The Prague Orgy Read Online Free PDF Page A

girl friends teaching Marxism-Leninism in New York. They are only sorry that the revolution fell into the wrong hands. Otherwise they are like Kouba—still one hundred percent sure they are right. So why do you come to Prague? You are not looking for Kafka, none of our heroes in New York sent you, and you don ’ t want to fuck. I love this word fuck. Why don ’ t we have this word, Rudolf? ” To me again: “ Teach me how to say fuck. This is a good fucking party. I was really fucked. Wonderful word. Teach me. ”
    “ Shut the fuck up. ”
    “ Beautiful word. Shut the fuck up. More. ”
    “ Fuck it all. Fuck everything. ”
    “ Yes, fuck it all. Fuck everything and fuck everybody. Fuck the world till it cannot fuck me anymore. See, I learn fast. In America I would be a famous writer like you. You are afraid to fuck me. Why is that? Why do you write this book about fucking that makes you so famous if you are afraid to fuck somebody? You hate fucking everybody or just me? ”
    “ Everybody. ”
    “ He is kind to you, Olga , ” Bolotka says. “ He is a gentleman, so he doesn ’ t tell you the truth because you are so hopeless. ”
    “ Why am I hopeless? ”
    “ Because in America the girls don ’ t talk to him like this. ”
    “ What do they say in America? Teach me to be an American girl. ”
    “ First you would take your hand off my prick. ”
    “ I see. Okay. Now what? ”
    “ We would talk to each other. We would try to get to know each other first. ”
    “ Why? I don ’ t understand this. Talk about what? The Indi ans? ”
    “ Yes, we would talk at length about the Indians. ”
    “ And then I put my hand on your prick. ”
    “ That ’ s right. ”
    “ And then you fuck me. ”
    “ That would be the way we would do it, yes .”
    “ It is a very strange country. ”
    “ It ’ s one of them. ”
    Mr. V o dicka, pink with excitement, is dragging the boy through the room. Everything excites Mr. Vodicka: Olga dismissing him like a bothersome child, Bolotka addressing him like a whipped dog, the indifferent boy weary already of being so cravenly desired. The stage-set splendors of Klenek ’ s drawing room— velvet burgundy draperies, massive carved antiques, threadbare Oriental carpets, tiers of dark romantic landscapes leaning from the paneled oak walls—evoke no more from the boy than a mean little smirk. Been everywhere already, seen the best in brothels by the time he was twelve.
    Mr. Vodicka is fastidious with the introductions. Bolotka translates. “ He is saying to Olga that the boy has never seen a woman. That ’ s how Mr. Vodicka has got him in from the street. He promised he would show him one. He is telling Olga that she has to show it to him, otherwise the boy will go. ”
    “ What do you do now? ” I ask Olga.
    “ What I do? I show it to him. I have you to fuck me. Mr. Vodicka has only dreams to fuck. He is more frightened of everything than I am. ”
    “ You ’ re doing it out of sentiment. ”
    Placing my hands over her breasts, Olga says, “ If it weren ’ t for sentiment, Zuckerman, one person would not pass another person a glass of water. ”
    Czech exchange. Bolotka translates.
    Olga says to Mr. V., “ First I want to see his. ”
    The boy won ’ t hear of it. Plump, smooth, dark, and cruel: a very creamy caramel dessert.
    Olga waves her hand. The hell with it, get out, go.
    “ Why do you want to see it? ” I ask her.
    “ I don ’ t. I have seen too many already. Mr. Vodicka wants to see it. ”
    For five minutes she addresses the boy in the softest, most caressing Czech, until, at last, he shuffles childishly toward the sofa and, frowning at the ceiling, undoes his zipper. Olga summons him one step closer and then, with two fingers and a thumb, reaches delicately into his trousers. The boy yawns. She withdraws his penis. Mr. Vodicka l ooks. We all look. Light entert ainment in occupied Prague.
    “ Now, ” says O l ga, “ they will put on television a