Sexiest Day of My Life

The building was as quiet as a tomb. Alfie, my frequent drinking companion, had disappeared two years ago and was recently discovered when a relative came to check on him, demanding the door key. The desk clerk, an actor who had played the undertaker in spaghetti westerns, insisted on accompanying him during the intrusion. The door had swelled tight, as happens in steam-heated buildings with old wooden doors, and had to be hammered open. There was Alfie, sitting next to the steam radiator, a petrified mummy. His face looked like one of those dolls made of dried apples.

Alfie, in his heyday, squired the most beautiful starlets to the Copacabana, including Jane Mansfield, Rachel Welch, and Elvira Finnegan, who turned out to be a guy in drag. Alfie said, "Elvira was the best one in bed," but offered no description of how that coupling went down.

I had rented a ground-floor apartment with a rear entrance at an old actor's building a few blocks from Times Square. A bevy of grape vines grew gracefully up and over a metal support protruding from the wall, shading a small wooden table just outside the door. I had thought to discard the old table but instead cleaned away the dust and paint flakes and painted it a bright cherry red.

One evening, I was seated at the table with a gallon Gallo jug of pale yellow Chablis Wine and a clear wine goblet, one of those cheap 'Frenchies' that they sell in the dollar store. The daylight had scattered, and the air was ripe with humidity. The light evening rain had stopped falling. A raindrop from the metal fire escape fell onto my nose. A shadow passed over me as I wiped the drop away with the cuff of my shirt. I looked up, thinking it was a large black crow flying overhead; for some reason, the city was being invaded by these large birds when Alfie introduced himself.

"Hi, kid, so they rented you this shit pile?"

He was obviously of advanced age. White curly hair cascaded down his boney sallow face delineated by several warts and numerous pockmarks. He'd attempted shaving, but his effort was misguided. Patches of whiskers still remained. Alfie was slender and of medium height, wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, and open-toed hippy sandals made from old tires. He was smoking a long fat cigar, and the burning ash, a fiery circle, was clearly visible.

"Do you mind if I smoke? said Alfie. "I came back here looking for a place to peacefully smoke my Havana. What are you doing back here?"

"This place is not so bad. You just have to sweep the rats out with the trash. Excuse me, but who the fuck are you? Is that a real Cubano?"

"Alfie Gerson, of course, it's real. I know a guy at the embassy who smuggles them in. I did him a favor in the old days, and he still remembers."

"It has a nice smell."

"Yeah, even the ladies like it. The trick is to soak the tit in Triple Sec Cointreau, that orange liqueur, then let it dry before you smoke it. The tip becomes encrusted with the sugar from the liquor. They call these cigars, so treated, 'sugar tits.'

The expression made me laugh.

"You know most of the Cubans, before Castro, got their education in the cigar factories. While they would hand roll the tobacco leaves, a guy up front would read them newspapers, novels, even scientific stuff."

Alfie continued, "Maybe you remember me from the Life Magazine spreads?"

"No, sorry, what mag is that?"

"Maybe you're too young to know. They went out of business in 1972, a while ago, probably before you were born. They featured me, 'The Romeo of Tinsel Town,' several times."

"No, that was before my time; they birthed me in 1980."

"So you never saw a Life Magazine?"

"Now that you mention it, I've seen them bundled at the flea market."

"So you are in your 40s?"

"Yeah, and you're a math major?"

"Far from it, but I can still add 2 plus 2."

"What did you say your name was?"

"Alfie. Did you get dropped on your head when you were a baby? Not much of a memory."

"Oh yeah, sorry man, live here, Alfie?"

"Yeah, since the stock crash of eighty-seven, Black Monday, with what little was left, I closed out the account and bought a Penthouse on the roof, and I've been here ever since."

"Yeah, I went up on the roof on New Year's night to see the fireworks. I saw the 'pents', like tiny houses, aren't they?"

"Yeah, it ain't the Chateau Marmont, where I used to live."

"Well, have a seat. Your name was?"

"Alfie"

"Have a seat Alfie and pour yourself some wine."

"And you are?"

"It doesn't matter; call me Joe."

"Ok, Joe."

The clear glass gallon jug was 2/3rds full and heavy, so I leaned forward and helped the old guy steady it, fearing he'd poured it out all over the slats of the picnic table.

"The Chateau Marmont, isn't that where John Belushi speed-balled his way into paradise?"

