Charles Bukowski - Women

We applauded.

"Too much, man," I said.

"You really like it, Hank?"

I waved my hand in the air.

"You know, I've always dug your stuff," he said.

"Thanks, man."

He jumped into the next song. It also was about a woman. His woman, an ex-woman: she'd been out all night. It had some humor but I wasn't sure if it was deliberate. Anyhow, Dinky finished and we applauded. He went into the next.

Dinky was inspired. He had a lot of volume. His feet twisted and curled in his tennis shoes and he let us hear it. Actually, it was him somehow. He didn't look right and he didn't quite sound right, yet the product itself was much better than what one usually heard. It made me feel low that I couldn't praise him without reservation. But then if you lied to a man about his talent just because he was sitting across from you, that was the most unforgivable lie of them all, because that was telling him to go on, to continue which was the worst way for a man without real talent to waste his life, finally. But many people did just that, friends and relatives mostly.

Dinky rocked into the next song. He was going to give us all ten. We listened and applauded but at least my applause was the most restrained.

"That 3rd line, Dinky, I didn't like it," I said.

"But it's needed, you see, because…"

"I know."

Dinky went on. He sang all his songs. It took quite some time. There were rests in between. When the New Year finally came in Dinky and Janis and Sara and Hank still were together. But thankfully the guitar case was closed. A hung jury.

Dinky and Janis left about 1 am and Sara and I went to bed. We began hugging and kissing. I was, as I've explained, a kiss freak. I almost couldn't handle it. Great kissing was seldom, rare. They never did it well in the movies or on t.v. Sara and I were in bed, body rubbing, and with the heavy good kissing. She really let herself go. It had always been the same in the past. Drayer Baba was watching up there-she'd grab my cock and I'd play with her pussy and then she'd end up rubbing my cock along her cunt and in the morning the skin of my cock would be red and raw with rubbing.

We got to the rubbing part. And then suddenly she took a hold of my cock and slid it into her cunt.

I was astounded. I didn't know what to do.

Up and down, right? Or rather, in and out. It was like riding a bicycle: you never forget. She was a truly beautiful woman. I couldn't hold back. I grabbed her golden red hair and pulled Sara's mouth to mine and I came.

She got up and went to the bathroom and I looked up at my blue bedroom ceiling and I said, Drayer Baba, forgive her.

But since he never talked and he never touched money I could neither expect an answer nor could I pay him.

Sara came out of the bathroom. Her figure was slight, she was thin and tan, but totally entrancing. Sara got into the bed and we kissed. It was an easy open-mouthed love kiss.

"Happy New Year," she said.

We slept, wrapped together.

I had been corresponding with Tanya and on the evening of January 5th she phoned. She had a high excited sexy voice like Betty Boop used to have. "I'm flying down tomorrow evening. Will you pick me up at the airport?"

"How will I recognize you?"

"I'll wear a white rose."

"Great."

"Listen, are you sure you want me to come?"

"Yes."

"All right, I'll be there."

I put down the phone. I thought of Sara. But Sara and I weren't married. A man had a right. I was a writer. I was a dirty old man. Human relationships didn't work anyhow. Only the first two weeks had any zing, then the participants lost their interest. Masks dropped away and real people began to appear: cranks, imbeciles, the demented, the vengeful, sadists, killers. Modern society had created its own kind and they feasted on each other. It was a duel to the death-in a cesspool. The most one could hope for in a human relationship, I decided, was two and one-half years. King Mongut of Siam had 9,000 wives and concubines; King Solomon of the Old Testament had 700 wives; August the Strong of Saxony had 365 wives, one for each day of the year. Safety in numbers.

I dialed Sara's number. She was in.

"Hi," I said.

"I'm glad you called," she said, "I was just thinking of you."

"How's the old health food Inn doing?"

"It wasn't a bad day."

"You ought to raise your prices. You give your stuff away."

"If I just break even I don't have to pay taxes."

"Listen, somebody phoned me tonight."

"Who?'

"Tanya."

"Tanya?"

"Yes, we've been writing. She likes my poems."

"I saw that letter. The one she wrote. You left it lying around. She's the one who sent you the photo with her cunt showing?"

"Yes."

"And she's coming to see you?"

"Yes."

"Hank, I'm sick, I'm worse than sick. I don't know what to do."

"She's coming. I said I'd meet her at the airport."

"What are you trying to do? What does it mean?"

"Maybe I'm not a good man. There are all kinds and degrees, you know."

"That's no answer. What about you, what about me? How about us? I hate to sound like a soap opera but I've let my feelings get involved…"

"She's coming down. Is this the end for us, then?"

"Hank, I don't know. I think so. I can't handle it."

"You've been very kind to me. I'm not sure I always know what I'm doing."

"How long is she going to be staying here?"

"Two or 3 days, I guess."

"Don't you know how I'll feel?"

"I think so…"

"O.K., phone me when she's gone, then we'll see."

"Right."

I walked into the bathroom and looked at my face. It looked terrible. I clipped some white hairs out of my beard and some from the hair around my ears. Hello, Death. But I've had almost 6 decades. I've given you so many clean shots at me that I should have been yours long ago. I want to be buried near the racetrack… where I can hear the stretch run.

The next evening I was at the airport, waiting. I was early so I went to the bar. I ordered my drink and heard somebody sobbing. I looked around. At a table in the rear a woman was sobbing. She was a young Negress-very light in color-in a tight blue dress and she was intoxicated. She had her feet up on a chair and her dress was pulled back and there were these long smooth sexy legs. Every guy in the bar must have had a hard-on. I couldn't stop looking. She was red hot. I could visualize her on my couch, showing all that leg. I bought another drink and went over. I stood there trying not to let my hard-on show.

"Are you all right?" I asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah, buy me a stinger."

I came back with her stinger and sat down. She had taken her feet off the chair. I sat next to her in the booth. She lit a cigarette and pressed her flank to mine. I lit a cigarette. "My name's Hank," I said. "I'm Elsie," she said. I pressed my leg against hers, moved it up and down slowly. "I'm into plumbing supplies," I said. Elsie didn't answer.

"The son-of-a-bitch left me," she finally said, "I hate him, my god. You don't know how I hate him!"

"It happens to almost everybody 6 or 8 times."

"Probably, but that doesn't help me. I just want to kill him."

"Take it easy now."

I reached down and squeezed her knee. My hard-on was so strong it hurt. I was damn near ready to come.

"Fifty dollars," Elsie said.

"For what?"

"Any way you want it."

"Do you work the airport?"

"Yeah, I sell Girl Scout cookies."

"I'm sorry. I thought you were in trouble. I have to meet my mother in 5 minutes."

I got up and walked away. A hooker! When I looked back Elsie had her feet up on the chair again, showing more than ever. I almost went back. God damn you anyhow, Tanya.

Tanya's plane made its approach, landed without crashing. I stood and waited, a little bit behind the crush of greeters. What would she be like? I didn't want to think about what I was like. The first passengers came through and I waited.