Praise

by Andrew McGahan

  I told them about her.

  ‘A woman,’ Molly screamed. ‘You’ve got a woman?’

  ‘Only for a few more days. She’s leaving soon.’

  ‘I thought you were never fucking anyone ever again?’

  The poems I’d showed Molly happened to have been some of the blacker ones, written in moments of deep sexual despair.

  I said, ‘Neither did I. Cynthia sort of snuck up on me.’

  ‘Who is she?’ asked Leo. ‘You’ve never even mentioned her.’

  ‘I met her at the Capital. She works behind the bar.’

  ‘A barmaid?’

  ‘Yes. A barmaid.’ I looked at him. ‘And barmaids, Leo, are to be respected.’

  Molly said, ‘So are nurses.’

  We drank on our beers.

  ‘Well, agricultural scientists,’ said Leo, ‘have it hard too.’

  We stayed until closing time, got ourselves solidly drunk, then wound our way back to my flat. The house was alive with violence and noise. The old men were going for each other. I introduced everyone round and we drank on for an hour or two. We were in Lewis’s flat. Lewis was fifty or fifty-five, but looked less. He had bright silver hair slicked back in a fifties style. He was a Vietnam veteran. He survived now on an unexplained invalid pension. Whatever the problem was, it gave him a sour outlook on the world. He wore tight-fitting T-shirts with the sleeves rolled up to the shoulder, and terrorised the rest of the house. Except for me. I had the only car in the place. I was useful to have on side.

  ‘Where the fuck’ve you been lately?’ he said. ‘I hear you got a woman. This her?’ He was looking at Molly, who was next to me at the time.

  Molly shrieked. ‘Me? With Gordon?’

  Finally we retired to my place. Leo rolled another joint and we smoked it. It seemed stronger now.

  ‘I can’t drive home,’ said Leo.

  ‘You can stay here.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the bed. There’s room for three of us. It’s a very large bed.’

  ‘I’m not sleeping next to you,’ said Molly.

  ‘Leo can sleep in the middle.’

  It was agreed.

  We smoked one more joint. I was tiring. So was Molly. We decided to sleep. Leo wasn’t tired. Smoking always gave him energy. He said he was going back to the old men. After he was gone, Molly and I went into the bedroom.

  ‘Don’t you dare try anything,’ she said.

  ‘Trust me. I won’t.’

  The bed — which I had acquired by sheer luck some years before — was indeed huge. It may have been what they call Emperor size. I turned off the light and we undressed, climbed in. I didn’t watch Molly undressing. I had no desire to see her naked. I didn’t think her body would fit in with my idea of the rest of her. We pulled up the sheet and lay there, a foot of empty mattress between us.

  ‘So you did it with Cynthia, in this bed?’

  ‘Yes. We did it in this bed.’

  ‘What’d you do?’

  ‘Not much. Cynthia got on top and jumped around. That was about it.’

  ‘Did you go down on her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you like going down on women?’

  ‘I don’t have much experience really, but yes, I like it.’

  ‘Leo never goes down on me. He says he hates the taste.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Do you do it to him?’

  ‘I have to. He makes me. But I don’t let him come. No one’s coming in my mouth.’

  ‘You might be missing the point.’

  ‘No. Penises are horrible things.’

  ‘Penises are fine. Penises are beautiful.’

  ‘Not Leo’s. It’s big and it’s ugly.’

  ‘It’s big? How big?’

  ‘Oh, big. Big and circumcised. And it has a blister right on top.’

  ‘A blister?’

  ‘A blister. And he says it itches. He uses me to scratch it. We only fuck to scratch. He has orgasmic scratches.’

  ‘That really sounds like something. Why does he have a blister? Is it a disease?’

  ‘He swears it’s not. It better fucking not be.’

  ‘A blister. Jesus. It’d make coming worthwhile.’

  ‘What do you mean, worthwhile?’

  ‘Just because a man ejaculates, Molly, it doesn’t mean he enjoys it. Ejaculations can be pretty empty things. They aren’t enough on their own. The fucking has to be good in spirit if it’s going to be good anywhere else.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was like that for men.’

