A Matter of Love in da Bronx (37 page)

Ecstasy.

SECRET SANCTUARY. Secret talks about secret things. Their place for years. At the top of the stairs at Mary's house leading to the roof. Long, narrow, white octagonal tiled landing at the top of a milkwhite marble flight. Secret listening post for the comings and goings and chatter and exclamations and business of living for six families on three floors below. Secret place for smorgasbord of culinary odors. Repository of lost innocence, newfound knowledge. Secret scene for the engorgement of ignorance. Girl talk. Girl knowings. Body. Bodies. Sex. Always some sex. Lots of sex. Spoken in hoarse, hesitant whispers. Giddy. Giddily. Giddiness. Boys. Penis and balls. Tits. Swelling. Training bra? Train them to do what? Va-gina. CLItoris. Not cliTORIS. Mendis-menis-menu-Ah! Shit! Period. Comparisons: Psychological, emotional, physical, actual, demonstrated, known, guessed, supposed, imagined. Display. Displaying. Playing. Funny feeling. Happening. Sensation. Orgasm. Coming. Come. Fuck. Suck. Eternal question: 'What did your mother say when you asked her about that?' Swear words. The more mundane. School. Homework. Money. Then, just below sex, men. Mainly rich men. Also, clothes. Secret palace of peace. The secret code to go there was to "make a landing." Just them. Mary and Louisa. Closed corporation. Period. One could sit way back, at the far end, near the hinges to the heavy metal door leading to the flat, tarpapered roof, and not be seen by anyone on the landing below. They checked that out a long time ago. For kids checking out kids it was an effective hiding place. It seemed such an open space it deluded the adults into what could take place there. The girls made a discovery early on that a matchbook slipped to the door provided enough of a draft to suck out smoke from two cigarettes. A small jar of water, emptied later in the john, took care of the butts, especially when discovery was imminent. A coat, or blanket, or pillow took care of the other butts. This time they relied on the indoor-outdoor carpeting, Louisa sitting down a step with her elbow resting on the landing, where, if surprised with the smokes, would take the heat. Mary, cross-legged, close to her, back against the wall.

--Weezy! Love! I know what you're talking about now! I mean, we didn't do anything. We weren't there that long. Just standing in the doorway at Santini Moving, and was that a surprise seeing him. You know all the times you told me about...about being in love...

Lighting up, inhaling deeply, waving the flaming match before her face, interrupting with a cloud of smoke: --Never about being in love. Always about making love...fucking. There's a difference. I was never in love, just in love with fucking. So? You didn't fuck, no cherry pop, how can you know what I'm talking about?

--You know what I mean! You know! The feeling! I mean, kiss! Wow! What a kiss! I don't know where it came from, but it sure...it sure made me...it...

--...made you cream your pants.

--Yeah! Oh! Weezy! Let me tell you...!

--First, light your cigarette, and then have some of this. She unscrewed the top then offered the bottle. --This and love, even a lukewarm conversation about love, go perfect together.

Mary ignored both her cigarette and the Southern Comfort. --You know, I wondered about him when he refused to go upstairs to that room with me. You know, was he impotent, or a little gay, or a coward, or more worried about aids or his soul going to hell for fornicating. Tonight he killed the first two in a hurry. He got so big, and hard and hot. So hot I could feel the heat of it right through all the clothes up against my belly. Oh! It was so exciting. I mean, it got me so excited. That and the kissing, and his arms around me, his body so close to mine and wanting to be kissed like that by somebody for so long it all came like an avalanche. Ka-rash! I couldn't help myself, I made him touch me...you know...there--God forgive me I'll have to go to confession--and Weezy, I...I came! I actually had an orgasm. I didn't leave him less than an hour ago, and it still feels like I'm coming...

--Come on! For Christ's sakes!

--Well, you know what I mean. But, it was all so fast. When I do myself...

--...when you jerk off...

--Come on, Weezy, you know I can't talk like that, I'm just...a little bit prude, I guess. Anyway, it takes me a lot longer to make myself come, but here he had me making little moaning sounds in two-seconds flat! Does it happen even faster when...when two people are doing it?

