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64. The Ooh La La
Kimura decides to see Miami Beach and gets a go from his chief in Tokyo, who suggests a diary to publish in the Paper. So from here the voice is Kimura.
French Officer's Kepi cap
Red Blazer Jacket
with Mlle Fifi sewn on its left lapel. The Blazer covers a white shirt and maroon tie. She says this is what a French woman-chauffeur should look like. Who am I to question? Below, she has on a knee-length purple velvet skirt nicely tight and short enough that her calves-curves show prettily. I think of her as My Satan Doll!
The Route out of New York is through the Holland Tunnel, the older and more downtown of the two tunnels under Hudson River between New York and New Jersey
From tunnel exit we shall drive south to Delaware River Bridge and over it into eastern Pennsylvania, then enter the state of Maryland heading southwest.
Traffic in the tunnel is heavy; we move by stop and start. Ali keeps up a patter:
“Hon, the Holland Tunnel brings to mind my schoolmate Virginia Van Up, or ViVa, as we call her. ViVa is nymphomanic; she can’t get enough cock and she tires out her partners trying. You guys don’t realize what a problem the nymphomania can be. Not for the gal – she’s lovin’ every sexy second of it. It's the guy who suffers. Yeah, I know: you’re thinkin' How can any man suffer that? Of course, ViVa has no trouble linin’ ‘em up – young, old; handsome, ugly; large, small – ViVa fuck ‘em all. But no one ever comes back for early tea, see, because ViVa she don’t give no sympathy. In m’lousy French she La Belle Dame sans Merci. Y’see, when a nympho go a screwin’ she don’t fool around, she an’t no Corinna a Mayin’; and after the first ecstatic flirtin’, the guy is loudly cryin’ ‘curtain,’ because nymphos are cruelly single-minded and not interested in pleasurin’ a partner. They want cunt-inuous cock; their ideal gang bang is more than three. The lyric, Leave it to Jane, Jane, Jane … she’ll take on gaily a score or more daily, well describes ViVa and her tribe.
“Well, Hon, the reason the Holland Tunnel recalls ViVa is that from her surname you can bet she’s Hollandaise, and, bein' nympho, she can't help always talkin' about her sex loudly and she uses the C word always. So I ask her 'Can you please choose a nicer name for it? And not box, snatch, quim or peach, which everyone knows'. Now you’d never guess her name for it, but it makes a lotta sense: 'My Holland Tunnel!' ”
I do not laugh and Ali, looking pained, says, “You Japs! No sensa a humah!”
We make time in New Jersey. Ali calls it Stinky Town because they seem always to be burning garbage. Further south, the atmosphere clears and we speed to seventy miles per hour. Then we hear a screeching wail and a motorcycle policeman swerves in front forcing sudden stop. “Damn” Ali exclaims, guiding our car onto the road’s soft shoulder gravel. “Now, watch me Kim! I’m gonna get us outa this or my name an’t Mademoiselle Fifi: I'm gonna give'im The Ooh La La!”
As Mr. Policeman walks back to our driver’s window from his motorcycle, I see he is a handsome chap. And my Ali, following the famous Prussian strategist Clausewitz, decides attack is best defense. Instead of sitting stupid, she opens door and gets out, and both meet, framed for microsecond in my mind’s eye: a 6-foot 2-inch policeman and my 5-foot 3-inch Ali. She - imitating Mlle Fifi in red blazer with black visor kepi cap topping sultry blonde head - strikes me as a 100-pound potent packed penis-provoking pop-art piece!
A brisk breeze almost blows the kepi cap away. Ali lifts right hand to clap down cap firmly, the breeze blows blazer open in front and catches her necktie, trailing it over left shoulder, rousingly revealing two ripe nipple-tipped curvatures under tight shirt and her below skirt swirling in wind outlining her tight little rear part and showing sexy knees. Mr. Policeman is about to write out a driver-mistake ticket but the view of this pretty little red-haired Gallic coquette who might also prove a delightful cocotte completely changes his aim. No ticket gets written because Ali steps up on the fender so her face and the man’s are level, and she kisses him passionately.
Later, back behind wheel, she turns her passion pout on me and says, this time trying her Irish “That, me lad, was The Ooh La La!”
(To hear the Cole Porter original, now click
(To hear the Cole Porter original, now click
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