Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,29
he thought of a suitable spot to carry his lover. The incongruity of the moment. The contrast between Arthur and Rabbi Turnbull. Arthur's naturalness compared to Turnbull's pomposity. Who'd ever have thought the rabbi would turn out to be such an ass? The episode had left a bad taste in her mouth. Perhaps the boy would help purge it.
"Wherever," she said finally.
"I can't think," he, said. "I can't think of a place."
"Well, really, dear," she said, "not here. I'm sure your wife is very understanding about this, but… not here. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?"
The bedroom – Arthur was amazed. The bedroom, of course. Floors, fields, beaches, even once in a sewer – but the bedroom? The thought had never occurred to him before. The bedroom? That was even better than a snowbank. This Gillian Blake was unbelievable, unbelievable!
Walking up to the bedroom with Gillian, Arthur suffered through a curiously deflating moment or two. It was personal recognition of the clearly superior imagination of the woman beside him. This was a woman who had some things to teach him, and he only hoped she would find him an apt pupil.
Passing by Raina's Meditation Room, they noticed that the door was open, and they paused to study a curious tableau. Dexter, completely nude, was stretched out on the Prayer Table, his manhood rising toward the ceiling. Raina had scattered talcum powder over his entire body, and the effect was one of salt and pepper. She was at that moment gently massaging him at his point of greatest attitude with a bottle of pink Johnson & Johnson baby lotion. Gillian surmised that it was a religious ceremony, possibly something directly from the Kama-Sutra, and she said nothing irreverent. Arthur, on the other hand, realized they were playing the Baby Game and was vaguely disappointed in Raina's lack of innovation since the last time.
Hand in hand they approached the door of the second bedroom, and Arthur hardly dared ask again. He didn't have to this time. Gillian walked straight over to the bed, removed her pink-flowered muumuu and stretched luxuriously across the bed. Arthur loped across the room after her.
The bed! Of course, the bed. All thoughts he had been entertaining quickly slipped from him. The ascetic sensations of the glass-topped cocktail table, the cooling joys of the refrigerator, the exoticism of the attic trunk – these images passed immediately from his mind. The bed – comfortable, soft, capacious – called out to him. Why hadn't he thought of it himself? How could it have been anywhere else but the bed?
He looked at Gillian, at the slender winding body covered with tiny blonde hairs, at the full lips parted slightly as they awaited his throbbing mouth, at the rhythm of her rising breasts. And suddenly he knew. He knew that hanging from the chandelier with her poised happily under him – this was not for Gillian. That leaning over the bed's backboard with toes curled toward Mecca – that would never satisfy her. That somersaulting into the mainsprings – that would never do.
There was only one thing left to do. He flopped onto the bed and climbed atop Gillian, arranging himself in the position that had been handed down from generation to generation since the beginning of time.
"Normal," he thought, "normal for the first time."
The word was no longer anathema to him. As he climbed aboard, a vision came to Arthur Franhop. It was a vision of life – a life of calm, steady sex, of marriage even, of charming little children whom he could teach all he knew about sex and drugs, or perpetuating the race in this natural and noble manner.
As they rocked back and forth – Gillian with dazzling expertise, Arthur with mounting ecstasy – back and forth, back and forth to the heights of burning, genuine joy, they failed to notice Raina as she came into the room, carrying a water balloon, standing then at the foot of the bed. Back and forth, back and forth, the sensations were all-encompassing, sweet and natural, and it was not until the moment of explosion that Gillian looked up and saw the audience. Raina's face was twisted in anger, contorted in indignation and her voice rasped when she finally managed to mouth her hatred.
"Arthur, you are square!" she screamed. "You are an incredible incurable square!"
EXCERPT FROM "THE BILLY & GILLY SHOW," DECEMBER 7TH
Billy: It's hard to believe that Pearl Harbor was that long ago, Gilly.
Gilly: I was a child then, but