“Uncle Buddy’s House”, Chapter 48: no cigar

Has Buddy’s chance come at last? Let’s rejoin that middle-aged lover boy on the fourth floor of the posh Hotel Vancouver, in the charming city of that name, to which he has bolted on the spur of the moment to visit the lovely if slightly eccentric thespian Cordelia...

(Click here to go to our preceding episode; the bewildered may click here to return to the first chapter of Uncle Buddy’s House©. “A rip-roaring, rollicking and ribald roller-coaster ride of a raunch-fest.” -- J.J. Hunsecker, in Man’s Life.)

She had walked up the stairs in her stockinged feet and now she tossed her shoes to the floor.

“Okay, throw your bag somewhere. I suddenly have to pee.”

Buddy put his bag on a chair. There was the bed. She had a suitcase open on the floor near it, with some clothes tumbled out of it and onto the rug. Her trusty red backpack lay near the foot of the bed, and scattered around the bed and on it were various shopping bags, shoes, pieces of clothing. He walked over to the bed and sat down.

It was a classy room. Buddy had stayed at the Vancouver about five years back, making a movie with Michael Paré and Sherilyn Fenn, called -- what? -- Maximum Velocity? No, Maximum Velocity II. The first one had been with Dolph Lundgren and Lisa Bonet, who cares. He felt sleepy. If he hadn’t been so hungry he would have liked to take a nap. His head nodded forward and for a half a second he was asleep. He jerked his head up. She was still in the bathroom. He let his eyes close.

She touched his arm.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

He opened his eyes. She was sitting next to him on the side of the bed.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Do you want to take a nap?”

Her breath smelled nice. She’d brushed her teeth.

“No. No, in fact now I have to pee.”

“Go pee.”

So he got up and made it into the bathroom. He peed, and there was a hotel toothbrush still in its plastic case, so he took that out and brushed his teeth. There was an absurd old fart in the mirror, but at least he had clean teeth.



When he came back out she was lying on her side, on the hallway side of the bed, facing the windows, her shoes off, legs drawn up, hands folded under her head. He walked over. She seemed to be asleep. He sat on the bed next to her and moved a curl of hair away from her face. She moved but her eyes didn’t open. He looked at her, taking her all in, the curve of her side in the black dress to her hip and that round butt and those legs in the black stockings, fucking hell. He put his hand on her hip, and then he ran his palm down her thigh to the hem of her dress. He slipped his hand in under. He felt the band around her thigh and he pulled the skirt up a bit. She was wearing thigh-highs, the kind that didn’t have suspenders, this was too much. He wanted to kiss the flesh pressing out from the top of the stockings.

“Hey,” she said. “Pervert.”

She turned onto her back, keeping her legs together and drawn away to the side.

“I thought we were going to go get something to eat,” she said.

“I have to kiss you first,” he said.

She gnawed on her upper lip, looking at him.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Or, we could get something to eat,” he said.

She stopped gnawing on her lip but kept looking at him.

“All right,” she said. “You can kiss me. But turn out that overhead light.”

He got up and did that, and walked back toward the bed through the dark little hills and valleys of her stuff on the floor. A slight film-noiry illumination came in from the windows on the other side of the bed, rain streaking and pebbling the glass, blurry bright dots from boats out on the inlet, vague glowing lines of white from over there on the north shore --

Yeah.

He took off his jacket and draped it on a bedpost, took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and laid them on the night table. Then he sat on the side of the bed and touched her face.
She touched his hand with her fingers.

Her face took shape out of the dark, and they looked at each other.

“Oh, wait,” she said.

She reached over and pulled a tissue out of a box on the night table, thoroughly wiped the lipstick off her lips with it, and tossed the tissue to the floor.

“Okay,” she said.

“All right,” said Buddy. ”But wait. There’s something I have to tell you. Remember you told me to have an affair with someone closer to my own age?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I sort of am.”

She took her hand away from his hand and he took his hand away from her face.

“Oh my God, since when?”

