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A Matter of Love in da Bronx

Page 34

by Paul Argentini


  --Without understanding the majesty with which I hold our love, certainly I'm crazy. Here, give me your hand. Palmside to, he brought it down against him until it covered his throbbing organ. He tensed, straining hard against her banding fingers.

  So hard! So huge! So surprising! For the first time in her life, she had the feel and touch of a penis, erect and though covered by clothing nevertheless a real, beating, living male organ. So this was it! Around this flesh did the world revolve, not just sex, or the unimportant things, or just some of the important events; but! Everything. Not one iota of human activity escaped a tie-back to the erect male organ. And here it was. She was filled with desire to be indulged with discovering its secrets. She wished to watch it perform all of its rituals; she wished to feel it in every way possible; she wished to smell it and know of its separate odors; she wished to taste it until it was as familiar as her own spit; and she wished to idolize it so that the mere thought of it would transport her totally to fantasy's furtherest ecstasy. Despite all that, she knew, it would still be a wonderment. Instinctively she had begun to move her hand up and down along its length.

  --Don't do that, it’s dangerous . . ..

  --Don't stop me, darling. Don't stop me!

  --Yes, do stop. We deserve better than this. But first, let our love meet beyond the stratosphere where deep earthly satisfactions are mere fragmented bits of reflections of the magnificent reality of our devotion to each other.

  --I still want to get laid by you.

  --What do you suggest? In a cab? A humping ten-minute jounce for a joust?

  --You know what I mean.

  --Yes. And you know what I mean.

  --Yes.

  He drew her into the light. --A little less temptation out here. Look. You're not supposed to be sensible when you're in love or you'd know what you're getting into, and you wouldn't-- causing the world to come to a screeching halt. Before you ask if that's what's stopping me, that I can see what I'm getting into, that's the furthest thing. All I can do is try to explain what's going on in my head and heart. Finding you is the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. Before you, I was some kind of a shadowy form with a negligible purpose, and with no meaning nor understanding of life. In an instant, all that's been obliterated. Right at this moment, I have reason, rationale and direction given to me by you. All the more so, because you have the same feeling for me that I have for you. Understand, My Dearest, I didn't fall in love with you. It came to me all at a once, as full as the world. I've never been in love before: a crush, yes; a longing, of course; but never anything as consuming, as enravishing, as magnificent as my love for you. That, in itself, is not very much. There have been other Beatrices on the Bridge, loved just as much, but from afar--an unshared, piteous love. The marvel is that we love each other equally; we respond to each other in kind, we need only know what we feel inside ourselves to know exactly what is happening inside to the other. I don't know about the whole front and back and present of the world, but I don't have to know all that much to know what a rarity it is that we have. I told you, it is such a precious affection; I'm frightened constantly that some terrible force will become so envious they'll steal it from us to have for themselves. I ask a million questions a minute about it, a lot of them deal with my own worthiness to be so chosen. I am no spotless knight. I am no gallant warrior. I am no blushing hero. There is nothing romantic, or dashing, or exciting about me to earn such an honor. I've neither money, nor a gift of talent; not even the smallest of honors.

  Ah! What you do have, Sam Scopia is a heart. The most glorious Italian heart I've ever heard or known in my whole life. Even if you are a mere passing breeze, you have brought me enough to sustain all the rest of my days. I guess women are more realistic. Not so philosophical. We believe in ethereal symphonies, but we also know there is a tally that comes only with satisfaction of the flesh; with a demanding, lustful, co-joining interlude that further and definitely reinforces the foundation of so large a love. --What you have, Dearest Love of Mine is a huge, and seemingly infinite capacity, to love. To love voraciously, consumingly, completely. Think how I feel to be the object of such inspiration.

