" I love you. I love you. I love you," he groaned, tenderness mixing ecstatically with his fierce love- hungry prick. Her eyes looked back at him with pure hate, turning his stomach cold. With rage and frustration, he pulled her passive legs apart, and rushed his blood- heavy prick into her pink and sensitive flesh.
Her pussy was almost dry, and its unconscious resistance to his penis made him grow harder and more enraged. He tore into her, forgetting the woman or thing beneath him. He knew only that he was dying in his tortured cock, and that the hot elastic channel of inner flesh was giving him back his life. He ground up and down, in and out of this hot path, hypnotized by the rhythm of his desire.
He clutched at her shoulder and whispered into her ear to the cascading of her body, " I love you. I am helpless in you. Love me."
Then he felt the passion imprisoned in his prick rush forward for freedom. From his muscled thighs, his knotted stomach, his prick grew rigid and leaden, and when it had to break from its own weight, it shot sperm deep inside her in convulsive spurts.
He fell exhausted against the pillow, his face mixing with her perfumed black hair.
" Darling. My darling," he gasped, catching his breath, his body buzzing into normalcy. But when he looked down at her face, he saw her eyes were cold.
" Leave now," she whispered, her voice dead.
" Gloria, my darling," he almost wept.
" Leave now, or I will kill you," she repeated.
Her white face wanted him dead.
He got up from the bed, zipping his trousers.
He bent to speak to her… to plead for communication, for time. And he heard her say, in a trancelike voice, " Leave quickly, Paul, or I promise I' ll kill you."
CHAPTER IV
What was the point of going outside, when everything you wanted was inside? Gloria lay on the bed for hours after Paul left, waiting. Waiting for the sounds in the hallway. Waiting for her rapist' s footsteps. For a tap on the window, a scrape on the door. Waiting and not waiting. For there was no longer a reason to move.
I wouldn' t want him to speak to me, she thought. I never want to hear his voice. I wouldn' t even open my eyes. If only I could just stay here in the bed, stretched out naked and eager, and he would come in with his prick already stiff, and thrust it into me without touching my body, or even wanting me. If we could only have that between us, his fat cock in me, and not a word. And I wouldn' t want to know his name, or where he comes from, or the women he goes to after me.
I' d give him money, I' d feed him. He could sleep here, even not with me. If he could just get in me, rub me into life when it gets dark and hot in this room. Maybe he' s literary and I can sneak an ad into the Saturday Review – Girl on West 10th Street hunting for rare edition of obscure Scandinavian poem called, " Under the Stairway." Or Girl on West 10th Street lost first volume, looking for second volume of " The Quiet Party." Oh God, I' ll never find him and my cunt will rot in me. I' d like to kill him. I will. I' ll find him and I' ll kill him. Maybe an ad in the Villager. Girl on West l0th Street wants furnace stoked. Probably he can' t read. Can' t do anything but fuck, that' s why he' s so good at it. It doesn' t hurt me so much inside if I think of him. Maybe it' ll relieve my pain if I think of him and keep my fingers here against my clitoris. That' s a little better. I can' t stop doing it to myself. I' ll have to sit in art class with one hand stuck between my legs, and go to the movies and pinch this pit in me. It' s so small, so small… why should I feel it in my whole body? Why can I feel it in my toes and belly? Why do my nipples harden and my breasts swell when I touch it like this? I wish I could reach my cunt with my mouth. I could lie in bed like a cat with my tongue stuck in me. Probably I can buy something that feels like a mouth, or train a dog or a cat, a cat' s tongue is rough, or a horse or an elephant to suck me. Oh God, I' m coming. I' m coming. All alone. I don' t need him. I don' t need anyone. Coming in a flood. God help me, it' s worse. It' s hotter than before. Where is he? I' ve got a hot river inside me. Was there poison in his sperm, or some chemical that drives me crazy. He' s the devil… that' s why they warn us about the devil. He' s got a tail with a hook on the end of it. He' s scraped out all my sanity… I must take my fingers away. I must get dressed, and live. I' m caught. Trapped in my own cunt, and I can' t let myself out.
Somehow the sun set. It did so with the same rhythm it had all the other days of her life, suggesting that some people had gone to sleep the night before, and awakened for breakfast, and walked until lunch, and sat in the movies until dinner, and had two drinks at eight, and gone to bed at eleven. She wondered if she would ever sleep again, create again, or laugh, or sit in the theatre, or play the Mozart records that she had jealously collected.
Gloria turned on the bed and felt her hot face against the pillows. No, she was all right now… it was just one day of delirium. Some girls lost their virginity hard, and she was glad to be done with hers. If you ever did truly lose your virginity. If you ever did stop being a virgin for the first man who fucked you. He had fucked her. Not made love to her, or caressed her into womanliness. Paul had made love to her. She could not remember him very clearly. He was a prick without personality. And she thought of looking for faces in a penis, the way one looks for the face of the man in the moon. In subways, you tried to picture the faces hidden in men' s pants. Vaginas had no faces.
The phone rang abusively. That was the second time that day. The only two moments of sound she remembered. Was it him? That it might be was her only reason for moving from the bed, and her hips rolled to reach the receiver.
" Hello."
" Hi Gloria. It' s Janet."
" How are you?"
" A little bored. Would you like to go to the Art? They have a new Italian film about some beauty who doesn' t wear any makeup or underwear."
" No thanks, Janet, I have some work to do tonight."
" Work!"
" Maybe we can go tomorrow if it' s still playing."
" Gloria, you sound funny. Far away."
" I' m right here. I just feel a little introverted today."
" I told you to see my analyst. He' s wonderful. He says that if you feel introverted, be introverted. Just enjoy it."
" I am enjoying it."
" Oh, you don' t sound it."
" I am. I' ve been playing with myself all day. What does he say about masturbation after the age of consent?"
" Gloria!"
" That' s the way to beat introversion. Just climb inside yourself with your thumb and index finger."
" Don' t be disgusting."
" I agree. It would be better if you could reach yourself with your tongue. Cleaner too."
" Gloria, are you drunk?"
" No!" She wanted to scream at the girl' s cool, empty, analytical voice. " I' m just hot. Can you understand that? Have you ever been hot? Do you ever want your darling analyst to come over to the couch and say, ' Move over?'"
" I should say not," Janet sniffed. " You don' t understand anything about analysis. He' s like a father to me."
" Well then, didn' t you ever want your father to say ' move over?' To stick his big, thick cock in your tight pink pussy? I thought that was what the whole fuss was about."
" That' s perverted!"
" Look, Janet. Go see this Italian actress. Let her be hot for you."
" Well Gloria Hofstra! All I can say is that you' re a very sick girl!"
" I know. That' s all you ever say."
" Goodbye!"
" Janet, wait, wait a second. Janet, were you ever raped?"