SECTION SEVEN

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COLUMN FIFTY-SEVEN, MARCH 1, 2001

LIBERTY CORNER

WARNING!  FOR ADULTS ONLY!  PERSONS UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE ARE NOT ALLOWED TO READ THIS STORY.

[Tsaurah Litzky is a poet and writer of fiction, non fiction and erotica. Her work has appeared in Best American Erotica 95, 97, 99 and will be included in BAE 2001. She has also been published in Penthouse, LONGSHOT, The Unbearables, Crimes of the Beats, Appearances, Downtown Poets, The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry, Pink Pages, Beet and many other books and periodicals. Her poetry books include Kamikaze Lover (Appearances 1999) and the just published Good Bye Beautiful Mother (Low Tech Press 2001). Formerly a columnist for the now defunct New York arts weekly Downtown, she now teaches erotic writing and literature at the New School University. ]                                                   

I’m sitting at my kitchen table with Mary. We’re looking out past the Statue of Liberty to the open sea. Mary says my view is better than hers, and it is, since I live on the top floor, one story higher than she does, in our Brooklyn waterfront building. We're drinking Martinis, which she’s brought up with her, and talking about Emma Lazarus who wrote the New Colossus poem inscribed on the base of the statue. I tell her that Emma also translated the love poems of Heinrich Heine. We drink to the Statue of Liberty, we drink to Emma Lazarus, we drink to Heinrich Heine, we drink to love poems. My eyes keep straying to the fulsome, heavy swell of  Mary’s breasts under her black sweater.

Mary is a portrait painter recently over from England. She describes herself as a painter in the Francis Bacon tradition. Her clients are mostly corporate types who think it’s cool to look  like degenerates and drug addicts. Mary says the Statue of Liberty is an icon to free women everywhere. She told me that even today, in Britain, a woman who dates more than one man at a time, is still considered a tart, a floozy, a strumpet. Here in America, in some circles at least, she’s the Cosmo girl, or at best a free spirit, an artist at life, a smart woman hedging her bets. She said she worked three years to make the money to move to this land of opportunity. Perhaps that’s why one night, shortly after we met, Mary knocked on my door carrying a coffee can that held paint brushes and a jar of gold paint.

“Will you let me do some lettering under your window?” she asked. 

“What do you want to write?” I wanted to know.

“Let me surprise you,” she said, smiling, her big eyes sparkling.

“Go for it,” I told her.

I pulled the table away from the window, then just below the sill, Mary painted in big, block letters, LIBERTY CORNER. I was so pleased I got out the 30-year-old bottle of scotch my ex, Bruno, left on the table when he split. He placed the bottle on top of a $50 dollar bill on which he had written, Easy come, easy go.

I pulled the table back in place, then Mary and I drank to Liberty Corner.

“Would you let me paint your portrait,” Mary asked.

“Yes,” I told her I’d be honored and we arraigned for me to come down on Saturday.

When I arrived Saturday, Mary had our martinis ready. She carried the drinks into her studio, I followed. She handed me mine and motioned to a small stool in the center of the room.

“Please sit there,” she said. “Did you ever pose for a painter before?” she asked.

I told her that I had done nude modeling in college.”

I only want to do your face, as you know I specialize in portraits, your face is so interesting, I hope you won’t be nervous,” Mary said.

“By the time I finish this martini I won’t be,” I said.

Mary set her drink down on the table that held paints and brushes next to her easel, then she put AJA  on her CD player. She returned to the easel and picked up a brush.

Mary says,
'Think of the very best boffing you ever had'

“Sit naturally,” she said, “Relax, pretend you’re on holiday, think of the very best boffing you ever had.”

I sipped my martini and thought about how hard it would be to pick the best sex I ever had. Was it when I was with Dickie O. on that rickety daybed in my brothers finished basement and all he was wearing was my brassiere? Was the best time my first time with Lionheart or months later when I was on top and he put three finger in my ass while he sucked at my tittie? Was it better with Lionheart because I loved him so? 

Mary interrupted my reverie.

“Another drink, luv?” she asked.

