Memoirs of a beatnik (6 page)

She was crooning, a low, pulsing sound deep in her throat playing a subtle counterpoint to Petra's deep moans. I threw my legs wider apart and turned my pelvis slightly to one side to meet Petra's mouth. As I moved, I felt Susan's cool trembling flesh against my feet. I guessed that she was still in Tomi's arms. Above my head and cut off from my sight by the wall of Matilda's body, I could hear Eva gasping as Mara murmured her name over and over. There was a huge cloud of flesh and firelight, of loving sound and soft touch, and I was floating in it. I let go. I could feel myself melting.

Explosions of lightning started in the small of my back, piercing my abdomen and shooting into my groin like liquid fire. Against my cheek Petra shuddered and came like a great, alien mammal, and my hand in Matilda's cunt ached as it was alternately squeezed by her thighs and ground by the frantic, circular movements of her pussy. The slow, heavy rhythm of Petra's orgasm cut me to the quick, and as the walls of my vagina trembled and let go in an exquisite flood of pleasure, I could hear Tomi's shout of ecstasy and her deep sobs.

I did not move for a long time. The flickering light on the ceiling slowly came back into focus. Matilda's head was on my chest, she was sucking at my breast, I could smell Petra's shit in her hair. My hand on the small of her back was sticky with her juice. Petra, asleep or blacked out, had flung herself aside, the nipples of her large breasts puckered and pointing at the ceiling, her closed eyes accented with splotches of dark shadow and a bright red flush like rouge on her high cheekbones.

Mara slipped her lithe, elongated body between Petra and me, sliding up my torso like a snake, to kiss Matilda on the back of the

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neck. Matilda slithered over me to meet her halfway. I passed my hand, wet with Matilda's come, over Mara's long, slim body, anointing her. Then I turned on my side, slipping out from under the two of them, gently depositing them on the floor between Petra and me. As I did so, I felt Eva's strong, warm hands on my back.

I turned to face her, and with a hoarse, animal sound, plunged headlong into that warm, dark musky flesh, like plunging into the earth. I reveled in her full breasts with their large, blue-black nipples, her deep, round stomach, then gently parted her heavy thighs and licked at the crisp black hair of her mound, drinking in its rich, sweet odor. My tongue, with a life of its own, felt its way through the labyrinth of her hair, tipping her clitoris gently, outlining the shape of her cunt, while my hands kneaded her ass, her thighs. She came quickly, and I felt the tremors pass from her body to mine as her hand entered me from behind and set the life force on fire within me again.

Almost against my will, the trembling in my body slowly built and ebbed and built again. I was spent, exhausted by my earlier encounter. I was sure as I lay there with my head on Eva's thighs that I was too tired to come again, but the orgasm built inexorably, wracking my spine and shooting across my belly and into my groin, until finally I lost consciousness and fell into a grey heaviness between fainting and sleeping.

It was the chilliness of the room as the fire died from lack of tending that finally got us dressed, got the mussels steamed and eaten with red wine and French bread, while the fire spat pine sparks and Petra strummed a guitar. O'Reilley did not eat, but sat huddled in an armchair, her head in her arms, her long pale form curled around itself, her straight blonde hair making an aura around her, and it was then and there that Tomi fell in love with her-a love that since then had precipitated first her and then me out of the safe, closed world of "school" and into the hectic life of the city, where we had as yet found no haven, no place in which to shape our own life form.

And now I had found the apartment, I reflected once again. My spirits had by now lifted themselves out of the doldrums into which Tomi's scene with her brother and all the sordid circumstances of

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her Darien life had plunged me the day before. The day was delightful, the rocking of the boat enchanting, the bright sky and high little clouds conducive to ecstasy. I had indeed found the apartment, and now it only remained for me to tell Tomi about it and get us all together in it. And see what would happen next. My head reeled at the possibilities.

We docked at the island and got our gear ashore. I was drunk with the air and the possibilities of the moment, and I immediately asked Tomi to come for a walk with me. Her conscience was still rankling over her scene of the night before, and she was anxious to please me in anyway she could. We strolled along the sunny, chilly beach until we were out of earshot of the family, and then I turned to her.

