Darling Page 5

  Why didn't they come? Her cunt was beating like an exhausted heart. Probably they'd never arrive. Off somewhere buggering each other. Proving they could do without women, which they could ... but who wanted to prove it in the first place? You could do without anything; you could not get born. No, that was the one involuntary action, and Christ, you paid for it.

  She heard the shuffle of shoes on the stairway, then a shrill excited laugh, not male or female. Then a rap on the door.

  "Let us in. Let us in, you witch."

  "We're dying. We're just dying."

  She opened the door for the two handsome men. The chosen people. The self-sufficient. The suicidal, dead and breathing hard.

  "Honey, we've worked out a juicy itinerary."

  "Well, I've got juice enough for the two of you."

  "You're so dirty..."

  "I'm so hot."

  "Look, doll, we're more cultivated than that. Let's have a drink and talk and act like we don't know what's going to happen till we get our clothes off."

  "All right," she said. "Shall I mix a pitcher of martinis? We might get thirsty."

  "A pitcher. Not a drop less. We'll have a party."

  Harry took her hand in his and looked at her with his serious compassionate eyes. "Gloria. Are you just flipping? I mean, if you're just suffering over some guy, we don't want to move in and take advantage."

  "I'm suffering over all mankind. Look at you two."

  "Now that's no way to talk to your guests," said Jack. "Just go mix the booze, darling."

  "My God, Jack," Harry murmured, "you're so insensitive."

  "You bet your next ten screws I'm insensitive. I don't want histories. I don't care what's bugging her. I just like to get my cock in where I can – men, women, children, rocks, walls, water hydrants, old shoes..."

  "Okay, okay. You can be such a bore."

  "What's egging you? Is it because you never screwed a woman? It's easy," Jack snorted. "Just close your eyes and think you're in any old hole."

  "But what does he see when he closes his eyes?"

  "His mother, fucking his father and screaming, 'Oh George.'"

  "Why don't you shut your filthy faggot mouth?" Harry spat.

  "Cause I'm just a faggot, darling. I don't care what my mother did. I hope she had as good a time as I do."

  "She had a ball."

  "Then let's have a ball. That's what we're here for ... not group therapy. Not too much vermouth. Please don't dilute all that beautiful Gordon's gin."

  "You're so fey," Gloria laughed

  "I'm all things to all people."

  "And lover to me?" she asked.

  "Not lover, baby. Just fucker. Harry is my love."

  "Your first?"

  "I'm my first. I'm my first and no doubts about that."

  "I'm surprised I got into the picture at all," Harry said with a suggestive pout.

  "Oh, lover boy, don't brood." Jack ran his hand over Harry's tight-muscled buttocks.

  "Don't touch me."

  "Whore," said Jack, and kissed his angry lover on the lips.

  Gloria sat and watched them. This insatiable trembling between her legs filled her with fear that they would argue and leave, to caress each other later into forgiving sighs.

  "Drink your martinis," she said. "No more bickering. We don't want to hate each other when we screw."

  "A little hate is good, cause it's so violent," said Jack.

  "God, you could turn wine to water," giggled Harry.

  "But most of all, I'd like to just drink it."

  "Let's just be gay."

  "We're nothing, if not gay."

  "Does that make you something?" said Gloria.

  "Two very interesting lays."

  "I'm finished with my drink. Let's find out while we can see straight."

  "Straight. Straight. I hate that word."

  "Yes, Gloria. Be careful of your language."

  "Jesus, I think you just came here to discuss language. Easy baby. You know ... easy come, easy go."

  "God, you're both scared. Just plain scared. And I thought it was so fancy to be a faggot."

  "Just come here," Jack said furiously, "and suck me and you'll see how scared I am."

  The rapist had made her take his prick, already rigid, in her mouth, but the prick offered to her now was flaccid and limp, like a wet rope. She put the flesh into her mouth and her tongue urged it to virility. Her teeth made soft loving bites up the hidden spine of his cock. Her heart felt wild with anger. What if he can't get in me after all this? Why must we suffer and beg to be laid? Except when you don't want to. Then they're hard and urgent against you all the time. They really don't want you to like it. Not anything. Get hard you bastard. I swear I'll bite if off.

