Aberration of Starlight

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Marie went into town with that simp, Dave Warren, and wouldn’t tell Tom why, and he went along with her little mystery, asking her twice, hell, three or four times, her reason. As if he didn’t know anything about women! But with a dame like Marie it was best to play dumb, she’d get a kick out of it and he’d score a few more points, the attentive beau. He even made some sappy cracks about being jealous of Dave, as if that rube even knew what to do with it. What in hell wouldn’t he do to get her drawers off? Not that he didn’t like her a lot, really, she was swell. Tom could easy see that she’d be a great girl friend, but the way she was acting ever since that night he French-kissed her on the road, Christ, she was hell-bent for the altar, anyway that’s how it looked to him. Jesus, she almost fainted — a hell of a long time between drinks! If he played his cards right, just right, he could get into her before the time came for him to go back to the city, what? ten days more, nine. She kept telling him about Catholic this and Catholic that but if he asked her to marry him she’d chuck the whole goddamn thing. They’re all the same. Billy thought he was God almighty Himself, he was a nice kid, a little too nosy and under your damn feet all the time, but he was a great information service. Nothing to be done with that old bastard John, though, he knew what Tom was after, all the fucking castor-oil smiles in the world wouldn’t soften him up. He had half a mind to cross the old fart up and ask Marie to marry him, just to see his face.

He finished shaving and patted some after-shave on, thinking that he’d want to shave again after supper, smooth as a baby’s ass and heavy on the bay rum too, that always got the janes in the mood. Marie wasn’t really a jane, or just another jane, she had class. Besides, it had been a hell of a long time since he’d had a shot at a doll with such a shape on her — Jesus, even that ugly rag of a bathing suit couldn’t hide her build, she must have been something at eighteen, but who knows? She’s probably better now, a little more meat on her and her behind had just a little bit of a spread, my God, the way it felt when he was pulling her skirt up, he could feel the soft cheeks right now in his hands. He began to clip his moustache.

She was going to buy something special in Hackettstown, of course. If she wasn’t who he goddamn well knew she was, he’d lay odds it was some new underwear, but not with her, brother, not with her. She wasn’t the kind who thought that anybody else would ever see it, what would it be then? Maybe earrings or a bracelet. Something nice for a nice lady. She looked damn good dressed up, the day she got out of Stellkamp’s car in that polka-dot dress, wow. The cunt her old man ran out on her for must have been some lay, that’s all he had to say, and no two ways about it. Probably played the old skin flute for him to beat the band. If the old lady had looked like Marie, hell, who knows? Maybe he wouldn’t have spent so much time chasing all those skirts. Maybe. It’s funny you get used to a dame and then she just don’t get you hot anymore, same old crap, stick it in, drop your load, good night sweetheart. Might as well hump a piece of liver. A guy could probably get tired of fucking Jean Harlow — well, nobody had to worry about who was or wasn’t screwing her anymore, a shame. In his room, Tom put on a pair of shorts, anklets, sandals, and a pale-blue polo shirt. He’d maybe take a little walk for himself to the Bluebird and have a Coca-Cola. He would have got a kick driving Marie into Hackettstown but that was laying it on a bit thick, yowza. The old bastard had his Irish mug down to his shoes already about tonight, got to be a goddamn prize sap to rub it in. It was a miracle she even said she’d go, the way the sour old geezer had her at his beck and call, you’d think she was his wife the way he gives her all that guff, do this and do that and do the other thing. His wife was probably a battle-ax who led him around by the nose. Now he’s the big shot, huh, don’t forget to dot the “i.”

Not that he wouldn’t consider marrying her, it wasn’t so hot after all those years to be a bachelor again, harder every day to get the old ashes hauled. And he missed a nice coozy home to come back to, let’s face it, after busting his ass all day long buttering up some goddamn hunkie or dutchman to make him spring for an order. Giving them all that bullshit about the wife and kids, pulling out the old snapshots. Jesus Christ! Well, Susan was his downfall, even now thinking about that bitch cockteasing him — probably every other man she ever met — to death, got him all hot and bothered. And that goddamn fool Alex thought he’d married the Virgin Mary. Christ, every time she crossed her legs she made damn sure you got an eyeful of the promised land. Must have driven the goddamn iceman crazy. Marie’d probably get some moolah from the old man too, maybe enough for them to go down to Florida and take it easy, maybe do some part-time selling, straight commission, for some rube outfit? Ah, all pipe dreams. If Tom succeeded in seducing Marie, any ideas he had of marriage would fly right out the window. Just stick it in that sweet little nook of hers, Jesus, after all those years of the straight and narrow, it must be tight as a bride’s! But he’d like to have it more than once, bang-bang, so it was best to play it close to the chest and keep a proposal back like an ace in the hole.

