countenance of the ecstatic Arnold Blumm, as though he had just remembered something; he slowed, not to say terminated, his stroke, turned his face upon the audience, and said in a decidedly less impassioned voice: "It was just about at that point that I heard something that, I must say, gave me a bit of a start. I say I heard it: perhaps I only thought I heard it, yes, let us say that I only thought / heard it." Saying this, the cloud lifted somewhat from Arnold Blumm's face. "It seemed to come from somewhere beyond the wall of the alcove," he went on, "and it sounded something like this: 'Gruh, gruh, gruh.' I will not say that my heart stopped exactly, but..."
The cast of the play that preceded Arnold Blumm's act, if we may call it that, made up, the reader recalls, of the brother, the sister, the father and the mother, had during the last few minutes re-entered the auditorium-for they had not been there at the time Arnold Blumm was carried in atop the shoulders of all those naked girls who had been sent into the Datura Street sewer to bring back the hero, the brave spy-killer, and who now thronged his dais as we have seen. This cast, then, having re-entered, now stood close by the stage and had been standing there for some time, unnoticed by Arnold Blumm. Three of them never were, to our knowledge, noticed by him; but the fourth one was. Who was this fourth one? the reader may have guessed it.
Arnold Blum, we must remember, knew nothing of the play that preceded his triumphal entry; he did not know that the appearance of "the mother" was the work of an ingenious makeup man, so that when he saw her-for it was her alone whom he saw, having by chance happened to glance in that direction just as he uttered the word but-Arnold Blumm, his cock still sunk to the hilt, so to speak, in the girl's asshole, fainted dead away.
It is not out of any mischievous sense of perversity on the part of the author that he willfully inserts at this point another hiatus in his text; no, he does so perforce due to his historical integrity. We have not been able to locate a single eyewitness to account for the actions of Arnold Blumm during the remainder of his stay in the sewers, and it is not our intention to dream up spicy incidents that cannot be substantiated by known facts-though we might well do so if we wished, for we are not totally devoid of imagination-simply for purposes of storytelling. For these reasons, then, let us take our departure from this subterranean gloom, this "other world," these italicized catacombs, and return to the surface somewhat in advance of Arnold Blumm.
The author cannot say with any certainty the exact time that he staggered out of the George Washington Lounge and proceeded south along Narcissus amid the fireballs and whistling rockets, which he hardly noticed, being, as he has confessed, absorbed in personal matters, picking his way carelessly between the shell craters; he can report, however, thanks to the First National Bank clock, which by some miracle, was still working, that it was precisely six minutes after seven in the evening that he rounded the corner of Narcissus and Clematis, where he was swept off his feet by a surging tide of screaming insurgents.
For the most part, he will leave himself out of what follows; suffice it to say that an ample portion of what he, or we, will report, was seen by him or us, with his own, or our own, eyes.
An hour or so after noon that day there had been a skirmish between the police and the insurgents in the vicinity of the West Sago Beach Fire Station; since then all the stores and shops along Dixie had been closed. Kress's department store had been broken into shortly after the skirmish, and at seven o'clock it was still half full of women-housewives, schoolgirls and the like-leisurely looting the remaining merchandise.
At a lingerie counter near the back of the store was an extremely voluptuous platinum blonde in, or partially in, we should say, a red dress. This mouth-watering blonde is not a total stranger to the reader; he has already encountered her in the Allegro molto vivace, where she was referred to simply as "the woman in the red dress." We said that she was partially in her red dress at this time, and we did not say it only to titillate the reader, though we hope it had that effect; no, we said it because it was true, and it was true for a very good reason. What was that reason? we are about to find out.
This chesty creature was trying on brassieres for size-bras of all kinds, strapless bras, half bras, lace bras, black bras, white bras, clamp-on bras, nursing bras-all kinds, all colors, one after the other. Whatever she liked she put into her handbag, whatever she disliked she threw on the floor. Now, in order to try on all those bras, it will be understood that she would have to be bare chested between fittings, as it were; this was indeed the case. She had removed her arms from the armholes of the lowcut red dress-a silk mini, you recall-and let the top of the dress fall down around her hips. Hence the expression partially in, for she was mostly out.
Since, as we know, she wore neither bra nor panties at the amphitheater, indicating a definite disdain for undergarments, one may wonder about her motives in lifting all those bras, enough to supply an army of Amazons for a year; this has never been cleared up. We cannot say why she was there at that particular counter, we can report only that she was there, and that is the important thing.
Why important? because of three things, which we will enumerate without delay: One: just to the blonde's right (she was facing east) was a door labeled "exit".
Two: at this very moment, just as the blonde was dropping her jugs into the diaphanous cups of a red lace bra, who do you suppose was crawling out of the storm sewer through the iron grate of a catch basin in the alley behind Kress's? Who else but Arnold Blumm.
Three: draw an imaginary line from that catch basin to the spot where the blonde stood, and you will find that this line passes through the door marked "exit", and that its length, the line's length, does not exceed five good paces.
When these three facts are combined in the proper way, it will be evident that if the blonde had not been at that particular counter, trying on those bras at that hour, bare chested, the chances are that Arnold Blumm would not have seen her when he burst through the door and hence would have missed one of his most memorable experiences.
But if Arnold Blumm had these circumstances to thank for this experience, he should also have thanked one other thing: the Army; for as Jesus said, we must render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's. Let us leave the blonde momentarily in her red lace bra, big pink nipples showing over the top, tits deeply creased in the middle, her silk minidress drooping so far down her broad hips that a fringe of brown curls could be seen over the fold in front, the crack of her ass showing behind, and explain ourselves.
The reader remembers, we trust, the dread shadow that fell over the alley behind the Takeitoff Club at the moment Arnold Blumm made his escape into the sewer and which brought such destruction with it; it was this very shadow which greeted his surfacing some seven hours later. Had Arnold Blumm been somewhat paranoid in his outlook on life, he would have thought this shadow was pursuing him, but he was not, and therefore he considered it a coincidence, which it undoubtedly was. What terrible thing cast this persistent shadow? it can be summed in two words: flying saucer.
This time Arnold Blumm looked the terrible machine in the eye, as it were; he looked at it not only without fear but even with a kind of disdain; clearly, Arnold Blumm's confidence had been restored since we saw him last.
The saucer at this time was cruising slowly along, just above the tops of the buildings; it crossed the F.E.C. tracks, moving from west to east, toward the spot where Arnold Blumm stood. It was silhouetted like a great black dish against the blue-white sky, its windows glowing red, its eye-stalks swiveling about, surveying the desolation, searching for a stray insurgent. Across its underside, painted in large luminous letters, Arnold Blumm read: "U.S. Army KL89-70". From time to time, as it advanced up the alley, it would unleash its deathray, firing at random among the ruins and causing thunderous explosions of bricks and glass, leaving huge ragged rents in the pavement and causing the ground to rock violently beneath Arnold Blumm's feet.
Though this hideous engine of destruction seemed, as we said, to move slowly, its rate of advance was in fact deceptive, and it is not likely that Arnold Blumm stood there at the grate of the catch basin very much longer than forty-odd seconds before he said: "Lord!" and bolted for the door on his right. At that time the saucer loomed almost directly over him, blotting out the sky.
What caused Arnold Blumm's alarm? the sight of the deathray's muzzle. Why? because it resembled, or so it seemed to Arnold Blumm, an iron pipe with a right angle elbow at the bottom.
Thus we see how it is that Arnold Blum owes partial thanks to the Army for the experience we are about to describe, for had it not been for the saucer, he might not have crashed through that door-he might in fact, not have crashed, it is conceivable, through any door at all.
V. PRESTO
At the moment of Arnold Blumm's explosive entry into Kress's department store a number of other things happened simultaneously.
A large group of bare chested men and women, armed to the teeth, burst into the store from the Clematis Street entrance (this was the group in which the author had been caught up and swept away like a bit of flotsam in a flood), and a platoon of National Guardsmen burst in through the entrance on Dixie.
The revolutionaries fired upon the Guardsmen, the Guardsmen fired upon the revolutionaries, and the busty blonde unhooked the red lace bra.
All these occurrences, as we said, occurred at the same time.
After that everything happened very fast.
The former tranquility that had prevailed a moment before was utterly annihilated. The leisurely looters screamed in panic and ran about in all directions like a flock of chickens in whose midst a firecracker had just exploded; some of them, like the blonde, had been trying things on and were caught in various stages of undress: topless, bottomless, half into a pair of slacks, half out of a sweater-one girl, a cute little thing, we recall, with nice bouncy breasts, who had been trying on swimsuits, was dashing through the mob stark naked.
