Sexus (The Rosy Crucifixion, book 1)

she became less and less cautious. I had to be careful not to get too excited or I might have thrown caution to the winds. At any rate, before permitting me to shove it back in my fly she begged me to let her bathe it gently in a solution. She was sure that could do no harm. So I went to the bathroom with her, my prick stiff as a rod, and I watched her pet it and pamper it.

When we visited the doctor again we learned that the signs were all negative. However, he explained, even that didn't constitute a final proof.

«You know,» he said—evidently he had been thinking it over before our arrival—«I've been thinking that you'd be much better off if you were circumcised. When the foreskin is removed that stuff will come off too. You've got an uncommonly long foreskin— hasn't it bothered you?»

I confessed I had never given it a thought before. One is born with a foreskin and one dies with it. Nobody thinks about his appendix until it's time to have it cut out.

«Yes,» he went on, «you'd be lots better off without that foreskin. You'd have to go to the hospital, of course... it might take about a week or so.»

«And what would that cost?» I inquired, picking up the scent.

He couldn't say exactly—perhaps a hundred dollars. I told him I'd think it over. I wasn't too keen about losing my precious foreskin, even if there were hygienic advantages attached to it. A funny thought then entered my head—that thereafter the head of my cock would be insensitive. I didn't like that idea at all.

However, before I left his office he had persuaded me to make a date with his surgeon for a week hence. «If it should clear up in the meantime you won't need to go through with the operation—if you don't like the idea.»

«But,» he added, «if I were you I'd have it done whether I liked it or not. It's much cleaner.»

In the interval the nightly confessions proceeded apace. Mona had not been working at the dance hall for several weeks now and we had the evenings together. She wasn't sure what she would do next— it was always the money question which disturbed her —but she was certain she would never return to the dance hall. She seemed just as relieved as I to know that her blood test had come out all right.

«But you didn't think there was anything wrong with you, did you?»

«One never knows,» she said. «That was such a horrible place... the girls were filthy.»

«The girls?»

«And the men too... Don't let's talk about it.» After a short silence she laughed and said: «How would you like it if I went on the stage?»

«It would be fine,» I said. «Do you think you can act?»

«I know I can. You wait, Val, I'll show you...»

That evening we came home late and sneaked quietly into bed. Holding on to my cock she began another string of confessions. She had been wanting to tell me something... I wasn't to get angry... I wasn't to interrupt her. I had to promise.

I lay there and listened tensely. The money question again. It was always there, like a bad sore. «You didn't want me to go on staying at the dance hall, did you?» Of course I didn't. What next? I wondered.

Well naturally she had to find some way of raising the necessary funds. Go on! I thought to myself. Get it over with! I gave myself an anaesthetic and listened to her without opening my trap. It was all quite painless, strange to relate. She was talking about old men, nice old men whom she had become acquainted with at the dance hall. What they wanted was to have the company of a beautiful young girl— some one they could eat with and take to the theatre. They didn't really care about dancing—or even going to bed with a girl. They wanted to be seen with young women—it made them feel younger, gayer, more hopeful. They were all successful old bastards —with false teeth and varicose veins and all that sort of thing. They didn't know what to do with their money. One of them, the one she was talking about, owned a big steam laundry. He was over eighty, brittle, blue-veined, glassy-eyed. He was almost a child. Surely I couldn't be jealous of him! All he asked of her was permission to spend his money on her. She didn't say how much he had already forked out, but she inferred it was a tidy sum. And now there was another one—he lived at the Ritz Carlton, A shoes manufacturer. She sometimes ate in his room, because it gave him pleasure. He was a multimillionaire— and a little gaga, to believe her words. At the most he had only courage enough to kiss her hand... Yes, she had been meaning to tell me about these things for weeks, but she had been afraid I might take it badly. «You don't, do you?» she said, bending over me. I didn't answer immediately. I was thinking, wondering, puzzling over it all. «Why don't you say something?» she said, nudging me. «You said you wouldn't be angry. You promised.»

«I'm not angry,» I said. And then I grew silent again.

«But you are! You're hurt.... O Val, you're so foolish. Do you think I would tell you these things if I thought you would be hurt?»

«I don't think anything,» I said. «It's all right, believe me. Do whatever you think best. I'm only sorry that it has to be this way.»

«But it won't always be this way! It's just for a little while... That's why I want to get in the theatre. I hate it just as much as you do.»

«O.K.» I said. «Let's forget about it.»

The morning that I was to report to the hospital I woke up early. As I was taking my shower I looked at my prick and by crikey there wasn't a sign of irritation. I could hardly believe my eyes. I woke Mona and showed it to her. She kissed it. I got in bed again and tore off a quick one—to test it out. Then I went to the telephone and called the doctor.

«It's all better,» I said, «I'm not going to have my foreskin cut off.» I hung up quickly in order to forestall any further persuasions on his part.

As I was leaving the phone booth I suddenly took it into my head to phone Maude.

«I can't believe it,» she said.

«Well, it's a fact,» I said, «and if you don't believe it I'll prove it to you when I come over next week.»

She seemed to want to hang on to the phone. Kept talking about a lot of irrelevant things «I've got to go,» I said, getting annoyed with her.

«Just a moment,» she begged. «I was going to ask you if you couldn't come over sooner, say Sunday, and take us out to the country. We might have a little picnic, the three of us. I'd do up a lunch...»

Her voice sounded very tender.

«All right» I said, «I'll come. I'll come early... about eight o'clock.»

«You're sure you're all right?» she said.

«I'm absolutely sure. I'll show it to you—Sunday.»

She gave a short, dirty little laugh. I hung up before she had closed her trap.

16

While the divorce proceedings were pending events rolled up as at the end of an epoch. It only needed a war to top it off. First of all the Satanic Majesties of the Cosmodemoniacal Telegraph Company had seen fit to shift my headquarters once again, this time to the top of an old loft building in the twine and paper box district. My desk stood in the center of an enormous deserted floor which was used as a drill room by the messenger brigade after hours. In the adjoining room, equally large and empty, a sort of combination clinic, dispensary and gymnasium was established. All that was needed to complete the picture was the installation of a few pool tables. Some of the half-wits brought their roller skates along to while away the «rest periods». It was an infernal racket they made all day long, but I was so utterly disinterested now in all the company's plans and projects that, far from disturbing me, it afforded me great amusement. I was thoroughly isolated now from the other offices. The snooping and spying had abated; I was in quarantine, so to speak. The hiring and firing went on in dreamy fashion; my staff had been cut down to two—myself and the ex-pugilist who had formerly been the wardrobe attendant. I made no effort to keep the files in order, nor did I investigate references, nor did I conduct any correspondence. Half the time I didn't bother to answer the telephone; if there were anything very urgent there was always the telegraph.

The atmosphere of the new quarters was distinctly dementia praecox. They had relegated me to hell and I was enjoying it. As soon as I got rid of the day's applicants I would go into the adjoining room and watch the shenanigans. Now and then I would put on a pair of skates myself and do a twirl with the goofy ones. My assistant