  ‘It might not even be true ...’

  ‘Why don’t you enjoy fucking?’

  ‘I don’t have any spirit. I’m a beaten man. At twenty-three.’

  ‘I don’t believe that.’

  ‘I know. I only say it for the sympathy. Women treat you better if they think you’re incapable of sex.’

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘I don’t know. But you’re being nice to me.’ ‘Maybe ... but the last thing I want is a man with hangups. I’ve got enough of my own.’ ‘Yes. It’s always the way.’

  I fell asleep.

  I woke up some time later, struggling with asthma. I reached for the Ventolin and sucked it in. Leo was in the bed, asleep on the other side of Molly. The sheet had fallen off. There was light coming in from the next room. I looked at Molly. She was lying on her back with her limbs spreadeagled over Leo. Her long black hair was pooled all over the sheets. I looked at her breasts. They were much bigger than I’d realised. Then I looked at her lower half. She had a round stomach, and a tight small bunch of black pubic hair. Somehow it looked incomplete. Neutered. I found it depressing.

  Leo was lying on his side, towards Molly. His penis hung down over his thigh. It was big all right, but I couldn’t see the blister.

  I covered them up with the sheet, lay back down.

  I woke up again. I needed to piss. Leo and Molly were fucking beside me. Softly, but not that softly. I didn’t move. I peered at them out of half-closed eyes. Molly was riding him. Her big tits rolled as she slid back and forth. Her eyes were open. Leo’s eyes were open. They were staring at each other. I couldn’t pick the emotion. I closed my eyes. It seemed polite.

  I wondered if I’d missed anything. Who’d gone down on whom? Had anyone? They made it seem political, a battle of the sexes. As if there was something degrading about their respective organs. They knew less about it than I did.

  Leo came. He made a long satisfied sound. Maybe it meant he’d won. Good for him, I thought. Him and his blister.

  I lay there for a while longer. Molly rolled off him and they settled back down to sleep. I got up, wrapped a towel around my waist, and made off down the hallway to the toilets.

  SEVEN

  Two days later I called Cynthia. The moving was going faster than expected. That night she and her parents were due to shift into a hotel at the Army’s expense. The third day after that, they’d be on the plane to Darwin.

  ‘I’ve got my own room,’ she said, ‘with a double bed. I made sure about that, and free room service. Why don’t you come round?’

  It sounded good. I drove over that evening. The hotel was a luxury affair overlooking the river at Toowong. The Army treated its majors well. Reception told me the way to Cynthia’s room. She came to the door with a can of Toohey’s Old in one hand, a cigarette in the other. ‘Quick,’ she said, ‘get in.’

  I slid in. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘My parents’ room is right across the hall.’

  ‘Aren’t I supposed to be here?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t actually tell them. They won’t mind, but I don’t feel like going through all the introductions yet.’

  I explored her room. It was huge. Two double beds, couches and chairs, a view across the city and a monster TV/video system. ‘Impressive,’ I said. ‘And we can call anything on room service?’

  ‘Yep. Only problem is they don’t stock Toohey’s Old. I had to go out and buy these.’


  ‘Fourex will do me.’

  ‘You’re staying the night?’

  ‘How can I leave?’

  We dialled room service, and they sent up a dozen cans of Fourex. Cynthia signed for it at the door.

  We settled. Talked. Watched TV. Finally Cynthia pulled out her camera and tripod and began setting them up in front of the bed.

  ‘I want some photos of you before I go.’

  She was an amateur photographer. She’d already shown me some of her photos. They were mainly still-lifes of plants or buildings. She didn’t do many people.

  I said, ‘I’m not likely to enjoy this.’

  ‘Shut up. We’re doing it. Sit down.’

  I got up and sat on the bed and stared at the camera.

  ‘I should have told you to bring your leather jacket.’ She was peering through the lens.

  ‘It’s summer.’

  ‘Undo you shirt.’

