SECTION FOUR

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COLUMN 101, JANUARY 1, 2004
(Copyright 2004 The Blacklisted Journalist)

THE GREAT BARRYMORE

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

[Tsaurah Litzky is a poet and writer of fiction, non fiction and erotica. We call her America's queen of erotic literature. Susie Bright, editor of the yearly Best American Erotica books, calls her "Miss Dirty Stories." Tsaurah's work has appeared in Best American Erotica 95, 97, 99, 2001, 2002 and 2003. 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), Good Bye Beautiful Mother (Low Tech Press 2001) and Baby on the Water (Longshot, 2003). Formerly a columnist for the now defunct New York arts weekly Downtown, she now teaches erotic writing and literature at the New School University. ]

It was the summer of love. All over America, people, many of them young people, were celebrating the joys of sex. I, however was getting punished. I had just been fired from my job as junior counselor at Camp Towanda in Monticello New York.  I was caught in flagrante delecto with the horseback-riding counselor, Henry. We were in my bunk while my campers were off at archery instruction. I was sent home in disgrace to my family in Brooklyn. .  

Just a quickie," Henry said, 'the French letter in my wallet has your name on it. You know I can make you come in two minutes."

We had about fifteen seconds to go when the camp director, Mr. Kaufman, walked in the door. I was only seventeen. Henry could have been sent to jail for banging a minor but Henry was the only person at Camp Towanda who could saddle a horse. I was sacked instead. 

I packed my things into my steamer trunk to be sent down after me, then Mr. Kaufman drove me to the Greyhound bus station. I sat beside him in the passenger seat. He kept a stern expression on his face while he was driving but could not stop himself from glancing down at the plump, pink thighs revealed by my madras shorts.

 "I had such high hopes for you," he said as he marched me up to the ticket window. After he brought my ticket, he handed me a ten-dollar bill. 'take a taxi from the bus station," he said, "a girl like you is not safe on the subway."

The bus was nearly full but there were a couple of empty seats a few rows back from the driver. I took the one by the window. As we drove down through the Catskill hills in the early evening, I thought about what I would tell my mother. She had been so pleased her rebellious daughter was good enough to land a summer job. Also, she was constantly, fantasizing about my wedding to Morris Petchnick, the seventeen-year-old genius, already a sophomore at NYU. He lived down the block from us.  I could never tell my mother about Henry, a high school dropout who was Catholic besides and not even circumcised

Monroe, New York, Monroe New York," the bus driver announced as he pulled off the highway into a deserted gas station. A single passenger climbed aboard and the driver pulled the bus back onto the road. The new passenger paused by my seat. He was an old gent dressed all in white. His long hair was white too and worn Prince Valiant style down his back.

May I sit here?? he asked.

Immersed in my dilemma, I barely nodded my head. He sank down with a grateful sigh. No matter what I told my mother she would be very unhappy I had been fired. The thought of seeing her made me feel weak and nauseous, besides I was hungry. I hadn't eaten anything since my breakfast pancake at Camp Lokanda. My stomach started to growl like a hungry puppy.

My seatmate turned to me.

A hungry stomach has no ears, as Shakespeare told us," he said, "How about a hardboiled egg?  I always carry a few in my pocket."

I rejected his kind but strange offer.

Actually," I told him, "I don't like eggs."

I'm sorry I haven't a nice cutlet for you or perhaps a shepherd's pie," he answered.

I told him he sounded like an English teacher but when I asked him, he answered:  

 "Certainly not! But," he continued, 'the Bard of Avon is indeed my stock in trade. Do you know who you are talking with, my dear?? he asked.

No," I said.

You are speaking with the great Barrymore," he announced, "World renowned star of the stage and silver screen."

I was speaking to a kook but I decided to humor him. 

 "Oh yes, now I recognize you now," I said. " I saw you in that movie, The Man Who Came to Dinner, but you were in a wheelchair."

