Books, Beaches, Golf and Sex

Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Aug 13, 2003

I made Rosewater an alcoholic in another book. I now had him reasonably well sobered up, with the help of Alcoholics Anonymous. I had him use his new-found sobriety to explore, among other things, the supposed spiritual and physical benefits of sexual orgies with strangers in New York City. He was only confused so far.

Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

My vacation afforded me the opportunity to catch up on some reading. Namely, Zadie Smith’s debut novel, White Teeth, and Kurt Vonnegut’s blackly comic Breakfast of Champions. Both books, unfortunately, drove me to a kind of existential despair.

Myrtle Beach is another one of those scary American experiments. An endless succession of swamps and crappy pine forests laid bare to make way for highways, shadeless golf courses, malls, strip clubs, putt-putts, ersatz Japanese steak houses, Hooters franchises and theme-parks. Where my fat countrymen gorge on buffets, shopping and ridiculous attractions. There isn’t even any ass to be found down there this time of year, just noisy families and tottering middle-aged golfers. Though there was that cute Russian waitress who flirted with me at the all-you-can-eat buffet. Even amidst all the chaos of development, the place retains a sort of sadness, as if it is reaching toward a paradise status it knows it can never attain. Particularly poignant are the businesses that didn’t make it, sporting decaying signs that say BEST PUTT-PUTT ON THE BEACH, or CHEAP CIGARETTES. I took an interest, too, in the golf courses that closed down and now lie fallow, slowly surrendering to the weeds.

Grande Dunes, incidentally, kicked my ass. Even though I valiantly managed to avoid the bulk of the water hazards, I lost numerous balls in the long Bermuda rough at the edge of the fairway. It got to the point where my father and I made a little game out of it, dropping balls in the rough at our feet and calling out, “I bet you can’t even see it from where you are.” By the end of our four-and-a-half hour round I had developed one of those rashy sunburns. The staff was apparently trained to say “have a grande day” at every possible opportunity. What’s with the “e”? Is this the fucking Starbucks of golf?

Lacking any decent reading material on the airplane ride home, I pondered the varieties and vicissitudes of explosive decompression. If the plane simply fell apart at 29,000 feet, would I be able to withstand the cold air long enough to reach, say, a relatively comfortable 10,000 feet with my consciousness still intact? Could I somehow arrange my body so as to tumble into the water below without sustaining life-threatening injuries? And so on, as Vonnegut would say.

Manhattan looks like a toy city from the air. I decided it looks that way from the ground too.

So a few short hours after I deplaned, finding myself terribly exhausted, I was over at Ciel Rouge with Leslie, Anya and Anya’s boyfriend. Anya and I compared notes on each other’s blogs. When Leslie and I stepped out to smoke a cigarette, we spied a young woman stumbling around on the sidewalk and wailing quietly to herself. She was put together a little too well to be your garden-variety crack whore, but she was clearly on something. She leaned against the doorway to the bar and a patron had to force her aside on his way in. Then she ambled over to stand next to us, still making little noises and waiting for god knows what. The poor thing stumbled into me, asscrack visible above the cut of her hip-huggers. Leslie and I moved up the street and considered dialing 911. No, better to summon the bartender. “I bet she’d be an easy lay,” I joked to Leslie.

And later our little foursome was drinking and fooling around a bit on the roof of the boyfriend’s apartment building. The two girls sucked our cocks under the Manhattan skyline as I surveyed Seventh Avenue. “The headlights look like little cat eyes,” I said to Anya as I fondled her ample bosom. Anya and her boyfriend claimed that Leslie has the best ass in New York, which may be true. Back in the apartment, we piled onto the boyfriend’s bed. I took Leslie from behind as she licked Anya’s tight little twat. Anya and her mate quickly got around to vigorous pounding as Leslie and I alternated between fucking and watching. They came forcefully and went off to shower. I lowered myself onto Leslie and prodded her gently until we both came, me pulling out and spraying over her beautiful body.

After lounging around on the sofa for a while shooting the breeze, we opted to go for a second round. The boyfriend tongued Leslie and I dived between Anya’s legs, lapping away once again at her protruding labia. I rose to my knees and she slipped her lips around my shaft for a moment. I scooted next to her and let her tug at my penis while I probed her with my fingers. Anya rubbed my cock against her inner thigh. She wanted to fuck but I was feeling tired and out-of-sorts. If we were going to have our first-time fuck I wanted to savor the experience. So she mounted her boyfriend and Leslie and I watched her ride him, Anya’s pretty cunt lips engulfing his member. The boyfriend bent her over the bed and finished from behind as she dropped to her belly, sticking her hand between her legs and bringing herself to a gasping orgasm. We said our good-byes and went home to collapse.

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