Ronald Rabbit Is a Dirty Old Man - Lawrence Block [19]
“Guess who,” a voice demanded.
“Victor McLaglen. Do another.”
A giggle. “Do you even know where you are?”
“I seem to have gone to heaven,” I said. “The funny thing is that I don’t remember dying.”
“Aren’t you going to guess? Or don’t you honestly remember?”
“Ah, I remember. I remember everything. I have to guess which one you are, eh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What happens if I guess right?”
“Then we can make love.”
“What if I guess wrong?”
“We still make love but I won’t enjoy it as much. And I’m sure you want me to enjoy it.”
“Merry Cat,” I said.
She squealed and took her hand away, and I turned around and looked into her cat’s eyes and kissed her little mouth. Her face was flushed.
“Oh God,” she said. “Oh, you’re ready, Oh, how nice. Don’t wait, don’t even touch me, just get in me. I want you inside me, I can’t wait.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. She got off the minute I was inside her, coming in a sweet soft pink dissolve. She came twice more and then it was my turn, and then we clung to each other while I waited for the earth tremors to quit shaking hell out of the room.
Ultimately she said, “How on earth did you guess right? Just a shot in the dark?”
“Not exactly that.”
“An intuitive flash? You just felt it suddenly in your heart and soul?”
“I felt things in quite a few places, but that’s not it.”
“You recognized my voice, then.”
“Well, no.”
“No? Hmmm. Uh, let’s see, uh, you could feel my breasts against you and you figured it was me by process of elimination because they were the only ones you weren’t familiar with.”
“Wrong again.”
“I think I give up.”
“Just logic,” I said. “You had to drive last night and you didn’t have a chance to come in back, so for the sake of fairness they let you come over this morning. That’s how I figured it out, and it looks as though I was right.”
“Oh,” she said.
“What’s the matter?”
“Well, nothing, actually. And, see, that was exactly what I told them this morning, the five of them. Just that very line of reasoning. ’You five had Mad Poet all to yourselves last night and now it should be my turn.’ ”
“That’s just what I just said.”
“Right, and it’s what I said, and I thought it was totally brittle, and they wouldn’t buy it. Instead we all cut cards and I won.”
“Oh.”
“That’s really weird, working it all out logically like that and being wrong and coming up with the right answer. It’s pretty far out.”
“Well, even on a straight guess I had one chance in six.”
“True.”
I started saying something, God knows what, and she reached out her little hand again, only this time instead of putting it over my eyes, she wrapped it around my cock. Whatever I was saying seemed no longer relevant. I reached out with both hands and began playing with her.
“They’ll be coming over fairly soon.”
“Here?”
She nodded, started to say something, then gasped when I touched one of the right buttons. I slipped a finger inside her. She was sopping wet and hot enough to cook an egg on and unbelievably tight.
(That’s another advantage in being sixteen, Fran, and if Steve thinks that my mentioning it is any sort of implicit criticism of you, he’s out of his skull. It’s a simple biological fact. Certain organs do lose a certain portion of their elasticity over the years. But that’s not to suggest that you have to start worrying about men falling out of you, or about your being unable to tell for sure whether they’re in there or not. You’ve got quite a few years to go before that’ll become a problem for you, and by then sex will be so much less frequent an indulgence, and so less important to you, that you won’t really be giving up all that much.)
Where was I? Oh, yes. ’She was sopping wet and hot enough to cook an egg on and unbelievably tight.’ That’s where I was.
I said,