Fragments of My Life: A Sex Fiction

By Henry Joseph Rychlicki

Take a handsome, blue-eyed 16-year-old kid living on his own, drop him in the heart of a busy city that never sleeps, let 30 years go by and see what happens. Step into the time machine, back to 1973, the end of innocence, before the age of email, voicemail and cell phones. Follow his life, his loves and his many encounters of sexual explorations and merriment over three decades of mixing with weekend millionaires, night crawlers, rock 'n' rollers, and daring, attractive women.

This is a narrative where you can read between the lines. It tells of fragments of my life which took place in Toronto, where I was born. The story maps my life to song quotes of the day. It tells my experiences of being a non-conventional person living in a conventional world. It describes my discovery of the female psyche and how it never changes, regardless of age.

I have led a very interesting life. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 17, 2004
• ISBN: 9780595756698

Henry Joseph Rychlicki

At 46 years young, I started to reflect on where and how this all started in my life. I remember back in August 1973, while everyone else was thinking about their careers, all I could think about was having a lifetime dedicated to sex like the author of My Secret Life, a book about a Victorian Londoner?s sexual escapades over 50 years. I was apprenticing to be an upholstering material cutter. I was all of 16 years old just about to turn 17 and the sound of upholsterers? sewing machines whistling and singing about weekend vacations let me know it was too soon for me to die. I mean why should I be caring about a half an inch for sewing? I was a young tiger in a cage and it was a matter of time before I found my escape and escape I did!

Book preview

FRAGMENTS OF MY LIFE

117581_text.pdf

A Sex Fiction

Henry Joseph Rychlicki

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Fragments of My Life

A Sex Fiction

All Rights Reserved © 2004 by Henry Joseph Rychlicki

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

Edited by: Carole

Second Edit by: Sally

This book is purely fiction. It is my way of showing you the visions in my mind. Although there are some similarities to my life, story elements may have been altered for dramatic effect. This book is purely for fun. Some of the characters in this book may represent actual characters as portrayed or not at all. It is intended for entertainment only and is not meant to hurt or slight anyone.

ISBN: 0-595-30846-5

ISBN: 978-0-5957-5669-8 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

The good end happily

and the bad unhappily;

that is what fiction means.

—Oscar Wilde

This book is dedicated to Carole for giving me encouragement and to Linda for taking me to the used book store.

Thank you both.

Special thanks are extended to Sally for direction. I wrote Sally in despair one day while writing this book. I sent a picture of a beautiful red-haired siren and said the sirens had guided my ship over the rocks and I was sinking. To this, Sally responded, Never mind the mermaids, Henry, get busy writing!

There is no greater compliment to a man than a woman sharing her bed with him.

If a woman wants you, she will have you.

Women are flowers along the garden path of life.

How will you break my heart, Darling?

—Henry Joseph Rychlicki

CHAPTER 1

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So here I am sitting in Karen’s brand new tinted Silver Beetle after leaving a cavernous wine bar and three glasses of red wine later, passionately French-kissing this 36-year-old Parisian French red-haired, green-eyed Jacqueline Kennedy look-alike who I’d just met two hours previous and talked to on the telephone two to three times at the most—pinch me. She stared at me and I saw Queen Nefertiti (trans: the beautiful one is come). In a feeling of disbelief, she honors me by lifting up her sweater and exposes her bare breasts to me, perhaps the finest breasts the good Lord ever produced. So I tasted them, first her left breast then her right, giving them equal time thinking to myself all along—these have to be the most succulent breasts I’ve ever had the pleasure to enjoy.

Cologne she’ll wear

Silver and Americard

She’ll drive a Beetle car

And beat you down at cool Canasta

—Excerpt from Lady Grinning Soul by David Bowie from the album

Aladdin Sane

Voice—mail from Karen: m

Hi Baby! It’s me. It’s 6:30 on Thursday evening. I just got home from work and I am exhausted. I’ve had two very late nights, two business functions the last couple of nights and I haven’t had a lot of sleep. I just poured some red wine, I’m having a cigarette and then I’m going to bed, but I just got your very hot messages. You know you are a complex person, Henry. You are just a very hot, sexy guy. I have to say I’m listening to your messages and they do turn me on. Oh, my God! I like the way you call me Baby. Now you’re probably going to call me Baby more but just the way you say it, you have a way of saying things that tells me that you’ve got this incredible wealth of knowledge of life experiences. I also sense that you’re quite an intelligent person. You’re probably your own worst enemy but you know that. I don’t know what I’m going to do.

CHAPTER 2

117581_text.pdf

At 46 years young, I started to reflect on where and how this all started in my life. I remember back in August 1973, while everyone else was thinking about their careers, all I could think about was having a lifetime dedicated to sex like the author of My Secret Life, a book about a Victorian Londoner’s sexual escapades over 50 years.

