Schultz

18

At the commotion on that fatal mid day, Binky had in an ante room excused himself from his Lordship’s presence, being as his Royal Grace was more than surrounded by two of London’s leading dentists both trying to get a good look with pencil torches into his Lordship’s mouth as well as a throat specialist peeking into his Lordship’s trachea where it was believed a toothbrush bristle lay lodged.

Binky spying the altercation just a mere thirty yards away near the room’s main vast rose marble chimneypiece, hurriedly made his way through the nearly hysterically animated assemblage, while bracing himself to dispense suitable vowels to quell whatever disquiet had arisen. Until catching sight of the starring participant. Binky’s striped trousered knees buckling, his elbows gathering tightly into his ribs as his sides helplessly split with a silently cataclysmic laughter.

An apprehended red faced Schultz nailed to the floor by several knees. A detective’s hand over his mouth, an arm across his throat, feet shaken out of his shoes, one toe twitching whitely out of a considerable hole in his black sock. Binky’s pained face, eyebrows contorted to erase the glee, his hands held limp and helpless as he struggled walking backwards further and further away from the pinioned Schultz who at last managed to sink his teeth into one of the detective’s fingers as both of them howled out loud.

“Binky, Binky, for christ’s sake this isn’t funny, get them off, they’re trying to castrate me.”

Binky, mirth exploding through his teeth, taking a deep lungful of air and finally rigidly straightening his back to slowly march, chin raised with parade ground splendour, towards the pinioned Schultz. To stand tiptoe over him.

“My dear chap I have never seen you before in my life.”

“I swear Binky I’ll never forgive you for this.”

“Take the wretch away.”

“You son of a bitch, Binky.”

“And I must say to you gentlemen of our Metropolitan Police Force, such a splendid job you’ve done at downing this imposter.”

“Only doing our duty sir.”

The monocles and lorgnettes up over eyes looking distinctly the other way. A wide space opening wider around the red faced Schultz. Detectives lifting him by the armpits to his stockinged feet. As Binky feigned a presto pronto wide eyed surprise.

“O my goodness gentlemen. O dear me. But I do think there may be some misunderstanding here. Upon my word, it’s the well known impresario, Mr. Sigmund Franz Schultz. I simply did not recognise him in his floored horizontal position. You must not bring him to the tower for execution as he is, I fear, a very special guest and an acquaintance of some duration of Lord Nectarine’s.”

“Boy, Binky thanks a lot, you really know how to ruin friends and influence people, don’t you.”

Faces flushed and ties askew. Schultz sticking his foot back into his one shoe as security men with a litany of murmured apologies brushed and patted him and went searching for the other of his missing footwear. Binky, a hand on his strained stomach muscles now making a space for Schultz through the newly collected circle of interested folk. Pushing past a moustachioed eagle nosed chap with the conspicuously low rank of major who not only was assuming an instant vigilante posture but who also cleared his throat to loudly boom.

“A good bang with the broadside of a sword across the backside is what some of these wretched wogs need these days.”

“Ah Schultz, did you hear that. What on earth are we going to do with you. First nearly causing an international incident stumbling out at passing royalty in the Abbey. And now dear me here you are tail coat in tatters, shoe missing, with hysterical security men thinking you a terrorist assassin. One even overheard a thoroughly alarmed relative of the bride ask if you were related to the groom.”

“Christ Binky, I went the fuck out my door this morning to this wedding with a song in my heart.”

“When in fact Schultz as his Royal Grace might say, you should have gone out with a built in steel jock strap over your balls.”

“It’s all the result of what that bitch you made me visit in the hospital did to me, ripping up all my mail, my photographs, my invitations. So now I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Jesus don’t they have any drink here.”

“Schultz, can’t you hear. Champagne corks going off like shotguns at the shoot. Ah waiter. Allow us to lighten your tray.”

“And you fucker. I saw you when you saw me when I was down. Look at this carnation you gave me. Everytime someone sees it I get suddenly jumped on by secret police.”

“Ah Schultz perhaps the hue is a little dark. But we do love you. We really do. You must never, even in your own most worst stricken abyss, think that we don’t. You’re the only man I know who can reduce dull reality to the sublimely ridiculous in a trice. One understands now why you’re sent Royal invitations to the palace.”

“For the confidence bolstering thanks a lot Binky. Boy do I need this drink. But before all this violence, the solemnity of that whole church ceremony really got me. No shit. I was nearly in tears. A nice guy like his Lordship tied up for life. Thank God I’m still married to the theatre. And nothing else.”

