“Hold it down in there!” he was screaming.
“Go to sleep!” she screamed back.
“This is awful,” I said, “you’re ruining the kid’s life.”
“You’re ruining my orgasm,” she told me as she grabbed my ass with both her hands and shoved me deep into her steaming-hot twat.
The Widow Kelsey would not be denied.
There was this one time that she outdid herself. Ollie Joe Prater threw a Halloween party at Cresthill. No surprise that Ollie Joe dressed up as a pirate with an eye patch, an earring, and a fake parrot on his shoulder. I didn’t need no costume ’cause I was already the Diceman doing the last show at the Comedy Store in Westwood. I drove back to Hollywood and saw that the party was so big that Ollie Joe had valet parking and a security guard at the door. Not everyone could get in. I had to convince the guard that I actually lived there. The house was wild that night. People snorting up coke like it was going outta style. Weed and whiskey everywhere you looked. Ollie Joe had rounded up the hottest comedy groupies in L.A. He invited far more women than men; there were at least four wet pussies for every stiff dick. The drinking and drugging didn’t interest me none, but the loose pussy was beautiful. Girls were taking me in the closet to jerk me off and coax me to fuck ’em standing up. I didn’t need coaxing. This went on for hours. Had to be three in the morning when I went to my room to fall into the bed. I was almost asleep when I heard a banging at my window.
It was the Widow Kelsey dressed as Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeannie, with the long ponytail, the harem pants, the bare midriff, the whole bit. I got out of bed, stark naked, and walked over to the window.
“They won’t let me in the front door,” she said. “Open this window.”
“I can’t,” I said. “It’s got these bars over it.”
“Unlock the bars.”
“They don’t unlock.”
“Then push your dresser in front of the window.”
I pushed the dresser in front of the window and said, “Now what?”
“Stand on the dresser.”
I stood on the dresser. “Now what?”
“Push your hips against the bars so I can get to you.”
“You gonna blow me through the bars?”
“You ask too many goddamn questions. Just stand there.”
After what I’d been through earlier that evening I wasn’t sure I could even get it up. But within ten seconds the Widow Kelsey, being the pro that she was, had me up and in her fuckin’ mouth.
“What if someone sees what you’re doing?” I asked her. “What if someone’s looking?”
“Let ’em look. That only gets me hotter.”
• • •
I don’t want all these stories to get you thinking that I don’t have a sensitive side. I do. I’m an extremely sensitive guy. If you think about it, all the guys I admired and started imitating had sensitive sides. Starting with Brando and James Dean and going through Elvis and Travolta and Pacino and Stallone, these were macho guys with soft hearts.
But a couple of things changed when I got to L.A. First, the women were wilder than any women I’d ever known. Compared to L.A., Brooklyn chicks were very fuckin’ conservative. L.A. women—especially the army of actresses on the make—were so eager to give up the pussy that even I, a lover of pussy, didn’t always know how to handle it. When the pussy comes too easily, a man can miss the pursuit. The pursuit is part of the fun. Perfecting the pursuit is part of the mating game. But when you live in a city where the pussy is pursuing you, the script gets flipped.
Then here comes the Diceman, this guy I invented. I dreamed him up like Jerry Lewis dreamed up Buddy Love, but he was also me. I had to make him me. Dice was now part of my name, part of my mind. When I got onstage, I was Dice. And the more Dicelike I got—cocky and rude and ready to say anything to anyone—the funnier I became. When I got offstage and called Mom and Dad back on Nostrand Avenue to tell them how great I was doing, I was sonny boy. I was Andrew. But they also understood that I was becoming Dice.
So sometimes, in spite of my sensitive side, it was Dice who went out on the dates. It was Dice who liked to hang out at Ben Frank’s coffee shop in Hollywood and eat at the counter, where one day I saw a woman who I was sure was Tanya Roberts from Charlie’s Angels. She had the light blue eyes and the blond hair and the great tits. She was sitting at a booth by herself.
