Threesome - Lawrence Block [27]
Rhoda held her cigarette to Prissy’s lips. Prissy puffed on it. Rhoda took the cigarette back again, put it in her own mouth, and put her hand between Priss’ legs and put a finger or two up Prissy’s cunt. She fingered her idly in this fashion until Priss lifted her head enough to get her mouth on one of Rhoda’s tits. I don’t remember which one. You see one, you’ve seen ’em both.
And here I was, Munro Leaf’s watchbird. Here is a watchbird watching two lesbians. Here is a watchbird watching YOU. Were YOU a lesbian last month?
If not, what are you waiting for?
I don’t know what I was waiting for. I waited for it a long time, whatever it was, and I stood there watching them do divine things to each other with a feeling of excitement and delight that was not exclusively sexual. Or maybe it was. There is a way to put this, if I can find it, because I do know what I mean, but if no one else does, I will have failed to get the point across.
Let’s try again. I was very pleased with what I was seeing. I was very delighted with it, and in an altruistic way. I thought that this was a great thing the two of them were doing, sure to please them both, and I was happy for them and proud of them for thinking of it. And I was proud of each of them, too, for being able to attract and satisfy such a perfect partner.
It’s remarkable, I suppose, that neither of them happened to look up and catch a glimpse of me. It’s not only remarkable. It’s also a damned good thing, because we would have had an epidemic of coronary occlusion, I think. I don’t suppose I spent all that much time at the window. Five or ten minutes. Probably no more than that.
I stopped watching before they got to the end of that particular paragraph, turned from them in mid-sentence, brushed against the pussy willow bush—a great name for a girl, Pussy Willow—and went back Out Back to the shed.
I picked up a pen and started drawing. I did the sketch three times until I got it just the way I wanted it. Then I sat there listening to bird calls until noon—all bird calls sound alike—at which time I generally appeared for lunch. I did not want to appear for lunch until I was expected to appear for lunch, or I might interrupt them while they were having each other for breakfast.
During lunch I excused myself to go to the toilet, and on the way back from the toilet I let myself into Rhoda’s room and left the drawing on her pillow.
RHODA
I think we all knew what was going on. I think we all knew that we knew. It was all in the air, like static electricity in a dry room, and we were shuffling our feet on the carpet and getting ready to touch each other.
That morning, while Harry was doing his Watchbird number sheltered by the pussy willow, Priss and I were conscientiously doing precisely what we had decided a day ago not to do. We were Taking Risks. We were Being Less Than Cool. We were making it, not on a Wednesday with Harry in New York, but on a Thursday with Harry Out Back in his shed.
Hard to say just whose idea it was. Probably mine. I had heard them screwing, and while they were normally noisy enough about it, that night they were truly loud; I got the impression that they had moved to the country because their sex life was too high in volume to be conducted within city limits. I lay there listening to the two of them and wanting them both, and woke up no longer listening to them but still wanting them.
I got up after Harry and before Priss. I wrapped up in a robe of hers—my bathrobes were all still somewhere out West, none had found its way into the one suitcase I brought along. I went into the kitchen and had breakfast and made a pot of real coffee. Priss always made real coffee sooner or later, but had instant coffee first at breakfast. Quel dreary—the only time I really care about coffee is first thing in the morning, and that’s the one time it’s hard to get a cup around here that tastes half decent.