“And dear Schultz although you do sometimes sound like a colonel in a dud regiment, one does so admire your resolve and especially the way you so easily combine your social, emotional and theatrical activities.”

“Activities. You mean tragedies. Jesus where’s his Lordship so I can say something nice to him.”

“His Royal Grace, poor old devil, is at this very moment being attended upon in an ante room by a bevy of specialist chaps.”

“Holy shit he’s not clapped up or something.”

“And well you might Schultz, think such a dire thought. But an impacted molar is I believe the difficulty. And some little trouble in the trachea. One does I suppose so hate to see him sail off into what may be sometimes questionably referred to as wedded bliss. But then such disruptive things do befall one in life. Nevertheless let me propose a toast Schultz. To that stunningly inspired batsman and bowler, one of Oxford’s and England’s most revered cricketers, that dear dear old skin, his Amazing Grace Master of Foxhounds.”

“Sure, to his Lordship.”

“And Schultz to you. To finding your other shoe. And to victory. Both in showbizz and in matrimony.”

“Holy shit leave the matrimony out will you.”

Schultz downing two glasses of champagne one after the other, and watching over the rim of his tilted glass the dazzlingly handsome grey swallow tailed figure of Binky now followed by several ladies’ eyes as well as those of a rather slack wristed gaitered clergyman, as he strode away out across the polished parquet under the gilt and multi hued ceilings of this vast room. His quietly pleasant countenance smiling. His assuring fingers firmly shaking the outstretched hands. His lips dispensing his softly spoken whimsicalities, as he passed leaving these loud haughty echoing voices in his wake. Admirals, Bishops and holy cow his Excellency the Ambassador from across the street. Who’s got one of his Lordship’s gorgeous married sisters in deep conversation. And what perfume is this at my shoulder. And christ this orange fabric of real raw silk.

“Your shoe sir.”

“O hey gee thanks.”

“I hope you will forgive my amusement but you know you did really give a rather good account of yourself.”

“I rather to hell I didn’t if you want to rather know the truth. But if someone like you turns up with my shoe, holy christ, I wouldn’t mind losing both feet.”

“You’re much too flattering sir. But from your expression standing here alone just now, one would have thought the whole world had fallen in on you.”

“Do I look that bad.”

“Well perhaps not quite that bad.”

Schultz bending to tie his shoelace. And at the same time taking an eye straining gander at this creature’s splendid gaskins.

“Hey who are you.”

“I’m Basil’s sister.”

“What another sister. I thought I met all his Lordship’s sisters.”

“I’m the sister about whom little is said.”

“Well let me tell you straight off the bat I’d say plenty about you. You’re absolutely gorgeous. What’s your telephone number.”

“Mr. Schultz, you are rather quick off the mark.”

“Sure I am, where have you been all my life.”

“Well for the last awfully dull six months I’ve been sitting lonely abandoned in Monte Carlo watching the yachts come and go.”

“Well Jesus honey, thank god you got back. I got to have your phone number.”

“Are you Mr. Schultz meaning to have me over to that notorious town house of yours. Where ladies are seen by dawn’s early light running for their lives out the door.”

“Hey who said that. Notorious. Not a thing happens there. Hey don’t go. I’m in love with you.”

“Ha ha, I must Mr. Schultz, ha ha. I must.”

“Hey I beg of you give me your phone number.”

“Ha Ha, Mr. Schultz, ha ha.”

Schultz watching her silken shimmering hair, her small waist swelling to splendid hips, as this aloof twinkling eyed lady departed. And suddenly feeling a hearty lung contusing clap on the back. Schultz’s mouthful of champagne sputtering out over the floor as the rotund figure of his ever present neighbour the Ambassador parked elbow close, his ebony face ablaze in his usual smile.

“Ah my dear gladiator. I see you have successfully once more weathered yet another contretemps.”

“Holy mackerel it’s you Your Excellency. Yeah I weathered it by a shoe and a whisker.”

“And where is your so so beautiful companion today. Ah but then while I am with one of Lord Nectarine’s divine sisters, I see you were with another, the so marvellously elegantly curvaceous Lady Lullabyebaby.”

“Jesus Your Excellency do you know her phone number.”

“My dear boy, she is married, mistress of a great estate, you must play fair and not touch.”

“Jesus marriage is ruining my relationships everywhere. I got to get to know her.”

“Ah my friend I detect a note of real urgency.”

“You bet you do. I speak not only from the bottom of my heart but from the bottom of my balls.”

