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                                Chapter Five

                            A Sophisticated Man

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

August 6, 1945

9:57 PM

Looking upward, forcing a smile. “Glad you didn’t shoot that asshole, Rosie, ‘cause I’m pretty sure I would have.” Taking a deep breath... — sitting closely alongside, her arm still about Pansy’s shoulder —...patting Iris’ knee. “Thank’s for the help, ‘mom’ . Think I’m okay now.”

“Ahh, what’ch’ya think mothers are for.” Standing, padding the wrinkles from her ‘motherly’, near see through, not completely opaque robe, as noting a pudgy, possibly twenty-five year old, well dressed man entering the Recreation area. “Moss’ is here…” upwardly fluffing her large, saggy breasts “...so guess I better get to work.” With a ‘take it easy’ nod to the near fifteen year old girl… “Hey, my baby…” arms outstretched, breasts swaying beneath the gown, approaching the man known as ‘Moss’ “...you hungry, baby?”

Standing also, as pulling the wrinkles from the black, skin tight, vulva showing peddle-pushers; steeling herself… preparing herself for the ‘mingle’ among the flowers and tricks…” Wearing these god-damn high, fucking, heels.

“So ya know…” huge busted on top with seemingly balancing buttocks midway down, ‘Camellia’ coming alongside “...one time I was ready to cut his fucking throat’…” turning the elastic band of her black, tightly knit fish-net, crotch length hose down, displaying a single edge razor blade “...when Rosie came in. Swear to ya kid, I’d’a killed that fucker!”

“More pigs like that ‘Jack-off’ come around?”

“Nah. Rosie bounces anyone actin’ drunk, an’ can spot pussy trouble a mile away, so’s it’s not too bad here. So between Rosie and what ya… Pretty fuckin’ good wallop ya got there, kid.”

“Thank you…” warmed by the friendliness of the ‘flowers’ she’d met so far, “...uh?”

“ ‘Cammy’.” Camellia said. “So ya know, all us girls are lookin’ out for you. She do’nt want her new, uh, flowers on their own their very first nigh. Did Gladdy fix ya up  tonight?”

“Yeah, she did.” Laughing. “With Elmer Fudd.”

“He’s a good enough guy an’ won’t give ya any kind’a problem, and, uh, looking at you, you’ll have him coming before he even gets his cock out.”

“That’s a good or bad thing? Why’s that?”

“Ol’ Elmer Fudd, he likes ‘em young an’ pretty with, uh...” looking downward “...no offense, kid, but ol’ Elmer likes kids…” correcting himself “… ‘legal age’ kids with skinny legs, an’ you, uh, ‘are’ legal, ain’t ya?”

“ ‘Yeah’!” Acting as though she were offended. “Of course! Been eighteen since about two months ago.”

“Good! That’s good, kid. Oh…” looking towards the House of Flowers entrance “… here’s the ol’ guy himself.”

Following Cammiys pointed finger…

Looking ‘anything’ other than what Pansy had imagined; Immediately Reminding her of the actor, ‘Earl Flynn’.The man is tall and slim, giving the appearance of sophistication. His pure white hair telling Pansy he was…? Maybe into his late fifties or early sixties

Knowing the young woman standing on the other side of the entryway was studying him. Approaching. Studying her; immediately aware she was ‘exactly’ what he wanted. What he ‘needed’..“Hi, I’m, uh…”

“ ‘Elmer’.”

Distastefully answering, “Yeah. Guess that’s me. And You’re…?”

“ ‘Pansy’.” Margery said, thinking, Good looking old guy. As...

Reaching forward, taking hold of her sweaty hand. “Pretty little thing,

aren’t you.” Certainly not asked as a question, but unaware...

His hand dry and cool. For some unknown reason feeling good held within the man’s hand; such as the hand of a father.

What do whores do? Having no idea how to proceed; to sit here, in the reception area getting to know each other before going off to do…? Or immediately invite him into her room.

“Uh…” attempting to answer his question, if it was a question “… oh, this.” seductively running her hands down the sides of the widely stretched ‘V’ neck sailor blouse, widening the ‘V’ further, revealing more of her breasts— that, certainly unknown to her, was the last thing this man wanted— and further down the sides of the tightly stretched black peddle pushers, stopping at her, not quite, fifteen year old girl's rather knobby knees, which was exactly what this good looking, sophisticated, white haired older man wanted.

Loveland, Ohio

August 6, 1945

9:57 PM

The last of the coffee finished, at least as much of the coffee as the five wanted to finish this close to bed time, and wanting to catch the ten o’clock news from New York.

Pushing from the table, the four followed Murray into the living room and sat as he turned the radio on:

10:00 PM

CBS Radio

“H. V. Kaltenborn reporting from New York City!”

