So this guy walks up to me on the street at something like 8 p.m. on that deserted stretch over by the park, y’know? I’d be scared except he’s just a kid, and he says, “Hey, you wanna do this survey?” And I say, “What’s in it for me? I’m a busy woman.” And he says, “Five bucks – and if you answer the long form, fifty.”
Well, fifty bucks is not something to sniff at, y’know? There’s a lot I could buy for fifty bucks. There’s this long black velvet coat over at Goodwill, only twenty bucks, and a nice pair of rhinestone heels I’ve been eyeing, five bucks, and that leaves twenty-five for the kids – half for them, half for me. That’s fair, right? And that sounds so good I can see the money’s already spent, so I’d better answer his questions. So I tell him, “Shoot.” And he says, “Do you masturbate?”
So I reach back my arm and I’m gonna belt him a good one right there, only he ducks and hollers out – “It’s for the survey!” And I drop my arm and I say, “What the fuck kinda survey is that?” And he says, “It’s a fucking survey, see? The university is doing a survey on fucking. I got stuck with asking women if they masturbate, which is not making me popular, believe me. My roommate, he gets to ask guys where the best places to get a blow job are, lucky bastard. You wouldn’t believe how many women have tried to hit me already today, lady. Look, one of them got me.” And he shows me this bump on his forehead, under where his greasy hair falls in his face. So I say, “What the hell kind of school do you go to that does a fucking survey? Never mind . . . I don’t wanna know.”
So he’s standing there, waiting, and I’m standing there, thinking. “Do you gotta know my name?” I ask him. He says, “Well, we have to put down a name and an age, but you don’t have to give me your real name. They won’t know.” And I think it over, and finally, I think, Sure. What the fuck. Give the kid a thrill. “Put me down as Esmerelda. Esmerelda Valentino, age twenty-eight.” Ever since I watched I Dream of Jeannie as a kid, I’ve liked the name Esmerelda. “And the answer to your question is ‘Yes.’ ” The kid scribbles something down on the clipboard he’s holding, and then reaches into his pocket and hands me a five. And I say, “Where’s my fifty?” And he says, “That’s only for the long form, Miz Esmerelda. Nobody wants to answer the long form.” And I say, “Show me.”
So he hands over the clipboard, and there’s this sheet of paper with big words at the top – How Do You Masturbate? – and a long list of questions below. Questions like “How many fingers do you use when you masturbate?” and “Do you prefer clitoral or vaginal stimulation?” and “Have you ever inserted foreign objects into your rectum?”
I hand back the board. “That’s what they want to know? They got this list – that’s supposed to tell them how we do it?” The kid nods his head, looking embarrassed. And I laugh. ’Cause it’s just too damn funny, y’know? And I say, “Siddown, kid. Grab a patch of sidewalk. That little list of yours won’t tell you nothin’. I’ll tell you how I really do it.” So we sit down on the sidewalk and I stretch out my aching feet, ’cause it’s been a hard day at the diner, and I close my eyes and start talking.
“It all starts with Johnny, see. Not Johnny Stepanino, that lousy no-good bum that I’ve been seeing for the past six years, who keeps promising me a ring but do you see it on my finger? Not him – he’s got stringy hair and doesn’t remember to bathe half the time unless his mama tells him to; I wouldn’t give him the time of day ’cept he’s got a good business and could really take care of me and my kids. But he’s never gonna get up the nerve, ’cause his mama don’t like the idea of him marrying a girl who’s only a little bit Italian, mostly mutt, and dropped out of high school when she got knocked up at sixteen. His mama don’t like that idea at all.
“Anyway, the one I’m thinking of is Johnny Viaggi. Johnny Viaggi with the long black hair that falls into his face so cute – kinda like yours, kid. He smells clean all the time, clean as spring, with the smell of new bread hanging heavy over him – that’s ’cause he works at Cantalini’s bakery over on Fourth.
“That Nina Cantalini! How that little shit managed to snag Johnny Viaggi I’ll never know – oh, she’s all-right looking, I’ll give you that, with that tight ass and those big tits. But them Cantalini women are all drinkers, which is why the men run the shop, and I swear that before she’s thirty Nina will be drinking up the profits and lettin’ her body go to hell. She’s gonna swell up like a balloon and those big tits are gonna droop over the beer belly she’s gonna have. And that tight ass is gonna loosen right up, and Johnny Viaggi is gonna be damned sorry he married such a worthless drunken lump of a woman when he could’ve had me.
“You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this. See, when I’m getting off, I’m not alone. No, I close my eyes, and Johnny Viaggi is right there next to me. It’s his big thick hands that lift me up and move me to my bed, his hands that unbutton my blouse and push it down my shoulders and off my arms. Slender arms, and a slender body, and if my tits aren’t as big as that damn Nina’s at least they’ll still be standing up straight in ten years. I don’t fucking care if I’m only a 32A – my nipples are sensitive as hell, and that’s what counts. That’s what Stepanino says, anyway, and for once the scumbag is right.
“I’ve got great little tits, and when I unhook the front of my cherry red bra and pull it off, that’s Johnny’s fingers doing it, and his big hands cupping my tits so that they disappear under his rough touch. Then my nipples stand up hard, so hard they poke out between his fingers, and he starts playing with them, rolling them between two fingers, squeezing and pulling a bit, all the while whispering words of love, ‘Mi amore, cara mia, darling Angie.’ And I’m moaning under Johnny’s touch ’cause it’s so good, and my nipples are so sensitive, and his breath is soft against my ear, against my neck – I’m almost ready to come right there, but he likes to take it slow.
“Then his hands slide down my body, unzipping my skirt and pushing it down, so he can see the red silk garter belt and black stockings I wore just for him, just like he asked me to. No panties, and Johnny’s fingers trail down and down, almost tickling but not quite, sliding over my shaved pussy until they’re barely touching my clit. And he touches me then, and it is so sweet, so fucking sweet that I moan Johnny’s name, oh yeah. I’m lying in my bed with his body warm beside me and his mouth on my nipple now and his fingers sliding into my pussy, warm and wet and slick and hard, pumping harder and harder until I’m almost about to come and it’s then that he whispers, “Angie, will you marry me?” and that’s when I scream “Yes, yes, yes!” and I’m coming hard and fast like you wouldn’t believe.
“That’s how I masturbate. You got all that down, kid?” He’s staring at me with wide eyes, like he’s never heard a woman come before.
Maybe he hasn’t. And I’m standing up and shaking the dust from my ass, and he comes alive quick and reaches into his pocket, fumbling a little, and then counts out nine more fives into my hand. He’s still not saying a word so I smile at him and turn away, walking down the empty street and not caring that my feet still hurt ’cause I’ve got fifty dollars in my pocket and a sopping-wet pussy.
Take that, Nina-fucking-Cantalini.