Микки Спиллейн - The Erection Set

Sharon had expected to see a special screening of the new Cable Howard production, but S. C. Cable, who long ago had assumed that employees worked for him twenty-four hours a day every day, made a special request that she handle the social action, since it was rumored that Walt Gentry was thinking of dropping a few millions into a coproduction venture on some property he had discovered... if he could find the right partners. And if Cable Howard Productions managed a deal with Walt Gentry, there would be a nice bonus, or perhaps even a small running percentage for Sharon Cass.

Nice, she thought. I have become an economic seductress. I am expected to give my all for Cable Howard. And they call the streetwalkers names and arrest them. Beautiful, modem morality.

She looked at herself framed in the six lights that encircled the vanity mirror, concentrated on getting the left false eyelash properly fixed, then steadied her hand to apply the black eyeliner that gave her the final naive touch and sat back, satisfied.

Pretty, she mused. I’m all sleekly feminine, grossly beautiful and the perfect target of attack. Bait. A lousy piece of bait. Fifteen thousand a year and expenses to draw the suckers into the net. A bonus when S.C. thought the job was worth it. What happened, Sharon? You used to be a little country girl smothered in ideals, with starry eyes. You liked the smell of cut grass and the wind coming off the ocean. You collected seashells and bugs, then one day you grew up and the bull dike editor from Future called you in to do some more teen-age modeling, saw the change and did the spread that got Cable Howard Productions to pick you up for that sun-fun picture. Oh, you were great, little sexpot, only you didn’t like to have to walk the plank of assistant directors and fat-lipped agents who had been mail room clerks the year before. Your Coke bottle made old S.C.’s ears ring and he thought you were cute enough to work out your option on his staff... except that you did your work a little too well and here you were.

She got up, posed in front of the full-length mirror, a naked, overgrown pixie. “I still like me,” she whispered. “At least there’s still one thing left.”

The lovely, tanned image stared back at her, its eyes traversing the curves of her body, then meeting her eyes with a direct, peculiar stare. “I have a funny feeling,” she said.

The image looked back without saying anything. Then, slowly, it smiled.

The invitation had said six thirty, and Sharon was fashionably late, two propositions and a champagne cocktail down, a roomful of people to say hello to still and a conversation with Raul Fucia to contend with. Somehow she couldn’t remember how it started, but she pulled herself back from thoughts that were too many years old into the near-mesmerizing voice of the sensually lean man beside her.

“But, my dear, women are the true predators. They are the ones who do the... how do you say it?... the prowling. The men simply make themselves available when they desire to.”

“Your attitude is a little too European, Mr. Fucia.”

“Please, call me Raul... and my attitude is only universal. The masculine viewpoint, and especially true here in New York.”

“We New Yorkers pride ourselves on being rather sophisticated. I don’t think it’s true at all.”

“Oh? Then look around you. See the men? They stand and let themselves be surrounded. They listen to the overtures, gauge the quality of the bodies and select the one they believe will be most appreciative of their favors. Already there has been some discreet pairing off.”

“Regular cocktail party routine, Raul. Same people, just a different time and place.”

“No, my dear, not routine at all. The women vie. Yes, they vie. They beg, they implore, they demand. Unlike the animal world, it is the women who compete in style and showy displays of flesh to entice the opposite sex into accepting their advances. For instance, look at yourself.”

Sharon turned and looked at him, smiling wryly. “I seem to be on the conservative side, don’t I?”

The smile he returned was deliberate, eyes dropping beneath the level of her own. “Not really,” he said. “Assuming that professional women are all properly coiffed and made up, carefully tailored and impeccably mannered, can you explain why you are not wearing a brassiere, nor why neither seam nor hem of undergarment shows beneath that silken Pucci minisheath you’re wearing? Except for your dress and shoes, you are completely naked, and when you stand erect certain basic hirsute attributes are proudly evident despite the outer covering.”

“I didn’t think it showed,” Sharon said. She knew the red was showing on her shoulders, but the blush wasn’t in the casual tone of her voice.

“Perhaps I have a more experienced eye than most. And perhaps I think you are lying. You do know it shows.”

“Then you shouldn’t be looking in that direction.”

“Why not? It is the reason for your... undressed appearance. Flaunting the female plumage, no? An admirable approach. I am thoroughly enchanted. And why not? Your skin is flawless, your physique perfect. Of all the women in the room, your breasts are by far most suited for their purpose. Large enough to be the objects of attention, to sustain themselves without implementation, yet not so large as to interfere with more important actions.”

“Is sex all that you have on your mind?” she asked him. His half-shaded eyes unveiled themselves momentarily in surprise and she was pleased that her voice had held no expression of excitement he had deliberately tried to implant in her.

“That is generally true,” he told her. “Can you suggest something that should take precedence?” He sipped his drink and waited for her answer.

“Try gainful employment.”

Raul shrugged and smiled again. “Hardly necessary. I am quite wealthy. Working for more would only be a pretense. I would rather spend my time and energy working on you, my dear. You interest me immensely.”

“For what purpose?”

“The ultimate purpose,” he said, “of taking you to bed with me, totally naked and ready for the unlimited capacity of Raul Fucia. Your enjoyment of my efforts would be profuse.”

Sharon let her eyes range over him, then her teeth glinted in a small grin. “I’m afraid I’d be a disappointment to you, Raul. You see, I’m quite virginal.”

“Lovely,” he said. “A woman virginal in spirit is a wonder to behold.”

“In body, my friend. I’m a complete maidenheaded virgin. How about that?”

There was no denying the tone of her voice at all this time. She had calculated it to perfection without any effort at all and for a moment nearly enjoyed the consternation that showed in his face.

“Impossible!”

“Not so impossible. I’ve just never been laid, that’s all. I never met a man I wanted to get that close to. Simple, when you consider it.”

He put the drink down, pulled up the ottoman beside her and sat down quickly, his hand reaching for hers. She let him take it without resisting. “Then, by all means, you must have me. I insist, you must!”

“Why?”

“Because the initial experience has to be a momentous occasion. Only a man of experience can...”

“Raul... balls. When I want to, I’ll go. Not before. You’re not the man either.”

“But you have not seen me.”

“You’re beginning to show, Raul. The thought of a possible virgin in your life was a little too much. Was that why you sat down?”

“My dear Sharon...”

“I’ve been around, my fine foreign friend. I’ve necked, petted and experienced orgasm. I’ve engaged in a few sexual episodes that produced the proper physical pleasures and enjoyed it and I’ll probably do more of the same again when I want to. I know all the tricks, positions and erogenous zones and I’ll be a real terror when the time comes. Only right now I still have the little goodie that makes me an unpenetrated virgin and I’m going to keep it that way.”