PFK1 (25 page)

"Ooooaaah," Myrtis moaned. "Oooohh."

What made me do what I did next, I cannot say. I turned Myrtis

over on her back and began to gravitate downwards.

"Oooohhh ... yes!" Myrtis cried.

I could see where I was going well enough in the low light of her

bedroom. In fact, the indirect lighting did much to flatter Myrtis’s

figure, who now looked rather pretty, I thought, clad only in her

white, DD bra.

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It was easy for my tongue to find her clitoris. The sensitive bud

jumped and twitched as I applied the tip of my tongue to it. Within

seconds, I ascertained that despite the looseness of her vagina, she had

a savory flavor, and a fine fragrance.

Myrtis seemed to enjoy what I was doing immensely, holding onto

my head as she shuddered through what must have been one hell of an

orgasm.

It was the first, but I am pleased to say, by no means the last spasm

the school librarian enjoyed during the course of the evening. After

giving her head for a good long time, I fucked Myrtis for a solid hour

in several positions, and she seemed to get off on every single one.

Particularly pleasant for her I think, was when we did it in the

woman-on-top position. Myrtis pointed to a tube of lubricant gel that

sat on a cardboard box that was temporarily serving as her nightstand.

"That stuff’s what I use with my vibrator," she said. "Would you

put some maybe on your finger? And then your finger in my ass?"

"Sure." I was more than willing to accommodate Myrtis in her

request. "But I want you to take off your bra first."

Myrtis was too worked up by now to refuse, unhooking her bra and

letting the big things dangle. They were even droopier than I

expected, hanging nearly to her navel and with these dark, beady

nipples.

Soon, Myrtis was bouncing up and down on top of me, my cock in

her pussy and my finger plugging her ass. Her big boobs, with their

tiny black nipples and visible stretch marks, swayed back and forth in

front of my face.

After Myrtis had experienced a couple more orgasms, I pulled out

of her pussy and directed her attention to my cock.

"Suck it," I said.

Myrtis did so without hesitation. After fucking for a long time,

getting sucked is my favorite way to cum.

"I’m almost there," I said. "You swallow it, okay?"

"Mmmm ... mmmm..." Myrtis nodded and sucked at the same time,

indicating her agreement.

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When I finally climaxed, my cum erupting in a long-delayed

ejaculation, the intensity of the spasm damn near caused me to faint. I

was grateful we were out in the woods, on account of my

accompanying screams.

I have to say that Myrtis cooperated perfectly, taking down every

morsel of cum I expelled, not letting a single drop escape her all-

consuming mouth.

Afterwards, Myrtis served us a snack of crackers and cheese. She

drank another glass of white wine, while I drank water. She remained

naked below the waist, in case I wanted to fuck her again, but put her

bra back on.

I think she is kind of embarrassed about her saggy boobs.

Not that she needs to worry about that with me. I intend to avoid

Myrtis henceforth for reasons that have nothing to do with any

perceived defects in her body. The true reason has to do with my own

substandard character and my desire to spare another woman the

hardship of dealing with it.

We fucked one more time and then slept. About 6:00 AM, the sun

was already up, shining out on the lake outside Myrtis’s bedroom

window.

Looked like that painting September Morn.

Like a red rubber ball.

When my eyes snapped open, Myrtis was asleep beside me, lying

on her belly. She was snoring louder than is considered ladylike, but

nothing like some of the buzz saws I have heard elsewhere.

My eyes roamed Myrtis’s body. Not bad at forty two. Still in good

overall shape, with a nice round curving butt, shaved legs, shaved

pink pussy, a sweet suctioning mouth. There are quite a few paces

she could be put through yet.

By this stage, I had another towering erection. I remembered the

tube of lubricant gel, opened it, and slathered my cock with a goodly

amount, coating it from base to stem. An especially large dollop went

on the head.

Myrtis woke when I got behind her and started spreading her legs.

"Again?" she said sleepily. "Wonderful."

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I stuffed a pillow under her stomach to improve the angle of

penetration. I leaned against Myrtis’s ass, which like her boobs, had a

definite jiggly softness.

Myrtis opened herself with her hands, no doubt expecting me to

fuck her doggy style. As my cock neared the target, however, it

suddenly switched directions and brought itself instead to the

wrinkled aperture of her anus.

"Oooooeeeeooh..." Myrtis squealed, but did not protest.

The lubed head went in more easily than I expected. As I inched it

in, Myrtis wiggled, trying to help it penetrate.

The lubricant gel, which is a nationally advertised brand of

petroleum jelly, did much to smooth the path. My cock was an anal

thermometer, taking Myrtis’s temperature.

The more I pumped, the slipperier her hole became. At one point, I

noticed that she had her right hand between her belly and the pillow,

diddling her clit while I banged her butt.

Fucking a woman in the ass was a first for me. But I didn’t think

Myrtis needed to know it, so I acted like the old pro.

But if you ask me, ass fucking is kind of a homo thing to do with a

woman. The vagina is my preferred receptacle for cum.

Suffice it to say, my thoughts on those lines did not prevent me

from enjoying an excruciating orgasm in her rectum a few minutes

later, as the red sun rose over the lake behind us.

When I returned from Myrtis’s later that morning, I told Nick the

only reason I slept with her was because she wanted me to and I didn’t

want to hurt her feelings by saying no.

Nick said Elvis had the same problem.

Ed Barnhart told me he had a bigger blast in one night at the

Beachcomber than he does in a month of living in New York. He

wants to come again at Christmas. He seemed quite smitten with

Sandy, I noticed.

