Charles Bukowski - Women

"You have a good line too, Liza."

"I have to. I'm 32."

"I'm glad you're not 22."

"And I'm glad you're not 32."

"This is one glad night," I said.

We each sipped our drinks.

"What do you think of women?" she asked.

"I'm not a thinker. Every woman is different. Basically they seem to be a combination of the best and the worst-both magic and terrible. I'm glad that they exist, however."

"How do you treat them?"

"They are better to me than I am to them."

"Do you think that's fair?"

"Not fair, but that's the way it is."

"You're honest."

"Not quite."

"After I buy those new costumes tomorrow I want to try them on. You can tell me which one you like best."

"Sure. But I like the long type of gown. Class."

"I buy all kinds."

"I don't buy clothes until they fall apart."

"Your expenditures are of a different kind."

"Liza, I'm going to bed after this drink, all right?"

"Of course."

I had piled her bedding on the floor. "Will you have enough blankets?"

"Yes."

"Pillow O.K.?"

"I'm sure."

I finished my drink, got up and bolted the front door.

"I'm not locking you in. Feel safe."

"I do…"

I walked into the bedroom, switched off the light, undressed, and got under the covers. "You see," I called to her, "I didn't rape you."

"Oh," she answered, "I wish you would!"

I didn't quite believe that but it was good to hear. I had played a pretty fair hand. Liza would keep overnight.

When I awakened I heard her in the bathroom. Maybe I should have slammed her? How did a man know what to do? Generally, I decided, it was better to wait, if you had any feeling for the individual. If you hated her right off, it was better to fuck her right off; if you didn't, it was better to wait, then fuck her and hate her later on.

Liza came out of the bathroom in a medium-length red dress. It fit her well. She was slim and classy. She stood in front of my bedroom mirror playing with her hair.

"Hank, I'm going to buy the costumes now. You stay in bed. You're probably sick from all that drinking."

"Why? We both drank the same."

"I heard you sneaking some in the kitchen. Why did you do that?"

"I was afraid, I guess."

"You? Afraid? I thought you were the big, tough, drinking, woman-fucker?"

"Did I let you down?"

"No."

"I was afraid. My art is my fear. I rocket off from it."

"I'm going to get the costumes, Hank."

"You're angry. I let you down."

"Not at all. I'll be back."

"Where's this shop at?"

"87th Street."

"87th Street? Great Christ, that's Watts!"

"They have the best costumes on the coast."

"It's black down there!"

"Are you anti-black?"

"I'm anti-everything."

"I'll take a cab. I'll be back in 3 hours."

"Is this your idea of vengeance?"

"I said I'd be back. I'm leaving my things."

"You'll never come back."

"I'll be back. I can handle myself."

"All right, but look… don't take a cab."

I got up and found my bluejeans, found my car keys.

"Here, take my Volks. It's TRV 469, right outside. But go easy on the clutch, and second gear is shot, especially coming back down it grinds…"

She took the keys and I got back into bed and pulled the sheet up. Liza bent over me. I grabbed her, kissed her along the neck. My breath was bad.

"Cheer up," she said. "Trust. We'll celebrate tonight and there'll be a fashion parade." 1 can t wait.

"You will."

"The silver key opens the door on the driver's side. The gold key is the ignition…"

She walked off in her medium-length red dress. I heard the door close. I looked around. Her suitcase was still there. And there was a pair of her shoes on the rug.

When I awakened it was 1:30 pm. I took a bath, got dressed, checked the mail. A letter from a young man in Glendale. "Dear Mr. Chinaski: I am a young writer and I think that I am a good one, a very good one, but my poems keep coming back. How does one break into this game? What is the secret? Who do you have to know? I very much admire your writing and I would like to come over and talk to you. I'll bring a couple of 6-packs and we can talk. I'd also like to read you some of my work…"

The poor fucker didn't have a cunt. I threw his letter into the wastebasket.

An hour or so later Liza returned. "Oh, I've found the most marvelous costumes!"

She had an armful of dresses. She went into the bedroom. Some time passed, then she walked out. She was in a high-necked long gown and she whirled in front of me. It fit her very nicely around the ass. It was gold and black and she had on black shoes. She did a subdued dance.

"You like it?"

"Oh, yes…" I sat and waited.

Liza went back into the bedroom. Then she came out in green and red with shots of silver. This one was a midriff job with her bellybutton showing. As she paraded in front of me she had this special way of looking into my eyes. It was neither coy nor sexy, it was perfect.

I don't remember how many costumes she showed me, but the last one was just right. It clung to her and was slit up each side of the skirt. As she walked around, first one leg came out, then the other. The dress was black, it shimmered, and it was cut low in front.

I got up as she walked across the room and grabbed her. I kissed her viciously, bending her backwards. I continued to kiss her and began pulling up her long gown. I pulled the back of the skirt all the way up and saw her panties, yellow. I pulled the front of her gown up and began pushing my cock against her. Her tongue slipped into my mouth-it was as cool as if she had been drinking ice water. I walked her backwards into the bedroom, pushed her on to the bed and mauled her. I got those yellow panties off and got my own pants off. I let my imagination go. Her legs were around my neck as I stood over her. I spread her legs apart, moved up, and slid it in. I played around a little, using different speeds, then anger thrusts, thrusts of love, teasing thrusts, brutal thrusts. I would pull out from time to time, then begin again. Finally I let go, gave her the last few strokes, came, and sank down beside her.

Liza continued to kiss me. I wasn't sure whether she had gotten off or not. I had.

We had dinner at a French place that also served good American food at fair prices. It was always overcrowded which gave us time at the bar. That night I left my name as Lancelot Lovejoy, and I was even sober enough to recognize the call 45 minutes later.

We ordered a bottle of wine. We decided to hold off dinner for a while. There isn't a better way to drink than at a small table over a white tablecloth with a good-looking woman.

"You fuck," Liza told me, "with the enthusiasm of a man who is fucking for the first time and yet you fuck with a lot of inventiveness."

"May I write that down on my sleeve?"

"Sure."

"I might use it sometimes."

"Just don't use me, that's all I ask. I don't want to be just another one of your women."

I didn't answer.

"My sister hates you," she said. "She said that all you'll do is use me."

"What happened to your class, Liza? You're talking just like everybody else."

We never got around to dinner. When we got back home we drank some more. I did like her very much. I began to abuse her a bit, verbally. She looked surprised, her eyes filled with tears. She ran to the bathroom, stayed 10 minutes or so, then came out.

"My sister was right. You're a bastard!"

"Let's go to bed, Liza."

We got ready for bed. We got into bed and I mounted her. Without foreplay it was much more difficult but I finally got it in. I began to work. I worked and I worked. It was another hot night. It was like a recurring bad dream. I began sweating. I humped and I pumped. It wouldn't go down, it wouldn't come off. I pumped and I humped. Finally I rolled off. "Sorry, baby, too much to drink."