"No way, Scott," I say. "Does Aiwa have digital remote control?'-"
"Yeah," he says.
"Uh-huh." What a completq and total dufus.
"Does the system come with a turntable that has a metacrylate and brass platter?"
"Yes," the bastard lies!
"Does your system have an... Accophase T-106 tuner?" I ask him.
"Sure," he says, shrugging.
"Are you sure?" I say. "Think carefully."
"Yeah. I think so," he says, but his hand shakes as it reaches for more of the corn bread.
"What kind of speakers?"
"Well, Duntech wood," he answers too quickly.
"So solly, dude. You've got to have the Infinity IRS V speakers," I say. "Or - "
"Wait a minute," he interrupts. "V speakers? I've never beard of V speakers."
"See, that's what I mean," I say. "If you don't have the V's, you might as well be listening to a goddamn Walkman."
"What's the bass response on those speakers?" he asks suspiciously.
"An ultralow fifteen hertz," I purr, enunciating each word.
That shuts him up for a minute. Anne drones on about nonfat frozen yogurt and chow chows. I sit back, satisfied at having stumped Scott, but too quickly he regains his composure and says, "Anyway" - trying to act blissfully uncaring that he owns a cheap, shitty stereo - "we bought the new Phil Collins today. You should hear how great 'Groovy Kind of Love' sounds on it."
"Yeah, I think it's by far the best song he's written," I say, blah blah blah, and though it's finally something Scott and I can agree on, the plates of blackened redfish appear and they look bizarre and Courtney excuses herself to the ladies' room and, after thirty minutes, when she hasn't reappeared I wander into the back of the restaurant and find her asleep in the coatcheck room.
But at her apartment she lies naked on her back, her legs - tan and aerobicized and muscular and worked out - are spread and I'm on my knees giving her head while jerking myself off and in the time since I've started licking and sucking on her pu**y she's already come twice and her cunt is tight and hot and wet and I keep it spread open, fingering it with one hand, keeping myself hard with the other. I lift her ass up, wanting to push my tongue into her, but she doesn't want me to and so I raise up my head and reach over to the Portian antique nightstand for the condom that sits in the ashtray from Palio next to the halogen Tensor lamp and the D'Oro pottery urn and I tear the package open with two shiny slick fingers and my teeth, then slip it, easily, onto my cock.
"I want you to f**k me," Courtney moans, pulling her legs back, spreading her vagina even wider, fingering herself, making me suck her fingers, the nails on her hand long and red, and the juice from her cunt, glistening in the light coming from the streetlamps through the Stuart Hall venetian blinds, tastes pink and sweet and she rubs it over my mouth and lips and tongue before it cools.
"Yeah," I say, moving on top of her, sliding my dick gracefully into her cunt, kissing her on the mouth hard, pushing into her with long fast strokes, my cock, my hips crazed, moving on their own desirous momentum, already my orgasm builds from the base of my balls, my ass**le, coming up through my c**k so stiff that it aches - but then in mid-kiss I lift my head up, leaving her tongue hanging out of her mouth starting to lick her own red swollen lips, and while still humping but lightly now I realize there... is... a... problem of sorts but I cannot think of what it is right now... but then it hits me while I'm staring at the half-empty bottle of Evian water on the nightstand and I gasp "Oh shit" and pull out.
"What?" Courtney moans. "Did you forget something?"
Without answering I get up from the futon and stumble into her bathroom trying to pull off the condom but it gets stuck halfway and while easing it off I accidentally trip over the Genold scale while also trying to flip on the light switch and in the process stubbing my big toe, then, cursing, I manage to open the medicine cabinet.
"Patrick what are you do ing?" she calls from the bedroom.
"I'm looking for the water-soluble spermicidal lubricant," I call back. "What do you think I'm doing? Looking for an Advil?"
"Oh my god," she cries out. "You didn't have any on?"
"Courtney," I call back, noticing a small razor nick above my lip. "Where is it?"
"I can not hear you, Patrick," she calls out.