Chaos dominated everything, and in the midst of this chaos Arnold Blumm's eyes took on a hungry glow.
What did these eyes see?
Not the revolutionaries, not the Guardsmen, not the screaming mob, not the flying garments, not the blazing gunfire, not the clouds of smoke.
What then?
The blonde in the red dress.
She stood right before him, those big, luscious boobs standing in stark profile against the red flashes at the other end of the store, that fringe of cunt hair bristling at the base of her belly-"Ah!" he said to himself: "this time it will be different!"
And it was.
He did not hesitate an instant.
With a sudden display of strength, to which we can apply no more appropriate an adjective than superhuman, Arnold Blumm tackled this buxom beauty-she outweighed him, we would say, by a good fifty pounds-threw her over his left shoulder, and charged into the tumultuous throng.
"Help! Help!" cried the blonde, pounding upon Arnold Blumm's bare back with her fists, feet kicking furiously.
Arnold Blumm laughed as he ran: "HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE!'"-it was a terrible shriek, this laughter.
Using the blonde's bare ass as a battering ram, he charged through a cluster of half-naked women who were running up the aisle from the opposite direction, knocking some of them flat, and lunged straight into the deadly dense crossfire as though he believed himself invulnerable to bullets.
One saw the blonde's broad white ass riding high, her silvery hair flying out behind, her big boobs bouncing violently against her abductor's back, her fists pounding, her feet kicking, and below all this the spindly legs of Arnold Blumm, running, and then they were swallowed up in the smoke; if you had been there you would have given them up for dead.
Let us go out into the street.
The Highway was narrow at this point, two lanes only, a sort of "dry gulch," perfect for an ambush. We are not the only ones to whom this thought occurred, for if a keen eye happened to glance up at the rooftops of the shops across the street from Kress's, it would have perceived a sort of metallic bristling against the darkening sky. What was this bristling? the rifle barrels of a squad of black women, stripped to the waist, lying in wait behind the roofwalls. How long they had been waiting there we cannot say; but that at the moment at which this drama has now reached their waiting was over, of that we are certain. How so? First let us finish setting the scene.
Along the east wall of Kress's in those days was a row of wooden benches; these benches are of no importance at all to our story, except that they indicate that this portion of the street was a bus stop, for these benches were bus benches. It is not unreasonable, therefore, to expect to see a bus in the vicinity, even though all traffic had ceased in the city earlier in the day; this in fact was the case, a bus was parked there, abandoned, empty, its door open, one tire upon the curb, close by the south entrance to Kress's. We will return to this bus momentarily.
Now, as to our reason for saying that the black ambuscade's period of waiting had come to an end, it was this, that the enemy had arrived. Lifting our head from the sidewalk and gazing south down the narrow street, we saw, or thought we saw, blinked our eyes, shook our head, and saw again, a phalanx of armed horsemen, mounted on huge pale steeds, wearing white robes-the horsemen, not the horses-and tall pointed hoods with eye- and mouth-holes, giving them a hideous appearance.
The clattering hoofbeats filled the street, and the whole area was lit up bright as day by the flaming cross which one of the horsemen bore upon his pommel. As soon as the phalanx came abreast of the alley entrance, to this clatter of hooves was added the crackle of rifle fire, and in the interval between the outbreak of this tumult and the moment the author was trampled, he, the author, had time only for a gasp of fright, nothing more.
Were we trampled by the horses? no. By the riders, dismounting from the horses? no. By what then? By Arnold Blumm.
For it was just then that he crashed through the plate glass door of the department store, and with a triumphant "Vive la Revolution!" charged across the sidewalk (on which we found ourselves, unfortunately, prone), the screaming blonde still on his shoulder, and with a leap and bound disappeared inside the abandoned bus, mentioned above.
We can say but a few words concerning the ensuing battle that took place in that blazing arena. The Klansmen-for what else could they have been?-took up positions behind the bus benches and fired at the insurgents on the rooftops, while the insurgents on the rooftops crouched behind their battlements and fired down upon the Klansmen; there is little else we can say about it. The reader interested in the military aspects of the Revolution should put this book aside and take up another one, for we are not concerned in these pages with the shooting of guns so much as with the shooting of penises, we have intimated as much in the past. Accordingly, we now turn our attention to the interior of the bus, which lay directly between the two lines of fire.
What was going on in there?
Let us listen before we look. This bit of conversation could be heard beneath the roar of the guns, if you were close enough to its source, which we, at that time, happened to be: "Help!"
"Shut up!"
"What are you going to do? "I'm going to fuck you!"
"Oh! thank God! I thought you were going to arrest me!"
An exploding hand grenade obliterated the rest of this exchange. Let us take shelter in the bus, before we ourselves are obliterated.
"Sit up there," ordered Arnold Blumm, whose cock already protruded from the front of his torn trousers.
"Where?" said the blonde, and she added: "Shall I take this off?"- meaning the red silk minidress which hung about her hips.
"Up there, on the back of the seat," said Arnold Blumm; "and no, I'll take it off myself."
"Groovy," said the blonde, climbing obediently on the seat. "I thought you were one of them."
"I was," he said; "but that was this morning."
"Is that why you wouldn't fuck me in the park?"
"Yes. Hold onto the strap over your head."
"OK. You're Michelle's trick, aren't you?"
"I am."
"And the one they call 'the Spy-Killer!' "
"Correct."
"Gosh! a hero!"
"Yes."
"A hero of the Revolution!-and you've chosen me!" "True. Spread your legs, and let me see that lovely cunt."
"Oh, yes!" Holding tightly to the overhead loop, she threw out her magnificent chest and spread her thighs wide. "There! look at it! do you like it? oh! mm! touch it! smell it! lick it! oh!"
Arnold Blumm did all those things: he looked at it, first at arm's length, then close up, first with his left eye, then with his right eye; he touched it, stroking the brown curls, opening the lips, exploring the warm wet folds of flesh inside, fingering the clitoris and probing the hole; he smelled it, a few sniffs at first, followed by several deep inhalations that filled his lungs with her pungent vapors; he licked it, his tongue boring into the tube, slithering up the meaty furrow, and attacking the erect clitoris with a sort of hungry fury; and having done all this, in that order, he, Arnold Blumm, gripped the red silk minidress in both hands and, with an ease of which one would not have thought him capable, ripped it from her body with a single jerk, upon which action the blonde made the following comment: "Oh, wow!"
Whereupon Arnold Blumm leapt upon the leather seat with both feet and stood there before her, his cock on a level with her cunt, which says something to the reader who has ridden one of these busses about the length of Arnold Blumm's legs, about which we will say no more.
"Oh, fuck me! fuck me!" moaned the blonde as the bus rocked from a nearby explosion. "Uh!-oh-what are you doing?"
He was punching her tits with his fists, not punching them hard, but punching them nonetheless; he gave them a series of little uppercuts, which made them bounce, a number of left jabs, which made them jump, several right hooks, which made them swing, and three or four open-handed slaps, which made them vibrate.
He said: "I have always wanted to do this with a pair of tits like yours. One should do all those things which he has always wanted to do, don't you agree?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Is that not the meaning of the Revolution? Is this not the time for everyone to rise up, or to lie down, and do all those things which ... ?"
"Which he has always wanted to do! Oh, yes, I agree! Go ahead! Hit them! Mm! I like it! Slap them! Wow! Yeah! That's groovy! Mm! Do it some more, do it some more, do it some .. . !"
"It is not a thing I wish to spend my life doing, you understand; I have done it, that is sufficient, I may do it again sometime, but for the present, I am done with it. Let's fuck."
And before you would have had time to say "yes, let's," Arnold Blumm had found the hole and driven home without further ado.
"Uhn!"
"Ah!"
"Oh!"
"Uhng!"
At the moment that last uhng! was uttered by one or the other of these fuckers, we know not which, it does not matter, at that moment, we say, a teenage boy with a thick shock of tow-colored hair and wearing nothing but a pair of Jockey shorts leapt, with a loud whoop, through the open door of the bus, pounced into the driver's seat, started the engine, threw it in gear, popped the clutch, and if any of the combatants had paused from their combat long enough to glance at this bus at that time, they would have seen it cut sharply across the street, bouncing over the pock-marked pavement, and disappear in a tremendous belch of smoke and with a loud roar, into the narrow entrance to the alley, less than two inches to spare on either side.
