The Cesspool

“She’s not only hotter’n a dollar pistol,” George said. “According to Tony she’s a living doll, and intelligent on top of it all.”

“That’ll be the day you see an intelligent pro,” I said. “Now I know it’s an act.”

“No fooling,” George told us. “Tony says her grammar is perfect and she talks like an educated woman. I don’t think a put-on act would fool him.”

“I’ll have to look this wonder over,” I said. “Soon as I save up a hundred bucks.”

“Is that what it costs?” Harlan asked, a little awed.

“Yeah,” George said. “But you get a lot for your money. All you can drink, all the time you want with a woman, or even several women, if you can handle that much. The girls don’t rush you, because they’re not on a percentage basis. They’re all on straight salary; so they don’t care whether they amuse a dozen guys during the evening, or just one. I think I’ll dig into the sock for a hundred and see how good this Sally really is. Or maybe we could all go over together and match odd man to see who pays.”

“Not me,” Harlan told him. “With a wife like Janet at home, what do I need with that kind of thing?”

The subject of Sally didn’t come up again until the following Monday. Then, shortly after we met at the bar, George said, “Well, I squandered my century note over the week end. Holy smokes, what a woman!”

“Sally?” Harlan asked.

George nodded. “It’s no act. That gal enjoys every minute of it. Cute as a button too. If I’d met her anywhere else, but where I did, I think I might fall for her.”

Harlan was looking at George with a strange half-disapproving, half-eager expression. “What’s she like, George?” he asked.

“Around twenty-five. Maybe a little older. I never could guess a woman’s age. Average height. Five three or four. Dark, wavy hair, and an absolutely flawless body. Firm as a sixteen-year-old’s, without a sag in it. And a kind of hot, sultry look on her face.”

“I mean, what’s she like — you know...” Harlan’s voice trickled off and he turned crimson.

George looked surprised. “Why, Harlan, you dirty old man!” he said with simulated shock. “You want a vicarious love affair. Janet will beat your brains out if she ever reads your mind.”

“Go to hell,” Harlan said embarrassedly. “With a girl like Janet, I don’t need vicarious love affairs.”

I don’t think George Swift suspected how accurately he’d put his finger on Harlan’s mental quirk when he made his joshing remark. I discovered it the next night when Harlan and I met at the Men’s Bar as usual. George wasn’t there because Sunday and Tuesday were his nights off.

When we had our drinks, Harlan suggested we sit in one of the booths because he wanted to talk.

After we were settled, he fidgeted with his glass for a time, finally said, “Pete, do you know anything about this abnormal psychology George mentioned one night?”

“Probably as much as he does,” I said. “George kind of talks off the top of his mind. I’ve read a couple of books. Why?”

“I was wondering if I ought to see a psychiatrist.”

I looked at him in surprise. “For what? You’re the most normal guy I know.”

“Not in my thoughts,” he said. “Sometimes I think I have a cesspool of a mind. I’ve been wanting to talk this over with someone, but I couldn’t possibly tell Janet. You mind listening?”

“Of course not. Go ahead.”

“Well, you know how much I think of Janet. I guess we have what people call an ideal marriage. We’re both still in love after six years.”

“I know,” I said. “I kind of envy you.”

“I... I suppose we have a normal sex relationship,” he said hesitantly. “I mean, we’re compatible enough and all that. But you know you can’t do all the things you’d secretly like to do with a woman you love and respect.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, treat her rough. I mean, she’s your wife, and you can’t treat a wife like a whore.”

“Why not, if you want to?” I asked.

“Because you just can’t,” he said impatiently. “And lately I’ve been having mental fantasies about other women.”

“Specific ones?” I asked.

“No. Well, yes, except I don’t know what she looks like. She takes different shapes in my mind. This Sally, George talks about.”

“I see,” I said. “And that bothers you?”

“It seems abnormal. Here I’m married to a girl I love, yet I get tingly all over every time I think of that common prostitute. And I don’t even know her.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” I said. “I’ve had a few fantasies about Sally myself. And I’ve never seen her either.”

“You have?” he asked, surprised and a little relieved. Then he looked discouraged again. “But you’re not in love with another woman.”

“Look,” I said. “Mind if I ask you a couple of personal questions?”

“Why no. Go ahead.”

“What kind of early sex training did you have? I mean, how did you first learn boys and girls were different?”

He looked puzzled. “From the other kids, I guess. Don’t most people?”

“Yes, unfortunately. Complete with giggles and the suggestion that there’s something dirty and nasty about a completely natural function. Ever get a sex lecture from your parents?”