A Matter of Love in da Bronx (45 page)

--Ohhhh! That sounds divine! Just...orgasmic!

Sam moved furniture to screen the shop's doorfront from the rug and pillows he spread out before the worktable. Mary had taken off her shoes, and, kneeling, set napkins and chopsticks at their places, then opened the white, angular boxes setting them in a neat circle in the center. The delight showed on Sam's face as he came into the nook, put his hands together, and with great ceremony bowed low several times. He kneeled to remove his shoes and socks. He crawled to his cushion, taking it gingerly, avoiding Mary's eyes, as he understood this to be the Oriental manner. Mary became quite somber, though pleased with the performance just begun. She too bowed obsequiously in response.

--How is Honorable Master's day with the rigors of the world?

--Hard. Very hard. That is not complaint. That is bragging.

--It is easy to conceive in that manner.

--No! No! You should hide your face behind a fan, and pretend big blush!

--Of course! Would Honorable Master care for egg roll?

--Would Honorable Mistress care to get laid?

--Hot food is best hot to take care of at moment. Anticipation of Hot Hots brings heightened joy.

--Compared to my long-steeping anticipation a fall from Paradise would be mere step.

Mary slowly moved her hand towards Sam's knee, rubbing it slowly, further down its inner side.

--Patience, my love, I can barely wait, but we will come to it soon.

Sam looked upwards, rolling his eyes. At the sight of the blazing neons, he shut them.

--Damn! I should've remembered to bring candles.

--Why? To see the way?

--Yes.

--Ah! Yes! Just like a wedding night.

They ate slowly, speaking very little, smiling knowingly at each other. They offered to each other bits, pieces and chunks. They took tea ceremoniously. After an appropriate number of gestures, they would lean forward to taste of the other: soy sauce, sweet and sour, warm in the mouth. Then, though it seemed hours long to each other, with much uneaten, they clasped hands and pulled one to the other, boxes aflying beneath them. His arms went about her hard as their lips sought out the ecstasy they so thought about. He slid easily above her, his erection held hard in his pants, pushed into her Venus mound, her legs instinctively grappling at his body, urging his buttocks into her.

--Come into me! Come into me! Sam! For God's sakes! Come into me! To be with you for a moment, or forever. We must be together for always.

--I know. Don't kiss me too hard, too long. My bus is coming. Too bad it's not us.

Hold me! Hold me, Dear Love! Hold me in your heart. Hold me in your thoughts. Hold me for eternity or my soul will perish with anything less.

Benumbed, his mind whirled.

--Mary! Mary! I want you so badly! Let me have you! Let me have you!

--Put it into me! God! Sam! Put it into me! She struggled awkwardly to free her arms, to pull up her skirt, to hook her thumbs under her panties.

After several false starts of trying to undo his zipper with one hand to release his throbbing organ, Sam pulled himself to a kneeling position, and slid his pants open. He reached in scorching flesh to flesh.

Mary arched her back, ready to tear off the tricot hymen.

Skyrockets exploding arced through their minds as the moment of contact drew near.

But the rapping was a nightstick on the front door.

--Blamm! Blamm! Blamm! Yo! In there! Anybody in there?

Astounded, Sam jumped up closing himself, and then turned to the front door.

Cop. Peering. Anxious to see.

--Hi! What's up?

--Boss is supposed to be away. Saw the light. Just checking...

--Yeah. You're new on the beat. Your partner in the car knows me. I work here. Just trying to get a bite.

--Yeah. Don't eat too much. Evil smile.

--Sam, I really have to go. Perhaps it's just as well. But, I can tell you one thing. This weekend, Friday or Saturday, I don't know which yet, but whatever comes first, we're going to get into that room, and flush the key down the john. I'm sorry. It's so late. I haven't another second. Are...Are you...going to be okay? You know...?

--Yes. I know.

--Do you want me to . . .?

--Do you want me to . . .?

--That's not the way I want it the first time with us. No ride on the hand tram. I asked you because boys...you know...they can hurt..."

--It does.

--Will you...?

-- No. I don't care how long. I'm waiting for you, for us to be together. Will you?

--No. It won't bother me any more than my missing you. Sweetheart, I love you so much...!

--How I love you! So, you're more than just on my mind. I'll, you know...think of ...tomorrow. What about you?

