Charles Bukowski

Women: 10

I was surprised the next morning when April knocked on the door. April was the one on ATD who had been at Harry Ascot’s party and who had left with the speed freak. It was 11 am. April came in and sat down.

“I’ve always admired your work,” she said. I got her a beer and got myself a beer. “God is a hook in the sky,” she said.

“All right,” I said.

April was on the heavy side but not too fat. She had big hips and a large ass and her hair fell straight down. There was something about the size of her—rugged, like she could handle an ape. Her mental deficiency was attractive to me because she didn’t play games. She crossed her legs, showing me enormous white flanks.

“I planted tomato seeds down in the basement of the apartment house I live in,” she said.

“I’ll take some when they come up,” I said.

“I’ve never had a driver’s license,” April said. “My mother lives in New Jersey.”

“My mother’s dead,” I said. I walked over and sat next to her on the couch. I grabbed her and kissed her. While I was kissing her she looked right into my eyes. I broke off. “Let’s fuck,” I said.

“I have an infection,” said April.

“What?”

“It’s sort of a fungus. Nothing serious.” “Could I catch it?”

“It’s kind of a milky discharge.”

“Could I catch it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let’s fuck.”

“I don’t know if I want to fuck.”

“It’ll feel good. Let’s go into the bedroom.”

April walked into the bedroom and started taking off her clothes. I took mine off. We got under the sheets. I began playing with her parts and kissing her. I mounted her. It was very strange. As if her cunt ran from side to side. I knew I was in there, it felt like I was in there, but I kept slipping sideways, to the left. I kept humping. It was exciting like that. I finished and rolled off.

Later I drove her to her apartment and we went up. We talked for a long while and I left only after making note of the apartment number and the address. As I walked through the lobby I recognized the apartment house lock boxes. I had delivered mail there many times as a mailman. I went out to my car and drove off.

Other works by Charles Bukowski...



Top