Charles Bukowski

Women: 44

I had been sleeping on a terrible mattress with the springs sticking into me for several years. That afternoon when I awakened I pulled the mattress off the bed, dragged it outside, and leaned it against the trashbin.

I walked back in and left the door open.

It was 2 pm and hot.

Tammie walked in and sat on the couch.

“I’ve got to go,” I told her. “I’ve got to go buy a mattress.” “A mattress? Well, I’ll leave.”

“No, Tammie, wait. Please. The whole thing will take about 15 minutes. Wait here and have a beer." “All right,” she said. . . .

There was a rebuilt mattress shop about three blocks down on Western. I parked in front and ran through the door. “Fellows! I need a mattress . . . FAST!”

“What kind of bed?” “Double.”

“We’ve got this one for $35.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Can you take it in your car?”

“I’ve got a Volks.”

“All right, we’ll deliver it. Address?”

Tammie was still there when I got back.

“Where’s the mattress?”

“It’ll be along. Have another beer. You got a pill?”

She gave me a pill. The light shot through her red hair.

Tammie had been voted Miss Sunny Bunny at the Orange County Fair in 1973. It was four years later now, but she still had it. She was big and ripe in all the right places.

The delivery man was at the door with the mattress. “Let me help you.”

The delivery man was a good soul. He helped me put it on the bed. Then he saw Tammie sitting on the couch. He grinned. “Hi,” he said to her.

“Thanks very much,” I told him. I gave him 3 dollars and he left.

I went into the bedroom and looked at the mattress. Tammie followed. The mattress was wrapped in cellophane. I began ripping it off. Tammie helped.

“Look at it. It’s pretty,” she said.

“Yes, it is.”

It was bright and colorful. Roses, stems, leaves, curling vines. It looked like the Garden of Eden, and for $35.

Tammie looked at it. “That mattress turns me on. I want to break it in. I want to be the first woman to fuck you on that mattress.”

“I wonder who will be the second?”

Tammie walked into the bathroom. There was a silence. Then I heard the shower. I put on fresh sheets and pillow cases, undressed and climbed in. Tammie came out, young and wet, she sparkled. Her pubic hair was the same color as the hair on her head: red, like fire.

She paused before the mirror and pulled in her stomach. Those huge breasts rose toward the glass. I could see her, back and front, simultaneously.

She walked over and climbed under the sheet.

We slowly worked into it.

We got into it, all that red hair on the pillow, as outside the sirens howled and the dogs barked.

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