“Ah but dear chap, while I assure you I am not spying, one does still see an awe inspiring selection of ladies calling upon you. I am especially interested in the blond lady with the attaché case on the red bicycle.”

“You mean that obsessed lesbian with the whips.”

“Ah exactement and precisely monsieur.”

“Your Excellency feel free next time you spot that kraut knocking on my door to invite her over to your house will you.”

“Ah that is kind of you. And of course I shall. And please do understand that I appreciate more than anyone the difficulties the companionship of beautiful ladies sometimes presents to you.”

“Thanks. And you know Your Excellency you really are a pal.”

“Well we Belgravians must stick together Mr. Schultz, we really must you know.”

On the entrance steps of this great old town house two tipsy hours later, Schultz with his torn tail coat fluttering and his address book one name fuller, stood taking a breath of sweetened breeze just blown in from the cotton ball trees of Green Park. The London afternoon touched with a magic sun goldened splendour. His limousine door opening and his chauffeur saluting to admit him to the great upholstered peace of this motorised interior. Taking him purring up the late lunch time clubby hill of St. James’s. Feet propped up on the folded jump seat, to turn left on Piccadilly and right up Down Street and in and about the narrow lanes of southern Mayfair to pop him best foot forward on the front steps of the Dorchester Hotel. The doorman in his long green coat and brass bright buttons, saluting Schultz with a touch to his emerald gold braided top hat. And in the soft soothing perfumed shadows Schultz dreamily ascending blissfully by lift upwards four floors. To tread the soft swirling red, green, blue and grey carpet down the long mellow lit hall. To knock. And try to kill about five birds with no stones at all.

“O hey gee hi, Mr. Schultz, come in. Hey you’re all dressed up.”

“Messed up would be a better word. Sorry I’m late.”

“Well boy are we really glad to see you. Come on in. Having this suite is so much better for us. We got such a nice view of the park. Sit down.”

“What’s the new problem.”

This diminutive dark eyed brunette attired in thigh and arse clinging grey flannel trousers. Tight red cashmere sweater over her pneumatic bosoms. Between which rested a gold six cornered star suspended on a gold chain. As she stood perfume close to look up into this tall black curly haired producer’s pleasantly green eyes. Smiling her mouthful of large white gleaming teeth.

“It’s the old problem. The director is just not able to impose control Mr. Schultz.”

“So what else is the problem.”

“Well, if you want us to be frank.”

“Be my guest.”

“Well we think the designer’s statement in the sets is getting in the way of the lyrics. Again being frank, so is Magillacurdy. He’s in the way of everything. He’s trying to write, compose, act, sing and direct the whole show. We don’t know who he thinks he is. The whole cast is frightened to death of him. And he threw.”

“Yeah I know, the director.”

“Like a discus or something. Right out over the orchestra pit.”

“Yeah I know. Into the third row of the stalls.”

“He was unconscious for so long we thought he was dead.”

“Well kids he’s living and suing, so relax. Now what about the music for the second act. To start with it’s too adagio.”

“Mr. Schultz, we’re making good progress with a faster beat. Hey can we offer you something from room service. It really is a good room service.”

“No thanks. I know the room service is good.”

“We’re so wonderfully, wonderfully comfortable here now. It’s so nice with a real fireplace and everything.”

“So I see.”

A chiming tinkle of two bells from a silver dialed brass carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Sylvia prayerfully joining the tips of her fingers. Her crimson manicured toes curling down against the dark leather edge of her sandals. Her thighs flexing as she did a slight knee bending curtsey.

“O gee Mr. Schultz. Gosh this is kind of embarrassing. But it’s like an unbroken rule with us for really a long time and we expected you at one o’clock. Gee I don’t know how sort of to put it.”

“Put it. I’m listening.”

“Well. Gosh I can’t say it. You say it Herbie.”

“Hey, what’s wrong Sylvia, you got a voice.”

“O all right, I’ll say it. Well Mr. Schultz it’s like this. Two o’clock every day Herbie and I like to go to have a few minutes in private.”

“No probem.”

Schultz levering himself up from the blue and pink flowered upholstered armchair. The sun sending yellowing beams in the window. And below, the steady moan of traffic up and down Park Lane.

“O no. Stay. We just go in the bedroom. Gosh this is crazy. But you wouldn’t mind waiting would you. We’ll only maybe be fifteen minutes. At the outside twenty.”

“No problem.”

“After we’d like you to hear the couple of new songs we’re trying out for the second act.”

“No problem. I’m here to listen.”

