Gilbert Sorrentino - Aberration of Starlight

He went out of his way, all right, let’s admit it, at supper, to get John’s goat, talking about the Germans itching for another war. He got a kick out of watching his face when he laid it on thick about the Nazis and what was happening in Europe — oh, he had a soft spot in his heart for that kraut Helga, all right all right, the old reprobate. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was humping her already. But all the time Tom was cool as a cucumber, his voice nice and calm, a smile on his face, just a gentlemanly difference of opinion. Marie would look up at him once in a while, blushing to beat the band when he caught her eye, my God, she looked like a peach! Frau Schmidt was as busy as a goddamn bee, Christ only knew what baloney she was giving that long drink of water, Mrs. Copan, the poor bag of bones was drinking it all in, the old man of course at the food hammer and tongs, as usual. And then Helga would shake her head and look over at John, full of pity for the poor martyr. And making sure he got the full benefit of her shitface smile. God, how he hated that woman! At one point, Tom moved his foot and by accident touched Marie’s under the table— you’d have thought he’d ripped her dress off the way she jumped and pulled her foot away. Maybe he was just wasting his time after all, and all those sloppy kisses were just a fluke. Wasting time or not, she was the best-looking dish in this neck of the woods and even if they just danced a little bit and chewed the rag like brother and sister, well, it was laying the groundwork anyway. What he really got a kick out of was when Marie got wise to Helga’s fake grinning over at the old man, it was rich, she all of a sudden started to smile over at Tom to beat the band, making sure her father got an eyeful, you had to give her credit. It was like something in the movies, hell, you see it all the time.

Tom lay down for a while after supper and thought of Marie, amusing himself by imagining how she’d look in the raw, even better, in just a few little frilly things, and got an erection, there’s life in the old horse yet! Now let’s make sure that happens tonight if the time is ripe and opportunity knocks. You’ve always been a strong closer, kid! He’d bathed before supper so he just gave himself a whore’s bath and brushed his teeth, rubbed just the right touch of rose oil in his hair and while it was working in, shaved again — bay rum time, kiddo! Acts like Spanish Fly with some dolls. He dressed with care, nice, serious, but also sporty, and thank God it was cool so the goddamn tie wouldn’t choke him. Ah, last but not least, a Trojan in the watch pocket — Christ only knew why some guys stuck them in their wallets, can’t think of anything dumber than having some jane with her skirt up and her legs spread from here to there while you tear through all the shit in your wallet looking for a goddamn scumbag. Whatever else he might be he wasn’t a dumb cluck when it came to cashing in — a dame in that position in your car somewhere sometimes changes her mind if she imagines even for a second how she looks, no matter how dark and coozy it is. When you see that open pussy, brother, you got to jump right the hell in, don’t give them a second to catch their breath. O.K. He looked, if he did say so himself, like the cat’s meow.

Billy was on the porch, and those two little whores, and sappo Dave Warren, his mouth open like he was catching flies. Christ, this place was really the squirrel cage! He only had to wait a minute, thank God for small favors, when Marie came out, and she was something to see. Ah! it was shoes she bought, white, a few little strips of leather and high heels — they made her calves swell out so luscious in silk stockings that he could almost feel their warm meat, Christ almighty, she was a looker! Now, he thought, just a word of polite conversation and then let’s vamoose! And where was the old reprobate tonight? Not even going to show up to give Tom the fish eye and see his little girl go off with the big bad wolf? Oh, there’s the old bastard, his face like stone, let’s go. Let’s go! McGrath standing there like a little tin god with his hands in his pockets, he wasn’t even going to say goodbye to her! Now that is a low-life bastard! A mean, rotten thing to do. Tom started down the steps, Marie next to him, looking down at the ground as red as a beet, God only knew whether she was embarrassed at being made a spectacle of or mortified by her father, probably both, but hell, Billy was making up for the old stick, calling out goodbye and waving so that you’d think his arm would fall off. They got in the car and her skirts slid up a little above her knees and Tom got an eyeful of her legs and she pretended she didn’t know it, she’s like a kid for Christ sake, pure as the driven snow, just my luck. He looked over at her as he started the car, “You’re really a knockout,” he said, “just beautiful,” and he pulled the old perambulator out on the road, there they all were, still waving, Jesus, it looked like even old lady Stellkamp deserted her pies and came out of the kitchen for the big show! What a bunch of hicks. But that old bastard of a father of hers still stood there like a statue, well, how about this, mister? and Tom tapped the horn twice, thinking, that says Fuck You.

He drove nice and easy, it was a perfect evening, just getting dark, and God only knows what he told her about what a beauty she was, then, what the hell, he took a chance and put his arm around her and slowly, oh yes indeedy, slow-a-ly, let his hand slide down the front of her dress so that his fingers touched the top of her breast, just a few inches away from the nipple, and by God, from the look on her face, oh yeah, he’d lay odds that her nipples were as hard as rocks. Jesus, she was ripe for plucking, but he knew that she’d have something to say and she did, please stop, the old line, Christ, they all went to the same fucking school, these skirts, and he moved his hand up, but. But he kept his fingers lightly just where her breast sloped and started to swell. He was always a fast talker, give me credit, hell, and he started in on the old tried-and-true flesh-and-blood line, what the hell, it usually had some effect and it was a damn sight better than lame excuses or begging or waiting for the jane to pull your hand away. This way, you admitted your weakness and still got a little tittie anyway. He had a bone-on too, too bad it’s not like the fuck books where the girl just tears your pants open while you’re driving and sucks you off. Ah. But he’d bet Marie never even sucked her old man off, though you never could tell with these quiet, shy dames. She was relaxed now and didn’t make another peep about his hand and he played it nice and easy and didn’t try to grab at her, just let his hand lay there like it was natural as hell and he didn’t even realize what he was doing.

A nice atmosphere in the WigWam, lots of young couples who looked like they were going to go in for a little action later on — all these young guys looked like they were gash hounds but why not? Some of the girls were pretty nifty dishes. Marie had a Tom Collins and another one right after and he knew they went to her head because dancing she could feel his boner poking her in the belly and thighs and by Jesus if she didn’t, he could swear it unless he was going crazy, push up against him and rub herself good against it. She was wearing a goddamn girdle but he had experience with those, the trick was not to try and take it off but just unhook the garters from the stockings and pull the thing up a couple of inches or roll it up if it was one of those boneless ones, hell! he was getting way ahead of himself. But it wasn’t a fairy tale that she was glued up against him in the slow numbers and he gave her a nice soft nuzzle against her hair over her ear, “I love you,” and every time he whispered it she squeezed his hand and let the inside of her thigh slide against his rod. Jesus Christ! They had another Tom Collins and danced some more, and he was so hot that he was getting himself a real Grade-A case of lover’s nuts. Marie was flushed, and he knew that it wasn’t just the gin, God, he wanted to get her back in the car, but he didn’t want to push too hard and blow it. She was some dish, Christ knew what she was game for but he sure as hell wasn’t going to find out here. And just a minute later, when he was trying to figure out how to suggest they skedaddle, she looked at her watch and, God bless her, said they’d better go, it was twelve-thirty.