Too Beautiful and Other Stories by Mark Pritchard

Author:Mark Pritchard [MARK PRITCHARD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2012-03-18T00:00:00+00:00

Couple

I met them at a café near the Castro. It was easy to tell which ones they were, among the other patrons. As advertised, she had long, straight black hair and pale skin; he had short hair, was smallish and slender, and didn’t look quite like her type. But lots of couples in San Francisco look a little mismatched. That’s the beauty of the place: You can’t tell who anybody is, really.

We introduced each other and drank coffee. That is, I introduced myself, and then he introduced her and she him. That was so cute. He sounded the way he had on the phone: polite, a little nerdy and a little depraved at the same time. “This is Julie. She came here when she was in college and never went back to Hong Kong. She lived for a while with some rich lawyer she met at a temp job, and then when he got sent to prison, she went to work stripping on Broadway. She looks extremely imposing, but she basically does anything I want her to.”

“Huh, you just haven’t found my limits yet. This is Larry—” she pronounced it not exactly “Lally,” but somewhere between an R and an L—“and he met me when we were both temps. He has a band. Once in a while I would sneak away from that attorney to hear him play. He likes to push me around and he likes to take it up the ass, and the only time I get mad at him is when he can’t decide which he wants.”

“So we thought we’d get someone else involved and see if we can’t all be happy,” he said. “Now, about this party—you’ve been to them before, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, “and I’m surprised I haven’t seen you there.”

He laughed. “I had a hood on,” Julie said, a little embarrassed.

When we get there, things have already started. We missed (on purpose) the invocation to the sun, the moon, the Goddess, and the seven directions, or whatever; now the guests are mostly naked, making out on the couches or the mattresses that cover the floor. We take off our clothes and give them in paper shopping bags to the clothes check people, then go into the large, mattress-covered room.

“I’ll leave you in good hands,” Larry says, giving Julie a pat on the butt, and going over to a couple of women who are making out heavily.

She follows him with her eyes. “Watch, watch,” she says. “Let’s see how quickly he gets into their pants.”

“They aren’t wearing pants,” I say unnecessarily.

“Shh.”

We kneel on a mattress, her in front of me, facing the room so we can watch her boyfriend. I begin kissing her shoulder and exploring her body with my hands. She’s shapely, not at all small; I have to peer over her shoulder to watch her boyfriend.

These parties, open by word of mouth only, are attended mostly by sex industry workers, sex information switchboard volunteers, and pornographers. They aren’t the “swinger” parties of the

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