“The world will note that the first atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, ‘a military base’, was because we wished in this first attack to avoid, insofar as possible, the killing of civilians. But that attack is only a warning of things lost. We urge Japanese civilians to leave industrial cities and their war industries immediately and thousands of civilian lives will save themselves from total destruction.

We realize the tragic significance of the atomic bomb. That is why we felt to undertake the long and uncertain and costly labor of discovery and production.

Having found the bomb we have used it. We have used it against those who attacked us without warning at Pearl Harbor, against those who have starved and beaten and executed American prisoners of war, against those who have abandoned all pretense of obeying international laws of warfare. We have used it in order to shorten the agony of war, in order to save the lives of thousands and thousands of young Americans.

We shall continue to use it until we completely destroy Japan's power to make war. Only a Japanese surrender will stop us.

The war has shown us that we have tremendous resources to make all the materials for war. It has shown us that we have skillful workers and managers and able generals, and a brave people capable of bearing arms.

All these things we knew before.

The new thing— the thing which we had not known— the thing we have learned now and should never forget, is this: that a society of self-governing men is more powerful, more enduring, more creative than any other kind of society, however disciplined, however centralized.

We know now that the basic proposition of the worth and dignity of man is not a sentimental aspiration or a vain hope or a piece of rhetoric. It is the strongest, most creative force now present in this world.

Now let us use that force and all our resources and all our skills in the great cause of a just and lasting peace!

The Three Great Powers are now more closely than ever bound together in

determination to achieve that kind of peace.

Good night, America!”

“H. V. Kaltenborn signing off from New York City.”

“Well…” Malcolm said “...guess it’s all up to the Japs now.”

Turning the radio off, “Yeah, we knew ‘that’ before.” Murray said as Sarah got the lights in the living room and Ellen the kitchen light.

“Good night.”

Clyde and Sharon safely asleep in their two rooms.

Malcolm and Ellen went into their bedroom.

Sarah and Murray into theirs, and Mildy into the room she shared with Jymmi, her daughter.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

August 6, 1945

10: 28 PM

In no way fearful. Liking the looks of this, in her opinion, old man, Pansy was more than willing, and ready to go to her room and to do whatever the man wanted her to do, or to do to her. Matter of fact, she was looking forward to doing it, whatever ‘it’ was.

However, motioning to one of the settees, “Let’s sit awhile.” The man Pansy knew as Elmer Fudd suggested.

“Sure want to get off my feet anyway.”

Taking her elbow... “Shoes hurting you, huh?” ...steering her towards one of the few available small sofas.

“Yeah!” Bending, removing one than the other, and walking—non whore like— flat footed. “Couldn’t wait till I got them, now hate ‘em.”

Second time in a half hour I’d been asked to ‘sit for awhile’. Not knowing the way of a whore. “If you wan to, we can sit for a while, unless you’d rather go to my room?”

“No. Unless you are, I’m in no hurry tonight.” Noting her hesitation, knowing why. “Not to worry, uh, Pansy.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, the man known as Elmer Fudd, unrolled a ten dollar bill from a tightly wound roll of bills. Holding his arm up, catching Rosie’s eye.

“Evening. Elmer!”

Handing the ten to Rose. “Like to spend a little more time with this, uh, young lady.”

“Sure.” Taking the ten, Rose rolled it into his own large roll. Looking at the girl known as Pansy. “You have a good time! ‘Hear’?” The word, ‘hear’ meaning: even if you’re not, ‘pretend’!

Nodding her head, the stiletto heel shoes held in one hand, her other held in Elmer’s hand, walking flat footed, Pansy was led to a vacant settee.

Sitting, angled to the right to better face Elmer, the girl’s knees together, her calves spread from side truly giving the appearance of a not yet fifteen year old girl.

“You’re really a beautiful girl, you know.” Studying Margery Binkowski’s face...A long few seconds passing. “Really! Strictly between you and me, how old are you?”

Liking this man, wanting to say the truth, but...”Eighteen!” Pansy said.

Inching closer. Taking hold of the tails of the thin, black kerchief about her neck, pulling her head closer to his, his mouth but inches from hers…”

“I was told, unless I want to, I never have to kiss any of my, uh…”

“ ‘Tricks’.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like me to kiss you, then?”

A man! Not a boy or a pretend man like Tony Buzzanka, but a real, good looking older man… further thinking, with money. Margery’s heart jumping, “Yes.” thinking, I would!.

Lips touching… lightly. Not the impassioned kiss Margery Binkowski expected, more the kiss of a father to his child.

Sixty year old man and, near, fifteen year old girl’s lips holding without lip parted, tongue touching passion! Or possibly just a means of ‘meeting’ each other.

