A Matter of Love in da Bronx

by Paul Argentini

  --No, I'm not hungry. His emotional palate was surfeit. He couldn't handle anything as ordinary as food. Tea. I think a tea would suit me just fine. Silence. Desperate quiet. Christ! Find something to say! Anything about the car fire up on Morris Park? There! There something for kindly communication.

  --I don't watch the television news long, but I see myself the fire...!

  Her words registered in his brain in boldface capital letters. She actually saw the car fire? How revelatory.

  Not that he thought about it right then and there. It was more like a flashing light he knew he'd have to respond to at one time or another. He unexpectedly found himself staring into his mother's eyes. Smoothworn the downwards deep passage to the scorekeeping room. Smokey, like moving fog through evenings' early shadows, belieing the deadstill black of deepbricked corners untouched by the lightest of life's trafficked breezes. He saw that in his mother's eyes, and was unabashed. In fact, happy for her that there had been a garnish, some larger fillip than a never-before-seen rerun.

  --Figlio, stay. Talk.

  --Sure, Ma. What? About what? He anticipated the gesture: head off to one side, the bottom lip curling up, shoulder hitching up toward the ear shrug. It's all been said, Ma. Even for your own son, it's too embarrassing to undo. --I'll catch a cigar on the porch steps.

  If she had come, there would be no bones about it. First, she would have to understand his condition, perhaps even explain how it came about. Sympathetic? To him? You bet. She'd have a few choice words for the directerie, you bet. He would have to explain how she should cup his balls, and hold them up just a little, not too much, just enough to keep them from jiggling against anything. He reached down under the sheet to feel them. Baseballs. No kidding. They felt like they were the size of baseballs. And ache! Mamma mia! Each touch was like a stroke from a nine-pound sledge. He wasn't sure, but there was no hope of a hard-on. But, if she had come, limp as it was, her first warm breath on it would've shot it into her mouth, and even before she licked it wet it would be shooting cannonades down her throat. And how much coaxing would it take to flatter her into doing it again, but not as good this time, perhaps a little slower and longer and deeper and more tongue and be careful with the balls, they've got to last me the rest of my fucking lifetime. But Phyllis didn't show up, and though he phantasized about what he would say, and then what she would say, and he and she and he and she and he and she until finally he was standing on the step, and she was down one or two taking his organ on a joy ride, Sam acknowledged his own personal, private relief that he was actually glad she didn't show up. Somewhere, when he first thought of the porch, and sucking on a cigar, he sensed the guilt feeling that he was being disloyal to Mary. No matter, he would just check out the evening...just to see what happened...just in case Phyllis smelled his cigar. He need not have worried. His balls still felt as big as baseballs. Jerkoff? Not tonight, Buster! Are you crazy? Crazy, Huh? How do you expect to fall asleep tonight? Blueballs is a malady that should befall insomniacs, not lovers. It then would serve a dual purpose. Maybe I should count sheep... No! Remember Mother's eyes! When you were a little boy...five, six, maybe? When she discovered yours looking at her, and you found something there in hers? Remember? You couldn't sleep then, either, and you discovered a new sensation in your balls then, too, remember? Ah! Yes! Sultry afternoon. Little boy in bed in the nude napping. No. Trying to nap. Get Mommy. Go to Mommy. Where are you, Mommy? No, not in this room; not in that room; not here; not there; where? Oh! There! In the kitchen with Aunt Lilly. What is the feeling that keeps me from running in, calling out as I watch through the near-closed door? Just in time as Lilly rises from her chair, and steps quickly behind you at the sink...to do you harm! I should call out to beware! But no! Her arms slip slowly around your waist. You jerk stiffly. Are you in pain, Mommy? Her touch makes you grip hard the sink, you rise on your toes, you arch your head back against her cheek. Though I can't see them, I know her hands are moving hot against your belly, and by your sudden jukes, she has captured your tits, moving slowly over them, you responding with your buttock wriggling tight against her front. Only, clothes are in the way. Then, as if by practice, as if by magic, Aunt Lilly's hands work wonders discarding your wrap to leave you exposed, wanting, vulnerable. She turns you to her, her arms pulling you in close, no matter both yours guarding your chest, her lips take yours as her hand reach down to your soft fullness to pull you into her. I don't understand, Mommy. What is this you do, but deep inside I have a knowing sensation. Your hands snap out to be flung around her neck to aid more the kissing, the writhing, the demanding urgings. What is that you're doing with your tongues? Making them go in and out and in and out of each other's mouths, licking each others lips and face? What is that you do? Biting each other necks? You throw your head back as she clamps her teeth onto your beautiful, long white neck; and moan with such a