"The Murderous Muddle On Murray Hill," --- Chapter 9...

    

   Of course, I knew where we were going. And, I didn't care. Emilio was so hugely attractive to me I was like, you can do anything, just anything to me.  His apartment was on Mayfield Road, near Corbo's Dolceria or Bakery, where they made their fabulous signature cannoli, 

one of the small apartments that were above stores in the old brick buildings lining Little Italy. You got to it by going through a door, with a brass "10" nailed on it, between two of the stores. I saw locked mail slots for apartments "A" and "B," as soon as we went in. Emilio took my hand, leading me up a narrow and steep old stairs, stairs covered with cracked brown rubber treads. At the top of them was a short hallway barely lit by what was probably a twenty five watt bulb in the ceiling. On one side was a black painted door with a brass "A" nailed to it; on the other side was an identical door with a brass "B". Emilio opened "A" with his key. 

   "Come on," he said, pushing the door open.  It was deliciously cool inside, the air conditioner in the one window blasting away. I looked to Emilio. "Nice and comfortable."

   "Yeah," he said, "I just got it."

   The apartment was one room, with one window looking out to a fire escape. It was reasonably clean and neat, a double bed, a comforter on it, a sheet and two pillows, an old couch, an easy chair, a kitchen table and two chipped paint chairs, a Magnavox T.V., a small stove, and a refrigerator, a battered Coldspot, tall shelves with cans and boxes of food. There was a little table beside the bed with a phone and alarm clock on it and a dresser, a small bookcase crammed with books and magazines. A closet door was open, showing clothes on hangers. There was an old white sink and attached counter. A door was in the end of the room, the bathroom, I guess. The walls were green on top and beige below, the paint cracked and missing in spots, showing plaster. A round white glass light fixture was in the ceiling, a radiator along one wall. Emilio switched the light on. I hate overhead lights, the glare. No rugs on the old brown wood floor, but a little throw rug to roll up and shove against the crack at the bottom of the apartment door so the cold air wouldn't leak out, which Mike did.   

   "Make yourself ta home," Emilio said. "I ain't been here long. Ya want a coke?"

   "Sure." He got one from the refrigerator, and one for himself, flipped the tops off with a bottle opener left on the counter. He turned a radio on, The radio was small cream colored and roundish, the  song, "Only You," by the Platters, it was one of my favorite romantic ballads, such a tender, sensual song about a precious, special love. I usually got chills hearing it, even more so with Emilio here. 

   His eyes, my sister Carol would call them bedroom eyes. Emilio was on the couch; he patted it. "Ya look very uncomfortable "Why don't ya sit down?"   

   I shifted from one foot to the other, looking at my toes, holding the cold, sweating bottle of coke. My ma had warned and warned and warned me about getting in compromising situations with young men. She thought that all young guys would leap on any girl, if they could only get her alone. All young men were supposed to be like randy dogs. This was drilled and drilled so much into the heads of nice girls that no nice girl would even let a young guy lean her back; she would never, never, ever allow herself to be prone, NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER! So, naturally, I wouldn't go sit next to Emilio on his couch. I just stood in the middle of the room.

   Emilio screwed up his face, rolled his eyes, comically, to the ceiling. "Really, Maria, I ain't gonna jump your bones."

   "No?"

   "Naw, not unless you want it. Believe it or not, all guys ain't beasts."

   I smiled. "Yeah, I figured.' I came over, sat down, very gingerly, next to him, put the bottle on the floor. Coke bottles were shaped like women. He didn't even put his arm over the back of the couch. He took a swig of his coke. The song, --- about only you can make this change in me... True... You're my destiny...

   I leaned over, sweetly kissed his cheek. It was warm-cool and pleasantly hard, the wonderful feel of Mike's cheek always got to me. I kissed the side of his neck, much warmer than his cheek. I smiled. "What's the cologne?"

   "Lime soap."

   "Nice."

   He grinned. His eyes narrowed, a corner of his mouth went up. "So, ya wanna give me a hickey?

