What was the point of going outside, when everything you wanted was inside? Gloria lay on the bed for hours after Paul left, waiting. Waiting for the sounds in the hallway. Waiting for her rapist' s footsteps. For a tap on the window, a scrape on the door. Waiting and not waiting. For there was no longer a reason to move.
I wouldn' t want him to speak to me, she thought. I never want to hear his voice. I wouldn' t even open my eyes. If only I could just stay here in the bed, stretched out naked and eager, and he would come in with his prick already stiff, and thrust it into me without touching my body, or even wanting me. If we could only have that between us, his fat cock in me, and not a word. And I wouldn' t want to know his name, or where he comes from, or the women he goes to after me.
I' d give him money, I' d feed him. He could sleep here, even not with me. If he could just get in me, rub me into life when it gets dark and hot in this room. Maybe he' s literary and I can sneak an ad into the Saturday Review – Girl on West 10th Street hunting for rare edition of obscure Scandinavian poem called, " Under the Stairway." Or Girl on West 10th Street lost first volume, looking for second volume of " The Quiet Party." Oh God, I' ll never find him and my cunt will rot in me. I' d like to kill him. I will. I' ll find him and I' ll kill him. Maybe an ad in the Villager. Girl on West l0th Street wants furnace stoked. Probably he can' t read. Can' t do anything but fuck, that' s why he' s so good at it. It doesn' t hurt me so much inside if I think of him. Maybe it' ll relieve my pain if I think of him and keep my fingers here against my clitoris. That' s a little better. I can' t stop doing it to myself. I' ll have to sit in art class with one hand stuck between my legs, and go to the movies and pinch this pit in me. It' s so small, so small… why should I feel it in my whole body? Why can I feel it in my toes and belly? Why do my nipples harden and my breasts swell when I touch it like this? I wish I could reach my cunt with my mouth. I could lie in bed like a cat with my tongue stuck in me. Probably I can buy something that feels like a mouth, or train a dog or a cat, a cat' s tongue is rough, or a horse or an elephant to suck me. Oh God, I' m coming. I' m coming. All alone. I don' t need him. I don' t need anyone. Coming in a flood. God help me, it' s worse. It' s hotter than before. Where is he? I' ve got a hot river inside me. Was there poison in his sperm, or some chemical that drives me crazy. He' s the devil… that' s why they warn us about the devil. He' s got a tail with a hook on the end of it. He' s scraped out all my sanity… I must take my fingers away. I must get dressed, and live. I' m caught. Trapped in my own cunt, and I can' t let myself out.
Somehow the sun set. It did so with the same rhythm it had all the other days of her life, suggesting that some people had gone to sleep the night before, and awakened for breakfast, and walked until lunch, and sat in the movies until dinner, and had two drinks at eight, and gone to bed at eleven. She wondered if she would ever sleep again, create again, or laugh, or sit in the theatre, or play the Mozart records that she had jealously collected.
Gloria turned on the bed and felt her hot face against the pillows. No, she was all right now… it was just one day of delirium. Some girls lost their virginity hard, and she was glad to be done with hers. If you ever did truly lose your virginity. If you ever did stop being a virgin for the first man who fucked you. He had fucked her. Not made love to her, or caressed her into womanliness. Paul had made love to her. She could not remember him very clearly. He was a prick without personality. And she thought of looking for faces in a penis, the way one looks for the face of the man in the moon. In subways, you tried to picture the faces hidden in men' s pants. Vaginas had no faces.
The phone rang abusively. That was the second time that day. The only two moments of sound she remembered. Was it him? That it might be was her only reason for moving from the bed, and her hips rolled to reach the receiver.
" Hello."
" Hi Gloria. It' s Janet."
" How are you?"
" A little bored. Would you like to go to the Art? They have a new Italian film about some beauty who doesn' t wear any makeup or underwear."
" No thanks, Janet, I have some work to do tonight."
" Work!"