As we said, Arnold Blumm noticed none of this; while the combatants may have seen bus, alley and smoke, Arnold Blumm saw only hair, hole and tit. Far from being disturbed by the sudden lurching of the vehicle, he was delighted with it, for it resulted in the most wonderful agitation in the blonde's bosom. If it is not outside the author's rights as an artist to coin a word signifying a condition midway between music and watermelon, let him do so at this time and say that the blonde's breasts were "melonic"; for to Arnold Blumm all that bouncing, that bobbing, that thudding together, constituted nothing less than a symphony of flesh, what he might have called a Concerto for Two Boobs and a Bus, and for the first time in his life this bald fiddler, this erstwhile personification of erotophobia, this hero, this spy-killer, this abductor of women, this reborn man, this Arnold Blumm knew what Pythagoras meant by "the music of the spheres."
Gripping the back of the seat on which she was perched, his face so close to her tits that each time the bus bounced off a wall they battered his cheeks, Arnold Blumm drove his cock in and out of the blonde's hairy, bubbling cunt with that rhythmless turbulence, that erratic fury so typical of his love-making, until she was drooling at both ends as it were, and her plunging jugs were no less drenched in saliva than the plunging seat was drenched in cunt cream, and Arnold Blumm, vocally punctuating his fuck-thrusts, said: "Hah! hah!-- uhn!-hah! hah! hah!
uhn! hah! -hah! uhn!
uhn! uhn! uhn! uhn! hah!-uhn!
hah!-" (these dashes being intended as a graphic rendering of the unequal intervals between his uhns and his hahs.) uhn!-hah!
uhn!-hah! hah!
uhn!
And the blonde said: "Oh! ah!
gah!-um! um! um! oh! oh!-ah! ee!
fuck me! fuck me! fuck-! gah!-ooooooooooooooooo!
ung! ah!-oog!
igh!--oog!--don't stop! don't-what's the matter? aren't you going to-? ahggggg! eeeeeeeee-!"
This last eeeeeee! corresponds to Arnold Blumm's last hah! and signifies the beginning of orgasm. Just as the blonde's abdomen contracted for the first time, and just as Arnold Blumm's first jet of semen shot into her cunt, there was a wild and joyous "Yahoo!" followed by an horrendous crash on the southeast corner of Olive and Clematis.
What was on the southeast corner of Olive and Clematis? the shoe store into which we had a brief look on another page of this book. Was this shoe store demolished? partially, yes. Was it destroyed by a bomb? was it blasted by a deathray? No, it was rammed by a bus, the reader hardly needs to be told by which bus, nor that the yahoo! came from the mouth of the young driver.
Did Arnold Blumm survive this crash? Was he able to complete his orgasm? We will answer these questions in the oblique manner of which we are so fond.
The interior of the shoe store at this time looked very much as it had earlier in the day when the author chanced to encounter it in his aimless wanderings, with this difference, that while cunt, to be sure, could be seen at that time, more of it could be seen at this time-not more of the same cunt, that is not what we mean, for only so much of a cunt can be seen and the author had seen it; we do not mean cunt in the singular, but cunt in the plural. For now, instead of there being only one young woman with her pants off and her skirts pulled up to her waist, now there was a whole row of them in that condition.
Some of these young women had their knees hooked over the arms of the fitting chairs in which they sat, either waiting to have their pussies eaten, as we say, or else recovering from same. Who was doing this eating? who else but the shoe salesman. Apparently, he had been doing it all day. If any concern over selling shoes had lingered in the mind of this salesman when he saw him that morning, it had certainly passed away by the time we saw him that evening, so much was obvious. Others simply lay sprawled in their chairs, rubbing their exposed cunts with smiles of anticipation, or rubbing them with smiles of satisfaction, while the salesman passed from one to the other, from a blonde to a brunette, from a redhead to a blonde, on his knees, tongue at the ready, face gleaming with milk and honey, servicing one and all in a spirit of utmost benevolence and generosity.
Did the sudden entry of the bus through the plate glass windows at the front of the store and its equally sudden partial exit through the east wall, scattering shoes, concrete blocks and pieces of plaster in all directions, disturb the inhabitants therein, or bring about a cessation, or even a slowing-down of their activities? It did not. Everything proceeded as before, as though nothing of any importance had occurred-and perhaps it had not, relatively speaking, for in the midst of a cyclone who notices a dust-devil? (We give that metaphor for the purpose of indicating something of the chaotic state of affairs which prevailed in the city at that hour, which state we do not care to otherwise go into, since we are mainly concerned with the sexual activities which underlay this chaos rather than with the chaos itself, leaving that task to other writers better qualified than ourselves.)
Now, if you had been one of those bareassed women in the shore store-or, more particularly, if you had been the sandy-haired girl sitting at the north end of the row, you would have seen a rather strange-looking bald individual emerge from the wreckage at the front of the store, apparently unharmed and wearing a smile which might have led you to say either: "That man has just had a very satisfying orgasm," or: "That man is ready for sex," both of which would have been accurate observations. That man was Arnold Blumm.
If you had been that sandy-haired girl, we repeat, you would have seen Arnold Blumm at the same moment he saw you, and pulling your miniskirt a little higher, shrugging out of one of your shoulder straps so that the upper swell of your left tit was exposed to the nipple, and spreading your beautiful sun-gold legs a little wider, the interior monologue that passed through your mind as he approached might have gone something like this: It's him! Wow! He's coming toward me! Oh, Jesus! Look at his cock! Yum! All slick and juicy from somebody's cunt! Still stiff! Wow! Looking at my snatch! Oh, yeah! get a good look, daddy! look at my hair, look at my slit, look at my clit! See how it jumps! It's jumping for you, lover! Yum! Goddamn! look at his tongue! Oh, what a tongue! Licking his lips! Thinking about how I'll taste! Oh! I'm afraid I'll come before he ever gets here! Christ! See my tit? Yeah! he sees it! Oh, shit! I can't stand it! Here! look at the other one! Oh!
Here you would have jerked down your other shoulder strap and bared both of your luscious, ripe, mouthwatering, firm, full, breath-taking boobies, nipples, underbellies and all, your inward apostrophe continuing in this manner: How's that, lover? See them? Nice, aren't they? Oh, shit, he's getting closer! Oh, I'm ready! I'm ready! God! I can still taste his dick in my mouth; Mm! Oh, come on, honey! Let me feel your tongue in my cunt! Oh, yeah, in my cunt; It's all primed and ready for you! Oh, hurry! I can't-! Oh, Jesus! he's-he's here! Getting down on his knees! licking his lips! hands on my knees! my thighs! on my-.'Ah! Oh! MM! Stop, I can't-! Ooooo! Here comes his tongue! Oh, God! like a snake! Mm! Cheeks on my thighs! Oh, eat eat me! eat me! eat-! Oh, Jesus! torture! licking the lips! Mm! Oh, don't-don't do-that-I-! Oh, shit! Feeling my tits! Yeah! feel them! oh! pinching my nipples! rolling them! pulling them! oh! ah!-oh my God! Licking my-my-! "Uhn!" (Slurp, slurp, slurp, etc.) . . . my clit! Oh, Christ! that feels so ... ! "Da! da! da! da!" ... so good! ah! oh! Christ! Shit! (Slurp-slop, slurp-slop, slurp-slop, etc.) "Gh! gh! gh! gh!-" . . . lap it! lap it! lick me! oh, God, lick me! I'm going to... !"
'Ig! ig! ig! ig!- (Slurpy-slurpy-slurpy-slurpy-slurpy-slurpy-slurpy, etc., very rapid.) . . . going to .. Yi! yi! yi!-" .. . going to . . "Uhn!" . . . come!
"Ss! ss! ss! ss! ss!-"
If you have an ounce of intelligence, you need not be told that these da-das, these gh-ghs, these ig-igs, and the like, are the sounds which you would have made had you been the sandy-haired girl to whose twat Arnold Blumm applied his tongue, nor that the parenthetical slurps represent the noises made by that tongue in that twat during cunnilingus; even the ss-ss, we believe, is self-explanatory, at least to anyone who has ever lapped a cunt, and who among us has not done so? said sound (ss) indicating the moment, or moments, of the girl's orgasm. We must add only one thing, and that thing is this, that if you had indeed been that girl, you would have been none other than-Michelle.