Halfway to the Bluebird, he decided to turn back, go the other way to the Hi-Top, and have himself a club sandwich. Old lady Stellkamp didn’t take it too well if you didn’t show up for meals, but he didn’t want to be sitting at that damn table with John McGrath, listening to all his hot air about all the big shots he knew in business. Some big shot he was, a pair of white shoes he must have bought in the year one. He’d have himself a nice quiet lunch and a few beers, get back in time to run a rag over the old perambulator a little and clean out the glove compartment, maybe have a game of crocket with that poor fish Sapurty. Kill some time and then play it nice and easy at supper, o-ho, Mr. Nonchalant. He’d maybe shoot a look over at Marie once in a while, give her that Clark Gable grin, and let the old son of a bitch make of it what he would. She was a swell-looking woman, really, the dumb greaseball that married her didn’t know when he was well off. Well, like he figured, the floozy he started carrying on with must have had a snapping pussy or some goddamn thing. Maybe she liked it in the backyard entrance. A lot of guys go for that.

The Hi-Top was almost empty, a couple of high-school girls sitting at a table eating hot fudge sundaes. They weren’t bad-looking, one had a nice pair of headlights, probably gave every poor kid in the class a hard-on all term long, no lie. And these kids didn’t mind showing them either — like those two Copan sisters, jailbait if he ever saw any, the younger one sitting on the porch railing with her legs up just as calm as you please, a man could look right up her skirt, one day she caught him looking at her and she just stared at him, fresh little bitch didn’t move a muscle. And her sister with that dumb ox of a lifeguard, parked out by the churchyard, she was learning fast, oh Christ, was she! It’s a wonder the kid had the strength to even show up at the beach, let alone swim. The little chippy must have whacked him off till he was cross-eyed. He looked over at one of the girls and she saw him and started to giggle and whisper to her friend, and Tom turned his chair a little so they couldn’t see his rear end, Christ almighty knew why he should care what a couple of small-town sluts thought about how he looked! But he waited until they had gone to leave.

Billy was beating the piss out of Sapurty in a game of crocket when he got back to the house and Tom went up to his room so he wouldn’t mortify the poor dope. When the game was over, he came downstairs and sat in the shade and Sapurty took a powder, with some lame excuse so he wouldn’t have to play the kid another game. God knows what he and Billy talked about, the kid went on and on about everything, Jesus, he could talk you to death, he could be a pain in the ass. He had some kind of a toy plane he started to run around with, making aeroplane noises. Well, his mother was probably back then, trying on all the fancy lace undies she bought in town, ha ha and ha again. You just might be able to get drawers made out of burlap in that burg if you were lucky, but she wouldn’t get even them. The kid was really excited, God only knew what his mother had been telling them about their date, you’d think it was the Fourth of July and Christmas all rolled in one the way he carried on. When Tom told him he was going to wear a tie, Billy started clapping his hands, Jesus, you had to feel sorry for the kid, cockeyed and under that old bastard’s thumb for years. Strike two and he was only ten. What was that thing he’d told him about the lighter he won in Coney Island? Tom forgot, but it was enough to break your heart. Tom said that it was too bad Ralph Sapurty had to leave, he wanted to see him teach Billy a few tricks of the trade in crocket. The kid was smart as a whip and just looked over at him with his plane held up in the air and started to laugh, pleased as punch. Tom did his best to keep a straight face but then he started to laugh too. The sun was starting to get low and Tom told the kid he wanted to shine up the perambulator a little and then make himself presentable for supper and that Billy should go in and wash his hands and face too. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” Tom said in his fake deep voice like he used with clients on the phone, and stretched his hands out like they did in movies about the Romans in olden days. Then he started over to the old coo-pay, looking up at John’s window out of the corner of his eye. He knew the old man had been watching him all the time. And oh brother, if looks could kill!