I thanked her and she fixed refills. She returned and handed me my second martini which tasted even better than the first. I slowly sipped my drink, gazing at Lady Liberty, and listened to Home at Last.

Finally, Mary put her brush back in a jar on the table.

“That’s enough,” she said, “ I’m loosing my concentration and beginning to see double.”

My back had gotten stiff, I rolled my head on my neck, stood up to stretch, walked over to the window to get a closer look at the Statue. She was wearing a patch of clouds above her crown like a bonnet. Mary came up behind me and put a light hand on my shoulder. Somehow, I was not surprised.

“Fancy a bit of fun?” she asked.

I turned to face her, she was grinning like an imp.

“Shall we compare tits?” she asked.

“Why not? “ I answered, thrilled.

I peeled my sweatshirt off and tossed it on the floor, then unhooked my bra and threw it on top of my shirt. My tits are small and not all that firm but I have big chocolate colored nipples larger than silver dollars and I think they are quite sexy.

“Very, very, sporty,” Mary said, stepping back a pace to get a full view, “Love, you have the luscious, rose coloring of a Renoir,” she said. She opened her arms wide to embrace me.

“No, no,” I said, “not just yet, what about you?”

She giggled,  then unbuttoned her  sweater and flung it off. She was wearing no bra but somehow, her heavy, large breasts stood up proudly on her chest, resisting the pull of gravity. A delicate, silver cross on a fine silver chain hung between them, blessing them.   I stepped forward and took one of her pert, pink nipples in my mouth. It was already hard, a sweet little candy. I held it in my mouth, sucked it slowly, like sucking a lolly.

I do love to suck and soon Mary was moaning, “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” her hand under the waistband of her jeans and down between her legs. I wondered if she was as sopping as I was, and maybe she was curious about my little pleasure pouch too, because a moment later we were on the floor tearing off the rest of our clothes. Then we were kissing, her tongue twisting in my mouth, stirring me up, till the juices between my legs were boiling. When I put two fingers inside her, she was so hot. My fingers were on fire but I didn’t care. I was about to slide another finger inside when, abruptly,  Mary pulled away.  She got up, took a large, thick paint brush from her paint table and returned to tease me with it. She pulled the bristles back and forth, back and forth very slowly over my clit until that little button was pulsing like a jet engine. Then she tuned that engine up with that wily tongue of hers, then it was the brush again, back and forth, back and forth. She showed me no mercy but in the end I forgave her. Later we took a shower together.

Mary and I  met several times before the portrait was finished. Sometimes we had a little fun, sometimes not. When the painting was completed, I came out looking like Gertrude Stein. I was disappointed but tried to be comical about it, asking Mary if she would be my Alice B. Toklas. Mary assured me I looked nothing like the portrait. She priced me very high and put me in a gallery show. No one brought me but some wag stuck a big wad of chewing gum on my nose. Mary removed the gum and gave me the portrait, which I hung in the bathroom above the commode so my gentlemen visitors would have to look at it when they were pissing. Mary thought this was quite hilarious.

A few weeks ago Mary phones and invites me for coffee. When I go down, she fixes us both a cup.

"Let's sit down on my new love seat," she says, pointing to a small sofa placed strategically in front of the window with the best view.

"I found it in the street when I was walking around with Big Otto. He helped me lug it up here," she said. "Isn't it a peach?"

Big Otto was her new beau, a photographer from Stockholm. I told Mary that I thought Otto was a peach but the love seat, which was covered with a chartreuse and black, fifties, geometric pattern, was very Eisenhower.

I sit down on the love seat and take a sip of coffee. Mary comes and sits besides me.

"Just got a letter from my little brother Nik in London,” she says. “He's coming to visit in ten days. Poor bloke needs a change of pace. His girl Dorrit is screwing his boss. Nik’s acting like a lovesick fool, chasing after her and all of that. I wish he'd meet a nice American girl while he's here."

I knew immediately what she was getting at.

"As long as he's better looking than you," I said. "Actually he's quite good looking, looks like a young Sean Connery," she replied.