In Dice mode, I went over and asked her, “You that girl on TV?”
“I wanna be on TV.”
“Oh, I thought you were Tanya Roberts.”
“A lot of people say that,” she said as she looked over my black leather jacket and snug black jeans. “You live around here?”
“I live in a house just up the street from where I work, at the Comedy Store.”
“That’s cool. Let’s hang out over there.”
Just like that she invited herself to the Red Room. When we got there, she reacted the way most chicks did.
She said, “This is a sexy bedroom.”
I said, “Yeah, I know.”
She said, “Well, what are you going to do now?”
In most situations, even sex situations, I’m a gentleman. I never force myself. I aim to please. But in some situations, like this situation, the Diceman, rather than Andrew, takes over. And in this situation, the Diceman was gonna play it cool. The Diceman was gonna make this Tanya Roberts lookalike beg for it. The Diceman was gonna sit on the bed and lean back against the wall and smile.
“What do you wanna do?” asked the Diceman.
“You know what I wanna do, or I wouldn’t be up here,” said Tanya.
“Well, I need to hear you say it.”
She looked at my crotch and saw that I was up. In that area, I have nothing out of the ordinary. I have the standard equipment carried by Jewish boys from Brooklyn. I’m not packing fifteen inches, but I was showing very stiff interest. She liked that.
“I see you’re ready,” she said.
“But I gotta hear exactly what it is that you’re ready for.”
“You. I want you to make love to me.”
“You want me to make love to you or to fuck you?”
I could see my question had gotten her hot. “I want you to fuck me,” she answered honestly.
Now I wanted more honesty. “You want me to fuck you nice and gentle or you want me to fuck you like a fuckin’ animal?”
“I want you to fuck me like a fuckin’ animal.”
“Okay, but before I do that, I gotta make sure you know how to kiss. If I like the way you kiss, maybe I’ll fuck you like a fuckin’ animal. If I don’t, maybe I’ll have to look for someone else.”
She came over and stuck her tongue in my mouth like her life was on the line. Her tongue was going wild. She was showing me just how much she wanted it.
“Is that good, baby?” she asked. “Is that good enough?”
“It’s a decent start. But now I want you to tongue my cock the way you tongued my mouth. If you don’t know how to suck dick, you ain’t gonna get dick.”
That was all she needed to hear. She went downtown, where her mouth turned into a supercharged Hoover. She sucked great dick.
“You ready now?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “But first I wanna watch you touch yourself. I wanna watch you play with that pretty clit of yours.”
She played with her pussy for a few seconds. The thing was dripping wet.
“Now are you ready?” she asked.
“Beg.”
“Please, I’m begging you, please . . .”
“Lemme watch for another minute. I’ll count down from sixty seconds.”
I did a long countdown, slowing down as I got to the last numbers. Finally I got to 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . and gave her what she wanted. She exploded the second my cock filled her twat. By the time we were through, we’d nearly busted both the box spring and her box.
THE FUCKINATOR
One day, I was about to fly down to San Diego to do a show the following night at the La Jolla Comedy Store, see my sister, and spend some time with Sandi, Mitzi’s daughter. Sandi and I had a kind of loose thing going on, in my mind a little like the Stephen Stills song “Love the One You’re With.” As I was about to start packing for my flight out of Burbank, Dan Frischman, a comic who lived in the house, said, “I got a proposition for you. I bet you a hundred bucks you can’t bang three different chicks before you leave. Has to be here and has to be three chicks you never slept with.”
I checked my watch. I only had a few hours before my flight. And three chicks I’d never slept with? First, I had to find three chicks, and then I had to fuck them, factoring in at least a minimum amount of recovery time in between. I’d be an idiot to take that bet.
“You’re on,” I said.
I rushed over to Schwab’s Pharmacy down the hill from where we lived. I knew a cute waitress there who was into me. I sat at the counter and turned on the charm, sweet-talking her back to the house as soon as her shift ended.
