I come to Eric's apartment, take the elevator up and knock on his door.
No answer.
I knock again and wait.
After a few minutes I give it up and leave. I remember the name of a bar he mentioned, The Monk's Cellar. I hail a cab and have the driver take me there. The bar is in the French Quarter, just off Bourbon Street. I go down the half-flight of stairs and enter hesitantly. It is very dark inside and it takes me awhile to adjust to the light. The bar isn't crowded. A few of the customers turn to stare at me. Their eyes look sleepy, distant. A few of the men are wearing business suits but most have on worn out colorless pants and dark shirts. There are only a few women. Almost everyone has straight longish hair. It is quiet in the bar except for the muffled sound of rock music coming from behind a velvet curtain at the back. I feel strange, out of place. I look for Eric among the sprinkling of business suits but don't see him.
I go to a booth in a corner of the room and sit down. The table is covered with a rather soiled checkerboard cloth. The dark squares are blue. In the center of the table a candle burns low in an old wine bottle. There are a lot of paintings on the walls but I can't make them out very well in the dimness.
I am hungry but order a whiskey instead of food when the waiter comes.
"With water?"
"Yes…"
I sip the whiskey and look about, hoping to see Eric. The drink goes to my head quickly. I finish it and order another. I ask the waiter if he knows a man named Eric Nilsen.
He nods. He frowns a little. He is balding, thin.
"Has he been here today?"
"No."
"He does come in frequently though, doesn't he?"
"I haven't seen him. He hasn't been in. I'll bring your drink."
He leaves before I can ask another question. He stops at a table near the bar where a man with thick black hair and bushy sideburns and mustache sits alone. The waiter whispers something and the dark-haired man looks my way. I glance down quickly at the table. When I raise my eyes again, he is still staring at me. I am about to get up and leave when I see him coming across the room toward me.
He stands over me. His shirt has no collar, his sleeves are badly frayed. His thick neck bulges out. He smells like paint. "You were asking for Eric?" he says.
"… you know him?"
"Yes." He pulls out a chair. "May I…?"
I nod. As he sits down I notice in the light of the candle that his deep set eyes are a very soft brown. Like a deer's. Liquid almost.
He lights a thin cigar with the candle. He is an exceptionally big man with heavy shoulders. His chest bulges out against his shirt. He has large hands with dark paint crusted beneath his fingernails. "Eric is out of town… out of the state," he says. "He'll probably be gone several weeks."
"I just saw him yesterday."
"He left last night."
"… you look disappointed."
"I was hoping to see him. Maybe you can tell me where he is?"
"No."
"You don't know…?"
"I know. I just can't say."
"Oh… I see." I reach for my purse as if to leave.
"No need to go, have a drink with me. I am alone too." He asks me very casually. His soft eyes intrigue me. Somehow they don't seem to go with the bigness of him.
"I've already had two," I say. "I'm not used to drinking this early in the day."
"Have coffee then. And a roll. They have French donuts here."
"That sounds good." I laugh a little. "Actually I'm starving… I haven't had a thing yet to eat today."
He smiles and signals the waiter. In a few minutes we have a pot of coffee and two plates of donuts sitting in front of us. I eat hungrily. "My name is Armand," the man says. "I paint. But you won't see my paintings in any galleries."
"Aren't they good?"
"I think so."
"Don't you try to sell them?"
"Every afternoon at Jackson Square. To the tourists. But they don't bring much there. They are worth more, I think." He hunches forward and his hair creeps down over the back of his shirt. His brown eyes look almost sad in the light. His cheekbones are heavy but I like them. I notice that he eats a donut in just two bites but he isn't sloppy about it. I like sitting here with him.
We talk. The expression on his face doesn't change when I tell him I've just left my husband and had planned to stay with Eric. He smokes his cigar. He stares at me. There is a warmth about him that seems to flow across the table and take hold of me. We finish the donuts.
"Shall we go to my place?" he asks. "I'll make more coffee and we can sleep then. You look tired. I have some good wine that we can drink later."
"All right," I say smiling. I am not at all surprised at his asking me like that. It seems the natural thing to just get up and go with him. I put out my cigarette and we leave.
