Death in Brunswick Page 8

  He sat up in pain; his wrist was caught in the waistband of her stretch jeans and the studded belt raked his stomach.

  ‘Hang on,’ she said smiling and stood up, unfastened the belt, unzipped her jeans and started to pull the T-shirt over her head. His eye caught the photograph of her father.

  ‘Hey, Sophie, shouldn’t we…’

  ‘It’s all right. No one’ll be here for hours.’

  She dropped the T-shirt and unclipped her bra. Her breasts were very large but shapely; despite her youth they dropped a little and had light stretch marks, and they swayed a little with her movements. Her nipples were a delicious pinky-brown. Carl was overwhelmed.

  Jesus—like…octopus heads! His desire faded—he sat helpless.

  She sat down and unbuttoned his shirt, pushing her body against him.

  ‘Gee, you’re thin, I’m so overweight, I’ll have to start going to the gym.’

  ‘No, no,’ distractedly kissing her.

  She pulled him down; he felt smoothed by warm Greek flesh. I’ll have to try—she really wants to. Sophie was breathing heavily in his ear.

  He stuck his hand awkwardly into her crotch and rubbed her through her jeans. She lifted her hips and opened her legs. He pulled at her jeans ineffectually—they were so tight. Kicking off her sneakers, she slipped them down, raising her buttocks from the couch. He looked down—she wore dark blue cotton panties reaching to her waist. He was a little disappointed, expecting something more exotic. He attempted to draw them down but she caught his wrist.

  ‘Don’t look!’

  She grabbed the rug hanging on the back of the couch and pulled it over them both. He felt for her groin again—she was removing her pants. His hand encountered a dense mass of springing hair. He pushed back the rug; curling black tendrils reached toward her navel, and strong stubble showed where she had shaved her thighs.

  Suddenly he was unbearably excited, it was so black, so thick. She crossed her legs and looked away.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s awful! I can’t wear a bikini—don’t look!’

  ‘No, no, Sophie, it’s beautiful, honest! Oh Jesus!’

  He ran his fingers down the crisp curls and touched the soft moist outer lips.

  ‘Oh Jesus and Mary!’ he groaned, lost, and opened his fly. His erection was more than satisfactory.

  He guided her hand. She encircled his cock with two fingers and caressed him gently. His fingers glided up the wetness and found a strong womanly bud; she moved her hips urgently.

  All his fear was gone, he wanted desperately to fuck her and yet he could have lain like this forever with her hand on his cock. Usually, caught between impending impotence and premature ejaculation, he made his sexual encounters as short as possible, but this was so different.

  He explored her wet vulva, slipping two fingers into her vagina. It felt surprisingly big—how he wanted to get in there! Carl, who was usually repelled by the normal human smells, inhaled her strong moist odour with delight.

  Like…like sea shells.

  ‘Oh Sophie!’

  She smiled slightly, her eyes closed, and put his cock between her legs.

  He thrust forward but there was no room for movement on the narrow couch. Shit!

  ‘Wait, get up.’ She slipped away. ‘Gome on, get off.’

  He got up, shielding his rampant penis with his hands, his jeans round his ankles.

  What is she doing?

  She leant over and pulled the bottom of the couch forward. It slid out, the back dropping, and made a bed. As she bent he saw with deep pleasure the thick black hair that sprung between her round buttocks.

  ‘Come on then!’ she said, and he sat down, a little uncertain. She pushed him back and sat astride his groin, taking his cock and sliding it expertly between her legs—it went in without hesitation.

  She leaned forward and started to move her hips vigorously. She glued her mouth to his—her great breasts spread warm and soft on his narrow chest.

  He felt pinned like a butterfly. He tried to move his arms. Shit! I’ve still got my shirt on!

  He struggled out of it, the plastic cold on his back. Sophie slid her legs back and lay full length on him, her hips pumping.

  ‘Oh! Oh!’ she panted in his ear, ‘Baby! Baby!’

  Too soon the hot, delicious sensation rose from the base of his cock. Oh no! Not yet!

