SECTION THREE

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COLUMN SEVENTY-TWO, JUNE 1, 2002
(Copyright 2002 Al Aronowitz)

HOWLING IN THE NIGHT

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. 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 and will be included in BAE 2002. 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 recently 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. ]

It was the summer that the women burned their bras in front of the big library on 42nd street and I was exploring what is was like to be a predator. I was tracking men, hunting them down for my own pleasure, experimenting with loving then and leaving them like the two-bit Romeos and Don Juans in the dime store novels my mother used to read in the evenings when my father was down at Schenley's Bar.

I was the wolverine, the night hunter. I wore my long, black hair straight down my back. I painted my lipstick on red and thick as lust, then I would slip into a slinky mini-dress and go out on the prowl.

My favorite hunting ground was St. Adrian's on Broadway and Bleeker. As soon as I got in the door I'd scout the bar for a man who was hot. If I saw one and the seat next to him was empty, I'd head over, sit down, cross my legs and let my dress ride up high on my thigh. I'd loudly order a tough, wild drink; a double green chartreuse neat or a triple shot of Cuervo Gold with lemon and salt, then I'd ask him for a cigarette. If the seats next to him were occupied, I d push right in and stand beside him.

I never brought anyone back to my place because they might want to stay over. I lied about my name; said it was Ruby, Rochelle, Rita or Rosa. When I went home with a man, as soon as we were finished, I'd rise from the bed or couch or floor. I'd pull on my clothes. By the time he'd yell out, "Wait, I want your phone number," or "Hey, where are you going?? I'd be opening the door. 'ta 'ta," or 'thanks it was great," I?d call back over my shoulder.

Then I'd go to my apartment, take a shower, put a clean piece of paper in my typewriter and write poems about Athena, Goddess of the Hunt or Lilith the ur-woman who came before Eve and had no shame. I had a job very suitable for a radical anarcho-feminist poet. I worked three nights a week as an exotic dancer at the Whiskey a Go-Go on Thirty-Eighth Street several blocks south of my apartment on Ninth Avenue.

One night I decided to go St Adrian's. I took a taxi downtown. As I was getting out of the cab the driver, who looked like Gurdieff with an orange turban, said, "Beware of what you wish for, you might just get it."

A glance down the bar did not reveal any exciting prospects. There was a teddy boy from Wales, who had invited me home with him two weeks ago. He had a small, red dick and he jabbed me with it relentlessly as if it was a staple gun. I faked a fast, big "O? and ran out of there. Now, he grinned widely and waved me over but I gave him a quarter smile and just moved past him down the bar. By the time I had settled on a seat, Fatso Louis, the bartender was waiting for me, "How's the job at the Whiskey?? he asked. "How about if I choreograph your next dance??

"I'm having too much fun being a baby doll, I don't need a new routine. If it's not broke, don't? fix it? I said, referring to my act. 'since I'm off tonight I thought I'd come down and watch you dance around the bar. I'll take a double Cuervo," I told him. I started to pull my wallet out of my purse. "Put your money away," Louis said, 'tonight, Isadora Duncan, you drink for free."

I watched myself watching myself in the mirror over the bar. I saw the little girl deep inside of me who was so thrilled at all the manifestations of the experiential world that she couldn't sleep at night because she was afraid she'd miss something. I saw a pretty young woman with a hungry darkness around her eyes. The lights above the mirror fell on the bottles of booze stacked below making the glass bottles sparkle with false promises of beauty everlasting and eternal life. The bar was filling up.

An older guy with a mustache took the barstool to my right. He ordered a Heinekens and pulled out a racing form. His hands were grimy and covered with dust. I would not be asking him for a cigarette. I felt a breeze like a little swirl of wind, and someone slid onto the seat on the other side of me

Suddenly the air around me had changed, it was sharper, it snapped and cracked with electricity. I smelled damp pine, mountain forests heavy with rain. My new neighbor was wearing wonderful cologne. I sipped my drink and forced


Did she find herself
sitting next
to a wolf-man?


myself to relax. I felt my ears concentrate for the sounds of his breathing. The excitement of the hunt made my mouth wet with saliva, my cunt lips moisten and swell. I pretended to be deep in thought as I counted from one hundred to one backwards.

Then, by lifting my head and turning it slightly to the right, I could take my first look at the prey sitting next to me. My neighbor was a wolf, a fine, strapping, big wolf with a salt and pepper pelt and large, elegant black tipped ears! He growled from deep within his throat, then he turned his magnificent head towards me and started to purr. He put his hairy paws out towards me in a gesture of entreaty.

"Don't be frightened? he said, "I never bite beautiful women. I can be very gentle."

Terrified, I turned my head away and fell back. Was I going crazy? My curiosity overcame my terror and I took another look at my neighbor. I saw an older man with a long, gray ponytail, wearing a black and white checked shirt. He was not a wolf at all.

"Are you ok?? he asked. "You started to tremble and you then went real pale. I admit I was watching you in the mirror, who could resist??