--Oh! Shit! I need another drink! It was a fairly good belt. She passed the bottle to Mary. I gotta tell you, Sweet Girl. Sometimes I have to go on a helluva long ride to get the Roman candles bursting in air. Sometimes things just aren't right: not enough warmup, too much anticipation, he's too horny, and Orgasm City is in Nevernever Land. Then, I make him finish me off however he likes or wants to do it. Other times! Seems everything is just right. You get that feeling when pubic bone hits pubic bone that it's going to be a special one. That's when I give and take everything I've got. I know it doesn't really happen, but when he first comes into me, his pecker feels like it's as big as a thumb, then it grows as thick as his wrist, and finally it feels like he's pushing his knee into me. Even so, I have to adjust myself to him to ride him higher or lower until I feel the skin over my clit ride back and forth, then, Watchout! Blastoff Country! You know, we were asked to leave the motel last night because we were making too many sounds like we were enjoying ourselves?

--Is that why you're not seeing Lou tonight?

--Long story. First you. Another cigarette.

--Weezy, I want to know: Do you come...does anyone come any differently depending on how they come? Know what I mean?

--No.

--I guess I can't talk straight because this whole subject--don't say a word!--still embarrasses me even though we've been on the subject for almost twenty-five years. I mean, is there any difference in the orgasm one feels based on how one is made to achieve the orgasm? Would I enjoy coming better by masturbating, or making love with a man, or...you know...having someone...cunnilingus...!

--Well, I told you about getting a blowjob from a gal who came along with her boyfriend, but I was so stoned I don't remember what it was like. As for anything else, it's what you're used to. If you've been jerking off for twenty years, it's going to be a little disappointed to get fucked the first time and expect the Star Spangled Banner. It'll never happen. Then, if he's some kind of lover, and stokes the fire good, a little grinding and a couple jabs could do it. My experience? When I want to get laid, the guy I'm fucking is fantastic and I ride the cow over the moon. If I don't feel like, I might just as well be riding the cotton burro. I never jerk off anymore. You never can tell when you'll get lucky, so why waste it?

--So the answer to the question is?

--Keep trying. The next time's going to be better than ever.

--Is it any different standing up?

--You mean to work the whole thing out on your feet? Shit no! Only dogs fuck like that!

--But you can't get pregnant standing up, right?

--If I wrapped you in plastic...

--Yeah?

--...sealed you in a tank.

--Yeah?

--...put you in a tank of water...

--Yeah?

--...froze you into a solid block of ice...

--Yeah?

--...and you happened to scratch your ass while you looked at a star in the east...

--Yeah?

--What do you mean ‘Yeah?' You
know
what would happen.

--But suppose you both can't help it, and, you know...he doesn't have anything...! All right! He doesn't have a condom...a rubber! What do I do?

--For openers, pardon the expression; don't take off your pantyhose. And next, I'm taking you to the clinic Monday on our lunch break. In the meantime, here, you gotta pay me back or I'm in trouble at the end of my cycle. Fishing in the purse, out with the packet, snapping out a pill.

--Weezy, I can't. Suppose my mother finds them.

--You say like this, “I need them to regulate my period. I've been having troubles lately.”

--I can't lie to my mother!

--Who said anything about lying? If you don't take them your period won't be regulated, it'll be stopped by a pregnancy. ...unless that's what you want? She looked in the strangest turn at her friend.

--No, that's not what I want. It's just... It's just that I might be tempted to give in when I might otherwise say no.

--Mary, let's speak truth in capital, gold letters. The law can say you can't do it; the church can say you can't do it; your mother can say your can't do it, but when it's time for you to get laid, you're going to get laid. Jail, Hell, and chastity belts can't put an embargo on sex. Ask the Pope, the Queen Mother, the President of the United States if they jerked off when they were kids, and if they say they didn't, I give you permission to call them to their face a fucking liar. There's got to be a better way to deal with sex than what humanity's done with it. Don't ask me what's better, for all I know the best may be to give everyone so much sex when they're kids they vomit at the thought of it later on. Or, maybe some psychological saltpeter. Then, when someone comes up with the bright idea to prohibit intercourse between married couples unless it's to conceive a child, they'll have to go at it under duress. In other words, friend, no matter who you are, or what you are in this world, if it becomes available to you, you've going to have it.

--But he's the one who said no the other night!

--...and he nearly raped you in the doorway tonight, right? You know what? Give him time. He just has to get used to the idea. And, you know what else? I bet he's a virgin!