  --Does this come to me strictly by chance? A lottery? Zap!-Zap! Some mysterious force says Sam and Mary shall share one of the world's greatest loves which will be so not because of notoriety, but through the emanation of its harmonics throughout the universe! What do you think of that? I love it! I never wanted to be Sam Scopia more than I do right now; and I don't want you to be anyone else in the whole blooming world than Mary Dolorosso, and I want us to be in this much love always. I could also wish we were in bed making passionate, heated love. As a man, as a mortal Oh! Wouldn’t that be great fun! I would be fulfilling my role. But, I'm no fool! I wouldn't gamble so very much to gain so little! What I have is everything, so why should I not be willing to pay the price: a little celibacy. My concern about a physical union? That at the first split second of our first orgasm I will be struck on my forehead, right between my eyes, with the realization that I had gone insane, that you were a mere figment of a cruel hoax, that I was sent to Hell for daring to look upon such Gods' pleasure. I believe what I'm saying so much, I wish I could go home with you, and have my way with you in bed. What do you think?

  Must you be so analytical, My Love. We're in love! Lovers make love! Forever! At least, how forever long they`re in love. You said it at the beginning, introspection is not conducive to lovemaking! None of us would do it if we reasoned our reasons for doing it. We would all seem like such...robots! Instinct! Commands! Such! Action! Phooey! I got hot pants. You got hot pants. I've never been laid. You've never been laid. Let's find out what it's all about before a goddamned bus knocks us on our asses! --Let's go to a motel.

  --Tonight?

  --Well... My folks... You know. And Wednesday night there really won't be much time. Darling! Darling!

  --What madness!

  --What does everyone else do?

  --I know one thing they don't do.

  --Yeah?

  --Wait for a weekend motel room.

  --Are you still hard?

  --Are you still standing?

  --We must do something!

  --Okay. Right here and now.

  --Standing?

  --Did you have something else in mind? Yo! Mary! My darling! I don't want to lose you because you think I think you'll lose your respect for me if we make love...

  --Don't make fun. I love you, Sam. I love you with all my heart, and wanting you close is the most normal, natural thing on earth no matter who or what tells you to shut it out of your life.

  --I agree! We have to have each other. We must. We'll die otherwise. Come on, move back into the darkness. Oh! Sweetheart...! Gently, he moved her into the recess, searching out her lips, kissing her hungrily as his hand moved down her hip to her thigh.

  She pulled him to her, tightly, sharing the passion of the kiss, urging their bodies together, abandoning the least remembrance of any restricture. She thrust her mound at him, each time slightly more violent, demanding. He responded.

  Exploding for air, for some slight relief from the intensity of their lustful searching, each gasped their devotion to the other, the loss of willpower, and the need to possess one another.

  Mary reached to search out his zipper. --Do you have anything? Protection...

  --You mean, like a...rubber? A condom? Funny you should bring up the subject!

  --I don't get my pills until tomorrow. Maybe I should . . . you know? His zipper open less then half-way, she hesitated. I could get pregnant!

  --So what? There's always marriage. She pulled her hand away from him. Is that a problem?

  --I don't know... All I know is...Sam? I gotta have you. Sam?

  --Yeah?

  --I love you like crazy. I don't care about the rest of the world, about anything! Sam! If you're ready, I am. We've got to do it! Sam! Make love to me! Make love to me! Oh! Sam! Darling!

  --Oh! My darling! M
y sweetheart! His voice raspy, hoarse as he reached inside his pants for his achingly hard swollen penis.

  --Mary! Mary! Good thing I saw you go in there! Come on you two, I really hate to break it up... We're late! We have to go now... Louisa's voice shattered their mantle of bliss.

  CHAPTER 30

  THE PELTING, FRIGID shower discoventrized Sam's nervous system.

  It forced him to spastically gasp for huge gulps of air obliterating his reverie. Oh! Christ! Oh! Christ! This is freezing! I can't stand it! Yes! I must! Count up to twenty-five... No! ...Fifteen! One-two- Fuck it! No! Brave soldier! Take it! He looked down at the cause of his martyrdom. It was still erect. Throbbing. It would not be denied. Shivering, he turned the water to hot as he reached to grip himself as tightly as he could, which caused himself to strain hard into the muscle. He let it go as the warm water inspired his flesh to comfort now fighting desperately to remember what he was thinking about that made himself feel so pleasant, warm and well-spirited. What was it? It had to do with what had just occurred: They dropped off Mary, then Louisa, and Sam begged off from going to a bar with Lou because his beleaguered senses demanded some assuagement. Vaguely, he recalled making straightaway for the bathroom, vapideyed phantasing...about...Mary, of course.