  That was really, really the wrong thing to say! My backbone stiffened immediately. "Jeez, Maria, ya look like a little scared rabbit. Ain't you got no sense of humor about sex?"

   There, he'd said the horrific forbidden word, --- SEX, --- SEX-SEX-SEX! The word, SEX, and all words pertaining to or describing the sex act were NEVER, EVER, EVER spoken in our house!  I was really, really on guard now. I was shaking a little, too excited.   He leaned over, turned my head toward him with just his fingertips, kissed my lips. My lips automatically relaxed and I sort of melted, slumped. He caught me around the waist, before I could hardly think, I was lying back on the couch, Emilio's face over me. I watched his shining blue eyes slowly close; I closed mine too, as he kissed me again. I shoved my hands into his hair, of course. 

   I knew what was going to happen, unless, I stopped it NOW. But, I didn't want to stop it. This was the exact point at which I stopped all kissing of boys before. Of course, those guys didn't excite me like Emilio Leone. The song, --- She was his dream come true, his one and only you-ooo-ooo-ooo.

   The disco jockey's voice came on. He was telling listeners Prell Shampoo, that really soapy emerald green shampoo, would make your hair radiant.  Now, he was talking about the Everly Brother's tune, "Bye-Bye, Love". Emilio deftly untied the silk scarf around my neck. His lips slid down my throat, kissed the hollow. Bye, love... Bye, happiness... Hello to loneliness... Gonna die...

   Emilio's warm agile fingers were under my yellow t shirt. They went up my back. I didn't care; I didn't care what direction this was going. Emilio was the only guy who'd lit a fire in me. Compared to Mike other guys seemed like dull, awkward goofballs. Sooo... Why not? WHY THE HELL NOT? But, I was supposed to be a good little Catholic girl, and good little Catholic girls always save "it" till marriage.

Many of their mothers tell them nothing about sex; I mean absolutely nothing. ("Keep your legs together! If you're violated you know your brothers and cousins will have to kill the boy!") And, that's so good girls on the Hill can be shocked out of their sweet lily-white minds when they find out from their, maybe, just as dopey husbands what's really real on their wedding nights. Probably, plenty enough to make some women hate sex forever. Especially, if their husbands did the "Wham, bam, thank you, M a'am," roll-over-and-fall-asleep kind of boring routine sex, with no playing around beforehand. But, yeah, most good girls in my neighborhood and good boys, too, learn about sex from their friends. Natch, it's that way in a lot of places, practically worldwide.    

   Ummm... Yeah, well, there was that hot scandal about Jill Mahoney and Jimmy Parelli. They were The Big Romantic Couple of the whole school.

They seemed to be so much in love, I mean, true love. I remember at the Sweetheart Dance Jill dancing with her arms around Jimmy's neck, dressed in a raspberry colored strapless chiffon gown with many fluffy petticoats under it, all her beautiful wavy light brown hair flowing down her back, a blissful expression in her pretty eyes, his hands at her tiny waist. Then, Jill got pregnant. This was something that just wasn't acceptable, no-no-no because Jill surely wasn't a whore, or even a slut. It was considered to be such a disgrace when Jill got knocked up that her dad quit his job and the Mahoneys moved to Chicago, where no one knew them. I suppose Jill and Jimmy got married, to make an honest woman out of her. Still, my ma held Jill up to me as a pitiful example of a good girl gone wrong because she let a boy get fresh with her. Ma warned and warned me I could end up married way too soon to the wrong kind of boy, or worse, finishing school disgraced in a home for unwed mothers!    

    Jerry Lee Lewis was singing about great balls of fire. (Jerry was probably pretty peculiar. I heard he married his very young teenage cousin.) Jerry's wild piano playing was sounding in our ears when I grabbed the edge of Emilio's t shirt and ripped it over his head in one quick motion. That stopped our making out, as I almost gasped. Really, I think I did gasp, a little, because Emilio's upper body was totally, absolutely perfect. Muscular without being bulky like Charles Atlas, the famous body builder, the curves of him were graceful. Fine golden hair grew in a "T" shape over his pects. Across his pects, about an inch above his small, round nipples, was a fine line, a scar, extending from one of his armpits to the other. I ran a fingertip over it.