 'that was not me," he replied, 'that was my brother, the unfortunate Lionel. I am John, John Barrymore, foremost actor of my generation."

The foremost actor had seen better days.  His T-shirt was worn and stained, his chinos ripped at the knee. He was wearing no socks beneath his white moccasins and his ankles were dirty.

 "Pleased to meet you, Mr.Barrymore," I extended my hand.

You may call me John,? he said as he gripped my hand in his slender fingers, "but tell me, my dear, where are you going this lovely evening??

He was so nice. I just broke down and told him the whole story. When I got to the part about getting caught in my bunk with Henry, John said:

Maybe it's not misfortune but good fortune, my dear. This whole incident is impelling you forward into a greater destiny."

I told him how worried I was about seeing my mother, and that I could never tell her about Henry.

Nor should you, dear girl," he said, "Why distress the lovely lady, why remind her that her little chickadee is already making tentative forays from the nest??

He took a hardboiled egg out of his pants pocket and cracked it on top of the seat in front of us. He suggested I lie to my mother.

Just make up a story,? he said as he peeled the egg, "and buy her a little gift, something to show that you care."

He was right.  He put the eggshells in his pocket and offered the egg to me.

'thanks so much," I said as I accepted it.

The rest of the way back to the city he told me about his career. When we got to the Port Authority Bus Terminal, he insisted on carrying my backpack up the escalator to the main level. As he handed it back to me he said:

Good luck to you, dear girl, and remember, the truth a beautiful woman tells should always be written on the wind."

He bowed gracefully from the waist, turned, and walked off briskly in the direction of the Men's room.

At the Rexall's in the Port Authority, I brought my mother a $6.99 bottle of White Shoulders, her favorite cologne, then I took the subway home. I told her I had been fired for taking my campers on an unauthorized nature walk on which they all got poison ivy.

For once, she took my side.

'that's so unfair,? she said, uncapping the White Shoulders and taking a sniff. "You're such a considerate girl, so thoughtful. Camp Lokanda lost a good junior counselor, but Honey," she went on, "What's that rash on your neck? Oh, oh, you've got it too," she exclaimed, " See!"

She grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to the mirror in the kitchen. There was indeed a big red splotch on my neck. It was a hickey made by Henry that morning.

No, no Ma," I said, "it's a mosquito bite. I got it yesterday."

Through the years, the Great Barrymore has helped me out of other tricky situations. I think of him looking down on me benevolently from the stage of some tacky, second-rate theater in the sky. Just last week, he came back to guide me again.

I dropped my glass reading lamp on the floor, shattering it completely. I decided to go to Red Hook, to Danny's Decodorables on Colombia Street near the old docks for a new one. Danny always gives me a break because we both used to work at the flea market in the schoolyard on Columbus Avenue. 

I parked my car down the block from his shop in front of Golden Lotus Chicken, a poultry slaughterhouse run by a 300-pound Chinese lady. My eyes tearing, I dashed down the street through the overwhelming stench of blood and wet feathers. As I got closer to Danny's, I saw two figures sitting in overstuffed armchairs in the midst of the odd jumble of furniture outside the store. One of them was Danny in his beat-up brown derby hat.  Sitting in the other chair was Carlo Rizzo.

The last time I saw Carlo was ten years ago in Soho, with a Princess Di clone on his arm. He gave me a smile as they loped by but I couldn't smile back.

I met him in the flea market too. He worked as a picker for several big antique dealers. When I was setting up in the early mornings I noticed him prowling about. He was a powerful brute who moved gracefully through the stacked oriental rugs, assorted rocking chairs and motley brass coat racks like a panther in the wild.

The women who worked in the market were always smiling at him. Sometimes he showed up


Carlo called
her pussy
the holy grail


with a woman of his own, but always a different one. One morning he stopped by my costume jewelry stand. He said he was looking for a present for his teenage niece. He brought a pair of purple feather earrings and asked me out.      