"I've been waiting to tell you all weekend," I said, "that I've found a pad for us in the West Village, on Charles Street. It has two bedrooms, and a studio with a skylight, and—" I broke off when I saw her face.

"Di Prima," she said softly-almost hoarsely-not looking at me. "Forgive me. I'm not coming with you. I'm not going to live with you and O'Reilley."

At first I just didn't hear, I swept this away as an impossibility-had I not left school precisely to live with Tomi? Had I not embarked on this whole life with that in mind, so much so that the axioms and rules of the old life-of my childhood and school days—were something I could not even remember? But Tomi went on speaking, and as she did I turned to look at her small, dark ravaged face full of torment, and my eyes read in her face what my ears could not accept from her voice.

"I can't leave Martha," she was saying, improbably, pleadingly. "Please try to understand. I can't leave Martha to Serge. William is no help, I can't leave her alone with Serge. I must be what she wants me to be. What she wanted to be, and never had the chance."

She was crying now. Slowly I began to come to life. I moved my arms. I put my hands on her shoulders.

"It's your life you're talking about now, girl," I said harshly. "Your whole goddamn life."

She muttered a soft "I know it," and then, wryly, "di Prima, stop it, will you? Let's not have a goddamn scene."

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I still held her by the shoulders, I still continued to gaze at her. I could not tear my eyes from that pain-racked face.

She met my eyes, and tears started down her cheeks again. "Please," she said, "please."

I drew her to me and held her close, feeling sobs shake her small body, while I rained kisses on her wet face and her crisp hair, like black fire to my lips. I, too, was shaking from head to foot.

"OK," I said when I could speak again. "OK, no scenes. You do what you have to do."

I released her, and she turned without another word and walked to the edge of the sea. She washed her face in the water while I waited, idly picking up pebbles and throwing them down again. I had no thoughts at all.

A cloud had come over the sun and it was growing chilly. Tomi returned, and we walked in silence side by side, back to the place where the family was gathered.

Martha and Helen had built a fire; hamburgers were broiling. Serge greeted us heartily, and thrust a can of beer into each of our hands. He was very happy. Like most vigorous, healthy men, at least half of his problem was simply that civilized life could not contain, or in any way use, his energies. The cool wind made him feel good. He was running around in shorts and shirt sleeves.

I made for my sweater and pulled it on, struggling to put myself together, to erase everything from my mind except proper participation in this festive event.

For the first and only time in my acquaintance with the Kleberts there was enough to eat, and nearly everyone was intent on stuffing themselves. Conversation was jovial, Martha's wit crackling like the wood she had gathered. Only Sweet William had withdrawn, sitting by himself on a rock in the water, munching a piece of celery and looking out over the horizon. Helen wrote it off for us with a joke about the trials of adolescence. I wondered if she knew how accurate she was, or had any inkling of what the trials were in this case. I hurriedly glanced at Tomi. She was pale as death, attentively lighting a cigarette, her hands shaking.

After lunch the sun put in another appearance and everyone settled down for an hour or two of rest. Martha was reading In Country Sleep by Dylan Thomas, which had just come out. Helen was tatting a wine-colored lace tablecloth, which she drew sol-

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emnly out of an old carpet bag. Serge had a whole book of old New York Times crossword puzzles. Tomi took out sketchpad and charcoal and pretended to be busy, and William-William just sat on his rock.

I withdrew a little from the others, found a more or less private hill, and stretched out in the sun. The rules of the game made it impossible for me to seek further conversation with Tomi just now: to push a point when anyone was emotionally vulnerable was "uncool." But my head was whirling with the changes that had gone down for me in the past hour, and I wanted quiet and privacy in order to put things together. Over and over I thought, "I must think about this," but no thoughts came, even the "this" did not formulate itself, and after a short while I drifted into that painful, limbo-like sleep that emotional exhaustion and confusion can bring.

I was awakened by the weight of another body on my own and a tongue in my ear. I pulled my head free and turned enough to see that Serge, complete with shorts and sunglasses, was lying on top of me.

