Jerzy Kosinski: Cockpit

I pressed her hard. With one hand I still held her mouth, while with the other I went under her nightgown. She tried to push me away, but I reminded her to think of her husband, and she stopped resisting. I caressed and kissed her, but I did not enter her. An hour later, I lowered myself to the floor, whispered to her that I would come every night, and slowly crawled through the door, dragging myself across the floor until I reached my bed.

The women's room was illuminated by only one hazy red bulb above the main door, and I had to crawl slowly, counting the beds. Someone coughed. A woman stretched and turned over. The psychiatrist's wife was sleeping on her back, covered by the sheet up to her chin. I reached the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet. She stirred but did not wake up. I pulled the sheet again, and this time she began to open her eyes. I covered her mouth with my hand and pressed her head down onto the pillow. Still lying on the floor, I whispered that if she screamed, her husband would die just as quietly and quickly as that cat.
I climbed into the narrow bed. I pressed her hard. With one hand I still held her mouth, while with the other I went under her nightgown. She tried to push me away, but I reminded her to think of her husband, and she stopped resisting. I caressed and kissed her, but I did not enter her. An hour later, I lowered myself to the floor, whispered to her that I would come every night, and slowly crawled through the door, dragging myself across the floor until I reached my bed.
That night I waited until well past midnight to slip out of bed and crawl through the door. I sat motionless on the other side for a few minutes, wanting to determine if anyone was following me. If she told her husband what I did the night before, he and the others could be waiting for my move. Assured that no one was following me, I continued to crawl towards her bed. She was awake. I signaled her to undress, and she obediently took off her nightgown. I slipped into the bed next to her. As I ran my hand over her belly, she stifled a gasp and covered her mouth with the sheet.
I turned her over and entered her from behind. She moaned, and I deliberately pressed deeper into her. She was sweating, but she did not scream.
I whispered to her that if she could reach climax by pleasuring herself, I would stop hurting her. At first, she refused. I slid down to the floor and buried my head between her thighs. I bit her and held on tightly until she moved her hand to push me away. She began to pleasure herself, and I pressed my mouth against her hand. Wet from my tongue and warmed by my breath, her fingers moved frantically back and forth. Before each climax, she leaned forward, pressing my neck with her hand.
    ***
When I was in high school, I discovered that I could press the limb back into my body. I practiced this retraction and later realized that with the help of a metal clamp, I could keep it hidden, which gave the impression that I was recovering from some amputation.
A few days after that discovery, I invited a girl I was interested in to my home. After an initial kiss and hug, I turned off the light, undressed her, and continued to caress her until she asked me to undress as well. I pretended to hesitate, but eventually took off my shirt, then slowly unbuckled my belt and lowered my pants.
The girl was not bold enough to reach for me, so I guided her fingers towards my clamp. She recoiled, horrified. I calmly explained to her that when I was a child, a bomb exploded during the war, and metal shrapnel cut my organ. The surgeon put a clamp on it to protect the chronic wound from irritation. I told her that I was permanently unable to have normal intercourse and that I could only find pleasure in unusual sexual acts. I assured the girl that I would respect her right to reject me as a cripple. Ashamed of her initial withdrawal, she tried to convince me that it didn't bother her that I was missing a part of my body. In fact, she noticed, my flaw was actually an advantage because it freed her from the danger of pregnancy, and finally, she could relax and not fear the consequences.
I, on the other hand, asked her to demand everything that excited her: I was a disabled person, I said, searching for sources of relaxation that others might consider unnatural, but nothing was distorted or disgusting to me. She said she was willing to try, and almost simultaneously took the initiative.
During the caressing, I had to avoid an erection because the clamp could fly off under increasing pressure in the limb. As long as the clamp remained in place, I felt slight pain, but compared to the feeling of restrained force, the orgasm was something completely raw.
Afterward, when the girl was too excited to be aware of what I was doing, I secretly removed the clamp and thrust it into her without warning. When she felt me climaxing inside her, she screamed. At first, she was angry, although I tried to convince her that holding back a part of myself was not a game but an attempt to revive sexual sensitivity. I explained that by avoiding what we had so often felt with so many others, she and I had made the sexual act fresh and pure.
Eventually, she admitted that being aggressive with me in a pleasant way had relaxed her and allowed her to feel more sensual than ever before. Her control over me was much more exciting than passively yielding to previous lovers; she said that all the anger and anxiety she had endured because of my deception was a small price for her newly discovered freedom, for her new sexual identity.
    ***
She escorted me to the car without saying a word. We drove straight to the motel. On the way to the room, I ordered drinks. When the waiter left, she casually turned to me. - How do you intend to take me? - she asked. - From the front or from behind?
She began to undress. When she was naked, she stood before me equally cold and indifferent as the first time I saw her on the nightclub stage. - To some special place? - she asked.
I threw off the cover, and she got into bed, grabbing a pillow and propping herself up with it.
- When? - she asked.
- Now - I replied.
I grabbed her by the shoulders. They looked too delicate to withstand the weight of the saddle. - Lie down - I commanded. In the dim light of the room, I joined her, unsure how to touch her. When she turned her head to evade my lips, she gently moved her hands behind my hips and spread her legs enticingly. I took this as a sign of desire, and my body responded.
I tried to slide into her, but when I attempted to enter, she was tightly closed. I spread her thighs even wider and tried again to push into her. She moaned, but remained closed. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pressed her tightly against me. She still did not open up. I played with her to excite her, sucking on her nipples, teasing her with my mouth. Finally, I tried to enter her with raw force. She was unyielding.
- Are you done? - she asked, raising her knees and moving away from me.
- I don't understand - I said.
- It would take a surgical procedure for me to open up. - I never wanted to undergo that operation.
- Why? - I asked.
- Because of people like you - she replied. She got up and began to dress.
I reached for her. - Don't - she ordered grimly. - You wanted what you fought for, but you will never achieve what you desired. - She got dressed and left.
    ***
One evening, he said, he walked into a bar with machines showing risqué films. As the projector buzzed, he stared at two women and a man who had intertwined in a circle, so that each of their faces was pressed between the thighs of the other, and each mouth was engaged with another's genitals. Enlarged by the camera, the tongues flickered in and out, penetrating and licking heaps of flesh. Layers of transparent fluid spread from the tongues like spider silk. Only after he looked back at these close-ups did it dawn on him that he had never paid attention to the shape, structure, or color of the tongues of his women.
He began to frequent porn venues to establish connections with men. At least twice during the evening, people would catch his gaze and nod. The speed of the transaction excited him. He would go into a booth with another man and drop a quarter into the slot. In the darkness, he could not see the face of the stranger squatting in front of him. When the three minutes were up, he would drop another coin into the slot to ensure that the red light kept others away from the booth.
Staring at the film, he felt the stranger's bodiless touch on him, and the anonymity of the exchange excited him. Like a coin dropped into a slot, so too did the other mouths in him set off a silent film. In the darkness of the booth, he and his screen found themselves face to face.