   "Some guys grabbed me one night. They tried to scare me."   

   "Did that work?"

   "Not very well."

   I laid my palm on the patch of that downy gold hair directly over his heart and there was a continuing fine line of more downy hair until it went to his navel and disappeared into his low-riding jeans. I stroked that sexy line, ran my fingers over his velvety, taut belly. The skin shivered a little as I did that. And, I felt shaky and at the same time excited and strong as I thought of what that low patch of hair surrounded. 

   His eyes were soft as they closed again, kissing me, deeper, deeper, deeper. He was biting my lips; I bit his too. I slid my hands up his back. He snapped my bra open, which felt good because my bra was feeling too tight, with my breasts aching. It was a Maidenform bra. I thought it made my breasts look really pointy, which was the style, like stacked movies stars Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell. And, then my t shirt was off, bra too; Emilio threw them against the wall. Our skin on skin, warm silk, I WAS GONE-GONE-GONE. There was no stopping this now.

   Mike kissed my collarbone, my chest, caressed and suckled my breasts, mumbled something about "lovely," and then, then, it was like a flash, clothes flying, we were both completely naked, lying lengthwise on the couch. He was kissing me all over, even licking; I did the same to him. I wanted him so, so, so bad. I FELT MINDLESS. I arched my back, trembling. I dug my fingernails into Emilio, probably scratching him, wrapped my legs around his hips, his lean hips. I noticed his trim waist was even slightly indented. His chest, pects so well developed there was even a little dip between them where his heart was, and then the beautiful swell of them on either side. I expected him to be athletically built, but... Yes, yes, he was an extremely gorgeous young stud, a lover like any woman would want. 

   I began moaning as he rubbed me fast and continuously down there. Oh, God, it felt so good! His skilled fingers were sending me to heaven, --- once, then, again. Urrgh, --- again! I think I called out his name. I was soaking wet and he was getting ready to enter me. He was balanced on his forearms above me, a strange, rap and yet, sweet look on his handsome face. He began suckling my breasts again, harder, harder. I came once more, just from the strong pressure of his mouth, sucking, the fourth time! He was teasing me with the tip of him, rubbing it against my wetness. I could feel myself coming, --- again! I did. Then... I grasped my lower lip in my teeth. YES-YES-YES, I THOUGHT! DO IT, DO IT, DO IT! PLEASE, PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! Oh, it was hurting a little now, hurting more,  pressure pain. But, I didn't care. I wanted him inside me. He stopped. NOOOOOOOOO!

   He let me go, flopped back on the couch. The radio, --- the song was "The Great Pretender"... He was pretending that he was doing well... He seemed to be, but he wasn't, you see... Emilio was panting, fast and hard. He looked over at me, wide eyed, blinked. His long lashes came down on his cheeks. The loss of  his incredibly beautiful powerful, hard, warm body was like I'd been thrown suddenly against a brick wall.

   His deep voice, a bit hoarse, whispering,  "I didn't expect ya to be a virgin."

   I was, sure, I guess, unreasonably angry, hot-furious mad as hell. "WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH IT?'

   "Everything."

   "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?"

   He leaned over, kissed my forehead. He ran his fingertips from my temple to my chin. "Your first time should be with somebody ya love very, very much."

   "Oh, so, you're great old Father Wisdom, now, you jerk, you creep, you ass, you bastard, you rotten son-of-a-bitch!"

   "No, I just figure..."

   "You figure what, what,WHAT?"

   He looked a little sad. "Nothin'."  He stood, walked across the room, clicked the radio off. "Put on your clothes, Maria. I'm taking ya home."

   I crossed my arms over my breasts, stuck out my lower lip, "I want a shower first!"

   "Me too. There's fresh towels in the bathroom on the shelf."