  He could feel the staccato-stinging bee-bees of burning hot water strike against the exposed super-sensitive head of his upstruck organ forcing his stomach muscles to tense, relax, tense, relax. Sensations! What sensations! Like mini-orgasms! The shower curtain drew closer and closer until it covered his eyes... Mary...

  Rich. He wished he was rich. At least, with plenty of money. Enough to do as he should, or, at least, would like to do. Strange. He never thought about it before. Yes, perhaps in a fleeting moment to wonder what it would be like not to have a financial concern in the world. It must be very pleasant, leaving a lot of room to think about other things. Yet, money in itself, was never an objective, at least, not like it was for some people whose be-all, end-all was the accumulation of bucks with the next nearest priority perhaps concern with their own deaths. Ethics, family, reputation mere insignificancies. He missed money for Mary's sake...wait! That's not entirely true. It was at least as much for him because he would enjoy the pleasure in seeing her happy. That's normal. And, just as well, wouldn't he share the well-being, too? Course. With money, he could take Mary away. They could have each other. They need concern themselves only about making each other happy. Indulging to excess if they wished in their delights. Perhaps bad for their characters, but Ah! What a harvest of ecstasy for their souls! Every moment for the rest of their lives to nourish their love for each other... Oh! So there you are, Paradise! And all that was needed was the blind, crass desire for money. Why was this vital piece of information missing from his education? Swamped with the penny-grubbing of his home, the aim seemed to be picayune--for pennies, blinding the true goal of enormous wealth. Why didn't someone--a teacher in school, a relative, a friend, a stranger!--make the point not necessarily in a directed lecture, but, just in passing would've been enough:

  --Now you listen to me, Kid. Fuck what anyone else says, the only thing worthwhile in the world is money! Don't waste your time going after anything else! Not noble motives, nor supreme objectives, nor even great love! Pursue money first, then happiness! All altruism is based on stupidity and surrender, and don't mistake it when it looks too obvious because inevitably there's a deeper motive behind it. No matter who you are, if you go after big bucks, you’ll get them; however, the pursuit must be relentless. If you aspire to be a blue collar worker, you're shit! Broke all your life! Anyone who works just for a weekly salary is dead in the water! Your religion should be to make a lot of it so you can spend a lot of it on yourself! The best revenge for lifeshit. Want to make a lot of money? Top of the list: Be a politician. Not much work, not much responsibility, the job makes you look good; but you have to learn to collect the graft--and not get caught! Next, be a lawyer! Better than a license to steal! Collusion among comrades! Don't take just what the traffic can bear, burn the bastards into poverty! Next to them: be a crook! Illegal stock market trading, gun running, embezzling, become a robbing fiduciary! Never gamble. Never take chances. Never weaken. Take the money and run! The first rule of survival. Money first, money last, and fuck everything else in between!

  So? Why didn't he do it? He understood that now. Would it make him change his life? No. We are who and what we are. We do only those things we're capable of doing, directed by head and heart. It would take a lot of pressure to convert to such lust. People are just naturally drawn to what they are most inclined to do. There are no rest areas in one's behavior toward life off of the main track. A person who is a prick is always a prick; and a good person is mostly always a good person. Why couldn't he change? Because he couldn't change just a part of himself. There was no question in Sam's mind if he changed his goal he would no longer be able to love Mary as completely as he did. Forsake her? What madness...

  There was a madness, too, stirring in the souls of his feet. Was it possible? Yes. The sensation was that of an impending orgasm which suddenly made him present. He focused on the hole in the end of his pipe-hard penis. He concentrated completely on seeing the spurting semen. He reached out to grip the shower valves to keep himself from crashing headfirst to the wall as the prickling sensation crept up his ankles, to his calves, to his thighs. Aquatic blowoff! He closed his eyes, grimacing, as he felt his testicles pull up tight to his body. Boom! He looked to see the gout of milkwhite fluid arc from deep inside him. Totally without control, he reached down to beat hard his erection blasting more shots into the air as he knees strained hard in a bend, his buttock muscles knotting tighter and tighter with each ejaculation, thrusting his sex further upwards as his head pulled rearwards almost tight to his back, the water from the shower coming down nearly as hard as the tears from his eyes.

