The Oy of Sex

by Marcie Scheiner

  “Sounds more like a class thing than about Catholic boys,” Diana said.

  “Maybe,” Nancy conceded. “But then again, look at the case of Dr. Sean Donavon. You couldn’t call him working-class.

  “A prick is what I’d call him,” Diana retorted.

  “He had one of those little gold crosses,” Nancy sighed. “I love those.”

  “You, girl, are seriously deranged. I think maybe it’s from lack of sex.”

  “Yeah, I love my job, but you just don’t meet men being a gynecologist,” Nancy replied as they left the restaurant.

  In the taxi on the way to her office a succession of varied Catholic males ruled her daydreams. Oh, Tom, she thought, Where are you now? Not in my office, that’s for sure. There waited only stacks of patients’ charts and piles of horrid insurance forms, calling her just as surely now as her teenage longings had before.

  She realized she had lost track of time when she heard the housekeeping cart clatter down the hall. That certainly meant it was time for her to go home. She was plumped with satisfaction at the amount of paperwork she had slogged through. She was hungry again, the salad she’d eaten at dinner not even a memory to her stomach. Visions of veggie burgers dripping with melted cheese dotted her mind, and she unconsciously licked her mouth. Then she thought about her thighs. Okay, no cheese.

  Her body felt stiff and cramped, and she got up to stretch. She was an ample woman, tall with large breasts, butt, and thighs. But she took care of her body because when she hit forty it had started complaining quite loudly if she didn’t.

  She was bent over, her thick, curly hair grazing the floor and her arms up behind her, when he came in. They were both startled; she straightened up so quickly she almost hurt her back.

  Holy shit, she thought reverently, this is the housekeeper? They were supposed to be chubby ladies who muttered to themselves in obscure languages as they stolidly pushed mops and brooms. Another stereotype shot to hell. Because the person with the mop was nothing like that. The person with the mop was a young man and he was beautiful, booted, and blonde, with colorful stains on his black jeans. Oy, she thought, an artist Her number-two weakness. She could not prevent herself from exploring every visible inch of him.

  The fine hair on his arms was as fair as that on his head. A real blonde. And on his T-shirt she could just make out, in extremely faded lettering, “St. Ignatius Athletic Department.” Unbelievable. Her eyes crept slowly up to his neck, and there it was: the tiniest gold cross on a very short chain. Wide, sharp cheekbones, wide, sharp mouth, pale blue eyes.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you. I do this office now; it’s always been empty. Should I come back later?” His voice was devoid of inflection. I hope this bitch isn’t going to take too long, he thought. I want to go home.

  Nancy tried to regain her composure. She thought surely he must have noticed her lewd assessment of him; she had never been very subtle. She realized that she wanted him to notice and could feel herself flushing.

  “No, I’m just finishing up here.” Please don’t go away yet.

  “I’ll go ahead and start then, if it’s okay with you.” He didn’t pay much attention to what was in the places he cleaned, but he knew these were doctors’ offices. Shit, he realized, she’s the pussy doctor. He almost laughed. Why was she still standing there?

  She saw the very dazzling dragon that stalked its way up his left arm. “Your dragon is really beautiful,” she burst out, meaning it, but feeling stupid as soon as it was out of her mouth. Still, her body took a step forward; she felt an intense inner hollowness and was ruled by the need to have it filled.

  “Thank you. I designed it,” he offered.

  He lifted out of his boredom enough to pay attention to her. There was a ripeness about her. She was older, past forty probably, but that wasn’t it. She was rounded where he was used to planes. It was oddly attractive. He usually had sex with people who looked pretty much like himself, something he was conscious of but had no desire to examine. He had a sudden picture of burying himself completely in her flesh. Not just her cunt, but her whole body. There was some kind of ripe female smell. She was too far away for it to be coming from her. It must be coming from his mind.

  Crap, he is a fucking artist, she thought. Or at least he was at one time, The tattoo was exceptional. “Uh, didn’t it hurt a lot?” Oh, clever, Nancy. She was starting to sweat. Are we going back to high school here?