“Since, uh, last Saturday?”

“Who is she?”

“A publicist for our movie. Her name’s Marjorie.”

“Oh. This is that publicist you had lunch with.”

“Yeah. We had lunch and then we wound up going to bed.”

“Wow -- is this like, hot and heavy?”

“Well, we’ve only gotten together twice. It’s -- well, I -- it’s not like you and me at all --”

“Uh-huh. I presume you’ve actually fucked her for one thing.”

“Yeah, there’s that.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“Oh no. I mean, I like her, but -- no. No. Not at all. No --”

“Okay, I get it. What’s she like?”

She was leaning up on her elbow, staring into his eyes.

“She’s -- well, I hardly know her. I only met her last Saturday. She’s married. Two kids, I think. Husband’s a lawyer. She’s -- very energetic, very into her job --”

“How old is she?”

“I don’t know. Late thirties? Forty?”

“Is she pretty?”

“Yeah. She’s -- I don’t know --”

“Cute?”

“Yeah, she’s cute. She’s --”

“What’s she look like?”

“She’s -- I don’t know. She’s -- very small. Really --
small --”

“Oh.”

She turned her head away.

“What?

“I suppose she’s really thin, too.”

“Oh Christ. No, she’s really, really fat -- like a baby
hippo --”

She turned to face him again.

“Shut up. Is she good in bed?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“She came on to you?”

“Uh, yeah --”

“Wow,” she said. Then, “Why did you tell me this? You didn’t have to.”

“I just wanted to be honest with you.”

“Okay. Good. Do you use a condom with her?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Are you going to keep seeing her?”

“I have no idea. To tell the truth I didn’t really think about telling you about her till this minute. And then -- I don’t know. I just thought maybe I should tell you. I mean, I don’t really care about her. I mean I care about her as a human being and all, but --”

She reached out and put her fingers to his lips, and he shut up.

“It’s okay, Buddy.”

They looked at each other. Then:

“When did you last see her?”

“Uh, Thursday, Thursday afternoon.”

“Love in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, right.”

“And later that night you told me on the phone you loved me.”

“Yeah.”

He really couldn’t think of anything else to say, but his lips were open, maybe she thought he was about to say something, she touched his lips with her fingers again. Then she touched his face.

“You said you wanted to kiss me,” she said. “So do it.”

“All right. Can I take my shoes off?”

“Yeah.”



A few minutes later he had unzipped the back of her dress and pulled both of the spaghetti straps down and off her arms, he was kissing her breasts, but --

“My dress,” she said. “It’s going to get all wrinkled.”

“I think it already is wrinkled.”

“It’s gonna get really wrinkled.”

“Okay, take it off,” he said. “I mean, if you want to.”

It was already pulled down so much at the top and up so much at the bottom that it wasn’t covering a hell of a lot anyway.

“I don’t know if I want to have sex,” she said, or breathed, into his ear, and despite the meaning of these words he found the saying of them indescribably arousing, not that he didn’t already have about as big an erection as he was ever going to have, but --

“I know,” said Buddy. “But just so it doesn’t get wrinkled.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. But I’m keeping my underwear on.”

“Great.”

“Okay, get off me a minute.”

He got off her and she got up on her knees and pulled the dress off and threw it onto the floor. Her hair had come partly down, she reached back and did something, it all fell down over her shoulders. She knelt there in black panties and the stockings, he memorized her in the dim light from the windows.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Keep the stockings on.”

“Okay.”

He pulled his shirt and undershirt off together inside-out over his head and threw them to the floor.

“Can I take my pants off,” he said, unbuckling his belt.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said.

He remembered the condoms in his pocket. (Extra-thins, picked up en route at the Venice CVS.) He took them out and put them on the night table.

“I didn’t say I was going to have sex,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, and he kicked his pants off. She knelt there looking at him. “I’m gonna take off my boxer shorts, too,” said Buddy. “And my socks.”

“All right,” she said.



After a while he slipped his hand down there and said, “Can I do this?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Keep doing that.”

