“I’m always impressed by size.”
“How about quality?” Lisa stood in front of him and moved her bosom back and forth rapidly so that it brushed his chest.
“Please! I‘ve got a weak heart”
“How’s the rest of your equipment holding up?"
“Not worth the salvage,” The Beard told her.
“Don’t sell yourself short. Maybe it can be revitalized.”
“About as much chance of that as you being revirginized.”
“Now, don’t be sarcastic. That’s no way to talk when a lady’s busy trying to seduce you!”
“Me? Oh, come on now, Lisa. We’ve made that scene and it fell flatter than a pancake. Surely there must be somebody else around to quench the roaring fires of your unquenchable libido.”
“It’s a slow night,” Lisa admitted frankly. ‘The rain must be keeping all the lover-boys indoors.”
“Why don’t you just go home and go to sleep for a change?”
“I’m too het up. I just came from a group therapy session and somehow that always arouses me. You sure you wouldn’t like to make a scene?” Lisa moved in very close to The Beard and pulled down the top of the sweater she was wearing so that he could see her braless breasts.
“Sorry. It’s a real temptation, but I’m just not up to it tonight.”
“How about you?” She turned to The Drummer.
“I haven’t the strength/ Or even the length./ You’d outdistance me./ In the end I’d just flee.”
“You two guys must be turning queer! Well, the hell with you!” Lisa drained her wineglass and marched out of Greco’s.
She’d thought she might go over to the San Remo, but the way the rain was pouring down she decided against making the rounds. If only she had a man to crawl into bed with, all warm and cozy. But the prospects looked dim. Yes, she was hard up all right, or she would never have laid it on the line like that with those two creeps. just as well they cooled it. Either one of them-—even both of them—would have frustrated her in quick time.
Still, The Beard was probably right. It looked like little Lisa was destined to go manless this night. She might as well go home and go to bed.
Crossing over Second Avenue to her cold-water flat on East Sixth Street, Lisa, her head down against the force of the wind, almost bumped head-on into a small, fat man in a slicker. He grabbed her elbow to steady her and held her back as she automatically moved to go around him. It was then that she saw the leash he was trying to keep her from snagging. On the other end of it was a gigantic Great Dane.
“Don’t worry, Miss. He won’t hurt you. He’s harmless.”
“I’m not worried. I’m not afraid of dogs. I like them.” Lisa brushed the rain from her eyes to look at him as she spoke.
But he wasn’t listening. He was staring at her sweater with obvious interest. Lisa looked down. The rain had soaked the sweater through. The way it was plastered against her large breasts she might just as well not have been wearing it. The rain had actually parted the weave of the material over the tip of one breast and one of her nipples was peeping through redly.
Lisa watched as the fat little man’s eyes dropped. He was staring at the crotch of her stretch-slacks now, and she realized that the pounding of the rain had likewise made this garment bind tightly over her flesh. A quick glance downward told Lisa that her womanhood was easily discernible.
Lisa gazed back at him, making no attempt to move on, although she was getting drenched. Finally his eyes came up again and met hers. “Like what you see?” she asked brazenly.
“You’re gettin’ awful wet, Miss. You oughta get outa them soppin’ clothes before you catch your death.” The man licked his lips.
“I know. But I don’t live around here.” On the spur of the moment Lisa lied.
“I do.” The fat man took the bait. “Right down the block. Would you like to step outa this rain at my place an’ dry off?”
“That sounds just ginger-peachy.” Lisa took his free arm and pressed it to her breast warmly as he led her up the block. She reached around him and patted the head of the Great Dane heeling on his other side. He led her into a basement, dark, dusty, smelling of garbage.
“Hey, what’s this?” Lisa asked.
“It’s where I live. I’m the janitor here.” He led the way past an old-fashioned coal furnace and through a makeshift wooden door into a walled-off portion of the cellar. He pulled a cord and a light went on overhead, a naked, glaring bulb.
The room was cluttered with various junk, but its furnishings were spartan. A cot, a bureau, a small table, a standup cardboard closet — that was about it. There was a heavy, frayed drape over some sort of entrance on the wall opposite Lisa.
She pointed to it. “What’s that?” she asked.
“The johnny.”
“Oh.”
“Make yourself comfortable,” the told her. “Sorry they ain’t no place to sit but the bed. If you wanna get outa them wet clothes, you can go in there.” He pointed to the drape. “You’ll find a bathrobe hangin’ on the wall that you can put on.”
The bathrobe smelled musty and was ripped down one side, but Lisa put it on anyway. When she came out she saw that the fat man had poured some cheap gin into two water glasses and set them on the table along with the bottle. “Ahh! Just the thing to melt the icicles. Lisa strode over to the table and hoisted one of the glasses. “Well, here’s to sin, which rhymes with gin,” she toasted him. She took a sip, made a wry face and gulped the next mouthful. “Say,” she said, her voice a little squeaky from the raw liquor, “I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Henry. And that’s Bruno.” He pointed at the Great Dane curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed. “What’s your name, Miss?”
Lisa told him. Then she finished off her drink, poured another, picked up both glasses and strode over to the bed. She sat down next to Henry, very close. “Here.” She handed him one of the glasses. He drained it in one gulp and turned to face Lisa. His eyes went immediately to where the bathrobe gaped, revealing her breasts.
Lisa smiled slowly and then stretched provocatively.
“Aren’t you awful warm in all those clothes?” she asked him.
“No.” Henry shook his fat face and his chins jiggled.
“Then what you need is another drink.” Lisa crossed to the table and this time she brought the bottle back with her.
They drank steadily until it was empty. And while they were drinking, Lisa gave Henry encouragement. Yet, except for the increasing boldness of the way he looked at her body, he made no move to make a pass at her.
They were both quite drunk by now. And Lisa was hungry for a man, even more hungry than before, for any man, even this fat, balding, middle-aged little ninny sitting beside her with his drunken mouth hanging open so naively. She turned to him and began to unbutton his shirt. “Little Lisa’s going to take off your clothes and get you into bed all comfy-cozy,” she told him.
He made no protest. He just sat there staring vacantly at her naked thighs where the robe had fallen away from them while Lisa removed his shirt and pants and then his socks and shoes. She pulled off his under shirt and reached for the elastic holding up his shorts.
“No.” He pulled away from her.
“Well, you’re a modest little Buddha, aren’t you? Come on, I won’t bite. Little Lisa just wants you to love her up a little.” She bent and kissed his lips.
Henry’s response surprised her. His arms went around her with surprising strength and his mouth was hard on hers. Then he pulled away and pushed open her robe at the top and his pudgy hands squeeze at her breasts. She reached down and the fingers of one of her hands trailed up the inside of his thigh.
“No!” Again he pulled away. “Lemme do it my way,” he insisted drunkenly.
“You’re so masterful!” Lisa giggled to herself. What a ludicrous little butterball!