Read Online A Matter of Love in da Bronx by Paul Argentini - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Argentini
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lose his virginity. It couldn't be that difficult. Whores. Women who accommodate men for money don't care about physical attributes. It's strictly Ah business, short term rental instead of long-term leasing. It would cost, that's all. Whatever it cost, he'd get the money. Give it a shot. Certainly the cost had to be more than he was carrying with him now, even if on impulse he went out looking to buy himself such a birthday present. One or two problems. How does one get in touch with a prostitute? One just didn't walk up to some chick and say, --Pardon me, but do you sell what I want? He'd have to do some investigating to find out. Lincoln Jackson would know. What if he sent her to a black girl? So? Lincoln Jackson said with your eyes closed all saddles were the same, --ceptin' the roughin' and rockin' they gib you...
All of which reminded him he had a chance once, some years ago. Walking home down past Unionport Road, at night, dimlamplit street. She was a hag, he could see that all right. Puffy face, heavy on the rouge, gray hair, face-hiding hat.
--Say, Handsome!
Oh! Bullshit, lady, like the crow with the cheese shoulda asked the fox with the flattery, what do you want of me? But she threw him off guard because she asked if he could be of help to her. That, a believable plea, especially with so sincere a voice. He stopped. She approached. She moved her hips in a waggling, arthritic fashion, which he decided later was supposed to be a sexy come-on.
--What?
--Bet you and I can have a real good time.
Starbursts in the brain. The unexpected. Shooting thoughts. Panic. Unanswered questions. Stuttering response.
--Sure I can, Honey. I can give you a good time, one you'll remember and enjoy for a long time. What a rotten imitation of Mae West! But, God! She's propositioning me! She's offering me her body to fuck into her! The full registration of what her bawdy offer meant sent erectile blood surging into his sex organ. What do you think about getting laid, of being a hagrider? Too sudden a come-on. No time to think. Some sort of mumbled refusal.
Response ignored.
--My place is right down the street, Sweetheart. She moved closer bringing with her fakescented currents. Now, come on, don't walk away, Honey. I know you'll love it. You look like you've been without it for a long time. It'll feel so good... A part step backwards was all. Her paphian hand flashed forward clamping tight over his pants onto his throbbing downpointing erection for the blatant seduction. Firestorm in his brain as her hot paw milked it enticingly, urgently. Oh! Sweet Jesus! Why wasn't I ready for this? So unexpected! If I was given some warning, I'd know exactly what to do, how to respond to so compelling a desire. Madonna mia! Sweet sensations blasting from the boiling oil out of his erethismic boy-thing. To him, it was lost in the fireworks in his body. She knew what happened before he did when the muscle in her hand snap-tensed hard as steel.
--Ya fuckin cheap son-of-a-bitch stealing a lousy handjob from a hardworking girl!
All out of her mouth as the first spasm shot the warm glob of semen inside his pants down his leg. Warm, sticky emissions. Chicken skin ankles to crotch. He'd never come so fast in his whole life.
He'd grab her arm, whoever she was, and go home with her next time. That's for sure. He was still waiting like a forelorn puppy dog to be taken home and treated kindly by some understanding lady of the evening.
Okay. Next?
Get out of the upholstery business. So? Been saying that for ten years. Couldn't do it before, just quit on Sol; let him down, let down Mom and Pop. Suppose I couldn't find another job. Come on! I could be a chef! All right, a cook. Like I do on Friday nights. One night there I get what it takes me to make here in two days.
Okay, you're a big chef. Now what?
A car. No more walking in the rain. Then what? Box of fine cigars. Terrific. Now what?
Now I'm sick and tired of these years of listening to your
All of which reminded him he had a chance once, some years ago. Walking home down past Unionport Road, at night, dimlamplit street. She was a hag, he could see that all right. Puffy face, heavy on the rouge, gray hair, face-hiding hat.
--Say, Handsome!
Oh! Bullshit, lady, like the crow with the cheese shoulda asked the fox with the flattery, what do you want of me? But she threw him off guard because she asked if he could be of help to her. That, a believable plea, especially with so sincere a voice. He stopped. She approached. She moved her hips in a waggling, arthritic fashion, which he decided later was supposed to be a sexy come-on.
--What?
--Bet you and I can have a real good time.
Starbursts in the brain. The unexpected. Shooting thoughts. Panic. Unanswered questions. Stuttering response.
--Sure I can, Honey. I can give you a good time, one you'll remember and enjoy for a long time. What a rotten imitation of Mae West! But, God! She's propositioning me! She's offering me her body to fuck into her! The full registration of what her bawdy offer meant sent erectile blood surging into his sex organ. What do you think about getting laid, of being a hagrider? Too sudden a come-on. No time to think. Some sort of mumbled refusal.
Response ignored.
--My place is right down the street, Sweetheart. She moved closer bringing with her fakescented currents. Now, come on, don't walk away, Honey. I know you'll love it. You look like you've been without it for a long time. It'll feel so good... A part step backwards was all. Her paphian hand flashed forward clamping tight over his pants onto his throbbing downpointing erection for the blatant seduction. Firestorm in his brain as her hot paw milked it enticingly, urgently. Oh! Sweet Jesus! Why wasn't I ready for this? So unexpected! If I was given some warning, I'd know exactly what to do, how to respond to so compelling a desire. Madonna mia! Sweet sensations blasting from the boiling oil out of his erethismic boy-thing. To him, it was lost in the fireworks in his body. She knew what happened before he did when the muscle in her hand snap-tensed hard as steel.
--Ya fuckin cheap son-of-a-bitch stealing a lousy handjob from a hardworking girl!
All out of her mouth as the first spasm shot the warm glob of semen inside his pants down his leg. Warm, sticky emissions. Chicken skin ankles to crotch. He'd never come so fast in his whole life.
He'd grab her arm, whoever she was, and go home with her next time. That's for sure. He was still waiting like a forelorn puppy dog to be taken home and treated kindly by some understanding lady of the evening.
Okay. Next?
Get out of the upholstery business. So? Been saying that for ten years. Couldn't do it before, just quit on Sol; let him down, let down Mom and Pop. Suppose I couldn't find another job. Come on! I could be a chef! All right, a cook. Like I do on Friday nights. One night there I get what it takes me to make here in two days.
Okay, you're a big chef. Now what?
A car. No more walking in the rain. Then what? Box of fine cigars. Terrific. Now what?
Now I'm sick and tired of these years of listening to your
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