softness. You break away to nuzzle her anxiously as both your bodies push hard against each other in strange movements. Then came the wondrous part. Together, swiftly you both move across the floor to one end of the kitchen table. Mommy's nude culo is against one end of it. She seems not to want something to happen, and yet...I can feel an excitement flashing through the room. Somehow I know I'm not to interfere, that Mommy is not in danger; that this is some enthralling rite; that this is something fascinating. She is touching your breasts, rubbing them. Oh! See her lick the nipples with her tongue, licking all around, suddenly sucking in the teat. There, her other hand goes around your back, down, between the soft roundness pushing in and out. What is it doing to you that it makes you call out such funny names, and say such funny words I never heard even if you are speaking in Italian. Oh! Look! How she moves from one of your big tits to the other, and then sits! She sits down on the chair to continue kissing you down more and more. I see her tongue go into your belly button, and you bump hard at her with the place between your legs. Both of her hands now hold your boobs, and I can see her pushing you backwards. I can see at first you don't want to do that, but she is urging you gently, and soon your elbows are on the kitchen table. My dear mother! I don't recognize you! What a strange expression you have on your face as you watch what she does to you so intently. My mouth hurts it's hung open so long. But, the amazing things don't stop. Why is she doing that to you, Mommy? Pushing your leg up until your foot rests on the table top? Then, look! She takes your other leg and lifts it onto her shoulder! What reason is that for? Why? Resting heavy on your elbows, way onto the table, your head thrown back, I hear the little choking sounds, and gasps, and sighs spurt out of you. You are not in pain. I know that. You like it, whatever is happening to you, Mommy. I can see her very clearly now. She is kissing your belly by the hair of your vee then moves to the inside of your legs. See? See her tongue tracing lines back and forth and down your legs. I can see she's biting, sucking at you; each time getting closer and closer to that place where I have my peenie but you have...you have? a little red opening? Do you know, in all these years I forgot what I saw there that day! Oh! Yes! How I remember! Her tongue seemed as long as my finger as it stuck out and just barely touched you there. You gasped louder than ever before. She did it again. And you cried out again. And again. And again. I saw her wet tongue lick, and push, and move up and down against you there. All the way up and down she started moving spreading you wider and wider apart until suddenly her tongue went into you, deep, hard. Oh! You liked that so much. You shouted out some words, Mommy, like it made you feel so wonderful. Now, I could watch her tongue dart in and out and in and out faster and faster. She kept squeezing your tits, and you kept pushing your body off the table. I don't know how, but I knew something was going to happen. The air felt so...heavy...like it does when it's going to lightning! She seemed to grow wild, her head moving all over you, her tongue pushing in and out, and everything so wet. Suddenly, I knew! She opened her mouth wide and seemed to bite and suck you there all at once. You screamed out so loud I got frightened! Your elbows went out from under you and you collapsed
flat on the table as she kept digging into you. Your eyes were closed, and I think you went off to sleep because everything went limp, like you just left this world, even though you kept doing like...like jerking...your whole body. Even so, she kept your legs up and apart and starting just kind of licking you nicely. When you woke up, you started that funny moaning sound again, and that's when, with your arm hanging off the table, your head rolled to one side, and your eyes met mine. You knew I had been watching, and I knew you knew. Somehow, in that second, I knew you wanted me to forget what I had seen. I did. I remember I went back to my bed wondering why I had gotten up. What made me remember? It wasn't just one incident. I recall you and her walking down the street together arm and arm. I recall seeing her rub her leg against yours under the table when we were all having supper together. I can remember finding you both together unexpectedly, with you both suddenly moving away from each other. Then, there was that feeling whenever you two were together: cleaning up the dishes, or heads together talking, or how you would touch each other when you said goodbye, or at those times when kisses were called for, like at Christmas, or birthday, and such. Then, today, in the light of the early night, when I saw her walking with Mary, she made an impression. The connection between the two of you came when you said you had actually seen the automobile on fire. That's when I knew you had gone to meet her. After all these years, the feelings between the two of you had never changed, and how the pseudo-cuckolds aided and abetted unwittingly the affair! Mary will love the story. Ah! How Mary will love the story. Oh! God! How Mary will love! Yes! Love me, Mary! Love...me! GOD! What a sensation! Oh! Yes! How exquisite...? Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! OH! OH!

