Killing Johnny Fry

by Walter Mosley

  Jo came in and jumped on my lap, straddling me and pressing her breasts against my chest. It felt very sensual for her to be naked while I was fully dressed—down to my shoes.

  I threw her off, and she tumbled onto the carpeted floor, only to get up and jump on me again.

  I threw her off.

  When she was just about to rise, I pointed at her and said, “Stay."

  Her eyes widened filled with both rage and desire.

  When I grinned, surprised fear came into her visage.

  “Please,” she said softly.

  I unzipped my pants, allowing the rock-hard erection to emerge.

  When she sat up on her knees to regard the cock, I noticed that both of her copper calves were wet from her vaginal discharges.

  “You can come look at it,” I said. “But don‘t touch it until I say it‘s all right."

  Obediently she sidled up next to me, touching my knee with one hand while letting her other hand and forearm settle gently on my thigh.

  “It‘s beautiful,” she said. “It‘s throbbing."

  “Dominating you makes him want to sing,” I said in a voice much lower than normal.

  “It‘s wet at the slit,” she said.

  “He wants to come down your throat."

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Does he want me to lick off that drop?"

  I paused a moment before saying, “No."

  “I want to kiss him,” she said. “He‘s so dark and thick and hard."

  “He could split your pussy wide open,” I said.

  She groaned again.

  “Doesn‘t he want me?” she begged.

  “Not now."

  “When?"

  “He won‘t say."

  “But he‘s going to fuck me soon isn‘t he?"

  “Not this afternoon,” I said, and she whimpered pitifully. “He has other things on his mind."

  “What?” she asked. “What is he thinking?"

  “He‘s thinking about a man standing behind you. A man with a huge hard cock. A man who wants your pussy as much as you want this cock right now."

  Putting her hands against both my knees, she got to her feet, her head not more than an inch from my straining member. Her butt was Up in the air in preparation for the man I spoke of.

  My heart was pounding then. It was difficult for me to maintain my dispassionate tone.

  “His cock is thicker than mine and more than twice as long."

  “Oh yes,” Jo whispered. “I want it."

  “And suddenly,” I said, “without warning, he plunges the whole thing in you, all the way in."

  Jo began to come again. She moved her hips from side to side and leaned forward to take my cock into her mouth. But I put my hand against her forehead to hold her off.

  “He‘s pounding against the backs of your legs with his muscle-hard thighs,” I said. “You can feel it all through you."

  I perceived a light in the dome of my skull. It was bright yet not at all an optical experience.

  “L!” Jo shouted.

  When I looked down, I saw the thick white come erupting from my dick. It was shooting up and running down the shaft. The light was getting brighter, and I experienced very little physical sensation. All I felt was my ass clenching, squeezing out the great quantity of come.

  Jo‘s head was pressing against my hand, trying to get at the ejaculation, but I held her off. It seemed so perfect to have an orgasm without any tactile sensation.

  Jo rolled onto the floor, grabbing at her pussy with both hands.

  I stood up and looked down her rocking from side to side, grimacing as if there was something inside her that she was trying to pull out. A thick dollop of milky white semen leaked from my cock onto her cheek.

  I went to the bathroom. There I dampened a washcloth and wiped the sputum from my pants. Then I held the still-hard penis in my left hand and washed it gently with my right. I stood there rubbing the rough cloth lightly upon the oversensitized skin of my manhood. It looked beautiful to me. It felt connected to every7 part of my being.

  I had a college education. I learned that human beings were sexual creatures. But I had never experienced that knowledge. At that moment I knew that every step of my life was leading to this tableau. It wasn‘t about Jo. It wasn‘t about her affair with Johnny Fry. That‘s what started it, but the door that trauma opened led to another place completely.

  I laughed.

  There I was, dick in hand, philosophizing about sexuality.

  “What‘s funny?” Joelle asked.

  When I looked at her, I could feel the cock stiffen. And also I became aware of a sharp pain in my head that had been there since that light shone in my mind.

  “Get dressed,” I told her.

  “Aren‘t we going to bed?” she asked, the disappointment all over her face.

  “My head hurts and I‘m hungry,” I said. “I haven‘t eaten yet today."

  “I need to fuck somebody, Cordell Carmel."

  “Get dressed."

  She gasped and then smiled.

  “Didn‘t you hear me?” she asked.

  “If you don‘t cover that ass, I will turn you over my knee and give you something to complain about.” The familiar words fell easily from my lips. I could almost hear my father‘s voice a room or two away, down the hall.

  I suppressed the urge to go look for him.

  Instead I took a step toward Jo, intent on making my promise real. She yelped and jumped away. Within three minutes she returned wearing a plaid skirt and pink blouse. She had on black high heels and no hose. I couldn‘t tell if she was wearing underwear.

  “Let‘s go,” I said.

  She put her arms around me and kissed me. Then she looked into my eyes.

  “What‘s happening to you?” she asked.

  “You."

  “What do you mean, me?"

  “Let‘s go,” I said again, and she began to cry.

  The tears weren‘t from sorrow or pain. It was just too much feeling. She felt like I did: like a cork on a rushing river, like a plastic bag caught in an updraft, finding itself thousands feet above the ground.