" Maybe we can go tomorrow if it' s still playing."
" Gloria, you sound funny. Far away."
" I' m right here. I just feel a little introverted today."
" I told you to see my analyst. He' s wonderful. He says that if you feel introverted, be introverted. Just enjoy it."
" I am enjoying it."
" Oh, you don' t sound it."
" I am. I' ve been playing with myself all day. What does he say about masturbation after the age of consent?"
" Gloria!"
" That' s the way to beat introversion. Just climb inside yourself with your thumb and index finger."
" Don' t be disgusting."
" I agree. It would be better if you could reach yourself with your tongue. Cleaner too."
" Gloria, are you drunk?"
" No!" She wanted to scream at the girl' s cool, empty, analytical voice. " I' m just hot. Can you understand that? Have you ever been hot? Do you ever want your darling analyst to come over to the couch and say, ' Move over?'"
" I should say not," Janet sniffed. " You don' t understand anything about analysis. He' s like a father to me."
" Well then, didn' t you ever want your father to say ' move over?' To stick his big, thick cock in your tight pink pussy? I thought that was what the whole fuss was about."
" That' s perverted!"
" Look, Janet. Go see this Italian actress. Let her be hot for you."
" Well Gloria Hofstra! All I can say is that you' re a very sick girl!"
" I know. That' s all you ever say."
" Goodbye!"
" Janet, wait, wait a second. Janet, were you ever raped?"
" Certainly not. Rape is a masochistic fantasy. Only women who want to be raped get raped."
" Oh for God' s sake," Gloria said with exasperation. " Goodbye."
She moved out of the bed and saw the sloppy pile of clothes heaped on the floor. I should take a shower before I get dressed. I don' t want to feel all wet and then get dry and be clean, she thought incoherently. Entirely too much fuss about being clean. As if living is a sin and we wash off the traces of it every day.
She reached into the pile of clothes for her pants, and released the silk stockings from the garters. She pulled the silk panties up around her hips and felt the wetness of Paul' s sperm against her crotch and a little down her thighs. If only the wetness were from the rapist. His eyes had been like white milky sperm. Probably his whole body was filled with sperm up to the top of his head, and his prick was its only exit. So his whole body worked to explode in a woman.
Gloria fastened her bra blindly behind her back and slipped the coffee- colored sweater over her head. She stepped into striped gray and brown pants, tight around her belly and hips, and clinging to her rounded calves.
At least if I get out of the house, I' ll stop thinking about him. Maybe he' ll be in one of the bars. He might be along McDougal Street or Third Street. I' ll look in the coffee houses for him and the bookstores.
She walked down the four flights of stairs, stopping behind the stairway when she reached the bottom. There were a few spots of blood dried on the tiled floor. So ithad happened. She pushed the hall door open and felt the evening air against her face. She walked down 10th Street, heading towards Washington Square. Maybe he' ll be sitting in the circle, listening to the guitar players.
The park was alive with people. Young beautiful boys walked in pairs, their tightly blue jeaned legs outlining the curved space between their thighs and their bulging sex. Size was the absolute standard for gay boys. Size queens. And they so arrogantly pushed their ten inches of male- devoted pricks before them.
Walking at the side of the lovers, like precious children, muscled boxers and sleek Dalmatians sniffed at neighboring dogs. Even the dogs in Washington Square were faggots, sniffing with equal interest at male and female. One of the boys turned and looked at her and recognized her. His eyes were soft and pained like a poodle' s.
" Gloria, the most beautiful woman in New York."
" Hello, Jack."
" Honestly, honey, you make me want to go straight."
" Maybe we should try."
" Babycakes, set a date."
" Now, right here in the middle of the Circle in the Square."
" I don' t think Harry would forgive me."
" Bring Harry along. We' ll make a threesome."
" Gloria, I almost feel like forgiving you for being a woman. If you were a man, I could love you."
