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again. It was a marvelous feeling.
    The man heaved, grunted, groaned, and came. Then he was up and getting dressed, carefully avoiding looking at the woman on the bed.
    The woman was named Vera, and she was the blonde with the nice breasts who had married Gino’s father.
    She closed her legs, pulled her skirt down, and silently watched as the man finished dressing, laid some money on the table, and left. She was tired. Thank God you didn’t need energy to screw. Just open your legs and let business commence.
    It had been a tough week. Visiting Paolo in Sing Sing. Then dragging down to the courtroom to say that Paolo’s kid could come and live with her. Bullshit he could. She had only gone because Paolo had insisted. “He doesn’t hafta come and live with us,” Paolo had explained, “but you gotta say he can so they won’t stick him in another home. When he comes around give him twenty dollars and tell him to get lost.”
    Vera made a face. Twenty dollars indeed! She would give the kid five.
    She got up, picked the money off the table, then listlessly answered a knock on the door.
    It was one of her regulars, so there was no need for conversation. She flopped back on the bed, lifted her skirt, and opened her legs. As the man unbuttoned his pants she barely concealed a yawn.
    Gino bounced jauntily down the street. He was so glad to be out that he didn’t even notice the oppressive heat. And it was hot. Way up in the eighties with not a breath of wind. He wondered about his friends. Would they still be around? And Susie, and all the other girls who used to put out for him? Which one would get lucky tonight?
    He glanced at the piece of paper with the address on it once again. Almost there. An open fire hydrant gushed water, and a gang of naked children danced around it. An old man picking his nose sat on the steps of the house, which was divided into separate apartments. Number six was on the second floor. He knocked, once, twice. When there was no response he tried the door and it opened.
    His new stepmother was screwing on the bed. She didn’t seem too put out by the interruption. “I’m busy now,” she stated flatly.
    Gino could see that. He dumped his suitcase inside the door. “I’ll come back later,” he managed. Quickly he shut the door behind him. What the hell was going on?
    Then he realized. She was a whore, of course. What other kind of woman would marry his father?
    He caught the subway to Coney Island. It was crowded and sweaty, the beach even more so. He picked his way among the bodies looking for a familiar face. The old gang had always congregated here when it was too hot to stick around the city. Not finding anyone he knew, he stripped down to his shorts, charged into the sea, and swam out to a wooden raft crowded with bodies. Two sisters looked him over and giggled.
    “Ya come here often?” he asked. The corny lines always worked well.
    Within an hour they were a threesome, swimming and ducking, racing each other to the shore. It took all his control to stop his hard-on from showing. But he managed. Just.
    By the time it started to get dark and the families and screaming kids began to depart, Gino knew he could hold out no longer.
    The sisters were making noises about getting home.
    “One more swim,” he insisted. “Race ya to the raft.”
    The younger girl demurred, but the elder seemed to think it was a good idea. She was about eighteen, with frizzy carrot-colored hair and protruding teeth.
    They swam toward the raft, jostling and splashing. Gino let her get in front of him; then, just as she was about to haul herself aboard, he grabbed her from behind.
    She let out a gasp. “What do you think
you’re
doing?”
    He knew what he was doing, all right: hands on her breasts, working quickly and efficiently, bringing her swiftly to a point where she wouldn’t want him to stop.
    He trod water, pumping his legs like pistons, while she hung slackly onto the side of the raft and started to purr a