Slav Of Love

I am 67 years old.
Half a lifetime ago, in 1984, when I was 33, I wrote this short story.
It was published by
Screw Magazine.
Luckily I’m not running for public office — so, rather than worrying that the media might accidentally discover this salacious folktale, I can just go ahead and let it spill forward.
File it under erotic humor, I guess.

“ Camp Lust” by AleXander Hirka — digital photomontage, OctobErotics (2014)

Preface from 1984.

“Alexander Alexandrovich Igloo” is the pseudonym for a 79-year-old Ukrainian gentleman with a much longer real name who herein recalls some episodes from his long life of sexual pleasures amidst the changing creative cultures of New York City’s Greenwich Village, particularly the Lower East Side.

The following is a direct transcript from a tape recording, dialect intact, recorded in May 1984.


There is story I wish to tell you before I get too old to remember. Is really four stories, about four women I meet in my neighborhood. I record my voice on this how-you-call Walkman machine because I not write so good English.
I come to America from Ukraine in 1951. I was then 47 years old. Now I am almost 80, even older than your president. When we leave the old country, my wife, her name be ZaZa, she say if they be crazy enough to drop bomb like Hiroshima she don’t want to live there. So she go to live in Australia. She be wild-blooded Cossack woman with eyes like midnight. She would have like some of those hippie boys if she come here. But I come alone.

First woman I talk about was maybe 1956. I live on Avenue C in East Greenwich Village. I work at Hymie’s vegetable store. One day this young woman come shopping. She dressed all black. Black shirt, black stockings, short black skirt. Even a black beret she wears, and in her mouth she have unlighted cigarette stuck in long black holder. She looks around boxes and asks where be cucumbers. I look at box where is supposed to be is empty. I say I go to basement to get.

I go inside store and down to basement. I open box to make sure is okay and when I turn around I see she have followed me to basement. She say, “Let’s see that hot cuke, Big Daddy. You dig?” I try to say I not her father but she just reach over and open my zipper. She takes hold of my thing and starts rubbing it up and down and right away it stand up big and fat. She lift up her skirt and she have dark black bush, nice pink in the middle. I lean back on sweet potato crates and she slip right down on my sausage — szhoop!- she take the whole thing inside her. Nice wet inside and she ride up and down on me like she be riding bareback horse. Her eyes close and she yell words I do not understand. Every time she come down hard, her pussy bone grinding against my hairs down there, she yell again. I remember just a few words she scream out. She say “Kerouac!” and then “Ferlinghetti!” (I think is maybe Italian sports car?)

We be bouncing like jumping beans when Hymie come downstairs. As he walk over to us, the lady just lift up back of skirt. In a minute I feel Hymie’s thing slide up her ass. We three pump like crazy. She yell out more words. I forget. Oh, yeah… she say “Ginsberg!” and “Corso!” and then suddenly we all start exploding. She scream out something but it all get distorted. It sound like she yell, “Will you miss burros?” I don’t understand, but I don’t spend time thinking about because I coming inside her. We be so excited we fall over and big box of kumquats spill all over us. We laugh. She go away and I never see her again in neighborhood.

The Fugs — a major inspiration for the author — perform in the Village in the 1960s

Next woman I talk about is maybe 10 years later. Many young people live in Greenwich Village then. The boys all have long hairs. Crazy color clothes. One night I go for walk down Seventh Street. I pass by window where young woman sit watching people walk by. She say to me, “You want to smoke?” — holding out cigarette rolled like in old country. She have very pretty eyes. She remind me of ZaZa. I stop by window and smoke with her. Tobacco smells like cow manure and after a few times I inhale I feel a little dizzy, but nice. She sit up on windowsill and lean head back. She look beautiful and I look at her very sexy legs. She not shave them like most girls do and pretty soft hairs catch glow from streetlight. She says “Why don’t you come in for a while?”

I say thank you, yes that would be nice, as I watch the strong graceful muscles in her legs as she moves inside. I walk down corridor it seems like for hours before I get to her door. She opens door and is naked and her boyfriend also naked next to her. I feel like maybe I faint. She take my hand and lead me to mattress on floor. The room is full of smoke and smell like church. Crazy pictures on the walls. Loud music playing and I hear voice sing, sound like gypsy voice, singing words “times they are changing”.

