2

Having decided, with Sami, to go 50/50 on the entrance fee, I ordered some tapes from England- the classics, playing safe. I was not so bothered about making money I just wanted to be on the stage. I was on one once- Well’s Fargo going to Dodge City. This time it would be for real. Apparently, the first sign of madness is hair on the palms of your hand, second sign looking for them, third finding them.  My palms itched with excitement.

It would take 10 days, I was told, for the tapes to arrive. Two weeks past and I was getting restless. I took a stroll to the marina past the gauntlet of ladies of the night.

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“Hello darling, how are you?”

“Fine.” as the judge said to the prostitute.

“Changed your mind?” 

“Not yet.”

“I could suck your ice-cream and then you for 100 shekels.”

“It’ll cost you more than that, but you’re not getting anywhere near my ice-cream.”

I stood outside a restaurant chatting to Jane who was a waitress there. She had just come out of a relationship. The guy just dumped her for no reason- typical for the land of milk and honey. She went down as about as low as you can go. She could not understand it, neither could I. She was a good-looking, level-headed, intelligent human being, perhaps that was the problem.

The establishment she worked for was slack on business and the tips were taken by the manager who insisted on collecting the money and not sharing. We chatted away and arranged to watch a movie the following evening. Out of the shadows appeared a ghostly figure; I thought it was one of the whores.

“Jane darling, how are you? You’re looking simply divine. Where did you get that lipstick, it’s gorgeous.” This was not the normal conversation you heard from a man born in this part of the world. The accent was so affected; he was more camp than a row of tents.

“And who is this handsome young man on your arm? Your boyfriend?”

“No, just a friend, Bob.”

“Pleased to meet you. Would you like to be my boyfriend?” His handshake was so effete.

“You’ve got more chance of getting a blowjob from the queen.” A good line I thought.

“I’ve given so many BJ’s to so many queens one more will make no difference.”

A fine riposte was needed, “More chance of biting the back of your neck.” Got him.

“Ooh, I’d love to bite the back of your neck or the side, sweetie. I’ll show you. I won’t leave any marks.”

Whenever I start losing verbal banter, I change the subject. Jane’s laughter did not help much. “What’s your name then?” was polite enough.

“Richard, but I prefer ‘Dick’.” he lisped.

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“By name by nature, Mr Head.” A couple of points back I felt. “We must meet again on a less intimate basis.”

“Ooh, your place or mine?” I was surely not going to win but kept trying.

“If I don’t see you through the week I’ll see you through the window.”

“Kinky! You know the eyes are the windows to your soul and I simply love blue eyes.” I clearly was not going to win; I stopped, saving my energies for another time.

“See you next Tuesday!” was my parting shot. “Bye Jane.” The prostitutes were easy going after that brief encounter. At least he had balls and, providing he kept them to himself, things would be alright.

The rain had been intense for about a week, breaking all records. I started to build a boat out of scrap materials and looked around for pairs of animals. I have to be honest here and not claim the idea as original, however, I would leave out mosquitoes and poodles, horrible creatures. I would need a mate for myself to re-populate the human race. I mentally compiled a short list of 1- Kim Basssinger, complete with ice-cubes. For some reason, I have never seen the end of ‘9½ weeks’; cannot think why.