I was apprenticing to be an upholstering material cutter. I was all of 16 years old just about to turn 17 and the sound of upholsterers’ sewing machines whistling and singing about weekend vacations let me know it was too soon for me to die. I mean why should I be caring about a half an inch for sewing? I was a young tiger in a cage and it was a matter of time before I found my escape and escape I did!

One day on my way to the factory, I met up with a carefree friend of mine wearing his spider glitter shirt, satin pants and platform boots with leather palm trees sewn to the sides, driving a little red Toyota Glide. He stopped to tell me he was on his way to Lake Simcoe, Jackson’s Point to be exact—same town funny man Jim Carey grew up in. So away we went, gas in tank and hash in our pockets; my glitter friend in his satin blazer and me in my black western boots and blue jeans. With Edgar Winter’s hit song Frankenstein, Billy Preston’s Will It Go Round in Circles and Grand Funk’s American Band playing on the Toyota’s dashboard radio, we reached our destination.

It was a beautiful, hot, sweaty summer’s day. I was driving around feeling like I was skipping off school but I wasn’t. I was skipping off of work, even better, roaming around, smoking hash, driving up and down Hedge Road and visiting the beach and the lakeshore.

Evening was approaching and hunger was setting in, so we stopped right outside Dan-Dees Charbroil main street grill. I noticed two girls walking up the street to Dan-Dees while I waited in the car for my glitter friend to walk back with our food order. One of the girls, the brunette, had a red felt heart sewn to the back of her jeans. This turned out to be Madeleine with her sister, blonde-haired Cassie. My eyes were affixed on these girls.

Look Madeleine, real people! Cassie exclaimed as they were about to enter Dan-Dees and my glitter friend was walking out.

The girls belonged to Rosedale, maybe the first affluent district in the city of Toronto. If you knew Rosedale with its castle homes and its streets constructed purposely curvy, twisted and turned, as if to make it a nightmare for any city planner later on who might want to lay down street car tracks for public transportation, you’d see Rosedale didn’t want the general public in their private world.

But wait a minute, I hadn’t as much as said hello to these girls yet, nor did I have the slightest inkling that dear sweet Cassie was about to change my life forever. Even though I was focused on Madeleine, Cassie informed me right away that she was sixteen and that dear sweet Madeleine was only fourteen and a virgin. This made me quickly refocus! Or, as Paul Newman said in the movie, Cool Hand Luke, I got my mind right. It was like I had known Cassie in another life and we were playing catch up and I didn’t mind one bit.

Next on the list was meeting Mom. I wasn’t crazy about older people in gen-eral—my generation was not supposed to trust anyone over thirty. So, feeling slightly rare, I bit the bullet and went over to this luxurious cottage on a peninsula. It didn’t turn out to be Mom and Dad quietly sitting alone in their comfortable cottage furniture but instead, aunts’, uncles’ and cousins’ loud conversation over alcohol. We’re talking scotch and gin, the hard, loud stuff. I felt for the moment that I had entered a Bewitched episode or a scene in the famous movie Auntie Mame starring Rosalind Russell. It seemed like they had been there forever carrying on the endless summer.

I was then introduced to Cassie’s mother, Sally. I’ll never forget the look on Sally’s face when we were first introduced. To me it was a look of I know what you’re up to in your mind as if she read me loud and clear. I was frightened, to say the least.

Golly! Long pants, at last!

Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!

I’m your sponge!

But we were only playing fish family!

Enough of this. Now let’s all go in and have a glass of whisky.

—from Auntie Mame

Cassie asked her mother if it was all right if the four of us socialize in the guest boat house. I thought she’d say no after the look I got from her, but much to my surprise, she said yes. So off we went leaving mother and the relatives behind to their cocktails and long cigarette holders.

On the other side of the peninsula, there stood a small guest boat house with living quarters on the main floor and a boat dock on the bottom level. Of course, the four of us had to have a toke so we went down to the bottom level where there docked was one very fresh new, red speed boat, just the kind of boat I always dreamed about, complete with a powerful Johnson motor, water skis, life jackets and paddles, just in case the motor quit. After a brain refresher, we went back to the main level to listen to tunes and get better acquainted.

It was obvious that my glitter friend didn’t stand a chance with Madeleine but what did I care? I was already falling in love with Cassie and it wasn’t long before I tasted her sweet lips for the first of many times to come.