"No need for the hard sell," I tell her, "I'll do what I can. I’m all for improving Anglo-American relations. I'm giving a poetry reading at the Right Bank two weeks from Saturday. Why not bring him?"

“Great," she says.

It's a gray, rainy day but I can still make out the shape of the Statue of Liberty through Mary’s window. I tell Mary I'd like to stay sitting on her love seat all day, drinking coffee and looking at the Statue but I must get back to work so I go downstairs.

A week later Mary phones, tells me Nik has arrived. On the night of the reading, they plan to go to Thai Cafe for dinner and then they'll meet me at the Right Bank.

I spend the week rehearsing and by the night of the reading I am so well prepared that I

She wears her faux leopardskin mini-skirt and a low cut, pink leotard over her wonder bra to create such cleavage as she can to look sultry and alluring

don’t feel my usual, overwhelming anxiety.  I make up with special care and wear my faux leopardskin mini-skirt and a low cut, pink leotard over my wonder bra to create such cleavage as I can. I want to look sultry and alluring. When I get there, the place is jammed. At the bar Danny, who designs leather underwear, is talking to Ursula who makes sculptures from dried seaweed. They smile and wave. Mary is standing right behind them with a tall, handsome guy with killer blue eyes. I grin hello at Danny and Ursula, move past them down the bar.

"You look so smashing, Luv," Mary says, "and this is my baby brother, Nik."

I smile, stick my chest out, put out my hand.

"Pleased to meet you," I say.

He looks away from me into the crowd. After a few moments Nik takes my hand but he is still looking away. I wonder if he is having an out of  body experience.

"Hi," he finally says and quickly drops my hand. I excuse myself, go down to the far end of the bar where Kerry, the owner of the club, asks what I'd like to drink. I order a double Chivas, down it in a gulp.

Kerry goes to the mike set up in the back of the room, announces me. Everyone claps and I begin. When I recite my Vagina Blessing poem and reach the line about the "cranberry clitoris and it's crooning valentine," people cheer, stamp their feet and whistle. Nik, I notice is frowning. I blow kisses out into the crowd and take my bow to very loud applause. I go to the bar, collect another complimentary drink, then I find Mary and Nik at the back of the room..

"Super reading," Mary says, “You were fab.”

I thank her. I ask Nik what he thought. This time he looks me right in the eye.

"Kind of like an anatomy lesson," he answers, still frowning. Then he turns to Mary. "Let's get out of here," he says, "too much noise." He heads for the door.

"I'll call you," Mary says and hurries after him.

When Mary phones the next day I say, "Guess I didn't make too good an impression on Nik."

"You're perfectly right,” she agrees, “he thinks you look like a trollop and that your work is obscene."

“ I was trying to look sexy,” I say, “and my work is designed to be shocking and provocative.”

"I know, I love your writing," she says, "but Nik's a conservative bloke, he thinks like Margaret Thatcher.”

I can’t stand being categorized and dismissed.

“I'd like another crack at Nik,” I tell Mary.

“ Well then, drop in tomorrow afternoon while I’m at my  akido lesson and surprise him,” she says.

"Good idea," I tell her, "I'll pretend I've come to borrow a book."

The next day I don’t put on much make up since Nik would not appreciate a slutty look. He

She rubs sandalwood oil behind her ears, between her breasts, inside her thighs and slips two condoms in the pocket of her jeans skirt

seems not to yet know all sluts are holy. I will have to teach him. I rub sandalwood oil behind my ears, between my breasts, inside my thighs. I slip two condoms in the pocket of my jeans skirt and go downstairs. I knock at the door. When Nik opens it, he looks at me like I’m a bug but I grin right up at him.          

"Mary's not in," he says and attempts to shut the door in my face but I am too quick. I already have one foot over the threshold. "But she was expecting me," I tell him. "I need to borrow her Lives of the French Impressionists, I'm writing an article on Toulouse Lautrec. I have a deadline.  Can I please come in? I know just where she keeps it."

"Uh, er, well, o.k., "he says and stands back.

