The Creep (21 page)

"I'll have my usual, strawberries and pink champagne. You know I'm drinking far too much lately. I'll end up like Bob."

He took the drink and said, "Bob seems to know the Los Angeles area pretty well. Mind you, he must have been around the States about twenty times
from my reckoning, maybe even more." He sipped his drink and hooked out a sweet juicy strawberry with his tongue.

"What on earth does he do? How does he make money? Surely he doesn't survive on panhandling alone?" Anita sat next to Harvey on the soft white leather-covered sofa.

"He sure does. Mind you, he can talk. Charm the knickers off a nun, our Bob."

"Really, you wouldn't think so. I thought all these alkies and druggies and weirdos and whackos were out of it."

"Don't you believe
it.
" He topped up the champagne, took a drink, and topped it up again.

"Let's go to bed, I'm as horny as hell." Harvey stood up.

"Me too, but I didn't want to say anything." She tugged him for a kiss.

Although they'd never actually made love, they felt as though they had, and Harvey's
plan of waiting had worked wonders. They had become good close friends and had a lot of things in common.

They went hand in hand into the Charlie Chaplin room and Harvey picked Anita up in his arms and carried her across the threshold. She loved it.

Memorabilia were everywhere. This was a fun room: a cane, an old pair of boots, old suits. Sepia stills from the movies
City Limits
and
The Immigrant
and
Kids' Auto Races at Venice
, the movie in which Chaplin established the famous Tramp character, decorated the room. The bed was an old four-poster that could easily have come from a Chaplin movie.

They spent a long time in the shower gently lathering each other and spending lots of time on slow, deep, wet French kisses. Harvey got out first, as was his manner, always assuming the woman would want to spend more
time in private, cleansing various parts of her body. That was his theory, anyway.
Getting all the yogurt and cream cheese out of the flaps and crinkly bits, hopefully.

He waited under the silk sheets thinking pleasant thoughts and when Anita finally came, she looked radiant. She wore a beautiful black negligee, and had put on a black lace bra and black lace frilly panties.

"How come you've still got your bra and panties on?" asked Harvey, as he sipped his Champers.

"I know how much you like to take them off," she giggled and munched a strawberry.

He took her in his arms and passionately kissed her. Then he slipped her bra and panties off.
She's right, I love taking her bra and panties off
. He gently caressed her breasts, breasts that had retained their shape because of the way she was lying, on her side facing him. She took him in her hand and slowly worked him up. She slid down the bed and went down on him. Her jaw was still aching from last time, but no complaints. She fed the huge quivering cock into her mouth rather slowly, stopping every now and then to delicately take one of his balls in her mouth. They would only just fit, one at a time, and she did it tenderly. She licked his scrotum for what seemed an age,
then
she slowly went down on him again. It was hot under those silk sheets and she was in heaven.

Harvey reciprocated and Anita just laid back and enjoyed Harvey's tongue darting around the most sensitive parts of her body.
Sheer heaven.

He then lay on top of her and carefully slipped his helmet inside her. She thought she was going to get the whole thing, but it was not to be. He took his huge cock in his hand and gently massaged her clit and her pouting pussy lips, tantalizingly slowly. He slid down the bed and went down on her again; it was sheer ecstasy for both of them. After a while he brought
himself up again and just slipped the helmet inside her once more. Then he massaged her with it. He slid in an inch more,
then
restrained himself. Anita was breathing noticeably heavily and trying to pull him in.
No way, Jos
é
.
Harvey pulled out despite himself.

He went down on her yet again and licked and kissed and fingered her engorged bud, which was standing to attention like a little man in a rowing boat, and Harvey's tongue probing the delicate folds of flesh of her vagina.

Once more he lay on top of her, this time giving her a long wet French kiss. He ran his tongue over her pearly white teeth, their tongues dancing together in silent melody.

He slipped in about three inches of his stiff cock and she groaned, whimpered and screamed as he left it there for a few minutes, teasing, tantalizing, tickling, playing,
driving
her wild. She loved it, he loved it, it was driving him mad, but still he contained himself.

Harvey was driving Anita wild, teasing and playing with her mind as he went down on her once more and licked up juices that were pouring out of her. He fingered and licked, then gently put four fingers up inside her and brought her off again. "First you tell me you won the
Golden Hands Award for Massage,
now you tell me you're the President of the Amateur Muff Divers' Club. You come up with the funniest expressions I've ever heard," said Anita, and promptly started `
Ohoooo
ing' and `Ahhhhhing' again.

He carefully straddled across her; this time, he slid his throbbing cock right up inside of her. He lay there, he didn't move, but he took his full weight off her with his arms. The lovers just hung onto one another for a full five minutes, motionless. They gazed into each other's eyes, and he studied the beauty of her eyes and her
complexion.
Sheer exquisite beauty.
Their bodies were welding together with sweat and passion.

Harvey wanted to regain his composure, and he did. He now started thrusting in and out very slowly, caressing her breasts, kissing her ears as he went.