When we get outside, Armand takes my arm. The street is quiet. He walks with a slight limp and it takes me awhile to get used to it. We cross the street. He flips a dime to. a shoe shine boy. Another boy comes out from between two buildings and they fight for it. Armand laughs and tosses out another dime. They each get one. He walks along the street as if he owns it. As if he owns the whole city. It sort of overwhelms me, just walking next to him.
He whistles some. He lights another of the thin cigars. I like the smell of them. He seems to be walking slowly but I have trouble keeping up with him.
We come to an old building on a corner. He points up at a window and says that's where he lives. We climb three flights of stairs and go into his room. It is almost as dark inside as it was in the bar. I am out of breath from climbing and sink into an. overstuffed chair. Armand raises the window shades to let in some light. The room is sparsely furnished. The air seems very dry. It is a very large room with a stove and refrigerator and sink along one wall. There is a rug but it is threadbare. I see no real bed at all. Just a large mattress on the floor in a corner. But a blanket is pulled up neatly over it. The chair I'm sitting in is uncomfortable because of a spring bulging up.
Armand laughs as I squirm about in the chair. "Come sit with me at the table," he says. "I'll heat some coffee."
We sit there, drinking coffee and looking down at the street. The traffic is light. The cars look very small. I think I hear the shoe shine boys arguing but it is just someone calling a dog. The day has clouded up and after a few minutes it starts to rain. The rain splatters the windows and washes the street. I enjoy it being here with Armand, watching and listening to the rain. I like the size of him, the quiet way he has about him, the thickness of his hands and fingers.
He makes no move to touch me. He just keeps refilling our coffee cups and we sit there looking out the window. Everything now seems strangely bound up in the rain. I hear it plinking on the metal garbage cans far below. I hear it on the window. I watch it slanting down. I smell its freshness.
"Shall we go to bed now?" Armand asks.
"Yes…"
"Or would you rather have more coffee?"
"No… just to bed."
He nods. He finishes his coffee in one long swallow. He puffs in deep on his cigar, then lays it in the ash tray and goes across the room to the bathroom. I light a cigarette and stare out the window. I feel that I have traveled a thousand miles from Graham. I feel distant even from myself. It doesn't matter that I didn't find Eric.
Armand comes out of the bathroom, leaves the door open. He gestures toward it. "… if you want to before we lie down," he says.
"Yes, I think so…" I say. Our arms brush as we pass each other crossing the room. His touch sends shivers shooting through me. I go into the bathroom and pull the door shut. It is an old bathroom but very clean. I let the seat down, then lift my skirt and pull my panties down over my thighs. The seat feels hard and cold.
I smoke my cigarette while I sit there and stare at a pair of heavy men's shoes in the corner. I pull off a few sheets of the paper and pat myself dry. The paper is coarser than what I'm used to at home. I think about Armand, the size of him, how pleasant it is to be with him. I stand up and pull up my panties, snapping the waistband against my stomach. I pull the handle, making the water gurgle away, then wash my hands with a funny looking bar of greyish soap. I look at myself in the mirror and brush back my hair.
When I come back into the other room, the blanket on the mattress has been pulled down. The sheets look fresh and clean. Armand is standing next to the window. "I'm going to get undressed," he says. "I don't like to wear anything in bed. You can leave some of your things on if you want to."
"No, I'll get undressed too. I like the feel of sheets…"
"Would you like part of a joint first?"
"… huh?"
"A joint… grass."
"Marijuana? I don't know. I never…"
"No…? Not with Eric even? I don't use it much either but I like to when I go to bed like this."
"It's necessary for you…?"
He laughs. "No, not necessary. I just like it. It makes everything last longer… makes it better. But we don't have to. I won't either if you don't want to."
"I'll try it," I say. I move toward him, stand right in front of him. Still he doesn't touch me. Instead he goes to the cupboard and reaches back on the shelf and gets out a coarse looking cigarette. He lights it, puffs once, then hands it to me. I bring it to my lips, draw in on it hesitantly. I taste the smoke. It is slightly sour. At first. I feel nothing. I hand the cigarette back to him.