   I felt like a corked bottle, ready to explode, steaming, nasty and mean. I was so uncool; I'd embarrassed myself at being caught as a silly little virgin. And, I was humiliated, thinking that I wasn't near gorgeous and desirable enough for Emilio to lose himself in passion and plow ahead, regardless of my, uh, hampered sexual state. I put my hands on my hips leaned forward, like a snake ready to strike him. "I suppose now you don't want to make out with me in the future?" 

   He raised his eyebrows, big pause. "Yeah. That's right."

   "What? Not even parking some place in my family's Pontiac, if I can ever get it? SHIT! WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? NO MAKING OUT AT ALL?"

   "I'm saying, I need to think about that. Fuckin' hell, I need a drink. An', not a coke." He reached under the bed, bringing out a bottle of Jim Beam.

   "You're not going to get drunk and then ride a bike?"

   "Not drunk. Just a few swigs." He smirked. "Don't flatter yaself."

   '"YOU WANT A KNUCKLE SANDWICH!," I screamed at him. I socked hard him in the stomach. He doubled over. Looked up at me. "Damn, Maria, what the hell was that for? Ya wanna sign up for Fight Night?"

   "NO, YOU FOOL!"

   I saw the look in his eyes, as he slowly straightened. And, that look that told me, --- I would never hurt you; why did you hurt me? Or, was it my imagination? (But, he certainly would have hurt me, if he hadn't stopped. That sort of thing couldn't be helped. It was so sexy too. Dammit, dammit, dammit.) Now, I was so, so, so mad at him! I positively hated the zany way he spun my head around! I suspected that he'd always plunge me into the depths and send me to the heights. How dare he be so tempting? 

   He was just standing there nude, completely at ease. There was a light flush high on his strong cheekbones; his lips were rosy, looking swollen; his hair was mussed and hanging over his forehead. He looked heart-breakingly handsome. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck, wanted him to toss me over his shoulder and carry me to the bed and dump me on it, caveman style. I wanted his hands on my breasts, his hands on me everywhere. I wanted him to do me to the point of me practically dying! And, it was even more annoying that I realized he would be totally capable of doing just that, and that I would absolutely let him again and again and again and AGAIN! OH, DAMN-DAMN-DAMN!

   I put my nose in the air, squared my shoulders and strutted past him, snotty as hell, into the bathroom. He'd been staring at my breasts, good, really good! I slammed the door violently, flipped the light switch. Half the tiles on the floor weren't there, a slightly rusty medicine cabinet with a mirror, stained sink, a bottle of after shave, light blue terry cloth robe hanging from a hook in the back of the door, shower and old stained bathtub with a clear plastic shower curtain. Ha, of course clear, it figured! I put one of the towels on the toilet seat, surprised that it was down. I stepped into the shower, drew the curtain. Soap-on-a-rope was hanging from the shower head. I took it off, smelled it, citrusy, --- the lime soap. There was a bottle of Breck shampoo and Tame Creme Rinse on the tub floor. I preferred that he had knots in his hair so I could run my fingers through them, to untangle them. Whatever was I thinking? I was crazy-wild mad at him, yes? Arrrh! But, I liked that Emilio took good care of himself, even spoiled himself a little, in subtle ways. He was interesting guy. Uh, duh!. No shit, Maria! But, I wouldn't be surprised if he never called you again! Why should he? You keep being a zero whenever you're with him, you dopey, dopey childish idiot! It would serve me right if I lost him over this fucking, fucking stupidity!  

   When I came out of the shower, wearing just a towel, the radio was on again. Frank Sinatra was singing "Ebb Tide,"... He was at peace in the web of her LOVE!  Now, why did that magnificent romantic song have to be playing NOW? Damn. Emilio was sitting on the couch. He looked up at me with sad eyes. I walked to him arrogantly, pulled off my towel, threw it on the floor. Completely naked, damp from the shower, I picked up my clothes, got dressed slowly and in a very flirty way a foot from him, while he watched. I knew I was being a teasing bitch, --- good!  

     

--- Copyright by Antoinette Beard/Sorelle Sucere 2021.