--No!

--Yes!

--At thirty-five, or so?

--At ninety-five or so!

--You know! I bet you're right! I gotta tell you...I offered to...well, I just felt it wasn't fair. I don't know about these things, but...I wanted to...do him.

--You mean, jerk him off! She blurted it out so it ricocheted up and down the stairwell. She covered her mouth laughing in gasps and gulps.

--Don't laugh! The problem was I wouldn't have known what to do! Then, I thought, he probably thought I went around doing that to every guy I met! Do you think he did?

--If he thought that, he would've first asked you for a blowjob better!

--But what if he said yes, I wouldn't have known what to do!

--Mary, don't be such a sadass. Any woman, to be a woman, instinctively knows how to jerk a man off. We just do. It's part of our guile. Our sixty-year-old maiden neighbor had some guy sneak into her bedroom one night, took her money and threatened to rape her. She pleaded her age. He said he'd take a hand job. She's never seen an erection. In two seconds she whips it out of his pants, and has him screaming 'Harder! Faster! I'm coming! I'm coming!'

--What if he says he wants a...a blowjob? What do I do? What happens?

--Argh! I can't stand that shit. Yeah, when things are hot and heavy, and I want to get it up for him fast it's okay. I can't think of swallowing that come. But, some gals, how they love the taste of cock. Can't get enough of it. After the first time you know most of what it's about. Some guys like it better than fucking because the tongue does wonders, and it's something few of them get at home. Whatever, do it like you love it, and he'll love you.

--He'll never ask. He's so shy.

--You want sex with him? Let me have him for an hour. You won't even have to guide it in!

--You're awful! Honestly! It must be the bottle!

--Bottle! That's plain lust! I just plain love it. I love to fuck. That's what makes my world go around. It's better than getting a new fur coat every day.

--Sounds like you rather...be doing something else instead of doing a sewing machine...

--You mean peddling my ass? Selling it? I gotta tell you, I thought about it. I could set up a place, and make a mint in a minute. But, you know what? It's like that ten minute Italian sauce...what do you call it?

--Putanesca.

--Right! Whore's sauce! Do you know why they call it whore's sauce?

--Because the whore's made it?

--No! How long does it take to cook good Italian sauce? Three hours? Four hours? Right! Ten minute sauce is whore's sauce because it's not the real thing! Just like the love they sell! People in love are supposed to fuck! Two strangers meet for ten minutes it's gotta be a fucking fake! And that's why I don't do it. Me? I love to feel the pursuit, the desperate, needful pursuit of me as his date. If I don't come across, he ends up the night jerking off. So he doesn't want to strike out. He's kind of careful not to push too hard too fast, but time comes, and he wants to. I feel his breath go up twenty degrees, then it turns to steam and I've yet to have two cigarettes. He gets the smell of pussy up his nose, and I know he's in pain because he can't stop his cock from swelling tight in his pants, getting tighter and tighter, and if it's not given it's freedom it'll strangle itself purple and drop off from gangrene. See? Right up to that moment, he doesn't know, and it's a very crucial time. Then, something I learned when I was ten, eleven. Tell the guy he's won the lottery before he's bought the ticket. Know what happens inside? Like and overfilled balloon? It happened once in a curious mood. Remember, as kids we used to think if a guy scratched your palm with his middle finger when you were shaking hands that it meant he was asking you to fuck? Come on! Do you remember? Sure you do. Not that we really knew what fucking was about, but it was mysterious, and dirty, and something fantastic. So, I scratched this kid's palm. You'd think I put a red hot poker up his ass! What a reaction! I've been doing it ever since. Try it. They may have forgotten it as child's play, but the second you scratch their palms with your finger, instant hard-on! Sex. That's life. And the shitheads in this world that say it's not do so only so they can profit by their tactics. There's just something that happens inside every creature on earth when they know they're going to get laid. Getting back to my date... so I stick my tongue in his ear, and whisper: 'I'm not wearing any panties.' Right then, he doesn't hold back with anything. Right then, he is mine, I am his. Right then, he loves me more than anything or anyone on earth. He goes on loving me if he has to wait four hours; just so long as he knows he's going to crawl in between my legs eventually. And, when he does! It's beautiful! It's making love. It's the way it was meant to be. And it's my way, for all of my life.