Something Happened

"I've got to go now. I have this friend I have to meet."

"Take care."

All I know how to do in a strange city is read the local newspapers. Late at night, I'm good at that in bed. I'm good at eating candy bars in bed too. I get the feeling when I'm alone in strange American cities that I have no i

"I don't dig," I said, "French, Chinese, and Mexican girls." I was kidding back with her in the bar. "I want someone Black."

"I'm a little of that too," she chuckled heartily. She was simple, good-natured, guileless, and I felt myself in charge. She asked for fifty dollars, gri

"I can show you a good time," she vowed.

By the time I returned to my hotel room I no longer wanted her and hoped she wouldn't follow. I had all the evening newspapers for New Orleans and Baton Rouge and was raring to take my clothes off and get to work on them. I have this clinging fear of catching a venereal disease somewhere and bringing it home to my wife. How would I get out of that one when she found out she was infected? Easily. Lie and deny. She did. She paid off the desk clerk, she said. She rapped softly on the door and came in smiling, and I had to stare at her as she undressed in order to get interested again. She wasn't pretty.

"Do it slowly," I requested. "Take them off slow. And shimmy a little."

"Sure."

I don't like girls who get out of their clothes too quickly. I get the feeling they've been getting out of those same few clothes all day long for other men before they came to me. "Okay."

"Sure. Some men —»

"Not now."

"Huh?"

"Come here. Shhhh."

"Sure."

She was still gri

"Where's all those sweet new tricks of yours?" I taunted, and was pleased I was justified in doing so.

She was hurt and looked a little frightened, and that was gratifying to me also. "I did what you asked, hon," she apologized hesitantly. "Didn't I?"

"You're supposed to do things I don't ask. It's okay."

"Didn't I?"

"You were fine."

"Did I show you a good time?"

"Really. You can go now if you want."

"I thought you wanted me the whole night."

"So did I." I forced a laugh. "But I can't go that distance anymore. I must be getting old. I thought I could when I was looking you over in that bar. Those are some knockers you have. Mmmm. And some big ass."

"You like it?"

"And how. I like them big on a short girl."

"I'm short, all right." She was pleased as punch with my compliments. "You want some more?"

"But I can't. I guess my eyes are bigger than my dick."

She was relieved I wasn't angry.

"You're all right down there too," she complimented me.

"I know. You can keep the money. I enjoyed it."

"Did I show you a good time? Was I really good?"

"As good as the best. And I've been to Paris."

"Really?"

"I've even been to Bologna."

"I don't know about that."

"That's where they really know how to slice it."

"You sure you don't want me to stay till morning, mister? You're nice. I got no place I have to go."

"I've got an early plane."

"I could stay in the other bed until you want me. I don't even snore. I'll bet you'll want some in the morning." She giggled. "I'll do what you want. I do everything."

"You should put your legs up higher."

"It hurts. I get cramps here."

"And you really don't do anything new."

"I did what you wanted. You got to ask, hon."

"I am not bizarre."

"I don't know about that."

"I'm never sure what I want." I felt positively regal using a word like bizarre with her. "You're supposed to help me find out what I want. I'm not saying that because I'm unhappy. It will help you with other men."

"Some men beat me up."

And I have no compelling fetishes, although certain silken undergarments get me hot and are more attractive to me than the parts they cover. Big tits in bras and jersey can get me hot. Small ones make me romantic. Small asses on slim girls are starting to draw appreciating gazes from me. Many of these are on very young girls, and this is something new. The only woman I've ever wanted to beat up was my wife, and that — to my shame — was over money. She insinuates I give too little but won't take more. I felt most content as I watched her dress to leave, lofty. She looked comical and naпve stuffed into flowered bikini underpants. I thought a moment of flipping her over my knees and paddling her smooth muscular bottom but remembered she'd be heavy. That's the trouble with so many of our damned picturesque sex fantasies: they hurt. I've pampered myself before with the temptation of spanking a nice ass someday but never got one beautiful enough. Maybe there are no beautiful ones outside of magazines. I'm in love with a four-color magazine page. She still smiled; I was sorry for her, in a patronizing, uncommitted way. I wonder what happens to squat, homely Black and Puerto Rican whores with one missing molar when they grow too old — who takes care of them — and ugly to attract handsome, pinstriped libertines like me. I know what happens. They attract me anyway if I'm alone in New Orleans where everyone else seems to be having a good time. I ought to know by now that hardly anyone over the age of four ever has a good time anymore. Women do, at weddings and movies. It was a waste. The hundred-dollar beauty in San Francisco was a waste. She didn't look like an aristocrat once I had her. She looked like a ski