He went out of his way, all right, let’s admit it, at supper, to get John’s goat, talking about the Germans itching for another war. He got a kick out of watching his face when he laid it on thick about the Nazis and what was happening in Europe — oh, he had a soft spot in his heart for that kraut Helga, all right all right, the old reprobate. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was humping her already. But all the time Tom was cool as a cucumber, his voice nice and calm, a smile on his face, just a gentlemanly difference of opinion. Marie would look up at him once in a while, blushing to beat the band when he caught her eye, my God, she looked like a peach! Frau Schmidt was as busy as a goddamn bee, Christ only knew what baloney she was giving that long drink of water, Mrs. Copan, the poor bag of bones was drinking it all in, the old man of course at the food hammer and tongs, as usual. And then Helga would shake her head and look over at John, full of pity for the poor martyr. And making sure he got the full benefit of her shitface smile. God, how he hated that woman! At one point, Tom moved his foot and by accident touched Marie’s under the table— you’d have thought he’d ripped her dress off the way she jumped and pulled her foot away. Maybe he was just wasting his time after all, and all those sloppy kisses were just a fluke. Wasting time or not, she was the best-looking dish in this neck of the woods and even if they just danced a little bit and chewed the rag like brother and sister, well, it was laying the groundwork anyway. What he really got a kick out of was when Marie got wise to Helga’s fake grinning over at the old man, it was rich, she all of a sudden started to smile over at Tom to beat the band, making sure her father got an eyeful, you had to give her credit. It was like something in the movies, hell, you see it all the time.

Tom lay down for a while after supper and thought of Marie, amusing himself by imagining how she’d look in the raw, even better, in just a few little frilly things, and got an erection, there’s life in the old horse yet! Now let’s make sure that happens tonight if the time is ripe and opportunity knocks. You’ve always been a strong closer, kid! He’d bathed before supper so he just gave himself a whore’s bath and brushed his teeth, rubbed just the right touch of rose oil in his hair and while it was working in, shaved again — bay rum time, kiddo! Acts like Spanish Fly with some dolls. He dressed with care, nice, serious, but also sporty, and thank God it was cool so the goddamn tie wouldn’t choke him. Ah, last but not least, a Trojan in the watch pocket — Christ only knew why some guys stuck them in their wallets, can’t think of anything dumber than having some jane with her skirt up and her legs spread from here to there while you tear through all the shit in your wallet looking for a goddamn scumbag. Whatever else he might be he wasn’t a dumb cluck when it came to cashing in — a dame in that position in your car somewhere sometimes changes her mind if she imagines even for a second how she looks, no matter how dark and coozy it is. When you see that open pussy, brother, you got to jump right the hell in, don’t give them a second to catch their breath. O.K. He looked, if he did say so himself, like the cat’s meow.

Billy was on the porch, and those two little whores, and sappo Dave Warren, his mouth open like he was catching flies. Christ, this place was really the squirrel cage! He only had to wait a minute, thank God for small favors, when Marie came out, and she was something to see. Ah! it was shoes she bought, white, a few little strips of leather and high heels — they made her calves swell out so luscious in silk stockings that he could almost feel their warm meat, Christ almighty, she was a looker! Now, he thought, just a word of polite conversation and then let’s vamoose! And where was the old reprobate tonight? Not even going to show up to give Tom the fish eye and see his little girl go off with the big bad wolf? Oh, there’s the old bastard, his face like stone, let’s go. Let’s go! McGrath standing there like a little tin god with his hands in his pockets, he wasn’t even going to say goodbye to her! Now that is a low-life bastard! A mean, rotten thing to do. Tom started down the steps, Marie next to him, looking down at the ground as red as a beet, God only knew whether she was embarrassed at being made a spectacle of or mortified by her father, probably both, but hell, Billy was making up for the old stick, calling out goodbye and waving so that you’d think his arm would fall off. They got in the car and her skirts slid up a little above her knees and Tom got an eyeful of her legs and she pretended she didn’t know it, she’s like a kid for Christ sake, pure as the driven snow, just my luck. He looked over at her as he started the car, “You’re really a knockout,” he said, “just beautiful,” and he pulled the old perambulator out on the road, there they all were, still waving, Jesus, it looked like even old lady Stellkamp deserted her pies and came out of the kitchen for the big show! What a bunch of hicks. But that old bastard of a father of hers still stood there like a statue, well, how about this, mister? and Tom tapped the horn twice, thinking, that says Fuck You.

