“Bessie wants you to wear protection,” said Larsen.
“I'll wear protection for her any time after tonight,” said Sonny. “But tonight I'm putting me first.”
They arrived at the whorehouse. It was twenty stories high, with a whore's face in every window. They parked in a space near the dumpster.
“Why do you they need such a large dumpster?” said Larsen.
“The spent protection,” said Pate.
“It feels good knowing I won't be contributing to more trash,” Sonny said. “With the environment like it is.”
“Any way you might reconsider about the protection?” said Larsen.
“No,” said Sonny. “No, there isn't.”
“Let's whoop it up, then,” said Pate.
The men agreed to meet each other a few hours later on the front steps. Then they went inside and whored for a while. Later, Pate and Larsen met on the steps outside the whorehouse. They were tipsy and tired.
“Where's Sonny?” said Pate.
“Still a-whoring, apparently,” said Larsen.
“Having a hard time letting go,” said Pate.
They gave Sonny another hour. Larsen began to nod off on the steps.
“Did you see him in there while you were a-whoring?” said Larsen.
“Once,” said Pate. “He was on all fours, whooping it up.”
“Was he using protection?”
“Couldn't tell from my vantage point.”
“We promised Bessy he would,” said Larsen.
“We told Bessy that
we
always use protection,” said Pate, “We didn't make any damn promises about Sonny.”
“You're right,” said Larsen. “But I do think we owe it to her to tell her that Sonny won't be home for a while. I'm exhausted.”
“Me too,” said Pate. “Fully unloaded.”
They drove to Bessy's cabin. She was sitting in her thong on the porch, combing her beautiful hair.
“Hello, boys,” she said. “Where's Sonny?”
“Sonny's still a-whoring,” said Pate. “We're tired and want to get some damn sleep.”
“You boys use protection tonight?” said Bessy.
“Sure did,” said Pate. “Why do you care?”
“I'm not an idiot, boys,” said Bessy. “I know where whore babies come from.”
“You're talking over our damn heads,” said Pate.
“I know that when a man and a whore are intimate, without protection,” Bessy said, “that a whore baby is made. What the world does not need is more whore babies.”
“Hadn't considered that,” said Pate.
“Do you remember, earlier tonight, when I was sure I heard a baby crying out here?”
“That was just Larsen,” said Pate. Larsen made the noise again.
“Actually,” said Bessy, “you're wrong. After you took Sonny away, I heard the crying again, so I walked in the direction of it. Sure enough, there was a whore baby splashing around in the creek, crying his head off. It was the fourth one this week.”
“Who did it belong to?” said Larsen.
“Nobody,” said Bessy. “It was a whore baby. I gave it some milk and sent it on its way.”
“I've never seen a whore baby,” said Pate.
“Nor I,” said Larsen.
“Of course you haven't,” said Bessy, “They're invisible to men who go a-whoring. May I borrow your car, Pate?”
“What for?”
“I'm going to fetch Sonny.”
“Best of luck,” said Pate. “A man a-whoring is a man hell-bent.” He handed Bessy his keys. “Can Larsen and me catch forty winks in your cabin?”
“No,” said Bessy. “I don't trust either of you enough.”
“We won't search for incriminating things,” said Pate. “We're too damn tired for that.”
“My cabin is messy,” said Bessy.
“I don't feel well at all,” said Larsen. “I really need to lie down.”
“Alright,” said Bessy. “But no fucking.”
“Never was a possibility,” said Pate. “Was just telling Larsen tonight, no way no how.”
“Poor Larsen,” said Bessy. “Larsen never gets what he wants.”
“You're doing a good thing,” said Larsen, “trying to keep more whore babies from being born.”
“I know,” said Bessy. “It's a thankless job.” She let them in the cabin and drove away in Pate's car.
The cabin was furnished with two chairs and a bed. The only place to sit down was the bed. Bottles of milk took up every other inch of the place.
“I need to lie down,” said Larsen. He flopped down on the bed. Pate sat at the edge, next to Larsen's legs.
“You think she's telling us the truth about the whore babies?” said Pate.
“I don't know,” said Larsen.
“Makes me thankful I always use protection,” said Pate. “Hate to think I was a Daddy without knowing it, to an orphan whore baby no less.”
“I'm feverish,” said Larsen. “Help me get out of these clothes.”
Pate took off Larsen's clothes for him, and stared at Larsen's body. It was covered in lumps.
“Motherfucker,” said Pate. “You got the lumps.”
Larsen looked at his body. “I can't believe it,” he said.
“You sure you wore protection?”
“I doubled up,” Larsen said.
“They say it isn't foolproof,” said Pate. “Boy, are we never gonna fuck now. Sorry, Larsen.”
“I think I'm dying,” said Larsen.
Pate took off his own clothes and checked himself for lumps. “I'm clean,” he said. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“I'm glad it was me instead of you,” said Larsen.
“You think the lumps are doing you in?”
“No,” said Larsen. “It's just general deterioration. I've known about it for a long time. I just didn't want to worry you.”
“What a relief,” said Pate. “I'd hate to give up a-whoring on account of some killer lumps going around.”
“You'll be fine,” said Larsen.
“Can I get you anything?” said Pate.
“I'd like some milk, actually.”
“Sure thing,” said Pate. He lifted one of the bottles to Larsen's lips.
“Lie down next to me,” said Larsen.
“I'll sit with you,” said Pate.
Pate took off his clothes and sat down next to Larsen. He was careful not to touch him, letting both his legs dangle off the bed. Pate fell asleep. Hours later, he awoke to a crying noise coming from outside. Then he heard laughter, and Bessy and Sonny walked into the cabin. They were drunk, knocking over milk bottles before they found the light and turned it on. Sonny was dressed in a tuxedo. Bessy wore a white gown.
