Part 13 (2/2)
”You've been missing something. It's my favorite c.o.c.ktail but I seldom drink it because after three of them I've been known to start thinking I was Madame b.u.t.terfly.”
”That must be quite a scene,” Allison said.
”You shouldn't know from it. Once, at a party, I lost count of how many I drank. All I know is that at one point I came out of the john with the end of a roll of toilet paper in my hands. I unwound it all the way into the living room where I proceeded to announce that I was that b.u.t.terfly cat. All the time I was tearing the tissue into little pieces and tossing them about like they were flower petals.”
”You're making it up.”
”So help me Giacomo Puccini, I'm telling the truth. At least that's what I'm told I did. I don't remember that night too clearly,” I protested. ”Anyway, I have a bottle of brandy in the kitchen and some Cointreau somewhere around the place. A smidgeon of lemon juice and we've got a Sidecar. How about it? Should I mix up a batch?”
”On top of Scotch? Oh, what the h.e.l.l, let's try it anyway. But please,” Allison requested, ”no Madame b.u.t.terfly tonight.”
”Don't worry, I pa.s.sed the Puccini stage long ago. It'll be Der Rosencavalier, at least.”
”H-m-m-m. As I remember, the opening scene holds some interesting possibilities.”
”Hold it. We better take this topic up again after I've made the drinks or we'll never get around to them.”
I had never mixed a Sidecar before. I guess it takes practice. Anyway, mine were palatable... but just barely. We had three each. I was seeing the world through rose-coloured gla.s.ses... someone else's prescription.
We were sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch. I felt safer down there. Allison had her head on my shoulder and my arm was around her.
Suddenly I became aware that she had her tongue in my ear. No, that couldn't be right. She wouldn't just start out that way. She'd build up to something like that. Guess I had been drinking up such a storm I hadn't known that she had been kissing my neck.
When she withdrew her lips I turned and gathered her to me. ”Well, h.e.l.lo there, pretty girl. Where did you come from?” I teased as I took liberties with her clothing.
”Glad you're back. For a while there I thought you were more interested in your drink than you were in me.”
”Baby, you know I'm weak for you. Wait a minute and I'll prove it,” I said, standing up and unfastening what appeared to be a million zippers.
”You should have music.” Allison got up and put a stack of records on the phonograph. She turned the volume control way up. She had selected some jazz records of the Kansas City and Chicago barrelhouse and blues styles. Old stuff like they used to play in the speakeasies and brothels. It came swinging out of the speaker real raunchy and low-down. So right for the occasion. It was very definitely not the time for Italian opera.
”O.k., you've got your accompaniment. Now do your bit,” Allison said.
I didn't get what she meant at first but then I dug it and I goofed. I mean, like brother, I flipped. That wasn't my bit.
Allison was still standing by the phonograph. ”Come on, I'm waiting. The curtain's up. The music's playing. What are you waiting for? A fan?”
”Allison, I couldn't. I'd be too embarra.s.sed.”
”Nothing to it. Just make like you're in bed. Let the music reach your hips. Like this.” She came toward me slowly, giving it back to a frantic ba.s.s fiddle with b.u.mps and grinds that would do credit to a shake dancer twenty years in the business.
By the time she reached me she had me in a sweat. I grabbed her and ripped off what few clothes she still had on. She let me but when I tried to kiss her she backed away and began moving around again.
They hadn't taught her that in her ballet cla.s.ses. But the training had helped make her graceful. There wasn't much room for her to show her stuff but she didn't need much.
She mostly stood in one spot and made her body go places while her feet stood still.
Man, I was kicked right out of my mind. But I really cracked up when she pulled a bit I had seen once at a strip joint on Third Street in the Village. When I watched that professional stripper do it I had been a little embarra.s.sed but mostly as bored as the dancer had been. When the woman I loved did the same thing the effect, to understate to the point of absurdity, was different.
Allison extended her tongue out as far as it would go. She brought her hands up and licked the palms of each. Then, arching her body back from the waist so that her gorgeous b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelled out full and inviting toward me, she brought her hands down and cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, like she was offering them to me. Then, she placed her palms flat against the pink tips and caressed them, her body swaying longingly, an expression of languid sensual delight on her face, her eyes open and staring at me with defiance and excitement.
