Women - Charles Bukowski [199]
“When my wife is out fucking somebody else I put on my pyjamas, pull the covers up and go to sleep,” said Bobby.
“He’s cool,” said Valerie.
“None of us quite know how to use sex, what to do with it,” I said. “With most people sex is just a toy—wind it up and let it run.”
“What about love?” asked Valerie.
“Love is all right for those who can handle the psychic overload. It’s like trying to carry a full garbage can on your back over a rushing river of piss.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad!”
“Love is a form of prejudice. I have too many other prejudices.”
Valerie went to the window.
“People are having fun, jumping into the pool, and she’s out there looking at the moon.”
“Her old man just died,” said Bobby. “Give her a break.”
I took my bottle and went to my bedroom. I undressed down to my shorts and went to bed. Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Bach, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.
I took my choice. I raised the fifth of vodka and drank it straight. The Russians knew something.
The door opened and Cecelia walked in. She looked good with her low-slung powerful body. Most American women were either too thin or without stamina. If you gave them rough use something broke in them and they became neurotic and their men became sport freaks or alcoholics or obsessed with cars. The Norwegians, the Icelanders, the Finns knew how a woman should be built: wide and solid, a big ass, big hips, big white flanks, big heads, big mouths, big tits, plenty of hair, big eyes, big nostrils, and down in the center—big enough and small enough.
“Hello, Cecelia. Come on to bed.”
“It was nice out tonight.”
“I suppose. Come say hello.”
She went into the bathroom. I switched off the bedroom light.
She came out after a while. I felt her climb into bed. It was dark but some light came in through the curtains. I handed her the fifth. She took a tiny sip, then handed the bottle back. We were sitting up, our backs against the headboard and the pillows. We were thigh to thigh.
“Hank, the moon was just a tiny sliver. But the stars were brilliant and beautiful. It makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Some of those stars have been dead for millions of light-years and yet we can still see them.”
I reached around and pulled Cecelia’s head toward me. Her mouth opened. It was wet and it was good.
“Cecelia, let’s fuck.”
“I don’t want to.”
In a way I didn’t want to either. Which is why I had asked.
“You don’t want to? Then why do you kiss like that?”
“I think that people should take the time to get to know each other.”
“Sometimes there’s not that much time.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
I got out of bed. I walked down in my shorts and knocked on Bobby and Valerie’s door.
“What is it?” Bobby asked.
“She won’t fuck me.”
“So?”
“Let’s go for a swim.”
“It’s late. The pool is closed.”
“Closed? There’s water, isn’t there?”
“I mean, the lights are off.”
“That’s all right. She won’t fuck me.”
“You don’t have a bathing suit.”
“I have my shorts.”
“All right, wait a minute….”
Bobby and Valerie came out dressed beautifully in new tight-fitting swim suits. Bobby handed me a Columbian and I took a hit.
“What’s wrong with Cecelia?”
“Christian chemistry.”
We walked to the pool. It was true, the lights were out. Bobby and Valerie dove into the pool in tandem. I sat at the edge of the pool, my legs dangling in. I sucked from the fifth of vodka.
Bobby and Valerie surfaced together. Bobby swam over to the edge of the pool. He pulled at one of my ankles.
“Come on, shit head! Show some