It was bliss for two months. Carlo was so happy with me he called my pussy the Holy Grail. He even said he wanted to be true to me. One day I told him how old I was. He was shocked to learn I was thirteen years older then he was.  He had thought we were the same age.

'ten years from now, I won't want an aging wife, " he said. "I know myself. I know what turns me on. I'd only run around on you."

I told him he might not be alive ten years from now. I told him the women in my family were timeless beauties. I told him we were still stunning in our coffins, but I was beaten and I knew it.

For months after we broke up, I kept bouncing off the walls, misplacing my keys, dropping my make-up down the toilet. My friends said I should be thankful he was honest with me, forget him, move on. All I could think about was how happy I was when we were together and how his great tool fit into me like a key into a lock.

Now here he was, elegant as ever, not even a dozen feet away, intently looking me up and down.  

Miraculously, the great Barrymore reached his invisible hands down from the sky. He quickly pulled my arms behind my back and put his hands over mine. Together we took the shiny, silver band I always wore on the middle finger of my right hand off that finger and slid it firmly down the finger to the left, my wedding ring finger.  Suddenly, I was safe. I was protected from Carlo. I was married!

 "Well, well, hello, hello," Carlo said. Before I could reply, Danny piped up,

'this is Miss Dirty Stories, do you two know each other??

Know each other?? Carlo answered, "?You bet! I met her the same place I met you, Deco Dan."

Carlo addressed me directly, 'time has been so very kind to you," he said.

 'tell him he is still the same old Casanova, " the great Barrymore whispered in my ear, "and show him your wedding ring."

With my left hand I started picking some non-existent lint off my black coat, flashing my ring in Carlo's face.

You are still the same old Casanova, Carlo," I said.

I tried not to look directly at him. I didn't want to fall in love with his big, fleshy mouth again. 

'so, when are you going to put me in one of your stories?? Danny piped up.

I don't know," I said, still flashing my ring at Carlo, who was looking at me like I was a cannoli.  "Depends on what kind of deal you give me on a lamp."

I'll show you what I got," said Danny rising from the chair. I followed him as he lumbered ahead of me into his shop.  I picked a brass table lamp fitted with two round, milk-glass globes. I argued Danny down to thirty dollars from fifty although my heart wasn't in it. I was thinking of Carlo. I both wanted him to be there when I went back outside and I wanted him to be gone.

Carlo was still sitting in that chair. He uncrossed his legs slowly in front of me and I could make out the shape of his balls. I remembered how dark they were; purple and veiny like giant figs. 

 'that's a cool lamp," Carlo said, "You always had great taste," and he licked his lips, showing me the thick tongue that had once licked my clit for two hours straight. I clutched the lamp before me like a shield and didn't answer him. I thanked Danny for the bargain, then turned and ran back towards my car. 

Driving home down Colombia Street, I couldn't see the road ahead. All I could see was Carlo uncrossing his legs. I remembered a hot summer night when we were driving home from a Los Lobos concert in the Central Park in his new white BMW. We rode down Tenth Avenue. As we crossed 34th Street, he took one hand off the wheel. He grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch, wrapping my fingers around the big animal he had there. It quivered as I held it but I didn't let go as we drove on, passing shuttered auto repair shops and dark warehouses.

Below Thirtieth Street, the ladies of the evening were out, dressed like Birds of Paradise. Carlo slowed the car. He pulled over to the curb behind a yellow van with Jersey plates. Through the open car window, I could smell a pungent mix of spilled beer, garbage, piss and heavy perfumes. An enormous woman with a red Afro wearing a short pink dress got out of the van. She slammed the door and sauntered off.

Carlo rolled up his window, flipped on the air conditioning and leaned over me to roll my window up. Then he bit my ear, kissed my lips, my throat, the place where my neck and shoulder join. He lowered his head and sucked my nipple through the ribbed fabric of my tube top. He kept at it until my tiny tit was hard a penny. He knew how hot having my tit sucked made me. Then he lifted my fingers off him, unzipped his fly and pulled it out, a squirming living creature.