  He didn’t answer, just smiled with one side of his mouth.

  Then that other part of her took over, that part that went from the cunt up, instead of the head down. She backed up so she could sit on the edge of her desk. She swung one of her legs lightly. “Did you like it when it hurt? Just curious.”

  He laughed. What?” Was she coming on to him? Dr. Pussy and the janitor. He could swear that smell was getting stronger.

  “You heard me.”

  “Don’t you think that’s kind of an intimate question?”

  She took a deep breath. “You decide,” she said calmly.

  “Part of me liked it and part of me didn’t. I like to endure, you know?” She didn’t seem put off by his answer, but he wondered if she knew what he was talking about.

  Oh, goodie, she thought, briefly picturing him tied to a bed. So perfect for a Catholic boy, absolves him for whatever happens. She was getting wet. God, hope I don’t start squirming. She took another deep breath and looked straight into his pale eyes.

  What am I going to do with her? he wondered. He had no doubt she wanted him. He had always been able to tell when someone wanted him; even before he had the words to explain it, he felt it. Priests, his mother’s friends, sometimes a friend of his father’s. He could tell even when they didn’t know it themselves. That look, that accidental touch that lingered—oh, he could tell. It didn’t require a lot of insight to see what this one wanted. Yet he felt something absolutely innocent about her desire, almost as if she were a young girl. He hadn’t been with anyone in several months, a long time for him. He had already had everyone he knew: female, male and in-between. Incredibly, he seemed to be growing tired of sex. Safe sex. A contradiction in terms.

  Condoms, okay. Condoms by the box, always in their place on the floor next to the mattress. He had been lucky, really, that he had used them when he was very young, too, before anyone knew how you got that disease. You had to have one then, even if you had no hope of using it, just to piss off the Brothers if they found it. Even if he got a beating it was worth it just to piss them off. Besides, he wasn’t about to have to marry some little rosary-bead-counting hypocrite just because of a moment’s carelessness. He had tried to stay away from Catholic girls anyway. Jewish girls had been the best: the easiest to lay, and it wasn’t serious for them, either. It was hard to get to them, though.

  “So what’s your name, anyway?” she asked. When in doubt, stick to the familiar.

  “Tom, what’s yours?”

  “Tom? Your name is Tom?” she squeaked.

  “Yeah, is that weird or something? It’s a pretty common name.”

  Not where I come from, baby. “It’s just, uh, one of my favorite names.

  Strange. “I guess you’re Nancy, huh? Dr. Nancy Kaplan,” he said, reading her diploma. No wonder he’d been thinking about Jewish girls. “How do you do?” He grinned at his conscious use of the formal language, the first smile she’d seen. He was so damn cute. He offered her his hand to shake, part of the formality: he didn’t know why he felt like being silly. He very seldom got silly. When she took the hand she refused to let it go. It was warm and dry and a little calloused. Hers was damp, but he didn’t seem to mind. Please kiss me.

  He drew her to him as though he had heard her thoughts and touched his lips to hers, just barely. Then he let his tongue out to lick her lips. Her mouth was much bigger than his, plump like the rest of her. He envied her those lips, never liking the thin mouth he saw in the mirror. But his tongue, well, he never worried about that. It had never disappo
inted him.

  He ventured a little farther, just putting his tongue in and stroking hers softly. He always tried to tell what kind of kissing they liked. He figured he’d mastered all the available styles, and anything that involved his mouth made him happy. He quite liked the way she kissed back, though. He moved in close and held her all the way against him. He wanted her to feel his cock grow.

  She was amazed that his skinny mouth was able to consume her. She was totally in cunt mode now; anyone who got her this far by kissing could have whatever he wanted. She offered a quick blessing to her Goddess, hoping he’d want something. Hoping he’d want a lot.

  She broke for air and to look at him, and of its own accord her hand went up to smooth the hair back off his forehead. She quickly withdrew it, afraid it had been too intimate a gesture, but he smiled and did the same to her thick curls. He allowed his hands to linger there, twisting small ringlets.

