Lawrence Block - Ronald Rabbit Is a Dirty Old Man

“Not a chance.”

“God on a pogo stick, can at least one of you stay?”

“No way.”

“It hardly seems fair,” said Mad Poet.

They explained the situation, and fair or not it seemed to be The Way Things Were. They all assured me of their undying love and lust, and I necked them each goodbye in turn, and they went away and I went to sleep.

Passed out, actually. But neatly, after having first removed my clothes and hung them ever so neatly in a corner of the floor. And then I popped into that snug double bed and pulled up the covers and slept.

I hadn’t really thought I would be able to manage this last. I don’t honestly think I would have had the strength to fuck anybody just then, but the last thing I wanted was to have to sleep alone. I never much liked sleeping alone, and I particularly dreaded it that night. Exhaustion and India Pale Ale have a way of conquering that form of dread, though, and I went out like a burned-out bulb.

I awoke very abruptly. There was this shadowy dream that I do not remember, and then I was completely awake and completely aware of a presence curled up behind me. I was sleeping on my side, body curled in a semifetal posture, and a body was similarly curled behind me. A very soft and warm body. I felt soft thighs cushioning my buttocks and firm breasts pressing into my back, and while I was trying to decide whether or not to let on that I was awake, a small hand came around my shoulder and fastened itself over my eyes.

“Guess who,” a voice demanded.

“Victor McLaglen. Do another.”

A giggle. “Do you even know where you are?”

“I seem to have gone to heaven,” I said. “The funny thing is that I don’t remember dying.”

“Aren’t you going to guess? Or don’t you honestly remember?”

“Ah, I remember. I remember everything. I have to guess which one you are, eh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens if I guess right?”

“Then we can make love.”

“What if I guess wrong?”

“We still make love but I won’t enjoy it as much. And I’m sure you want me to enjoy it.”

“Merry Cat,” I said.

She squealed and took her hand away, and I turned around and looked into her cat’s eyes and kissed her little mouth. Her face was flushed.

“Oh God,” she said. “Oh, you’re ready, Oh, how nice. Don’t wait, don’t even touch me, just get in me. I want you inside me, I can’t wait.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. She got off the minute I was inside her, coming in a sweet soft pink dissolve. She came twice more and then it was my turn, and then we clung to each other while I waited for the earth tremors to quit shaking hell out of the room.

Ultimately she said, “How on earth did you guess right? Just a shot in the dark?”

“Not exactly that.”

“An intuitive flash? You just felt it suddenly in your heart and soul?”

“I felt things in quite a few places, but that’s not it.”

“You recognized my voice, then.”

“Well, no.”

“No? Hmmm. Uh, let’s see, uh, you could feel my breasts against you and you figured it was me by process of elimination because they were the only ones you weren’t familiar with.”

“Wrong again.”

“I think I give up.”

“Just logic,” I said. “You had to drive last night and you didn’t have a chance to come in back, so for the sake of fairness they let you come over this morning. That’s how I figured it out, and it looks as though I was right.”

“Oh,” she said.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, nothing, actually. And, see, that was exactly what I told them this morning, the five of them. Just that very line of reasoning. ’You five had Mad Poet all to yourselves last night and now it should be my turn.’ ”

“That’s just what I just said.”

“Right, and it’s what I said, and I thought it was totally brittle, and they wouldn’t buy it. Instead we all cut cards and I won.”

“Oh.”

“That’s really weird, working it all out logically like that and being wrong and coming up with the right answer. It’s pretty far out.”

“Well, even on a straight guess I had one chance in six.”

“True.”

I started saying something, God knows what, and she reached out her little hand again, only this time instead of putting it over my eyes, she wrapped it around my cock. Whatever I was saying seemed no longer relevant. I reached out with both hands and began playing with her.

“They’ll be coming over fairly soon.”

“Here?”

She nodded, started to say something, then gasped when I touched one of the right buttons. I slipped a finger inside her. She was sopping wet and hot enough to cook an egg on and unbelievably tight.

(That’s another advantage in being sixteen, Fran, and if Steve thinks that my mentioning it is any sort of implicit criticism of you, he’s out of his skull. It’s a simple biological fact. Certain organs do lose a certain portion of their elasticity over the years. But that’s not to suggest that you have to start worrying about men falling out of you, or about your being unable to tell for sure whether they’re in there or not. You’ve got quite a few years to go before that’ll become a problem for you, and by then sex will be so much less frequent an indulgence, and so less important to you, that you won’t really be giving up all that much.)

Where was I? Oh, yes. ‘She was sopping wet and hot enough to cook an egg on and unbelievably tight.’ That’s where I was.

I said, “We have time to do it again, don’t we?”

“Sure.”

“But let’s not rush this one.”

“No, let’s not.”

“Because I’d like to get very well acquainted with your body. So that I won’t have to guess whether or not it’s you I’m in bed with.”

“Slow is better,” she said.

“Usually.”

“Only last time I couldn’t wait.”

“I understand.”

“I think you have the most beautiful cock in the world, Larry.”

The rest of the girls came just after we did, happily enough. (I mean that it was happy they waited until we were through, not that we came happily. Although we did, but it would have been a more awkward construction that way. I’m pointing this out primarily for Steve’s benefit, Fran, so that he can learn to develop more of an ear for narrative. If he’s going to insist on sending me a thousand words when a simple photograph would suffice, it would be best if he learned to arrange them in the proper order.)

They came like Greeks, bringing me little presents. While none of their gifts matched what Merry Cat had brought me, I was grateful for the two containers of cardboard coffee, the grilled-cheese-and-bacon sandwich, the socks and underwear.

“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, Marry Katherine?”

“Sure, and don’t I half feel sinfully saintlike,” Merry Cat said.

“Sister Theresa talks like that. Do her some more, Merry Cat.”

“Faith, and am I not a fair candidate for canonization, with the Spirit of the Holy Name running down my leg.”

“I think that’s blasphemous,” Dawn Redmond said.

“Sure and you’re nothing but jealous, Dawn me love.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me, Merry Cat,” Dawn said.

They kissed and went into a clinch. Merry Cat and I had our clothes on again. The rest of the girls and I were sitting on the bed or leaning against the wall, and Dawn and Merry Cat were standing up in the middle of the room with their arms around each other and their tongues in each other’s mouth. 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, and Ellen Jamison cuddled beside me on the bed and opened her mouth so wide for my kiss that the braces didn’t get in the way. And eventually Dawn and Merry Cat let go of each other, and they both had a glassy look in their eyes, and Dawn said, “Well, at least Larry hasn’t spoiled you for me, Merry Cat. I guess I still can turn you on.”