  Just then a rib in the couch caught him painfully in the back. The shock steadied him and she heaved on, biting his neck with her white teeth, her pubic bone grinding into his. Looking over her olive shoulder he caught a sad icon gaze. Jesus! Like doing it in church!

  Bemused, his hand fluttered over her bum; he felt the coarse hair on the back of her thighs—it was enough.

  He came with a low cry: ‘Jesus! And Mary! Oh God.’

  She pumped her hips a few more times, sighed deeply and rolled off.

  He turned toward her, his cock leaking a little come onto the plastic.

  ‘Did you?…You didn’t, did you?’

  ‘No, nearly but, don’t worry, it was really nice.’

  She lay with her big thighs apart, her breast gently rising and falling. He could hardly get his breath:

  ‘Oh, Sophie, I really loved it.’

  She kissed him quickly and got up, wrapping the rug around her.

  ‘You want some more coffee?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  She left the room and he heard a door close, the flushing of a toilet and running water.

  What about some ouzo? He stretched luxuriously. No, I can’t be bothered getting up. That was really…wonderful! He felt as if he had never done it before. I’ve always fucked such boyish women. He thought of his wife’s spare figure, her sapphic tastes; he remembered the slim, small-buttocked girls of his youth. Sophie’s so …so luscious, like one of those Italian movie stars in the fifties, like Gina…what was her name? or Anna…something…Pity she didn’t…never mind, next time.

  He rubbed his cock reflectively; it stiffened somewhat. Delighted at his potency he sniffed his fingers, inhaling Sophie’s rich odour mixed with the chestnut tang of his come. Jesus, I could do it again, now!

  Sophie came back carrying a glass of water.

  ‘Got a smoke, Carl?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, in my jacket.’

  They shared a cigarette in silence.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

  ‘After four; I suppose I better go soon. What time do you start tonight, Soph?’

  ‘’Bout six thirty; I have to go home and change into my uniform.’

  ‘You going to wear that tonight! Wow! Come down and see me, won’t you? You can help me carry the rice again!’

  ‘You’re a dirty old man, like the rest of them there,’ she said smiling. ‘That suck Laurie was chasing me round with his thing hanging out, what there is of it.’

  ‘Eh! That bastard! That’s…that’s sexual harassment.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I used to go round with him, sort of.’

  ‘Laurie! Ah, Jesus, Sophie!’

  ‘Not for very long but.’

  He took the glass of water from her hand and set it on the floor, pulling her down. She lay with him, her head on his shoulder. He smelt the biscuity odour of her hair.

  ‘You don’t still think I’m a…you know, what you said…a poof.’

  ‘No, of course not, that was Laurie anyway. He goes…the other day, he goes: “That Carl’s a cat”, a poof you know, “and I’m gonna snot him one day!”’

  ‘Jesus! Charming; the sooner I get out of that place the better, and you too.’

  ‘It’s not so bad, there’s not many jobs round for girls, and I get plenty of tips and that.’

  ‘I bet you do, just feel that.’

  He put her hand on his hard cock. She wanked him absently, saying, ‘Yeah, maybe you better leave, it is pretty heavy there—you know Mustafa? They really hurt him the other night.’

  ‘Yeah, but what’s…why?…oh forget it!
I am leaving.’

  He turned towards her and kissed her nipples.

  ‘You got such lovely boobs.’

  ‘Come on! No look, they’re really droopy, I’m just too fat, don’t look at me!’

  She pulled the rug over her. He pulled it away.

  ‘No, Sophie, you’re lovely, really! Honest!’

  He bent over her and kissed her round stomach and continued downward into the thick hair.

  ‘No! Don’t!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s not hygienic.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘No, I don’t like it.’

  Carl was surprised: oral sex was an invariable ritual with all the women he had had.

  ‘OK.’

  He hugged her and put his cock between her thighs and let it rest there.

  ‘What’s your second name?’ he asked.

  ‘Papafogos, what’s yours?’

  ‘Fitzgerald.’

  ‘What kind of name is that? You’re not Australian, are you, Carl?’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ he said, obscurely offended.

  ‘You don’t talk like a skippy but.’

  ‘A skippy! What’s that?’

  ‘That’s an ocker, you know?’