  "Gloria," he wailed, "you're hurting me," and he pulled her head away. "I'm sorry, baby. Too much talk; too much liquor."

  "Look," she said, the madness spinning inside her, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. But don't leave me like this. I think that I'd kill myself. Just put your fingers, or your tongue, or the broom in the closet in me. I've got a cavern inside of me."

  Jack looked at her with pity and contempt. This was what he had always suspected lay hidden behind the modest performances of women – this rage that made them want to swallow your prick and press it out through their cunts. He felt like laughing into her agonized face. You can't have it baby. It's all mine, and Harry's, and it even belongs to the men I offer it to, and sell it to, and give it to. They're safe. They've got cocks of their own. They know enough to give mine back ... and really admire it.

  "Please," she was saying, whimpering to the demon in her, "I can't bear it. We have a contract," she added desperately, as if an ethic could convince him. "You've been trying to lay me for three years. Is everything a fucking lie? Don't men get any feeling out of getting into a woman, or is the whole kick working up to it and then thinking it over? Is the actual screwing nothing, just an unadvertised feature, just a time-killing newsreel? For us, the moment is when you get your pricks into the dark cave we hide beneath our skirts. "I want to die," she said quite calmly. "I really want to die."

  Harry took her hand and said gently, "Maybe if Jack and I begin..."

  "Yes," she agreed eagerly. "I'll wait. But don't make me wait too long. I might explode."

  Harry laughed and reached over to Jack's exposed flaccid hook of flesh. He took it gently in his hand. "Come to Daddy," he murmured, and exposing his even clenched teeth, he bent his head to the stiffening rod.

  "That's it, baby. That's how Harry likes it – nice and hard." He put the cock deep in his mouth and Jack trembled with excitement. He let the glistening shaft pop out of his mouth on the upstroke. "That's the obedient prick I know." His head moved slowly up and down above the matted hair of Jack's loins.

  "Give us a hand, Gloria," Jack whispered. "Take Harry's pants off and move him around so that I can get at his cock."

  Harry lifted his head from his intense task. "Good idea."

  "Don't talk," Jack begged. "Just suck like the good girl you are."

  Gloria's body ached with excitement. There were two rigid cocks in the room and she felt the terrible fear that neither of them were for her. Why did sex have to be attached to a brain? Why couldn't people screw eager and separate from anything else they did? She reached over to Harry's slender waist, found the button to the zipper, and reached for his stiff prick. It was swelled and throbbing to her touch, and she awkwardly encircled it with her hand. She could not stop knocking it, precious and virile, against her palm.

  Harry moved her hand away, and she understood. She reached for his underpants and pulled his clothes from his body. His hips were narrow as a young girl's; his skin was dry and hot. He pushed her aside and moved his body over Jack's head. Jack's mouth was open and gasping. He looked like a fish hungry for the hook. Raising his head up, he swallowed the offered prick with a grunt. The two men lay twisted amorously against each other, and she could hear the wet sounds of la
pping tongues.

  Tears of anguish slid down to Gloria's mouth and she tasted the warm salt of her frustration. Her cunt, too, was weeping. Watching the men ravish each other's cocks, she wished that her mouth could cover it.

  Then Jack whispered urgently, "I can't take it anymore." He pushed Harry beneath him. He bent his head to moisten the familiar hole of Harry's tensely muscled ass. With one sure move he drove his engorged cock into Harry, tight into him so his hips were flattened against Harry's buttocks. With his free hand, he caressed Harry's rigid cock, but Gloria pushed his hand away and greedily forced the excited flesh into her mouth. Her tongue moved hungrily down the length of his sex.

  "Please, I'm begging you. Try," she said to him. She got flat on her back, encircling the kneeling men with her wide-stretched legs. Harry seemed hardly conscious, so Gloria took his prick in both her hands and raised her hips up against it. Close, close, almost in. But as it neared her offered vagina, Harry's flesh softened.

  "Oh, my God," she moaned. "I can't stand it." But Jack reached from behind Harry's back, and holding the rigid prick in his hand, he directed it into Gloria's yawning pussy. In it went, in, in, and grew harder and longer as it groped along the constricting passage.