  Ecstasy.

  CHAPTER 24

  SECRET SANCTUARY. Secret talks about secret things. Their place for years. At the top of the stairs at Mary's house leading to the roof. Long, narrow, white octagonal tiled landing at the top of a milkwhite marble flight. Secret listening post for the comings and goings and chatter and exclamations and business of living for six families on three floors below. Secret place for smorgasbord of culinary odors. Repository of lost innocence, newfound knowledge. Secret scene for the engorgement of ignorance. Girl talk. Girl knowings. Body. Bodies. Sex. Always some sex. Lots of sex. Spoken in hoarse, hesitant whispers. Giddy. Giddily. Giddiness. Boys. Penis and balls. Tits. Swelling. Training bra? Train them to do what? Va-gina. CLItoris. Not cliTORIS. Mendis-menis-menu-Ah! Shit! Period. Comparisons: Psychological, emotional, physical, actual, demonstrated, known, guessed, supposed, imagined. Display. Displaying. Playing. Funny feeling. Happening. Sensation. Orgasm. Coming. Come. Fuck. Suck. Eternal question: 'What did your mother say when you asked her about that?' Swear words. The more mundane. School. Homework. Money. Then, just below sex, men. Mainly rich men. Also, clothes. Secret palace of peace. The secret code to go there was to "make a landing." Just them. Mary and Louisa. Closed corporation. Period. One could sit way back, at the far end, near the hinges to the heavy metal door leading to the flat, tarpapered roof, and not be seen by anyone on the landing below. They checked that out a long time ago. For kids checking out kids it was an effective hiding place. It seemed such an open space it deluded the adults into what could take place there. The girls made a discovery early on that a matchbook slipped to the door provided enough of a draft to suck out smoke from two cigarettes. A small jar of water, emptied later in the john, took care of the butts, especially when discovery was imminent. A coat, or blanket, or pillow took care of the other butts. This time they relied on the indoor-outdoor carpeting, Louisa sitting down a step with her elbow resting on the landing, where, if surprised with the smokes, would take the heat. Mary, cross-legged, close to her, back against the wall.

  --Weezy! Love! I know what you're talking about now! I mean, we didn't do anything. We weren't there that long. Just standing in the doorway at Santini Moving, and was that a surprise seeing him. You know all the times you told me about...about being in love...

  Lighting up, inhaling deeply, waving the flaming match before her face, interrupting with a cloud of smoke: --Never about being in love. Always about making love...fucking. There's a difference. I was never in love, just in love with fucking. So? You didn't fuck, no cherry pop, how can you know what I'm talking about?

  --You know what I mean! You know! The feeling! I mean, kiss! Wow! What a kiss! I don't know where it came from, but it sure...it sure made me...it...

  --...made you cream your pants.

  --Yeah! Oh! Weezy! Let me tell you...!

  --First, light your cigarette, and then have some of this. She unscrewed the top then offered the bottle. --This and love, even a lukewarm conversation about love, go perfect together.

  Mary ignored both her cigarette and the Southern Comfort. --You know, I wondered about him when he refused to go upstairs to that room with me. You know, was he impotent, or a little gay, or a coward, or more worried about aids or his soul going to hell for fornicating. Tonight he killed the first two in a hurry. He got so big, and hard and hot. So hot I could feel the heat of it right through all the clothes up against my belly. Oh! It was so exciting. I mean, it got me so excited. That and the kissing, and his arms around me, his body so close to mine and wanting to be kissed like that by somebody for so long it all came like an avalanche. Ka-rash! I couldn't help myself, I made him touch me...you know...there--God forgive me I'll have to go to confession--and Weezy, I...I came! I actually had an orgasm. I didn't leave him less than an hour ago, and it still feels like I'm coming...

