Pigs In Shit
by Ronald Sukenick
Many months later Ron meets Daisy again at a big American party in the seizieme, in a quartier that's sort of the equivalent of Park Avenue, and she doesn't look any the worse for wear.
This is a party involving the early Paris Review gang. Through Art, Ron has acquired a passing friendship with a Rockefeller scion who invites him. They go over together on the Metro. The trip is confusing because the pretty Radcliffe grad his friend is with keeps rubbing up against Ron like she wants to get it on. Ron would have willingly obliged since he doesn't have a girl at the time and is horny to the point of death. But as soon as they get to this bash they all immediately lose themselves in the mob and the martinis and Ron never sees either of them again.
When after several hours of martinis Ron comes out the other side of the tobacco smoke and alcohol fumes, he's for some reason leaving the party with Art, Daisy and several drunk and raucous young American guys of a kind with which he does not normally hang out. They all wear jackets and ties, now rather askew, and seem to be having something like a prep school reunion. Aside from being stinking drunk, they show all the signs of good breeding.
Much as Ron dislikes this type he finds something attractive about them. They seem happy. Happy-go-lucky. Why shouldn't they be? Golden children of the Golden Calf. Carefree Canaanites. The ring leader, Guy Lobe, is from New Canaan, Conn. Lobe is slightly older and works in Paris. They head for his apartment on the Ile St. Louis, where there is the promise of yet more booze and possibly other, unspecified goodies.
They end up in Lobe's apartment, which is well furnished with oriental rugs, antiques and whisky, and he even has a little pot, which is very exciting in those days. I mean, you could blow some pot and it was like so far out you could tell yourself that all your inhibitions were off on a walk around the block.
Not counting Lobe there are three of these guys besides Art and Ron. They're on their summer vacations from various business and law schools. After a while it becomes obvious that Daisy has been to bed with Lobe, and maybe also with Art. She doesn't even bother denying the heavy handed innuendos of these two.
Daisy's new sexual license makes Ron a little jealous, but it's not too surprising at this stage of her growth in the petri dish. And really he's less jealous than envious of these guys who had whatever it took to make her acquiesce.
But now maybe because of these vibes a joke starts where they begin saying since she's already got it on with two of them she might as well make it with the others. Daisy just laughs at them and tells them to stop being jerks.
Ron figures she might be a little uneasy by this time, the only woman with all these drunks, and he offers to leave with her. But the other guys boo and hiss and accuse him of trying to hog her for himself, and Daisy just tells Ron to stop being a jerk.
They joke and badger her for a while about sex but naturally they don't get anywhere though she's reasonably good natured about it.
Finally Lobe says, jokingly Ron presumes, "All right, we'll pay you."
"I don't do that kind of thing," says Daisy with a smug little smile.
"Bull shit," says Art. He puts his hand on her ass and says, "Twenty-five bucks." She knocks his hand away.
"Each," he adds.
Daisy sort of giggles. She's as drunk as the rest of them and her laugh sounds slightly hysterical now.
"What the shit, make it fifty," says another guy as he starts pawing her.
"Cut the crap," she snaps. The guys are more focussed now and she's treating it less like a joke. "And get your dirty hands off."
The place goes quiet for about a minute.
Then Guy Lobe says, "How much do you want?"
She gives him a long, hard look and then she just shrugs her shoulders.
"All right," says Lobe. "A hundred." He looks around. "Is that okay with everyone? A hundred a piece."
"I don't have any money," Ron says.
"He doesn't have any money," some one repeats.
"Fuck him. He can watch," says Art.
Daisy's eyes are beginning to look glazed, like she's about to go catatonic. "Let's see the money," she says.
"A hundred bucks. One shot a piece," says Lobe.
They start pulling out their wallets, Art goes around collecting the bills.
"Going once, going twice," he says. "Okay." Art puts the money on the table, big bills, Ron sees at least two hundreds, some fifties.
Lobe starts unzipping her dress. She doesn't resist. They hoot as he takes her clothes off, applauding and whistling as Lobe drops each item to the floor.
Ron already knows she has a beautiful body but he doesn't realize how beautiful. She's got a body worth a million bucks and Ron can understand why she's decided to cash in on it. The guys can see they're going to get their money's worth. It shuts them up for a minute anyway.
"Shit, a hundred bucks a piece," says one of them finally with a forced laugh. "Which piece is mine?"
"I want a breast," snickers another.
"Interesting what money can buy," says Lobe.
"Or what you can sell for it," says Art.
What they do is get her on her hands and knees on the table and play with her for a while. Ron gets a look at her face and she's staring into space. The best way Ron can describe her expression to himself is she looks like she's taking a shit.
The guys around the table are still laughing some but it doesn't sound like laughter anymore. It sounds like their throats have gone dry, like Ron's. The sounds that come out are like the coughing of an old drunk stumbling along an empty street on a winter night.
Finally they put her on her back with her legs off the edge of the table. Art takes out his cock, grabs her ass and goes in. The others watch like animals watching a stud mounting the female in heat. "Hung like a stallion!" one of them says with unconvincing bravado.
It doesn't take very long, it seems like maybe thirty seconds before Art groans, twitches and flops out.
For Ron what's going on is a certain loss of innocence, even though he's just watching. If I ever thought I was a nice guy, forget it, he thinks. All he wishes is that he had a hundred bucks.
The third guy comes in her mouth. After that they give her a bottle of whisky and she takes a long drink.
Lobe goes last. He turns her over and penetrates her from behind, then pulls out and carefully separates her cheeks to expose her ass hole. With a look on his face that might best be described as devout, he bends down and starts licking her ass hole, working his tongue all around and then in. You can actually see the point of his tongue flicking in and out of her hole. After a short time the tip of his tongue starts turning yellow-brown, she's probably been eating in those student restaurants.
"Good god," says one of the guys. "Holy shit," says another. Treyf, Ron thinks, and is immediately surprised at thinking it.
Lobe straightens up and starts drilling his cock up her ass. "Wait," she says, "that's not . . ." She gives a little cry and then takes it.
Soon Lobe is up to the hilt and moving like a piston. He comes with a loud yell that could be of triumph or despair, Ron can't tell which. After he pulls out he takes a mouthful of whisky, swishes it around, and spits it on the Persian rug.
When he's done with it they offer her the bottle. She shakes her head. "The money," she says numbly.
"The money," Art repeats. He picks it up and counts it out in front of her nose. Then he rolls the bills lengthwise in a tight cone. "Hold her," he says.
But it's not necessary. She just lays there as he carefully works the cone into her ass. She starts wriggling to accomodate his thrust, the first sign of animation she's shown. With one last, hard push the bills disappear.
At that moment her body stiffens, she screams and her head rolls so Ron can see her face, eyes closed, mouth gaping, bearing an expression that could be pain or bliss.
"Yeck," says one of the guys.
Now evidently disgusted with her, and maybe with themselves, they get her dress on quickly, hustle her out the door and down to the street. "Oink, oink, oink," says Art as she stumbles out the court yard door.
Ron follows quickly after her but must have turned in the opposite direction. She seems to have disappeared in the dark streets. At this point her ass is literally worth five hundred dollars.
It's two A.M. and everything is closed, including of course the Metro. Ron can't find a taxi, he hopes she can. If not he figures she's going to have to walk carefully because they didn't even give her time to get her underwear on.
When Ron remembers this episode it gives laundered money a new meaning.