We smoked an impressive quantity of marijuana. I hadn’t had any in ages, but there are certain things you don’t forget once you learn them, like swimming or riding a bicycle or balling your roommate, and getting stoned is another of these. It came back to me easily enough. I drew smoke deep into my lungs and let myself tune in on myself, let everything spread out and get loose and easy.
I thought, suddenly, of Rhoda and Harry. How long would I be gone? Would anyone worry? Would they be upset?
If I happened to die in that motel room, I decided, then Rhoda and Harry would get married and live happily ever after. My eyes misted over at the thought, and then suddenly the mood was gone and I was laughing at my own sense of melodrama. Someone asked me what was so funny.
“Everything,” I said. “Everything is very groovy.”
“You’re stoned.”
“Right on!”
Artlessly, and charmingly, everyone began to take off clothing. There was no sense of striptease about this, nor was there the feeling that one should avoid watching the procedure. I watched as Glory and the boys got undressed, and I also got undressed, and someone passed me another joint and I took another drag on it, and I passed it on, knowing that I was already about as high as I had to be.
My mind was nicely compartmentalized. I was completely loose and open and at the same time felt wholly in control of myself. And I thought that what I really wanted to do was blow this control, get out past it, beyond it, so that I was no longer in control of myself and my body could do what it wanted to do. This never did quite happen, but I don’t suppose I was unduly handicapped by it all. I certainly didn’t feel repressed or anything of the sort. Not at all.
No.
I was very interested in Gloria’s body. Not in the sense that I wanted her, but that I felt the two of us to be in some sort of friendly competition, like the United States and Canada. She was a short girl, and quite slender, but with surprisingly large breasts for her slender frame. She seemed to be utterly unselfconscious about her body in a way that would have been miles beyond me at that age. She went from boy to boy, kissing each in turn, being enfolded in one set of arms after another, being touched now by two or three of them at a time, and throughout it all being absolutely at ease with them and with me and with herself.
One of the boys kissed me, and I closed my eyes and let him lead me over to the bed. I lay down with him and took his penis in my hands. I felt other hands on me, and another penis pressing against me.
I can’t quite describe what happened next.
Everything happened next.
Right now I can’t bear to think about it How long were we there? An hour, two hours. No more than that.
An hour, two hours.
I fucked all four of the boys, and most of them more than once. It was mostly a matter of turn-taking, one of them being with me while the others watched, but once or twice there were more than one with me at a time, one in my cunt and another in my mouth, different combinations.
I don’t really remember exactly what we did, nor do I remember any differences between the boys. I cannot picture their faces (or any other parts of them) very clearly now in my mind, and can relate them to their individual names and attitudes only by recalling their position in the car, not their roles in the bedroom.
When I wasn’t doing anything active, I sometimes watched them balling Glory. She seemed to get tremendous pleasure out of sex, and to be equally agreeable to whatever the boys had in mind for her, which led me to conclude that she could look forward to a lifetime of uninterrupted popularity. But the poor child seemed incapable of orgasm. She just didn’t come.
How sad.
I, on the other hand, seemed able to come at will.
When the boys had run out of equipment, it was somebody’s idea that Glory and I make love so that they all could watch. This was, let me admit it, an idea that had already occurred to me, although I would not have thought to suggest it. I found the idea very exciting. Her fine body, hostess like my own to all of these boys, as though thus far this afternoon she and I had used them as proxies to ball each other from a distance. Her body, stained with sweat and semen, seemed particularly desirable. And there must have been a small element of challenge there, too; she had not come all afternoon, and for all I knew had not come in all her life, and I felt capable of changing that.
“A fun idea,” I said.
Glory’s eyes turned wary. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know.”
I took a step toward her, smiling.
“I’ve never done that,” she said.
“First times can be fun.”
“Have you ever?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to do, exactly? I mean-”
“Why don’t you just lie down and see what happens?”
“You want to, you know, to do me?”
“I want to eat you.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Why not say it?”
“I-”
I was enjoying this perhaps more than I should have. It amused me to see the gloss of her exterior shattered by a network of doubt and indecision. It amused me, too, to sense the undercurrent of excitement that transfigured the four boys. I put my hands on Glory’s shoulders and gave her a gentle push. She rolled back on the bed. Pushover, I thought. Priscilla Roundheels Kapp and Glory Pushover.
“Because I wouldn’t, uh, do it to you, I don’t think,” she said. “I mean, I don’t think I could.”
“Who asked you to?”
“Just to put it on record, I mean. I don’t want to seem uptight or anything but I just-”
“Shhhh.”
She closed her mouth and lay down, still unbelievably tense and nervous about the whole thing. I lay down alongside her and lost myself in her flesh. The boys were there, breathing hard, tuned in with what was going on, but I closed my eyes and they faded from the picture. There was just this fine female body, this equivalent of my own self when Rhoda and I first found each other.
Memory trips.
I tried, God, I tried. And she came so very close, worked up to a feverish pitch, came indeed so close that missing it was frustrating for her in a way that her couplings with the boys had not been. There orgasm had never loomed on her horizon, so not getting there had not diminished her fun. But this time, when she finally and irretrievably missed it, when I looked up at her and read frustration in her eyes, I could see that she could not be left this way, that she had to make it, had to get where she was trying so hard to go.
There was a way.
There’s always a way.
“Your turn,” I said.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“But I said.”
“I know what you said.”
“But-”
“Fuck what you said.”
The color drained from her lace. She looked at me, trying to see in my face some indication that I was kidding, and she didn’t see anything of the sort. Because I wasn’t. She opened her mouth to say something and had nothing to say, and just went on gaping at me.
To the four of them I said, “Glory is going to do me now. But you’ll have to help her.”
And they did.
She didn’t want to let them. They held her by the arms and positioned her over me, and one of them caught up her hair in his hand and pushed her face into position, and she said “No, no,” in a defeated little voice, and then she did what she was supposed to do.
I didn’t really feel a thing. It wasn’t for me, it was completely selfless, it was for her.
Of course it worked.
She came with a little shrill cry, shook and trembled and sighed. I think she may have lost consciousness for a moment but I can’t be sure. Then she looked up at me, her face one I had not seen before, her expression equal parts of fear and wonder and delight.
The boys did not say a word. They were lost, and were bright enough to know it. I told them to dress and wait for us in the car. They put on their clothes in silence and got out of the room.