Read Online Hot Water Music by Charles Bukowski - Free Book Online Page A

Then, after you begin?” “Yes, well, there are techniques…” “What techniques?” “The first touch usually dulls the sensitivity in that area so that you can’t return to it with the same effectiveness.” “What the hell do you mean?” “You know what I mean.” “You’re making me hot.” “This is clinical.” “This is sexual. You’re making me hot.” “I don’t know what else to say.” “What does a man do then?” “You let your own enjoyment guide your exploration.It’s different each time.” “What do you mean?” “I mean sometimes it’s a bit gross, sometimes it’s tender, whichever way you feel.” “Tell me.” “Well, everything ends up at the clit.” “Say that word again.” “What?” “Clit.” “Clit, clit, clit…” “Do you suck it? Nibble it?” “Of course.” “You’re making me hot.” “Sorry.” “You can have the master bedroom. You like privacy?” “Like I told you.” “Tell me about my clit.” “All clits are different.” “It’s not private here right now. They’re building a retaining wall. But they’ll be through in a couple of days. You’ll like it here.”
    I took her address down again, hung up and went to bed. The phone rang. I walked over and picked it up and took it back to bed with me. “What do you mean, all clits are different?” “I mean different in size and response to stimuli.” “Did you ever find one you couldn’t stimulate?” “Not yet.” “Listen, why don’t you just come see me now?” “I’ve got an old car. It won’t make it up the canyon.” “Take the freeway and park in the lot at the Hidden Hills turnoff. I’ll meet you there.” “O.K.”
    I hung up, got dressed and got into my car. I took the freeway to the Hidden Hills turnoff, found the parking lot and sat there and waited. Twenty minutes went by and then a fat lady in a green dress drove up. She was in a white 1982 Caddy. All her front teeth were capped. “Are you the one?” she asked.
    “I’m the one.”
    “Jesus Christ. You don’t look so hot.”
    “You don’t look so hot either.”
    “All right. Come on.”
    I got out of my car and into hers. Her dress was very short. On the fat thigh nearest me was a small tattoo that looked like a messenger boy standing on top of a dog.
    “I’m not paying you anything,” she said.
    “That’s all right.”
    “You don’t look like a writer.”
    “For that I’m thankful.”
    “In fact, you don’t look like a guy who can do anything…”
    “Many things I can’t do.”
    “But you sure talk some shit on the phone. I was playing with myself. Were you playing with yourself?”
    “No.”
    We drove in silence after that. I had two cigarettes left andsmoked both of them. Then I turned on her radio and listened to the music. Her place had a long curving driveway and the garage doors opened automatically as we drove in. She unhitched her seatbelt and then suddenly flung her arms around me. Her mouth looked like an open bottle of red india ink. The tongue came out. We rolled back against the seat, trapped like that. Then it ended and we got out. “Come on,” she said. I followed her up a path lined with rosebushes. “I’m not going to pay you anything,” she said, “not a fucking thing.” “That’s all right,” I said. She got her key out of her purse, unlocked the door and I followed her in.

STROKES TO NOWHERE
     
     
    Meg and Tony got his wife to the airport. After Dolly was airborne they stopped in the airport bar for a drink. Meg had a whiskey and soda. Tony had a scotch and water.
    “Your wife trusts you,” said Meg.
    “Yeh,” said Tony.
    “I wonder if I can trust you?”
    “Don’t you like to be fucked?”
    “That’s not the point.”
    “What’s the point?”
    “The point is that Dolly and I are friends.”
    “ We can be friends.”
    “Not that way.”
    “Be modern. It’s the modern age. People swing. They’re uninhibited. They fuck from the ceiling. They screw