Carlota choked, overcome with emotion.
“Dishpicable, unprinshapled scoundrel,” groaned Zippy, “robbing a young girlsh pry-shless jewel…”
“Misherable king's emishary ough to be im-prishoned for life!” exclaimed Monty, bursting anew into tears.
I was the only one whose heart remained untouched. As the narrative seemed to have come to an end, I murmured:
“That was a beautiful story, Carlota. Now tell us the real one.”
“The real one isn't nearly as beautiful as the one I told you,” answered Carlota, who had now regained her composure.
“Wosh the idea?” growled Zippy, sitting up suddenly. “Imposhing on our shimpathies in such a… hie… inexcushable manner?”
“Thash what I shay!” echoed Monty, with an aggrieved expression on his face. “Wosh the idea?”
“Shut up, you two! We'll make her start all over again, and if she doesn't tell the truth this time, we'll do something to her!”
“Oh, well, if you insist on the truth you can have it, but I warn you, the circumstance was quite devoid of romantic interest. Fiction is always more interesting than truth!”
“Thash what we want, the truth,” exclaimed Zippy with renewed enthusiasm.
“Never mind the romantic interesh!” recommended Monty.
“Well, let's see… I guess I was twelve, or very close to it. My Aunt Carmen and my little cousin Ferdinand were staying with us for the summer. One afternoon Mamma and Aunt Carmen went to the city, leaving Ferdinand in my care. It was just such an opportunity as I had been wishing for. A girl playmate had whispered some interesting facts to me, confirming pretty well-defined suspicions I had already formed regarding certain phenomena of nature..”
“I hope there ishn't going to be any birsh and beesh in thish story,” murmured Zippy uneasily.
“Before Mamma and Aunt Carmen were out of sight I had made up my mind that I was going to find out all about it. Ferdinand was nine, just young enough to accept my leadership in everything, and just old enough to keep a secret when warned that its disclosure would bring parental vengeance.
“He could be trusted, and so as soon as Mamma and Aunt Carmen were at a safe distance, I locked the doors, invited him to come with me to my bedroom, and under the pretext of teaching him a new game, got him to undress and did likewise. The game wasn't exactly a new one, but it was the first time either he or I had ever tried to play it, and we were a little awkward.
“By working his little dangle with my fingers, a process I had to repeat several times, for it persisted in going soft on me, I managed finally to get it stiff enough to fulfill its proper functions, and after a few erratic efforts, it suddenly slipped into the hole between my legs with an ease which rather surprised me.
“And this, dear friends, was the simple and unromantic circumstances under which I was fucked for the first time, though in truth it should be put the other way around, for it could more properly be said that I was the one who did the fucking. I hope you're satisfied. As a matter of fact, the first story I told you was also true, except in some minor details.”
“What were those minor details, if I may ask?” I inquired politely.
“Well, in the first place, I wasn't entirely unaware of what was going to happen when he laid me down on the grass and took my panties off. In fact, I was rather hopefully anticipating it, for I had felt something hard rubbing against my thigh all the time he was carrying me. In the second place, I wasn't by any means unconscious while he was doing it to me, though I pretended to be. And in the third place, as I have just related, it wasn't my first fuck, or my second either for that matter, even though he did make, me bleed a little because of his size.”
Carlota tossed off a pony of brandy while Monty and Zippy remained pensively silent.
“Now,” she observed, clasping her hands behind her head and leaning back in her chair, “let's hear yours!”
“Mine,” I answered, “parallels yours… I mean your true one… so closely that I would only have to reverse the ages of the participants, for I was the younger, by several years. Which reminds me of something I intended to ask you in view of your experience… can you get any juice out of a nine-year-old cock?”
“Gosh, I don't know,” confessed Carlota. “It always seemed to be wet when it came out, but whether it was boy-juice or girl-juice I don't know because I was twelve years old at the time, the hair was beginning to grow on my cunny, and the juice might have been all mine. But don't fool yourself, a kid nine years old can have an orgasm, whether he squirts anything or not.”
At this moment a waiter, after knocking discreetly, opened the door to murmur apologetically that it was well past closing time. A hasty glance at the timepiece on the wall showed that it was indeed two o'clock in the morning.
We gathered up our effects and prepared to depart. Both Monty and Zippy were tipsy. Carlota walked in the peculiar fashion of one who is not quite sure of the footing, and I myself found when I stood up that I was far from steady on my feet,
Monty's chauffeur, who was huddled up in his seat half-asleep, came to life, jumped out, opened the door for us, and stood patiently awaiting instructions.
For several minutes we stood there debating further exploits. For my part I was in favor of going directly to my room with Monty. My blood was heated and in my fevered, half-inebriated state I pictured several hours of delicious sexual abandon. But I was overruled by the others, who were still in an adventuresome mood. They wanted to go somewhere else to pass another hour or two before separating, and each had different ideas.
“Listen, everybody!” finally announced Monty with drunken determination. “We'll go to my housh! I've got a nish, comfortable room where, everybody can relaxsh and enjoy themselves!”
“Oh, no, we can't do that!” I protested hastily. “Your wife will have us thrown out!”
I could not have voiced a more ill-advised objection. Monty instantly became stubbornly resolute.
“Lishen!” he said with injured dignity, “a mansh housh ish hish cashel! When he wansh to entertain dish in hish cashel thash hish… hie… ina… inalienable right!”
Nobody could offer a valid contradiction to this time-honored philosophy, and though the chauffeur looked startled when he received his instructions, we were soon on the way. Though even in my beclouded state I could not repress certain misgivings I lulled them with the thought that his wife would undoubtedly be asleep at this hour, and I would think up some pretext to get them to leave as quickly as possible.
But, alas, under the effects of the silver flask and other stimulants which were drawn forth from hidden recesses in the car, the warning sense of caution diminished and before long I hardly remembered where we were going and by the time we got there I was nearly as drunk as the rest and but dimly aware of the surroundings.
The next thing I knew we were within the beautiful room which Monty had modestly described as “nish and comfortable.” The feel of rich, thick carpets was underfoot, and about Us every luxurious comfort and adornment which money could command. The soft night-light which was burning gave way to a brighter illumination as crystal chandeliers burst into life. In an immense open chimney firewood was laid to light, and in an instant this stately, beautiful room became the scene of riotous revelry.
Carlota and I flung ourselves upon gorgeous divans while Monty and Zippy divested themselves of their hats and top-coats and placed upon an inland table the several bottles, some full, some partially depleted, which they had carried up from the car.
A sleepy butler appeared unsolicited, and stood with gaping mouth in the doorway.
“Go 'way! Go on back to bed!” ordered Monty. “Thish ish a private party, we don't want any intrushions!”
The man retired hastily.
There was an interlude during which events remained only in my mind in a nebulous blur. Here and there were incidents which stood out in relief, surviving the chaos of the night. Of course, it was inevitable under the circumstances that Carlota and I should be wheedled into disrobing, for no drunken orgy is complete until the women have exhibited themselves naked, and when the cataclysmic hour struck, she was down to her slippers, hose and a short undervest, while I, more circumspect, had removed only my panties.
Across the room where the shaded glow of a rose-tinted light fell softly on her naked thighs and pointed, cone-shaped breasts, her head on Zippy's lap, Carlota lay, alternately shrieking hysterically and moaning as he realized some occult operation between her legs with his finger.