Indeed, Sandy is definitely a doll. New in town, a nurse at the

hospital. A very pretty blond with a nice, long-legged body.

Dances great, too.

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In general looks, Sandy is similar to Megan. Otherwise, she isn’t

nearly as intelligent and is nowhere near as well spoken. Everyone

was drooling over Sandy because she’s so pretty, just like they drool

over Megan.

However, Sandy likes Kevin because he’s cute too. Unfortunately,

Kevin is leaving town to attend veterinary school and ain’t that a

shame?

That is the local gossip, anyway, sort of condensed.

Last week in Portland I found the mushroom slides Mick took two

years ago. I hope he got the books and money I sent him on the first.

He said he’s flat broke so I said the $50 I am mailing to him is a gift,

not a loan.

My current philosophy is to treat others better than they would treat

you. Very damn decent of me, ain’t it?

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August 16, 1978

Been sitting here alone on a Wednesday night, staring off into

space. Work tomorrow but I don’t wanna go. Don’t give a good

goddamn about anything.

Went out drinking with Nick earlier. We drank. And drank. And

drank. Right now I’m drunk as Kerouac. As drunk as Bukowski. We

also smoked a buncha dope. Good stuff, too.

Stay away. Don’t touch. Leave me the fuck alone. Life is just a

crock of shit and anybody who says different is a liar. I hate the

human race. I loathe the human race. I despise the human race.

Hitler was right all along.

We seek only to dominate, and what we cannot dominate, we

destroy. You are either a bully, a coward, or a victim. Slam those

little heads into the drywall. Kill anyone who stands in your way.

Turn murder into an industrial operation. Watch people choke on

poison gas. The first time Himmler saw Jews dying in a gas chamber,

he threw up.

Make a science of death. That’s what I am doing. Making a

science of it. My first and only experiment will be on myself. Ooops.

Wait a minute. Gotta go throw up.

I’m back. Nothing came up. Why don’t I mention Megan for a

change? Say something nice about her at least. I know how I feel

about her, but I never say anything. I never do anything. And I never

will. I figure she’ll sail right on by.

Outside my window, the planet is beautiful. But the beauty is lost

on me. Today was a perfectly glorious, bright sunny day.

It was an absolutely perfect day. A perfect day for bananafish.

Now the night sky is lit with ten zillion brilliant stars. I have all the

time in the world.

* * * *

August 17, 1978

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I’m turning
The Dark City
over to the typist this weekend. It will

cost $110 to have it typed. This goddamned Jimmy Carter inflation.

It will be September before I can pay her off in full. Money. What a

fucking drag.

But I don’t care. I really don’t give a damn about anything.

What went wrong between me and Polly Ellsworth? I’ll tell you

what the fuck went wrong: I wrote in this fucking journal, goddammit.

She couldn’t bear to have me writing, saying stuff, (however true)

about her.

This journal is now nearly five volumes long. What a sick fucking

chronicle. Polly read my words and it turned her away from me.

That’s what happened. She liked snooping around in it though, the

smug, sneaking, self-righteous bitch. Well, I can’t go on writing in it

any longer. It’s too painful. What’s more, I hate living. I really hate

being alive.

This face, this body, this idiotic existence I lead. My stupid blond

hair and blue eyes.

I haven’t felt right, haven’t been right, for more than three years

now. Ever since I came back from Atlanta in 1975, I have been lost

and depressed. Running into the emotional chain saw known as Polly

Ellsworth did not do me any good, either. It wasn’t what happened

between us, but the way it happened that brought me down.

Drank at the Whistler again tonight. I’m becoming a regular. A

regular drunk. What a joke. I hate myself more than words can say,

which is saying something. And you have certainly exacerbated my

self-hatred, my dear, dearest darling. I thank you with all my heart.

You knew me when I was a baby. A 19 year old baby. Well, I’m

grown up now. Happy fucking birthday, Polly Ellsworth, goddamn

you to hell.

One more card to play. You deserve it. You want to read other

people’s private thoughts? Read this. Read this shit, you bitch. You

fucking goddamned bitch.

Sure liked your letter, though, and the cute little scenario you

developed about us – the bit about how it never would have gone

anywhere. Very nice edge. Very sharp.

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Like a knife to the throat.

Yes, your letter. Truly a powerful feminist document. Robin

Morgan Germaine Greer Gloria Steinem Betty Friedan Valerie Solano

Polly Ellsworth. I especially enjoyed the part where you describe

your boyfriend’s money, tax shelters, income, all that material shit.

Such a strong, independent woman you are.

Blazing those feminist trails.

Of course you may be right about me. No doubt you are. Still, I

feel sorry for you. I pity you. My emotional universe may be small

but yours is microscopic. You should see a psychiatrist, a fucking

shrink. Maybe you should be a psychiatrist. Manipulate other people

for money. It’s a talent. It’s a gift.

Give them pills to mess them up even worse, like they’ve done to

poor, sad Katrine.

You know: Thorazine. Mellaril. Stelazine. Lithium carbonate. A

whole collection of colorful pastel pills. So pretty, so lovely. It’s a

career. It’s a calling. It’s a fucking vocation.

Better be good from here on out, girlie. I know what your hell is

going to be. You will have to read my journal, volume upon volume,

onward to infinity.

Man. Woman. Birth. Death. Patrick’s journal. Infinity. There’ll

be a quiz afterwards. Lloyd Schenzler will be your proctor. He is

more trustworthy than you. Probably you stole his book report, not