“Hello, Pate,” said Bessy.
“Hello, Pate,” said Sonny.
“Hey,” said Pate. “You hear that crying outside?”
“No,” said Bessy. “There was no crying. Sonny and I were looking at your legs through the window, laughing.”
“Why were you laughing?” said Pate.
“We expected you to be fucking,” said Bessy, “and when we saw your two legs on the floor, we knew it wasn't happening. We were laughing at Larsen's misfortune.”
Pate pointed to Larsen. “Little fella didn't make it.”
“What got him?” said Sonny.
“Basic deterioration,” said Pate. “The lumps are unrelated.”
Bessy noticed the empty bottle on the bed. “That milk was for the whore babies,” she said.
“Was Larsen's dying wish,” said Pate. “Couldn't really refuse him.”
“Fine,” said Bessy. “We have plenty.”
“You get married?” said Pate.
“It's official,” said Sonny.
“The same night you fathered whore babies?” said Pate. “You make me ill.”
“I wore protection after all,” said Sonny. “It just didn't feel right without it.”
“Sonny and I have been talking,” said Bessy.
“And?” said Pate.
“Would you like to get intimate with us?” said Bessy.
“One last romp before the honeymoon?” said Sonny. “Might be interesting.”
“Fuck no,” said Pate. “I'm going a-whoring.”
He took his keys from Bessy's hand and walked out to his car. He drove to the whorehouse, walked inside, and was never heard from again. After they buried Larsen, Sonny and Bessy went on to have and raise normal babies. They lived happily in the cabin until the end of their lives.
And I don't mind telling you another story, but first you'll have to pay for more time.
Five Didactic Tales
1. THE LONESOME VEHICLE
Not long ago, a young man with a keen sense of injustice lived in a house all by himself in the country. The place in which he lived, however, was not so remote that he couldn't see his neighbors' houses when he stood on his balcony and drank his tea. Below the young man's balcony sat a little driveway in which he parked his car. His car was very old, and would sputter and cough each time he turned the key. One winter's day, the young man's car finally failed to start, and he bitterly said goodbye to it and had it towed away to the junkyard, where he knew it would rot and become estranged from him.
The next morning, while drinking his tea, the young man noticed a very lonesome vehicle parked in the same place, where his old car used to rest. The vehicle and all its many windows were painted entirely black. From his balcony the young man looked left and right and then straight ahead, and thought that perhaps the lonesome vehicle belonged to one of his neighbors. So after much pondering the young man walked to the west and knocked upon his neighbor's door, where an old woman greeted him.
“You are the young man who idly stands upon his balcony,” she said.
“Yes,” said the young man. “Do you own the ominous vehicle which rests in my driveway, where my old car used to sleep?”
“What color is the vehicle?” said the old woman.
“It is black as the asphalt in Colorado,” said the young man. “Does this ring a bell?”
“I have been twenty years blind,” said the old woman. “I only asked so you might paint a pretty picture for me.”
So the young man walked to the north and knocked upon his neighbor's door, where an old man greeted him.
“You are the young man with more time than the Lord,” he said.
“Yes,” said the young man. “Do you own the lugubrious vehicle which rests in my driveway, where my old car used to sleep?”
“What are the dimensions of the vehicle?” said the old man.
“Wide as a dinghy, long as a shark,” said the young man.
“I'm afraid you shall have to try again,” said the old man.
“Spatiality eludes me,” said the young man. “It looks like any other vehicle, save for its blackness and inherent sadness.”
“Well, I drive a high, threatening vehicle,” said the old man. “But her color is blue.”
So the young man walked to the east and knocked upon his neighbor's door, where a little child greeted him. “You are the young man whom I have worshiped from afar,” it said.
“Yes,” said the young man. “Do you or your guardians own the vexing vehicle which rests in my driveway, where my old car used to sleep?”
“Fool,” said the child. “Can't you see that myself and my guardians haven't the money for vehicles?”
“But you live in such luxury,” said the young man. “Your house looms large.”
“There is
nothing
beyond this exterior,” said the child, rapping upon the doorframe.
The young man returned home and inspected the lonesome vehicle, all the black windows, all the wiring beneath. He pulled on the four doors, but the four doors were all locked. In frustration he called the authorities and read them the license plate.
“The vehicle belongs to somebody,” replied the authorities, “but unfortunately we collect information rather than dispense.”
In frustration the young man called the towing company, who sent someone out to tow the lonesome vehicle.
“I can't haul this vehicle,” said the towing man, “for it was I who towed the vehicle here from the forest, on the orders of a little man who said he lodged with you. It is highly likely that you stood upon your balcony contemplatively drinking tea while all of this was going on.”
After the young man had sent the towing man away, he began to violently search the entirety of his house. He knocked over tables, scattered sofa cushions, and put his fists through lampshades. Then he looked beneath his bed, where there lay a little man with fearful eyes.
“Ah,” said the young man, “you must be the owner of the loathsome vehicle which rests in my driveway, where my old car used to sleep.”
“I am,” said the little man.
“Why are you under my bed?” said the young man.
“Ostracized from my dwelling in the forest,” said the little man, “I sought refuge in a country home. I noticed you on your balcony one day, unhurriedly drinking tea, and thought I might incur very little of your wrath should you discover me. So I stayed here under the bed until night, when I nibbled at little leftover morsels, and even took a bath while you slept. I also conducted myself quite nobly when you brought a woman home from the tavern and you said immaculately vile things to her while in bed.”
“The only thing that concerns me,” said the young man, “is that an upstanding little man such as yourself should be ostracized from his community. You may lodge with me as long as you wish,
but tomorrow we will drive to the forest and together we will raze your little community until nothing is left, because if there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it is injustice.”