I rush inside. He closes the door behind me, goes to sit on the sofa and picks up the newspaper that was resting there. He seats himself, settles in and starts to read. I stand in front of the bookshelves, scanning the titles as I consider my next move. Then I spy, nesting between Orlando and A Farewell to Arms, inspiration in the form of The Story of O. I pull it down from the shelf. She who hesitates is lost I tell myself. Boldly, I cross the room and sit beside Nik on the love seat.

"Did you ever read this," I say brightly as I open the book at random and plunge right in;

"She began to cry out when O., baring the lobes hemmed with pale hair, slowly began to bite the crest of flesh at the point between her thighs where the dainty supple lips joined. "

"Does that excite you, Nik," I asked, " does that turn you on, a woman doing it with another?" 

He put down the newspaper. He was blushing, his fine complexion suffused with red.                            

"Look here," he said in a sharp tone, "you can see I'm reading, why are you trying to rile me?"

At least, finally, I had his attention.

"Mary is such a good friend of mine," I said. "I'd just like to get to know you better."

My denim skirt is very short and I was not wearing panties or tights. I shifted my position, spreading my legs wide, hoping he would catch a whiff of my petunia. If he did, it did not entice him for he said, "I don't like cheeky girls and that rubbish you write, it's disgusting."

I was not to be deterred. I put my hand on his knee and moved in for the kill.

"How would you like to read your newspaper while I suck your cock," I asked sweetly.

He almost yells at me, he is so upset, "Are you crazy?"

"O. k., o.k " I say as calm as I can be, "So, then look at the Statue of Liberty while I suck it."

This time he does yell, "You are crazy!"

Sure, I thought, crazy as Mae West, and I moved my hand off his knee and pressed down on the heartening bulge between his legs. I leaned in towards him, grinding my tits into his arm.

"Oh come on," I said, "tell the truth, wouldn't you like to get blown by a real American girl?"

His mouth fell open wide, but no words came out. I took his silence for assent as I quickly unsnapped and unzipped his jeans.

"Let me see it, please," I pleaded. "I bet it's a beauty." I put my hands inside the fly of his boxers and pulled out his cock. Despite his disdain for me, it was already big, stiff and throbbing. Nik’s cock was long, like the cock of a horse, purple, veiny and, happy surprise, he was uncut; the cute, wee head peering out at me beneath its hood of flesh.

I was eager to taste him and quickly licked that sweet and tender head north to south. It swelled, emerging out of the foreskin to do a little dance in my mouth. I wished Mary could see us, I was sure she would find our little tableau exciting.  As Nik’s cock grew even larger, filling my mouth, I felt my nipples harden and my crotch become wet and slippery with the elixirs of love. I kept sucking him from the base up to the top, at first slowly but then faster and faster. He was motionless, trying to resist but soon his hips buckled and he started thrusting into my mouth. I kept swallowing, sucking him in. I felt him swell even more, pulse, quiver, as if about to shoot but I had other plans.

I pulled my mouth off him, gave a lick to his meaty balls.

"I have a condom in my pocket, time to use it," I told him.

His head rolled back on his neck, he was overcome, his face, glowing, radiant with pleasure. He actually breathed out a yes.

I pulled his jeans down around his ankles, trapping him, then I took the condom from my pocket. I tore it out of the pouch, slid it on him. Quicker than you can say Emma Lazarus, I hopped astride. He could not move much except to push his hips up. He was my pussy prisoner. As I was riding him, I could see Lady Liberty clearly out the window. She seemed to be waving her torch at me like a conductor with a baton. I put two fingers in my mouth to wet them and then reached around to his ass. His asshole was sleek with hair, sweaty, a little pussy. I fucked him hard there with my fingers, all the while sliding up and down his cock. My hot juices soaked us both as my excitement spilled over the top. Just as I was coming, he erupted into me.

Crying out," oh, oh, oh," he shot such a heavy load he must have carried it all the way from England. I stayed on him until he softened and then I slid off. He put his arm out along the back of the couch and I nestled in against him.

"Do you like me a little better now," I wanted to know. He did not answer but he was smiling at last.

"Welcome to America,” I said.  ##

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