Chapter Forty-Nine
Poor Larry, per Manager Voot’s insistence, despite the breathless dramatics our characters were currently undergoing, continued with his duties at the hotel, and during one trek down a corridor, a door opened and Madame Tautphoeus practically wrenched him inside her room.
“May I help you, madame?” he mumbled.
“Yes you may, young man: you may make passionate love to me. It would be a kindness to an old woman, and I would remunerate you handsomely.”
“I beg your pardon, madame?”
“Do you require it to be spelt out, you tease?” She grabbed his crotch. “You insert this, into (grabbing his hand and placing it onto the corresponding feature of her own person) this!”
With apologies, Larry politely removed both their hands and declined: “I am sorry, madame, but there is a professional code my job imposes on me—I have perused this code many times; it basically consists of doing what Herr Voot tells me and not asking questions—and yet, where concrete duties are itemised, I can assure you that nothing involving either of our genitals is included. If you like, I could consult Herr Voot—”
“Hang Herr Voot! Remove your trousers, at once!”
“Pardon me, madame, but I really must be off.”
“Oh! Oh, I see—you’re a virgin, aren’t you?” She rubbed the back of his thigh with sympathy. “You’re uncertain of yourself. You’re afraid you would invite the scorn of the initiated onto the head of the ignoramus, is that it?”
“Pardon, madame.” He turned to leave. Falling to her knees, she seized him by his leg.
“Can’t you see I’m desperate?! How low need I debase myself in the quest for a little tenderness?!”
“I will send you a sherry, madame.”
“I don’t want a sherry! I want a cock, God damn it!”
But Poor Larry escaped her clutches and went off to his room to still his thoughts via the magic of dance.