Sexus (The Rosy Crucifixion, book 1)

there a moment, on the table, while I removed my clothes because it was getting too warm for me in the kitchen, next to the red hot stove, and so on and so forth. And so I removed my things, all but my socks and shoes, and with an erection fit to break a plate I stepped blandly forth and resumed operations. Or rather, I in turn had now become aware of things past, such as bumps, bruises, spots, warts, birthmarks et cetera, and would she kindly give me the once over while we were at it, and then we would go to bed because it was getting late and I didn't want to tire her out.

Strangely enough she wasn't tired at all, she confessed, getting down from the table and solicitously squeezing my cock and then my balls and then the root of my cock, all with such firm, discreet and delicate manipulations that I almost gave her a squirt in the eye. After that she was curious to see how much taller I was than she, so first we stood back to back and then front to front; even then, when it was jumping between her legs like a firecracker, she pretended to be thinking of feet and inches, saying that she ought to take her shoes off because her heels were high, and so on and so forth. And so I made her sit down on the kitchen chair and slowly I pulled off her shoes and stockings, and she, as I politely rendered her service, thoughtfully stroked my cock, which was difficult to do being in the position she was, but I graciously abetted her strategy by moving in closer and hoisting her legs up in the air at a right angle; then, without any more ado I lifted her up by the hind quarters, shoved it in to the hilt and carried her into the next room where I tumbled her on to the couch, sank it in again and went at it with sound and fury, she doing the same and begging me in the most candid, non- professional, non-casual language to hold it, to make it last, to keep it in forever, and then as an after-thought to wait a minute while she slipped out and turned over, raising herself on her knees, her head sunk low, her ass wriggling frantically, her thick gurgling voice saying in the English language openly and admittedly to herself for her own ears to hear and to recognize: «Get it in all the way... please, please do... I'm horny.»

Yes, on occasion she could trot out a word like that, a vulgar word that would have made her curl up with horror and indignation if she were in her right senses, but now after the little pleasantries, after the vaginal exploration by finger, after the weight lifting and measuring contest, after the comparison of bruises, marks, bumps and what not, after the delicately casual manipulation of prick and scrotum, after the delicious French ice cream and the thoughtless faux pas outside the theatre, to say nothing of all that had transpired in her imagination since the cruel avowal a few nights ago, a word like «horny» was just the right and proper word to indicate the temperature of the Bessemer steel furnace which she had made of her inflamed cunt. It was the signal to give her the works and spare nothing. It meant something like this:—«No matter what I was this afternoon or yesterday, no matter what I think I am or how I detest you, no matter what you do with that thing to-morrow or the day after, now I want it and I want everything that goes with it: I wish it were bigger and fatter and longer and juicier: I wish you would break it off and leave it in there: I don't care how many women you've fucked, I want you to fuck me, fuck my cunt, fuck my ass off, fuck and fuck and fuck. I'm horny, do you hear? I'm so horny I could bite it off. Shove it in all the way, harder, harder, break your big prick off and leave it in there. I'm horny, I tell you...»

Usually after these bouts I awoke depressed. Looking at her with her clothes on and that grim, tight, caustic, everyday expression about her mouth, studying her at the breakfast table, indifferently, not having anything else to look at, I wondered sometimes why I didn't take her for a walk some evening and just push her off the end of a pier. I began to look forward like a drowning man to that solution which Stanley had promised and of which as yet there was not the least feign. To cap it all I had written a letter to Mara saying that we had to find a way out soon or I would commit suicide. It must have been a maudlin letter because when she telephoned me she said it was imperative to see me immediately. This shortly after lunch on one of those hectic days when everything seemed to go wrong. The office was jammed with applicants and even if I had had five tongues and five pairs of arms and twenty-five telephones instead of three at my elbow, I could never have hired as many applicants as were needed to fill the sudden and inexplicable vacuum which had come about overnight. I tried to put Mara off until the evening but she would not be put off. I agreed to meet her for a few minutes at an address which she gave me, the apartment of a friend of hers, she said, where we would be undisturbed. It was in the Village.