“Gee Mr. Schultz that’s real understanding of you. There’s all the newspapers, and some magazines. Won’t be long. Meanwhile, really help yourself to room service.”

“Well since I’m paying for it, maybe I will.”

Schultz ordering two bottles of Alsatian beer and a plate of smoked salmon. Herbie with a sheepish wag of the head and Sylvia with a coy little smile and crooked little wave of her fingers, disappearing after Herbie in their bedroom door. Curtains billowing with a breeze blowing in from the park. I’m really having a full day. As Binky says mixing social, emotional, theatrical and now somebody else’s meditation all together. And Jesus last night in a dream someone asked me to remove out of her grave the body of an old girl friend of mine died young. Had to carry her wasted body wrapped in brown wrapping paper up a hillside to another grave. It woke me up and I had my hand squeezing on Greta’s tit and her hand on top of mine and both of us crying again. This beer, this bread is good. My hardworking father always used to say you can’t eat your inventory. So what a nice situation that I can sit here gorging salmon fumé on production expenses.

Schultz halfway down his second bottle of beer and staring out into other childhood memories as the bedroom door comes ajar. The wavy brown curly top of Sylvia’s head peeking out.

“Gee you alright Mr. Schultz, you’re not getting bored out there.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Well gee we just thought, I mean this is entirely up to you. I mean if waiting is irksome. And if you don’t mind, we don’t mind, then you could come in here. Like maybe it would we hope be less boring.”

“You mean come in the bedroom.”

“Yeah, sure, Herbie and I don’t mind. I mean gee, that is, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure O.K. a little company helps keep the mind off big troubles.”

“Well come on in then. Bring your food.”

Schultz with his plate of smoked salmon, and sliced buttered brown bread in one hand and the neck of his beer bottle in the other. Pushing open the bedroom door with his knuckles and stopping in and momentarily reversing his tracks as an almighty involuntary fart erupted.

“O hey. Excuse me. And excuse me twice.”

“O no, it’s all right Mr. Schultz. Come right back on in. You’re really welcome. Come in. Close the door.”

“Well if you say so. I guess you just made me an invitation it would be a shame to refuse.”

Schultz tiptoed heading for the farthest sofa by the curtained window. Putting his victuals on a side table, lowering himself into this ringside seat. And to make sure he was still in London, leaning to peek out through a parting in the gauze at the towering cotton ball trees of the park. The endless stream of cars and red tops of buses and black throbbing taxis roaring by below.

“Come on Herbie. Don’t suddenly pretend you’re all bashful. And gee please, we don’t mind Mr. Schultz if you want to watch. And help yourself to fruit in the basket there.”

Schultz settling back in the sky blue satin covered chair. Crossing his morning suited legs as he took out and put on his sunglasses. Choosing a pear with one hand, lifting his beer bottle to his lips with the other. A small bare arsed pert titted Sylvia, climbing up on top of chunky hairy Herbie and slowly lowering her arse astride his stumpy thick prick. Sylvia two hands behind her, fingers flickering, squeezing and flapping Herbie’s balls. And with a slowly increasing tempo, gyrating and wagging her shoulders. Till suddenly her head flung back, and her arse and thighs erupting into corkscrew paroxysms, she emitted breathless grunts, moans and groans.

“O gee Herbie, it’s bending.”

“Sylvia, take it easy.”

Sylvia falling forward on top of Herbie. The sound of flesh slapping flesh as Schultz administered squeezed lemon drops to the remaining pink slivers of smoked salmon. Forking a piece up on to a corner of brown buttered bread and pushing it between his lips. With a swig of beer washing the orange fleshed fish down one’s throat. While now hearing whispers coming from the bed.

“Jesus christ Sylvia just because you have an audience, don’t go try and break it.”

Schultz loosening his tie. From his breast coat pocket, pulling forth his beige silk hanky monogrammed with three large interwoven S’s. Wiping beads of sweat from his brow. The bottom of the beer bottle tapping uncontrollably on the table as Schultz lowered it in a trembling hand. Removing his sunglasses to quickly polish them and place them back over his eyes. Tints the scene nicely. These days you don’t know which people’s personal ethics are on holiday. Really thought they were meditating in here instead of screwing their heads off. Shows what my recent problems have done to my brain. Real democracy must include the right to throw a fuck into somebody and to be seen doing it. While my prick is going to explode. The way she uses her magical ass she must sense there are already enough people on the globe that you’ve got to find something else beautiful to do with your libido than produce babies. Shows you have to keep going out into the world to see where the fuck it has morally advanced without you. Leapfrogging into lewdness on his Lordship’s wedding day. If only I could find some long term, daily two o’clock, peaceful low cost fucking. Without blackmail. Without a wedding. Without having my house ruined. Without ambulances calling. Now even a sparrow has landed chirping outside on the window sill to watch. Sylvia’s no great shakes in the face but, wow, the rest of her being like that, who needs a face. Which she has turned around now and is looking at me. Holy cow, after her performance, maybe I should be clapping for an encore.

