with aluminum foil on the antenna—I could tell plenty. And I could see somewhat between her knees if I ducked my head a little.
She nodded toward the case, a smirk on her face as if she had read my mind.
"So let's hear it."
The sleep was gone from her eyes, which were light green. I preferred dark eyes.
"You like coconuts? Everybody likes coconuts, right?" I plucked out a small aerosol can of room spray and shpritzed briefly in front of her. I inhaled with my eyes at half-mast as if I was smelling baked bread. Her eyelids fluttered as she jerked her head back, coughing into her fingers. Her knees parted for a second and I saw thigh.
"What? You don't like that!" I looked stunned. "It smells like Pago Pago in here now!"
She waved her hand in front of her face as if to clear the air. She had intelligent eyes; they had character. I parted my legs a little. I wanted her to know I had a hard-on.
"Do you know who my biggest customer for coconut room spray is? And I'm not lying." I leaned back and squinted. "Take a guess."
"Somebody in your immediate family, I imagine." She pumped a cigarette from a matching unraveling white wicker lamp table next to her.
"Nope, Terence Cardinal Cooke." I narrowed my eyes and pointed a finger. "
Us loves
the stuff and has instructed the custodian at Saint Patrick's to snag a dozen cans every time I come by the church. Next time you go in there, smell the air."
"C'mon, what else you hiding in there?" She arched her eyebrows, and I swear to God she stared right at my crotch. I brought my knees together and did a nosedive into my case, fumbled around like I had three hands and whipped out the foam lotion, flipping it up like a baton and one-handing it.
"Here"—I wriggled my fingers—"give me your hand."
I rested the cold, bony back of her hand in my palm, shook up the can and shot a thick jet of cream onto her lifeline.
"Am I getting a light trim around the knuckles?" That eyebrow arch again.
"Very humorous. You're very quick." I smiled while rubbing the foam into her palm and fingers with both of my hands. It began to break down into a jellylike lotion. As I worked my ten fingers through her five, slithering through the taut webs and swirling around the joints my groin started pounding like a marathon runner's heart. I ran my middle fingers up and down her palm. She had make-up on from the night before; a slice of earlobe peeked through her red hair. My knees parted company again and my Adam's apple started doing elevator takes in my throat. "How does that feel?" My voice came out like Andy Devine.
"Mmm." Her eyes were closed. I couldn't bring myself to spiel. Screw the spiel. She started weaving slightly and let her head hang back so her chin was stabbing up at the ceiling. I grabbed the can and shpritzed more foam on our hands to keep it going. For a split second her fingers massaged mine and I thought my brains would spew out my ears. I started grinding in my seat, staring between her knees. I squeezed myself with a greasy hand. No panties. Oh, my fucking God, she wasn't wearing panties. Suddenly the phone rang, and I jumped like I was snapping out of a nightmare. I think I actually said "Aw!" like a kid. She shook her head and smiled.
"I'll be back!" She got up and went through louvered double doors into the bedroom. I started following her in, hunched over and slobbering like Fred Flintstone on Spanish fly, but pulled myself together and returned to the couch. I gave myself five. This was it. This was fucking it. Finally, after six years of door to door, I was getting some nut. I jumped up and started dancing in front of the mirror. Screw La Donna. She could sleep like the dead from now on. I smoothed down my hair and shot my cuffs. I was bad. I was slick. I looked like fuckin' Marcello. I thanked God my mother was dark; the old man's side looked like anemic bookworms. I pulled down my tie knot, then pushed it back up. It looked better down and down it went. Made me look more
She nodded toward the case, a smirk on her face as if she had read my mind.
"So let's hear it."
The sleep was gone from her eyes, which were light green. I preferred dark eyes.
"You like coconuts? Everybody likes coconuts, right?" I plucked out a small aerosol can of room spray and shpritzed briefly in front of her. I inhaled with my eyes at half-mast as if I was smelling baked bread. Her eyelids fluttered as she jerked her head back, coughing into her fingers. Her knees parted for a second and I saw thigh.
"What? You don't like that!" I looked stunned. "It smells like Pago Pago in here now!"
She waved her hand in front of her face as if to clear the air. She had intelligent eyes; they had character. I parted my legs a little. I wanted her to know I had a hard-on.
"Do you know who my biggest customer for coconut room spray is? And I'm not lying." I leaned back and squinted. "Take a guess."
"Somebody in your immediate family, I imagine." She pumped a cigarette from a matching unraveling white wicker lamp table next to her.
"Nope, Terence Cardinal Cooke." I narrowed my eyes and pointed a finger. "
Us loves
the stuff and has instructed the custodian at Saint Patrick's to snag a dozen cans every time I come by the church. Next time you go in there, smell the air."
"C'mon, what else you hiding in there?" She arched her eyebrows, and I swear to God she stared right at my crotch. I brought my knees together and did a nosedive into my case, fumbled around like I had three hands and whipped out the foam lotion, flipping it up like a baton and one-handing it.
"Here"—I wriggled my fingers—"give me your hand."
I rested the cold, bony back of her hand in my palm, shook up the can and shot a thick jet of cream onto her lifeline.
"Am I getting a light trim around the knuckles?" That eyebrow arch again.
"Very humorous. You're very quick." I smiled while rubbing the foam into her palm and fingers with both of my hands. It began to break down into a jellylike lotion. As I worked my ten fingers through her five, slithering through the taut webs and swirling around the joints my groin started pounding like a marathon runner's heart. I ran my middle fingers up and down her palm. She had make-up on from the night before; a slice of earlobe peeked through her red hair. My knees parted company again and my Adam's apple started doing elevator takes in my throat. "How does that feel?" My voice came out like Andy Devine.
"Mmm." Her eyes were closed. I couldn't bring myself to spiel. Screw the spiel. She started weaving slightly and let her head hang back so her chin was stabbing up at the ceiling. I grabbed the can and shpritzed more foam on our hands to keep it going. For a split second her fingers massaged mine and I thought my brains would spew out my ears. I started grinding in my seat, staring between her knees. I squeezed myself with a greasy hand. No panties. Oh, my fucking God, she wasn't wearing panties. Suddenly the phone rang, and I jumped like I was snapping out of a nightmare. I think I actually said "Aw!" like a kid. She shook her head and smiled.
"I'll be back!" She got up and went through louvered double doors into the bedroom. I started following her in, hunched over and slobbering like Fred Flintstone on Spanish fly, but pulled myself together and returned to the couch. I gave myself five. This was it. This was fucking it. Finally, after six years of door to door, I was getting some nut. I jumped up and started dancing in front of the mirror. Screw La Donna. She could sleep like the dead from now on. I smoothed down my hair and shot my cuffs. I was bad. I was slick. I looked like fuckin' Marcello. I thanked God my mother was dark; the old man's side looked like anemic bookworms. I pulled down my tie knot, then pushed it back up. It looked better down and down it went. Made me look more
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