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From: "Allison George" <allison_george@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASS} On Gatsby's Death (Hopper Collection Story)
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NOTICE: This story contains descriptions of sexual activity that should not
be read by anyone under the age of 18. An Edward Hopper painting as part of
the contest posted to ASSD suggested the theme of this story. The painting
can be viewed at the following site:
http://www2.iinet.com/art/20th/american/hopper/hopper08.jpg
Any comments that the gentle reader has should be directed to me at:
allison_george@hotmail.com
My lawyer wants me to advise all readers that this story is copyright under
17 USC Section 102. Permission is given to download a single copy of this
story for the purpose of reading it off line. Permission is also granted to
archive the text in its entirety on any non-profit web site. Any other
distribution including posting of this story to a commercial web site
without the author’s permission is strictly prohibited.
On Gatsby’s Death
By Allison George (c) 1999
- I just heard the awful news Pru. God, will he ever be missed!
- Lindy, I don’t know who’s going to replace him. There’s not a fellow in
the group that will be as much fun. He had the joie de vivre about him;
nothing really mattered at all, except that we should all have a good time.
- I was just over at the mansion last Saturday afternoon for the tennis
match. I couldn’t stay on for the party that evening; Joe and I had theater
tickets, which he didn’t want to give up. If I had my druthers I would have
been back out to the Island in a snap.
- You probably were better off missing it. There was the most terrible row
and I think it had something to do with his death.
- What happened?
- Well it was all the blonde-bobbed little bitch’s fault.
- You mean Daisy?
- That’s right, Daisy Buchannan, that little trollop. She’s never come
across a stiff prick that she hasn’t wanted to suck dry! Well he knew this
of course but still couldn’t keep his hands out of her pants. I really don’
t think that any man can. There’s something about her pouty lips that gets
their oil running.
- Everyone knew that of course. Before she tried to settle down with Tom
she was well known to take on all comers. There was that weekend that she
went to visit him up at school and she had a fling with his roommate while
Tom was playing in the big game. Underneath the football stadium no less.
- She came late to the party, it must have been about eleven when she came
in the door. I tell you she was so drunk that it was a chore for her even to
stand on her own two feet. She was with that new fellow, Teddy Wilson.
- Oh my, but he is such a dreamboat. Whatever would he see in her?
- The same thing that all the others do. Nothing but a quick chance to dip
the wick. As she came further into the room, I could see that she was
really in bad shape. Her dress was unbuttoned and one of her stockings was
torn. There was a speck of white stuff on her cheek; I don’t even want to
think about what that was! She marched straight up to Gatsby and started in
on him, asking why she wasn’t good enough for him. He tried to calm her
down, but it didn’t work. When he went take her arm to escort her out, she
let him have it, a slap across the face. The sound reverberated through the
room, immediately silencing everyone.
- You can’t be serious. She hit him in front of all those people?
- That wasn’t the worst of it. She then ripped her dress open; popping off
a couple of buttons that shot across the floor and started yelling at him.
It was truly scandalous. There she was bare-breasted, her garters weren’t
even fastened, accusing him, of all people, of being a phony. Something
about a group of bootleggers in Michigan. I think it must have been the
alcohol, she certainly wasn’t making any sense at all. She got this crazed
look on her face and standing not more than a couple of feet from him, she
cupped her breasts and asked why these weren’t good enough for him.
- The nerve of her!
- Were that only the end of the story! She turned to Teddy and said that he
had really been swell that evening, filling up her quim to overflowing. She
turned back to Gatsby and told him in no uncertain terms that he was never
man enough to service her needs. I think her exact words were, ‘I’m glad
that I’ll never have to suck on that prick of yours again, all it does is
offer promise but no reward!’
- You can’t be serious. That’s what she said?
- Yes, her very words. As you might imagine that brought the party to a
swift conclusion. Gatsby grew quite pale and told the band that they were
excused for the evening. He thanked us all for coming, saying he was
suddenly very tired.
- Terrible, just terrible.
- Yes, I know, then to hear that he died. I don’t know about you but I’m
suddenly not hungry any more. Let’s go across the street and get something
to drink. I could use a martini right about now.
--
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