  SATISFACTION FILLED Mary's face with the thoughts of the next day's doings. By tomorrow night she would be in possession of the kingpost of women's freedom: the pill. She alone would decide if she was to become pregnant. Though this wasn't a deterent to the hotflush desire for teen-age sex, it did give older--and cooler--minds cause for thought. Like what it did to them tonight. They almost did. And if they did, there would've been that little something that took away from their experience. Not anymore. Sam and she making love. Holy Mary! Let it be! Then, even though she wouldn't see Sam tomorrow, they promised to write to each other, and wasn't that exciting! Then, they would see each other Wednesday night, and go through some excruciating moments again, although there would be good reason to withstand each other's demands for one other with their plans for a rendezvous at a motel Friday, maybe Saturday night!

  Ah! Sleep! Where are you? Bring me faster to the morrow!

  CHAPTER 31

  Monday night

  My dearest love, Sam:

  MARVELOUS, STRANGE and mystical how the atmosphere of your love conveys a strength to me, body, mind and soul. Perceived, too, by all who would come about me, those who know me and those who don't. Louisa, especially: --You're different! Said with some touch of envy, friendly envy. One person really knew the glow, and I never expected her to see it. In the clinic. Hardworking doings to deal with such a deep emotional matter: to have or not to have babies. A tempered, metamorphicized face she wore; a heart long inured to human default she bore; non-judgmental; inspirational; serving store. Perceptive, too. At first, she treated me like a teacher cleaning lamblegs from her wards' redling noses; being too meticulous, too elementary concerning the pills and how to take them, that sort of stuff. She noticed something about my attitude, perhaps the way I coveted the package she gave me. She caught at her words to me, opened wide her eyes, and that's when I saw in them what had to have been there, underneath the years, when she was perhaps sixteen and dreaming of her healing art. The words slipped through a steal of a smile: --Why...! You’re in love! Really and truly. Yes, really and truly. So? Isn't it nice to get confirmation? Even
when you don't need it or ask for it. Has anyone said anything to you? Just curious. How beautiful must be a love that causes one to glimmer...

  Strange air, too, here at home. I walked in somewhat later than I usually do on Tuesday nights. Not a word about it from either parent. The moments seem to be a rehearsal for a different play than that which will be performed! Know what I mean? There's an issue that's not being faced--if I knew which of a half-dozen it might be, I'd bring it up. Yet, I wonder if I would. I'm going along, playing the role, too. Mother's been cooking all my favorites; alas, I have appetite for none of it. She directs me away from cleaning in the kitchen. Dad is starchly cautious. Small things. Sits up taller in the wheelchair. Tries to bring up interesting small talk. Doesn't repeat jokes. Brings us up to date on the doings on Dallas. Stays out of my way, mostly. Know how you can smell coffee before it starts brewing? I know something's going on, and for sure it concerns Vito.

  I did some wash, vegetated in the tub and did some serious smoking, and now I'm in my bedroom listening to Vivaldi and writing to you.

  Never! In my whole life have I ever seen anything as disheartening as the look on your face last night when we walked over to get into the car with Louisa and Lou! I think the better word is exasperation...perhaps bitter disappointment describes it just as well...for both of us. But, I don't think of it in the negative sense. Louisa said she didn't realize how cozy we'd become, and would've driven around the block a couple times if that's what we wanted. No. It's just as well. Feather ball scripts...I can go on dreaming about that moment. Gets better every time, too! You're more philosophical about it than I am, I must tell myself to be patient! Isn't it usually the other way around? You have no idea of just how patient ...and! Just how good I'm being... I'm sure you...understand? I hope things this way are real rotten for you...only teasing! Oooops!

 

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