by U
first one and then the other. Slowly batting her big, dark eyelashes,
she said, "We’re not together anymore."
I suspected Polly was lying as well, but said nothing. Before I
asked, I had no idea whether or not she had a boyfriend. But I also
knew that no self-respecting female is going to admit that she does not
have a current boyfriend, unless she is at least 70 years old and/or
legally dead.
The upshot was that we kept seeing each other after class, going to
the Memorial Union for snacks and talk, hanging out but going no
further. When the class speech ended, so did our brief flirtation.
Fast forward the calendar to four years later.
By now, I was out of college, finally broken up with Leanne, and
back from my year-long VISTA service in Atlanta. Having no place
else to go, I was temporarily staying with my brother Mick in his
apartment. My readjustment stipend was running out and I had hardly
any money left.
Living with my older brother presented major challenges, him
being an unpredictable combination of good-heartedness and Silas
Marner style parsimony. Mick can be either the greatest guy in the
world or a royal pain in the ass, depending on his many mercurial
moods.
Since leaving VISTA, I had been living in Eugene, fruitlessly
searching for a job. It was a bad time to be unemployed. Over the
winter, the fucking stock markets had melted down, and
unemployment was at a six year high.
As for me, I was in a miserable fix, living on Mick’s limited
generosity and food stamp benefits. Every day I went to the
employment office, looking for work. What I really craved was some
manual labor, especially outdoors. I disliked sitting in an office all
day, closed in by four walls. But I had no luck finding a job like that,
or any job.
On the third of the month, I paid Mick my share of the rent for
June. That meant I had less than $20 total. However, it was a Friday
and schooners of beer were fifty cents each at Taylor’s until 6:00 PM.
121
It was there that I ran into Polly Ellsworth again, and things between
us just exploded.
Oh man, but Polly could fuck, once she began doing it with me
regularly. She was an incredibly sensuous and sexy woman, tanned,
slim and lovely at age 23, with those lovely dark eyes and that head of
lustrous, dark brown hair.
The high point of our relationship came within a few weeks of the
beginning, as these things typically do. We had gotten to know each
other pretty well physically well by then and I had learned to my
delight that Polly seemed to have almost no sexual inhibitions.
She was a pure, sweet, sugar-coated whippet of unadulterated sex, a
hot, clinging pussy that was like a magnet to my cock.
On this particular Sunday morning in late June, we were at Polly’s
place, a two bedroom house that had been thrown up after the war to
accommodate students on the GI bill. It was kind of secluded for
being in the university neighborhood, on an alley between High Street
and Pearl.
A couple of hours before, we had finished up a late breakfast, and
now were just lounging around. Polly had picked some strawberries
her roommate Lori Sanchez was growing, sliced them, and was
feeding them to me slice by slice. There weren’t many, but they
tasted sweet.
Polly seemed to get a big kick out of dropping them into my mouth
with her fingers. At each insert, I crunched down on the tangy pulp,
chewed, and swallowed.
Polly’s roommate Lori was in California visiting her mother and
sister. Lori wasn’t due back for a week, so Polly and I had the place
to ourselves.
We hadn’t bathed yet and Polly was still in her blue-green
bathrobe, this one these white lace accents on the lapels. Her robe
was partly open, showing her smooth, flat belly and small, pert
breasts, crowned by pink, quarter-sized nipples.
"I want to take a bath," Polly said. "The house only has a tub, no
shower."
122
"Mmmm..." I said, thinking deeply. "Why don’t we take a bath
together?"
"Really? Together?"
"Sure. Why not?"
I was in a good mood. Since landing a job at a local flower nursery
the Friday before, my prospects had taken a turn for the better. We’d
spent the night celebrating with schooners of beer at Taylor’s, and
then more intimately in her narrow single bed. With Lori gone, Polly
didn’t care how much noise we made, which was a lot. Three times is
my usual limit after beer, and Polly only fell asleep after having
demanded and received her full quotient.
On Saturday night, we’d had dinner with Polly’s sister Peggy and
her boyfriend Ted, coming back to her house late.
This time, we were both too drunk to do anything but sleep, and
therefore put off fucking until morning.
Now I was ready for round two and Polly had not yet agreed to my
suggestion about the bath. Instead, she seemed transfixed by the
bulge in the front of my pouch briefs.
"What’s that?" Polly said. "You’re hard again already?"
"Afraid so." My briefs looked like a fire hose was uncoiling within.
"C’mon, it’ll be fun to bathe together."
"Something you should probably know," Polly said, taking the dish
that held the strawberries to the kitchen counter. "I’ve never taken a
bath with another adult before."
