Walk on the Wild Side - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,122
even an erection. He was pure.
The only sex that was good for him was to jerk off over those pictures of air-brushed cunts. No hairy slits. Clean and pure. Nothing dirty.
Not the hairy bullies in the shower room. Not being slammed back and forth until he knelt and opened his mouth.
There was nothing wrong with him.
Nothing dirty.
Not like the hairy slit in women. He’d never seen one until now, but the other boys had said that they had and described it, lying all the while. It had to be some aberration, like the few boys in the shower room whose dicks hadn’t been circumcised.
A clean, smooth V. That was what the nudist magazines showed. That had to be right.
There was nothing wrong with him.
Nothing dirty.
Clean and smooth. A fig leaf. Panties. No bulge.
No genitalia. Trust the magazines.
Nothing dirty.
There was nothing wrong with him.
Maurice Tarwater bought a nice attache case, and he filled it with things that he needed. It was easy to get them at the hospital, even for a file clerk. It was all very clear to him now. The photographs were correct. Cameras don’t lie.
He found Gale easily enough at the same bar, and they went to the same hotel. Surprisingly, she did remember him, probably because he had left her a good tip to cover his embarrassment that night. A few drinks, off they went.
Gale was first to undress, figuring that this was going to be another thirty-second trick, and there were more Johns out there. She left on her garter belt, stockings and heels. Saved time, and most Johns enjoyed the thrill. She made come-to-bed sounds.
Maurice had undressed and was pulling on some sort of G-string thing with a leaf attached to the pouch.
What’s that? ” Gale had seen some weirdos before “A fig leaf.”
“Whatever gets you hard.” At least he wasn’t wearing women’s underwear like the trick two nights ago. “Come on, Adam. Eve’s waiting.”
She spread her legs. No bulge. Hairy monster. Wet slit. No dick at all. It was worse than he’d remembered. His father had warned him.
“Want some cognac?”Maurice drew a flask from his case. “Helps to calm me down.”
“Sure. It’s your dime, remember.”
Eve drank. Adam pretended to sip.
Once the barbs had taken effect, Maurice gave her an injection of pilfered Demerol. It would be morning, if ever, before she recovered consciousness.
He removed a razor and shaving cream from his case, and he painstakingly shaved off every bit of hair from Gale’s crotch. Smooth as a baby’s bottom. But still that annoying slit.
He took out a suture kit and tightly laced her labia together. It demanded some work, as this was his first time, but it was almost right. There was some minimal bleeding. He dabbed at that with some cotton.
Using a lot of thick pancake make-up, Maurice filled in the furrow of her cunt, then smoothed it all down. A Vee. Clean and smooth. No hair. No nasty slit. Just like in the pictures.
His cock grew rigid as he looked at her. He pulled down the posing strap, then masturbated onto her air-brushed cunt, reaching the best orgasm he had ever known. He left the fig leaf over her cunt.
He thought about smothering her with a pillow, but murder was a sin and a crime, and no one gave a shit about a roughed-up whore. She could have the stitches out tomorrow. He left an extra twenty on the nightstand and decided to move on.
Maurice laid low for a few weeks. As expected, no interest in a roughed-up hooker. Cool. He bought some more posing straps, some more magazines of muscle boys posing in posing straps. Nothing. Penis not erectus. He was OK, all right, normal. Fucking lies from high school. He could scatter come all across a whore’s cunt. They’d never done that. Even to their wives.
He shot off rubbing himself through the nylon while wearing a pair of panties and reading a girlie magazine and looking at a girl’s big butt stretching against red transparent panties similar to his own. But that was normal enough. All the guys in the locker room did it. Jerk off. Every day. Didn’t admit it.
Used him for their secret fantasies. Soapy dicks. Goosing. Laughter. Penises shoving. Jock straps. Coaches. One day he’d get back at them all. Just now he knew he could get hard looking at girlie magazines. Normal.
He wiped himself clean and threw the damp panties into the laundry bin. The bra was still fresh, and he placed it into his lingerie