"Yeah, I wished I'd been there that night, I arrived when they were wheeling him out. That bitch who did him in was no good. She used to blow guys for a cocaine ball, but she'd drool all over your crotch while sucking you off."

"So you knew Belushi?"

"Yeah, as if you ever get to know a guy. He was quick to laugh and funny as hell. Lying on the gurney, he looked like an elderly man before the orderly covered his face. He'd aged considerably that last year."

"So Alfie, what are you doing here in the Big Apple?

"Been here a long time. I grew up here just over the Brooklyn Bridge. Used to swim in the East River with a gang of kids. When I was 18, in college, I had a paper route downtown. I'd use the profits to fuck $10 whores down by the pier. In those days, the whores would wander under the upper level with their tits sticking out. I'd go on a bicycle and fuck them up against the steel girders that held up the West Side Highway. Sometimes you'd think you were about to fuck a girl, and the tranny would deftly shove your cock in her ass, and you'd never know the difference."

"They never rebuilt the upper level, did they?"

"Yeah, it was held up for years with rust and paint and fell down one night in 1977. They dragged it away little by little, left up a small piece of the upper level, and turned it into a garden where people can meet and discuss the traffic jams without a two-level highway, a perfect example of bad maintenance.

"As for the prostitution under the bridge, you can't get total satisfaction for ten bucks.

"I never complained. Getting my rocks off, even while standing up, was a necessity. Once you become an adult, you can't sit around pounding your pud."

"So Alfie, where'd ya go from there?"

"I finished school and went to Louis College out in the midwest, and my Dad was an alma mata. I became the editor of the school paper. Most students came from farms and could hardly spell their names. We called the place Lo-Ass. Upon graduating, I came back to New York and was hired by the Herald to write local news and entertainment blurbs, and then, they transferred me to television, Channel Five, where I did an interview show for late-night TV with folk bands who were performing in the Village. Sometimes pieces of my show were featured on the 10 o'clock news, like the one backstage with Dylan. His real name was Zimmerman."

"I had a dentist with that moniker."

Anyway, Joe, I was checking out a band at Gertie's Folk City when I met a skinny, dark-haired Polish girl, Ella, a waitress with very big low-hanging tits. When I brought her home, my mom christened her 'The Milkmaid.' She'd come over for dinner on her day off and stay the night. After a month, she moved in with me. We did a lot of fucking, pretty wild stuff, even threesomes, at her girlfriend's place. I wasn't surprised when she got pregnant, so I married her. Turned out the kid wasn't mine.``

"You were having threesomes, men involved?"

"No, just me and the two girls, but the threesomes were terrific; cocks, cunt, and dildoes. Her girlfriend had a jap dildo they'd plug in, and when they'd stick it under your dick, the vibrations would make you come in a minute. Once they finished with me, my dick was flaccid. I'd sit back and watch those two go at it."

"Did you get to fuck the girlfriend?"

"Oh yeah, she was from Peru, long head, great body, high small tits that were covered with technicolor tattoos of jungle flowers. She'd ask me not to cum inside her but to cum on her tats. But her cunt was like a padlock. Once you got in there, she'd tighten up, and you could hardly pull out. She thought that was pretty funny."

"So you'd cum on her tattoos?"

"Yeah, she said it improved their color."

"That must have been painful."

"No, her cunt eventually loosened up."

"I mean, getting your tits tattooed?

"Oh, yeah, I guess. I sure wouldn't want my cock tattooed."

"Jesus, Alfie, I didn't ask for a biography with graphic details."

"Sure, kid, but once I get started, it's a stream of consciousness."

"Well, don't die off in mid-stream."

"I thought you weren't interested.''

"Not so. Please continue."

Alfie taped a long ash off the end of his cigar. The fiery tip glowed red as he inhaled to keep the flame alive. The whole place smelled of sweet tobacco.

"Of course, I didn't know at the time that I wasn't the kid's real dad. Even if I had, it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe it was postpartum blues, but my wife Ella and I never had sex after the baby was born. She just kept putting me off with lots of blow jobs. Five months after Ella gave birth, she ran off with the tattooed bitch. Maybe they were both queer. Ella preferred sucking cock to getting fucked. That was a sign I didn't pick up on."

"Are you for real, Alfie? Are you saying that a woman who prefers cock sucking to fucking is giving you a sign that she is a secret lesbian?

"Yeah, you see fucking is much more intimate; she can blow you and get you off in a few minutes without the bother of full-on fucking. It's a question of expediency."