"Well," I said, "I am sure it will be pleasant. A novel way to pass
time and achieve cleanliness, I think."
Polly stood beside me, smiling. Her right hand, with fingers
probing like antenna, caressed my cock through the material of my
briefs.
"Do you like that?" Polly asked, in a murmuring tone.
"Oh, yes. Very much," I said.
We kissed. Polly broke the kiss after it had gone on several
minutes. During the kiss, a drop of leakage oozed from the tip, passed
through the brief, and moistened her fingertips.
123
"Mmmm. I’ll go run the bathwater," she said huskily. "You put
some music on the stereo."
"What do you want to hear?"
"Carole King."
I found Polly’s Carole King Tapestry album and set it on the
turntable. The record started up. In the bathroom, I could hear her
urinate and then flush the toilet. A minute later, she turned the water
taps full on.
"Do you need to pee?" Polly asked.
"I won’t until after we do something about this," I said, indicating
my erection.
"Okay."
I pulled my briefs down and off, placing them on top of my pants,
which sat on the chair beside Polly’s bed. I followed my beautiful
naked girlfriend into the bathroom, where the tub was reaching its
requisite fullness.
I noticed that there were tons of suds.
"I put a couple of capfuls of Lori’s bubble bath in it," Polly
explained. "It’s called Lavender Body Dreams."
Because we were so skinny, getting into the tub together was not a
probl
em. The hot water meanwhile had a calming effect on my cock,
reducing it to a state of mere semi-rigidity.
I took the side of the tub with my back to the faucet while Polly sat
facing me.
We took turns dumping the warm, soapy water over each other’s
heads. Then we shampooed each other’s hair.
"God, you’ve got gorgeous blond hair," Polly said, rubbing. "Some
women would kill to have hair like yours."
"Hasn’t done me a bit of good," I said.
"Oh, yes it has."
Polly’s own long dark brown hair was plastered against her skin
and her pink nipples stood out.
"This is fun," Polly said, as we splashed around in the water, our
bottoms squeaking whenever we moved.
124
Carole’s song Like a Natural Woman drifted in while we played,
pushing islands of foam at each other.
I bent to kiss and suck Polly’s nipples. She moaned softly, passing
her hand between my legs. I sat up, exposing my cock. Now the
whole thing was above the sudsy water.
That was my cue to slip my finger in her pussy. I discovered then
that Polly was not only wet on the outside, she was wet on the inside,
too. At that point, I developed a monster erection.
Polly tried to push my cock under water.
"Don’t sink the lighthouse!" I begged.
She laughed and laughed.
As the water grew tepid and the suds melted away, Polly had me
pull the plug. Once more, she turned on the water, warm not hot, and
filled a plastic pitcher. We poured clean water from the faucet over
ourselves, sending our sweat and dirt and oil down the drain.
We toweled off and chased each other naked around the house,
laughing and yelling. Following that, we returned to the bathroom,
where we took turns drying our hair under Polly’s electric blow dryer.
Drying my shoulder-length hair took as long as hers did. But rarely
have I ever felt as good as I did in that moment, naked with a beautiful
girl nearby, my cock standing up like a spring, with nothing to do all
day long.
Well, there was one thing.
It happened quite naturally, and in a way I think Carole King
probably would have approved of.
A few minutes after Polly pronounced our hair dry, she was on top
on me in her little single bed, the two of us madly 69ing.
And to think I thought merely fucking Polly was good. The mutual
oral sex was beyond good, by at least a couple of light years, and
maybe even beyond that.
Polly had a way of curling over me that let me get my cock deep in
her throat. Somehow, she manages to suppress her gag reflex, taking
me practically all the way in. Meanwhile, I licked and sucked her
pussy for all I was worth. Her hairy little dell had a savory fragrance
that I just could not get enough of. Not every woman is blessed with
125
such a choice, tasty muffin, I am sorry to report, but Polly was a girl
who did.
When my tongue ticked her clitoris, for instance, it was like I had
touched a live wire – she was exquisitely sensitive.
It was so much fun going down on her, it became impossible to
focus on the sucking she was giving me at the same time. After a
while, though, we decided to switch gears for something else. That
was the thing both of us had in mind. Taking her mouth from my
cock, Polly said:
"Let’s do it."
By "it" Polly meant intercourse. I had learned the hard way that she
didn’t much care for rough language, especially when applied to
lovemaking.
The second or third time we had done it, I told Polly that she really
was a good fuck, meaning it as a compliment. Only she didn’t take it
that way, conveying to me clearly that she did not appreciate the
seedy inference.
