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- Чарльз Буковски
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- Стр. 347/501
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But
I
made
no
effort
to
suck
in
my
gut
.
I
stood
by
the
side
of
the
bed
,
lowered
my
shorts
,
stepped
out
of
them
.
Suddenly
I
wanted
more
to
drink
.
I
climbed
into
the
bed
.
I
got
under
the
covers
.
Then
I
turned
toward
Debra
.
I
held
her
.
We
were
pressed
together
.
Her
mouth
was
open
.
I
kissed
her
.
Her
mouth
was
like
a
wet
cunt
.
She
was
ready
.
I
sensed
it
.
There
would
be
no
need
of
foreplay
.
We
kissed
and
her
tongue
flicked
in
and
out
of
my
mouth
.
I
caught
it
between
my
teeth
,
held
it
.
Then
I
rolled
over
on
top
of
Debra
and
slid
it
in
.
I
think
it
was
the
way
her
head
was
turned
away
to
one
side
as
I
fucked
her
.
It
turned
me
on
.
Her
head
was
turned
away
and
bounced
on
the
pillow
with
each
stroke
.
Now
and
then
as
I
was
stroking
I
turned
her
head
toward
me
and
kissed
that
blood
-
red
mouth
.
It
was
finally
working
for
me
.
I
was
fucking
all
the
women
and
girls
I
had
gazed
longingly
after
on
the
sidewalks
of
Los
Angeles
in
1937
,
the
last
really
bad
year
of
the
depression
,
when
a
piece
of
ass
cost
two
bucks
and
nobody
had
any
money
(
or
hope
)
at
all
.
I
’
d
had
to
wait
a
long
time
for
mine
.
I
worked
and
pumped
.
I
was
having
a
red
hot
useless
fuck
!
I
grabbed
Debra
’
s
head
once
again
,
reached
that
lipstick
mouth
just
one
more
time
as
I
spurted
into
her
,
into
her
diaphragm
.
The
next
day
was
Saturday
and
Debra
cooked
us
breakfast
.
"
Are
you
coming
antique
hunting
with
us
today
?
"
"
All
right
.
"
"
Are
you
hungover
?
"
she
asked
.
"
Not
too
bad
.
"
We
ate
in
silence
for
a
while
,
then
she
said
,
"
I
liked
your
reading
at
The
Lancer
.
You
were
drunk
but
it
came
through
.
"
"
Sometimes
it
doesn
’
t
.
"
"
When
are
you
going
to
read
again
?
"