" You' re afraid once you get inside me I' d never let you out."
" My balls are too precious to share with a woman."
" Just think of yourself as a machine, a fucking machine that we use."
" Lovely."
" You know, nothing personal or involving about it."
" Jesus, baby. My jeans aren' t big enough for this kind of talk."
" They' re perfect," cooed Gloria." I like to know what effect I' m having."
" Look, darling, I' m game if you' d like to try. Threesomes really are a ball."
" Jack," she said, feeling the gnawing inside her that made the talking not a game, " I have to look for someone now. If I find him, he has preference. But stop by at 11 o' clock if my eyes aren' t good."
" Harry, too?"
" You know I wouldn' t leave Harry out of anything."
" Darling, he' ll be thrilled. You know, he used to make it with women, and every now and then, he thinks of them. It drives me mad. This might solve all my problems."
" Solve some of mine, Jack."
" What' s the matter, baby? You look as though your best friend fucked your other best friend."
" Just come at eleven. I wouldn' t be able to get through this night alone."
" Darling, I never knew you were so civilized."
She smiled grimly at him. " Do you know a man with white eyes?"
" White eyes? He sounds adorable. Can he come too?"
" If he comes, it' s a party for two."
" Oh, you mean he has characteristics other than white eyes."
" Yes. He has a beautiful huge cock."
" Gloria, please! I' m only gay… not perverted like other people."
" See you at eleven, Jack."
" With bells on."
" That' s original."
" Darling, you' ll clang."
" Eleven."
She watched his slim hips saunter away, so eager to deliver the surprising news to Harry. She thought of Harry' s sleek body. Oh God, if only they could help her. Harry had been a football star at Wisconsin. He had thick muscled thighs. That she had seen at Fire Island the summer before. The boys looked at him with hot awe, and this was Jack' s season. She hoped he had a big prick.
Gloria turned her head and looked at the couples – old ladies and turtle- necked aesthetes sitting on benches. Their voices droned on
… " Nothing' s been written since Harry James…"… " Joyce was the end of the novel"… " So I said to him, I' m no easy lay"… " I mean he' s a bore, and compulsively clean. Always picking things up after me." But no white eyes and no thick, cruel voice saying, " Just a quiet party."
She crossed the lane, stopping over the cement steps of the Circle in the Square. Some unshaven intellects were playing the guitar and singing Harry Chapin songs. They seemed contented and complete.
She sat and listened to them, feeling the empty space between her legs. She remembered the moment when he had pulled her paralyzed legs around his hips and his cock had been rigid before him. At least I excited him. He had wanted her desperately at that moment. He would have killed her had she resisted, and taken her dead. I would have felt it even if I were dead. Her tight cunt had tried to keep him out, but he had ripped into her, not feeling the impotent resistance of her flesh. Maybe I' m the first virgin he' s ever had. Maybe he' ll remember me. Maybe I' m a special lay, and my cunt throbs in a way no man has ever experienced. But he had left. With cold disdain. He had left with what he' d come for. Why hadn' t he wanted more? Why could men be satisfied and be left whole and separate? Why couldn' t they leave a part of their prick in you, and screw you viciously every night and morning to get it back? Why couldn' t one woman' s cunt be a maddening mystery to them? To keep them kneeling forever before you. They got on their knees like slaves, but got up like masters. As if they resented their need to fuck, and walked away free, till the sperm collected in them once again. What a lousy joke. What a miserable riddle, that they resented their need. And most resented having it satisfied. Yes, they called professional virgins cockteasers… but atease was the best part of their game. And a woman didn' t feel like that. Once a cock got in her – a big comfortable maddening one – she never wanted to let it out. It was like getting back a missing piece. Maybe women can do something to each other, since they all share the same defeat. I' ll try women if I don' t find him. I' ll try anything. There' s only one thing I want more than him in me – I want him dead. I must have my victory to live again. I' ll find him. I' ll kill him in me. So he can have his last gasping orgasm in me. An orgasm to last him for eternity. And he' ll lie in his grave with all the sperm shot out of him, finished.