  “I like your hair,” he said quietly.

  “I like you,” she returned, made bold by the steadily rising heat. She wanted to just put him in her pocket. “Come home with me?” Had she said that? It was out of her mouth without a thought. She really didn’t do this sort of thing. Really.

  Suddenly there was something unnerving about the situation. He didn’t do this sort of thing anymore. He withdrew a little, and apparently she felt it, because she looked disappointed. Everything about this woman felt like warmth and kindness, and she was very sexy. Still, he sensed that there might be something more than a simple fuck going on here. He felt exposed in a way that he rarely did with anyone. Clearly his cock had no problem. It was up and waving frantically for his attention. It wasn’t as though she were asking for a lifetime commitment. Probably she had a really nice house, too. She reminded him in some ways of those girls he’d wanted in high school. What the hell, he’d never had a doctor.

  He took back her hand. “Sorry. I just haven’t been with anyone for a while.” It was a lame apology, he knew, but it would get them back where they wanted to be.

  He didn’t look to her like someone who went a long time between sexual encounters. But maybe she was making unfair assumptions because of his youth and aesthetic.

  “So do you want to come home with me?”

  He was still holding her hand, and he put it to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Sure.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked, wondering how long it would take for him to get home in the morning. He was surprised when she named a part of the city that was relatively inexpensive.

  She laughed. “Thought I was rich, huh? Rich doctor fantasies? Sorry to disappoint you. I don’t have that kind of practice. I’ve always treated a percentage of women who don’t have insurance. You don t get rich that way. And I don’t own the house, I rent, and it’s a flat, and I’m not good with money, okay?

  “Yeah, I was kind of hoping for something a little more glamorous. I have friends who live around there.”

  “Well, at least it’s just a short train ride away,” she said cheerfully

  “Excuse me, you don’t have a car either?”

  She was laughing now. “I have one. I just don’t take it to work. Who drives a car downtown? The traffic’s crazy.”

  He was beginning to regret this again. He was tired after working. He hoped they wouldn’t have to walk far from the train to her house. He needed a shower, too; he could smell himself. But she put her arms around him in the elevator and kissed him so sweetly he couldn’t refuse her.

  “I’ll feel you up on the train,” she said with a small giggle.

  And she did, too. She made him take the inside seat, and she sat sideways, facing him. She put her hand between his legs and caressed his cock through his jeans until she felt it begin to move. Then she switched her hand around to the back and inserted it into that little gap between his shirt and the top of his pants. Oh, he was wearing underwear. She got almost giddy with lust at the thought of him in his little cotton panties.

  The situation made him a bit nervous. Not than he hadn’t engaged in his share of outrageous behavior. But he had expected something a bit more conventional from her. Maybe he even wanted that. Milk and cookies. An image of his mother passed unwanted through his mind. Oh, please. Think about that later. Her hand continued to move and his jeans felt too tight. All right, she was full of contradictions, but he had to admit that was part of her attraction. Like he had loved the way she was wearing a big, sloppy men’s style cardigan sweater over a lace top. Probably one of those body suits that were so hard to take off.

  He leaned over and pulled her top down over her bra, then reached inside and held a breast. He heard her gasp, and the nipple hardened as he pinched it lightly. It felt quite large. He imagined his mouth around it. He smiled against her neck. Milk and cookies. She was moving her pelvis slightly on his hip—but then she pulled back. By then they had provided fantasy material for several of their fellow passengers.

  Nancy settled back in her seat.

  “So, when was the last time you went to confession?” she asked, striving for a neutral tone.

  “What?” he sputtered, thinking, Shit, I’ve still got a hard-on and she’s asking me about sacraments? What is going on with this chick? “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I was just wondering, here’s a nice Polish boy with a cross around his neck, has to be Catholic, right? I’m wondering is he going to go say he’s sorry tomorrow for what he does tonight?”

  “Lady, I stopped believing in that crap when I was twelve.”

  “Then how come you’re wearing that cross? Not that it doesn’t look lovely,” she hastened to add.