VI. ADAGIO QUASI UN POCO ANDANTE
(If the reader had made that identification already, on his own, we apologize for having told him something which he already knew, but it is necessary, unfortunately, to carry the less astute among our public, bear them upon our shoulder as it were, if need be, with the keener minds, lest they fall behind and lose the thread entirely.)
We wish here to give some idea, however inadequate, of the beauty and magnificence of that night of the 28th of April, the Night of the Revolution.
Imagine all those hideous buildings crumbling to the ground; imagine all those jubilant youngsters dancing naked through the blazing streets, fucking one another at will; imagine those gigantic flowers of red flame that bloomed over the city all night long; imagine those ominous black, blood-eyed saucers of the Government hovering in the smoky sky, their deathrays annihilating anything that moved; imagine the embattled insurgents in the barricaded alley between Clematis and First Street, valiantly fighting off wave after wave of police, national guards, the K.K.K., the D.A.R., the Birchites, the Legionnaires, the Hard-Hats, the A.F.M., and the Young People for Decency, miraculously holding their own against immense odds; imagine dark streets suddenly illuminated by napalm; imagine the devastating air strikes which came out of nowhere, without warning, one of which reduced the First National Bank to a shell crater, another of which blew the Holiday Inn to smithereens; imagine City Hall being overrun and taken by the revolutionaries, blazing guns bristling from its windows; imagine the city clerks, the councilmen and their secretaries, the priests and their nuns, stripped naked and running through the city, screaming, not knowing whether to be terrified or exuberant; imagine the tumultuous fall of all these established orders, these time-honored institutions; imagine all those henpecked husbands leaping through the shadows with their cocks out, and all those maiden aunts with their tits bared, throwing bricks at the soldiers; imagine a long-haired man in a white robe-this was never substantiated as fact, it was only a rumor, but we cannot resist including it-a long-haired man, we say, mounted upon a giant white rabbit, charging up Dixie Highway at midnight, hurling colored eggs at the startled troops and shouting at the top of his lungs: Peace, it's wonderful!"
Imagine all this, and then perhaps you will understand the eerie spell which the silent hours before dawn cast over this desolation. Everywhere one looked the raw earth was seeping up through the rent pavements, the shattered sidewalks, rivers of dark rich loam, whose existence had not been dreamt of, flowing along the crumbling gutters like a healing balm. In the recesses of every ruin one could see little groups of people, most of them nude, huddled together, talking quietly, telling stories of their past and thinking about the glorious future ahead of them. At about five in the morning one of these groups formed beneath the wing of a jet bomber which had crashed at the division of Clematis.
VII. ALLEGRO
Near the edge of this group sat three people: a small bald man, a skinny tow-headed boy, and a beautiful sandy-haired girl. The sandy-haired girl sat between the legs of the bald man, and the tow-headed boy sat between the legs of the sandy-haired girl, forming a sort of train, one might say. All three were facing a somewhat-past-middle-age woman who standing up, leaning against the fuselage of the wrecked aircraft. This woman was speaking in a soft voice. Let us see what she was saying.
"Yeah, shit, he was the cutest little kid you ever saw, my little brother was. I couldn't help but be attracted to him. The trouble was, see, I developed too young; hell, when I was eleven, my tits were as big as my kneecaps. Ha, ha, ha, ha! True, though: big as my fucking kneecaps; and I started getting hair on my snatch when I was nine; and by the time this happened with little Bubba-I was thirteen and he was fifteen-by that time I had-oh, ha, ha! I see you're wondering why I call him as my 'little brother.' Well, I don't know, except that he was little, littler than me, littler than most everybody, always was, as far back as I can remember, poor little guy ... Well, anyway, by the time I was thirteen, I had the prettiest set of titties you ever saw-as pretty as yours, honey."
"Thanks," said the sandy-haired girl, returning the speaker's smile, fondling the tow-headed boy's balls and leaning back against the chest of the bald man, who had her breasts cupped in his spindly hands. The woman continued: "And I had a regular bird's nest between my legs. Well, the thing is, you see, I was hot to trot long before my mother considered me old enough even to get out of the house, let alone with a boy. She was Catholic, my mother was, what they call a 'good Catholic' I guess maybe if Dad hadn't died things might have been different. Anyhow, since the only boy I ever had a chance to be alone with was little Bubba, it was only natural that I should have turned to him in my steadily mounting need, as I might put it. I was ripe for the picking, is what I mean; I used to masturbate at least three times a day, sitting there at the window, watching the boys ride by on their bicycles, my hand in my pants and sometimes, when Mama wasn't around, with my tits hanging out. Ha, ha, ha! So then I started coming up behind Bubba when he was practicing his stupid violin lessons, and I'd rub my boobies on his back and try to get him shook up, sometimes wearing only my bra and panties. But it didn't work. He would say: 'Come on, Alice, stop it!' and 'You better get your clothes on, Alice!' and 'If you don't quit it, Alice, I'm going to tell Mama!' and shit like that. One time I said: 'Bubba, if you'd stop fiddling long enough to do some diddling, you wouldn't be so goddamn grouchy.' Ha, ha! He didn't know what 'diddling' meant, but the 'goddamn' shocked the shit out of him, and he went and told Mama I said a bad word. I was sent to bed without supper. That night about nine, when I thought Mama and Bubba had gone to sleep, something happened that brightened my spirits considerably.
"I was lying in bed with nothing on but my little lamp. It gave a dim light and had a blue shade; I thought I looked very sexy in the light of that lamp. Ha, ha!-and I did, too! Well, I said I had nothing on: I was naked, that's true, but I had the sheet over me. I couldn't sleep; I stretched the sheet tightly over my tits and played with my nipples through the cloth until they stood up; I had just started to finger myself when I thought I heard a noise outside my window-it was right beside my bed, that window, and I never pulled the blinds, in hopes that a peeping torn might someday happen to creep into our back yard. I listened very closely, hardly daring to breathe. Yes, there was no doubt about it: I heard footfalls in the grass! My peeping torn had come at last!
"Naturally, I pretended not to have heard anything. I folded my hands behind my head and spread my legs. By moving my feet up and down, I slowly dragged the sheet down to my nipples so that just the top halves of them showed. Goddamn! was I hot? it's a wonder I didn't set the bed on fire. I tried not to breathe hard, but it was useless; I thought any minute I would break out in a sweat. After a few minutes I got up enough nerve to do a few grinds with my hips, like this. . . except I was horizontal of course. That was fun; I lay there with my head propped up, watching my pussy going up and down and thinking: 'Look at that, mister; look at my cunt going up and down and imagine that you're screwing me.' Then I just had to let him see my tits. I folded the top of the sheet down below my bellybutton, and I wanted so much to say to him-to look him right in the eyes and say to him: 'See? See how naked I am? Do you like my body? Do you like my tits? They're very large for your age; I'm not as old as I look. I've never been fucked. Would you like to fuck me? Come on through the window and get on top of me and I'll let you do it to me!' I might even have muttered some of that under my breath, I'm not sure, but I didn't dare look at the window for fear of frightening him off.
"Then I heard something that almost made me come without even touching my pussy: breathing! Yes, I heard him breathing! It seemed to me that I could even feel his hot breath on my body! And then I heard this sort of low groan, like: 'Ohhhhh!' and didn't even realize for a moment that it was me that was moaning, I was that shook! God, it's making my cunt run just to talk about it! Look at that!"
She lifted her skirt and showed her hairy crotch to the people sitting at her feet; it was true, the lips were moist, and there was a trickle of juice on her right thigh. Dropping her skit with a ha-ha-ha, she continued: "And it was just like that then, too-except I didn't have this much hair at the time. My bush was dark and silky then, very attractive, I thought. Well, anyway, after playing with my tits for a while and getting myself all worked up, beyond the point of return, so to speak, I kicked the sheet off altogether and lay there beneath the window stark, bareassed naked.
"The breathing outside the window had by that time turned into panting. I guess mine had, too. Ha ha! I started squeezing my tits with one hand and playing with my pussy with the other, like this, mm, yeah, wow, mm, where was I?. .. oh, yeah: well, before long I was bubbling like a washing machine and my clit swelled up to about the size of my little finger. God, was I hot! I tried to put off my orgasm to make it last, but it was impossible: I went off like a string of bombs. Uhn! uhn! uhn!"
Here she went through the appropriate body motions, the lunges, the jerks, the spine-whips, and all the rest.
