Sexus (The Rosy Crucifixion, book 1)

encore. It is the same song—«Roses of Picardy». It is the same phrase which he is coming to now, the words which stab me and leave me desolate—«but there is one rose that dies not in Picardy... 'tis the rose that I keep in my heart!» I can't stand it any longer, I rush out. I rush across the street and bound up the steps to the dance hall.

She's on the floor, dancing with a dark-skinned fellow who is holding her close. As soon as the dance is out I rush over to her. «Where were you?» I ask. «What was the matter? Why didn't you come?»

She seemed surprised that I should be so upset over such a trivial thing. What had kept her? Oh, it was nothing at all. She had been out late, a rather wild party... not with Carruthers... he had left shortly after me. No, it was Florrie who had organized the party. Florrie and Hannah—did I remember them? (Did remember them? Florrie the nymphomaniac and Hannah the drunken sot. How could I forget them?) Yes, there had been a lot to drink and somebody had asked her to do the split and she had tried... well, and she had hurt herself a bit. That was all. I should have realized that something had happened to her. She wasn't the sort who made dates and broke them—just like that.

«When did you get here?» I asked, remarking to myself that she seemed quite intact, unusually cool and collected, in fact.

She had come just a few minutes ago. What difference did it make? Her friend Jerry, an ex-pugilist who was now studying law, had taken her to dinner. He had been at the party last night and had been kind enough to see her home. She would see me Saturday afternoon in the Village—at the Pagoda Tea Room. Dr. Tao, who ran the place, was a good friend of hers. She would like me to meet him. He was a poet.

I said I would wait around for her and take her home, by subway this time if she didn't mind. She begged me not to bother—I would get home so late and so on. I insisted. I could see that she wasn't too pleased. In fact she was plainly annoyed. In a moment she excused herself to go to the dressing room. That meant a telephone call, I was certain. Again I wondered if she really lived at this place she called home.

She reappeared with a good-natured smile, saying that the manager had offered to let her off early. We might go at once, if we liked. First we were to have a bite somewhere. On the way to the restaurant, and all through the meal, she kept up a rapid-fire talk about the manager and his little kindnesses. He was a Greek with a tender heart. It was extraordinary what he had done for some of the girls. How did she mean? Like what? Well, like Florrie, for instance. The time Florrie had had an abortion—that was before she met her doctor friend. Nick had paid for everything; he had even sent her to the country for a few weeks. And Hannah, who had had all her teeth extracted... Well, Nick had presented her with a lovely set of false teeth.

And Nick, what was he getting for all his trouble, I inquired blandly.

«Nobody knows anything about Nick,» she continued. «He never makes any overtures to the girls. He's too busy with his affairs. He runs a gambling joint uptown, he plays the stock market, he owns a bath house at Coney Island, he has an interest in a restaurant somewhere... he's too busy to think about such things.»

«You seem to be one of the favored ones,» I said. «You come and go as you please.»

«Nick thinks the world of me,» she said. «Perhaps because I attract a different type of man than the other girls.»

«Wouldn't you like to do something else for a living?» I asked abruptly. «You're not meant for this sort of thing—that's why you're such a success, I guess. Isn't there something else you'd rather do, tell me?»

Her smile indicated how naive my question was. «You don't think I do this because I like it, do you? I do it because I earn more money than I could elsewhere. I have a lot of responsibilities. It doesn't matter what I do—I must earn a certain amount of money each week. But don't let's talk about that, it's too painful. I know what you're thinking about, but you're wrong. Everybody treats me like a queen. The other girls are stupid. I use my intelligence. You notice that my admirers are mostly old men...»

«Like Jerry, you mean?»

«Oh Jerry, he's an old friend. Jerry doesn't count.»

I dropped the subject. Better not to inquire too deeply. There was one little thing that bothered me however, and I broached it as gently as I could, Why did she waste time on such trollops as Florrie and Hannah?

She laughed. Why, they were her best friends. They would do anything for her, they worshipped her. One has to have some one he can rely on in a pinch. Why, Hannah would hock her false teeth for her if she asked her to. Speaking of friends, there was a wonderful girl she would like to introduce me to some day—quite another type, almost aristocratic. Lola was her name. She had a little colored blood in her, but it was scarcely noticeable. Yes, Lola was a very dear friend. She was sure I would like her.

