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88. I let my class
out. . . .
I
let my class out fifteen minutes early, waited till the last of them had gone,
and sauntered down the hallway past the door of the seminar room, looking in to
catch the eye of Mark McKinley, of Julia Stein and L. D. Langdon where they sat
near the window. Then I went up to my office and puttered with my papers. A
minute or two past ten there was a quiet knock at my door, and I opened it to
admit Julia, who slipped in quickly as a burglar. I closed the door and turned
to kiss her, my hand under her coat. “Hello,” I said; I moved up to her and
pressed her against Shemansky’s desk, anchoring her there with my hips while I
unfastened her blouse.
“Jonas,”
she said, “Jonas, this is crazy.”
“Sex
is crazy, Julia,” I said, nipping her musky neck. “It comes straight up from
the lizard brain. Not even the scientists know anything about it.” I lifted her
coat from her shoulders and slipped it down her arms, then did the same with
the loosened blouse. Julia waited, blushing, as I reached behind her to undo
the snaps of her industrial-weight bra. “This,” I said, “this is what I want to
see. These things.” I slipped the
bra forward and her breasts fell free; they were soon warm heavy loaves in my
greedy hands.
“Oh,
my darling,” she said experimentally. I kissed her to prevent her from uttering
further nonsense; Julia’s mouth, like the rest of her, was generously made, and
she opened it readily to my probing tongue. I liked kissing Julia and would’ve
prolonged this phase, but she pushed me away. “Hurry,” she said anxiously.
“Jerome will be wondering where I’ve been.”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
I
backed away from her and removed my boots and jeans, while she took off her
skirt and stepped out of her dark-blue panty hose. The sight of her pussy made
my mouth water, and I dropped to my knees. “Oh, God,” she said, looking behind
her. “Poor Robert’s papers.”
“Never
mind poor Robert,” I said. “Just don’t lean on anything sharp.” I touched the
twin buds of her eager inner labia with my forefinger, then aimed my nose at
the upper part of her snatch and began licking her as she moaned and writhed.
At one point I glanced upward to note that she was handling her breasts,
pinching her nipples so hard they’d turned white. Her clit was big as a
Maraschino cherry; her cunt engulfed three of my fingers, and I alternated
swirling her with my tongue and thumb.
“Fuck
me, Jonas,” she said, pulling me up by the hair. “Fuck me good, now.”
I
laid her back on Shemansky’s papers—most hard objects, like his pipes, got
swept aside—and did her bidding, not forgetting to keep up my strumming and
drumming of her clit. I humped her hard and humped her easy, humped her high
and humped her low, as she opened to me completely, hot and wet and large; I
squeezed her nipples as she herself had done, pushing her down hard and myself
into her, then returned to frantically bothering her clitoris as I felt my own
orgasm coming on. Julia turned her face aside, presenting me with a nice pink
ear to bite; she blushed and shuddered, and, sure of her now, I ceased my
twiddling and rammed her violently, growling like a leopard. We came together
in a condiderable explosion of sperm and mucus, accompanied by the usual gasps
and grunts. If I’d been sure we were alone in the building, I’d have howled
like a wolf.
“Uff
da,” I said when I caught my breath. I saw that I’d drooled considerably into
her coarse hair; I hoped the teeth marks on her neck would go away. “That was
quick.”
“That
was wonderful,” Julia said. “I wish Jerome could do me that way. He’s got the
equipment, all right, but he doesn’t employ it artfully.”
“You
mean all those books don’t help?” I asked. I jiggled her rosy breasts; her huge
nipples lay before me, bite-sized, and I bared my teeth and growled at them.
She glanced at me briefly, then looked away.
“I
think he likes pornography better than sex,” she said. “The man has a good
heart, but he’s peculiar.” She looked down toward where we were joined, her
chin doubling. “This desk’s digging into me, Jonas. You have to let me up now.”
“Too
bad,” I said. “You look pretty darned good on your back.” I eased away and my
noodle came splashing out of her, trailing a silver filament of slime. I helped
pull her to her feet and held her a moment. “You’re a good-looking woman,
Julia,” I said. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”
“Just
right for an Arab sheik,” she said. “Get me something to wipe myself, will you?
I can’t go home saturated.” I found her some paper towels and she scrubbed her
cunt, one leg cocked sideways. “You’re not supposed to watch,” she said. “It’s
not romantic.”
“The
knowledge of a woman is like physics,” I said. “When I read a book of physics,
I say, ‘Unh hunh, unh hunh,’ but after I put the book down I find I haven’t
taken it in. Same way with a woman’s body; I see it and I don’t see it. So, I’m
always hungry to look again.”