"My tits were bouncing up and down, and my legs went right up in the air, and I was grunting like a pig, ha, ha! and then the grunts turned into words, and I heard myself saying: 'Fuck me! Fuck me! Come and fuck me! Please!' and all like that. Boy, did I come! It was one of those orgasms that just keep going and going, your girls know what I'm talking about, right? Right! It was one of those, wow, I thought my cunt was going to come apart before it stopped, and while I was still coming, I sat up and put my face right in the window, still saying: 'Fuck me! Fuck me!' over and over again and then I saw who it was.
"I only got a brief glimpse of his wide-eyed face before he turned and ran away into the darkness, but that was enough to see that it was Bubba, my 'little' brother. That made me start coming all over again. Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
In pre-Revolutionary days there was an actress, a comedienne, by the name of Phyllis Diller, some of our readers might not be totally unfamiliar with the name, and may even remember having seen her on the telly in those days and perhaps can recall her peculiar laugh; such a reader can get an excellent idea of the laughter of this Alice, whose monologue we have been listening to: her laugh and that of Phyllis Diller were not dissimilar.
Let us return to this fascinating tale of young lust and incest.
"I lay there awake for a long time, thinking: 'So! he is interested after all! He does have something between his legs! He's probably in there jacking off at this very moment!' and things like that. For the next few days he avoided me like the plague, made sure that we were never alone together, that Mama was always within earshot. But then one night Mama went out to do some shopping and left us alone. I waited till Bubba was in the tub taking his bath, then I went in and started undressing in front of the mirror, pretending not to pay any attention to him. I think I whistled a little tune. Ha, ha, ha!
"Well, I got my dress off before he ever said a word. He was too terrified to speak, is what it was. Ha, ha! But as I started to unhook my bra, he said: 'What are you doing, Alice? You better get your clothes back on, Mama's going to be back in a minute.' I said that that wasn't true, that she'd be gone for hours. 'I'll tell,' he said in a sheepish voice after a long pause. I said: 'Go ahead, fink,' as I unhooked my bra and threw it at him ; 'I don't give a shit,' I said. He just sat there, trying not to stare at my tits as I admired myself in the mirror. Then I pulled down my pants, and he yelled: 'Alice!' I paused with the pants down around my cunt and said: 'What?' He lowered his eyes and said, very softly: 'Nothing.' I stepped out of the pants.
" 'You don't mind if I get in with you, do you, Bubba?' I said in a very sexy voice. He said: 'Huh?' I said: T thought it would be nice if we took a bath together.' He said: 'Oh.' I said: 'You don't mind, do you?' and he shook his head. So I stepped into the tub and sat down, facing him. He tried not to look at me; he was so scared, the little dummy. I started soaping my tits, and I said: 'Wanta do this for me, Bubba?' He said: 'No,' and immediately turned around, turned his back on me! Can you imagine? I wasn't giving up that easy. I scooted up close to him, so that my legs were wrapped around his skinny little ass, and began to wash his back. 'Feel good?' I said, and he nodded. I was dying to reach down and grab his dick, but I didn't want to spook him. Take it easy now, Alice, I said to myself. After a while I got up real close so that my pussy was pressed against his ass and my tits all flattened against his back. My nipples were hard as nails, and my boobs were all slippery with soap; I rubbed them around on his back and made my pussy move up and down, scrubbing him with my bush, and I said it again: 'Feel good, Bubba?' and again he nodded. Wow! Coming from him, that nod was really something! I was making progress.
"Then I embraced him around the waist, let one hand slide down to his crotch, slow and easy, put my lips to his ear, and whispered: 'Listen, and tell me if you've ever heard this before: fuck me! fuck me! fuck ... !' and right then, all of a sudden he jumps up, yelling: 'NO! NO! IT WASNT ME! IT WASNT ME!' and before I knew what in the fuck was going on, he had leaped out of the tub and crashed out the door!
"Now, you talk about somebody being pissed! I want to tell you, I was so goddamned ..."
But it is here, we are sorry to say, that we must fade out on the voice of Alice. Why? for a very good reason: that we are recording in this Allegro only such sights and sounds that were actually seen or heard by the little bald man, whom we have mentioned above without having identified him, nor will we do so now, but perhaps the alert reader has already recognized him, and it was at this time that he, this skinhead, passed out of earshot of Alice's voice. He had risen a little earlier, approximately at the point where Alice was relating what she had whispered in her brother's ear, and flanked on his right by the sandy-haired girl and on his left by the tow-headed boy he strolled away to the east, into the bombed-out park.
In the place where the amphitheater used to be were several little mounds of rubble; around one of these mounds sat another group very similar to the one from which we have just departed. Our trio, man, boy and girl, joined this group, reassuming their former train-like positions on the ground, the man in the rear, the boy in front, the girl in the middle, all facing the mound, atop which sat an old woman who, it was obvious, had been very attractive in her youth and middle years. This old woman was telling a story. Behind her, through the drifting wisps of smoke, the eastern sky was turning an ethereal silvery blue, that strange, almost hypnotic unblue which precedes the Florida dawn. (Ah! the author sighs, remembering that dawn. Does he have regrets? He does not. It is true that he incurred some measure of loss due to the Sexual Revolution, his wife, as a matter of fact, being absent at the present writing, he will not say why; but does he mope, does he grumble, does he wallow in self-pity, does he piss and moan? no, not often. He remembers the beauty of that new day rising out of the ruins of the old order; he remembers how hyacinths and marijuana sprung up in the mud-filled streets, and how champagne flowed like saliva from the newly opened mouths of the city, and how the gutters sang songs of love. He sticks to his guns, this historian does; he does not lose his grip, he maintains his perspective, he gets along, he keeps his cool, he "toughs it out," as his cousin Clyde would say. But we must apologize for boring the reader with our personal trials and tribulations, which are not within the scope of this work.) Let us listen to the tale of the old woman on the mound, already in progress: "-and I could see some movement, don't you know, through the grillwork, but I couldn't really see what he was doing. So anyway, this is what I told the priest, Father Bear was his name. I said: " 'I've been a bad girl, Father, and it isn't the first time, either. It isn't easy on a widow, Father, I suppose you wouldn't know about that, but it isn't. I mean, my husband and I, well, you know, like we made it damn near every night-oh, sorry, Father: we made it almost every night, you know what I mean; so that after Sam died, well, I got real itchy, Father, if you get my meaning. Say, I'm sorry about wearing this skimpy dress to Church, Father, I mean, I didn't just decide to go to Church with my boobs hanging out or anything, it's just that it came over me all of a sudden-to make confession, I mean-and I just came as I was. I wanted to get it off my chest, so to speak. Well, like I said, I've been bad. I was bad last night, and the night before that, and the night before that. I've committed fornication, Father. I've given my body to men: big men, little men, fat men, skinny men, and even a few boys. Now, I'm not a whore, Father! don't get that impression; I never charged a penny. It's just that I like to ... I mean, I like to get... I mean, I enjoy engaging in ... oh, shit, Father, why don't I just say it right out? / like to fuck.
" 'But last night something happened that scared the-that frightened me. I've been thinking about it all day, and just now-I was in a bar down the street, right in the middle of picking up this stud, just as he was slipping his hand under my skirt-I said: "I've got to go confess," and I got up and walked out. I guess he thought I said: "I've got to go piss," because I heard him yelling at me as I went out the door: "Hey, baby! the John's over here!" Well, anyway, here I am. Now I'm going to tell you what happened last night that disturbed me so-and believe me, Father, when I walk out of a bar just as a stud like that is reaching for my twat, baby, I'm disturbed! I hope you don't mind my speaking plainly, Father; I mean, God must hear words like twat a thousand times a day, and he keeps his cool.'
"I said that because that funny motion I had noticed on the other side of the grating had seemed to get more violent when I said twat, I thought Father Bear was having a seizure or something just because he'd heard a dirty word. I mean, who expects a confessing priest to be beating his meat? I ignored it and went on: " 'Well, anyway, what happened last night is this-I'll give you a little background just so you'll know what kind of a woman I am; about seven o'clock I told the kids I was going out to do a little shopping. Usually I don't go out at night or any other time when the kids are home; mostly I only fuck when they're at school. I want them to grow up with straight bodies and clean minds; I shudder to think what it would do to them if they knew their mother was a nymphomaniac. That's right, Father, that's what I am: a nymphomaniac, pure and simple. But last night, well, you see, I hadn't got any yesterday, I didn't score, and I had such an itch between my legs, I couldn't bear to wait till tomorrow, so out I went.