Coming from somewhere deep within, what Margery sensed was daughter to father love, that oddly sent a serge of passion induced moisture to her previously dry vagina.

Parting, once again the sixty year old man intently studying the girl’s face. “You know…” he said “...before, when I said you’re beautiful it wasn’t a ‘line’.”

“I guess in a whore house a guy don’t need a ‘line’, just money.”

Chuckling: “Yeah, that’s true , but I meant it. Whores get a look about them; a hardness. And you…?”

“Haven’t had a chance to get hard…” giggling “...that’s your job.”

Tonight’s your first night here, huh?”

“Don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you, buy yes. And you’re my first, uh…?

“ ‘Trick’.”

“Well, earlier, there was this filthy guy…” shuddering “...that Rosie threw out, maybe even shot him.”

“So, I’ll be your first…”

Not wanting Elmer to think that for his money he’ll be getting someone with no experience… for his money, that is. “So you know, mister ‘smarty-pants…” — not exactly what an experienced whore might say— “...I ain’t all that innocent…”

“Kids in school?”

Tone of voice making it sound as an insult. “Yeah, the bigger ones. Then when I got older, had this eighteen year old boyfriend, uh, Tony and we…”

Caressing the side of her face with the back of his fingers; causing the nerves in girl’s back to tingle. “How much older?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you had this ‘Tony’, this eighteen year old boyfriend you told me you were fucking, just now you said, ‘when you were older’. So I asked, ‘how old were you when you were fucking Tony?”

Careful here, the near fifteen year old girl thought, don’t get screwed up. “Seventeen…” shrugging her shoulders “...eighteen.”

“Never professionally, though?”

“You mean get paid for it?”

The man’s eyes going to her bare knees.“Yes.”

“Well, once there was this twelve year old kid, gave me his pack of ‘Twinkies’ for a blow-job in the coat room. But his dick was so small, I had to pinch it between my finger tips to get it to my mouth.”

“Really, ‘that’ tiny, huh?”

“Yeah, Elmer, but I liked his ‘Twinkies’.”

“Tell you what…” conspiratorially looking about “...if you promise not to tell anyone, my names ‘Stuart’.”

“Okay, if you promise, I’ll promise. My name’s really Margery, ‘Margy’ if you want.”

“Thank you, ‘Margy’, and, ‘really’, you’re ‘not’ eighteen, are you?”

When no answer coming, the man’s eyes leaving ‘Margery’s’ face, once alighting on, and staring at her closely pressed bare knees as...

Seconds passing. The man’s eyes taking a half lidded glaze. The tempo of his breath quickening.

“Know what, Margy?”

“What?”

“Think I’d like to go to your room now.”

Washington, D.C.

10:47 PM

The Americans intercepting communications regarding the total devastation of Hiroshima failing to elicit immediate Japanese surrender, another order for the dropping of ‘warning’ leaflets over the secondary target, Nagasaki, was ordered to commence immediately.

Loveland, Ohio

10:49 Pm

A cool August breeze blowing the gauzy curtains in Sharon Kaminsky's bedroom.

Light weight, shorty pajamas and summer weight quilt not enough to warm the goose-bumped just eight year old girl.

Wrapping the blanket about her shoulders, padding barefooted, opening and closing her door to the bath room, then Clyde’s, bringing her into her ten year old ‘adopted’ brother’s bed room.

“Clyde.”

Sleepily opening his eyes... “Yeah.”

“Shmoosh over.”

The upstairs bathroom located between the two bedrooms, opening to both rooms and the hallway, unknown to their parents — really not thinking anything wrong when doing it — the boy and girl had often slept together on cold nights.

Sex between the adopted brother and sister not a thought; bodily nearness and comforting warmth is what was desired on such nights.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

10:50 PM

Sexually transmitted — some real, some, a whores ‘pretense’ — moans and bed rustling sounds coming from behind closed doors on both sides, Stuart followed closely behind Margery through the long hall to the last room on the right.

Once into the room with the door closed behind her, Margery momentarily, once again stood without the slightest clue as to, what’ll I do? How to proceed, when thinking, guys like looking at my tits, she began to pull the sailor blouse over her head.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting naked.” Thinking, that’s what whores do, don’t they?

“You want to get naked?”

“Uh, ain’t I supposed to? You don’t want me to?”

“Later on, maybe. Yeah, I’m sure, later on, but not now.”

Becoming nervous, having heard horror stories about what sexual freaks might want. Might do. How they can hurt whores. “What, uh, do you want me to do, then?”

“Here…” patting the bed “...just sit.”

“Here.” Standing before her, her legs draped of the side, He wants me to blow him!