"Please," he whispered, and for an unspeakable minute he sounded like Tomi. "Don't make any noise. They're all asleep." His breath smelled of alcohol, and I was more than slightly repelled by his thick, older man's body. I twisted under him, managed to roll over on my stomach, and started to scramble away, intending to achieve a safe distance, sit up, and have a cool, reasonable conversation with him. He was probably drunk, and if I could get clear I could handle him easily enough. If I could just get clear-But he was too quick, and caught me around the waist, at the same time jerking my pants, which he had unzipped while I was sleeping, down around my legs. I struggled silently to free myself, all the time thinking unbelievingly that this was rape, that I was about to be raped.

Serge had somehow managed to free his rigid cock from his shorts, for I could feel it poking between my legs, looking for a way in. Suddenly his mouth was on my bare backside, I could feel that absurd moustache against my skin. And my fear and horror seemed ridiculous. This was Serge, poor silly Serge, who never got

4&

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to screw his wife, and if he wanted to throw a fuck into me, why I might as well let him. It wasn't going to hurt me. Not a whole lot. Anyway, it didn't seem that I had much choice.

I stopped struggling. Serge immediately sensed my acquiescence. His hands released their vise-like grip on my shoulders, and slid under my sweater, under my blouse, and took hold of my breasts.

My legs relaxed of themselves and opened slightly to receive him. He shoved his cock in expertly. In spite of myself, pleasure began to stir in my breasts under his ministrations. I shivered bare-assed and mostly bored in the cold wind as his loins slapped against me again and again.

Then all the heavy sorrow in me turned into some crazed impersonal desire that cried out for appeasement. My cunt came reluctantly to life and I began to move with him, on my hands and knees in the grass, picking up rhythm as the energy grew.

At last I threw myself face forward on the hill, bucking and trembling in an abstract mechanical finale that even then seemed ridiculous, and Serge came with me, lying heavily across my back and panting into my ear as he shot short, hot spurts of jism into my cunt.

We lay there only for a moment, for as soon as I tensed to stir, Serge was up and off me, zipping up his fly. And before I could even turn over, his head was at the bottom of my buttocks, in the curve of my thighs, licking up his come and mine, and drying me off solicitously with a handkerchief. I was reminded abruptly of Tomi drying the mud off my feet with her panties the day before, and I spread my legs slightly to lend him better access, and pillowed my head on my arms.

When he was done I rolled over, pulled up my pants and zippered them, and then sat up and started to straighten my hair. Serge kissed me once on the cheek, in a fatherly fashion, and I patted his arm before he returned without a word to the group around the fire.

I lay there, trying to collect myself, but that strange, brief orgasm had numbed me: driving all thoughts out of my head and almost all the sorrow out of my heart-it was still there, but in some deep place, quite out of reach, like a boulder at the bottom of a

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lake. The sun had gone in—for good this time, it seemed—and it was really too cold to lie there and brood, so I got up and went to find the others.

I found them packing up to go back to the boat. I helped as best I could. My head was full of cotton wool and I was sure I walked funny. I was inexperienced at dog-fashion fucking and had probably torn the skin of my cunt a little. The tight jeans didn't help any. Tomi glanced at my quizzically one or twice, but I managed to avoid her eyes.

We had no sooner set out than it began to blow. A real storm, a lulu of a storm, had come up. The boat rocked and wallowed, the rain came down, and nearly everyone went down into the cabin. As for me, I knew I couldn't face close scrutiny by either Tomi or Martha, so I climbed up onto the roof of the cabin and sat there hanging on with both hands and looking at the sky.

Lightning broke again and again, thunder crashed. Serge stood at the helm, soaked to the skin, singing at the top of his voice. His wet, clinging shorts revealed that he had another erection.

It was as if the weather and I were in complete agreement. I sat there, drinking it in, feeling for the first time in my life how much turbulence I could contain in quiet, what endurance was, being cleansed by the purity, the pure fury of the elements. Finally Serge became aware that I was there and, either out of concern for me or embarrassment over the events of the day, ordered me below, saying he could not be responsible if I were washed overboard.