Gloria stepped across the cement barrier and walked toward McDougal Street. He might be in El Remo, sitting with the junkies and asking if anyone knew where to get some pot. Conrad or Maurice may recognize him if I describe him. They know everybody who steps below Fourteenth Street. He' s as good as dead. I' ll buy a knife and keep it in my bag. I' ll exchange knives with him. See which cuts deeper.
El Remo was ablaze with lights. The jukebox was trembling with Ella Fitzgerald' s pained voice; its bright fluorescent lights bubbled in changing colors. Three boys leaned against the jukebox, worshipping the distant voice coming out of it.
Gloria pushed hard toward the bar. Everyone was balancing bottles of beer in one hand and a half- filled glass in the other. A beer could last all night. An uptown couple, the boy in Madison Avenue gray and the girl in an English tweed suit, were drinking martinis. A wandering artist offered to draw the girl' s portrait. For a beer, for the pleasure of studying that cool face. The boy said, " No thanks." No one was going to take him in. The girl, out of habit, out of confusion about who she was, flirted with the shabby demented artist. Girls like that had to see the same look in every man' s eyes. She was lovely and safe and arrogant and stupid and empty. A refrigerated cunt
… an automatic ice cube machine. The cooler they are, the harder they fall. Maybe ice cubes feel good against a prick. Soothing, like alcohol against a fevered brow. Lovely. All we have to do is freeze and we can live forever.
The girl looked at her, and her eyes gleamed with competition. She' s capable of a less aloof expression. But a man never sees it. They have no idea who she is. I know in a glance. We' re sisters. We' re both losing the game. But she doesn' t know that there' s no way to win. All you can do is not play. I guess she thinks she' s smart. But her score is blank. Mine was blank yesterday morning. I wish I could wipe it clean again. I' ll kill him. That' s how I' ll keep score; I' ll cheat.
Before she reached the bar, she saw Jules sitting half drunk in a booth. He had a dish of cold spaghetti in front of him. No one had ever seen him eat, and the bones in his face gave him a stark dramatic look. He caught her eyes.
" Gloria, out at this hour… come have a beer." That meant sit with him, but pay for your own.
" Have you seen Maurice or Conrad?"
" They' re trying to round up some pot," he slurred. " We' re going to have a party if they score."
" Any chance of scoring?"
" Yeah. There' s this guy who just arrived from Mexico. If he doesn' t have marijuana, he' s sure to have something."
" Christ, Jules, you should never have left the church. You even look like a Jesuit."
" I never left the church. The church left me."
" Jules, do you know a man with white eyes?"
" I don' t know anyone."
" Jules, please, I' m serious. I must find him."
" Why? Did he admire one of your paintings? You should never let an enthusiastic critic go."
" He never saw my paintings."
" Lucky chap."
" Don' t be a bastard, Jules."
" No, Gloria. You' re good in the best decadent tradition."
" Mercy."
" The bourgeoisie gets more paint on canvas than ever before in history. It follows."
" You don' t know anyone with white eyes?" she persisted. " He has a kind of a husky voice and a wide thin mouth, and he' s slim, wearing a black jacket, I think."
" He sounds like Hamlet."
" Help me," she said, and her eyes filling with tears.
Jules looked crestfallen. " Baby, what' s the matter? You know I' m not good when someone is depressed. I consider depression a personal assault on my male ego. If a woman is with me, she must be happy."
" Could you make me happy, Jules?"
" Well, I' ve always wanted to try."
" I think you' re going to get your chance."
" Hmm. Have you finished with that loser who drives a car as big as the Trump Tower?"
" Yes. I' m finished with him."
" I suddenly see something in your paintings that I never dreamed was there. Real feeling. Good old Bourgeoisie romantic feeling. Also, you look less like Joan of Arc every minute."