Within minutes I had the Schwab’s waitress out of her uniform and sitting on top of my dresser. We started going at it. I wasn’t even in yet when she whispered the four sweetest words I ever heard: “I come really quick.”
She went off, shivering, shaking, convulsing with a roar that rattled the walls of the Red Room. Dan, along with everybody else in Hollywood, had to have heard her. Then we started kissing and she apologized for coming so fast and I told her it was great, I loved it, and I hated to rush her out but I had to pack for my trip.
Next I called a chick I knew who worked at the Improv. I’ve forgotten her name, so I’ll call her Big Tits. I do remember those. Big Tits showed up wearing a sexy cut-off T-shirt and extremely short shorts. She was playing coy, which was making me nuts both because she was unbelievably hot and because the clock was ticking. She wanted to hang out on our porch and check out the view. On a clear day you could see all the way to the ocean. She leaned her elbows on the porch, giving me a clear view all the way to her ass. Then the comics started coming outside one at a time—Yakov, Dan, and Carl Edwards. They all knew about the bet. They started bullshitting, I think to delay my move and take time off the clock. Finally, I convinced Big Tits to get off the porch and check out my room.
Ten minutes later she was on her hands and knees and I was fucking her from behind, Big Tits’s big tits jiggling like crazy. I knew the guys were all listening, so I encouraged her to scream, which she did. I decided the only way I could win the bet and dutifully bang Sandi once I got to La Jolla was if I didn’t come, so I got Big Tits up on my bed and started sucking and kissing her swollen pussy lips until she lost it and came like a waterfall, and we both collapsed.
After she left, I sat around with Dan, Carl, and Yakov. I was fucking exhausted, not to mention that my balls were bloated to the size of basketballs. I was tempted to forfeit, but I needed the hundred. Plus I had my pride and my reputation to consider. Before I knew it I was down on Sunset shopping for pussy number three.
I found her in the front of a used-car lot. She looked like a starlet out of a 1950s movie. She wore a long black skirt with white gloves up to her elbows, and had a full figure and full lips. We talked cars. She complimented my Brooklyn accent. I complimented her style. We clicked. I invited her to the house. I winked at the other comics as I paraded her past them and into my room.
She wanted it and she wanted it slow. Once I got her out of her stylish outfit and naked on my bed, I discovered that she had skills. The woman was advanced. At a certain point, I think when I was teasing her pussy with my tongue and she started to come, squirting and soaking my bed, I realized I was never gonna make my flight.
Later, after she left, I called Sandi, who broke up with me on the phone. She said she didn’t think I was serious about our relationship. I started to object, but then I looked in the living room and saw five comedians, all nude, stoned, dancing in a line, kicking like the Rockettes, while some girl was blowing another comedian in the corner.
“Maybe you’re right,” I told Sandi.
As for the bet, I did bang three chicks I’d never met—but according to Dan, not before I actually left for La Jolla, since I missed my flight.
We called it a push.
DOLLFACE
I’D BEEN IN L.A. a couple of years and slowly started building up a rep at the Comedy Store. The other comics thought I was crazy because of my attitude. If I was playing the last set of the night in front of ten people, I was still excited, still rarin’ to go.
Looking out at the empty club one night, another comic said to me, “It’s a shame that you gotta work such a bad crowd.”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “I’m gonna go out there and stop traffic. A year from now these people will be paying fifty bucks a ticket to sit in the front row to see me at the Forum.”
“You’re nuts, Dice.”
“Just wait and see.”