  --Come on! For Christ's sakes!

  --Well, you know what I mean. But, it was all so fast. When I do myself...

  --...when you jerk off...

  --Come on, Weezy, you know I can't talk like that, I'm just...a little bit prude, I guess. Anyway, it takes me a lot longer to make myself come, but here he had me making little moaning sounds in two-seconds flat! Does it happen even faster when...when two people are doing it?

  --Oh! Shit! I need another drink! It was a fairly good belt. She passed the bottle to Mary. I gotta tell you, Sweet Girl. Sometimes I have to go on a helluva long ride to get the Roman candles bursting in air. Sometimes things just aren't right: not enough warmup, too much anticipation, he's too horny, and Orgasm City is in Nevernever Land. Then, I make him finish me off however he likes or wants to do it. Other times! Seems everything is just right. You get that feeling when pubic bone hits pubic bone that it's going to be a special one. That’s when I give and take everything I've got. I know it doesn't really happen, but when he first comes into me, his pecker feels like it’s as big as a thumb, then it grows as thick as his wrist, and finally it feels like he's pushing his knee into me. Even so, I have to adjust myself to him to ride him higher or lower until I feel the skin over my clit ride back and forth, then, Watchout! Blastoff Country! You know, we were asked to leave the motel last night because we were making too many sounds like we were enjoying ourselves?

  --Is that why you're not seeing Lou tonight?

  --Long story. First you. Another cigarette.

  --Weezy, I want to know: Do you come...does anyone come any differently depending on how they come? Know what I mean?

  --No.

  --I guess I can't talk straight because this whole subject--don't say a word!--still embarrasses me even though we've been on the subject for almost twenty-five years. I mean, is there any difference in the orgasm one feels based on how one is made to achieve the orgasm? Would I enjoy coming better by masturbating, or making love with a man, or...you know...having someone...cunnilingus...!

  --Well, I told you about getting a blowjob from a gal who came along with her boyfriend, but I was so stoned I don't remember what it was like. As for anything else, it's what you're used to. If you've been jerking off for twenty years, it's going to be a little disappointed to get fucked the first time and expect the Star Spangled Banner. It'll never happen. Then, if he's some kind of lover, and stokes the fire good, a little grinding and a couple jabs could do it. My experience? When I want to g
et laid, the guy I'm fucking is fantastic and I ride the cow over the moon. If I don't feel like, I might just as well be riding the cotton burro. I never jerk off anymore. You never can tell when you'll get lucky, so why waste it?

  --So the answer to the question is?

  --Keep trying. The next time's going to be better than ever.

  --Is it any different standing up?

  --You mean to work the whole thing out on your feet? Shit no! Only dogs fuck like that!

  --But you can't get pregnant standing up, right?

  --If I wrapped you in plastic...

  --Yeah?

  --...sealed you in a tank.

  --Yeah?

  --...put you in a tank of water...

  --Yeah?

  --...froze you into a solid block of ice...

  --Yeah?

  --...and you happened to scratch your ass while you looked at a star in the east...

  --Yeah?

  --What do you mean ‘Yeah?' You know what would happen.

  --But suppose you both can't help it, and, you know...he doesn't have anything...! All right! He doesn't have a condom...a rubber! What do I do?

  --For openers, pardon the expression; don't take off your pantyhose. And next, I'm taking you to the clinic Monday on our lunch break. In the meantime, here, you gotta pay me back or I'm in trouble at the end of my cycle. Fishing in the purse, out with the packet, snapping out a pill.

  --Weezy, I can't. Suppose my mother finds them.

  --You say like this, “I need them to regulate my period. I've been having troubles lately.”

  --I can't lie to my mother!

  --Who said anything about lying? If you don't take them your period won't be regulated, it'll be stopped by a pregnancy. ...unless that's what you want? She looked in the strangest turn at her friend.

  --No, that's not what I want. It's just... It's just that I might be tempted to give in when I might otherwise say no.