--And I'll lie in bed, and feel the blood pumping at me down there... If anything comes on it'll be because I'm thinking of you; wondering what it's going to be like. I can tell you this: I'm going to undress and step into the shower. The minute that water hits my tits, I'm going to collapse in a heap in the bottom of that tub. I'm going to come for fifteen minutes with your name on my lips for every moment.

--Mary, I adore you, I'll do anything to be with you for a moment, or forever. We must be together for always.

--I know. Don't kiss me too hard, too long. My bus is coming. Too bad it's not us.

Hold me! Hold me, Dear Love! Hold me in your heart. Hold me in your thoughts. Hold me for eternity or my soul will perish with anything less!

SUCCUBUS. Phyllis. She drew up before Sam out of the slow-moving, thick mist, the thin light of the hidden moon dramatic in the chiaroscuro on the levels of her face. Yes, it had to be her, even through the gauzed air. He recognized the lips. Shaped nicely, yes, but full, and soft, and... And something so in them that made them overly fascinating. Where was he? Following her. Where were they going? Searching through the grey sponge of his mind he understood they met in front of his home. Yes, she was waiting for him as if by invitation. He walked the walk of the full and weighted Gonadian.

--Come! Come! Sam. There is a problem. If you be meeting what I need, the same time we be doing one for you, too. Friends, Sam, we can be good friends to each other. I have Coke and chocolate chips what I brought home. Come, Sam, come to my room.

--No. I mustn't.

--Just to show you. I'm so proud of what I do.

--I'm sure. I hurt.

--I know. That all right. You just a bit ago left Mary. That all right. I understand. I understand bout you and Mary. I do good.

--Thank you. I don't want to hurt your feelings. Maybe some other time.

--There no better time than right this second, Sam. When you like that. Look! This my room. This what I make it like. Took a long time cause I do little bit by little bit all by myself. I sew everything, and fix everything, and make it like I see in the magazines. You the only one I let come in here, Sam. You the first to see. Do you like it, Sam? Did I do good?

It was a doll's house room. The centerpiece was a massive turn-of-the-century four-poster, handsomely carved, complete with tester carrying a wide-bordered pleated drape. The pale blue and white French provincial pattern was carried over to the bedspread, the curtains, and the upholstery material. Handbraided rugs in pastels covered the floor, the pattern repeated on wall hangings. A rocker, chairs, tables were painted to blend into the decor.

Eyes wide, Sam put his hand to his mouth as he took in detail after detail.

--It's...it's just lovely, he heard himself say. What a haven.

--Let me make you comfortable. You love it even more.

--No. I must go. Ulysses! Lend me your wax! Bind my eyes! Lash me to the mast!

