House of Holes (21 page)

She felt out of breath, and she started talking nasty, the way she always did when she got aroused. “Do you want me to be your little suckslut?” she asked. “Hm?” She never knew where the words came from—they just came out of her. And as she talked, the penis began lifting. She said, “Ooh, you’re getting bigger for me, Chief. Yeah, yeah, I want you totally stiff for me. Is that all you have, you perverted gloryhole fucker? I want you as hard as that racket handle. Come on, baby. Do you like my mouth? Do you like my twenty-seven-year-old nasty cocksucking mouth, you twisted shitter?”

The more she insulted the penis, the stiffer it got. It was remarkable. She said, “Do you want to see me brush my hair?” The dick nodded yes. So she got her hairbrush out of her purse. “I have lots of dark hair,” she said, “and this is how I brush it, like this. And I like to toss it around, like this. Do you like it when I pass my hair over you, Chief Cock? Hm?” She said, “I like when men look at my hair and then they go home and they beat off their gnarly dicks thinking about me brushing my hair.” She said, “But you can’t beat off, can you?” And she circled her hand around behind his balls and cock, so that she had him. “You’re stuck out here with me, and you can’t beat off, no matter how bad you want to, you hopeless sadsack dickjerker.”

By now, after all this abuse, the penis was truly huge. “That’s quite a heavy piece of machinery you’ve got,” said Polly. “You are a fucking grotesque cuntsplitter.” She put her lips close to it. “Do you like it when a suck strumpet like me talks nasty to you with my soft red lips? Do you see how full they are and how ready they are to glue themselves onto your knob? Hm? See how ready I am to take that big stiff fleshbone and jerk it off onto these soft full lips?” The penis went boing, boing. She said, “I bet you’re crazy to see my tits, too. You can’t stand it, can you? See that? That’s my right tit. Sometimes I squeeze it a little bit. Sometimes I pinch my nipple through the fabric, mmm, like that. Sometimes I spank my tits a little bit, like this. Ouch, bad titties. They like to be spanked. Are you married?”

The penis nodded.

“How many kids?” Polly asked.

The penis waggled three times.

“You monstrosity! Three kids you’ve got? And you’re here hanging out of this hole in the wall? Can you see me?”

The penis nodded again.

“High-tech, are you, you sick demented voyeuristic plaster-fucker!”

She was amazed. It was like his penis had a telescoping action—the more she taunted and reviled it, the more it kept adding intermediate sections. It was like a subway improvement project. And it had these knobby veins all over it. She couldn’t resist holding it, so she pinched the skin right underneath its head, and the whole penis immediately leapt away like a shying racehorse. “Don’t fight me now, shitbird,” she said. She pinched the skin again, harder, and rolled it between her fingers so that its monocular eye gazed crazily around the room. And then she said, “You want me to jerk you off now?”

She really did want to wank that dick off—really wanted to jack the whole dick, from the head to the base, right off. She began fast-jacking it, using her egg-beating skills. And when her right hand got tired she switched to her left, and then she switched back to her right, and then she said, “I want you to come right here.” She touched her lips, pouted them, and resumed cock pumping, and when she looked down she could see something major happening with his ballsack. It was lifting, the prune elevator was going up, and there was serious wrinkling, and she knew that meant he was almost there. She rested for a second and then moved her hand very fast and said, “Right here on my tongue, Chief.” She pulled hard on his dick, and she could hear the Chief thump into the wall on the other side. “Let all that blookie out, slutfucker,” she said. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, and she felt his whole body course down into his penis. A spume, a trilateral spray of jizm came out like light through a prism. It was a jizm prism, split into three parts, all of them white, and some of it slapped against Polly’s cheek and some against the roof of her mouth. She could feel it running down the back of her throat, and as she was swallowing it she thought with a triumphant inner chuckle, I have just busted this man’s nut. She gave the cock a few last love jerks and then released it with a final full-length squeeze, watching it subside and draw back on itself like an aged parliamentarian. “Bye-bye, Chief,” she said, and then the penis was gone. She turned. Donna was putting on her makeup. Saucie was talking through the hole to her ex. Polly sensed someone else in the room. Jeff, her boyfriend, was standing at the door. He walked up to her and saw the shine of come on her face. He had a fascinated, horrified expression. Unconsciously, he checked his fly.

“It’s all over, Jeff,” she said.

Pendle Buys a Bathing Suit

P
endle called up Lila and asked her how he could improve his cumshot. “Mine just kind of curves over the tip and drips off. Can you recommend some kind of herbal supplement?”

“People talk a lot about lecithin,” said Lila, “but lecithin only takes you so far. Here’s what I’d recommend. Go buy yourself a Thompson Heftyshot bathing suit. It’s got the patented Active Grid inner pouch. Wear that around for a couple of days. It goes to work on all your glands, and you’ll be amazed. I’ve seen some sad dribblers transformed.”

Pendle took a moment to think about that. “Where would I get this bathing suit?”

“At Big Top Sports on O Street. The blue ones with the big yellow flowers work best.”

Pendle went to Big Top Sports on O Street and walked down the center aisle past the vibrating kayaks. “Can I help you find something?” asked a woman in a yellow polo shirt. Her name tag said Trix, and she was a nice handful of prettiness and eyelashes.

