“Oh, hi,” she said.
He nodded. Blasé.
She held up a towel. “Do my back.”
He went, not hurrying, into the bathroom and did her back — she was softer than he would have thought. Down below, where he wanted to do her, but did not, she was whiter, bigger than he would have thought, and was probably softer.
“Do my bottom too.”
So he did, and she was.
“Do it good.” She spread her legs and reached around to feel him down below. “My.”
He — it was strange—enjoyed his embarrassment and reached around to cup one of her creamy cherry-tipped orbs.
“You nasty man!” She snatched the towel away from him and held it crushed to her body, above the waist, and spoke to him, but down below. “Should be ashamed of ya’self! Go stand in the corner!”
He knew she was kidding, but he left the bathroom, blasé, stiffly though, somewhat hobbled by his erection, and stiffly stooped down for the bouquet, in it a little envelope — this was something he’d worried about and wanted to get over with.
She came bouncing and jiggling out of the bathroom in her black pumps only. “For me! Oh, hon, ya shouldn’a!”
“It’s in the envelope.”
“Whut?”
“You know.”
After she counted it — he’d made it thirty — and she gave him a hug, a loose quick one because she had the bouquet in one hand and the envelope in the other, she stood back and stared at him down below. “My, my.”
Enjoying his embarrassment, but blasé, he offered her his flask. “Drink?”
“Now?”
“Not now?”
“Later, hon.”
He had one anyway.
“You’re bad as Rex. I gotta put these in water.” She went bouncing and jiggling over to the sink with the roses. “Take off your clothes, hon.”
This was something else he’d worried about and wanted to get over with and was why, because there was something funny about a man in underwear, he wasn’t wearing any. There was something funny too about an otherwise naked man in shoes and socks but he kept his on, not liking the look of the floor.
“My.” She had put the roses in a papier-mâché vase such as undertakers use and had set it on the end table by the couch. At the other end of the couch, the open end, she spread a towel. “Bring any safeties?”
“Oh, yeah.” He hadn’t forgotten them, he just hadn’t known exactly when he’d need one, and went over to the straight-back chair, to his coat. She helped him on with one, kneeling down to do it. “My.” She stood up and bumped her bottom into him.
“I better shut the door,” he said.
“No. That’s part of it.”
“How d’ya mean, Dora?”
She laughed at him. “Oh, nobody’ll come—’cept you, I bet.” And plopping down on the couch where the towel was, she raised and cocked her legs back so he could see her bottom very well, also the soles and heels of her pumps, and then, using both hands, her fingers pressing down and fanned out, she parted the hair at her crotch and the lips there. “See?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Move the light closer.”
He moved the floor lamp closer.
“See more now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What ya see?”
“You know.”
“Like it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Like it a lot?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Kiss it.”
He hesitated.
She laughed at him. “You don’t have to.” She put her legs down and cupped one of her creamy cherry-tipped orbs.
“Kiss it.”
He did.
“Suck it.”
He did.
“Now this one.”
He did.
“Double feature, huh?”
He raised his head—“Uh-huh”—and put it down.
“Betcha’d like another girl.”
He shook his head, not raising it.
“You’re sweet. I mean another girl and me.”
Silence.
“Two at one go, I mean.”
Silence.
“Wouldja?”
He nodded, not raising his head.
“Cost ya.”
He nodded, nuzzling.
“See whut I can do. That’s enougha that. Put it in.”
He and she did.
Silence.
“Grunt,” she said.
He did.
“Growl,” she said.
He did.
Silence.
“Dora, I don’t know how long…”
“That’s all right, hon. You’ll last longer next time.”
“Tonight?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“O.K.” O.K.!
“Not yet!”
He looked where she was looking, behind him, and seeing her—she’d been hiding behind the curtains in the closet thing and was naked except for brassiere and pumps — he panicked and pulled out of Dora and out of the condom too!
“Oh, shit!” Dora said, fishing for it.
Frances laughed at her and said to him, “Do me.”
He’d done her a little later, with Dora watching, and then, a little later, Dora again, but from behind, with Frances watching, and then, a little later, Frances from behind, but standing up, with Dora watching and making coffee. Before he left that night, remembering “Cost ya,” he asked, “What’s the damage?” And Frances said, “We’ll send you a bill at the end of the month.” A joke? No, and of course it was all Frances’s idea, he had received a bill at the end of August, in the mail, an itemized bill for services rendered, for Frances’s on the first night, for hers and Dora’s on the following nights. During that three-week period, at the start of it, he’d dropped in at the station only once in the evening, briefly, for condoms — a gross. To meet his expenses, he’d had to resign from the Christmas Club at the First National and dip — no, dig—into his regular account. The night he paid up (before Frances arrived), Dora, who was sitting on his lap, said, “I hate to set ya back so much, but it wouldn’t be fair to charge less for her.” “My pleasure, and I expect to pay for it. I enjoy doing business with you both,” said the tipsy, vicious youth with the wisdom of Solomon, improving on it by copping a feel. He was getting all he’d bargained for and more from both babes, as they were from him — they called him “Arm and Hammer.” There wasn’t anything the three of them could think of doing they hadn’t done, though at first he’d hesitated, but only at first, and now he really was blasé.
Then it all ended.
“Like a runny nose, that’s right, Dick, only it’s his penis,” said Father Zahn and, putting his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, asked Joe, “How long?” “How d’ya mean, Father?” “How long’s it been acting up?” “What? Oh. About a week.” Father Zahn repeated this over the phone. “Well, what’s the usual, Dick? I see. So football’s out. Can’t say I’m sorry, but On Wisconski will be. He’s been after the boy, which is why the boy had the nerve to come and see me. I’ll tell On something — pernicious anemia, maybe — anything but the truth. You know how he is. He had to get rid of another pup. ‘They’re never the same, once they get a taste of it.’ I wouldn’t exactly know. But the boy should definitely be fit in the spring? Good. Dash man — my best. Afraid so.” Father Zahn put his hand over the mouthpiece. “He asked if it was you, Joe. He’ll treat you right and this’ll all be strictly confidential.” Father Zahn repeated that part over the phone. “His folks mustn’t know, Dick. No, no, I understand the other party’s being seen to — parties, actually. No, he won’t give you their names, Dick — would you? Thanks, Dick. I know you will. And send me the bill. He’ll be right over.” Father Zahn hung up. “Well, you heard that, Joe. Dr Leonard’s expecting you. Physicians and Accountants Building. Better run. Oh, by the way, how long since your last confession?”