Olive Might The Ocean Be -- Chapter 6
On her hands and knees, retching out of the back of that limo. Her timing was marvelous. Like the curl in these waves, she rhythmically, spasmodically bent over again and again. There, on each side of her mouth, bubbles of our saliva mingled. More important than her throwing up was the fact we'd been kissing. She didn't actually throw up, either--it was more a reaction to Bianca, and, hearing about the scope of our affair, I guess, offended her. She was making like she was gagging, not actually doing anything of the sort. It was a reaction to love, or rather, the rumor of a recent love affair.
How recent?
Let's put it this way: Bianca didn't even know. The lights hadn't been on. I coulda been a mosher for all she knew. Lotta cracks, huh? Couple gags, here and there. This you call a love affair? I don't care where the mare snares her hares... Just met, and you're already asking to mate? It's only that we were half-naked, and I was merely trying on her bunny slippers. (The headline said: "Young Girls Declared Insane Because They Like To Mate?") It's only that we were half-dressed, and she wanted me to. She said we would be making love as soon as I quit referring to her in the third person. Soon, well, right after I had my mouth wired shut, she and I were making new sand dunes along the blustery coast. It was her private beach. The next day we got my Jag stuck on that telephone pole. She had been steering, but I was the one munching the wheel after we came to a complete stop. Then we started bouncing up and down because the back seat. Humping, the rear passengers' foot wells alternately got in our way. Soon, her rear was hot. My mouth went up into here, behind the sandbar. There were shatterings of beefwood everywhere. The waves crashed. Thunder! We didn't see the lightning... but she felt it, hotly flashing out of my dinghy-sized Love Boat, with Captain Stubing squinting off the prow.
"TexMex," with her unforgettable polka dots
Lisa and I made beautiful music together the first time we met. "Get your hand out of my pockets," she said. I had been digging around in them, trying to find my keys. After taking one look at me, she snatched my keys and announced she was going to wear me out, later, that night. I asked if she meant her and me. She grabbed me--was that it? Or was it she pinched me? One or the other, but the main thing is she loved me that night. I realized partway into it I must be a selfish lover. So I've given out lotsa time with all the women I've rogered since that monumental failure along her beach scene. Heir to a downwind position of a large burrito-eater. "Punkin? Is that you, Dahlin'?" she asked, biting my right ear.
"Look, Tamale Breath," I said: "nibble the other one. You tore me a new ear hole on that one just last night."
"No, I didn't," she said. Then she looked into my eyes. "Hey, are you seeing anyone else?"
That was the last time we did it. Lisa taught me a lot about women. Mostly, she taught me how to pretend. Nowadays, I can't keep women off me. For so long my body has grown. Parts of me are all that. Other parts... well, I'll let me be the judge. No sense opening me up and examining my raison d'étre under a microscope, now, is there?
"Are you still here?" she asked, aiming her butt at me. That was it! I could tell what she had eaten. Neither of us had been eating Mexican that afternoon, but--according to ear-witness reports--somebody had. That was back in December, one week before the new year.
She put a camper shell over the burnt-out hull of her Cadillac then, and started living in it. We met through our car club--we both own '62 Corvettes--and even though she technically no longer owned a Caddy, I still allowed her access to my goodies. We shared an act of congress even though her cat, Snoogles, died earlier that day. We buried Snoogs in the sand. Then she pulled me down to her crotch. I wasn't sure what to do because I had never done it... well, with another human being, that is. Then she showed me how to make love to a woman. I said it was kind of like masturbation, only better. I'm not sure if she took this as a compliment, but the next thing I knew I was sitting in the back seat of my Mercedes in her driveway with my hand down my pants, alone.
I put my snorkel up to her furry mound and breathed in deeply. We were alone, finally, and her waterbed scuttled along the reef with delight. By morning, due to an egregious amount of sexual activity, we both shed pounds and inches. Her berth spouted like a sperm whale coming up for air. More than once she sighed her other lover's name. They brought in room service during her fifth orgasm. Ellen and Katrina hurriedly set out placemats and uncorked a bottle of bubbly while we finished up in the sack. Then Ellen noticed my birthmark. I began pointing toward the ceiling immediately after Sylvia dismounted me. Katrina laughed and asked if she wanted anything. "Why don't you ask me?" the woman I was in bed with asked.
My hook rang again. "Oh! I wish it would stop doing that," I said to my girlfriend, Lila.
"Don't answer it," she said.
"No," I said. "I have to answer. It could be my wife." But by the time I put down my drink, it had quit ringing.
"C'mere, Slobberpuss," Lila said, grabbing me by my mustache and pulling me up to her grin. "You've got a lotta teeth," she said, an inch from my mouth.
"How can you tell?" I asked. It was the off-season, and most of the suites were rented to tourists from the north. My hook rang again. This time I was able to answer it, but the point of my hook disconnected us before I could hear three words. Fortunately, I had Caller Retriever. The last incoming call had come from Hilda. I didn't want Lila to become too involved with my other partners, and so I acted like it was a wrong number. That was the last time Lila and I made love.
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