270
NORMA MEACOCK
open, like Venus's fly-trap. I worked from the outside inward, lightly
and quickly. "I'm a tart," he said, "in a one-room, striptease, clip
joint." "Yes you are," I said. "What am I?" he implored. "Go on,
say it." "You're a dirty tart," I said, "and I'm going to pull your
knickers off." I tugged his trousers, then sat back a minute to let the
pressure drop. It's largely a matter of timing, I thought.
"What a damp little swamp," I mumbled and prodded the
interstice of his orbs with the stub of my finger. He squirmed, de–
lighted. "You won't like this," I said. "But you'll have to lie still and
take it. I'm going to shag your arse." "Please don't," he implored.
"Shut up. Whore!" I said. I licked my finger to warm it and spat
on it to the base. "Please tell me," he implored, "what are you going
to do with me? Say it again." Intolerable to enter without lubrica–
tion. I spat between his cleft, slid my left hand under his belly to
hold his prick and with my right forefinger penetrated his anus; it
gripped me tight in a wave of expulsion but I prodded the more
firmly, staccato, and it submitted to my thrusts in the end. "Trollop,"
I muttered in his ear as I stabbed.
When he came over my hand I extracted my finger with dif–
ficulty from his sucking arse and held him close. He reached back
to grip my hand and lay crooning to himself. Suddenly he turned,
guffawed, slapped his thigh, shook my shoulders. "I had a special
feeling, a levitation. I'm bathed in radiance. You're a wonderful
girl." His eyes shone, he tried to kick out his legs, failed, pulled his
pants up, jumped off the bed, ran round the room, laughed, clasped
his hands over his head and folded like a jackknife. Then he sat
down soberly. "What an experience," he said. "Do you think we're
typical or are we a special case? It's like being kicked hard on the
bottom," he said.
I examined my silted cuticles. "For all the fantasy," I reflected,
"on which he's capable of building his most solid castles, he has a
rare eagerness to embrace factual truth, especially that of his sexual–
ity." "You've gone," he accused, "gone from me. You've withdrawn.
I always know. The dry light is in your eye." "Why not?" I teased.
"All matter is matter for thought, correctly apprehended. And I've
had my hoggins." He was cross. "You mustn't say that; it doesn't
sound right. Hoggins is man's talk."
