In California, at a party, lots of pot’s smoked and wine drank, he gets tired and says he’d like to go, Lulu says she’d like to stay, “All right, stay if you can get a ride back but if not, I really have to go; I can barely stand up.” “Will you be able to drive?” and he says “Fine, if I go in the next ten minutes,” so she asks around, gets a ride back with Rust, “Oh that guy, Mr. Horns. He’ll probably want to jump you two minutes into the ride,” and she says “Don’t be a dopey; be thankful he’s giving me a lift or I’d bug you all evening for taking me away,” and they kiss goodbye and he drives home, pays the babysitter. He’s asleep, wakes up, pats her side of the bed, maybe she’s in the bathroom, falls asleep, wakes up an hour later, walks through the house thinking maybe she started reading on the couch and fell asleep, goes into her son’s room to see he’s OK, “Mommy,” Carl says without waking up when Howard lifts his foot off the floor and puts it under the covers, goes back to sleep, is jostled out of it sometime later and she says “Howard? Listen, Rust and I are in the living room,” and he says “What time is it?” and she says “Late, getting to morning, and you were right, we are sort of making it—do you mind my telling you this?” and he says “I predicted it, right? You shared one of his fat joints, got hot when he started talking about his money and deals, so nothing’s stopping you two. That fucking guy; someone ought to do it to his wife and see how he feels. Anyway, what do you want from me? I’m tired. You want to do it?—you always did with him—do it, the hell with you,” and he turns his back to her, thinks what is he doing here? she’s in her bathrobe? she probably already fucked him; there’s nothing to them anymore and it’s only her kid keeping him here which is silly, fucking stupid, and she says “Don’t go to sleep, and don’t get so angry. All we’ve been doing is kissing, feeling each other a little and now he wants to ball me and I said I wouldn’t while you were in the next room but would if you joined in with us. So would you want to? Rust said he’d go for it if it’s the only way he can ball me, so long as he doesn’t have to stick his pecker in your ass—that’s the way he put it—or do anything with his mouth to you. For I’d love to make it with both of you in the same bed, and I sure don’t want it with him on that clunky couch or floor out there. And you mentioned it with me and another woman if we found one we both agreed to, so why not the other way with me?” “Carl,” and she says “He’s dead to the world, and we’ll lock our door just in case he gets up.” “No lock,” and she says “A chair up against it,” and he says “That never works. One push and it falls over.” “Up tight under the knob, which I’m sure Rust can do if you can’t. And if Carl asks why we locked it, we’ll say we were having an all night bull session, something he’s used to and the chair was where one of us was sitting. Or at worst, not that I like carrying it this far, we were all getting high and didn’t want him to get any of the smoke. But he’s not getting up so long as we don’t rant and scream during it.” “All right, all right, but no homosexual stuff whatsoever—not even handholding. It’s you and me and you and him and that’s it, even if I think I might puke halfway through it.” “Hey listen, I thought I was nice including you in. But if you don’t want, I can always go to a motel with him if you have no crucial objections and don’t mind looking after Carl,” and he says “It’s OK, you want it and I’d like to get laid too.” “Great,” and she goes, comes back with Rust. He’s only in his briefs and is holding the rest of his clothes. “Hi,” Howard says, “Hi,” Rust says; “where should I put these?” and she says “On the floor or the chair, or even in the closet—we’ve plenty of hangers,” and he says “No, I’m not that fussy,” and puts the clothes in a neat pile on the chair, shoes on the floor underneath it. “Wait, we need the chair for the door, don’t we?” and puts his clothes on the dresser, shoes underneath it, wedges the chair under the doorknob several times till the door won’t budge. “Now what?” and she says “Get in bed, you funny guy, ladies in the middle,” and takes off her bathrobe, Rust his briefs, and they get on the bed, Howard still under the covers. They all lie back, look at one another, smile, Rust says “Anyone care for a quick toke?—it’s in my pants,” and she says “Too much of a fuss.” “So why don’t you two start?” Howard says, “since you were doing it,” and she says “You’re such a joke,” and kisses his mouth and turns over and kisses Rust and strokes his penis and he puts his hand between her legs. After a minute Howard says “So am I supposed to be doing anything while this is happening?” and without looking she reaches her other arm over, feels around the sheet till she grabs his penis through it. “Jesus, you’re stiff,” and Rust says “Is he? I feel plenty sexy too but can’t get my bloody rudder up yet.” “It’s probably the situation,” Howard says. “This room and our bed and that I’m used to her, but I’d think if it was the first time with her you’d get something going. Don’t worry, it’ll come.” “If it doesn’t I’m going to feel awfully stupid,” and she says “I think I can fix it,” and shakes it, jerks it, flutters it, rolls it between two hands, blows on it and says “Up, funny fellow, up—because when I squeeze it, you know, it looks like it’s got a helmet on,” but nothing happens. “Maybe if you sucked it,” and she says “I don’t want to, not with Howard in the same bed. Either of you wants to give me head, that’d be okay.” “I’ll do that,” Rust says, “I love your bush, though I won’t guarantee it’ll help me. It should though, right? Or what if you did it to Howard and I’ll watch? It’ll be nothing strange for you and then I’ll go down on you and we’ll see where to take it from there,” and Howard says “I’m sick of this shit, let’s just get it over with,” and pulls her down on her back, she says “Whacha doing, sweetie?” gets on top and she says “We’re not doing that yet—hey, hey, man, too fast,” but he holds her down while she tries to get up, forces her legs open, sticks it in and in a few seconds comes. “You rat, that wasn’t nice,” pushing him off her and he turns his back to them, stiffens his body for expects her to hit him with her fists or kick him, says “Go on, go on, do it any way you like with him now, I’m turning in,” and Rust says “I better split, he’s mad as hell, next thing he’ll be beating on me,” and gets off the bed—“I’m not beating on anybody, you schmuck”—and starts dressing. “Hey wait, Rust,” she says, “—hey Howard! Apologize, say something to him or he’ll think you’re creepier than you showed—Screw him, I’ll see you to the door,” and they leave the room, Rust going out in his socks or bare feet so he’s probably carrying his shoes. Howard shuts the light, faces the wall, hears the front door open, then close in a few minutes and she comes back and turns on the overhead light. “He wanted me to take a drive with him—do it on the beach if we have to—and I would have but didn’t want to come back for my clothes and have to explain things to you. You’re really something. A bastard. You had to show off your dick and your overquick comes. You’ll be lucky if he looks you in the eye again. Anyone could have done what you did. Squirt squirt, you’re finished—not a hint of finesse or sensibility or any originality to it. I’ll never do it with another woman and you, for I know you’ll only use it to get your kicks watching us screwing and then lay her and humiliate me. Hey, come on, you hear me—you’re not sleeping. Well jerk yourself off for the next week, for I’m sure not getting in bed with you,” and she leaves the room, probably for the top of Carl’s bunkbed. He tells himself even if what she said might have something to it, he’s got to get out of here; it’s no stinking good and will never improve.
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