the Lower East Side — aka the East Village — aka Loisaida — birthplace of author

They take my clothes off and massage me all over with oil. I almost fall asleep it feels so good to have four hands rub me. Then girl puts her face between my legs and her hair fall all over my thighs. Her boyfriend sit next to me on pillow slowly rubbing his thick cock. He says, “We will help you get over your hang-ups. Help you to be free, like a child.” She take my cock in her hands and begin kissing it. She wets it and says she like to see foreskin slide up and down. Here in America they steal them from most boys, she says. She puts the whole head in her mouth and starts sucking. Her gentle lips feel very good. “Don’t you want to know what it feels like to her?” her boyfriend asks me. I think yes. I look at it — it looks beautiful hard with veins like rivers on map. I take it in my mouth. It feels smooth and soft and I do to him everything she be doing to me. My brain it fly up to the sky, my body feel like it be the whole universe with millions throbbing stars in it. Then suddenly I am feeling his cock start pumping and salty juices come into my mouth. As I swallow I feel her lips milking me, her hand squeeze and tickle my balls. I come and is like “1812 Overture.” I look down at her pretty eyes looking at me. She slip me out of her mouth and smile. Her boyfriend smile too and go get another funny cigarette. We smoke and then I go home and laugh at Monkees program on television.

Country BlueGrass Blues & Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers . . . like Punk!

The third woman I tell you about is just maybe five years ago. I always like to see what is new in neighborhood so I go to nightclub on Bowery. After few beers, I go downstairs to bathroom. I see no signs on doors so I go into door on right. And is girl inside, dressed in black leather jacket, looking into broken mirror. I say excuse me. She say, ”Fuck man, I don’t care for no male/female rules. I don’t give a shit what you take a leak through. Sex is boring, maaaan. It’s like religion … real retro-stuff. Primitive! We gotta get over it.” She spit on wall. Angry lady. I think since she say is okay and I have to pee very bad I go over to the bowl and do it. She looks over at me and when she sees my big thing she say, Gee, granddad, what a fabulous sex pistol you have. Maybe it’s time for a little break in my celibacy.”

Suddenly she get on her knees and takes hold of it, and begins to slap her face with it as she rub herself down there. I am embarrassed, but so drunk that it feels good. I come all over her hair which I now see is pink color. I feel her tremble and know that she come too. She kiss my cock and leave black lipstick marks on it. She says, “I’ll bet Richard Hell doesn’t have a heavy torture tool like that.” Her girlfriend come in and says, “ Come on, the Maroons are about to go onstage!” She combs my come into her hair, winks at me, then goes out door. I stay at club for a while and watch pretty woman who sing in rock and roll group, but then it get too crowded so I go home.

Yuppies — short for Young Urban Professionals — blossomed in the 1980s

That was maybe only five years ago.
But now this neighborhood I live in be getting stupid. I don’t like much the young people that are moving here.
Is best I give you example. Is fourth woman I tell you about. We meet in used clothes store maybe three weeks ago. I wear same kind clothes I wear for 30 years but she likes this. She say is very good fashion. She say she knows I am director of movies. I say is not true. I say I don’t go to movies, instead I watch people across the street with binoculars. She say she know I kidding and invite me to her house. She goes to kitchen to get what-you-call that bubbling water? — it come in little green bottles… ah, I forget. Anyway, so I make plan that when she come back to living room I give her fun surprise and say, “Look at the hat in my lap, is moving!”

But as she coming back she remember she not check machine that answer phone when she not home. She goes listen and I hear message in man’s voice. “I’m so sorry,” she say to me. I forgot I had this appointment to meet my investment banker at the tanning salon tonight. We had made these plans weeks ago. And then we’re supposed to go to an opening afterwards… some great new graffiti artist at the Mayorshouse Gallery. I’m really sorry. I had hoped we could talk about some of your films. Well, how about a rain check? You’re welcome to come by tomorrow and take me up on the offer of seeing the “Hair” videotape. How about it?” she ask, showing me her teeth like she be smiling.
I say okay but I not go back. More and more talk like her now. Maybe is too much money they have, I don’t know. Only decision they make in life is what product they buy. Is sad. Now, just like uptown, they be manufacturing fantasies. Is no better. They manufacture stupid people too, just like uptown always like to do. I tell you — is all expensive nothing!

Ah, but maybe I just get too old, no? But I don’t give up on sex yet, no-no. No, and I don’t give up on God — I pray every day he tell me what shall I do. One thing I know for sure… if people here elect that zhabdih doopa (is means “frog’s ass’ in my language) for President again I think is maybe not too late to follow ZaZa to Australia.

“ Skin to Skin Kaleidoscopic” by AleXander Hirka — digital photomontage, OctobErotics (2014)

Writer, visual artist, philosopher, autodidact, curmudgeon. More than half of what i do is make believe.

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