The Homeless Millionaire

It was Tracy. Who else?

I wanted to reach out and grab her by the neck and kiss her until her eyes popped. But of course I didn't. I smiled without having to make an effort to smile. Then I got all civilized and courteous, inviting her inside, asking about her well-being, her mood, her health, and whether she'd like something to drink or eat.

She wanted a drink. Luckily, there was almost a full bottle of white wine left over, and I'd put it in the fridge. I poured her a glass and put a dish of plums in front of her, Michel and Roch had brought some but we had hardly touched them, we had been too busy pouring booze down our throats. I made a coffee for myself; she didn't want any. She knocked back her wine in record time, I wanted to pour her another but she asked if I had a beer. Sure, I had beer, I had everything she needed, and if not I was ready to run ten miles to get it for her.

I was also ready to f.u.c.k her right there and then, so ready that it required a major effort for me to stay in my seat and sip coffee and throw encouraging, smiling glances at her. She didn't respond, she drank her beer and lit a cigarette before I managed to offer her a light. So I lit a cigarette myself, and for quite a while we just sat silent at the kitchen table, smoking and drinking. It was a nice way to spend time but I wanted a little more. I tried to think of something good to say, good being something that would be the first step to ending up in bed together. I wanted to f.u.c.k her so badly I could feel myself going stupid. Eventually she said:

"I'm sorry I've made you go to all this trouble. I mean waking you up and everything. Things got to a head and I just couldn't stay there any longer. He agreed, and gave me a lift. Had I stayed there any longer, by morning one of us would have been dead. Or something."

She fell silent after that and I stayed silent too, because when she talked about that guy, that f.u.c.k.i.n.g 'uncle', I wanted to slit throats and jump up and down on the corpses. She looked at me and I think she had an idea of what was going on in my head, because she smiled at me in a way that implied secret knowledge. She said:

"You're sweet for taking me in. I'm really grateful. I had no place to go."

So I was sweet: that was great. I was sweet because she had nowhere else to go, which wasn't so great. I wanted to say something witty and insightful, something that would give me an advantage. Instead, I said:

"I've prepared a room for you. Clean sheets and everything. If you need anything, just tell me. Even if it's the middle of the night. You can wake me up, it's okay."

She laughed, and it was a real laugh, not one of those fake giggles people use to bridge an awkward pause. She looked at me and there was genuine warmth in her eyes. She said:

"You're so nice to me. It's really a long time since someone was just plain nice to me. Every time people are nice to me, it's because they want something."

I could relate to that in more ways than one. I wanted to f.u.c.k her so badly I almost felt juice coming out of my ears. I said:

"Well, I want you. I guess you're not a thing, you're a person. Does that make it okay?"

It was the wrong thing to say. I could see it made her think about that f.u.c.k.i.n.g uncle guy, okay, let's face it, the guy that had been f.u.c.k.i.n.g her in the house across the lake. She didn't answer me for a long time. She smoked and drank her beer and looked at the table in a way that told me she preferred tables to other people just then. I finished my beer very quickly just to have an excuse to ask her if she wanted another one, too. She said okay and finished it really quickly, I took maybe three sips of mine while she drank her whole bottle. I almost felt as if I were working back at that f.u.c.k.i.n.g bar. So I said:

"You want another beer?"

"No, thanks. I'd like to sleep a little. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. There's a bed all ready for you. Let me show you to your room." I sprang to my feet, painfully aware that I'd just told her a double lie. There were a couple of beds ready for her, counting mine, and that actually was the preferred location for her body. And I minded a hell of a lot that she wanted to sleep. I didn't want her to sleep, I wanted her to f.u.c.k me every which way. I wanted to f.u.c.k her until she screamed that she loved me in the middle of an o.r.g.a.s.m. I said:

"Come on, Tracy. You need to rest. So do I, really. Hey, it's nearly four a-m. It's time to sleep, as recommended by doctors you can trust."

She grinned at me. She said:

"You're going to be my doctor?"

I almost came in my pants when she said that. I said:

"Yeah, maybe. If you can afford the fee."

That made her laugh, and it was a sincere, throaty laugh. I didn't understand its significance until much later. She said:

"I can afford a lot. You'd be surprised to find out how much I can afford." Then she yawned, cancelling all the promise I'd heard in what she said.

"Show me the way to my bed," she said, and like a fool I escorted her to the door of her bedroom, and grinned and wished her good night without touching her once. Then I went to my room and tried to sleep. I was totally unsuccessful. I kept thinking about that guy, that bogus uncle. He wasn't an uncle. He was her lover. She was f.u.c.k.i.n.g an older man while staying at his cottage. I tried to tell myself it didn't mean anything. People f.u.c.k.e.d other people for a variety of reasons, including security, maybe predominantly for the security. I wasn't like that, but I knew that I was crazy. I'd been told that many, many times. Whatever, I still felt jealous like hell, and took a long time to fall asleep.

When I woke up, it was nearly noon. Tracy's presence in the house made me creep around like a f.u.c.k.i.n.g commando. It seemed she was still asleep, and I took a shower taking extra care not to splash around too much. I felt like cursing myself out loud when I looked at the mirror, but didn't because it might have woken her up. That's how f.u.c.k.e.d up I was. S.e.x.u.a.l d.e.s.i.r.e can make you insane in a blink of an eye.

