Ronald Rabbit Is a Dirty Old Man (9 page)

“You’re afraid you would want to do other things.”

“No, no, no—”

“I’ll tell you what. I won’t rape you even if you beg me to. How’s that?”

“Oh, Mary and Joseph.”

“Don’t forget St. Anthony. Do you want me to put the promise in writing?”

“You’re an awful person.”

“I’m fun in bed.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m more fun than a finger.”

“Oh—”

“I really am.”

“I have to go now.”

“I know, you have to wash your hands.”

“Good-bye.”

“Hello?”

“Hello.”

“I was wondering when you’d call.”

“Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I’m not going to call you anymore.”

“And you called to tell me that?”

“Oh, you always twist everything I say.”

“Why don’t you put the phone to your pussy? I think these conversations would work better if we didn’t have to detour them through your brain.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“You put the earpiece of your phone to your cunt, and I’ll lick the mouthpiece of mine. How does that sound?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“And you’re never calling again.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you, my proud beauty.”

Well, that’s the way it went, Rozanne. I suppose you’ll call again in a day or so, but in the meantime I wanted to type all of this up and send it to you so you would be able to avoid repeating yourself in future conversations. And now that I’ve got you on the phone, in a manner of speaking, I’d like to tell you a story of what happened this past weekend.

I had a house guest. An apartment guest, really, since I don’t have a house. You might say that I don’t have much of an apartment, either. You might say that what I had this weekend—just this Saturday, actually, she arrived Saturday afternoon and left Sunday morning—was a hovel guest. The hovel was so dismal that we spent almost all of our time in bed.

My hovel guest was a fifteen-year-old girl named Naughty Nasty Nancy Hall. You might be interested to contemplate the fact that she is eleven years younger than you are and stopped being a virgin over two years ago. I don’t know what contemplating this fact will do for you, but it’s something to think about.

You may have already read something about Naughty Nasty Nancy. It gets difficult to remember just what letters I sent to what places, and of course I may have left a copy of those letters around the Xerox machine, in which case they might have passed over your desk and beneath your gaze. At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll refer to copies of past letters and include what observations I’ve already made about Naughty Nasty Nancy.

’We’re sixteen. Except Naughty Nasty Nancy, who is fifteen.’

’ “A mere child,’ murmured Naughty Nasty Nancy. She was one of the two in the back seat, and wore a peaked witch’s cap and granny glasses.”

“In the backseat Naughty Nasty Nancy sat directly behind Dawn. Naughty Nasty Nancy does not speak too often, but her occasional remarks are always incisive. There is a distinctly fey quality to this girl, Steve. If you were casting Hamlet, you would pick her instantly for Ophelia.”

“’ I couldn’t remember whether you wore jockey shorts or boxer shorts,’ Alison said, blue eyes sparkling and plump cheeks glowing. ’But Naughty Nasty Nancy remembered.’

“’Hardly the sort of thing she’d forget,’ B.J. said.

“’Meow,’ said Nancy Hall. She was still wearing the witch’s hat, and mordant madness danced in her eyes. ’Meow, meow, meow. Look at Merry Cat, she’s positively radiant. Orgasm brings the most beatific look to her face. Are you in a state of grace, Mary Katherine?’”

“… We all watched for a while, and Naughty Nasty Nancy kissed B.J. on the neck and touched her breasts, and Alison petted Naughty Nasty Nancy gently on the bottom ….”

There may have been a couple of other references to Naughty Nasty Nancy Hall, but those are the only ones I can spot readily, and they should refresh your memory if you’ve already read this material or put you in the picture if you haven’t. What I want to tell you about, Rozanne, is what happened with Naughty Nasty Nancy at my place Saturday night and Sunday morning.

I won’t bother describing the apartment. You’ll see it for yourself when you finally get up the courage to come over and let me eat your box. Nor will I bother describing what went on for the first hour or two that Nancy (I’ll call her that for short) spent in my bed. I’ll just say that I licked her all over her body and then had prolonged intercourse with her. We shifted from one position to another on a sort of Cook’s Tour of the
Kama Sutra
. Throughout all of this, Nancy remained active and supple and industrious, and glee glinted in her gray-green eyes.