  "I've done it! I've done it!" Harry began to weep and he thrust his body up and down against Gloria's white belly. The three of them pumped and groaned with a primitive desperation.

  "I'm coming! I'm coming!" wailed Jack, and his lover, feeling the spurt of hot fluid, went into grinding orgasm. "Come now, Gloria. Now or never."

  Gloria felt her hysterical body heave senselessly, and she knew from her gestures that she had realized the tense orgasm. But her cunt felt as empty and driven as before. She began to scream meaningless obscenities until Harry struck her across the face.

  Jack's prick was rigid again, so he tossed the screaming girl on her stomach and searched for her anal orifice. His prick was as thick as a fist, and he forced it mercilessly into the narrow opening. Gloria shrieked with pain as first the swollen head, then the massive shaft seemed to split her unsated body.

  "It hurts too much. Stop. Please. Please." But his body continued to move fiercely in its tight enclosure.

  Harry knelt in front of her and put his mouth over her cunt. His tongue tasted the sperm of his orgasm. The pain between her buttock cheeks made her come faster, and she slipped from one orgasm to the next, clutching Harry's bent head.

  Finally, the two men let her go. Her sobs of exhaustion filled the room.

  "Just one more," Harry commanded. "I've got to get my prick up your ass, Gloria dear, and then you're finished for the night, doll."

  "Wait," Jack said. "Wait till I'm stiff again. I'll fuck her straight, while you get in behind." Harry laughed with excitement. "Maybe we can touch pricks inside."

  Within a minute, the two men were rigid.

  Jack pulled her gracelessly over his slightly spread legs. His fingers found her drooling cunt, and with his two thumbs, he pulled the exhausted lips apart. His prick slipped up into her.

  Gloria lay panting against his chest, pinned to him with her desire. Her hips swung convulsively against him while he swiftly rolled her on her side. Then he reached behind her and opened her for his lover.

  She could hear Harry gasping behind her, and then with excruciating pain, felt him pierce her. The three lay spread and riveted together, undulating and pumping in a wave of motion.

  "Now," said Jack, and pushing her head aside, the two men's mouths met as they came in her, darting for each other's pricks. They fucked her savagely in their passion.

  Gloria groaned and swam into a black spinning unconsciousness. Her body, when she opened her eyes, felt weightless with pain.

  "Let's cut, Jack," Harry said, and he slipped his pants over his hips.

  "It's been grand, baby," Jack touched her disheveled hair. "Now get some sleep so you'll be ready for the next time."

  Her dry mouth formed the words, "There won't be a next time."

  "Why, Gloria, we came through as requested."

  "There's only one man who's going to have a next time with me ... and it's going to be his last time."

  "Oh boy," whistled Jack, "I'd hate to make you angry."

  It's not anger

  , she thought. It's insanity. I want to kill him more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. But, God, just let me see him again. If he's taken off for Kansas or Tibet, I'll be dead within a month. I'll fuck the life out of myself. She barely heard the door close behind Jack and Harry. Then the shrill feminine laugh came through the door and she relaxed into a stupored sleep.

  CHAPTER VI

  When she woke up the next morning, she felt sick and exhausted. She knew she was feeding her disease with its cause. As if a thousand pricks in her could obliterate her need to be ravished again by the one man who had crumbled the thin shell of her sanity. She was not submitting to the other men for a moment's forgetting. Their bodies on top of hers and their thick, hard cocks delving into her pussy gave her a sharp, screaming recollection of the black-jacketed maniac who had used and sullied and discarded her in one-half an hour. Most horrible of all, she would not or could not forget him. She was, in her suffering, intensely and hysterically alive. She hated it with a rage that made her wanton and destructive ... as if she were shrieking to the men, "Destroy me before I destroy the world!" Yet they could not destroy her. They could barely touch the cavern of anger beneath her soft flesh.

  My flesh is a disguise. I should be mottled and green and pockmarked. The ugliness inside should show, as the white eyes of my rapist had revealed his barren soul.