Conrad and Maurice pushed their way to the booth.
" Man, we scored. We scored. We blew some of this shit with this cat and it is too much. I am now in a heaven shared only by my erstwhile degenerate associate, Maurice le Clair. Come romp with me, you two earthbound people."
Jules' face lit up. His cheekbones glistened through his pale face. " Let' s go to my place."
" Gloria, are you coming?" asked Maurice
" Maurice, do you know a guy with white eyes?"
Jules shook his head with mock dismay. " The girl is a monomaniac. Maurice, do you know anyone who looks like Hamlet and has white eyes?"
" You are speaking," said Maurice, from his elevated high, " of my alter ego."
" Not to speak," added Conrad, " of the collected unconscious."
" You are both so educated, it pains me," said Jules, " right in my ass."
Gloria felt herself growing dizzy with the vacuum hidden in her. " Let' s go smoke some pot. I know I could use something."
Conrad smiled suggestively at her. " Between us, we have everything that you can possibly want."
" Ahh…" said Jules, " but have you got white eyes?"
" I' ll close my eyes and you can picture anything you want."
" But," said Jules, with his Jesuit precision, " there is a special attitude… a kind of white hot prick that goes with white eyes."
" I' ll match my prick against any man' s."
" Well, Gloria, you couldn' t have a more noble offer than that."
" Let' s go, Jules," she said. " They don' t allow fucking on the tables."
" Is this the dedicated artist of yesterday I see before me?" murmured Maurice.
" Look, do you want to smoke, or do you want to sit here and philosophize?"
" Psychologize, my dear."
" We are going," said Jules, seeing the frustrated fury in Gloria' s eyes, " to my apartment. From there, we are going to a land unknown to common man, or woman."
" It is fortunate that we are exceptional people."
They paid the bad- mannered waiter for Gloria' s beer and Jules' congealed spaghetti.
" The spaghetti was superb as always."
" The chef will faint with joy when I tell him," said the waiter with unreserved contempt.
" Shall we walk or taxi to heaven?" said Maurice.
" Let' s walk," said Jules. " The night air will cool our ardor."
" It won' t touch mine," said Gloria, with hopeless resignation.
" Your ardor isn' t supposed to cool. It' s supposed to mount as we wind our way to Horatio Street."
They turned up McDougal Alley and Gloria searched the bars as they passed. She walked between Conrad and Jules as they strolled past Sixth Avenue, then along store- lined Greenwich Avenue.
" Should we roll one now? This is an endless walk," groaned Maurice.
" No, let' s wait until we get to the house. The cops have learned how to smell tea."
They walked silently to the door of 92 Horatio Street. Jules stuck his key into the front door and they climbed the three flights of steps to his two room flat. He snapped on a lamp that cast a faint yellow glow over his couch. The room was otherwise dark, and the faint reds of a Modigliani nude glistened at them.
" Man, this is a cool place."
" My wife had excellent taste."
" Where is she now?"
" She ran off with a swimming instructor."
" Great taste."
" He swam like a bird."
" Let' s smoke like a fish."
Maurice took a discreet tin of aspirins out of his pocket. He flipped the lid open and a mound of greenish, brownish, yellowish tobacco curled in the box.
" Oh, what a beautiful sight. If only I could paint those spiritual weeds."
" Who' s got the paper?"
" Here, lad. Now roll."
Maurice separated a thin leaf of cigarette paper. He held it lovingly between his thumb and forefinger, as if it were the cunt of a fragile girl. He spilled the pot into the paper, and with his finger, leveled the tobacco. Then, with one more move, he twisted the paper into a perfect cylinder and passed his tongue over the edge.
" We are ready to fly."
Jules turned the phonograph on and the wailing of some nameless jazz singer put the room into deeper darkness. Conrad held a match to Maurice' s joint and Maurice gasped the fumes in. He took another drag and handed the cigarette to Gloria.