  I took her by the arm and pulled her toward the door.

  “I can‘t go out like this,” she said.

  “Sure you can. It‘s just your heart beating.” I had no idea what I was saying. But my words seemed to mean something to her. She grabbed my arm with both hands and pressed her head against my shoulder.

  As we went out the door, I felt that there was more love between us than there had ever been—more love than there ever would be again.

  We walked out of the building with her head on me, her tears running down my breast.

  “My toes feel numb,” Joelle was saying. “It‘s what you do to me. It‘s just like . . . crazy good."

  We were walking up Broadway a little past four in the afternoon.

  “I have the worst headache that I‘ve ever had in my life,” I said.

  “Where does it hurt?” she asked.

  “The dome,” I said. “Right up in the top. It feels like it‘s gonna explode."

  Jo pulled on my arm, and we stopped. She got in front of me and began massaging my temples with the fingers of both hands. We stood there in the middle of the street facing each other sensually while dozens of people walked around us, furtively glancing at the shameless lovers.

  “Is this helping?” she asked.

  “It feels great,” I said. “And I don‘t really mind the headache."

  I took both her wrists in my hand and we walked half a block.

  She didn‘t resist the handcuff grip.

  When I let go, she put both arms around me, hugging me as we went.

  Cicero‘s is a small Italian restaurant above 93rd on Broadway that doesn‘t close between lunch and dinner. The waiter seated us at a corner table in the back of the empty dining room. I ordered a plate of antipasto for two and a carafe of red wine.

  Jo sat close to me and held my hand. Now and then,
she‘d kiss my puffy knuckles. Whenever she did this, my erection throbbed under the table. It felt like a moan, like movement under the ground.

  “Are we going back to my place after we eat?” she asked, after the waiter served our sliced meats, cheeses, and olives.

  “I need you to wait until tomorrow,” I said.

  “I can‘t wait, baby,” she said. And when I didn‘t answer, “My pussy is throbbing."

  “Is it wet?"

  “Yes. Very, very wet."

  “It was dripping down your leg while I was licking your ass,” I said.

  “When I was fucking your face with my ass,” she said correcting me.

  “I never saw you that wet,” I continued.

  “Please stay with me tonight,” Jo pleaded.

  “Will you go fuck someone else if I don‘t?"

  “No, baby,” she said. “There‘s no one but you."

  “How can I be sure of that?” I asked, trying to sound playful.

  “Why would you even think such a thing?"

  “You‘re a sexy woman, Jo. I only just realized how hungry you are for love and sex. In the park, in the hall, in your ass. How can a woman like that have just one man?"

  “I did all that with you."

  “But what about the last eight years? Eight years, and all we had was straightforward intercourse. Missionary position and, every once in a while, doggy-style. That‘s not much."

  “Your wine,” the waiter said. He was standing there next to us. He‘d probably heard me. “Shall I pour?"

  “just leave it,” I told him.

  He smiled. He was a young Asian man with brownish skin, maybe Vietnamese or Cambodian.

  “I‘ve loved you all that time,” she said.

  “But couldn‘t you love me and someone else too?"

  “No,” she said with absolute certainty.

  “What about kissing someone?” I asked. “Could you kiss a man?"

  “Why are you asking me all this, L?"

  “Robert."

  Fear etched its lines into her face. I realized that I had never seen Jo really frightened before. But I could tell by those well-worn furrows that dread was no stranger to her.

  I felt a pang of guilt. I‘d thought that Jo was strong and unaffected by anxiety.

  “My, my doorman?"

  “Yeah. Him."

  “What did, what did he say?"

  The guilt in my heart was replaced almost immediately by a feeling of dominance and malice. The Rolling Stones‘ song “Under My Thumb” came into my mind. My mouth salivated over her trepidation.

  I swallowed and smiled. I waited.

  “What did he say?” Jo asked.

  “Nothing."

  “Then what does he have to do with anything about me?"

  “He didn‘t want to let me up to your apartment."

  “What?"

  “Most of the times I come to your place on the weekend, Robert is there at least once. He sees me and waves for me to go up. When I knock at the door, you‘re always busy and take a while to answer. That way I know he hasn‘t called you."

  “So?"

  “But today, on a Monday, I come to him, and he says, wait. And when I ignore him, he calls you immediately."

  Passion was completely gone from Jo‘s face. She stared at me with real concern.

  “Is that all?” she asked.

  “I figured that you had a weekday boyfriend, and Robert was worried that he was Up there with you."

  “But no one was there,” she said.

  “Robert didn‘t know that."

  “Is that why you made me take my clothes off in the doorway?” she asked. “So my secret boyfriend couldn‘t get away. So you could fuck me while he hid in the closet?"

  “I took you there because whenever I see you, I lose control. You are the most beautiful woman I‘ve ever known and you have been the only woman in my life. No. No. You have been the only person in my life. My only friend. Really the only one I can talk to. But, obviously, I never knew anything about you."

  “What do you mean?” she said. “You know everything about me. You‘ve met my mother and my sister, my friends. You know about every j o b I do."