The lights came down to surrender his senses again to a murky porridge. She struck a match. The moment she lit the kerosene lamp and replaced the dusty rose shade, the scent came to him of Trailing Arbutus. With it, he lost his care for any other world. She came to him, locking her eyes on his, saying nothing, saying everything. She led him to the side of the four-poster. His resolve defeated. He felt himself going back, going back, going back. He filled the bed, catty-corner, his left leg off the side just above the floor. His flesh was covered only with the sensuous air, anticipation dressing him in goosebumps. He closed his eyes, settling deep into the eider down, and cut free his last thought of resistance as he felt fingernails hot as a welder's arc trail upwards from his little toe, her other hand moving from his pinky toward the fuzz under his arm. His mind tried to follow first one hand, then the other only to feel them both at the same time seemingly at his breastbone. Sifting through sensations he recognized the warmth of breath slackening his sack, distending it, aware of the tortuous movements therein, easing slightly their trumpetings, but firing the flesh above in his sex organ with thunderous booms of blood. He wanted to concentrate on the rising of the Giant Sequoia. Then pain sparked from his buttocks as she gave tiny pinches to make his stomach muscles spasm. The next instant, he discovered a strange sensitivity in his tits, stroked so lightly he could detect the whorls on her fingertips. What's that! What's that? Oh! Lord! He plummeted through sensations to finally understand she so softly, undetected, has taken the head of his penis between her cushiony lips searching out its secrets with the tip of her tongue: its orifice, its corona, its fusebox where it all came together on its underside. The dartings, here and there, like a tattoo needle, inciting a sheet of responses. His breath became shallow and rapid, saliva near overflowed from his mouth, arm and leg muscles cramped. He became familiar with the sensation of nearly passing out as she brought him further and further over the precipice of ecstatic astral consummation. Wildly fascinated, he felt himself participate as she stripped bare tiny nerve endings nipping each to bursting heat. Her tongue painted the length of his organ over and over with his pre-coitional. Diabolically, she knew when to freeze one action to start another, leading him higher and higher, closer and closer to the orgasm he so desperately didn't want. The fierce pain of containment was a much-too delicious an exquisiteness. Following a more quiet moment when she kneaded his ear lobes between her fingers, she suddenly sucked in the entire slippery length of his swollen penis. He felt it ram into the back of her throat. She just as quickly came off of it, leaving it rock-pipe hard and thumping, thumping. Again-again-again! He screamed in his mind. Without warning, she came to it again, this time crashing to the bottom sucking hard up and down rapidly before breaking off. Just below the surface, Sam felt the rumblings of his juices. Now it was beyond her control. He would come. But the thought was overtaken with stabbing pain as her knuckles bore into his ribs. He was not to get away so easily. Gradually, she pulled him out of the arena; stroking his body, licking his belly button, soothing him with sympathetic whisperings: Don't be in a hurry; feel it full; feel it good; let it surge through you; let me touch you, here, and here, and here; yes, lie back, we will be ready to go again...soon; it will be more delicious. Then, very, very gradually, she would begin over again, first with the fingernails, then soft-sucking the head of his penis, soon charging up and down its length. The slickery warmth, the contact, the driving thrusts made every muscle in his body quiver. She could no longer ease his agitation, and began what he knew would be exactly the trauma of a madman. There was a ticker-tape parade down Madison Avenue, a 21-gun salute on the Hudson, a fly-by of a skyful of jets, the New York Philharmonic playing "Stars and Stripes Forever," King Kong humping the Statue of Liberty, the Hudson River drained dry upstream, the pounding. The pounding was her middle finger punching his prostate gland. His head nearly touched his heels his body was arched so tightly.

--It's going to happen! It's going to happen! I'm going to come! I'm gunna come! Oh! Jesus! Suck me harder! Deeper! Faster! Oh!....Awwwwww! His cock was approximately three-feet thick, and seventeen feet long. He felt the length and breadth of it superheated by her steaming breath as she circled the base of it with her fingers squeezing it tight enough to make the organ feel like it was about to burst. He sensed it as a dirigible entering a hangar that she was bringing it deeply within her. Her soft, slick lips sucked to it up to the tip, hesitated a moment, then started down in a rush, her finger driving into his anus, the pistons moving simultaneously. The tempo increased suddenly, as her tongue lashed at the burning length of him slapping the tip of it, then squeezing his balls with the pain smashing his senses into super-ecstatic needle pricks as she sucked him harder and faster up and down and up and down and in and out and in and out. Holyjesuscrhristall-fuckingmightygod don't stop! Don't! Stop! Harder! Harder! Deeper! Deeper! Yahhhhh! The damn let go. He felt the semen explode from him like a block of cement. More! More! More! The blackness descending. Her lips felt like she was smiling--Mary! Oh! Mary! Ohhhh! Mary! I love you, Mary! Ohhhhhhh! Maaa--rrrrry!

--Yes, Sam! I love you, Sam! Yessam, yessamyessam! Yes! OhOh! Ohhhhhhhh...hhhhhhhh... Oh-oh! Gawwwwwd! Saaa-ham!

Incubus

SAM HURRIED to start a number six tack, to take two half-hitches around it with the monofilament he was using to close up the back of the arm chair, then to rap the tack home smartly clinching it. He snipped the line, replaced the curved needle in its box, and waited for the phone to ring. Mary. Lunch time is when she called. He leaned against the cutting table occupying his mind by scrutinizing his work on the chair. He cleaned up as he worked along, so he made a game of finding something he missed. There was nothing, not a thread, not a tuck, not an unsmooth line. He lips moved toward a smile, his own reward, as he acknowledged immodestly that he was a damn good mechanic. Now, if he could only find out how good a lover... He was surprised to see his hand shaking before he felt it. He held both of them out before him, damp palms down. They fluttered. His armpits were cool from the wet of his sweat.