I'll give you a million dollars to blow me," he said,

You, I'll do for free," I told him. I gathered his fat cock tip up in my fingers like it was the bud of a flower. I bent my head down just in time to lick up the first, rich pearly drops of pre-cum. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took him in, my lips sliding down him, my tongue stretching out to tangle the hairy moss at the root. His cock tip tickled the back of my throat as I sucked; his sweet meat seemed to melt on my tongue.

Suddenly, I was wet again between my legs, so wet that I wondered if I was leaking through my clothes to leave a stain on the already grimy car seat. I clamped my legs tight shut, trying to lock the memory of Carlo back up deep inside me. This sudden motion caused me to involuntarily pull my car sharply to the right. The car behind me honked loudly.

 "Get a hold of yourself girl," the great Barrymore called down to me from up on high. I took several deep breaths, made myself sit up straight and drove carefully home.

For the next few days, I had to force myself to work on my memoir of my life in

New York in the seventies. Carlo kept creeping into my head.  I knew why just seeing him had such a strong effect on me even after so many years. Doing it with him was always easy, like a spontaneous song from the heart.  

I was sitting in front of my computer writing about my one-nighter with the very famous rock star. I was trying to visualize the double Prince Albert the rock icon had piercing his modest prick, but Carlo's big balls kept obscuring my sight, dancing like visions of sugarplums before my minds eye.  

I was so lonely and frustrated I just had to go lay down in bed. I thought about getting my dildo out and using it while fantasizing about doing it with Carlo, but I knew that would only make me want him more. I made a weak attempt to comfort myself by putting my hand inside my panties, and playing with my pubic hair. After a while, my stomach began to growl again, just as it had years ago on the Greyhound bus. 

 "Why is it I am always reminding you to feed yourself?  the great Barrymore chided me affectionately, from his great distance. "Go out and get some food. Go to the supermarket, buy some eggs."

The only food I had in the house was half an old onion and two packages of chocolate pudding. Barrymore was right again. 

I drove to my favorite Pathmark on Hamilton Avenue. Surrounded by junkyards and small factories, the giant, brightly lit supermarket sparkled like a vast temple of earthly delights, in the shadow of the BQE. Once inside I find a shiny silver cart. I decide to go for protein first and I bypass the fruit and vegetable section and head straight for the tuna fish aisle. 

I am reading the label of a Progresso Tuna in Olive Oil can, checking the carbohydrate count, when my cart is rammed from behind, sending it poking into my waist.  

I turn, planning to tell the clumsy oaf in back of me to get a drivers license, but it's Carlo. His cart is filled with gallons of water and packages of spaghetti; he was never much of a cook.

I've been following you," he says, "When I saw you glide past the fruit aisle, at first I thought I was dreaming."

I quickly throw the can of tuna I'm holding into my cart, clasp my hands behind me like a shy schoolgirl, and slide my ring off the middle finger of my left hand onto the wedding ring finger beside it.  

I'm sorry I rammed your cart," Carlo said, "I only meant to tap you.

He smiled down at me, flexing his velvet mouth. I grabbed the handle of my cart to steady myself.

What are you doing here?? I asked him, trying to keep my voice from trembling. He needed a shave badly. I always found his five o?clock shadow so very exciting. I instantly wanted him to rub the stubble on his cheeks up and down over my liquid pussy until his face was shiny and slick with my oils. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking, he used to be able to read my mind. If so, he didn't let on.  

I moved here five years ago," he said, " It was me who turned Danny on to the neighborhood."

Er, well a lot of people are moving down to Red Hook," I countered lamely,

I see you got married," he said, looking down at my hand. "Do you still live in the same place??

Yes," I answered, my voice a bit steadier.  

Congratulations then,? he said, " So what does your husband do?

Do," I said, "Do??  I repeated, my mind a sudden blank. Just then a couple of young guys walked by, on of them was wearing a Rolling Stones jacket.

