Midnight. The conversation I have with the two girls, both very young, blond hardbodies with big tits, is brief, since I'm having a difficult time containing my disordered self.
"You live in a palace, mister," one of the girls, Torri, says in a baby's voice, awed by Owen's ridiculous-looking condo. "It's a real palace."
Annoyed, I shoot her a glance. "It's not that nice."
While making drinks from Owen's well-stocked bar, I mention to both of them that I work on Wall Street, at Pierce & Pierce. Neither seems particularly interested. Again, I find myself hearing a voice - one of theirs - asking if that's a shoe store. Tiffany flips through an issue of GQ that's three months old, sitting on the black leather couch beneath the strip of faux-cowhide paneling, and she's looking confused, like she doesn't understand something, anything. I'm thinking, Pray, you bitch, just pray, and then I have to admit to myself what a turn-on it is encouraging these girls to debase themselves in front of me for what amounts to pocket change. I also mention, after pouring them another drink, that I went to Harvard, and then I ask, after a pause, "Ever hear of it?"
I'm shocked when Torri answers, "I had a business acquaintance who said he went there." She shrugs dumbly.
"A client?" I ask, interested.
"Well," she starts nervously. "Let's just say a business acquaintance."
"Was this a pimp?" I ask - then the weird part happens.
"Well" - she stalls again before continuing - "let's just call him a business acquaintance." She sips from her glass. "He said he went to Harvard, but... I didn't believe him." She looks over at Tiffany, then back at me. Our mutual silence encourages her to keep talking and she continues haltingly. "He had, like, this monkey. And I would have to watch this monkey in... his apartment." She stops, starts, continues in monotone, occasionally gulping. "I'd want to watch TV all day, 'cause there was nothing else to do while the guy was out... and while I tried to keep an eye on the monkey. But there was... something wrong with this monkey." She stops and takes a deep breath. "The monkey would only watch..." Again she stops, takes in the room, a quizzical expression creasing her face as if she's not sure she should be telling us this story; if we, me and the other bitch, should be privy to this information. And I brace myself for something shocking, something revelatory, a connection. "It would only watch..." She sighs, then in a sudden rush admits, "The Opnah Winfrey Show and that's all it would watch. The guy had tapes and tapes of it and he had made all of them for this monkey" - now she looks over at me, imploringly, as if she's losing her mind here, right now, in Owen's apartment and wants me to, what, verify it? - "with the commercials edited out. One time I tried to... turn the channel, turn one of the tapes off... if I wanted to watch a soap instead or something... but" - she finishes her drink and rolling her eyes, obviously upset by this story, continues bravely - "the monkey would s-s-screech at me and it would only calm down when Oprah was on." She swallows, clears her throat, looks like she's going to cry but doesn't. "And you know, you try to turn the channel and that d-damn monkey would try to scratch you," she concludes bitterly and hugs herself, shivering, uselessly trying to warm herself.
Silence. Arctic, frigid, utter silence. The light burning over us in the apartment is cold and electric. Standing there, I look at Torri then at the other girl, Tiffany, who looks queasy.
I finally say something, stumbling over my own words. "I don't care... whether you've led a... decent life... or not."
Sex happens - a hard-core montage. After I shave Torri's pu**y she lies on her back on Paul's futon and spreads her legs while I finger her and suck it off, sometimes licking her ass**le. Then Tiffany sucks my c**k - her tongue is hot and wet and she keeps flicking it over the head, irritating me - while I call her a nasty whore, a bitch. Fucking one of them with a condom while the other sucks my balls, lapping at them, I stare at the Angelic silk-screen print hanging over the bed and I'm thinking about pools of blood, geysers of the stuff. Sometimes it's very quiet in the room except for the wet sounds my c**k makes slipping in and out of one of the girls' vaginas. Tiffany and I take turns eating Torri's hairless cunt and ass**le. The two of them come, yelling simultaneously, in a sixty-nine position. Once their cunts are wet enough I bring out a dildo and let the two of them play with it. Torri spreads her legs and fingers her own slit while Tiffany f**ks her with the huge, greased dildo, Torri urging Tiffany to f**k her cunt harder with it, until finally, gasping, she comes.