""It" was therefore her preferred euphemism, and I went along. As
always, I was willing to go with her preferences as long as the "it"
itself occurred.
On this occasion, "it" consisted of me getting behind Polly while
we stretched out on our right sides. Our skinny bodies and my steel-
stiff prong ensured that this position would provide the deepest
possible penetration of Polly’s pussy.
"One more thing," Polly added, as I began to enter her. "Let’s go
for a new record."
"Okay," I answered. "Sure."
My finger reached around to caress Polly’s clitoris. This was a fun
position and it felt really good to have my cock angled up inside her
this way. A couple of exploratory thrusts later, my cock was in her to
the hilt.
Polly orgasmed almost instantly.
"Eeeeeeuuuggghh!" She cried. "OOOooooaaaahhh!"
One down, I thought. Many, many more to go.
126
We settled into a nice rhythm, my cock plunging in and out of her
tight, moist little hole, slick and wet as her juices flowed, bathing my
pole from base to tip.
What can I say? How can I best describe it? The pleasure was out
this world, beyond any known galaxy, parsecs and parsecs beyond
infinity even.
The two of us were lying on Polly’s single bed, pressed like spoons,
on an early summer afternoon, fucking like there was no tomorrow.
"Remember," Polly said, whenever she thought I might be on the
verge of cumming, "we’re going for a record. I want you to keep it up
for a really long time, Patrick."
"Okay," I said.
And so we did. It was a session that lasted for nearly an hour,
ending when I told Polly that either I had to cum right then or never
again cum at all.
"All right," Polly answered, panting between spasms. She gave me
a little interior squeeze. "Let it go."
The ejaculation I had an instant later could probably be called a
humdinger, if by chance the word was adequate to describe the
sensations I underwent. It is probably not.
In point of fact, it felt like the top of my skull had been lopped off
by a machete, my brain violently extracted, with the spinal cord intact,
and the home of my intelligence dropped into a vat of boiling oil. I
hollered like a maniac:
"AAAaaaaeeeaaah! Haaaahhh!"
"EEEEEiiiieeaaah!" Polly screamed along with me.
Throughout, the semen jetted from my cock in thick spouting gouts,
an unending flood of viscid goo. Polly mewed and whimpered, letting
me know by her movements that she could feel my cum spurting into
her silk interior.
Later that evening, we partook of schooners of lager at Max’s
tavern, just down the street from Taylor’s, sitting at a high table in the
corner. We talked in a general way about what we wanted from life in
the near future.
127
"I’ve applied to nursing school," Polly said. "What are your current
plans?"
"There are many things I’d like to do, Polly," I answered. "But I
have no idea yet how to get from here to there."
Polly took my hand, saying, "You’ll figure it out, Patrick. I’m sure
you will."
That was nice of her to say, but I’m not sure she was right.
; Anyway, that was then and this is now. Like everyone else, I think
women make terrible mistakes in their lives.
It’s really apparent down at the welfare office. What a mess they
make by not choosing the right guy. They just don’t get it.
Instead of being encouraged to find a man who will love them
passionately, they are trained to seek out the so-called good provider.
When a man leaves a woman because he can tell she’s just using him,
the paycheck goes out the door too. So what are they left with? The
children he didn’t want either.
A man who truly loves a woman will find a way to provide for her
and the baby. Any other kind of man is just a john with a ring. But
women can’t seem to tell the difference.
What miserable lives they make for themselves!
Been working on The Dark City on and off again, using my back up
copy. I’m trying to bypass a depressive state by taking positive
action. For some reason I feel no enthusiasm about anything or
anybody, including myself.
My self-loathing grows daily.
* * * *
July 4, 1978
Nice quiet holiday. No bombs, no rockets, no explosions of any
kind. Started writing a short story about a typical case of child abuse,
using as a model this one horrible ADC client who beat the shit out of
her two little boys.
I’m ripping her to shreds, and as I am doing so I realize she has the
same vile self-centered temperament as my mother, a classic all-
American bitch.
128
They are very similar creatures. I remember the time my mother
beat Mick viciously with the metal buckle of a belt. We must have
been about eight or nine. That fucking witch.
The beating went on and on.
Good God, poor Mick wore those welts on his back for weeks
afterwards. The old man got upset about it, but did nothing.
Too bad nobody ever turned my mother in for criminal child abuse.
It would have served her right, goddamn the fucking bitch. Still, I try
to let this stuff go, try to put it in the past. But when I think about
Lois for any length of time, I mean really think about her, I want to
swing a fucking baseball bat and send her evil nattering head flying to
the upper fucking deck.
Meanwhile, I write a short story that conjures up all of these horrid