 "He's a musician," I said.  

A musician," Carlo mused. "What instrument does he play??

I thought about the world famous jazz violinist I met last month who begged me to call him and then never returned my call.

He's a violinist, a famous jazz violinist," I heard myself saying, in a voice much deeper than my usual squeaky soprano, a voice more than a little reminiscent of the great Barrymore's   "He travels quite a bit, he's always touring. In fact, he's in Europe right now."

Carlo stepped closer, so close I could feel the hungry heat of his body though his clothes.

'so, he's on the road a lot, "Carlo said, "How often do you speak? Don't you get lonely??

I struggled vainly against my rampant desire for him.   

I know where you're going with that," I told Carlo, "and I don't see how it's any of your business. Besides, aren't I too old for you? I seem to remember you saying something like that."  

Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Carlo. "I've calmed down, that was ages ago."

Anyhow," I went on defiantly, "You're a fool to hit on a married woman."  

Maybe I'm not such a fool," said Carlo. "Why did you tell me your husband was away??  

I felt my face getting red. He was always such a clever one. I was not so very surprised to hear myself saying next:

Well, he has been away so much in the last year, I guess I am feeling kind of down."

'then," said Carlo quick as a flash, "Let me cheer you up."

I knew it was giving the devil another crack at me but I couldn't help myself. I looked up into Carlo's fiery eyes.  

O.k.," I said.

You won't be sorry,? he answered, reaching out, putting his big hand over mine. "I'll be discreet, I promise. Since your husband is away, can we go to your place?  I just brought three complete Fifties? living room sets. They're in my loft waiting for the dealers to pick them up. The loft is so crowded there's hardly space to breathe."

Of course, we couldn't go to my place where there was no sign of any husband about, not even a


The Great Barrymore told her to say she wouldn't feel comfortable doing it in the same bed


large dirty slipper. I tried to remember if it was William Blake who said folly is an endless maze. I looked over Carlo's shoulder, praying for some inspiration. Inspiration.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        The great Barrymore grinned at me from among the assorted  mustards across the aisle.

'tell him you wouldn't be comfortable in the same bed," he said. 

 "I wouldn't feel right in the same bed," I told Carlo. I wondered if my nose was growing longer and longer and pointy like Pinocchio's. Then, suddenly, I knew what to suggest .

I have a better idea,? I told him, "It's dark now. Let's go to Coney Island and do it under the boardwalk, like teenagers or homeless people."

'that's a great idea," Carlo agreed, 'so sexy, what imagination. I'll pick up some condoms right here in the pharmacy."  I was rather heartened that he didn't always carry a supply with him but then again maybe he was temporarily out.  

We put our groceries in the trunk of Carlo's car and left my car in the parking lot.

I'll drive you back to your car later," Carlo said, I was surprised to find he was still driving that same BMW with a few dents added. "Like you, these cars improve with age," he said, chuckling.

He briefly turned his head and winked at me as he drove up the ramp to the BQE.

You can give it a rest now," I told him. 

We got off at the Surf Avenue Exit and parked on 17th street. The summer concessions were closed for the season.

I have a blanket in the trunk," said Carlo.

He draped it around his neck and we held hands as we walked past a shuttered Sammy's Skee-Ball, a Bean the Freak and P.T. Barnum Jr.'s Tunnel of Love. 

We climbed the ramp to the Boardwalk. The yellow moon floated high above us in the clear, night sky like a backwards question mark. No other people were around and the only sounds we heard were the gulls feeding on the beach. We went down the wooden stairs to the sand, then turned in under the boardwalk. Long, thin stripes of light from the boardwalk lamps fell though the planks, illuminating our would-be love nest. 