" 'I have this orange crocheted dress, one of those wide-mesh things, don't you know, quite decent when worn over the orange slip which comes with it. Well, that's what I wore last night, only as soon as I got to the Southern Boulevard overpass, I pulled into one of those little dark lanes under the bridge, got out, took off the dress, the slip and my bra, put the dress back on, nothing underneath but a little pair of sheer nylon bikini panties, also orange. I love to show off my body, Father, it's one of my things, don't you know. And it's a damn nice body, too, in case you hadn't noticed, being a priest and all; I mean, how many women my age do you see with tits like these? Sure, they sag a wee bit, but men like that; a lot of men don't like tits that are so hard they don't even move when a girl walks, you know what I mean? Men like to see them swing a little, bounce a little-not floppy, mind you, just bouncy, and that's the kind of tits I have-thirty-nine Ds, if you want the numbers. My ass is nice too; again, like my tits, not too hard, not too soft. I've seen men go into a sort of coma from just one look at my but, Father, and that's the God's truth.
" 'Now I don't ordinarily let it all hang out like that, but I didn't have much time last night, and I wanted to make it perfectly obvious at a glance that I wanted to be fucked. You could see my entire chest through that net dress, nipples and all-in fact, the knobs of my nipples actually stuck out through the mesh; they're dark-maybe you noticed that when I bent over a moment ago, this loose neckline and all-and they showed up quite vividly, as you can imagine. And remember that I said my panties were sheer, the kind that are meant only to decorate what a girl has and not to conceal it; so that not only could you see the crack of my ass but also the hair on my box-it's dark too, my bush is, almost black. So I hopped in the car like that and drove downtown.
" 'I parked in the lot across from the library and strolled into the park, twirling my little sequined purse and making sure that my pace was just brisk enough to make my tits bounce and just slow enough so it didn't look like I had any particular destination, don't you know.'
"It was right along here where I walked that night, kids," said the old woman, breaking into her quoted confession and indicating the rubble-strewn ground before her with a wave of her wrinkled arm; "right down along the center aisle of the amphitheater. There were a few men there, scattered along the wall, watching the girls along Clematis Street. I told Father Bear just how it was; I said: " 'I spotted this good-looking blond guy, by himself, leaning against the low wall. I spotted him like all sexy women spot men: out of the corner of my eye. I knew he was looking at me; you get to where you can sort of feel their eyes on you, Father. So I went over to the wall myself, just west of the north ramp, about, I don't know, maybe fifteen yards from the blond guy. I sat on the wall, crossed my legs, letting my skirt crawl way up on my thighs, almost to my snatch, and giving my tits a good bounce, a superbounce, you might say, when I hopped up knowing that my profile was silhouetted against the lights to the east, put a cigarette in my mouth and pretended to search my purse for a match. It worked: up he jumps, and a moment later I heard the snick of a lighter, and he said: "Here you are, baby."
" ' "Thanks," I said, sticking my cigarette in the flame, taking a deep drag, and giving him a very seductive smile.
" ' "I like your dress," he said, staring at my tits.
" ' "Thanks again," I said, putting my hands behind me on the wall and leaning back so that my boobs stuck out, nipples in plain view. When I heard him mutter: "Goddamn!"-pardon that, Father, but that's what he said; believe me, I don't allow profanity in my house: if either of the children utter the least little off-color word, off they go to bed without their supper; I just wanted you to know that, Father. Well, anyway, when I heard that goddamn under his breath as he leered at my boobs, I laughed and said: 'Is it the dress you like, or what's in it?"
" 'And he said: "Both, baby! Both!" And just then his eyes fell to my lap, and the expression on his face said: Good God! is that hair I see?
" 'As hot as I was, I couldn't help laughing. I uncrossed my legs and spread them a little, rolling my butt under a bit so that he could see the shape of my mound. I have a rather high pubic mound, Father, I should tell you, and I'm quite proud of it actually; you should see me in a bikini, with the thin crotch hugging my hump and a few carefully selected tufts of hair sticking out at the sides-shit, I'll bet it would even turn you on, Father; but that's neither here nor there, is it? Anyway, I rolled my cunt up like I told you and said to him: "Go ahead, have a good look." And he did, too! Man, how he stared! I expected him to start drooling at any minute. I expected me to start drooling, too! Christ! (pardon) did that get me homy! I put my cigarette down and took him by the hands, bringing him around in front of me; I opened my thighs and pulled him up between them, so that the big long bulge in the front of his pants-it was his dick of course-was pressing against my cunt, and I wrapped my legs around his legs and put his arms around me, rubbing his hands over the outsides of my tits in the process; then I slipped my arms around his neck and said: "Kiss me!" I put out my tongue and slipped it into his mouth before our lips met, and we swapped spit for awhile-that's an expression, Father: it means that we French kissed, you know, with our tongues in each other's mouths and all that. Meanwhile, his hands were all over my tits, and he was jabbing me in the cunt with his cock-you know those words, don't you, Father? cunt, cock, twat, fuck and so forth?-sure you do; shit, a priest has got ears just like everybody else, doesn't he? Well, I could see he was getting so carried away that he was forgetting where he was; in no time at all he had one of my tits-would you rather I said breasts, Father?-he had one of my breasts out the top of my dress and my skirt up around my waist. If I hadn't stopped him, I'm sure he would have yanked my pants off and fucked me then and there, right in front of God and everybody! So I said: "My car's over there in the lot; it's a little more private." "Let's go!" he said. I got off the wall, tucked my tit back in-oh, sorry, I'm not used to calling them breasts, you see-tucked it back in, took his hand, and off we went to my car.
" 'Well, there's no need to go into the whole thing in detail, Father; the thing is, he fucked me, that's the sum and substance of it. I might say, though, that he didn't wait until we got to my car; as soon as we were under the shadow of the banyan tree in the middle of the lot, he grabbed me and jerked my dress up to my armpits. I went ahead and took it off-shit, I couldn't wait, either-and he started sucking and biting my tits like a madman-I thought he was going to chew them off!-and he stuck one hand in the front of my pants and the other in the seat, and with the first hand he fingered my pussy, while he fingered my asshole with the other one. Jesus! Father, if you knew how that turns a girl on!-a finger up her asshole, I mean. Wow!'
"It was right about there, girls and boys," added the old woman in a confidential tone, "that I put my hand under my skirt and started playing with myself-I wasn't wearing panties at the time as I had left the house ready for action as soon as the kids were off to school. So there I was, jacking off on the other side, and there was Father Bear jacking off on the other side, and neither of us knew what the* other was doing. I don't know, it was something about telling all that juicy stuff in such a holy place, I guess, but anyway, the more I talked the hotter I got.
" 'Finally,' I went on, rolling my clit slowly from side to side, like that young lady there,"-she pointed to the sandy-haired girl-" 'we got to the car, which meant walking across an open place under a bright street lamp, me wearing nothing but these orange panties, and half out of them at that, my bare boobs bouncing away, and that got me even hotter! Mmmm ... mm ... Oh, sorry, Father, heh, heh! Where was I? Oh, yeah: I would have flopped down and spread my legs right there under that street lamp if he had asked me to. But he didn't. He got in the car; I pulled his dick out and sat on his lap, facing him, my tits in his face-this was after I had taken off my panties of course. Mm ... uh, so then-mm-while he chewed on my jugs, massaged them, slapped them around, pinched the nipples and all that, I lifted my ass and put his cock into my cunt, which was boiling over, Father, I mean, boiling over! Shit! Mm! oh! ah!-er, yeah, it was running like a brook, cunt juice all over his pants and everything, he didn't give a fuck, and I started going up and down on him, up and down, up and down-oh, mm, Christ!-wait a minute, Father, let me get hold of myself-in a manner of speaking.... There, now; let's see ... oh, yes: well, that's enough of that; we fucked, and it was a good fuck, very nice, strong orgasms all around-we both came at the same time. We mopped up, kissed goodbye, I dressed, this time putting my slip under the mesh dress, and off I went for home. I. felt a lot better, needless to say, but still I could have used some more. Now here comes the part that scared me into this confession, Father.