" Ladies second."
Her eyes opened wide as she took the offering. She prayed it would cool her cunt. Her heart and vagina thumped she pulled a deep drag into her lungs, holding the smoke till her chest ached. She made a sucking sound of gasped ecstasy. Lovely as a fuck. Her head grew heavy, and at the second puff, she looked up at the three men, who suddenly seemed far and strange.
" Oh man, I love to see lipstick on a roach," said Jules.
" Gives it class," added Maurice.
Conrad silently rolled another joint and Gloria let her shoes fall to the foot of the couch. She stretched out, put her head on Jules' thigh. The muscle in his trousers jumped and he ran his fingers through her hair. Someone passed Gloria another bone and she inhaled with sensuous pleasure, not noticing the heat in her chest… only the slow warm flow, deep in her cunt.
" Unbutton me, Jules," she murmured, " my pants are tight." He felt around her waist until he came to the button. He pulled it roughly and opened her snug pants. He started to take his hand away until she said, " No, don' t."
He pressed his palm against her smooth belly. " Gloria, what happened to you that obviously should have happened to you a long time ago?"
" None of your Jesuit questioning. Just be glad that I got my calling."
I' ve got to have him. I' ve got to have him. He' s known me so long, he may feel strange about fucking me. Like fucking a sister. But I' ve never known any of them really. I won' t know them till I' ve seen the face on their pricks and suck them dry. Oh God, what am I thinking? I want them to all fuck me. I wish they could all get in my cunt at once. I want them to push and come in me till they wipe out the imprint of his prick. I hope they fit tight and hard the way his did, so my flesh enfolds them like a flower. A man- eating flower.
Jules' hand suddenly twisted into her cunt hairs. He opened his fingers and cupped the raised, covered mound. One finger felt her pouting wetness. " Oh, baby, you got a mysterious cunt." His finger rubbed up and down against her stiffened clitoris. He moved his thumb in and pinched the naked mound. His fingers then moved faster and faster against and into her taut lips. She felt the muscles of her body expand, and her legs stretched apart. A cigarette was placed in her mouth and she pulled the smoke jealously into her.
" Shall Maurice and I cut?"
She heard Jules answer as if from a great distance. " I guess so. It looks like my night."
" No!" her voice sounded hollow. " No, stay. I want you all to get in me."
Jules' voice was angry. " When I finish with a girl, she doesn' t feel like screwing anyone else."
" Well, let' s wait and see, darling. If I don' t feel like fucking anymore, I' ll stop. I' ll even give you a medal."
" Jesus, baby. Are you a nympho? I hate screwing a nympho. It' s like getting your cock caught in a sieve."
She put her hand down his pants and wrapped it around his stiffened prick. It was thick and dry and hot in her palm. She clutched at it and moved her fisted hand up and down against his pole. She squeezed harder as he grew more massive under her grasp.
" Worry about what my cunt is doing to you later. Just get in me, you idiot, or I' ll rip this gorgeous prick right out." She threw herself across him and tore his pants open. His fat prick stood upright, and she lowered her mouth to encircle it. It tasted rich and musty in her mouth. Already his juices oozed from the tip in anticipation of the eruption to come. He pulled his hand away from her throbbing cunt and she gasped at the empty feeling that shot into her.
" Suck me, baby. Suck me."
She licked around his cock from top to bottom, lingering at the head. Each time she dove forward to take him into her throat she drew breath, creating a suction that drove him wild. While his shaft was buried deep, she tongued his balls, getting some enjoyment from the way they jerked when she worried them with her teeth. His tool was glistening with her saliva when she finally pulled away.
" Fuck me before I die," Gloria moaned.
Jules pulled her under him and directed his pole to her slit. One tremendous thrust and he opened her wide. He gasped explosively against her.
" Push. Push," she urged, feeling whole for the first time of the evening. " Split me open."
" Baby, baby, I can' t hold it. I' m coming."