He drove nice and easy, it was a perfect evening, just getting dark, and God only knows what he told her about what a beauty she was, then, what the hell, he took a chance and put his arm around her and slowly, oh yes indeedy, slow-a-ly, let his hand slide down the front of her dress so that his fingers touched the top of her breast, just a few inches away from the nipple, and by God, from the look on her face, oh yeah, he’d lay odds that her nipples were as hard as rocks. Jesus, she was ripe for plucking, but he knew that she’d have something to say and she did, please stop, the old line, Christ, they all went to the same fucking school, these skirts, and he moved his hand up, but. But he kept his fingers lightly just where her breast sloped and started to swell. He was always a fast talker, give me credit, hell, and he started in on the old tried-and-true flesh-and-blood line, what the hell, it usually had some effect and it was a damn sight better than lame excuses or begging or waiting for the jane to pull your hand away. This way, you admitted your weakness and still got a little tittie anyway. He had a bone-on too, too bad it’s not like the fuck books where the girl just tears your pants open while you’re driving and sucks you off. Ah. But he’d bet Marie never even sucked her old man off, though you never could tell with these quiet, shy dames. She was relaxed now and didn’t make another peep about his hand and he played it nice and easy and didn’t try to grab at her, just let his hand lay there like it was natural as hell and he didn’t even realize what he was doing.

A nice atmosphere in the WigWam, lots of young couples who looked like they were going to go in for a little action later on — all these young guys looked like they were gash hounds but why not? Some of the girls were pretty nifty dishes. Marie had a Tom Collins and another one right after and he knew they went to her head because dancing she could feel his boner poking her in the belly and thighs and by Jesus if she didn’t, he could swear it unless he was going crazy, push up against him and rub herself good against it. She was wearing a goddamn girdle but he had experience with those, the trick was not to try and take it off but just unhook the garters from the stockings and pull the thing up a couple of inches or roll it up if it was one of those boneless ones, hell! he was getting way ahead of himself. But it wasn’t a fairy tale that she was glued up against him in the slow numbers and he gave her a nice soft nuzzle against her hair over her ear, “I love you,” and every time he whispered it she squeezed his hand and let the inside of her thigh slide against his rod. Jesus Christ! They had another Tom Collins and danced some more, and he was so hot that he was getting himself a real Grade-A case of lover’s nuts. Marie was flushed, and he knew that it wasn’t just the gin, God, he wanted to get her back in the car, but he didn’t want to push too hard and blow it. She was some dish, Christ knew what she was game for but he sure as hell wasn’t going to find out here. And just a minute later, when he was trying to figure out how to suggest they skedaddle, she looked at her watch and, God bless her, said they’d better go, it was twelve-thirty.

Out in the air he could suddenly feel the gin, so he knew that she must have a good buzz on. Besides, he’d always heard that gin was like a love potion, hell, the niggers drank it like water and didn’t they fuck like rabbits? He turned and took her by the arms and kissed her just before they got in the car and she was ready, willing, and able, brother. He must have stuck a yard of tongue down her throat and when he stopped she stuck hers out just a little, but she stuck it out. She didn’t know a goddamn thing but she was itchy and that was half the battle right there, kiddo. His balls were really aching now and he helped her into the car and her skirts slid up again to the middle of her thighs. This time she let Tom get a good look at her pins before she pulled the dress down. When he got into the coo-pay he sat down nice and easy, his nuts were killing him and his pants were all stuck out in front with his stiff, Jesus, it was as hard as a rock and Marie got herself an eyeful but she looked away as quick as a wink and started to fool with her purse clasp and then her earrings. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the gin she had in her go to waste, by Christ he wasn’t. Before they’d gone a mile he had his arm around her like before and this time he didn’t waste any time, he got his hand right over her whole sweet knocker, squeezing and stroking it and then he let his thumb slide nice and easy down over the nipple that stood up like a little button under her clothes. She didn’t say a word, just put her head back on the seat and let him play with her, the sweetheart. She had a little smile on her face and he could see her teeth.

