“I'm not a prostitute, Mr. Riggs. There were one or two married men who offered me a few dollars because they knew I… I have a daughter to support. It became a… a habit, I suppose. If I… I could find one man that I was capable of loving and who really loved me, I wouldn't care if he was married or not I need that kind of love. But it… it's impossible to find…”
“Do you mean you'd give up running around?” he asked, as I leaned toward him slowly and let my scoop-neck gape open, “You could… give up the money?”
“How much is it? Thirty dollars once a week… twice a week,” I scoffed, shaking my head and then swallowing hard, and realizing I was only hall acting. “No, Mr. Riggs, I'm not just interested in sex either… but it's a pretty important part of living. And with the right man, the sharing of sex is… is wonderful… wonderful…”
I let my head fall deliberately on his shoulder and I sobbed. There were real tears because I had worked myself into a highly emotional state when I realized that my whole future could very well depend upon what happened tonight. I was, however, unsure of myself in this particular situation. If I overplayed my hand or emphasized sex too much, I would spoil it. I desperately waited for some reaction from him before I could make my next move.
“I wish I could… believe,” he started to say, patting my head very gently, his voice unsteady, ”… that you meant this. I have… well, I'm not a very young man anymore, and I think you have excited and interested me more than any woman I have met in years. Mrs… Riggs is not interested in love, sex, whatever it is about a man and a woman that makes their association exciting. That went long ago. Her clubs, her church work, these all occupy her time.
“It may surprise you to know, Mrs. Bryant… Denise… that I have not had a relation with my wife in seven years. I have had no sex relation with any woman in seven years. When I… thought of you in this context, it has made me very, very intrigued. I can't tell you just how it has… affected me.”
“Why don't you take off your coat and try, Mr. Riggs?” I said softly, standing up and walking toward the bar, “Would you like some scotch… or bourbon? Brandy?”
“Scotch, please,” he requested, removing his overcoat and jacket and loosening his tie. “And call me, Charley, Denise. I may just be an old fool and doing the wrong… stupid thing, but I haven't had anyone to talk to in years. I want to tell you everything, Denise. Can I?”
“Of course, you can,” I told him, bringing over our drinks, “Do you mind if I get into something more comfortable?”
I ran upstairs and took off my blouse, skirt and half slip, then put on a robe and slippers, coming back down immediately to find that Charley had drained his glass and was just staring off into space. He was a lonely man and I felt genuinely sorry for him. After I fixed him another drink and sat curled up at his feet, he began to talk and talk and talk, running his fingers through my hair tenderly as he did so.
It was a most unusual monologue, a confessional as much as anything else. The personal intimacy of it was certainly not conducive to normal romantic aims, but I guess he had picked the right person to tell it to. I can recall just about every word he said after he got over the sometimes boring preliminaries of his childhood and first years of marriage:
“Lucille is a good woman, I suppose. But how can a 'good' woman be a good sex partner? She was never that, Denise. My most pleasurable sex experiences have been when I thought about you… and masturbated.
“Seven years, Denise. That's a long time for a man to go without sex. I often wondered what I would do, how I would act, had you been more… friendly, say invited me in and allowed me to do more than just kiss you. I would worry about it, wondering if I could… would be so afraid and the experience so strange, that I might be potent.
“I'm 55 years old, Denise. I realize I have little to offer a woman in return. Money is out of the question. It would spoil the relationship.
“I… I've not had a sex relation in seven years, and only before that with a frigid piece of ice… what can I offer a woman who has sex with different men all the time, with young men who are virile lovers?”
“Sex… isn't everything, Charley,” I said very slowly and affectionately, looking up into is eyes.
“Oh… you misunderstood me before, Denise,” he looked down at me rather pitifully, eyes searching for understanding. “Sex… is very important… very important to me. I only meant that there had to be more than just a body for me to admire. The most physically perfect female in the world can be sexless. There must be a personality, a human and lovable and warm person behind it. And there is that one element that begs for an explanation, that of attraction. I am… attracted to you, Denise… always have been. How foolish for me to dream when I have nothing to offer you. I want to love you. I want to love you sexually, but I have nothing to offer you.”
“Are you afraid of being impotent?” I asked him softly, but frankly.
“Yes… very much so,” he admitted, hiding his face in his hands, “I should be very… very aroused here with you like this. I can't..
“And you still want to make love with me?”
“Yes… very much so.”
“Charley?” I said with a question mark, letting my robe fall open, “I think you're trying to tell me something. You know you can't shock me. Tell me… how do you want to make love with me?”
“Something… I want to do; I've never done before, Denise,” he explained, clearing his throat loudly, his hands trembling as he drained his glass for the third time. “Denise, I want to suck your vagina! Yes! I want to put my head in between your legs and lick and suck your organs. I know… I know I can't bring you pleasure any other way. But that's not it… no. Since… the first time I saw you, this has been my vision, my ideal dream…
“I have masturbated so many… many times imagining that I am sucking your vagina. Oh, and not only your vagina, Denise. Now… I know that these things are not supposed to be normal, but I have read… much about them. I think, maybe you can understand, Denise…”
“Yes… yes, Charley,” I assured him, putting up one leg so that my robe fell away to expose my crotch in only the sheer nylon briefs, “Oh, I understand so perfectly well and if you think you don't have anything to offer me, darling, you are so wrong. I… I am very hot, Charley… very hot just listening to you.”
“I want to suck your… you all over,” he blurted out with some difficulty, and then he could contain himself no longer.
The pent up lust of a lifetime was suddenly and violently unleashed. Charley's big body fell to the floor beside me with a thud and he pushed his head blindly between my legs, licking and sucking at my crotch through the panties as best he could. His hands reached for breasts and tore the straps of my bra. He held the breasts in his hand, squeezing them.
His movements were cumbersome and totally unsophisticated. He was satisfying himself and nothing more. Of course, I let him have free reign. I tore open the crotch of my panties and felt his mouth and tongue slobbering at my vulva. He was like a man possessed, straining to get his mouth all over me down there, grunting, whining, groaning, and muttering almost unintelligible words.
And then it began working on me too. The fact that Charley was going almost out of his mind because of his sexual obsession with me tended to fuel my own passions. I began to work at his clothes to get them off. I was curious about his impotency. I had an intense desire to see him naked, although I knew he was fat and certainly not ideally attractive.
Charley had a big belly and his flesh was slick and flabby. But I enjoyed feeling it. I lay back on the floor and let him kiss my body all over. He licked my legs and belly, and his mouth closed over my nipples and sucked so hard it was almost too much to bear. It was a mixture of pain and pleasure.