  ‘Oh right, yeah, I am though.’

  This settled, he stroked her back and her ample buttocks. Slipping his finger between them he tickled her anus. She pushed him away and sat up with a jerk.

  ‘Just get away, Carl!’

  ‘Gee, Sophie, what did I do?’

  ‘You know, you’re just like Greek guys, I thought you was different.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He looked at her in bewilderment; she was gathering her clothes.

  ‘Sophie, please!’

  ‘Helen’s husband, Nick,’ she said, looking away, ‘he gets drunk and he always wants to put his thing in there, and I won’t.’

  ‘Ah, Soph, come on—I never…’ He took her arms. ‘Sophie, listen, I really, really like you.’

  But he had to laugh.

  ‘What are you laughing at, Carl, just get stuffed!’

  He pulled her back on the couch.

  ‘Ah, Sophie, calm down!’

  She relaxed against him.

  ‘Do you really like me?’

  ‘Yeah, I sure do.’

  He hugged her as tightly as he could. He slipped his hand between her legs.

  ‘Come on, Soph, we haven’t got much time.’

  She sighed and held his penis again.

  They lay facing each other and he pushed slowly into her. She moved with him. He gazed over her shoulder, his mind a blank as the inexorable rhythm built up. It seemed to go on for ages. She clutched his back, breathing harshly again.

  ‘Baby! Please, baby!’

  This time more urgently. He went on and on. Her vagina was looser and the pleasure not so sharp for him. She shook her head, her hair flying in his face, and kissed him clumsily. She hooked one leg round his back—he felt the heavy muscle in her thigh convulse—her cunt seemed to open and close like a great flower and he came with a slow easy pulse.

  He tried to break away but she pulled him to her. Her body was wet and her breast and belly clung to him.

  ‘You did that time, didn’t you?’

  ‘Mmm…yeah, I sure did.’

  He felt a stupid pride; he wanted to shout from the windows:

  ‘I made Sophie come!’

  He lay in contentment. I feel funny—happy! He tried to think of something to worry about—his mother—his job—but nothing happened.

  Sophie shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘I got to go to the toilet and that, I’m not on the pill, it makes my boobs ache.’

  ‘Oh right, OK, just wait a bit.’

  He stroked her belly and thighs; they were sticky.

  ‘No, Carl, I got to go. I had a baby before, you know.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, what?…what happened?’

  ‘I told you, I got in trouble at school.’

  ‘Oh right, yeah.’

  ‘I had it and Dad made me adopt it. Now he thinks I’m a slut; he’d kill me if it happened again.’

  ‘Christ, Sophie! This is Australia.’

  ‘Yeah, but Dad doesn’t know that, he thinks it’s Cyprus and that. The other day he goes, he turns around and he goes, “Sophie, you get in trouble again and make your mother ashamed and I’ll kill you”.’

  ‘Bloody old prick! Never mind, Soph, I’ll look after you.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, but I still have to go.’

  She left the room.

  Poor Soph. I’d like to…to…He didn’t know what. What if she gets pregnant? Well, she could get an abortion, for Christ’s sake. Anyway, she knows what to do. He heard running water again and the toilet flush. He lay back and smoked a cigarette.

  The icons gazed down on him with approval. He raised a finger to Sophie’s father; the old peasant looked back with impotent rage.

  Bloody Greeks! I’ll leave that place tonight, bugger it, and I’ll get a proper job with lots of money and I’ll stop drinking so much and taking stoppers and that and…I can’t wait for Mother to snuff it, I must make some money, then I could…I could take Sophie out, yeah.

  He sighed and stretched himself; he could smell his sweat. Shit, I need a shower.

  Sophie came back. She had a short towel wound tightly round above her breasts. She stooped and picked up her clothes, her bottom appearing distractingly. He reached for her.

  ‘Hey, come on, Carl, it’s getting late.’

  Her body was damp and cool. She stroked his neck and pushed him away, repeating,

  ‘It’s getting late, you better get dressed, I got to clean up.’

  ‘Shit, why? I don’t give a fuck if I’m late, bugger them! Come here!’