Tom knew a great little place he’d seen a million times, a sort of little cowpath between where you turn off the main road at the Hi-Top and the dirt road turnoff that you took to the farm. Just wide enough for a little car and you could turn then into some tall grass right under and behind some big trees. Must be pitch black at night. He drove a little faster, sweet Christ! he could swear he was going to get some nookie, he’d moved his hand across her chest to her other tittie and she squirmed a little and said, “Oh Tom, you shouldn’t,” but she didn’t, thanks be to God, do a goddamn thing to stop him. What a piece she must be! He always loved it when some dame kept saying no-no-no while you were humping her cross-eyed. He saw the Hi-Top and turned off and a minute later was turning off down the cowpath, nice and slow, driving behind the trees and parking. Sweet baby! he said, or something, Christ knows what, and he was grabbing her almost before he had the goddamn ignition off. She came to him, pressed her tits into his chest and they kissed and kept on kissing. Come on, kid, Tom said to himself, do your stuff, and he opened the front of her dress one-two-three and put his hands inside her slip and brassiere and just eased her knockers out, my God! He caught his breath, they were beautiful, just right, a handful each, with her nipples dark and stiff poking straight up. He bent over and started to lick and suck her nipples, Marie was panting and stroking his hair and he could hardly believe it, he could hardly believe it, he was sure as shit going to screw her in a minute. He got the hem of her skirts in his hand and pulled them up to her hips, oh God help me! the way her legs looked slightly open and the whiteness of her thighs against the dark stocking tops stretched so tight by her garters. He started to pull her step-ins down, don’t forget, don’t forget, you son of a bitch, about unfastening the garters, and all the while he kept lunging at her breasts, his tongue stabbing at the two hard nipples. But then she said no. She said, goddammit, no! Marie closed her thighs and started to pull her skirts down. What the fuck is this? Christ knows what she was saying, something about some other time, not now, not here— the same old shit, they’re all the same, think the goddamn thing is made of gold. She was leaning back on the seat though, her breasts still hanging out of her clothes, Christ! He pulled his fly open and yanked his hard-on out of his pants, then grabbed her hand and told her to look at him, for God’s sake, my darling, my dear one, look at him! I love you I love you I love you I love you. Marie opened her eyes and saw him exposed, let him guide her hand to his dick, then she grabbed it, I mean really got a handful of it, and started to frig him jerkily and erratically while he sucked at her nipples again, running his hands over her thighs and hips under her skirt, sliding his hands under her garter straps, working her thighs open to jam his hand into her crotch. Jesus Christ! She doesn’t, does not, know how to jerk a guy off! She was whispering something, smiling, her eyes closed, rubbing him up and down, allowing him just enough room to move his hand barely, just barely, between her legs. Dumb as a goddamn post when it came to … he thought of that usherette who would frig him with one hand and tickle his hole with the other. Then he felt Marie’s other hand caressing his nuts, Oh baby, oh my darling, and now! Now! He was going to! He sat up straight, his back pressed against the seat, and pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket, pushed it against her moving hand, but she didn’t take it and he clamped it over his rod and her hand himself just as he began to come, don’t know shit-all about anything, but oh oh oh baby baby. He thought he’d never stop coming and when he did she just kept frigging away, holding his balls for dear life and staring at his dick with her mouth open. He put his hand on her wrist to stop her. Then she took her hands off him and looked away as he cleaned himself up and adjusted his pants. She was covering herself up too, smoothing her dress down, and buttoning up. “I love you,” he whispered, smiling, and they kissed again, chastely, but she was trembling, he knew, lay seven to five, that she wanted to fuck him all night. Give her a chance, kid, plenty of time. Am I complaining? He wasn’t complaining, hell no. A hand job from a doll who’s almost a nun on the first date? Tom had no beef, kiddo.

Now what in the name of hell? Some dumb bastard was shining a light on the car almost as soon as he’d pulled into his spot and yanked the emergency. Oh, o-ho! It was the wrathful father! Right out of some goddamn burlesque, John was yelling, by Christ, he was yelling out the window, can you beat it? He’d wake the fucking dead! Marie, my God, the poor kid was sitting bolt upright like she’d been shot, looking over at Tom with tears in her eyes, her hankie pressed to her mouth. Was she going to get sick? The lousy rotten old bastard. Tom wanted to know if he could come up with her, the old harp had his flash held steady on the car now and some lights were coming on in the house. Nice going, you old son of a bitch! The floor show. Let all those old bastards embarrass her gawking. No, Marie didn’t want him to come up with her, he didn’t know Poppa … Now some nosy Parker was out on the porch, probably Sapurty, sticking his two cents in. Marie got out of the car and that mean old fart held her in the beam of light till she was right on the porch. Then he heard the door open and bang shut.

Tom filled his pipe and lit it, take it nice and easy, that old son of a bitch hasn’t got the right … he sat there, smoking, figuring he’d blown it getting her home so late. If he’d been smart… Well, if the summer was shot to hell he’d figure out some scheme for the fall back in the city. She was a dish, my God, all innocence, but hot as a pistol. My God, how he wanted to put it in her! And he liked her too, she was really a lady. Didn’t even know how to do it! Oh, brother, tomorrow! Tomorrow would be one hundred per cent Barnum and Bailey. He wondered what that poor cockeyed kid thought about all this, the old bastard must have scared him out of his wits.