A Matter of Love in da Bronx by Paul Argentini Page B

trail when I almost saw an erect penis in Bronx Park, but the guy was too far away, plus the fact that I knew immediately exactly what he was doing. The zoo gave me plenty to look at until my brother dragged me away from the monkey cage where it must've been the season because quite a few of them were there joyfully whacking away at their bright red pencil-thick penees. Then, Hurrah! As a junior in high school a chance visit to a friend's house. She wasn't too bright, not anyone I'd want to spend two seconds with, really, a boring drag. But, she shows me her father's supposedly hidden fuck books. Dozens of them! A library! Pictures. Descriptions. She and I are suddenly inseparable; I had to have my fill on every aspect of sex I could get. Her parents were ecstatic she had me as a friend, the same as they would be with anyone who didn't mouthbreathe and drool. They didn't know it, but all summer long I was drooling, and dribbling, but not from my mouth. When the family moved away, I discovered porno films, department of continuing adult education. Wow! What an exciting activity to watch. All of this book larnin' didn't really fill the whole bill, so by the time I was graduating high school I was still asking the Purple Passioned Ladies what "it" was like. I almost seriously considered their advice: Words won't do it, Honey, but if you gotta know, and you need an excuse, go to the prom, pretend you're drunk and get yourself laid. It just so happened I wasn't that popular, and wasn't asked to the prom. I kept the excuse handy, but--never found anyone I thought I'd like to use it with. Love? Is that what you asked me? Love? That's some emotional thing; good, like puppy love, and teacher love, and boy-jock love, and move star Robert Redford love; Oh! Yes! That can capture my full concentration. And so, too, does the feeling that fills my groin as I watch a four-foot long erect penis slip into a four-foot high hairy, pinky vagina in an Art Film movie house in Eden Farms in the Bronx. My attempt to not seem to be a woman is to wear a cloche pulled down hard, my raincoat collar up. I don't dare look yet, but I can feel the eyes of someone sitting in the exact same row at the far end. See him? Cap. Raincoat. Hunkering down deep in his seat. Almost trying to be invisible. Like me.

CHAPTER 3
    SAM PUSHED OUT INTO the night from the deserted lobby to find his enpummeled senses startled smartly by warm puffs smelling of raindrying cement sidewalk; subnormal silence of semi-deserted street; thin tremulous sails of mist diffusing the assault to his eyes from the myriad of colored lights and their reflection from black, patent leather mirrors of wet across the expanse of Eden Farms. Ah! Waft of springtime. Friendly evening. He searched out the long-anticipated cigar, moving to one side of the entrance to strip away the clear wrapper, then, resting his shoulder against the bricks of the theatre to make a shield, charred the end of it with a wooden kitchen match.
    Weary. More than somewhat weary, for some reason. Just the melt of the day. And getting older. Damn porno films make me so depressed. I don't know really why I let myself in for that shit. Stayed in longer than I really wanted to, guess there's a headache trying to work its way through my brain. Alleged brain, that is. How ugly those people make it seem. How without shame they display those intimate parts of their body, and expose them to a prevaricating use doubly ungratifying to doer and viewer. I could never do that. Not for a million bucks. Me? On camera have some chick stick her finger up my asshole? Fudgepacker. Worse than barnyard doings. No wonder there wasn't a tweak of a hard-on in my pants. Shit! Was thinking I'd like a beer, to celebrate. Just doesn't make it with me tonight. Can't celebrate and think of Sol. If I'd known. Yeah? What? Mountain of Man, he is. No. No beer. No bar. Maybe Ma's waiting for me. Give her a chance to make up for not remembering this morning. I'll