“Mr. Schultz, gee, you’re kind of left there. Out in the cold.”

“No problem, kids.”

“Hey what’s that. All that clip clop clattering.”

“I’ll take a look. It’s the horse guards. On their way down to the palace.”

“O gee isn’t London so kind of excitingly historic. And Mr. Schultz, you don’t have to just go on keeping sitting there like that.”

“No problem, I’m fine.”

“Well gee maybe wouldn’t you like to join us or something.”

“You mean come over there and join you.”

“Sure.”

“In bed.”

“Sure. While Herbie takes a rest. Or is that kind of a problem.”

“No problem. I guess like I said previously it’s an invitation it would be a shame to refuse.”

“Well come on then.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so Mr. Schultz. But hey hold it. I mean don’t you want to take off your clothes.”

“You mean like take them off.”

“Yeah why not, unless like it embarrasses you.”

“No problem.”

Schultz, struggling to get his grey tail coat off, ripping the seam further down the back. Garment now hanging attached in two halves by its collar. The waistcoat with a footprint of a detective still on it. I’m telling you. Don’t ruin the rented clothes is the understatement of the year. Tie stained, buttons missing on my shirt. Shoot these braces off my shoulders. Holy cow, look at her. What a beautiful rippling belly. Propped up by her double jointed arms. Leaning back on the bed like she’s waiting for me. Her for sure double jointed spine arched like a bow. With her mesmerizing cross eyed pair of bouncing tits blazing. And pear shaped Herbie with his big hairy arse rolled over like a collapsed walrus.

“Gee I like the nice bright colour of your suspenders Mr. Schultz.”

“Well they keep the trousers up I guess.”

“And my gosh. Gee wow. O boy Mr. Schultz. Gee wow. When you drop them, that’s really big. It really is. O Herbie. Look at what Mr. Schultz has, something out of the record books.”

“Sylvia swell, but don’t bother me a minute to take the nap I need.”

“Gee Mr. Schultz, it’s wonderful. And what two nice balls. Take off your shoes and socks why don’t you.”

“Holy christ honey with the way surprises are exploding around me, I forgot they were still on.”

Schultz yanking shoelaces undone, and digging the heel of one shoe in the instep of the other and ripping out his foot.

“Hey leave the socks on, the sunglasses too Mr. Schultz it kind of gives me a kick.”

“No problem.”

Sylvia reaching out with undulating inviting fingers to welcome Schultz’s record breaking pudenda advancing across the light green carpet. Jesus christ, suddenly this expensive suite is beginning to pay dividends. One second I’m being embarrassed out of my mind prostrate at the feet of dignitaries and next in that good old American let’s make friends tradition, my pulse is pounding with the prospect of doing what comes naturally.

“Wow. O Wow. Look what’s sprouting out of those black curly locks you got.”

“Honey you’re not so bad either.”

“Mr. Schultz O my god. You have no idea. I swear you don’t. Of what this is doing to me. No kidding. Hey just stand a fraction back. So I can really view.”

“No problem.”

“Mr. Schultz it is beautiful, beautiful. O hey wow, stand in profile.

“Fantastic, fantastic, Mr. Schultz. Herbie, the camera, get the camera.”

“Honey, the flattery is appreciated but please no god damn pictures, Jesus christ.”

“O. Not even one.”

“Not even one, honey. And is it all you want me to do is just make me just stand here.”

“O gee, gosh, I’m sorry. Step right over.”

Schultz approaching in his best bedside manner. Down in the street fire apparatus bells clanging. A snore erupting from Herbie. Sylvia running her fingertips up and down the underside of Schultz’s erection.

“Mr. Schultz, no kidding it should be cast in bronze for posterity.”

“Never mind casting, keep touching honey. You got magic fingers.”

“A perfect prick deserves perfect petting.”

“And how, honey. And how.”

“Gee we should waste not a second Mr. Schultz, let’s get going. Fuck me.”

“No problem.”

