And there was the time that gir1’s bulldog had fastened onto his left haunch at the crucial moment . . . And the time the bed-slats had broken, pitching him to the floor where he’d banged his head on the nightstand und knocked himself out . . . And the time the brake on his ear had given way just as he was about to deflower the co-ed in the back seat and he’d had to leap into the front and steer it into a tree to keep them from plunging over a cliff . . . And the time . . .
What was the use of going on? The memories were just too painful! Herb sighed, slipped into his jacket, and left Adrian’s apartment. Was it any wonder his friends whispered that Herb couldn’t make out in a Russian brothel with a suitcase full of rubles?
The thought made him stop and stand on the stoop in front of Adrian's house a moment. Maybe that was the answer. Instead of trying to make out with all these different girls, why not just pay a prostitute and have done with it? But how did a fellow go about finding a prostitute? The ones he’d seen walking the streets were pretty unappetizing. But there must be some good-looking ones around—maybe more expensive, but so what? He decided to look into it.
During the weeks that followed, Herb made inquiries among his friends. He put aside some money for the fateful night. And finally, when he was ready, he called the number he’d been given, asked for Mrs. Cartwright, and made arrangements for the evening.
So now he sat on the edge of the bed in Room 507 of the Marlowe Hotel and waited for the call girl to arrive.
She came through the revolving door into the plush lobby of the Marlowe promptly at eight o’clock. She stopped for a minute to look around. She hadn’t expected the place to be so ritzy. Even the sounds of the voices in the lobby were muted by the paneled walls and the deep, plush carpeting. They were obliterated altogether when she entered the elevator. Llona couldn’t help commenting on it to the operator.
“Gee, it’s so quiet,” she said.
“Soundproofed,” he told her. “Every room in the place is soundproofed. It was a big selling point years ago when the place was first built.”
The door slid soundlessly open in mute testimony as they reached the fifth floor and Llona moved down the corridor looking for Room 507. She found it and knocked. It opened almost immediately and the gangling young man ushered her inside.
“I’m Herbert Lansing.” He introduced himself nervously.
“Howdy-do. I’m Llona Mayper . . . Uh, Mrs. Cartwright sent me.”
“Yes, I know. . . Uh, can I take your coat?”
“Why, yes, thank you.” She handed it to him.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Okay.”
“Bourbon all right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ve never had bourbon before. I’ve had scotch and rye, but never bourbon.”
“Oh. Well, I can order something else.”
“No, I think I'd like to try it.”
“Okay.” Herb splashed some bourbon over ice in two glasses and handed her one.
They sipped their drinks and looked at each other, neither quite knowing what to say.
Then Herb broke the silence, nervously posing the one question most asked of prostitutes—-and most loathed by them. “Been in this line of work long?” he asked.
Llona wasn’t experienced enough to know she was supposed to be insulted at the query. “This is my first time,” she answered truthfully.
“Oh, sure,” Herb said. He remembered hearing that prostitutes always said that.
“No, honest, it really is.”
“Okay; I believe you.”
“As a matter of fact,” Llona took a deep breath— “I’m a virgin.”
“Yeah? Me, too.”
“I mean it. I really am.”
“I mean it, too. I really am, too.” Herb wondered vaguely if she might actually be telling the truth. She's a virgin; I’m a virgin, he thought to himself. If it's true, at least we start out even. “Would you like another drink?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
“Oh.”
There was another lull in the conversation.
Herb broke the silence. “Say, you know,” he said, “you’re real good-looking. I never expected you’d be so young and pretty and everything.”
The compliment reminded Llona of why she was there. She decided that if she was going to be a call girl she’d better start acting like one. “Why, thank you, honey,” she said. She moved closer to Herb and patted his cheek.
The gesture encouraged him, and he slid his arm around her waist. She nestled against him comfortably and his hand slid up to fumble open one of the buttons on her dress. His fingers slid inside to push aside the bra strap. He cupped her bare breast in the palm of his hand. Slowly, gently, he opened and closed his hand until he felt the soft, spread-out tip of her breast begin to draw together and harden. Meanwhile, his other hand played with her ear, circling the rim of it, tugging at the lobe, one finger investigating its inner part insinuatingly. He bent toward her, and she felt his teeth nibbling hungrily at the lobe of the other ear.
For a moment, that brought Llona up short. It was like repeating a bad dream -- a sexy dream that always ends in frustration. Herbert Lansing’s features blended into those of George Rutherford, and Llona had to blink her eyes to turn him back into Herbert Lansing again. All her feelings of excitement were dying out—-until she was struck by a sudden realization.
Herbert Lansing was playing with her right breast. Herbert Lansing was playing with her left ear. Herbert Lansing was nibbling at her right ear. George had always played with her left breast, toyed with her right ear and chewed on the left one! The pattern had been broken, and she felt with a sudden thrill that this time she wouldn’t be left frustrated.
As though to reassure her of this, George’s caresses grew bolder. The hand which had been playing with her ear dropped to her knee and crept under her skirt. The fingers kneaded the flesh of her inner thigh and worked their way slowly up her leg. Llona’s legs parted tantalizingly to admit them still higher. She leaned over to kiss him—still too inexperienced to know that even high- priced call girls rarely broke the prostitute’s rule of never kissing the customer. Her lips were slightly moist and burning with eagerness, her tongue a quick-darting flame whose fiery tickle made Herb want to devour her.
He responded by pulling her flush against him, the length of his body pressed against the length of hers now, the hand which had been between her soft, creamy thighs around back of her now, hard-pressed against her derriere, urging her to arch her body more so that she might feel the passion building. The muscles under the plump flesh tightened under his grip, and she edged one leg a little higher so that the heat at the core of their bodies might fuse.
They were both breathing heavily now, and their lips and tongues played furiously over each other’s bodies. Herb went wild, planting kisses on Llona’s mouth, her ears, her neck, her shoulders, and finally burying his face between her breasts, letting his tongue dip into the cleft, then sliding his mouth over to fasten on the tip of one breast, his tongue flicking it until it seemed to grow to twice its size between his teeth.
Llona cried out in ecstatic wonderment at the thrills which were possessing her body. It was more than she could stand. She pushed him away and rapidly unbuttoned his shirt, covering his shoulders and chest with burning kisses, biting passionately at the hardness of his muscles. Unthinkingly, guided by some passionate instinct, she undid the belt to his pants, pulled the zipper down, pushed aside his underwear, and buried her face in his stomach. Her tongue darting at his navel, and when his stomach muscles tensed in response, she laughed wildly and bit at them. The movement carried her searching mouth still lower, and suddenly Herb’s whole body became taut, his hands grabbed fiercely at the top of her head, pressing her mouth to him, his fingers tangling her hair, clawing at her scalp in his frenzy. Hungrily, Llona obeyed his unspoken bidding for a moment or so. Then, abruptly, she pulled away.