“Could you point me in the direction of the, ah—” Pendle consulted his notes. “Thompson Heftyshot bathing suits?”

“Men’s?” Trix asked.

Pendle was surprised. “There’s a women’s Heftyshot?”

“Sure,” the girl said. “Some girls want to be gushers. They don’t understand that it’s rare. All guys shoot, but only a few girls gush.”

“I see what you’re saying. Actually, though, I don’t shoot. That’s why I’m here. I sort of pour.”

“Ew. Sorry, I don’t mean that. Follow me.”

They walked next to each other, and because they weren’t talking Pendle could hear Trix’s body move. He could hear her footsteps traveling up through her legs, bunka bunka bunka bunka, and he could hear her hips going slant slant slant, and he could hear her cheery little breasts jostling in their little tit-cozies, jostle, jostle, jostle.

He looked over at her. “This is a big store,” he said.

“It’s got everything,” she agreed.

They kept walking. Finally they reached the men’s bathing suits.

They turned the corner. “Do you like the display?” she asked. “I designed it.”

Pendle made enthusiastic noises. “I like the way you offset one bathing suit over the other—that’s fresh. That’s fresh new work.”

She thanked him and touched him lightly on the arm. “The Heftyshots are around this side,” she said.

“I believe you just touched me,” he said.

“Just a twitch of the hand.” She beckoned him on. “These blue ones with the yellow flowers are nice, I think. What size are you?”

“Large,” he said. Then he said: “Do you ever have crazy nights?”

“Sweetie pie, don’t we all?”

Pendle thought, I love talking to this graceful eyelash girl at Big Top Sports on O Street.

Then there was a bling and a woman’s voice came on the PA system. “Trix to the front for a price check.”

“Oh, that’s me, I better go,” she said.

“Wait,” Pendle said, “I want to try these on.”

“With Heftyshots you have to buy what you try,” said Trix. “Do you know how to put it on?”

“It looks complicated,” said Pendle.

Trix held the suit open. “It isn’t. You put your jacksons in the pouch, and then just hang pete out front, like that.” She indicated how with curled fingers and index extended.

“Got it,” Pendle said. “Can I wear them out of the store?”

“Come to my register, I’ll scan you.”

He could hear her shoes going tap tap tap tap, until he couldn’t hear them anymore. He thought about how amazingly petite she was and how amazingly attractive, and he thought, I wonder what would happen if I gave her a drop of Bohu’s beardwater?

He went to the changing room and stuffed his ballsack into the pouch and tied the waistband of the suit. It looked pretty good, but it felt strange—as if his testicles were trying to sing the song about a horse with no name. He pulled his pants on over the suit, leaving the tag flapping visibly.

At the register, Trix pointed her scanning gun at his pants, and it made the bleep.

“Two hundred and four dollars,” she said.

Pendle pulled out his wallet, and he gave Trix some bills. She handed him back his change. He hesitated. He’d come to the test. Here was the moment. There were so many things that he could do wrong. For instance, if he leaned toward her and said, “Trix, I’d so like to munch on that apple ass of yours”—that would not be good. Even at the House of Holes, especially at the House of Holes, crassness didn’t pay. If he said, “I have half a pound of prime Angus cockbrisket ready for you”—that would not be good, either.

And then he thought, You know, so what? He said, “There’s something I want to say, but I don’t think I should say it. I mean, it’s not that outrageous, it’s just that it’s not something that you normally say at the checkout counter.”

“You’d be surprised at what people say here.”

Pendle said, “I was going to say that I wish I was a man who had a store where he made custom sequin pasties for exotic dancers and you were an exotic dancer and came into the store and ordered a set of spiral pasties and so I had to measure your aureoles for fit.”

“How would you measure them, with a ruler?”

“Probably with my mouth,” said Pendle, “and then I’d measure my mouth with the ruler.”

“I see. How does the bathing suit feel?”

“Intense. Things are definitely hopping down there. But here’s the thing. When I look at you my fingertips actually go cold on me. Your face is that powerful. Do you want to have a bowl of soup and half a sandwich?”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

So at nine o’clock, when Trix got off work, she and Pendle went to a restaurant and had smooth soup and talked about working at the House of Holes. Pendle showed her the little purple vial of Bohu’s beardwater.

Trix said, “What does it do, make you horny? I don’t need much help with that.”

“Me neither, frankly,” said Pendle. “But I think it also makes the sexual experience more intense.”

“Well then, I’ll try a drop in my spritzer.”

“I’ll put a drop in my spritzer, too, so we’re even,” said Pendle. Then they went for a walk down Quim Street and turned right on Loulou Avenue. They talked about shipping lanes, the European Union, Trix’s French grandmother, and what Trix did after she got home from work when she wasn’t at the House of Holes. Bohu’s beardwater was beginning to kick in by then.

“I walk around in my bare feet listening to NPR and eating soy crisps and cherry tomatoes,” Trix said. “Gradually I take off my clothes. I open the fridge and look in the celery drawer, and I sometimes flash the fridge my pussyhair, and the fridge seems to like it. At least, its motor comes on and it gives me a breath of cold air. I like to have my breasts out when I eat soy crisps.”