But somewhere along the way, Rozanne, I began to get the feeling that something was missing. Nancy was enjoying herself, but I wondered if perhaps she wasn’t enjoying herself a little less than she possibly might be. To construct a metaphor that you should appreciate, it was as if I had prepared a great plate of spaghetti for her but had stupidly failed to put any oregano in the sauce. It tasted
good
to her but it just didn’t taste
right
.

And this perception made it impossible for me to continue. Not physically impossible—I remained quite the upstanding citizen, actually—but spiritually impossible. And so I withdrew from the choicest part of Naughty Nasty Nancy, who is indeed a collection of choice parts, who is in fact a synergistic young woman whose (w)hole is greater than the sum of her parts, and I propped myself on an elbow and my cock on her thigh and looked long and searchingly into her baby gray-greens.

“Is something the matter, Larry?”

“You stole my line.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“You just did it again. Something’s the matter, and you don’t follow me. Am I doing something wrong?”

“Of course not.”

“But I seem to have left out the oregano.”

“I think I must have missed the opening credits,” she said. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s just it.”

“I mean, I’m having a wonderful time.”

“But there’s something you like that I’m not doing.”

“Not exactly.”

“That means yes.”

She put her hand on my cheek. Her hand was cold and dry. I brought her fingers to my lips.

“I don’t always come, if that’s what you mean. I can enjoy it without that.”

“But you sometimes come.”

“Sometimes.”

“Just with girls?”

“No. In fact I usually have a better chance with boys. I’m not really into girls that much, to tell you the truth. None of us really are. It’s having nothing but girls around all the time, and also that we love each other very much, and if you love someone you ought to love them physically. And also it feels good.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So it’s not that.”

“It’s something special that you like to do.”

“Sort of.”

“So tell me and we’ll do it.

“Well, you might not want to, Larry.”

“Only one way to find out.”

She turned her eyes away from me. “The thing is that it’s perverted.”

“Most everything is.”

“Well, more perverted than most.”

“So?”

She looked at me again. She was having trouble saying this, but her eyes still reflected a good measure of delight and amusement.

She said, “The thing is, it has to hurt.”

“Ah.
Naughty Nasty Nancy
.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Whom does it have to hurt?”

“Me. Although—”

“Yes?”

“When I get off, I can go a little bit crazy. Biting and scratching and things like that.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Also damned antisocial.”

“So let’s do it.”

“It doesn’t turn you off? Oh, my, I guess it doesn’t. How big and hard it is. Do you really want to?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She took a breath, and I watched her face change, her mouth slackened and her eyes glazed slightly. “Lie on your back, that’s right. No, spread your legs. Now get inside me. Oh, God, you’re so big and hard, and now I’ll put my legs together and squeeze you. Can you feel how tight I am around you?”

(I could, Rozanne. I could.)

“Now hook your feet around my ankles. That’s right, so I can’t move. Now spank me.”

“On the bottom?”

“Yes, right on my ass. Don’t move your hips, don’t move your cock around, just do everything with the spanking.”

“How hard?”

“As hard as you can. And if I say to stop or if I yell that it hurts, don’t pay any attention to me. Just go on hitting me harder. Use your other arm to hold me so I can’t move. Yes, that’s right. Now start beating the shit out of me. Oh, yes. Oh, Jesus. Naughty naughty naughty. Oh, naughty girl. God! Oh, you’re killing me! Oh, Jesus Christ, stop, you’re killing me, naughty, naughty, don’t stop, harder, oh, Jesus,
oh
—”

She had an absolutely overwhelming orgasm.

She wasn’t the only one, Rozanne.

Now you may be wondering why I took the trouble to tell you all this, Rozanne. You might even suspect that I simply wanted to write something that would get you all hot and bothered. I’ll admit that the thought did cross my mind that you might well read this letter with one hand tucked up under your skirt. In fact it pleases me to picture you that way.