“Thank
you, Isaac Newton, for the physics lesson,” she said. “If class is dismissed, I
want to go home now.” I handed her her clothing and watched as she put it on; I
felt truly sorry to see her breasts disappear. “How do I look?” she asked when
she’d buttoned her skirt.
“Ripe,”
I said. “You look as if you could have a baby a week.”
“I
mean, do I look mussed? Give me a straight answer, I’m beginning to not like
you.”
“Better
brush your hair,” I said. “Or else tell Jerome that a taxi driver tried to rape
you.”
“He’d
ask me where I got two dollars for a taxi,” she said. She got out her
hairbrush, untangled and straightened her hair, and quickly left; in her
movements I recognized symptoms of guilt. For my own part, I still felt horny
and would’ve liked to bite her neck on the other side.
Knowing
I’d gotten Julia screwed and out of my office in less than twenty minutes, even
allowing time to repair Shemansky’s clerical arrangements, gave me a sense of
masculine accomplishment, but I also felt lonely and absurd. The worst was that
I couldn’t go have a beer at Casey’s; I might run into Weld and I’d certainly
see L. D. If Julia happened to go there too—she hadn’t discussed her plans—we’d
be sure to give ourselves away. I decided to go home and shower off her juice,
and drive out to Lederer”s to see if Grace could chat with me. The Goon was
still part of her picture, sometimes in Lincoln, sometimes not. She said he was
in the “used car parts” business; what that meant precisely I was careful not
to inquire. Anyway it took him out of town.
I
found her playing a game of chess against herself. She had the board set up on
the dark side of the horseshoe counter, along with a timer and a magazine on
the subject. As work permitted—the place was not busy, but a few came in while
I was there—she would flit by, glance at the magazine, make a move, and reset
the timer. I took a stool on the side across from her chess setup, content to
watch. She was so absorbed that she barely acknowledged me, except for bringing
me coffee. When I needed a refill,
she stopped for a minute to talk. “I’m learning how to defend against a new
opening,” she explained. “Chess is different from Scrabble. New ideas come
along all the time, and you have to keep up with them.”
“I’m
surprised there are new ideas,” I said. “The game’s four hundred years old, am
I right?”
“Chess
is over a thousand years old,” she said. “It probably began in India; anyway it
got spread westward at the time of the Muslim conquests. The Knights Templars
could’ve learned it in Palestine, or the Moors could’ve brought it to Spain. It
might’ve come to the Slavic countries earlier, by way of the Byzantine Empire;
maybe that’s why Poles and Russians are so good at it. Chess has been around a long time.” She smiled. “Where’ve you been?”
“Class
ran a little late tonight,” I said lamely. The truth was I’d been avoiding her
a little since our Valentine’s Day fiasco.
“I
miss our weeknight trysts in the back booth,” she said, her black eyes
twinkling. “I’d take you back there now, but I have to study. There’s a
tournament coming up in Las Vegas over Easter.”
“I
didn’t know you played in chess tournaments,” I said.
“I
don’t,” she said, “but I go out there and hustle the guys who do.” I looked at
her quizzically. “Speed chess,” she said. “I get a room and we do some serious
gambling.”
“How
much do you make?”
She
sighed. “I never keep track,” she said. “It’s too discouraging. Don takes care
of the money. This isn’t something we do for fun, Jonas. If it was up to me, I
wouldn’t go at all. I hate Las Vegas. I’d much rather stay home and play
Scrabble all week with you.”
“You’d
get tired of beating me.”
“That’s
true,” she said softly, “but I wouldn’t get tired of sleeping with you.”
“That’s
what scares me.” I grinned. “You don’t get tired.”
“Neither
do you.” Abruptly, Grace took herself and her coffeepot away; I had the feeling
she was frustrated with me. When she came back around, I asked her if she could
see me on Sunday.
“Why
not tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s
fine, too,” I said. “Only with the band starting at nine, I won’t get to spend
much time with you.”
“I’ll
come tomorrow afternoon at four,” she said. “Get something we can fix for
supper.”
Grace
played chess against herself a few more times, while I watched, drank coffee,
and grew sleepy. She seemed to gain some understanding that she needed; anyway
when she came to say good night, she looked more relaxed. “Sorry if I seem in a
bad mood tonight,” she said. “I’m already losing sleep over Las Vegas, and it’s
still three weeks away.”
“Those
suckers in Nevada should be the ones getting nervous about you,” I said.
“I’m
not worried about the marks. It’s him.
You don’t know,” she said, “what can happen.”
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