A little later he started to slide her underwear off, and she lifted up so he could. He put his hand back, and she put her hand on his.

“Like this?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said.

He looked at her face, watching her breathe, her mouth open and her eyes closed. She kept her hand tightly on his.



This seemed to be the way she wanted it, and she went there, her hand on his and the fingers of her other hand digging into his shoulder. Finally, even though she was the one doing most of the work, she whispered, “Stop, stop,” and she pulled his hand away.

She turned on her side toward him, her fists under her chin. She was breathing hard. She opened her eyes and looked at him, briefly, then she closed them again. “Wow,” she said. “Oh wow.”

He put his hand on her hip.

And then she fell asleep, breathing slowly and deeply through her mouth.

Ah well.

Buddy lay there on his side, watching her breathe, his erection subsiding. Her mouth was open. He brushed the hair away from her face. He tried to move closer to her, but she scrunched her body up, blocking him with her drawn-up knees, in those stockings. He slid his hand under her legs and turned her over onto her other side. He put his hand on her butt. Okay, had he ever wanted a woman this much? He might have, but he couldn’t remember one in particular, it didn’t matter. He moved closer and got in the spoon position with her. He wanted to caress her breasts but her arms were folded over them, so he settled for pressing against her bottom, and getting hard all over again. He pushed her hair over her shoulder, and kissed her neck. Okay, it all seemed so strange, it was strange, his whole life, hurtling along absurdly to this moment. He thought about this girl he was pressing against, going over the different ways she had looked, the various strange expressions she had made with her face during the few times he had been with her, the things she had said to him, most of which had been over the phone, the sound of her voice. And here she was now, this was her, and her life...

He dozed, then he realized he was awake, then wide awake. And horny. And hungry. More horny than hungry. He’d woken up half-hard but he was getting all the way hard again. Again. Pressing against her butt.

Okay, a nice good no-nonsense quick one would be really great right about now. Then a good dinner.

He shook her shoulder.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

He gently turned her onto her back.

“Oh. I fell asleep again.”

“Yeah.”

He put his hand on her breast.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“That’s okay.”

He looked into her eyes.

“You -- you probably want more, right?” she said. She looked up at him and touched the hand he had on her breast. “I should, I should at least --”

She paused. She brought her hands up under her chin and turned her face into his shoulder.

He slid his hand from her breast to her hip.

“Hey,” he said.

She turned over on her side toward him.

“Hey, what up,” he said.

He slid his hand around onto her butt.

“I suck,” she said, and she put her hands over her face. “Or rather I should suck.”

Now Buddy wanted to be sensitive but by this point he did have the question of a full-out raging hard-on to deal with.

“Hey,” he said.

She turned onto her stomach, her hands still on her face and her face in the pillow.

“Hey, knucklehead,” he said.

He gave her butt a squeeze.

“God I suck,” she said, from somewhere in there.

And God she had a body. But --

“Hey, fuck it,” said Buddy. He squeezed her ass again. “Let’s get some food.”

She groaned, from the depths.

“Hey, come on.”

She groaned again, longer and ascending in pitch, dolce vibrato.

He ran his hand up along her back and he shook her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said.

She turned her head slightly toward him, made a small opening in her hands, and said, “What?”

“Let’s go eat. I’m fucking starving, aren’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“So come on, let’s bust a move.”

She peeked one eye out.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“I’ll mind it if I don’t eat something soon.”

She lifted her face up.

“I’m really hungry, too.”

“Great, let’s get dressed and get the hell out of here.”

“Okay, but don’t look at me while I’m getting dressed.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Well, okay, you can look at me but don’t put the light on until I’m all dressed.”

“It’s a deal.”

He looked at her.

Her skin was like white marble.

No, it was better than marble.

(Continued here, unless Buddy’s heart gives out suddenly.)

(Please refer to the right-hand column of this page to find an up-to-date listing of links to all other published chapters of Uncle Buddy’s House™. Rated R for Really Frustrating.)