I left a mob of applicants hanging at the rail, promising Hymie who was frantically telephoning for «waybills» that I'd be back in a few minutes. I jumped into a cab at the corner and got out in front of a doll's house with a miniature garden in front. Mara came to the door in a light mauve dress under which she was nude. She flung her arms around me and kissed me passionately.

«A wonderful little nest, this,» I said, holding her off to take a better look at the place.

«Yes, isn't it?» she said. «It belongs to Carruthers. He lives down the street with his wife; this is just a little den which he uses now and then. I sleep here sometimes when it's too late to go home».

I said nothing. I turned to look at the books—the walls were solidly lined with them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mara snatch something from the wall—seemed like a sheet of wrapping paper.

«What's that?» I said, not really curious but pretending to be.

«It's nothing,» she answered. «Just a sketch of his which he asked me to destroy.»

«Let's see it!»

«You don't want to look at it—it's worthless»—and she started to crumple it up.

«Let's see it anyway,» I said, grasping her arm and snatching the paper from her hand. I opened it up and saw to my amazement that it was a caricature of myself with a dagger through the heart.

«I told you he was jealous,» she said. «It doesn't mean anything—he was drunk when he did it. He's, been drinking a great deal lately. I have to watch him like a hawk. He's just a big child, you know. You mustn't think he hates you—he acts that way with everybody who shows the least sign of interest in me.»

«He's married, you said. What's the matter—doesn't he get along with his wife?»

«She's an invalid,» said Mara, almost solemnly.

«In a wheel chair?»

«No-o-o, not exactly,» she replied, a faint irrepressible smile suffusing her lips. «Oh, why talk about that now? What differences does it make? You know I'm not in love with him. I told you once that he had been very kind to me; now it's my turn to look after him—he needs some one to steady him.»

«So you sleep here now and then—while he stays with his invalid wife, is that it?»

«He sleeps here too sometimes: there are two cots, if you notice. Oh, please,» she begged, «don't let's talk about him. There's nothing for you to worry about, can't you see, can't you believe me?» She came close to me, put her arms around me. Without ado I lifted her up and carried her over to the couch. I pulled her dress up and, opening wide her legs, I slipped my tongue into her crack. In a moment she had me over her. When she had gotten my cock out she took her two hands and opened her cunt for me to slip it in. Almost at once she had an orgasm, then another, and another. She got up and washed herself quickly. As soon as she had finished I followed suit. When I came out of the bathroom she was lying on the couch with a cigarette to her lips. I sat there a few minutes with my hand between her legs, talking quietly to her.

«I've got to get back to the office,» I said, «and we haven't had a chance to talk.»

«Don't go yet,» she begged, sitting upright and putting her hand affectionately over my prick. I put my arm around her and kissed her long and passionately. She had her fingers in my fly again and was reaching for my prick when suddenly we heard some one fumbling at the door knob.

«It's him,» she said, jumping quickly to her feet and making for the door. «Stay where you are, it's all right,» she threw out quickly as she glided forward to meet him. I hadn't time to button my fly. I stood up and casually straightened it out as she flew into his arms with some silly joyous exclamation.

«I've got a visitor,» she said. «I asked him to come. He's leaving in a few minutes.»

«Hello,» he said, coming forward to greet me with hand out and an amiable smile on his lips. He showed no unusual surprise. In fact, he seemed much more affable than he did the night I first met him at the dance hall.

«You don't have to go this instant, do you?» said he, undoing a bundle which he had brought with him. «You might have a little drink first, won't you? Which do you prefer—Scotch or Rye?»

Before I could say yes or no Mara had slipped out to get some ice. I stood with my back partially turned to him as he busied himself with the bottles and, pretending to be interested in a book on the shelf before me, I stealthily buttoned my fly.

«I hope you don't mind the looks of the place,» he said. «This is just a little retreat, a hide-out, where I can meet Mara and her little friends. She looks cute in that dress, don't you think?»

«Yes,» I said, «it is rather attractive.»