  ‘No, Carl—come on, Con’ll be back soon and if he sees you he’ll go, “I’ll tell Uncle George,” and I’ll have to pay him more.’

  ‘Little bugger! Jesus!’

  He got up unwillingly, pulling his jeans up. He noticed with surprise that he still had his shoes on. Christ! That’s a bit off.

  ‘Um, Sophie, I hope you don’t think that…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, that I got you here just for…you know… sex. ’Cause I really like you and that.’

  ‘Well, didn’t you?’ She was laughing. ‘Anyway I got you here, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  ‘Go on, love. I’ll see you tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, OK.’

  He put his shirt on. Jesus! I do stink—still I’m only going to work. He picked up his jacket. As he did so he noticed a silent sticky pool on the green plastic; while Sophie was walking to the door he wiped it up quickly with his scarf.

  She waited by the door.

  ‘OK, Soph, see you later.’

  He kissed her and she tucked his shirt in at the back.

  ‘Listen, you’ll bring me down a drink tonight, won’t you, Soph, please.’

  ‘Yeah, if I can, but we’re going to be real busy.’

  ‘Well, OK, then.’

  ‘Go on.’

  She gave him a little push out the door and closed it.

  He remembered the neighbours and looked around carefully before running down the stairs. As he reached the street he saw that the weather had changed, the sky was grey and a cold wind blew from the west. He put on his jacket, shivering.

  *

  Now, where the fuck am I? He started up the street. A gang of boys were skylarking on the corner; he hesitated and made to cross the road. No, fuck ’em. He marched on and through them, turning up the collar of his leather jacket.

  Reaching Dawson Street he turned right. He could see the enormous white pile of the town hall in the distance. As he walked along he noticed a tall, blonde, defeated-looking woman pushing a pram on the other side of the road. She looks like Prue. Fuck her—she’ll get no money out of me.

  But what about his daughter? He strained to remember what
she looked like; he had a vague impression of white-blonde hair and pretty hazel eyes. He remembered the blue denim overalls she had worn when his wife took her for the last time.

  Poor little bugger—he was flooded with easy pity. I suppose she needs money. I must get a better job. I didn’t treat her…no, it was that fucking Prue’s fault—it was! If me and…and someone like Sophie had a kid, I’d be different, I’d help and everything—I’d look after it.

  A little shocked at the direction his thoughts were taking, he shook himself and hurried on in the chill wind.

  Take it easy! Jesus, I only had a stray screw! Yeah, but it was so good—I was good, she really liked it—I made Sophie come!

  He did a little soft-shoe on the pavement. Then he looked around self-consciously and looking up at the town hall clock stepped out soberly. Five fifteen. Late again—stiff shit! He turned into Basilisk Street and walked toward the club feeling for his keys.

  Yanni’s souped-up panel van was parked by the kerb, squatting like a black toad, flickering red flames painted down the side. A line of new posters flapped in the wind: ‘The Divinyls with Chrissie Amphlett.’ He saw a picture of a tall blonde girl, her hair tossing wildly. She wore a gym slip and lace stockings, her garters showing on her slim legs.

  Ah! Now I get Sophie’s uniform. Silly buggers! What is this? A playboy club? They just better leave her alone.

  He unlocked the side door and walked down the passage past the row of iron gas bottles and into the kitchen. Shit! It was incredibly dirty and cluttered. There was rice and pasta shells all over the floor; crushed pots crowded the stove and the sink was piled with dirty dishes.

  Jesus, this is the fucking limit! He plunged through the kitchen and into the darkened club. Groping through the gloom, he ran up the stairs and passed the bar. He paused, breathing the stink of old cigarette smoke and stale booze, and glanced longingly at the bottles behind the counter, but a heavy steel grille was padlocked to the front.

  Yanni’s office was down a dingy passage, the door painted a streaky purple with a big sign pinned to it: ‘Keep Out, This Means You.’ A murmur of conversation punctuated with barking laughter came from inside.

  He knocked firmly.

  ‘Who the fuck is it?’

  ‘Carl.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘No—come on Yanni, I got to see you.’

  ‘Hang on.’

  After a minute the door opened. It was Laurie.