" 'As I walked in the door, who should come running out of the bathroom, stark naked, but my fifteen-year-old son, Arnold! And he had a bone on, Father! My little Arnold with a bone on! Oh, that means that his dick was stiff, Father, he had an erection, don't you see? Well, he ran right into my arms, yelling: "Mama! Mama! Alice tried to ... !" But I don't know what he said Alice tried to do. Alice, she's his little sister, my eleven-year-old daughter, an innocent little virgin who would be utterly crushed if she knew that her mother was a ... well, whatever. But, like I say, Father, I don't know what kind of a little squabble they had had, Arnold and his sister, because as soon as he threw himself into my arms, my mind sort of went numb-well, not numb exactly, it was very sensitive to certain things, a sort of white-hot sensitivity in fact, but whatever it was the child was saying did not happen to be one of the things it was sensitive to, my mind, I mean. What was it sensitive to? I'll tell you: it was his pecker, that's what. The little bugger had it pressed hard against my leg and his face was buried between my tits. It turned me on, Father, that's what I mean to say, I was turned on by my own son! All I could think of was how nice it would be to have that cute little thing stuck up my cunt, or how sweet it would taste if I could suck it! Oh, God! I could almost taste his cum squirting into my mouth, Father! I know it sounds terrible, I know that very well, that's why I'm telling you all this, because it's so terrible, and I need to tell it to someone, to get it off my chest, so to speak. I was in a daze. I don't know how my hands got down to his skinny little butt, but they got there all right, and before I knew it I was squeezing the cheeks of his ass and panting like a tired horse! I was just about to say: oh, fuck me, Arnold! fuck me, darling!-the words were already forming in my mouth-when all of a sudden he broke free of me and ran off to his room, crying like a baby. "What the fuck" I said to myself, and I tried to think of what it was he had been trying to tell me, but I couldn't; I hadn't heard a word of it. As soon as he was gone, I sat down in a chair, yanked up my skirt and slip, and had an orgasm almost as soon as I touched my cunt, I was that hot. Then I staggered to my room and went to bed with a terrible guilt conscience. It was obvious that my nymphomania was getting out of hand.
" 'Well, you know the rest, Father. This morning I jumped up right in the middle of a pick-up, and here I am. It would probably have been wiser if I had gone ahead and let that stud fuck me before I came here, because to tell you the truth, Father, telling you all this on an empty cunt, as I might say, has got me very much in heat. It's not a thing I can help, Father, it's just the way I'm put together. I'm sure God would understand, if...'
"That's when I heard Father Bear start grunting, trying to keep quiet but not succeeding altogether, and I also heard splattering sounds-splat! splat! splat!-up against the partition. I said to myself: 'Well, I'll be goddamned if Father Bear isn't getting his rocks off!' I peeked through the grating and sure enough, there he was, all hunched over, milking his cock, shooting cum all over the confessional. I just knelt there while he finished busting his nuts, not knowing quite what to expect next. Pretty soon he stopped panting so loudly; a minute or so later a piece of paper fell through the grating. I picked it up and read-it was written in a very shaky hand, almost illegible- Grand Hotel, room 207, tonight, 9:00, please. That was all. I left the church, feeling much better, having unburdened myself, somewhat less horny, having frigged myself, and much wiser, having discovered that priests have cocks and balls like other men.
"Needless to say, I 'went shopping' again that night, and at a few minutes before nine knocked on the door of Room 207 at the Grand Hotel on Datura. I was damned proud of myself, to tell you the truth, girls and boys, catching myself a priest without even trying; I wondered what effect I would have on the Pope. I was looking forward to a good fuck, too, because this Father Bear, I figured, had a pretty nice bod underneath all that shit they wear-I knew he had a good sized cock on him, because I'd seen it. I was wearing a dress similar to the orange one, only black instead of orange, and this time I didn't wear any panties, because my cunt hair didn't show quite so much through the black mesh as it did through the orange, and instead of wearing underwear from the house-the slip and all that-I just put on an overcoat. But standing there at the door of 207, I took off the coat and pulled the top of the dress off my shoulders so that my tits bulged out and were bare damn near to the nipples. I was just thinking that maybe I should try a bishop first before tackling the Pope, when at last the door opened a crack, and the bloodshot eyes of Father Bear peered out of the gloom.
" 'Father Bear?' 'Sh!' he says, reaching out and grabbing me by the arm; 'come in! quick!'-all this in a very sneaky, frightened voice, don't you know. I said: 'Shit, Father, we're not...' and he hissed: 'Do not call me Father] my name if . . . my name is Anthony.' 'OK, then, Tony,' I said; 'we're not plotting to overthrow the Church or anything, you know; you really shouldn't get so shook up over a piece of ass.' He kept glancing around the room, as if somebody might be hiding in the shadows, watching us. He wasn't wearing his habit, just trousers and a sport shirt; I backed him up against the bed, shoved my cunt against his crotch, and started unbuttoning his shirt, but he grabbed my wrists and said: 'No! wait! First, let us pray.' I don't know, maybe he wanted to thank God for sending him a piece of tail, like saying the blessing before you eat. I figured, well, that's a priest for you, isn't it? And I got down on my knees with him beside the bed. He folded his hands, mumbled a lot of shit in Latin, turned to me and said: 'All right; go ahead.' I said: 'Go ahead?' 'Tempt me,' he said. Tempt him? I thought; what the fuck? He added: 'Try to arouse me; ravish me; rape me; do anything you like; I will remain passive, as I have promised.' 'Promised?' I said; 'promised who?' He said: 'Whom.' I said: 'Huh?' He said: 'God.' I said: 'Oh.'
"I got up and walked to the window, wondering what I'd gotten into; I'd never been challenged like that before. I mean, either they want to fuck or they don't, right? what was this passive shit? So I said that; I said: 'Look, Tony, do you want to fuck me or don't you?' He was still kneeling beside the bed; when I said that he got the most pitiful expression on his face, and he said: 'Please, don't be cruel to me. This is the first time I.. . That is, I've never ... If you want to leave, I'll understand.' The poor guy was scared to death. I said: 'You mean you're cherry?' He hung his head. At that moment a very strange emotion came over me; it seemed familiar somehow, this feeling I was getting, but at the time I didn't get the connection; I only knew that I felt very sorry for poor Tony Bear, and I wanted very much to please him. It was more than that, though: I was strangely aroused by his passivity, by his fear of me. I went over to him and hugged his head, pressing his cheek against my cunt. 'There now,' I said, 'everything's going to be great; you just leave everything to me.' He hugged me around the ass, sobbed a few times, I think, and I thought I heard him say: 'Mama, Mama!' I didn't know why at the time, but that got me so goddamn hot, I began to tremble, so help me. I wanted to do something lascivious, something obscene, something very very indecent and lewd-it was similar to the way I felt that other night when my blonde trick undressed me in the parking lot-remember, I said I would have fucked him under the street light? I was feeling something like that now. He wanted me to arouse him, did he? Very well then, I said to myself, let's see what we can do.
"I lifted him up and said: 'Come on now, you just lie here on the bed and relax; Mama's going to take care of everything.' When I had him stretched out on his back, I returned to the window and opened the blinds; Tony didn't seem to notice this: he was staring at the ceiling. There was a party going on in the adjacent building-the windows were very close to this one-and I waited until some of the people saw me before going back to the bed, which was in plain view of those in the other building. I wanted to be seen, not just by Tony but by as many people as possible; that made it dirtier, don't you know. It only took a few seconds for the window across the way to fill up with faces-men and women alike.
"First, I bent over the bed and unbuttoned his clothing, shirt and pants. He let me remove his shirt willingly enough, though he still stared up at the ceiling instead of at my tits, as I intended him to; but it took a little sweet-talking to get him to loosen up enough for me to drag his pants and undershorts off. Lying there naked, he seemed to blush all over-turn as red as a lobster. And he didn't even have a hard-on. That didn't discourage me, however. I gave his limp prick a kiss and got up on the bed with both feet, standing up, right at his feet, facing him, my profile to the window-viewers. 'Look at me, Tony,' I said; 'I'm going to strip for you, honey. I want you to watch.' Finally, he fixed his eyes on me. I stood over him with my feet spaced well apart, threw out my chest, and reached back to unbutton my dress. Tony was in such a state, he didn't even hear the whistles and squeals from the other building; I heard them, though, and I loved it! I lifted my skirt slowly up to my belly and did a few grinds for him. 'See,' I said, 'no pants. Like my pussy?' He stared at it, motionless; I ran my fingers through the hair and glanced down at his cock: it was beginning to stir.
" 'This is like that dress I told you about at confession this morning, except it's black,' I said. 'Doesn't hide very much, does it?' He just stared. 'Do you think my tits are too big to wear a dress like this with no bra? My nipples stick out through the holes, don't they? Do you think I have a nice bust?-oh, but let me give you a better look.' And I pulled the dress up to my armpits. 'There, is that better?' I gave my tits a few shakes, which brought a wow! from the window and which made Tony's prick start to straighten out. Somebody yelled: 'Take it off!' so I did.