" You bastard," she screamed, her legs trembling with the passion still stored in her. " Let a man get in me. Maurice, quick, before I suffocate from need."
Maurice pulled Jules away from her and nervously pulled at the zipper of his pants.
" Hurry," she wept. She didn' t see the prick that rammed into her, and she sucked deep at it with her cunt. He shoved up and down upon her, the buttons of his shirt digging into her. Her hands clung frantically to his head, then shoulders, then his bobbing ass.
" Deeper. Deeper. Kill me with your hot cock. Fuck me! Fuck me!"
" Just hold on, baby. Hold on," he urged between gasps.
He arched above her, and with maniacal precision, rubbed the tip of her clitoris against his inserted prick.
" Come now. Come, you cunt," he croaked.
" Not yet, but soon… soon. Don' t stop. Just that way. Don' t stop." Her body twisted and turned in anguish, her hips bucking against his. Then the heat in her sparked into flame, and they ground orgasms into each other. As she throbbed uncontrollably against him, a laugh echoed in her head, growing louder as she drew breath. The rapist laughed wildly at her passion and the laugh said, " It didn' t work, doll, did it? Every time you fuck, you get hotter and hotter for me. They just prepare you for me. Like plucking a chicken before you cook it." She cried out in terror, " I' ll never get him out of me. Conrad, help me. Please help me."
Conrad removed his trembling hand from the prick it was pumping with frenzy.
" I thought you were played out. Let me have some of that pussy." His lithe body pulled hers onto him. She tugged his pants off, revealing the lightly muscled legs and the hair- covered belly from which sprang his long, thin cock. He grabbed her by the hips and lowered her onto his jackhammer. Suddenly he was in her, fucking fast and deep.
" Come," he commanded, and she pumped up and down rapidly and desperately against his ordering prick. She pressed her thighs and mound hungrily into him, his up- and- down rod releasing fluttering orgasms as he crushed her breasts with his hands. She felt, hysterically, that she would come, senselessly and eternally. His thighs were steel under her as his sperm pumped out of him, blending with the juices of her passion. He breathed exhaustively into her neck as she bent over him and her orgasms calmed into quietness.
Gloria sighed. She could have come and come for the evening, her cunt opening like a mouth, and still be left incomplete. She thrust her fingers into it, not moving them, just pressing nervously into herself. The three men sprawled languorously in the armchairs and couch.
" Man!" said Jules. " This pot is the greatest. I could swear I just fucked Gloria."
" Pot does strange things," said Conrad.
" Am I going to have to fuck forever and never find the final release?" asked Gloria wearily.
" Lady, you sure do get into it," said Conrad.
" It was good while it lasted," she responded to no one in particular. " Now I' m left high and wet."
" Give us time to gather our forces, Gloria."
" No! I never want to fuck any of you more than once. I' m looking for a particular prick… the others just hang me up. Oh, God," she started to cry. " Roll me a cigarette."
Conrad stuck his between her lips and she drew on it peckingly. She tried to draw the obliterating smoke down into her cunt, to smother the longing. She gasped and rolled her hips into the empty air. " Just put your finger in me. Please, Conrad," she pleaded.
He looked at her warningly. " That sounds therapeutic, not romantic at all."
" Just don' t let me faint here."
" I think you' d better go home. Come on, I' ll get you there."
" No," she whimpered, but she let him help her dress.
" Go home and get some sleep," said Jules. " You' ll feel better."
" Better? What do you mean better? I' ll just have to fuck till I die… till I can come and look into a pair of dead white eyes."
" You' re getting pretty morbid."
" What the hell. What time is it?"
" I have ten- thirty," answered Maurice.
" Yes, take me home," she mumbled. " I have an eleven o' clock appointment. That will keep me going."
She walked to the door with Conrad. " Thanks for the pot; thanks for the couch; thanks for the lay." Conrad opened the door for her and she moved her hips around him and into the hall.