Charles Bukowski - Women

"He was only excited. You're a sexy woman."

"Is that all you see in me?"

"I see lots of that. Maybe I'll see other things as we go along."

"Why do you want so many women?"

"It was my childhood, you see. No love, no affection. And in my twenties and thirties there also was very little. I'm playing catch-up…"

"Will you know when you've caught up?"

"The feeling I have is that I'll need at least one more lifetime."

"You're so full of shit!"

I laughed. "That's why I write."

"I'm going to take a shower and change."

"Sure."

I went to the kitchen and felt-up the turkey. It showed me its legs, its pubic hair, its bunghole, its thighs; it sat there. I was glad it didn't have eyes. Well, we'd do something with the thing. That was the next step. I heard the toilet flush. If Iris didn't want to roast it, I'd roast it.

When I was young I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little left to kill. It was good to be old, no matter what they said. It was reasonable that a man had to be at least 50 years old before he could write with anything like clarity. The more rivers you crossed, the more you knew about rivers-that is, if you survived the white water and the hidden rocks. It could be a rough cob, sometimes.

Iris came out. She had on a blueblack one piece dress that appeared to be silk and it clung. She wasn't your average American girl, which kept her from appearing obvious. She was a total woman but she didn't throw it in your face. American women drove hard bargains and they ended up looking the worse for it. The few natural American women left were mostly in Texas and Louisiana.

Iris smiled at me. She had something in each hand. She held both hands above her head and began making clicking noises. She began to dance. Or rather, she vibrated. It was as if she were shot through with electric current and the center of her soul was her belly. It was lovely and pure, with just the faintest hint of humor. The whole dance, as she never took her eyes off me, had its own meaning, a good endearing sense of its own worth.

Iris finished and I applauded, poured her a drink.

"I didn't do it justice," she said. "You need a costume and music."

"I liked it very much."

"I was going to bring a tape of the music but I knew you wouldn't have a machine."

"You're right. It was great anyhow."

I gave Iris a gentle kiss.

"Why don't you come live in Los Angeles?" I asked her.

"All my roots are up in the northwest. I like it there. My parents. My friends. Everything is up there, don't you see?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you move to Vancouver? You could write in Vancouver."

"I guess I could. I could write on top of an iceberg."

"You might try it."

"What?"

"Vancouver."

"What would your father think?"

"About what?"

"Us."

On Thanksgiving Iris prepared the turkey and put it in the oven. Bobby and Valerie came over for a few drinks but they didn't stay. It was refreshing. Iris had on another dress, just as appealing as the other.

"You know," she said, "I didn't bring enough clothes. Tomorrow Valerie and I are going shopping at Frederick's. I'm going to get some real slut-shoes. You'll like them."

"I'll like that, Iris."

I walked into the bathroom. I had hidden the photo Tanya had sent me in the medicine chest. She had her dress hiked up and she wasn't wearing panties. I could see her cunt. She was a cute bitch.

When I came out Iris was washing something in the sink. I grabbed her from behind, turned her around and kissed her. "You are a horny old dog!" she said. "I'll make you suffer tonight, my dear!" "Please do!"

We drank all through the afternoon, then got to the turkey around 5 or 6 pm. The food sobered us up. An hour later we began drinking again. We went to bed early, around 10 pm. I didn't have any problems. I was sober enough to insure a good long ride. The minute I began stroking I knew that I would make it. I didn't particularly try to please Iris. I just went ahead and gave her an old-fashioned horse fuck. The bed bounced and she grimaced. Then came low moans. I slowed down a bit, then picked up the pace and ripped it home. She appeared to climax along with me. Of course, a man never knew. I rolled off. I'd always liked Canadian bacon.

The next day Valerie came over and she and Iris left together for Frederick's. The mail arrived about an hour later. It contained another letter from Tanya:

Henry, dear…

I walked down the street today and these guys whistled. I walked on past them without response. The ones I really hate are the car wash guys. They holler things and stick out their tongues like they could really do something with their tongues, but there isn't really a man among them who could do it. You can tell, you know.

Yesterday I went into this clothing store to buy a pair of pants for Rex. Rex gave me the money. He can never buy his own things. He just hates to. So I went into this men's clothing store and picked out a pair of pants. There were two guys in there, middle-aged and one of the guys was real sarcastic. While I was picking out the pants he came up to me and he took my hand and put it on his cock. I told him, "Is that all you've got, poor thing!" He laughed and said something wise. I found these real nice pair of pants for Rex, green with thin white stripes. Rex likes green. Anyhow, this guy says to me, "Come on back into one of the try-on booths." Well, you know, sarcastic guys always fascinate me. So I went into the booth with him. The other guy saw us go in. We started kissing and he unzipped. He got a hard-on and put my hand on it. We kept kissing and he lifted my dress and looked at my panties in the mirror. He played with my ass. But his cock never got real hard, just half-hard, it just stayed half-hard. I told him he wasn't shit. He walked out of the booth with his cock out and zipped up in front of the other guy. They were laughing. I came out and paid for the pants. He bagged them. "Tell your husband you took his pants into the try-on booth!" he laughed. "You're nothing but a fuck-ing fag!" I told him. "And your buddy is nothing but a fucking fag too!" And they were. Almost every man is a fag now. It's really difficult for a woman. I had a girlfriend who married a guy and she came home one day and found him in bed with another man. No wonder all the girls are having to buy vibrators these days. It's rough shit. Well, write me.

yours,

Tanya

Dear Tanya:

I got your letters and your photo. I am sitting here alone the day after Thanksgiving. I have a hangover. I liked your photo. Do you have any more?

Have you ever read Celine? Journey to the End of the Night, I mean. After that he lost stride and became a crank, bitching about his editors and his readers. It's a real damn shame. His mind just went. I think he must have been a good doctor. Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe his heart wasn't in it. Maybe he killed his patients off. Now that would have made a good novel. Many doctors do that. They give you a pill and send you back out on the street again. They need money to pay for what their educations cost them. So they pack their waiting rooms and run the patients in and out. They weigh you, take your blood pressure, give you a pill and send you back out on the street feeling worse. A dental surgeon may take your life savings but usually he does something for your teeth.

Anyhow, I'm still writing and I seem to be making the rent. I find your letters interesting. Who took that photo of you without your panties on? A good friend, no doubt. Rex? You see, I'm getting jealous! That's a good sign, isn't it? Let's just call it interest. Or concern.

I'll watch the mailbox. Any more photos?

yours, yes, yes,