  His barrenness had excited her, exhausted her. He was a man she could never have. A man who did not have himself, who had nothing. To search for him was to offer a primitive sacrifice. But she would sacrifice herself by killing her god. Yes, she would rivet his body onto her, as though she were the cross of Jesus. And she would pierce his heart.

  I must dominate him, and I will, I will, I shall give him his death. I will be second only to his mother, who gave him life. And mine is the more fearful role. I know how he'll look at me when I stab him – with milky eyes of contempt and surprise. He is waiting for one of us to destroy him. It is strange, when the poisons seep into our actions. The men I have hated with a smile on my lips and did not know that fear and loathing were making me dead to my desires. But they feared me, too, in their mother-shaped heart. What could we do but confront each other with masks? Yes, they can fuck me with the vestiges of need and contact. My passion is not free. I know that. My passion is a struggle, up, up from the dungeon of fear. These men who crash against me know the dungeon is there: mossy and molding, inviting death. His sperm will be my Eucharist.

  She moved her feet to the floor beside her bed and lifted her body with the caution of a dying centenarian. I must buy a douche, she thought, and a diaphragm. What a monster would be born out of this sex rattle.

  She walked into the bathroom and turned the tap on. The hot water splashed into the enamel tub. Beneath the white gleam on the tub was an iron base, and she fingered the chipped exterior that revealed it. She felt almost relaxed as she prepared some coffee in the kitchen, knowing that the pain and madness would be back in her within a few hours.

  She reflected on how when she'd struggled to consciousness from the depths, she'd felt that she was coming forth from the source of pain, and for the moment she'd lain resolved and depleted. Then the world that she had lived in for twenty-four deceitful, suffering years beckoned her, and she rose crushed and doomed.

  As fearful as she found her dreams, they still locked out her consciousness. In dreams, she suffered with the frustration and protection of echoed sounds. The reality of life was worse. It's the mystery, she thought. At least in my dreams, I act directly and fully believe. It's the not believing that wounds us. In dreams, there is only one voice, our voice, and we believe it with the faith of children or simpletons. Now my only belief is the rapist, my longing to destroy him, th
e singularity of a dream. And she knew, therefore, that she would not give it up.

  She stripped herself of the clothes she had slept in and sank into the hot smoking bath. Her body gave itself to the soothing balm as it had never been given to a man. The water rose, green and clear, to outline her breasts, and her hips spread languorously. The rapist had unearthed a chain of orgasms that gave her no gratification, and she felt her body, like a mocking enemy, grow hot with passion in the tub. The horror, the aloneness was gone. She rushed her fingers under water to get at her sobbing cunt, but the water made her fingers slippery and ineffectual against the insatiable pit. Desperately she rushed from the bath and pressed a thick, absorbent towel to her vagina. She rubbed mercilessly, and thought of the knife she had placed in her handbag that she was going to use to kill her god.

  Maybe I should just cut my sex away.

  Her death was of little importance to her. But his death... She rubbed eagerly and her body responded with its empty orgasm.

  The desire in her grew in intensity. She rushed to the kitchen and saw an empty thin-necked bottle of Chianti. With a groan, she lowered herself heavily on the bottle and felt it plunge into the tortured folds of her insane flesh. She spun meaninglessly on the bottle top, and then stretched flat on the kitchen floor. She began to methodically pull the bottle in and out of her grasping cunt. The cool glass grew warm and wet in her. After a few minutes, she came against the bottle and lay nearly unconscious on the floor.

  I must get out of here. I'll walk, or go horseback riding, or do something to get my mind off my cunt. Maybe I can control it. What is a brain for? To find bottles and towels?

  "Oh God," she whimpered. "Have other women gone through this? Are we a society of prick-worshippers, or despisers? – It's the same thing. Will I look back at them and recognize them? I hate them; I hate the women like me, the pathetic beasts. I must get dressed and get out. That's the first thing. Surely I can hold onto myself long enough to get dressed. It's like an attack that overwhelms me. His attack. Over and over. I get the same sensation of panic as that moment when he kneeled between my legs." She dressed herself with fevered haste, as if a monster was in the room with her and she could leave it behind.