There was no way to explain my confidence. I didn’t have a big-time manager or agent. If someone offered me work outside the Comedy Store, I’d call my dad, always my main consultant, and get him to cut the deal. Little by little I had some calls to read for parts. One of those calls resulted in my first movie, a film called Wacko. I was cast in the role of a Travolta-like character called Tony Schlongini—the name being a combination of “schlong,” the Yiddish slang word for “dick,” and “linguini,” the Italian pasta. The flick was a comic spoof of a horror flick and was especially attractive to me because it starred Stella Stevens, who played Jerry Lewis’s love interest in The Nutty Professor. Just like Jerry was the nerd who turned into Buddy Love, Stella was the innocent girl who turned into a sexy vamp. That was easy for Stella to do, ’cause she’d just been chosen as a Playmate of the Month. Jerry Lewis liked her so much that he kept her name—“Stella”—as the character’s and opened The Nutty Professor with the song “Stella by Starlight.” Stella was hot.
That was 1963. This was 1982. Nineteen years later, as far as I was concerned, Stella was still hot. I told her all about my love for that movie and what an honor it was to work with her in this, my first film. She was tremendous. The cast also included George Kennedy, who’d won an Academy Award as Best Supporting Actor for Cool Hand Luke with Paul Newman. I also knew Kennedy from those Airport disaster movies.
It was a silly movie, but I had no problem playing the part. I needed any and all exposure. During the shoot one of the extras, a fan of mine, said he had this chick Cathy he wanted me to meet. I said sure. I love meeting new chicks. Have her come to the Comedy Store to dig my act.
During my set, I looked out into the room and saw this very pretty blue-eyed, long-haired blonde wearing blue-and-white striped overalls. She had a face like a doll. She was adorable. She looked like she’d been head cheerleader and homecoming queen for her high school. I saw that she was smiling and laughing all through my act. Clearly, she was digging me.
I went over and said, “Are you Cathy?”
“I am.”
“You’re a doll face. Mind if I call you Dollface?”
“Not at all. I didn’t know you’re from Brooklyn.”
“You couldn’t tell by the way I fuckin’ talk?” I asked, exaggerating my accent.
“Well, I’m from Iowa, and I’m not too good at figuring out accents.”
“What are you doing out here in L.A., Dollface?”
“I work for a real estate company.”
“That’s nice.”
“But I really want to be an actress.”
“You and every other chick in this room.”
“I’m serious about it,” she said.
“Well, if you’re really serious, don’t get too serious about me.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause I’m the wrong guy for a girl who wants to be an actress. A couple comprised of two struggling actors ain’t no good. It’s bad enough for one person to have to deal with the rejection. When two people are going through it at the same time, they’ll drive each other nuts.”
“I have my real estate job. I’m a practical girl.”
“I’m not sure I’m a practical guy. I’m more of a crazy guy who believes, no matter what, that I’m gonna be one of the biggest stars in the world.”
Even with my hesitations I have to say that it was a pretty great first date. Dollface asked lots of questions, and I don’t gotta tell you that I like talking about myself. Fact is, I’m my favorite subject.
Things heated up on our second date. Dollface was eager to see the Red Room, where I discovered that, underneath her striped overalls, she had a killer body and was almost as horny as me. After some heavy-duty rock-and-rolling, we were both enjoying the afterglow when, on the other side of my closed door, we heard this loud sound from the kitchen—a snap! Next we heard the voice of Yakov and a couple of the other comics.
“What are we gonna do?”
“Kill it.”
“I’m not touching it.”
“Me either.”
Me and Dollface threw on some clothes, opened the door, and saw four panic-stricken comics looking at this rat writhing in a trap. The spring hadn’t functioned right. It missed his head but caught the lower half of his body, so the thing was thrashing around like crazy.
Everyone was freaking out except Dollface. She grabbed a broom, hauled back, and smashed the rat with the wooden handle. The rat’s brain splattered all over the place. The comics were horrified. I was laughing and thinking, This is what happens when you date a farm girl.
Back in the Red Room, we were relaxing when I heard a knock on the window. It was a chick I’ll call Polly, a waitress from the Comedy Store in Westwood who’d had a crush on me for weeks. Polly was a little loaded.
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