We pass the joint back and forth, puffing lightly. I begin to feel as if I am floating. I feel very high. Armand seems very close to me, almost as if he is a part of me. But at the same time he seems far off, remote. He takes the joint from me, sets it in the ash tray. "That's enough," he says.
The sound of the rain starts to pick up. I hear it beating rhythmically against the metal cans on the street. It sounds like an orchestra starting up. The music grows louder, sounds almost hauntingly beautiful. Armand begins unbuttoning his shirt.
I take off my blouse, then pull down the zipper at the side of my skirt. I hang my things over a chair. Armand is unbuckling his belt. I stand in front of him in just my bra and panties. I am still drifting, floating from the grass. Armand's shorts look very white against his skin. I unhook my bra and peel it off. My breasts stand free. I tug down on my panties, kick them off over my ankles. My pussy lips feel wet and creamy.
Armand's cock juts out thick and hard when he takes off his shorts. My nipples spike as we stand naked facing each other. He steps toward me and I feel the tip of his penis press against my skin. He kisses me. I probe his mouth with my tongue. I hunger to have his prick inside me.
I get down on the mattress and stretch out on my back and open my thighs to him. I look up at his big prick looming above me.. "Come on," I say. "… come down here with me."
In a moment we are lying next to each other. I stroke his cock. I can't stand the waiting to have him push it into me. But he seems in no hurry; he just fondles me. I roll over on my side and pull the tip of his prick between my cunt lips and rub it against my clitoris. "… why don't you put it all the way in me now… screw me… fuck me…"
I cum before he even gets his cock into me. He pushes all the way in, then, begins fucking me. The rubbing of his strange new skin against mine feels delightful. My cunt walls grip him. I thrust myself up against him. He moves in and out of me slowly, deliciously. I feel his hands on my breasts. I sink my tongue deep into his mouth. I press my swollen nipples up hard against his fingertips. The hot feeling in my pussy builds.,I can feel his prick all through me. He kisses my breasts; his tongue is wet against my nipples. I cum. The feeling is exquisite.
But it is not over. We only rest for a moment, waiting to begin the climb again. We lie there fondling each other. He sucks my nipples. Slowly. Tantalizingly. I love him to do that. His mouth feels so cool on me… don't bite, easy… poke at me there with your tongue.
Shall I hold your prick again? I like to touch it. It's so big. I don't think I've ever felt a cock so thick before. It's so nice and smooth here at the end. I like to rub my hand all along the length of it. Down here too by your stomach. If my hand was any smaller I wouldn't even be able to get all the way around it. Shall I hold your balls? They're nice… like enormous eggs but so soft. I won't squeeze them too hard. I know that hurts. I'll just press in on them a little. Don't stop sucking my nipple. That feels so nice. It's good to be with you. Do you like it being with me? Can you hear me or am I just talking to myself, just thinking all this?
Let's eat each other now. I'd love to eat you. Suck you. I'd love to have you eat me too, to feel your tongue inside me. Or shall we save all that and just keep feeling and kissing each other until we're ready to fuck again? Your hands… I love a man's hands. Why don't you rub my pussy with them though? Are you just teasing me… or saving my pussy for your cock? Don't save it. Feel it. I want it to be all juicy and smooth for you when we fuck again. I want your fingers to be in my cunt. Here I'll show you. Put your hand here… there, yes… your finger here in the middle… rub me there… harder… mmm that's nice.
I'll keep rubbing you too. Your cock feels so warm. Shall I pump it? Not too hard, I don't want to make you cum. I'll rub your balls again instead. I love to feel them. But I want to be fucked now… let's… all right? I want to feel your cock push into me again. I want to feel my cunt lips spread to take you. I want to feel the bare skin of your prick rubbing against me. Let me move a little… like this… there, now it's right… push in… fuck me now. Keep moving go all the way in. Kiss my breasts… there, yes. Can you rub me down here again while you go in and out of me. Oh are you going to finish already… yes yes all right… I can feel you shooting into me. So warm. I'm curving too. Don't stop. Keep fucking me… keep cuming in me…