  ‘I’m not posing naked.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would. Undo your shirt.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fucking hell.’ She came around the camera and started wrestling with me over my shirt. ‘C’mon, I want you just in your jeans, with your hair down. It gets me all horny.’

  ‘You’ve never even seen me like that.’

  ‘I know how it’ll look.’

  She got the shirt off and went back to the camera. She looked through the lens. ‘Go on, untie your hair.’

  I usually wore my hair tied back. I undid it.

  She snapped a few shots. ‘Now lie back.’

  ‘C’mon Cynthia.’

  ‘Lie back.’

  I reclined back on my elbows. ‘I hate this.’ She clicked a few more off.

  ‘Now, just stay like that,’ she said, and came around the camera again. This time she reached for my zip.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Don’t move. I just wanna undo it a little, okay?’

  ‘Okay, okay.’

  She undid the button and pulled the zip right down. 1mm ... no underwear.’ I stared at the ceiling. ‘And how’s your little penis?’ She dug into my jeans and found it. She pulled it out. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Cynthia ...’

  ‘Will you shut up?’ She kissed it and patted it. Then she set back admiringly. ‘Isn’t that sweet?’

  ‘You are not going to photograph it.’

  ‘But you could just leave it like that. It doesn’t even have to be erect.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘All right, all right.’ She tucked it away and pulled the zip halfway back up. She took three more shots. Then she put the lens cap on and crawled up over me. ‘That has got me horny.’ We kissed for a few moments, then between us we tugged my jeans off and she lifted her skirt. She wasn’t wearing any underwear either. She was already wet. She lowered herself and I slid in.

  We started moving. It felt good. Then, very suddenly, I was about to come. I couldn’t stop it. I pumped away, holding it back, and then it was there.

  Cynthia sat up. ‘You bastard.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, quick, get it up again.’

  ‘I can’t, not straight away.’

  ‘But I want it hard!’

  ‘There are other things I can do, Cynthia.’

  ‘No way. I want an erection.’

  I often came very quickly. It could be depressing. If the woman was patient about it, it just made it worse. Cynthia understood things. Don’t get patient, get angry.

  We rolled around for a while and my penis rose. She jumped on me again. And again, within a minute, I was ejaculating.

  ‘Jesus Christ. What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Really. It just happens.’

  ‘Then tell me to stop and wait a while, okay. Don’t just do it without me.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  She got off. I began playing between her legs with my hand. She had an open, pliable vagina and the largest clitoris I’d ever seen.

  ‘Why is this thing so big?’

  ‘It’s the steroids, maybe. I’ve taken so many of the fucking things for my skin, they’ve deformed the rest of me.’

  ‘It’s a useful sort of deformity.’

  ‘That’s not all, though. Steroids affect your moods too. When I’m on the cortisone I go crazy. I get aggressive. I get violent.’

  I rolled my finger around. She lay back. I rolled my finger around some more. I was crouched between her legs, watching my hand. I thought I should probably use my mouth, but that hadn’t worked so well the last time I’d tried it on a woman. I stayed with my finger. Her legs clamped tight around my hand. I picked up the pace until my wrist started to hurt.

  I stopped. I kept my hand curled around her cunt for a while. Then I slipped my index finger in. She arched up, ‘Not that, not now.’ I persevered. She lay back again. I kneeled up in front of her and began fucking with just the one finger, then two. She started to roll and moan. I shifted up to three.

  ‘Roll over,’ I said.

  She rolled over, lying flat on her chest with her big arse lifted in the air. I set to with three fingers and finally she came, clutching the pillow over her head.

  I sat up and watched her.

  ‘Hand fucking is wonderful,’ she said, after a time. ‘Hand fucking from behind is especially wonderful.’

  It depressed me. I was beginning to suspect that Cynthia’s orgasms came not so much from anything I did, as from her ability to turn herself on to things, to anything, and anyone. I could’ve been anyone. Maybe that was the way it would always be with sex, and maybe there was nothing so surprising about it, but I felt the need to do something more. I had to prove my existence. I needed power. I rolled her over again and applied my mouth to her clitoris.