  “It’s an ironic gesture, a juxtaposition of opposites for artistic effect. Goes good with the dragon, don’t you think?”

  “Uh-huh. Who gave it to you?” she pushed, seemingly innocent as she relentlessly advanced on his psyche.

  “It’s 24-carat gold,” he said weakly.

  “Mother gave it to you, huh?”

  The hell with this bitch. No mothers. Mothers are not happening. Churches are not happening. “Why are we having this conversation? Why am I still hard?

  He’s angry. I stepped into something. She didn’t want to admit she’d done it on purpose.

  “I’m sorry, really sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” She took a deep breath. “I just sort of have a thing for Catholic boys. Or ex-Catholic now, I guess. It’s a teenage fetish. I never got over it.”

  “I’m not some fucking symbol, you know.”

  “I know. I don’t think you are. You’re just very attractive.” She was pleading effectively with her dark brown eyes.

  He relented. “How’d you know I was Polish?”

  “Just a good guess. Lots of ‘em where I grew up. What’s your last name anyway?”

  “Pulaski,” he said with resignation.

  “Mmm, an aristocrat,” she said, surprising him.

  “Yeah, well everybody named Windsor isn’t related to Queen Elizabeth, you know. Believe me, there weren’t any castles where I grew up.”

  As they approached her house, an abrupt spasm of terror knifed its way through her gut. Who is this guy? What the fuck are you doing? What if he’s dangerous—he looks kind of dangerous. Of course that was sexy. And it was mostly image, anyway… I can’t stop now, so I might as well trust him. Besides, Tony and Emmett downstairs would hear if she screamed

  He was holding her hand, and felt her tense up; he knew what she must be thinking. Lady if you only knew. I’m probably more scared than you. She was too warm and too soft and he was afraid he’d sink in and never get out. God, he had to stop thinking about his mother.

  Her place was interesting, if messy. Some of the art she had was original, he knew, probably bought at a tiny gallery or even on the street from fools like him who couldn’t give up that dream of making a living from their art. Every year he’d sell just enough to make him believe it could happen. From what he saw, she’d probably like his work. She’d go nuts if she ev
er saw the ones with the crosses. But he didn’t show those to anybody.

  “It’s a nice place.”

  “Yeah. It’s got a little yard in the back; I share it with the guys downstairs. We have a garden.”

  They went into the kitchen. It was big and comfortable and had windows. It looked like a place that got used. He could cook; somehow he had absorbed the knowledge from watching his mother when she was all alone and made him stay with her. He’d watch her and draw when he had the stuff to draw with.

  “Want something to eat? I’m hungry. How about a nice sandwich or something?” She was half making fun of herself, but at the same time she knew she wanted to feed him almost as much as she wanted to fuck him.

  He laughed out loud. Milk and cookies after all.

  He came back after having taken a shower, clean and fed. She took his hand and led him to her bedroom. She stopped just short of the bed and kissed him, taking her time about it. He was feeling her whole mouth and letting her in to do the same, and each knew by intuition when to advance and withdraw. Tongues talking, she thought. Tom did love her mouth. After all, her kiss was probably what got him here in the first place.

  Nancy pulled him onto the bed with their clothes still on, then opened a drawer one-handed and threw out a variety of gloves, condoms, lubes, and other paraphernalia. Tom unzipped her jeans, stopping to admire her round tummy with his palm before pulling them off. “You little slut, you’re not wearing panties,” he grinned. “I like that in a person.” She responded by quickly stripping his bottom. He took his own shirt off, hoping she would get the hint and do that bodysuit: he couldn’t understand how anyone got them on, let alone how to take one off someone else.

  Tom had wanted to put her tits in his mouth since the train. She wrapped herself around him as she felt that electric line switch on, the one that went from her breast to her cunt. Everything he did with his mouth was so good. He put some lube on his fingers and stroked it on her pussy.

  “Show me how you like it,” he said, putting her hand down there. His head was between her legs so he could watch her. Precome was leaking profusely from his slit, and he was using it and the lube to play with himself.