«Why not make a date?» I suggested promptly. «We could meet at my friend Ulric's studio. I've wanted you to meet him too.»

She thought that would be excellent. Couldn't say when it would be, though, as Lola was always going off on trips. But she would try to make it soon. Lola was the mistress of some rich shoe manufacturer; she wasn't always free. But it would be good to have Lola—she had a racing car. Perhaps we could drive out into the country and stay the night somewhere. Lola had a way about her. She was just a little too haughty, in fact. But that was because of her colored blood. I mustn't let on that I knew anything about that. And as for my friend Ulric—I wasn't to breathe a word of that to him.

«But he likes colored girls. He'll be crazy about Lola.»

«But Lola doesn't want to be liked for that reason,» said Mara. «You'll see—she's very pale and very attractive. Nobody would suspect that she had a drop of colored blood in her.»

«Well, I hope she's not too proper.»

«Yow don't need to worry about that,» said Mara promptly. «Once she forgets herself she's very gay. It won't be a dull evening, I assure you.»

We had a bit of a walk from the subway station to her home. Along the way we stopped under a tree and started to mush it up. I had my hand up her dress and she was fumbling with my fly. We were leaning against the tree trunk. It was late and not a soul in sight. I could have laid her out on the sidewalk for all it mattered.

She had just got my pecker out and was opening her legs for me to ram it home when suddenly from the branches above a huge black cat pounced on us, screaming as if in heat. We nearly dropped dead with fright, but the cat was even more frightened since its claws had gotten caught in my coat. In my panic I beat the hell out of it and in return was badly clawed and bitten. Mara was trembling like a leaf. We walked into a vacant lot and lay on the grass. Mara was fearful I might get an infection. She would sneak home and come back with some iodine and what not. I was to lie there and wait for her. It was a warm night and I lay back full length looking up at the stars. A woman passed but didn't notice me lying there. My cock was hanging out and beginning to stir again with the warm breeze. By the time Mara returned it was quivering and jumping. She kneeled beside me with the bandages and the iodine. My cock was staring her in the face. She bent over and gobbled it greedily. I pushed the things aside and pulled her over me. When I had shot my bolt she kept right on coming, one orgasm after another, until I thought it would never stop.

We lay back and rested awhile in the warm breeze. After a while she sat up and applied the iodine. We lit our cigarettes and sat there talking quietly. Finally we decided to go. I walked her to the door of her home and as we stood there embracing one another she grabbed me impulsively and whisked me off. «I can't let you go yet,» she said. And with that she flung herself on me, kissing me passionately and reaching into my fly with murderous accuracy. This time we didn't bother to look for a vacant patch of ground, but collapsed right on the sidewalk under a big tree. The sidewalk wasn't too comfortable—I had to pull out and move over a few feet where there was a bit of soft earth. There was a little puddle near her elbow and I was for taking it out again and moving over another inch or so, but when I tried to draw it out she got frantic. «Don't ever take it out again,» she begged, «it drives me crazy. Fuck me, fuck me!» I held out on her a long while. As before, she came again and again, squealing and grunting like a stuck pig. Her mouth seemed to have grown bigger, wider, utterly lascivious; her eyes were turning over, as if she were going into an epilectic fit. I took it out a moment to cool it off. She put her hand in the puddle beside her and sprinkled a few drops of water over it. That felt marvelous. The next moment she was on her hands and knees, begging me to give it to her assways. I got behind her on all fours; she reached her hand under and grabbing my cock she slipped it in. It went right in to the womb. She gave a little groan of pain and pleasure mixed. «It's gotten bigger,» she said, squirming her ass around. «Put it in again all the way... go ahead, I don't care if it hurts,» and with that she backed up on me with a wild lurch. I had such a cold-blooded erection that I thought I'd never be able to come. Besides, not worrying about losing it, I was able to watch the performance like a spectator. I would draw it almost out and roll the tip of it around the silky, soppy petals, then plunge it in and leave in there