  ‘Jesus.’ She sounded tired. Her thigh closed around my ears. She held my head there a while. Nothing happened. I stroked away with my tongue. Then her legs opened again. I sat up and looked at her. She looked back.

  ‘I’ll show you something,’ she said.

  She took my hand and placed it over her own. Then with both our fingers she began manipulating her clitoris. ‘See? Push it one way until it sort of stretches, then roll your finger over it and let it snap back, then push it the other way.’ She showed me for a few moments more, then pulled her hands back under her head. I carried on. I could see what she meant. ‘It hurts just a bit,’ she said, ‘and it takes a lot longer to come, but then when you do ...’

  I nodded. I was interested. These were the things I needed to know. I slid two of the fingers of my left hand into her and began moving them very slowly, in time to my right hand. I picked up the pace. I concentrated on it, coordinating things. It wasn’t sex, it was vectors, speed, mathematics. And maths was something I was good at. I worked and worked and she squirmed and shuddered and then came, jamming her cunt up against my hand. It was a victory for science.

  We lay on the bed for a while, smoking and talking. Then I got up, went to the toilet, and opened us some beer.

  ‘You hungry?’ I asked.

  It was early still, so we dialled room service. The menu was extensive. We chose pizza.

  We ate and drank and smoked, and watched TV.

  Cynthia said, ‘You don’t mind me showing you how to do things, do you?’

  ‘God, no. I can use the help.’

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t be so down on yourself. You’re no natural, you don’t do anything right, but there’s still something about you.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just the looks.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘You’re that close to being ugly, you know, you’re that close.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But you’re beautiful.’

  ‘Maybe to you.’

  ‘It’s not just me, Gordon. I’m sure there’s others.’

  ‘It’s not true, Cynthia. Women like to think that other women find their man attractive, that’s all.’

  She lau
ghed. ‘You don’t know a fucking thing.’

  We finished the pizza and drank some more beer and watched TV. Then we climbed back into bed. She slid down my belly and took me in her mouth. I got hard. Her head moved up and down, her tongue was pumping. I grabbed for her legs and dragged her lower half around. Her cunt was over my face. I nuzzled my way in. She had light brown pubic hair, lots of it. I sorted my way through, found her clitoris. We worked away at each other for a while. Cynthia started making noises in her throat. I felt the pressure building in my erection. It was always a strange thing, that pressure. Sometimes it was hateful. Too much depended upon it. But then at other times ...

  I was nearly there. My tongue was aching, it was losing its rhythym against her cunt. Then Cynthia pulled her mouth away. ‘Stop it,’ she told me, ‘I want to concentrate on this.’

  I stopped. She went back to it with her mouth. Her finger was between my legs and nudging at my arsehole. It all still felt good, but the pressure had dwindled away. I didn’t think I would be able to come. Ejaculations were fickle things. I moved my hips and tried to will the semen into her mouth. It wouldn’t go. I tugged at her arms. ‘Stop,’ I said.

  She raised her mouth and looked at me. She was rubbing the slippery knob of my penis with her hand.

  I said, ‘It’s hard to come like that sometimes.’

  She laughed. ‘What is wrong with you?’ But she slid up and mounted. We began fucking, slowly. In a few moments I was right on the verge again.

  ‘Stop,’ I said.

  She stopped and shook her head at me. Then she lay down flat on my chest. She kissed me. Then she began moving again, very slowly. I felt more in control this time. We picked up pace. Cynthia reared herself up on her arms, then she was sitting upright.

  ‘I’m gonna come soon,’ I said.

  ‘No, not yet.’

  She began bucking her hips furiously. She was close. I grabbed on and pushed as hard and fast as I could. Cynthia threw her head back. She said, ‘Not yet, not yet, not yet.’ But there was no stopping things now — I came. She threw herself back down on me, sweaty and panting and angry. ‘Oh fuck.’

  We lay there for a while.

  ‘You didn’t make it, did you,’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  She looked at me with a flushed exasperated bleeding face that I suddenly found deeply beautiful.