The Most Beautiful Woman in Town by Charles Bukowski Page B

away. and one day sitting in a barbershop, I picked up this sex mag. here was an ad: “Blow up your own little dolly! $29.95. Resistant rubber material, very durable. Chains and whips included in package. A bikini, bras. panties. 2 wigs, lipstick and small jar of love-potion included. Von Brashlitz Co.”
    I sent him a money order. some box number in Mass. he had moved too.
    the package arrived in about 3 weeks. very embarrassing. I didn’t have a bicycle pump, and then I got the hots when I took the thing out of the package. I had to go down to the corner gas station and use their air hose.
    it looked better as it blew up. big tits. big ass.
    â€œwhatcha got there, pal?” the gas station man asked me.
    â€œlook, man, I’m just borrowing a little air. don’t I buy a lot of gas here, huh?”
    â€œo.k., that’s o.k., you can have the air. I just damn well can’t help wondering whatcha got there …”
    â€œjust forget it!” I said.
    â€œJESUS! look at those TITS!”
    â€œI AM looking, asshole!”
    I left him there with his tongue hanging out, then threw her over my shoulder and made it back to my place. I carried her into the bedroom.
    the big question was yet to come?
    I spread the legs and looked for some kind of opening.
    Von B. hadn’t completely slipped.
    I climbed on top and began kissing that rubber mouth. now and then I reached for one of the giant rubber tits and sucked upon it. I had put a yellow wig on her and rubbed the love-potion all over my cock. it didn’t take much love-potion. maybe he’d sent a year’s worth.
    I kissed her passionately behind the ears, stuck my finger up her ass, kept pumping. then I leaped off, chained her arms behind her back, there was this little lock and key and then I whipped her ass good with the leather thongs.
    god, I gotta be nuts! I thought.
    then I flipped her over and put it back in. humped and humped. frankly, it was rather boring. I imagined male dogs screwing female cats; I imagined 2 people fucking through the air as they jumped from the Empire State Building. I imagined a pussy as large as an octopus, crawling toward me, wet and stinking and aching for an orgasm. I remembered all the panties, knees, legs, tits, pussies I had ever seen. the rubber was sweating; I was sweating.
    â€œI love you, darling!” I whispered into one of her rubber ears.
    I hate to admit it, but I forced myself to come into that lousy hunk of rubber. it was hardly a Tanya at all.
    I took a razor blade and cut the thing all to shit. dumped it out with the beercans.
    how many men in America bought those stupid things?
    or then you can pass half a hundred fuck machines in a 10 minute walk on almost any main sidewalk of America — the only difference being that they pretended that they were human.
    poor Indian Mike. with that 20 inch dead cock.
    all the poor Indian Mikes. all the climbers into Space. all the whores of Vietnam and Washington.
    poor Tanya, her belly had been a hog’s belly. veins the veins of a dog. she rarely shatted or pissed, she had just fucked — heart, voice and tongue borrowed from others — there were only supposed to be 17 possible organ transplants at that time. Von B. was far ahead of them.
    poor Tanya, who had only eaten a little — mostly cheap cheese and raisins. she had had no desire for money or property or large new cars or overexpensive homes. she had never read the evening paper. had no desire for colored television, new hats, rain boots, backfence conversations with idiot wives; nor had she desired a husband who was a doctor, a stockbroker, a congressman or a cop.
    and the guy at the gas station keeps asking me, “hey, what happened to that thing you brought down here one day and blew up with the air hose?”
    but he doesn’t ask anymore. I buy my gas at a new place. I don’t even get my hair cut anymore where I saw that magazine with the Von Brashlitz