David knew that Valerie took speed and amphetamine pills, and pleaded with her to let him have some so he'd get off his daily launching-pad a little faster. But she adamantly refused. "Oh no, baby. Lady-hookers can drop as many meth as they want and still do a gangbangin' business. But call-boys gotta stay away from it, because it shrinks their legal tender right down to a nubbin. Oh, it gets them real hot from the neck up, but that is not the name of the game, my dear."
To console him, Valerie presented David with his first taste of opium, in capsule-form; mainly because he'd be facing a rather special challenge that afternoon and she wanted to be sure he was ready for it.
"David, did you know that many of my men-clients pay enormous sums of money to see me making love to another girl?"
"Well hell, I don't blame them," he said. "If the other girl's as cute as you, I'd probably pay to see that too."
"Then you do see the logic in it," she went on. "Oversexed heterosexual men getting hot to see girls sucking each other."
"Oh sure… sounds wild. But what are you getting at? Will I be working with two girls today?"
She laughed. "Oh David, really! And I thought you were getting the point. There'll be a new woman-client here for you today…"
"All by herself? Not in a group?" he could hardly believe his ears.
"Yes, she's coming alone, dear, but wait a minute. Like those men-customers I was telling you about, she, too, is a voyeur. In fact, the only way she can be aroused is to watch two handsome young men having sex."
"Oh," said David.
"… and doing it as if they were absolutely oblivious to her presence. She'll be staring at you like mad-she always brings a dildo with her-but you boys must only have eyes for each other."
"Wow," said David.
"Your partner will be here at three. You'll engage in a sixty-nine session with him as if you love it. He says he hates it, but you'd never believe it to watch him work. You two will keep at it until she brings herself to a climax. After that you're off the hook. How about it, David-are you willing?"
"Yes," David nodded on-cue, thoughts of sugarplum Hazel-Harry-types flitting through his mind.
"Is your pill working?"
"I'm feeling very warm and… kinda thirsty."
"It's working," she said.
The boy's name was Richard, and they had a half-hour to get acquainted before their customer showed up. They remained fully dressed while chatting, never touching one another and discussing every facet of their trade except sex and desire. Richard was a tall dark curly-haired lad of twenty-six, his manner masculine, conformist and cool. Married, father of two, and also a Peninsula commuter.
"I work the late shift out at Ampex," he said. "And I do this modelling stuff two or three afternoons a week, and man, how it has beefed up our income. Got our house all paid for, bought a new freezer, and now I'm buying savings bonds. It's wild, man… and so damned easy! My wife thinks I go bowlin'. I told her all this extra money's an allowance I get from this rich uncle back East. She believes me because she loves me. And shit, I'm doin' all this just for her, know what I mean?"
"Sure," said David.
"How about you?" said Richard. "Married?"
"Oh yes."
Richard gave him a friendly grin. "It's the only way to fly, right?"
David nodded, returning his smile, finding Richard a quite likeable, average guy. "It can be very pleasant."
"Oh, but man… I mean to tell you I was nothing 'til I got married and made a home for myself. You gotta have roots in this dog-eat-bitch world…"
In another minute they were both talking about their kids, showing off the snapshots they each carried in their wallets. "How about those babies?" said Richard, his eyes going proud and misty. "Kinda makes it all worth while, doesn't it?"
"You can say that again," David said in all sincerity, feeling the pathos build.
Then it was five minutes before game-time and Richard said they'd better start peeling off their clothes, as this woman was supposed to walk in and find them on the bed already sucking each other.
"Ever go down on a guy before?" Richard asked matter-of-factly.
"Uh… no, not quite," said David.
"Well, I'll tell you something, I prefer handling men-clients, because that way I stay true to my wife, know what I mean? Don't really break any vows as long as I'm not gettin' hot with another girl. 'Cause the thing of it is, I actually hate having sex with a guy, but that way it works out great, because then I don't feel like I'm being unfaithful, dig?"
"Oh yeah, I'm hip," said David, his empathy for this boy growing.
They were naked now and coolly examined each other's equipment. "Jeez!" said Richard. "You're built big, huh?"
"You too," signified David.
"So, what the hell…" Richard shrugged philosophically, "two meal-tickets, right?"
"Right."
"And you really never sucked one before?"
"Nope."
"Well man, I'll give you a tip, just to start you off. Pretend it's a great big nipple on a beautiful girl and you can't get enough of her… see what I mean?"
Their wide-eyed client arrived, silent and intense and detached. The boys rolled out their tongues and went to work, and with a gasp, David knew at once that Richard frantically loved his avocation, whether he knew it or not.
As for David, he only gagged for a little while. And then thought about it later, wonderingly. Dickered with the idea, interactively. But then grew much too diversely busy with all sexes to know exactly what he felt about any of them. Yet, he had to admit that Richard had a nice one, symmetrically speaking, and that it had felt warm and companionable in his mouth. Probably the closest he'd ever come to blowin' a French Horn for a living.
As the days banged by, David began to wonder if he'd ever again enjoy the luxury of solitude. But apparently it was true, as Valerie so often said: "In San Francisco Nearly Everybody Reads The Gash Gazette." Yet, now and then he'd like to find time to read a book, see a movie, or have enough vitality in the evenings to play with his children. However, the monotonous quietude of suburbia was the perfect opiate to soothe his deflated-and often drug-deadened-nights.
"Another hard day at work?" Linda asked one evening.
"Yes," he nodded somnolently, "hard…"
"Well, that's what we're here for," she comforted him, "to contribute. But really, David, you could have told me about this new assignment of yours."
David gave a start, jolted from his lethargy. "What do you mean, dear?"
"Daddy and I had lunch in town today."
"Oh?" What the hell did that mean? Montclair had given him three months, and this was barely two.
"He told me about this new research-job you've been doing in the field, some sort of big insurance survey. He says it should prove invaluable to the company. Oh, David, he's really so fond of you, if only you'd give him more of a chance to show it…"
David sighed his relief. And realized it was best that Montclair should volunteer this bit of propaganda. If he wasn't showing up at the office every day, it was preferable that the boss himself should relay the phony reason, rather than wait and let Linda hear it from someone else. In six weeks he'd be faced with the Big Choice. Which would he choose, duty and conformity, or desire and liberation? Right now he wanted to maintain the whole paradox-curriculum just as it was: his home and friend-Linda by night, and the writhing tumult of Valerie's bedroom by day. Was there any chance he might be able to blend the two indefinitely?