"I said: 'Give me your foot,' but he didn't move, so I bent down and lifted his left leg by the ankle. I pressed his instep against my crotch and rubbed my cunt on it, spreading my legs and bending my knees, making my ass roll up and down, my tits jiggling and everything, getting his foot all wet with my pussy juice. Then I slid the foot on up over my belly to my tits, rubbing his toes over the nipples and spreading the warm cunt leakage all over my bosom. Ah! that was fun. By that time his cock had risen up off his balls and was standing up, all thick and stiff, a drop of amber at its tip. I got down on my knees, with my ass to the window, and licked up that little drop. I told him I was going to give him something he would never forget. 'But first,' I said, seeing how he was staring at my breasts, 'take a few sucks on these;' and I straddled his waist and ' dangled my jugs in his face; but he wouldn't suck. He wouldn't do anything, this bastard; but he didn't push me away, either, and I could tell he liked those big tits rubbing him in the face, so I kept it up for a while before going down on him again.
"This time I didn't turn my butt to the window but straddled his neck in the 69 position, my boobs on his belly, his cock in my mouth, and my cunt in his face. He wouldn't eat me of course-he had made that stupid promise not to respond-but he couldn't prevent his hot breath from blasting into my cunt, and he couldn't stop his cock from jerking and throbbing against my tongue. I cupped his balls in my hands and took the head of his prick right into my throat-I knew how to do that in those days; it would probably kill me now. Hee, hee!
"Well, anyhow, while I was sucking him off and listening to the response of my audience in the other building, I was rubbing my cunt and my ass all over Tony's face, and once my clitoris happened to pass over his nose. Wow! did that give me a thrill! I found it again and started frigging myself in earnest on the tip of his rather pointed nose, my lips and hips moving at the same tempo. Oh, Christ! that was good: I could hear my juices bubbling in his nostrils, and my spit was dripping down all over his balls, and I kept thinking of the view he was getting of my asshole and my cunt and how this looked to the people in the window, my head bobbing up and down, my lips wrapped around that big thick prick, my ass jerking and jumping, my tits bouncing and bulging against his belly-oh, it was just too much for me: I felt myself going into an orgasm such as I had seldom if ever experienced before. It was something about the way he just lay there and let me take him, 'ravish' him, as he said. He was so passive that when he started to shoot also, it gave me a shock-and a thrill, too! Wow! I thought; I've made him come! He shot such a load down my throat I thought I'd choke to death! Jesus Christ! I had sucked a lot of dicks before that, but I don't think I ever had one shoot that much cum into me before! His orgasm lasted almost as long as mine did, and when it was over I collapsed on him, unable to move; I was drained, exhausted. My ears were ringing so that I hardly heard the applause from the window, and even Tony's words seemed to come from a great distance-but of course that's probably because he was speaking into my cunt. Hee, hee! Yes, he was speaking at last, and not only that-he was hugging me around the butt!-hugging my bare ass very tightly and saying: 'Oh, Mama, Mama!' into my dripping cunt."
Here the old woman paused briefly to inhale upon a joint of marijuana, one of the many which had been circulating through the group. She held the smoke in her lungs; she smiled down at the bald man; this bald man (we trust the reader has not forgotten him- had one hand on one tit of the sandy-haired girl who sat between his legs and the other (hand, not tit) was between her legs; his cock, moreover, was pressed against the small of her back; her hands (those of the girl) were between the legs of the tow-headed boy, and she was manipulating his prick with a leisurely stroke; she (the old woman) went on: "Well, girls and boys, the sun will be up in a minute; I'd better cut out the details and just say that that night in the Grand Hotel was the beginning of my affair with Father Bear. Affair with Father Bear. Hee, hee! That rhymes, doesn't it? Well, anyway, this affair only lasted seven days; the first six were very much like the one I just described to you-Tony just lying there like a dead man, me doing all the work. Nevertheless, we did everything imaginable in that time: I had his dick in my mouth, my cunt, and even my asshole, and every time he shot off like a bazooka. It was only on the last night that he came to life and fucked me like he meant it. Wow! did he ever throw it to me! But-it's funny-but somehow I enjoyed it better when he played dead. The next morning they found him dead, and I was out of a lover-temporarily. Oh, I still went out, and scored almost every time, too; but it wasn't the same any more; something was missing; I had really gotten hung up on that priest, but I didn't really understand my own feelings, until one night about a week after Tony's death.
"I was sitting in the living room watching TV; little Arnold was in his room practicing his violin lesson-he was really very good, Arnold was-at the violin, I mean. Well, all of a sudden I heard this horrible, sour note, and the practicing stopped. I listened; it sounded like a scuffle was going on in his room. I got up, went to his door, and said: 'Arnold?' No answer. I opened the door and looked in. There he was, the poor little thing, lying on the floor, his shirt on and his pants down around his ankles. I said: 'Arnold! What happened!'-But in that moment, as I said that, as I looked down at him, at his little dick, which was stiff as a board, everything I had felt that other time, when he had come running out of the bathroom, all that came back to me, ten times as strong, and all at once I realized why I had felt the way I did toward Father Bear: he was a substitute for Arnold, my own son! I was a mother to him, the same as I was to Arnold! It was him I really desired, above all other men! That skinny little boy . . . !
"Well, I got so carried away, I hardly knew what I was doing. I let my house robe fall open-I was wearing nothing underneath it-and dropped to my knees beside him. Instead of helping him pull up his pants, I yanked them off of him! He cried: 'Mama! what are you doing?' I said: 'There, there, now, my poor little boy; tell Mama all about it. Let Mama kiss it and make it better!' And I went down on him, so help me God, my own son, I took his dick in my mouth and started giving him a blowjob! He yelled and screamed, but I held him down. I said: 'There now, honey, don't worry, you don't have to do anything; Mama will do it all; you just relax and Mama's gonna give you something you'll never forget!' and went back to sucking him off, straddling his face, rubbing my hairy cunt against his mouth, my tits thumping his belly, just the same as that first night with Tony; but just when I was about to come-using his sharp little nose on my clit-the little bastard wiggled out from under me and ran screaming from the room!
'I felt so miserable-well, it's indescribable, what a mother feels at a time like that. If it hadn't been for Alice, I might have done what the priest did and-oh, but I must tell you about Alice. You see, she had been hiding under the bed all that time, watching. Later she told me about it: she had tried to rape Arnold, too, and had just gotten his pants off, when she heard me coming and ducked under the bed, telling Arnold that if he ratted on her, she would tell me about him peeking in her window one time. Now, ordinarily, I mean, if I had been in my right mind, all this would have come as a terrible shock to me: finding out that my son was a peeping torn and that my daughter, whom I had thought was innocent and pure, was apparently becoming a nympho just like her mother; but I was so hot for that kid, it all just sort of passed over my head, and I was thankful for Alice's sympathy, even if she was a slut. What happened next was totally unexpected.
"But let me go back a minute to the time that Arnold ran away, Alice came slithering out from under the bed, stark naked; she put her arms around me, weeping, and said: 'Oh, poor Mama! I know just how you feel! I've tried and tried to get him to fuck me, but he won't! He looks in my window and gets me all hot and then he won't do anything! It's just awful, Mama! Now I can tell you all this because it's the same with you, isn't it, Mama?' and I said: 'Yes! yes! God! I don't know what's the matter with me! When I saw his little prick sticking up there like that, I just-well, it was as if my mouth was drawn down to it, like . .. like . . .' And she started panting, and one of her hands was on my tit, and her naked body looked so beautiful to me, and she saw me looking at her silky little pussy, its lips all red and swollen with lust, and she said: 'Like what, Mama?' and I said: 'Like this!' and she opened her lovely thighs to receive my head and opened mine to receive hers, and we began lapping each other's cunts like a couple of... !"
At this point someone interrupted the old woman with these words: "How did Father Bear die?"
"Oh," said the old woman, "didn't I tell you? He hanged himself in his confessional with a string of rosary beads."
"Let's fuck," whispered the sandy-haired girl into the ear of the bald-headed man.
But at that moment he, this bald-headed man, had heard a bell; a cold chill went up his spine. He did not answer the sandy-haired girl, he stood up, he picked his way through the people gathered there, he crossed the little plain of rubble that had been the park, entered the remains of Clematis Street, headed west, and disappeared gradually into the early morning mist and the shreds of smoke which still hung motionless among the crumbling bones of the city.
