I wasn’t that crazy about the idea myself, but Marcia was coming up with some good lines, and the theme did suit my drawing style. The world is coming to an end because pretty soon there won‘t be any place left to throw old razor blades -and a view of the Grand Canyon filled to the top, and a little guy standing there with razor in one hand and blade in the other.
Well, can’t every line be a boffo, you know.
So I went up to Marcia’s place and she poured me a drink the size of Lake Erie, but purer, and I showed her what artwork I’d come up with during the week, plus a few gag ideas I had thought of-some she loved, most she hated-and she gave me a batch of new ideas which I would take back to Massachusetts, see which ones I liked in graphic terms, and work up some roughs.
This much we probably could have done on the phone. But then I took her face between my hands and kissed her wide mouth, and she laughed throatily and gave me a lot of tongue and thrust with her hips and wiped her loins across mine.
Surprise, Priss!
Or is it? Did you know, or take for granted? Well, surprise, anyway. What you wrote held surprises for me. Sauce for the goose and all that. When one gets on one of these truth trips, it’s like going to a hotel in Paris. You have to take the bidet with the suite.
It was the best sort of casual shtupping. We both liked each other a lot, but in the deeper sense neither of us really gave a double damn about the other, and we only balled each other because it felt good. No jealousy, no intrigue, no hang-ups. Just some friendly fucking. And in this chill dreary world, where the fucking you get is never worth the fucking you give, friendly fucking is treasure enough.
In bed, after we had spent some minutes handling and nibbling at various portions of one another, I said, “Hey, may I ask a personal question, Marsh?”
“Do we know each other well enough for that? Mmm, I like your body, I groove on you. What do you want to know?”
“Ever make it with a girl?”
“Well, I like that. Just because I’m an aggressive castrating bitch, you figure I’ve got to be a dyke as well. You’re full of compliments.”
“Forget I said a word,” I said, and grabbed her.
We went into a friendly clinch, but then she broke away from me, raised herself up on one elbow, draped her breasts over me, and poked her eyes into my eyes.
“Why?” she demanded.
“I wondered.”
“I know you wondered, you wouldn’t have asked if you hadn’t wondered. Why?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“Meaning you’re not really sure you want to say. Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. It’s better than ham.”
“Oh, you know that one?”
“Honey, doesn’t everyone?”
“I suppose.”
“Hey, do you have a lesbian hang-up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. What the hell is a lesbian hang-up, anyway?”
“What you got, I think. Hey.”
“What?”
“I got a sensational idea.”
“What?”
“Go get us each a drink.”
“That’s your sensational idea?”
“No, but first get us a drink.”
I came back with drinks and the bottle. She sat on the edge of the bed, deep in thought. I kissed the back of her neck. She didn’t seem to notice.
She said, “You like things a little kinky, no?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“Well, I have this idea.”
“You’re gonna call up a girlfriend to join us.”
“I am like hell.” She swung around, eyes positively fierce. “What the hell do you think I am?”
“A virgin.”
She whooped. “All right, I had that one coming. Where did I pick up this outraged innocence, I wonder? But no, I’m not into that any more. Girls. For a while, yes. In the future, perhaps. At the present, I pass. And I never did like crowd scenes. I like one-to-one relationships, otherwise I get paranoid and become convinced that the other people dig each other more than they dig me. My shrink says-forget it.”
“Forget what?”
“I don’t have a shrink. It’s an obnoxious habit I’ve developed of starting sentences with My shrink says when I want to endow thoughts of my own with extra authority. It’s handy, but fuck games for the time being, I’ve had it with games.”
“What was your sensational idea?”
“Oh, yeah.” We had refilled our glasses by now, and were probably pretty drunk. “My idea. I don’t know if it’s a good idea any more. I thought we could both be girls.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Both be girls making love. You and me. Lesbians.”
“Wouldn’t I have to have an operation? Because I don’t think I’d care to.”
“Clown.”
“Well, what then?”
“Role-playing. You have to consciously force yourself to think of yourself as a girl.”
“For thirty-six years I’ve been consciously trying to think of myself as a man. You want me to undo all those years of effort?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“At one time or another, sweetie, Mama has done everything.”
“Okay, I’m game.”
“You’re a girl.”
“All right.”
“And I’m a girl, and I love you. Close your eyes, keep them closed. I’m going to take the lead and make love to you now. These are your breasts, big beautiful breasts. This is your slender shapely hairless body. Your soft female skin. This-” Her fingers pressed briefly at my genitalia “-does not exist. Numb, nothing there. This-” her fingers lingering below the base of the scrotum “-is your sweet little snatch. How nice, how sweet-”
How fucking weird.
She made love to me, girl to girl. Or perhaps man to girl, because she took a very active role, did Marcia, leading, guiding, initiating, directing. Did I feel like a girl? I don’t know, I’ve never been a girl, I don’t know what a girl feels. But it was strange. Responding to caresses upon parts of me unused to that sort of thing.
For the finale, I lay on my back with my legs spread and my knees up, the missionary’s wife, and Marcia lay upon me, supporting her weight on her elbows and slamming her ridge of pubic bone into the base of my scrotum. She was fucking the hell out of me. She had no penis nor I any place for her to put it, but that was precisely what she was doing.
I think kinkiness is a turn-on in and of itself. In any event, I did not find any of this remotely boring. As she delivered her final thrust, I came like Old Faithful.
When drinks were freshened and cigarettes lit, I said, “Aggressive castrating bitch.”
“Who says?”
“You did, remember? And I’m not gonna argue with you. I’d be afraid.”
“Damn right.”
“Cause you might rape me.”