I took a long time brushing my teeth, hoping she'd appreciate the flavor when we finally got to kiss. I shaved, and put some aftershave on my pubic hair as well as my face. One of the guys addicted to telling me their life stories when I worked in that bar - I guess it was all the smiling I did that provoked this - anyway, one of those guys told me girls went crazy when they got down to suck a c.o.c.k and smelled something nice instead of the standard musky odor. He didn't look like a guy who got his c.o.c.k s.u.c.k.e.d a lot. He looked like a guy who would get a boot up his a.s.s if he asked anyone to suck his c.o.c.k. But he looked like a guy who, sometime in an ancient era, was handsome enough to get his c.o.c.k s.u.c.k.e.d. What happened was that he'd gotten old and ugly and all he could do was dispense his little pearls of wisdom to people who would listen, like a bartender in a bar. You have absolutely no idea of the stuff a bartender hears until you actually work as a bartender in a bar. It can change your views on life and humanity as such.

Anyway, I had the presence of mind to prepare a couple of hamburger sandwiches for Tracy when she woke up. The things you're willing to do when you want to f.u.c.k someone! Maybe f.u.c.k.i.n.g is the only reason why the world keeps going round. Maybe f.u.c.k.i.n.g is the only thing that makes the world go round. No f.u.c.k.i.n.g means no life, and then who cares if then world still goes round, it might just as well go down the toilet and no one will care.

Tracy got up and made an appearance in the early afternoon. I was chain-smoking cigarettes out on the deck by that time, looking at the house across the water and willing the so-called uncle to appear just so I could shout a few curses at him. She was wearing one of those T-shirts that end just below the crotch. I had a hard time keeping myself from looking at her t.h.i.g.hs when I pranced around in the kitchen, serving her food, making her coffee, and generally doing the serve-your-customer stuff I had been doing in my part-time jobs and that I would do at that f.u.c.k.i.n.g job I'd start in a couple of weeks. F.u.c.k! I really wished someone would serve me, for a change.

She ate the hamburgers I'd prepared earlier, and a couple of fried eggs on top of that; it seemed that she was pretty hungry. While she was eating, I informed her that it was a nice day, as if she couldn't see that for herself in the window. She was smart, she quickly figured out that I was babbling just to fill the silence. She smiled this little smile that said, thank you for taking the effort to supply entertaining noise, and it shut me up. I drank coffee while she finished her breakfast. She made some slurping noises towards the end that indicated she was human after all, not a goddamn angel. I said:

"Would you like to smoke a joint?"

Man, that was a real ice breaker. I wished I'd said it earlier. She said:

"Right on!"

There was enough pot in the bag Michel had left to roll four joints, and I rolled them all while Tracy did her stuff in the bathroom. When she emerged I smelled perfume and it made me horny as hell. She was looking absolutely beautiful, I was ready to do anything just to get into her pants.

We went out on the deck - it was a warm day - and smoked a joint, then another, and another. We were giggling like retarded kids by the time we finished the third joint, any inane remark like 'look at those clouds' was enough to twist us in paroxysms of laughter. She was laughing when I kissed her. She kissed me back. I kept on kissing her, pressing her crotch against mine. It worked. Her kisses had a new ferocity and a moment later we were clawing at each others' bodies like there was no tomorrow.

We went to her bedroom, not mine - a sign? - and I really f.u.c.k.e.d the bejesus out of her. I came three times, and she came a couple of times at least, too. I could go on and on, I was ready to f.u.c.k her till the end of time, she told me to stop because she was sore. I believed her. I hadn't f.u.c.k.e.d anyone that hard in my entire life, until then. Christ! She had perfect b.r.e.a.s.ts, not too big - most guys go for big b.o.o.b.s and they're fools, big b.o.o.b.s drop way down when the brassiere is off, and I personally feel like I'm f.u.c.k.i.n.g a goddamn cow - she had perfectly shaped b.r.e.a.s.ts, I'd have eaten them if it wasn't for all those cultural limits and boundaries. I ate out her c.u.n.t like a starving man and made her come for the third time, and when I heard her cry out I was the happiest man on the entire planet. God, how I loved her then, I was ready to convert to any religion she wanted me to, I was hers, completely. She could cut my head off and as long as I still had my c.o.c.k inside her, it didn't really matter.

Our third consecutive f.u.c.k ended with us coming at the same time and there was no way anything could top that, that was it. We lay in her narrow bed clutching each other, both wet with sweat, and I felt so happy I felt as if I were floating, up in the air, completely weightless.

We got up just to smoke another joint, the last joint, and then we f.u.c.k.e.d again. Well, we didn't exactly f.u.c.k: she said she was sore, and s.u.c.k.e.d me off. When I looked down and saw her lips around my prick I felt I was king of the world. It just couldn't get any better than that. That was it. That was everything I'd ever lived for, the woman I d.e.s.i.r.ed s.u.c.k.i.n.g on my c.o.c.k. Nothing could possibly be better than that.

As you might guess, after all that I felt really sleepy, and so did she. Her bed was too narrow for us to sleep together. I had a double bed in my room, but felt awkward about asking her to move there: she was so tired. So I slunk out of her bed and into my room and blacked out the moment my head touched the pillow.