“Sit here…” shifting her body until her back is against the wall “… like this.” stretching both legs forward.

For the second time, noting her confusion. “Don’t be frightened, my ‘Margy’…” speaking as though to a child “... I’m not going to hurt you. I ‘promise’!”

The man… ‘ Stuart Karlin’ had entered the ‘House of Flowers’ wearing pressed brown slacks and a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat.

Unbuttoning three more buttons, revealing a white haired chest— heightening Margery’s degree of building passion for this ‘old man’.

Not wearing socks, Stuart’s toes easily pushing the  brown loafers off.

Unbuckling his belt, popping the top button, Stuart unbuttoned the fly, then...

Having no idea what this man might want: Fully clothed; feeling stupidly uncomfortable sitting straight up with, as directed, back against the wall, both thin legs — showing bare below the peddle pushers— stretched stiffly forward.

...stepping out of the slacks, now wearing a near completely unbuttoned shirt, and— fly somewhat gaping —white boxer shorts.

Sitting on the bed, shifting his hip sideways while placing both, somewhat hairy legs to either side of the girl’s closely held legs.

The fly to the boxer shorts widening, Margery— needing no prompting — looked at a ‘man’s’… this man’s partially hidden, no longer completely flaccid penis.

Seconds passing as Margery stares at the man’s still partially hidden penis, as the man’s eyes stare downward.

Seconds passing...Hearing a slight moan. Margery’s gaze shifting from the man’s thick penis..

Stuart Karlin’s eyes once again becoming a half lidded glaze and the harsh tempo of his breathing increasing as…

On the other side of the international date line

In the China Sea

11:03 PM

Launching from the USS Saratoga, a single B25 Light Bomber flying 560 nautical miles carrying its payload of five million leaflets that were to be dropped over the city, warning that Nagasaki would ‘fall to ashes’ on August 8,1945.

Reading:

TO THE JAPANESE PEOPLE:

We are in possession of the most destructive explosive ever devised by man. A single one of our newly developed atomic bombs is actually the equivalent in explosive power to what 2000 of our giant B-29s can carry on a single mission. This awful fact is one for you to ponder and we solemnly assure you it is grimly accurate.

Concluding:

Before using this bomb to destroy every resource of the military by which they are prolonging this useless war, we ask that you now petition your Emperor to end the war. Our president has outlined for you the thirteen consequences of an honorable surrender. We urge that you accept these consequences and begin the work of building a new, better and peace-loving Japan.

You should take steps now to cease military resistance. Otherwise, we shall resolutely employ this bomb to promptly and forcefully end the war.

                        EVACUATE YOUR CITIES. 

 ATTENTION JAPANESE PEOPLE. EVACUATE YOUR CITIES.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

11:04 PM

… reaching forward, lightly, scarcely touching — if touching, not aware that she was being touched— the sixty year old man placed both cupped hands onto the near fifteen year old girl’s sharply defined knees…

The man’s breath coming faster now. The man’s penis no longer shrouded. The man’s breathing becoming harsher now..

Watching; the girl’s nymphomaniac tendency becoming entwined within the man’s fantasy… Whatever the fantasy might be. The sensation of the mans hands touching, cupping— if he even ‘was’ cupping her knees— more the sensation of static electricity than that of a mere human touch…

Looking...Unable to draw her eyes away, if even she wanted to, which

Margery did not. Watching as the man’s— thinking, nice cock for an old man— penis, fully escaping the slit of the fly of his white Boxer shorts; sitting as he was, legs widely spread from side to side, Stuart Karlin’s rigid slightly angled penis stood stiffly outward.

Moaning… possibly more a groan… the man’s upper body slowly swirling with the circular motion above, or— because she couldn’t really tell — maybe directly onto her knees.

“Mmm, my baby!”

He mean me? Margery wondered.

His back stiffening. His swirling motion stopping. His hips pulsing stiffly forward…

Twitching… The man’s hips twitching with...

The first startling the girl…

The first splattering on the sheet directly before the girl’s spread thighs.

Sixty year old, Stuart Karlin’s penis jerking upward with each strongly projected ejaculation.

What? What did I do?

Margery Binkowski hadn't touched Stuart Karlin, yet…

“What did I do?” She asked. “I ‘didn’t’ do anything.”

His penis retracting through the fly of his boxer shorts.“You’re here.”

“But what did I do?”

His breathing returning to normal.“You didn’t have to do anything.”

Shaking her head. “But...”

“You’re here.” Stuart repeated.

Amazed that such a thing could happen, thinking: Maybe it’s an old man thing, ‘coming’ whenever he wanted. Further thinking: Maybe then it’s not such a bad thing; being an old man.

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                                         51

                                   Chapter Six

                                      Uncle Stu