He gave me a friendly smile and his perfect teeth gleamed white in his big, handsome face.

"I'm Frank Lupo," he said. I was still very shaky but I managed to sputter out my name for the evening " Rosalie. I grabbed my drink and downed it in a gulp.

"Here, let me get you another," Frank Lupo said. He caught Louis's eye and pointed to my drink.

'thanks," I said and took a better look at him. I noticed that the backs of his hands were covered with white hair and the white hair grew out in big tufts above the collar of his shirt. What a virile beast! He was solid, husky. His arms bulged beneath his shirt and his heavy thighs strained beneath his black chinos. He was a striking brute, my type any night.

When Louis brought my drink, I raised it in a toast.

'to new friends," I said, throwing my cards on the table just like the big boys.

"I'm flattered," my new friend said. He told me he was from Wyoming and he was a filmmaker, documentaries. He was making a film about coyotes and he was in town to do research at the Museum of Natural History. He rolled this out so glibly that I didn't believe him. He was either peddling magic mushrooms or dealing pot. I'd bet my panties on it. As I told him I was a writer moonlighting as an exotic dancer, it occurred to me that my story sounded as phony as his. Two drinks later, I wouldn't have cared if he were a mortician.

He knew some funny jokes about the sex lives of animals. He moved closer to me and looked at me with such intense desire and I felt my own animal smells wafting up. He leaned over me, stroking my hair and neck with his hot, nose.

"Let's go back to my hotel room," he said. "I have some great still photos of Rocky Mountain bobcats I'd love to show you."

"Yes, yes I just love bobcats," I said drunkenly, they're my favorite cats, I like them even better than Siamese, they're very cute, yes, yes?? He put some bills on the bar for Louis. Then he put his hand on my neck and guided me out of the bar.

He was staying at the Prince George on 28th Street and Park Avenue South. All the way over in the cab, he kept his big, hot hand on the back of my neck, holding me as if I was a kitten. We said nothing as we took the elevator to his room on the third floor. He took his hand off my neck long enough to put the


With one swift move,
she unzipped his pants
and pulled out his stiff cock


key in the lock. The back of my neck tingled and I realized that he had been gripping me too tightly. I didn't want him to feel like he was the one in control. We stepped inside. Right after he locked the door behind us, I turned and, using all my weight, pushed him hard as I could back against the door.

"What's this?? he said, surprised, but I didn't answer. Instead, with one swift motion I pulled down the zipper of his pants and yanked out his prick. It was already stiff. I inspected it like the joint of meat it was. It was uncut, surprisingly dark and veiny, gnarled, purple, thick and heavy in my hand. I didn't see any conspicuous sores so I took him suddenly and roughly into my mouth and sucked him like I was a vacuum. I nicked him with my teeth. I showed him I could be nasty. I sucked him in deeper, rubbing the bottom of his cock up and down with my tongue, then I nicked him again. I bit him and held on until he let out a sound between a roar and a groan. Then I released him, stepped back quickly. He looked ridiculous with his pants sagging like a pair of panty hose around his ankles. His long, purple rod pointed at me like an accusing finger.

I was sneering as I said, 'that's just a sample, you'll get more if you're a good boy." He had a furious look on his face, but said nothing, just pulled up his trousers and zipped up the fly. At least he knows, I thought, that he's not with some silly little bimbo he can push around. He switched on the light and stepped into the room.

"I have something very good, if you'd like a drink," he said calmly, his voice not at all angry, but even and well modulated.

"Why not?? I said.

While he opened a large, brown leather trunk that was at the foot of the bed, I looked around the room. It was the conventional hotel room, big double bed flanked by matching night tables with matching lamps, two dressers with mirrors, a wide screen TV. In the corner of the room there was a pile of fur pelts, black and glistening.

'thinking of making a coat?? I asked him.

"Perhaps,? he answered. He had extracted a small cut-glass flask from the trunk and two standard shot glasses. His back was towards me as he bent to fill the glasses.

"What is that?? I asked. He turned to face me, holding a glass in each hand.

"From Wyoming," he answered, 'the Indians make it. It's liquor made from prairie nutmeg."

"How quaint," I said, knowing he could not miss my mocking tone.

'to howling in the night," he said as he handed me my glass and then tapped it with his own. He downed his drink in a gulp and I did the same. He put the glass down on the bed table, then he sat down on the bed.

Surprisingly, violently, he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down beside him. 'so, you think you're a wild woman," he said, "I will show you what wild is." He kissed me so brutally his teeth cut right into my lip. I could taste the flat, metallic taste of my blood. His big tongue was pushing deep into my mouth, pushing way down my throat so I couldn't breathe. If he wants it rough, I?ll give him rough, I thought and I bit down on it. He pushed me away, snarling, his face twisted, feral, strained.

