Read Online Pages Torn From a Travel Journal by Edward Lee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edward Lee
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& susurrated “Howard . . . ”
Then she was taken away, & I knew, somehow, that I would never see her again.
“Why was she beaten?” I pled. “What could someone so filled with benevolence as Bliss have done to incur such wrath? Was it a customer–er, I mean, a john, a trick, or whatever it is you call it?”
“Wasn’t no john, my good fellow. See, Bliss’s job when she’s not doin’ her peep-tent is to work johns’n turn tricks. Earlier today, when she should’ a been haulin’ in some possum-belly quickies before her show, the lazy tart was loiterin’ about & squandering time with some fella she had eyes for—”
“Some . . . fella?” I questioned, my throat going dry.
“Aye, ‘s’what I heard. Whores do that on occasion, turn a lotta tricks, make a lotta cash, then they start gettin’ a big head’n thinkin’ they’re somethin’ special. Specially the good ones, the ones like Bliss that can suck a dick like dicks never been sucked or lay a fuckin’ on a man so good he just can’t get her out’a his head so’s he keep comin’ back over’n over’n over again, handin’ over his cash. That’s Bliss, see? Every so often, she gets ta takin’ her life for granted, forgettin’ that she wouldn’t have no life if’n it weren’t for Mr. O’Slaughnassey marryin’ her.”
Of all the interminable outrage; all the diabolic abuse . My blood seemed to crackle in my veins as my guts sunk deeper & deeper as if into a bottomless pit of roiling bitumen.
“So,” the Irishman continued, “you can understand that she was properly punished. No bones was busted, and nothin’ of her insides was broke accordin’ to the doc. She just got mussed up a bit is all.”
Mussed up. The words curdled my stomach. This human animal perceived women as mere property, as pets to be utilised for profit, & when they misbehaved, they were mussed up. Had I a revolver, I surely would’ve emptied it into this bounder’s noxious face. But the worst insinuation was already festering in me as a malignant growth. “And you say that she was beaten for squandering time with . . . some ‘fella’ in particular?”
“Some skinny chap was all I heard. She didn’t even try to work him for a trick. Had eyes for him, even though she’s married proper.”
The “skinny chap,” of course, had to be me. Hence, I was the primary cause of her unspeakable beating.
I wished for that revolver again, to put, this time, to my own head.
“So’s get’cher mind off Bliss, lad, and take your pick of one’a our other lovely whores. We got all kinds’a doxies, just you believe it–ah, there’s one now!” & down the insubstantial corridor I momentarily glimpsed a willowy strumpet with bare breasts like white cupcakes on her chest. She disappeared into a flap. “That lass there, Sir, is called Squeegee, and she’s as fine a place ta drop your baby-batter as you’ll find.”
“ Squeegee? ” I asked, perplexed as to the name.
“Pussy so tight, when your John Thursday’s sluggin’ in and out of it”–he nodded–“makes a sound like cleanin’ winda’s, it surely does.”
“How . . . unrepresentative,” I offered.
“All our harlots, my friend, are fine as bloomin’ China. Not a schlupper among ‘em.”
My curiosity left me unable to resist. “Schlupper?”
“Aw, lad, are ya daft! A gal that while’s you’re fuckin’ her? Her pussy makes a sound like soldiers marchin’ through mud. Schulp-schulp-schulp. You know?”
“How . . . majestic . . . ”
“My point is, when one’a our lasses is done with ya? You’ll not have a drop’a sap left in the two balls God put in yer sack.”
This man is deplorable, I thought with the sharpest of frowns. But before I had time to decline, footsteps were heard, & from the adjoining corridor, an ectomorphic, stooped figure proceeded. At once, my vision was riveted.
The coattails, string tie, & white vest seemed to shout at me, as did the thin face & hooded
Then she was taken away, & I knew, somehow, that I would never see her again.
“Why was she beaten?” I pled. “What could someone so filled with benevolence as Bliss have done to incur such wrath? Was it a customer–er, I mean, a john, a trick, or whatever it is you call it?”
“Wasn’t no john, my good fellow. See, Bliss’s job when she’s not doin’ her peep-tent is to work johns’n turn tricks. Earlier today, when she should’ a been haulin’ in some possum-belly quickies before her show, the lazy tart was loiterin’ about & squandering time with some fella she had eyes for—”
“Some . . . fella?” I questioned, my throat going dry.
“Aye, ‘s’what I heard. Whores do that on occasion, turn a lotta tricks, make a lotta cash, then they start gettin’ a big head’n thinkin’ they’re somethin’ special. Specially the good ones, the ones like Bliss that can suck a dick like dicks never been sucked or lay a fuckin’ on a man so good he just can’t get her out’a his head so’s he keep comin’ back over’n over’n over again, handin’ over his cash. That’s Bliss, see? Every so often, she gets ta takin’ her life for granted, forgettin’ that she wouldn’t have no life if’n it weren’t for Mr. O’Slaughnassey marryin’ her.”
Of all the interminable outrage; all the diabolic abuse . My blood seemed to crackle in my veins as my guts sunk deeper & deeper as if into a bottomless pit of roiling bitumen.
“So,” the Irishman continued, “you can understand that she was properly punished. No bones was busted, and nothin’ of her insides was broke accordin’ to the doc. She just got mussed up a bit is all.”
Mussed up. The words curdled my stomach. This human animal perceived women as mere property, as pets to be utilised for profit, & when they misbehaved, they were mussed up. Had I a revolver, I surely would’ve emptied it into this bounder’s noxious face. But the worst insinuation was already festering in me as a malignant growth. “And you say that she was beaten for squandering time with . . . some ‘fella’ in particular?”
“Some skinny chap was all I heard. She didn’t even try to work him for a trick. Had eyes for him, even though she’s married proper.”
The “skinny chap,” of course, had to be me. Hence, I was the primary cause of her unspeakable beating.
I wished for that revolver again, to put, this time, to my own head.
“So’s get’cher mind off Bliss, lad, and take your pick of one’a our other lovely whores. We got all kinds’a doxies, just you believe it–ah, there’s one now!” & down the insubstantial corridor I momentarily glimpsed a willowy strumpet with bare breasts like white cupcakes on her chest. She disappeared into a flap. “That lass there, Sir, is called Squeegee, and she’s as fine a place ta drop your baby-batter as you’ll find.”
“ Squeegee? ” I asked, perplexed as to the name.
“Pussy so tight, when your John Thursday’s sluggin’ in and out of it”–he nodded–“makes a sound like cleanin’ winda’s, it surely does.”
“How . . . unrepresentative,” I offered.
“All our harlots, my friend, are fine as bloomin’ China. Not a schlupper among ‘em.”
My curiosity left me unable to resist. “Schlupper?”
“Aw, lad, are ya daft! A gal that while’s you’re fuckin’ her? Her pussy makes a sound like soldiers marchin’ through mud. Schulp-schulp-schulp. You know?”
“How . . . majestic . . . ”
“My point is, when one’a our lasses is done with ya? You’ll not have a drop’a sap left in the two balls God put in yer sack.”
This man is deplorable, I thought with the sharpest of frowns. But before I had time to decline, footsteps were heard, & from the adjoining corridor, an ectomorphic, stooped figure proceeded. At once, my vision was riveted.
The coattails, string tie, & white vest seemed to shout at me, as did the thin face & hooded
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