Women - Charles Bukowski [31]
“I think that you’re beautiful,” I said. “And very nice. I feel good around you. I think it’s good that we’re together. Drink up. We need another. You’re like your letters.”
We had the second drink and went down for the luggage. I was proud to be with Mindy. She walked with style. So many women with good bodies just slouched along like overloaded creatures. Mindy flowed.
I kept thinking, this is too good. This is simply not possible.
Back at my place Mindy took a bath and changed clothes. She came out in a light blue dress. She had changed her hair style, just a bit. We sat on the couch together with the vodka and the vodka mix. “Well,” I said, “I’m still scared. I’m going to get a little drunk.”
“Your place is just the way I thought it would be,” she said.
She was looking at me, smiling. I reached out and touched her just behind the neck, moved her towards me, and gave her a light kiss.
The phone rang. It was Lydia.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m with a friend.”
“It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
“Lydia, our relationship is over,” I said. “You know that.”
“IT’S A WOMAN, ISN’T IT?”
“Yes.”
“Well, all right.”
“All right. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” she said.
Lydia’s tone had suddenly calmed down. I felt better. Her violence frightened me. She always claimed that I was the jealous one, and I was often jealous, but when I saw things working against me I simply became disgusted and withdrew. Lydia was different. She reacted. She was the Head Cheerleader at the Game of Violence.
But by her tone I knew that she had given up. That she was not enraged. I knew that voice.
“That was my ex,” I told Mindy.
“Is it over?”
“Yes.”
“Does she still love you?”
“I think so.”
“Then it’s not over.”
“It’s over.”
“Should I stay?”
“Of course. Please.”
“You’re not just using me? I’ve read all those love poems…to Lydia.”
“I was in love. And I’m not using you.”
Mindy pressed her body against me and kissed me. It was a long kiss. My cock rose. I had recently been taking a lot of vitamin E. I had my own ideas about sex. I was constantly horny and masturbated continually. I’d make love to Lydia and then come back to my place and masturbate in the morning. The thought of sex as something forbidden excited me beyond all reason. It was like one animal knifing another into submission.
When I came I felt it was in the face of everything decent, white sperm dripping down over the heads and souls of my dead parents. If I had been born a woman I would certainly have been a prostitute. Since I had been born a man, I craved women constantly, the lower the better. And yet women—good women—frightened me because they eventually wanted your soul, and what was left of mine, I wanted to keep. Basically I craved prostitutes, base women, because they were deadly and hard and made no personal demands. Nothing was lost when they left. Yet at the same time I yearned for a gentle, good woman, despite the overwhelming price. Either way I was lost. A strong man would give up both. I wasn’t strong. So I continued to struggle with women, with the idea of women.
Mindy and I finished the bottle and then went to bed. I kissed her for a while, then apologized, and drew away. I was too drunk to perform. One hell of a great lover. I promised her many great experiences in the near future, then fell asleep with her body pressed against me.
In the morning I awakened, sickened. I looked at Mindy, naked next to me. Even then, after all the drinking, she was a miracle. Never had I known a young girl so beautiful and at the same time so gentle and intelligent. Where were her men? Where had they failed?
I went into the bathroom and tried to get cleaned up. I gagged on Lavoris. I shaved and put on some shaving lotion. I wet my hair and combed it. I went to the refrigerator, took a 7-UP, drank it down.
I went back to the bed and climbed in. Mindy was warm, her body was warm. She seemed to be asleep. I liked that. I rubbed my lips against