  “But I didn‘t know how sexual you were. I didn‘t know that there‘s something you‘re frightened of."

  “ I ‘m not afraid of anything,” she said defiantly.

  “Why didn‘t Robert want to let me up?"

  “I have strict rules that nobody comes up on weekdays without being announced,” she said. “Not my uncle. Not my housekeeper."

  “And not me."

  “I never said anything to Robert about you, L. You never come during the week. Robert was just trying to do his j o b ."

  I didn‘t want her to confess about Johnny Fry. I wasn‘t ready for that kind of confrontation. All I wanted was for her to squirm a little.

  I tried to smile, but instead, a spasm of pain rippled under the top of my skull.

  “What‘s wrong?” Jo asked.

  “My head. It really runts."

  “Are you seeing things?"

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Things floating in front of your eyes, lights?"

  “No,” I lied.

  If her life was a secret, so should mine be.

  “If you need to go home,” she said. “I‘ll wait until tomorrow.”

  “At three?"

  “If that‘s when you want me."

  I felt that last sentence in the center of my heart. It was a small expansion, a swelling of passion. She made herself into an object for me. It wasn‘t unlike me standing in her bathroom holding my half-swollen cock as if it were some kind of philosopher‘s stone.

  “It‘s just that I didn‘t get much sleep last night,” I said.

  “Why not? Your headache?"

  “I had a visitor."

  That afternoon Jo‘s usually calm visage was like the New England weather. It went from cloud-filled to light to stormy in quick succession. My mention of a late-night visitor piqued her jealous sky.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  “Enoch,” I said dryly. “Enoch Bennett."

  “Who‘s that?"

  “You remember I told you about the woman who lives a couple of floors above me?” I said. “Sasha."

  “Not really."

  I told Jo about my adventures with Sasha and Enoch. Meeting them on the street, dragging him to the bed, the late-night visit and the confession about incest.

  “Sasha once told me that her mother and she were feuding over something—I‘m not sure, but I think it was a man,” I said. “Maybe she‘s getting back at her mother through her brother."

  “When he woke up, do you think he‘d forgotten what he did?” Jo asked. The worry lines had returned to her face.

  “No. I‘m pretty sure that he remembered the act, just not the confession."

  “That‘s too bad,” Jo said. “Forgetting something like that would be best."

  The woman who had been thrashing about on the floor in masturbatory orgasm just an hour before now seemed years older and fragile to the point of breaking under her own weight.

  “What‘s wrong, Jo?” I asked. It was the first time I had been truly concerned about her in days.

  She poured a glass of wine and downed it; poured another. When that glass was through, the rigidity in her limbs released a bit.

  “You were right when you said that I haven‘t told you everything about me, L,” she said. “I have one secret, a secret that I‘ve never told anyone before."

  “What‘s that?” I asked in a whisper.

  “You asked me about why I‘m so sexual lately,” she said.

  “Yeah?"

  “It has to do with Enoch."

  “Enoch? How do you know him?"

  “I don‘t know him,” she said. “But I know what he‘s going through."

  “What do you mean?"

  “Do you remember . . . “ she said, and gulped. “Do you remember I told you six mo
nths ago about nay Uncle dying?"

  “Your uncle, um, uh, Rex?"

  “Yes."

  “Yeah. I remember."

  She hadn‘t said more than a few words about her father‘s half brother, Rex. There was a letter from her aunt Jemma telling her that he had died in their home in Hawaii.

  “When my father died, Rex put us up in an apartment in Baltimore. I was fourteen, and he told my mother that it was time for me to learn an instrument. He taught piano before getting into the roofing business. So I‘d go over there three days a week and take lessons . . ."

  It was obvious where she was going.

  “. . .At first it was just lessons. He was a good teacher, and I still like playing the piano. But one day he told me that he loved me and that he needed me to be his girlfriend. It was very strange. He didn‘t touch me or anything. He just explained that we were going to have a relationship where I would be like a wife to him, or else he would stop paying for our food and our rent.

  “My mother had a nervous breakdown after Dad died. She couldn‘t work, and I was too young to get a job. My sister was younger than I was . . .

  “My uncle told me to think about it, and if I wanted to keep my mother out of the street, all I had to do was show up in two days for the next lesson."

  All of this she said looking down into her glass. Then she looked up. The face she presented was another woman completely: a beautiful woman who had been defeated by her own good looks.

  “I went back on Wednesday,” she said. “He told me what to do. He, he did it to me again and again. I never saw a man who could have sex so long. Some days he would come a dozen times. If I was ever late or tried to hold him off, he would beat me with a thin leather strap and then, and then sodomize me."

  I reached out and took her hand. Her tears fell on the table.

  “What finally happened?"

  “Uncle Bernard, my mother‘s brother, sent for us. He let Mom live in his house and paid for me and August to go to college."

  “And you never told anybody about this?"

  Jo shook her head and let go of my hand.

  “Not even your sister?"

  “No. He wrote letters for years afterward,” she said. “He wanted me to come back to him. He honestly believed that he loved me and that our relationship was somehow consensual. He told me that he needed me."