Hot Night in the City

to.'

She concentrated on the fingers she was twisting in her lap.

He took her hands and kissed them. She wished they weren't so cold and rough. He lifted her face by her chin and gently kissed her closed lips. When he drew back he saw that her eyes were closed, and there was a teardrop in the corner of one, so he shifted to his W. C. Fields voice. 'The hardest part, my chickadee, is getting started. If we were already in bed and I was holding your dee-lightful chassis in my vee-rile arms, everything would just happen naturally.' Then he changed to a gentle, understanding voice with a smile in it. 'I know exactly how you feel. Even with us worldly bad boys it's always awkward. In the beginning.'

'It is?'

'Yup. Look, I'll tell you what. Why don't I go stand out in the hall for a few minutes while you slip into bed. Then I'll come back and look around.' He donned his Lionel Barrymore voice. 'Great land o' Goshen; who's that under those blankets, Dr Kildare? Why, I do believe it's June Allyson. I'd better just slip in and keep her warm. It's my medical duty.'

She sniffed the tear back and waved away his nonsense with that flapping gesture of hers.

'I'll be back in a couple of minutes.' He made a broad burlesque of shushing her with his finger to his lips as he tiptoed across the room, eased the door open, then closed it behind him.

For a moment she sat on the bed, knowing he was waiting out in the hall, maybe listening. With a sigh she rose, took off her jacket and dress and carefully hung them in the wardrobe. At the sink she washed under her arms with cold water and dried herself, then she stepped out of her rustling crinoline underskirt, hung it over the chair and tiptoed back to the bed. She winced when the bedsprings twanged as she lay down, her heart pounding. Her nervous fingers found the cool snowman under the pillow and she stroked it for reassurance. Then the door opened slowly. He pressed it closed behind him with a soft click.

'This is so...' She sought just the right word to describe the beautiful moment, '...so nice. Lying here like this... talking... being close.' He had guided her hand to his soft penis, and she was holding it tentatively, dutifully ('politely' might be more exact) while her mind fondled the words: 'boyfriend... my first boyfriend'. Her hand on his penis was the only place their bodies were in contact because it was so hot. After bringing her to climax first with his hand, then with his tongue, he had lifted his head to find her belly wet with sweat, so he had blown across it gently to cool her. And now they lay side by side, looking up at the splayed shadow of windowpanes cast onto the ceiling by the streetlight.

'That was just wonderful,' she said dreamily.

'Hm-m, I could tell it was from the way you moved. And the sounds you made.'

'Gosh, I hope the neighbors didn't hear.' She pulled her shoulders in and laughed silently into her hand.

'How many times have you...?' She didn't know how to put it.

'Have I what?'

'How many women have you... you know.'

'You really want to know?'

'No, don't tell me!' Then, after a moment, 'Yes, tell me. How many?'

'You're my fifth.'

'The fifth time you've made love? Or your fifth woman?'

'Both.'

'Both? You mean you've made love only five times, and each time with a different girl?'

'Exactly, Watson,' he said in Basil Rathbone's arch drawl. 'Five girls... five times. Curious business, what?'

'Were they like me, your other girlfri— These women?'

He squeezed his temples between his thumb and middle finger to ease the pressure. 'No, nothing like you. The first one was when I was in college. She was old. About as old as my mother. I met her in a bar that was off limits for college kids. She was always there, sitting at the end of the bar, drinking gin. Her thick makeup and fake ritzy voice were sort of a joke. People called her 'the Countess'. We drank and she talked about when she was a young woman in high society, and how all the men used to be crazy about her, but they were not of her social standing—crap like that. The bar closed, and we went walking down along the railroad tracks. I was pretty drunk. I suppose I thought we were going to her place. She had trouble keeping her balance because the ground was rough and broken. She fell against me, and I caught her, and she kissed me, a big wet kiss, and I laid her back on a muddy bank. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my introduction to the splendors of romance! That night, I quit college and joined the army to defend American democracy and apple pie against the menace of international communism and borscht. After basic training, I was given leave before being shipped over to Korea. It was Christmas, and I took a bus to Flagstaff, Arizona. Why Flagstaff? I had to go somewhere, and Flagstaff counts as somewhere... well, nearly. Not far from the bus station, I saw a girl in this all-night coffee joint, and from all the way across the street I could tell she was lonely. I have an instinct for loneliness.'

'Like you could tell I was lonely?' she said softly into the dark.

He was silent for a moment. 'Yeah, like I could tell you were lonely. Well, I joked with this girl, talking in one actor's voice after another, and the next thing you know we were walking towards her place. She was an Indian, and an orphan, and lonely, and just about as far as you can get from pretty, and... Well, anyway.' He pressed his thumb into his temple, hard. 'I decided not to return to the army. That meant I had to go on the drift. Casual pick- up jobs here and there, following the fruit crops north, flophouses, stoop labor, freight trains. Then there was this woman in Waco, a born-again fanatic who wanted to save me. And later a black hooker in Cleveland who'd been beaten up by her pimp. I couldn't kiss her while we made love because she had a split lip. And that's it. My total love life. Not much of a Romeo. But then, people don't like to get mixed up with someone like me. Damaged boys end up damaging other people. You understand what I'm saying?'

'Sort of. Well... no, not really.'

They were silent for a time, then she said, 'I thought it was going to hurt, but it didn't.'

He tugged himself from his tangled thoughts.

'What?'

'When we... you know. The girls at school said it hurts the first time, and you bleed.'

'Well, we didn't do the part that hurts.'

'Yes, I know. Didn't you... don't you want to?'

'Do you want me to hurt you?'

'No. No, of course not, but I want you to have... you know... pleasure. I wish I knew how to...' She shrugged. 'I'll do whatever you want.' She snuggled her hot body to his and whispered into his ear. 'How can I make you feel good? Tell me. Please.'

He was silent.

'I'll do anything.'

He chuckled. 'Lick me like an ice cream cone?'

He felt her tense up, so he quickly said, 'I'm sorry, I was just joking. No, there's nothing I want you to do. There's nothing you can do.'

'What do you mean?'

'I suppose you've seen drawings on bathroom walls in school. Do you remember what the men's penises looked like?'

She shook her head.

'Oh, come on now. Of course you remember. Describe them to me.'

'Well... in the drawings they're always huge. As big as arms. And sometimes there are drops of sap squirting out of them.'

'Sap?' He laughed. 'Sap?'

'Well, whatever it is. The stuff that makes— Oh, I see! You were afraid I'd have a baby. That was why you didn't....' She hugged him.

'No, that wasn't why. I didn't do the part that might hurt you because I... can't.'

'You can't?'

'My penis can't get erect.'

'Oh.' Then, after a longish silence: 'Were you hurt? Wounded or something?'