With an involuntary moan, I fell to my knees before her, clasping her legs tightly and burying my lips in the silken pliancy of her thighs. Allison swayed sinuously in my arms.
Ardent pulsations coursed through the writhing body in my arms. My legs had lost their power. I couldn't rise. My body stretched upwards, stretching, straining for fulfillment. Up, up, my body pressed against the muscular hardness of her legs, my lips and tongue seeking, needing. Allison was s.h.i.+vering, small meaningless sounds coming from the depths of her throat.
Allison tossed limply, leaning against me for the support her trembling legs could no longer give her. A thin high-pitched scream and long shudders wracking through the length of her body and then my name repeated and repeated over and over again.
We were lying on the floor, the rayon rug p.r.i.c.kling my bare skin. I was too relaxed to bother moving.
Allison was lying with her face cradled on my bosom. Her body was limp, her eyes closed. I could tell that she wasn't sleeping, though, by the rhythm of her breathing and by the small grasping motions she made at me every time I s.h.i.+fted my position slightly.
She stiffened one arm against the floor and propped herself up to a near sitting position. Her face was almost white, drained, exhausted. I noticed that the arm she was using to support herself was trembling as if too spent to expend any effort.
She stared at me long and hard without speaking. Then, a voice that was heavy with desperation said, ”I love you much. Too much. I'll have to pay for this, Sloane. It must be sinful to get so much pleasure from one person. Somehow I feel that there must be something evil in my wanting to have you be the center and meaning of my life. Sloane, I want that so very much. G.o.d help me, I adore you!”
”Darling, you shouldn't look at it that way. That way of thinking's merely a carry-over from the medieval...” I never got to finish my statement. A look of longing had come over Allison's face. Feverish desire set her eyes aflame. She cut me off in mid-sentence with an insistent kiss.
Her lips, which I had always known to be soft and gentle, bore down on me inflexibly. I was taken aback and put off by the punis.h.i.+ng fierceness of her kiss.
It was Allison who was kissing me, however. Allison who was roughly fondling me. The woman I loved whose body was crowding mine. As the initial surprise pa.s.sed away, I began to respond. I could feel my taut muscles relaxing. My lips parted and I invited more sensual kisses.
Allison reacted by lessening the whiplash ferocity of her lovemaking. She became tender and adoring.
Briefly, she raised herself a few inches, to tell me, ”Every time we touch, I feel as if a miracle were happening.” Then she came back to my lips. But in the brief moment when she had her eyes open I had seen pa.s.sionate desire that bordered on desperation.
I wriggled free and stood up. ”I got up because I can't really believe that you want to make love again. Not so soon. I think you're doing it for some other reason. I don't know what it is but I'm highly suspicious of its being something other than s.e.xual.”
”Wrong, my love. I want you because I love you. If you think I should be some sort of limp lily now, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Sloane, I want you. I'm aroused again, honest. Maybe I'm turning nympho in my old age.”
”Sure?”
”Dammit, what do you want? A signed affidavit? Let me put it this way, if you don't stop questioning me this instant and get back here in my arms where I can say whatever I have to say in sign language, I'll make you stop.”
”Oh? You're also getting pretty c.o.c.ky in your old age,” I said. ”What makes you so sure you can stop me?”
Allison smiled. Now I know what they mean by that Ches.h.i.+re cat bit. She looked as if swallowing the canary were her hourly habit. ”The records are still stacked. All I have to do is put them back on the changer and start the music playing. I don't think you'd keep giving me such a hard time if I were to start dancing again.”
”Aah, I've seen that act already. Your performance would suffer from repet.i.tion. It just wouldn't have the same effect,” I lied. ”You know, like a mystery story. Once you know the ending, there's not much point in re-reading the story again.”
Allison stretched luxuriously, emphasizing the slim voluptuousness of her figure. Then she put her hands on her sleekly rounded hips and gently kneaded the supple flesh. ”You only saw the first act. There are two more and an encore. Shall I begin?” she cooed.
”D-don't bother. Any more of that and I'd be a candidate for a nut hatch.” I meant it. I was so steamed up it was killing me to keep up the teasing and not just fall to it. Another performance of Allison's and I'd be locked up for loving her to death.
”There's only one way to keep me from dancing again. Come over here, darling,” Allison cooed.
”Do we have to use the floor again? My back already feels like the bottom of a birdcage. If you want me, come after me.” I turned and ran into the kitchen.
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