Two bodies clapping together. Schultz’s sunglasses hanging off caught on an ear. Sylvia heading backwards towards the pillow, two legs shooting out into the air locking in a scissor grip around Schultz. Who broad jumped upwards from the woolly carpet. To plunge into these soft entwining arms and squeezing strong legs. Another snore from Herbie. Sylvia’s mouth biting, her hips squirming and turning and tossing Schultz over crashing into Herbie who went arse thumping out of bed on the floor.

“Hey christ Sylvia, watch what you’re doing.”

Schultz and Sylvia, limbs still clutching in each other’s paroxysms. Herbie standing surveying the wild flailing bodies as he brushed off his arse. Schultz’s sunglasses landing at his feet. Herbie picking them up, and with his eyebrows raised, putting them on to survey the bodies on the bed. To turn away scratching his head, flat footing it over to the dressing table mirror. Where he made several contorted faces before lifting his lip and prising loose with a fingernail a particle of food lodged between his incisors. Shouts from Sylvia. Herbie turning to look. The bodies reflected in the mirror pounding up and down.

“Fuck me, fuck me inside out.”

“No problem.”

Herbie emitting a long belch. Clearing his throat as he took a hair brush to the upstanding strands on his balding scalp. Now standing to dab Vaseline on his private part and pat eau de cologne on his neck, armpits and in his pubic hair. Herbie turning. And facing the bed with a brand new erection. Schultz’s arse ramming away again on top of an open mouthed crying out loud Sylvia.

“Mr. Schultz, shoot. Shoot.”

“I nearly am honey.”

“Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.”

“Holy shit I’m coming, coming.”

“O my god Mr. Schultz, O my god. You’ve shot. You’ve shot. You’ve shot.”

“Honey when you said shoot I just had to go bang, bang, bang.”

Schultz’s perspiring head hung in the nape of Sylvia’s neck. Her gold chain caught across his mouth. The feel of her hair softly on the ear. Musky aroma of her skin. Like a so faint, so faint taste of truffles, so sweet, so sweet.

“Jesus Mr. Schultz someone somewhere must be a lucky woman. Still waters flow deep. O God it feels so good. Still way up in me. Still so hard in there. You’re a surprise I’m never going to get over.”

“Should I give your husband his turn maybe.”

“Don’t move, don’t get off. Herbie can wait. Can’t you Herbie.”

“I can wait. Like what am I. Just the husband.”

On the wide white expanse of sheet, Schultz slowly grinding away once more. Sylvia’s eyes closing. Purring out little long groans. Her lips curled back from her teeth. Jesus I look up and the Dorchester clock has gone backwards. Somewhere in the back of my mind hidden by all my troubles, I remember the first second I saw her, what a glint she had in her eye. Juicy girl. A genius. Has my cock in there working like it was part of her. Plus she’s backed up by one of the best little arses I’ve ever known. Which alone is worth the price of admission. All women I fuck from now on will be measured against her. Imagine such bliss as this. Without spending a penny of my own personal money. Without jam flung all over the walls. Or busted antiques and floods. Without a geriatric old hen like Al trying to corral me up the fucking aisle. Holy Jesus. Even that. Wow. Her finger. Pressing down on my ass. And Jesus, going right in. Right at the right time. Shows you looks don’t matter a damn. Sylvia and Herbie’s faces could win contests for designs for the back of a bus. And even I wasn’t always as handsome as I am now. My buck teeth growing up were knocking over all the girls on the block. Till Uncle Werb paid to have them fixed. My own father saying leave them. So what if they stick out, they make him noticed, it could help his personality. Thanks a bunch dad. Holy Jesus is it two fingers she’s sticking in. Or three knuckles. Jesus that star on a chain flipping all over her chest. Like she could be she’s stamped approved kosher by my whole family. Aunt Essie, Uncle Werb. Sigmund why don’t you find a nice girl and settle down in the diamond business. Because Uncle Werb, this is only my first arse thrilling fuck I’ve got out of this production. But holy jeeze at first with one finger or two it was wonderful but now it’s all her fingers or her whole fist going up my ass. What’s this kneeling. Now right over me. With hairy arms. And a chronometer watch on the wrist.

“Hey for Christ’s sake what’s going on.”

“Let him, Mr. Schultz, let him.”

“Let him. Like hell I will.”

Schultz grabbed from in front by Sylvia. Herbie crashing down from behind. Schultz struggling between the compressed bodies.

“Stop stop.”

“Let him Mr. Schultz, it only hurts in the beginning. No problem.”

“No problem like hell, you pair of fucking rapists. Get your prick out of my ass.”

It’s

Some problem

Hurting me

In

The end