Heya, how're ya? Yah? I heard about your brother, Joey. Yeah, I heard he went to Vegas, came back with one hundred and thirty grand. Fucking lucky bastard! Yeah, it's not like he had to work for it, just pulling the handles on those five-dollar slots. Bet he didn't even mind payin' the taxes.
Whazzat? Sure, I'll stick around and have a beer wit'ya.
No... no, I'm still doing the bellhop gig. Nah, it's easy work, all I gotta do is be polite, and just kinda schmooze... ya know, it's just kinda being nice. That's all it takes? I like being nice to people.
Yeah, yeah, fuck you too. No, I ain't doin it to get into chicks' pants. My Mom used to give me crap, you know? But I work on the East Side, yeah, I know you know where. Not like everyone in the whole town of New York don't know the place I work.
Yeah, mom likes it now — she brags to her friends. I'm the only bell captain with a MBA. Yeah, it's work managing the bell desk. But bellhops are good people, you gotta be to last, to make good tips. They pretty much all show up on time, want to work.
Huh? Stories? Nah, none at work. Pussy on the job? Never. That shit just dont happen, ya know?
Yeah, I been doin' all right in that department. Not as good as your brother. Even my brother Sonny been doing good that way, bein' a fireman an' all. Yeah, crazy how chicks throw themselves under firemen. Gives them traction in the snow or some shit!
Wazzat? Yeah, I'll have another. Thanks, hon.
Why do you wanna hear about my love life? Yours suck or somethin'?
Billy, you an' I always been good friends. I ain't never talked about a woman I had wit' you or anyone, right? Why you want me to start now?
Yeah, it can't hurt. What the fuck, why not? Okay, I'll have another? What? Whiskey? What the fuck, Billy? Cindy not giving you any?
The best lay I ever had? Okay, she was the landlady at the brownstone I had in Brooklyn. No shit.
Yeah, kinda frowzy, dumpy whatever. The lady could fuck. She had a real passion for her craft, Billy. I mean, she really studied her art.
No, man, I don't mean she liked it, only. I mean, she read up on it. She practiced daily... some muscle control stuff. She had these balls she'd put in her pussy... man, she had muscle control.
Yeah, it felt like she milked me. All satin, smooth, a vise kinda, but one that would travel up your dick, then back down. Oh God, I remember the first time she did that.
Yeah, she looked me in the eye and told me she'd been practicing for a while, and she needed a good sized dick to work it out on.
Man, listen to me. This wasn't about love. This wasn't about getting your fucking ashes hauled, though there was that. She was an artist, a fucking master craftswoman, honing her art.
That's what I'm telling you. Her art was fucking. The muscle control was only part of it.
Nah, she wasn't some Eastern mystic. She had her head on straight, down here on Earth with the rest of us. Man, no. She was just really really good at this.
She had me coming within the first ten seconds that first time.
Yeah, she was good about it. I told her I hadn't expected that, but that I'd get better with practice. In a hurry.