Lawrence Block - Ronald Rabbit Is a Dirty Old Man

“I like your figure. I like your body.”

“But being flat-chested, I guess I have a breast fixation. It was never this obvious before, but then I never met anyone like you before. How can they be so firm and still be this big? I mean even when you lie down. I’ve never seen anything like it, it’s fantastic.”

“God, what you’re doing to me.”

“Do you mind if I just adore them for a while? I just want to kiss them and touch them. I want to curl up like a baby and suck your beautiful tits.”

“Ohhhh!”

“Oh, wow, Rozanne. You like this, don’t you?”

“God, yes.”

“I’m going to be able to come just from this. I can feel it. Not touching myself or anything. Just lying here and sucking on you. I wish I had two mouths so that I could suck them both at once.”

I had more or less decided to sit out this dance, Lisa, but that last remark was too much of an invitation. I walked around the bed and got on the other side of Rozanne from Ellen and popped Rozanne’s breast into my mouth. Well, popped the nipple in. Not even Martha Raye could have managed the entire breast.

What total contentment. Ellen and I were Romulus and Remus while Rozanne played Mama Wolf. Ellen, true to her word, reached a climax just from sucking Rozanne. Rozanne, who had made no predictions either way, had an orgasm just from being suckled.

I just had a good time. No climax, just a good time. Which was all right, because we had a whole night ahead of us, and I didn’t want to use up all my ammunition in the first battle.

What a night, Lisa.

I could tell you who did what and with which and to whom, but I’m not sure I would remember everything or get it in the proper order, and besides I don’t want to make this letter too long.

But you’ve always been an imaginative girl — I’ll swear to that — and I don’t doubt that you can exercise that imagination and get a good idea of what went on. Whatever you can imagine, we probably did it.

It’s wonderful, how completely Rozanne overcame her inhibitions. Bisexuality came naturally to the daughters of Lancaster, as you may have gathered from past letters. Their school is at least partially responsible for this, and while I personally think that’s easily the best thing to be said for the Convent of the Holy Name, I somehow doubt they would want it noised about.

The school wasn’t the only factor, though. There’s also a generational thing. I’ve gotten tired of hearing all this garbage about a New Morality, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Kids are simply more open today than we ever were. Lisa, you and I were born too goddamned soon. Kids have so much more fun than we ever had during those years. They do things that feel good.

Rozanne, six years younger than me and ten years older than Ellen, is far closer to my generation than to Ellen’s. Add to this her extremely cloistered upbringing and you generally have a girl who wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful, as the feller says.

Well, she’s certainly come a long way, even further than the girl in the Virginia Slims commercial.

At one point, pausing to glance up from between Ellen’s parted thighs, she said, with an air of Archimedic discovery, “You know, it would really be ridiculous not to enjoy doing this just because I happen to be a girl.”

And then she went back to what she was doing.

Maybe it’s just as well you didn’t show up, Lisa. If you had been Rozanne’s first experience, and if Rozanne had been your first experience as well, it might have been like two virgins on a wedding night. No blood on the sheets, but the same kind of awkwardness.

Or would it have been your first time?

Ah, well. Hardly matters now, does it? In any event, Rozanne’s first time, like Rozanne herself, has come and gone. Gone shopping, as a matter of fact. She’s down in Chinatown doing her marketing for the week. She always comes home with a couple of sackfuls of things that look as though she found them in a garbage can, and then she dices and slices and swirls them around in her wok, and the result is a meal fit for a mandarin.

A wok, for your information, is a shallow Chinese frying pan suitable for cooking things in a small amount of very hot oil. I mention this not to flaunt my culinary expertise but because it occurs to me, on reading the last paragraph, that you might not know the word and might think it a euphemism for cunt. Rozanne does lots of things with her cunt, but so far she hasn’t filled it up with bean sprouts and water chestnuts.

Although, come to think of it, it just might beat soy sauce.

Mr. Laurence Clarke

c/o Miss Rozanne Gumbino

311½ West 20 thStreet

New York 10011

Beloved and treasured Mad Poet—

Naughty Nasty N. and I absolutely flipped over your letter. Quelle brittle! Are Rozanne’s breasts that much better than mine? I think I’m jealous!!

And NNN is jealous because you didn’t do unto her as you did unto Rozanne. We’re both afraid that our Mad Poet doesn’t love us anymore, and if you’re not terribly good to us we’ll hire your first wife’s father to sue Rozanne Gumball for alienation of affection.

Your advice got here too late — I’d already made the mistake of letting the lifeguard get to me. Beautiful romantic setting, full moon, blah blah blah. He gave me a totally boring fuck on the diving board and all I could feel was the burlap under my behind. It took forever for the marks to go away. He’s a beautiful guy, great body, outstanding equipment, but no idea what to do with it. Wham, bam, and not even thank you, ma’am. He came before I even left, and then he let out this yell and flipped off into the pool!!! I’m not kidding, he really did!!! When I politely suggested that perhaps he could eat me, he announced that a real man never did a thing like that. Can you believe it????

All is well now, though. Miss Naughty Nastiness and I have connected with the camp’s three stone-freaks, and if we don’t all get fired it should be a dynamite summer. Three skinny guys with long hair and scraggly beards, but do they ever know where it’s at!! They’re also into each other, so the five of us get together for total group gropes now and then, which is fun.

Hello, there, you Mad Poet you! This is Miss Hall speaking. I’m afraid we can’t accept your invitation, as us slaves is not allowed to leave the ole plantation until the end of the season. Until the cotton is harvested, I mean.

You are our freaky Mad Poet and we love you. Kiss Rozanne for me.

Me too!!!

Hi! Just wanted to get the last word in edgewise...

Mr. Laurence Clarke

c/o Gumbino

311½ West 20 thStreet

New York, New York

Dear Larry—

Greetings from the biggest horse’s ass in Mexico.

You guessed it. Fran took off and left me, and I’ve spent the past few days in a drunken stupor. Tequila can really wipe a person out.

Now that she’s gone and it’s all over, I can see what a complete bastard I was. I went and fucked up the greatest friendship of my life for one month of kinging it in Mexico, and now where the hell am I?

Larry, I can’t undo what I did, and what the hell is the point of saying I’m sorry? Especially when you already went ahead and forgave me. The best I can do is plead temporary insanity. That’s what it was. I was literally out of my mind.

And so was Fran. I’m not putting any blame on her. We both managed to convince ourselves and each other that we were Romeo and Juliet all over again. Everything was at such a constant fever peak that of course it was all artificial and we couldn’t stay at the peak all the time and when we fell it took forever to touch bottom because we started so high off the ground.