Kiss The Girls and Make Them Die by Charles Runyon Read Free Book Online Page A

something from me, but I couldn’t give it to her. So she went away and never came back.”
    “You know what she wanted?”
    “I think—some kind of roseate vision of the future. Or … I’m not sure. Forgiveness, maybe. She came to me pregnant and she dropped acid because she’d heard it would make her miscarry. She didn’t take it with her group, or even with me, but a week after they left she took it alone and went off in the woods. I found her with a dead baby between her legs and milk spurting from her breasts. I spent half the summer trying to pull her out of that … no, I don’t want you to think my motives were altruistic. I wanted to help her, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered. I was into the Tantric ritual and I needed a female partner, a yogini.”
    “I don’t quite understand that.”
    “Well … you make it through sex.”
    “I see. What is it you accomplished?”
    “Never mind.”
    “No, really. Orgasm?”
    “No. Yes—in a sense. The orgasm. The big awakening. Realization, enlightenment, satori …
    “I see. And did it work?”
    “Well … almost. I remember one day we were lying out on the bridge and I was in her all the way and she had her yoni clamped down like a trap and we’d been slow breathing for fifteen minutes, our minds centered on the root chakram. I was making it and I think she was, at least I could hear that long, even rise of her breathing, and felt the waves of slow fire rising up my spine, knowing that if she moved her hips one fraction of a centimeter the whole scene would blow. I’d had ahelluva time teaching her not to wiggle her ass, because it went against all her education—but she was doing it right, and I felt the linkage down low, two fires, one inside her and one inside me melting together, and then the fire wasn’t down there anymore, it was burning a track up my spine to the back of my skull … I use the possessive case but it wasn’t my skull anymore, it was just a skull somewhere which I didn’t need anymore because I was
out
—but then she moved those big earth-mother hips and I felt the physical orgasm sucking me back inside. I was lying on my left side and she on her back with her left ankle gripped between my knees and my arm sort of twined around under her right knee. This locks you up tight and helps you break up the habit pattern of the everyday fuck. The big orgasm wasn’t what I’d had in mind, you’re supposed to clamp down hard and force the reproductive energy up your spine and into the brain, and even if you start to come you can sometimes pull it back and lift it up the spine by concentration. That’s if you’re not too far out, which I was. When it was all done and we were both lying there giggling … It was okay this time, and maybe next time—it’s never a failure, you know—I said something like, I was out for a minute, and she said, she was sorry, but they surprised her. Who? The people. And I look to see my sister trying to get her two kids up the hill—they’re looking over their shoulders at our scene on the bridge, and my sister isn’t making much time because she’s trying to see too. I started to yell at her but then I saw another woman with her wearing a white dress and white gloves. I had my labels ready and pasted it on her right quick, Church lady, and the yell fell back down between my tonsils. I could make it with my sister, I mean, within a few minutes she’d be laughing, even though she had some weird, square ideas on how to raise kids. It was the other lady who loused it up; they’ve got nothing to do in that suburb where she lives but swill coffee in the morning and booze at night and talk about who’s balling whom, and my sister’s got this terrible hangup about being talked about. So I lether go rather than walk up to her and her friend wet dick a-dangle, and we never really got tight again, until after my bust. Even then behind all that weepy wet-eyed shit there was the hard glitter of worry about