Carlo let the blanket drop and grabbed me up in his arms. I was wearing a long denim skirt that was loose enough for me easily loop my legs up around his waist. His jacket was open, my panties already damp with wanting. I hoped that through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, he could feel the eager kiss of my moist nether lips on his belly. I wanted him to feel my cunt opening, inviting him.  He must have got the message because he used one hand to creep into the crotch of my panties and play inside my slit, teasing me with me with his experienced fingers until I was frantic with desire. I couldn't stop myself from moving onto his fingers, trying to catch them and pull them pull them even deeper inside me. I looked up to find him smiling down on me.

I have something else all ready for you, little snapper," Carlo said. 

He lifted me up and stood me back down on the sand. He leaned against a nearby pole, unzipped his jeans. He never wore any underwear, and the big beast jumped out. It was already stiff and more ferocious then I remembered, all the better to conquer me.  Carlo got a condom packet out of his jacket pocket and ripped it open, took the condom out. Before he could put it on, I remembered something I had read about in Penthouse magazine.

 "Let me do that for you," I said.

'sure,? said Carlo and he handed it to me. I made a big O out of my lips and placed it inside. I liked the way the latex smelled, like a combination of pencil erasers and Elmer's Glue.  I knelt in front of Carlo, unrolling the condom onto him with my lips. He was so thick I could only unroll it halfway down. I finished the job with my fingers while I licked his balls then I squeezed them both into my mouth, pressing and sucking his satin scrotum. It swelled so much I could barely contain his balls in my mouth so I moved my attention to his silky perineum. I licked my way up to his back hole, to the hungry little mouth I knew I would find there. I could hear him panting above me. He always liked this. When I first speared him there with my tongue, he had screamed with pleasure. I wanted to try this again but I didn't get a chance.

He quickly leaned down, reached under my arms and pulled me up, up high above his waist. He used his pointy cock to pull my panties aside and then he steam-rolled right into me.  I swallowed him up inside me as my legs encircled his waist again. I slipped my tongue into my mouth while he kissed me. Kissing and fucking slowly, we made long squish, squish sounds.  After a while, we started to move faster and faster, each time he moved up into me his balls spanked my bottom, slap, slap, slap. I was grateful for this little spanking, it excited me even more, I knew I deserved it. I was such a bad girl; a lying, bad, bad girl. Soon our bodies were flying together through time and space. We came together like we always did at the same moment. . Our sighs of pleasure floated up like dreams, carried away on the crisp, salt air.

We never even used the blanket when we were under the boardwalk, but walking back to the car, Carlo folded it in two and made a cape of it. The evening had gotten colder, and he held it around my shoulders, his long arm coiled around me like a giant tentacle. I wanted to ask him to never leave me. I wanted to invite him to live with me forever in an octopus garden by the sea.

 'shush, shush, loose lips sink ships," the great Barrymore counseled me, his familiar voice floating down in a shower of stars. 'shush, shush, " he repeated. I bit my lips, and managed to keep silent. I wondered if Barrymore had seen everything we did under out Boardwalk canopy. I wondered if he could still get hard.

 "I have to tell you, you're better then ever," Carlo said. "Listen, I don't want to queer what you have going on. I'm no home wrecker."

I wanted to tell him that a heartbreaker was what he was; yet I still managed to keep silent. 

But, if you want to see me sometime," he continued, "whenever, wherever, at any hour of the day or night, just let me know. Like I said, I can be very discreet."

When we were back sitting in the car, he opened the glove compartment, rummaging through the clutter inside, looking for something. I couldn't help but see a fine, black leather, ladies dress glove and a powder compact. It was an Ordeal compact, my brand, but certainly, it wasn't my compact. Finally, Carlo found what he was looking for, a thin small brass case. He took out a white business card and handed it tome.

Call me any time," he murmured, tenderly kissing the side of my mouth.

I thought about how quickly and easily he had moved in on me in the Pathmark. I suspected he hadn't calmed down all that much but maybe my new faux marital status gave me the upper hand. I dropped Carlos? card into the pocket of my skirt.

The great Barrymore whispered in my ear. 

Don't loose that card," he said.  ##

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