But there’s more to it than that. You see, you want very much to come over and have me eat your pretty little cunt, but you’re afraid I’ll make a stab at your virginity. Or that I’ll be upset with you for wanting only to be eaten. So I offer this story as proof that you can trust me.

Naughty Nasty Nancy wanted to be spanked. So I spanked her. Because it was what she wanted. And, simply because it was what
she
wanted, it became what
I
wanted, and I enjoyed the whole process as much as she did.

Think of me as an instrument for your pleasure, Rozanne. I don’t know why you’re afraid of losing your cherry. I don’t have to know why, any more than I care why Nancy Hall can only come good when someone is reddening her rump. People who get hung up on why, wind up losing all their whats.

Call me. You can trust me. I’ll give you more fun than you’ve got fingers.

Luckily,

Pierre

cc: Mrs. Lisa Clarke

Mr. Clarke You are behind your rent, landlord says you owe two months says pay up rite away or out you go and the missus both.

Sup’t

16

c/o Gumbino

311½ West 20
^th
Street

New York 10011

July 4

Mr. George Ribbentraub

Ribbentraub Realty Corp.

414 East 14
^th
St.

New York City

Dear Mr. Ribbentraub:

Let me take this opportunity to wish you and yours a happy Fourth of July. Of course the Fourth will have come and gone by the time you read this, but it is that very day now as I write this, and I can honestly claim to be moved by the spirit that inhabited the breasts of our founding fathers when they struck a blow for liberty and freedom.

While I might have wished you a Safe and Sane Fourth in any case, I must confess that the main purpose of this letter is to apprise you of the fact that I have permanently vacated premises at 74 Bleecker St. I am accordingly enclosing herewith two keys, one to the vestibule and the other to the apartment. Another set of keys remains in the possession of my wife, Mrs. Laurence Clarke. She may be reached c/o American Express, Cuernavaca, Mexico. I don’t know the zip code, nor do I know whether appeals to her for the return of her set of keys are likely to meet with success. I tend to doubt it, as I have had no luck thus far in persuading her to send me $1480, which she seems to have taken along, like the keys, quite by mistake.

I trust you will cancel my lease forthwith and will retain my one month’s security deposit in lieu of back rent and any other obligation that is mine under the terms of the lease. While it might dismay you to do this, I can really see no alternative for you, as I am presently unemployed, have no job prospects in the offing, and retain no cash assets.

As a sweetener, I have left all my furniture at 74 Bleecker St. Two appraisers have set a value of these goods, with one estimating their worth at $1480 and the other placing the figure at $520. Whichever figure one accepts, it seems fairly clear that you will be recovering furniture in excess of any monies owed you under the terms of the lease. I hereby deed this furniture to you in return for past and future favors.

Should this be unsatisfactory to you, you might attempt to reach a more pleasing settlement through contact with my attorney. He is Roland Davis Caulder with offices at 437 Piper Blvd. in Richmond, Va. While I have heard that disbarment proceedings against Mr. Caulder are in the offing, I am sure he will be able to represent me in his present capacity at least for the next several months.

I should advise you, however, that should you contemplate formal legal action against me, I would have no choice but to inform the appropriate authorities of the innumerable violations now in existence at 74 Bleecker St., and would further feel it incumbent upon me to notify Mrs. Ribbentraub of your liaisons with several tenants of those premises, among them my wife.

I trust you will take this advice in the spirit in which it is offered.

Best personal regards,

Laurence Clarke

P.S: It might profit you to plan on engaging a new superintendent for 74 Bleecker St. The present holder of that post is under consideration for an important editorial position at Whitestone Publications, Inc., and you can hardly expect him to let his unswerving personal loyalty to you stand in the way of such an excellent opportunity for advancement.

L.C.

17

Cuernavaca

Larry or Pancho or whoever you are today,

You’ll have to forgive me for being a little drunk as I write this. But if I weren’t a little drunk, maybe more than a little, I couldn’t write to you at all.