"Ok."

"The two of them left the kid with me when they ran off, but they didn't forget to take the electric dildo with them.

At first, it was really tough for me to take care of the baby. I took the kid to stay with my Mom, who was a big help. Of course, my Mom said immediately,

"Who the fuck is this Irish baby? It doesn't look at all like you."

Once the kid learned to go potty, it got easier, but diaper time was no fun."

"What happened to the kid?"

"The kid is ok. Fiesta grew up, went to a city college, and got a master's degree at Hunter College. She's got a job in New York City at the Fox Studio next to Rockefeller. Center, rewriting the news so it fits their viewpoint, but what the fuck? It's a living."

"Does she know you are not her real dad?"

"Sure, I never kept it a secret. A year or two ago, Fiesta got curious about her paternity and got one of those 21 genetic tests. She learned that her real dad was a priest who lived in a church dormitory that the Cloisters ran up on 160th Street.

When Fiesta briefed her mom on the report, Ella had no recollection of who the dude was, but she recalled getting smashed on cocaine at a Studio 54 blast and waking up in the bathroom with her thighs and big boobs covered with sperm."

"So she's still around?"

"She's an old lady living with some retired cop over in Queens. That night in Studio 54, she probably got fucked by a bevy of guys, and the priest won the lottery. It turned out that the priest was an Irishman long missing on a mission in Papua, New Guinea. He disappeared, like the Rockefeller kid, probably eaten by headhunters."

Though far from a French vintage, the Gallo jug wine was cheap, perfumed, and didn't get you too dizzy or give you the runs.

"That's a lot of shit you just laid on me, Alfie."

"Yeah, sorry bout that, but it wasn't easy for me. About two years after the two broads ditched me, I took the kid to Los Angeles and got a job working on Star Trek episodes for about three years. When Captain Kirk, I'm referring to the series that starred Shatner, got canned, I took a break and moved down to Rosarito Beach in Mexico. In those days, prime pussy was ten dollars a throw. Lots of young whores worked in the clubs. You could have a fresh cunt every night.

Our babysitter, Carla, raised the baby as if it was her own. Fiesta grew up speaking Spanish. I worked all day ghosting scripts, and when evening came, I had free rein to plug as many holes as possible, usually one a night.

When Fiesta was 10, we moved back to Los Angeles so she could attend an American school. By then, half the school spoke only Spanish. Carla came with us, hidden and almost suffocating under a pile of blankets in the rear seat, but we got her across the border. Luckily, Fiesta was smart. They put her into a Magnet School, and she stayed in the system through high school."

"You know Alfie, I used to dig that Treky stuff. The show's producers, Gene Roddenberry and company, had wankable bitches in crazy costumes parading around half-naked. I was a young kid and watched TV with one hand on my dick, and I'd wank away when a hottie came on the screen. The wall beside my bed looked like a snowstorm hit by my flying cum."

"Yeah, there were some sexy babes; in her prime, Joan Collins was in one episode, Sally Kellerman, BarBra Luna, Julie Newmar, and others. Jane Wyman, who was married to President Reagan, played Spock's mother.

Kirk was into fucking the extras, and that probably was why his 2nd wife, Nerine, a good-looking woman, ended up at the bottom of the swimming pool, but that's just supposition. She was a mean drunk the few times Nimoy brought her around for our wild wrap parties. The coroner said she was filled with drugs and booze when she supposedly drowned. I've often wondered if Nimoy got a piece of her pie. He was really friendly with her."

"So you retired to this place after the crash of 2007?"

"Yeah, it seemed the wisest thing to do. I'd lost most of the money in the stock market but had enough left to buy the penthouse apartment on top of the building. The roof had a slow leak that the coop promised to fix, but every few years, the leak reappears in the springtime.

The building had gone co-op, I paid cash for the penthouse, and with my social security, I've managed to pay the monthly and have enough left over to buy a can of beans and a pot to collect the roof water. I still double as a screenwriter for my old colleagues who have too much work on their hands. They throw me a bone from time to time to write an occasional scene. Some of these writers are working for several shows and are too busy to do it themselves, and that brings in some extra cash."

"You can always stop by here and have a freebie meal with me, Alfie."

"Thanks, Sonny, but you needn't worry. I manage. I get an occasional residual from some small TV parts I played years back that are alive once more in steaming. It pays peanuts, but enough to buy a bag of popcorn. And then there's a widow lady on the 6th floor with a leaky vagina who invites me over for fuck and feed sessions. I bring the wine, and she supplies the Viagra."