He slowly fucked her for forty-five minutes,
then
started to increase the momentum and build up speed. He thrust into her right up to the hilt. She felt fulfilled. Anita could feel an orgasm in her clitoris, it was ecstatic, she could feel another in her G-spot, it was as though she were peeing herself, and she felt every fold, crinkly bit, muscle and nerve ending in her vagina explode in a starburst of
wond
rous sensations. Her eyes rolled around in her head, waves of ecstasy coursed through her body and mind. Harvey kept pounding and humping, shooting huge spurts of jism straight up inside her pussy.

It felt like a pint of fluid, maybe more. Anita could feel each hot spurt. Her head was seeing stars, she was floating on clouds, the endorphin
s had released. Morphine within – her pussy was connected to her brain.

Every time their bodies pulled apart there was a vulgar burping sound, the sweat was rolling from them and they were slowly collapsing in a heap. They kissed slowly and softly, and brought each other down. He left it in to soak for about twenty minutes while they whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears. The smell of sex was intense;
Serendipity
perfume, the sweat, the jism, the pussy juices, two bodies welded together. It was sheer unadulterated heaven, snuggling together in each other's arms.

Bishman always had plenty to say about settings and was keenly observant. On many occasions he amazed Harvey with his vivid eyewitness accounts and the descriptive language that he used to illustrate an event:

New York is brusque, glorious, bawdy, chic, spectacular, lovable, majestic,
inspiring
and also a haven for serial killers. It offers everything: plenty of potential victims, escape routes, lots of hubbub and every opportunity to get lost. It's one of the highlights of the figure-of-eight circuit. Probably ten people a day are murdered in New York and no-one seems to know, or for that matter care. Many of these are committed by the professional serial killer.

Penn Station 10
pm, the naked city reveals some of its seamier side. Many of the city's homeless are filling the place up. They file in from all the entrances in ones and twos. The place already has plenty of Indians and Pakistanis looking for seats by the telephones, where they make free calls all over the world by billing other people's accounts.

The homeless sit among the weirdos, whackos, freakaboos, cretins, winos, drug addicts, the occasional plain-clothed Amtrack cop, panhandlers, urban nomads, troglodytes, nocturnes, sneak-thieves, unemployed,
unemployable, hucksters, shysters, prostitutes, scum-of-the-earth, alcoholics, sleazeballs (males), sleazebags (females), mentally deranged, the occasional serial killer (although you wouldn't know it), human flotsam and jetsam, and about ten percent (certainly no higher) regular train passengers.

At about 1:30
am, there are about three hundred people sitting in the seats. Four police officers look on.
Nearly shakedown time.

One guy, about forty, has a small rubber lifebelt around his
neck,
another sitting next to him is frantically sucking a pacifier. Two foreign students,
pretty young girls, probably from Sweden, look on in absolute amazement and horror.

Bishman went to the bathroom to wash his feet. He had washed the dirt from one foot when a scuzzy wuzzy informed the janitor.

"Hey fella, no washing feet in here.
It's for face and hands only," said the janitor gruffly. Bishman put his sock back on and left the other foot dirty. He'd have to wait until he got to Central Park before he washed that one. He didn't look at the retard who fingered him. He didn't want a confrontation.
The guy will never know how close he came to getting a pencil jabbed in his throat.

There's
always plenty of people who talk out aloud and this night was no exception. One black guy was shouting out to all and sundry, "Shut
up,
or I'll kidnap your brain. If it's any good, I'll use it
...
y
our wife sent a message, she say don't go home just yet. The milkman's still
there
...
t
hey should have drowned you at birth! Shut
up,
or I'll kidnap
..."

Six large trolleys of fresh donuts were pushed through the station by two guys for the three Dunkin' Donut stores in Penn Station, all ready for early morning commuters. They were guarded from the hungry homeless by a private security guard, who carried a pump-action Remington 870 shotgun with a twenty-one inch barrel and a seven-round magazine.

Bishman closed one eye and left the other one open. He looked over at the four police officers as they pulled on fingerless, weighted leather gloves and took out their night-sticks. It reminded him of the Gestapo. He started thinki
ng about Adolf Hitler, saying '
All I want is peace,
' as he pointed to a map of Poland and said
'That piece!'
He started thinking about Nazis, Poland, Gestapo, Jews and Germany, and other weird and wacky things:

The idea is that too many homeless are sleeping on the park benches. First you close down Bryant Park, under the guise of doing extensive repairs and
renovations. Then you close down Madison Square, and seal it off. Then you close off Tompkins Square Park, and eventually all the parks are sealed off. You burn down the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, a favorite with the homeless. Bishman could almost smell the smoke and see and hear the crackle of the flames in the roof tim
bers. Then you board up the fe
w remaining vacant buildings and vacant lots that are left. You bulldoze down all the shanty-towns.

Then all you have to do is tighten up the panhandling laws.

One day the homeless decide to get organized and unite. All one hundred thousand of them prepare to leave Central Park and
march
down Fifth Avenue to get some food and maybe a little money, too.

Of course the police don't like this idea, so when they see the homeless crowd getting agitated and organized they call in reinforcements. The State police line up at the entrance and all of a sudden you have a frightening confrontation on your hands. Next day, the
New York Times
runs its headlines: STATE POLICE SHOOT SIXTEEN HOMELESS IN CENTRAL PARK.