"?Whore, bitch, vixen," he yelled. Then he slapped me across the face so hard my neck snapped, then he slapped me again and again. My mouth was filled


He bit so hard,
she found herself shrieking,
'Stop! Stop!'


with blood. He must have knocked my teeth loose. This is nuts, he's a psycho, I thought, I have to get out of here. I struggled to rise, but found I was so weak I couldn't lift myself off the bed. I had no strength in my back and hips. He ripped my dress off with nails so sharp they felt like claws  Then he bent over my breast and fastened his mouth over my nipple. He bit down so hard I screamed, then he sucked, and bit and sucked just as I had done to him when I had his cock in my mouth. It hurt terribly, yet I didn't want him to stop. Alternative waves of pain and pleasure washed over my body.

He stopped, raised his head up, 'so you think you're such a smart cunt," he said, and then his head moved down between my legs. He sucked my clit deep into his mouth. He used his teeth again. I thought he was going to chew it off. The waves of pleasure had ebbed away, and the pain was becoming more and more intense. I heard myself shrieking, 'stop, stop."

I tried to pull back but could not move. I was in a vortex, spinning, spiraling down into a burning hell. He was looming above me again, his knees pressed sharply into my thighs, holding them apart.

"Are you ready now, you pitiful bitch," he growled, "are you ready??

He grabbed my arms and pinned them together above my head. From out of nowhere he conjured up a leather rope. He tied both my wrists together tightly, the stiff leather biting into my skin. My eyes shut in terror. I wanted to wake up and find that this was a bad dream but when I opened my eyes again he was covered with thick silver and black fur.

In place of his fine, long nose was an obscene, hairy snout with a black tip. His fangs glistened yellow in his red mouth. His furry knees were already forcing my thighs wide, wider until I felt I was going to snap like a wishbone. He dragged his razor claws down my body, cutting me, marking me with bloody stripes. I was being shredded, torn to pieces. Then he jammed his monster cock into me. It had grown three, four, five times in size. There seemed to be a sharp hook at the end of it and with each vicious thrust he pulled my insides further out. I screamed and screamed as it battered into me, but no one in the halls outside or in the adjacent rooms came to my rescue.

There was a great, hot liquid feeling where we were joined, glued together with jism and blood. I was screaming and crying and hurting but still I found myself arching up to meet him as if something in me wanted to come, to find some peace at the end of this pain. He was swelling, growing all around me into a terrible, menacing, giant furry creature, a Grendel, a monster. All I could hear was his panting, his rapid breath. He rammed inside me so roughly I felt as if he had punctured the base of my spine as he exploded into me, discharging a flood of liquid fire. He collapsed on top of me burying me. I fell back into the darkness.

Steel thumbs were pushing against my eyelids, my arms were stiff and aching. The leather cords cut into my wrists. I wanted to run away but could not move my legs, my ankles were also bound. I was trussed like a chicken. I didn't know if it was day or night. I was alone in the same room to which I had come so boldly hours before. There was no trace of my brutal companion, except for a strong, bitter odor in the air, a combination of damp earth and decay. I wondered for a second if this was some kind of terrible LSD flashback but then I looked down and saw that my whole torso was covered with long, deep scratches. Bloody scabs had formed around my nipples. I tried to move my wrists, to pull against the cord and to my great surprise it fell open. He must have loosened it before he left. I untied the cord around my ankles.

There was a severe ache at the center of my body. Every part of me felt battered and torn. I think I slept. When I opened my eyes again I was able to sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed. I remembered him tearing my dress off but now there it was neatly folded on the chair on top of my purse and shoes. I managed to dress myself. I checked inside my purse relieved to find I had enough money for cab fare.

The hall outside the room was deserted and there was no one in the elevator I took to the lobby.  The desk clerk didn't even glance at me as I rushed by, but an obese man in a red plaid sport jacket who was sitting in a chair reading a newspaper whistled. "I'll give you twenty bucks, no, make that fifteen," he yelled.

Out in the street it was dusk I had been in that room a whole day. The Gods were finally merciful, there was a taxi right in front of the hotel. The driver said not a word to me as he drove through rush hour traffic to my apartment.

As I paid him and climbed upstairs I realized I was supposed to be at work that night at eight. As soon as I got inside the door, I rushed to the phone and


She was
too scratched up to go
Go-Go dancing


called up my boss, Eddie, at the Whiskey a Go-Go. I told him I had the flu, a fever, I was throwing up, had the runs.

'sure, sure," he said, "Isn't that what you had the last time. I need girls I can depend on, you called in sick three nights last month," he said. "I don't got no one to cover for you. You're fired and don't come back here begging for a job when you get over these phony sicknesses."  He slammed the receiver down.

I staggered from the phone and collapsed on my bed. I knew that what had just happened to me was real, my body bore the marks, but where had this terrible creature come from? Was he sent by an evil, vengeful male God to punish me for being a bad girl, for acting male, acting like a hunter? I went out last night so confident and now I'm lying here wounded, jobless, covered with scabs. Maybe I created the monster out of some deep shame inside me? Maybe I had been reading too much Aleister Crowley, eating too much orange sunshine, smoking too much chiba-chiba? I don't know? maybe I was howling in the night.  ##

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