"Does that do the trick?"

"It's not that I always need help. I use it because of my fear of being a disappointment. There is nothing that gets a woman madder than if you start to have sex with her, get soft, and can't complete the act. If you don't cum they feel deprived."

"Yeah, they should be grateful you put a cock in them."

"Talking about sex reminds me that I'm rewriting a steamy script for that French director, Pierre Rulet, so if you have any sexy stuff you'd like to spill, I could use some fresh input."

"Hmm, I do have one incident that might excite you."

"Oh, yes, tell me about it."

"It will take a while, but I'm game if you want to hear it."

Alfie unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his long sallow cock.

"Excuse me," he said, but I gotta piss. Alfie walked over to the big planter in the yard and pissed in it.

"Sorry bout that. With the meds, they give for my diabetes and my heart, I gotta piss ten times a day. It was either the plant pot or pissing my pants. The urge comes on with a rush faster than I can walk to the toilet."

"Yeah, next time, go inside. There's a John inside on the left."

"Sure."

"Does piss kill plants?"

"No, they thrive on it, also on coffee grinds, particularly these azaleas you got growing there."

"Ok."

"So what's the dirty story?"

"Her name is Lulu."

"That's a warning right there. Excuse me as I make some mental notes."

Alfie held his cigar up as if it were an ink pen.

"First, Joe, you gotta set the scene and tell me exactly what she looked like."

"Lilu was a knockout. Tall, about five-ten, with long narrow feet and 34 double D titties. Her face had two big eyes like a lighthouse. She had a small nose, curved fleshy lips, perfect teeth, and skin whiter than a groom's linen handkerchief.

Her nipples, not too long or thick, were like red Bonbons floating on a sea of whipped cream. Her waist was, let's say, 16 inches, very slender. Her vagina was something only God could have designed. The two thin labia lips formed a crease where her swollen clit, like a giant oyster's pearl, popped out to watch the sunrise. Of course, those good things get worn out with too much use, but she is still in good shape. I still can't keep myself from fucking her, even though I'm mad at her."

"Why are you mad?"

"I'll get to that, don't rush me."

"Sorry, take your time, but please continue."

"I knew of Lulu even before I met her. I always loved bad girls, and she was famous in my high school graduating class for her sexual shenanigans. She was 18 just before we all graduated, and she spent an afternoon playing hooky with a returning graduate, one of the guys formerly on the wrestling team, who spent the afternoon fucking her on the stadium bleachers, in full view of the entire school that looked down on them from the big windows two and three stories up."

"How old was she? Sorry but I need all the details. Details matter."

Since Lulu started school late, she was over 18 when her public sex event occurred. In plain view, it appeared as if Lulu was just thumbing her nose at morality. I watched as Larry's muscular bare ass rose and fell over her in a frenzy as he fucked her, wishing it was me. Every now and then, he'd raise up, and that was when you could see her big beautiful tits before he'd thrust down and cover them.

Most of the boys watching had to go to the restroom immediately afterward to jerk off.

And then there she was, a year later, walking past me on the subway platform. I knew it was her immediately, and my cock swelled up like a green banana. I was on my way to a morning class. Lulu passed me, realizing we were once classmates. She turned and said, "Hi."

Little did I know she would turn my world upside down.

To my surprise, she sat beside me and pressed her knees tight against my hard-on. She said she was on her way to a temp job. Instead of going to class, I accompanied her to the building where she was working.

"What time do you get off?" I asked.

"Five, are you going to meet me?" said Lulu.

"I was there when she came out the revolving door nine hours later. We went to McDonald's and had burgers and fries. She managed to drip red catsup on her white blouse. I joked, "Your blouse is no longer a virgin," and I was surprised when she turned red. When I tried to wipe the catsup off her blouse and brushed against her breasts, my dick started to throb.

"Time to go," said Lulu. "I can see what's on your mind."

"We took the subway back to the apartment she shared with a girlfriend. Once inside the elevator, I put my arms around her, and her hands wandered to my stiff cock. She didn't let go until we were inside her apartment. I think we both knew what we wanted. Before the door was closed, we were undressing, throwing our clothes on the floor in our haste to get right down to business. As soon as I got my shirt off, she undid my pants. Before I got both feet out, she was steering my cock into her very wet vagina."