It was getting late and time to go so we made arrangements to meet up with them later on that week. Cassie was adamant on me returning to her and I assured her I would. So away we went, anticipating our return. Going back to Toronto, I couldn’t believe what luck I was having but I attributed my good fortune to August, my birth month, or August 23rd 1956, my birth date to be exact and the first day of Virgo.

I went back to my upholstery job only to be told my services were not required any longer. I felt a great sense of relief and mild disappointment at the same time, but I was only 16 and glad to break free of the factory environment. I could always cut a sofa or chair if I needed to now because I knew how. By this time, I had cut many of them.

So, I met up with my friend Coleman who was working nearby at his mother’s firm. We went for lunch at Yorkdale Mall to a restaurant called Adam’s Ribs to celebrate my newly found freedom. We, of course, ordered the specialty of the house, Adam’s ribs, while I bragged about my new found love interest Cassie—blonde, pony-tailed, blue-eyed, slim, classy, warm, passionate and above all, sexy. What more could a young teenager want? I was truly happy. My life was well on its way to a new beginning.

On my return trip to Jackson’s Point with my glitter friend in his little Toyota Glide, we arrived a little late due to traffic. I found Cassie worried that I wasn’t going to show and I assured her she was the only thing on my mind since I had left her. Cassie was dressed well with perfect make-up—what a doll—pinch me! She had no reservations telling me that she and her mother had gone to the Guardian drug store to get her birth control prescription earlier that week, much to my amazement. I knew I was getting laid for sure, I mean, who had to worry about maybe getting to first base, I was already home and we hadn’t even laid down yet.

What a wonderful time the four of us had! Oh yes, we unleashed the red speed boat. My knuckles were white from holding on, while Madeleine, at the helm, wound the boat out full throttle, her brunette hair flowing in the wind, stealing back my full focus. Cassie must have noticed as, in the next instant, she put Madeleine out on the water skis and took over the helm. I got the feeling of euphoria as I was getting lost in the beauty of Cassie’s sexy shoulders.

Later on, we had lunch in town and then returned to the boat guest house where dear, sweet Cassie pulled me into the guest bedroom. She thought I looked a little tense and suggested that I take off my shirt. I happily obliged and then she gave me my first back rub ever. I can almost feel her hands massaging my back now. Before I knew it, we were naked and making passionate love. Cassie had a way of holding on to me while I was inside her that would cause me to orgasm time and time again. She sucked my cock really well—it was like we had made love for a century.

That night Cassie and I walked down to the dock to watch the stars in the sky while she smoked her Peter Stuyvesant’s under a glowing full moon. Embracing each other and passionately kissing, we both acknowledged that beautiful moon, having no idea how bitter it would soon become.

Vacation time ended and we found ourselves back in Toronto, me on the verge of getting my own place for the first time in my life. I rented the top floor room at 552 Huron St., between Bloor St. and Davenport Rd. It had slanted ceilings, a red floor and a single bed that I made into a daybed. I had brought with me a TV, a large trunk, a record player and clothes. Friends helped me move in, carrying my belongings all the way up to the 3rd floor. It gave them a chance to know what it was like to be independent. Actually, it was frightening to be on my own. While they were going to the comfort of their parents’ homes, I got to stay awake and ponder if I was going to survive.

Earlier on that evening, I was introduced to some of the tenants—Bob on the second floor, who was openly gay; the road manager for Ian Tyson and the Great Speckled Bird on the first floor; and the L.S.D. acid guy who lived in the basement. What a trip this guy was! He worked at the post office and took acid.

His space was wall-to-wall posters and records. He welcomed me to the house and gave me two acid blotters—three-eyed toad blotters.

The next morning I awoke wondering how I was going to arrange my new pad. The task seemed impossible, so I dropped one of the two blotters I had and soon after I had my room looking like Better Homes and Rooms magazine. I set up my dart board and amused myself by getting a bull’s eye on every try.

The next thing I know, Coleman walks through the door suggesting we head over to the movie theater to see West World. I told him that I couldn’t go because I was high on acid but he assured me I’d be alright so we hopped in his 1964 Cutlass rag top and away we went. The beginning of the movie starts like a commercial. For me on acid, the movie was the longest commercial I had ever seen.

The next day, I went to Sam the Record Man and bought Uriah Heap’s Live with Sweet Lorraine, Joe Walsh’s The Smoker You Drink the Player You Get with Rocky Mountain Way, and the Rolling Stones’ Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out! I especially liked their version of Love in Vain written by Robert Johnson. It’s the only one I had heard at the time and how I would soon cling to that song. I also bought the New York Dolls’ self-titled LP. It was front racked on sale for $2.95. Elton John also had a hit album out called Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and John Lennon had Mind Games out but I never did buy them because they were played on the FM band so much, I didn’t have to. I had a poster of Mick Jagger hanging on my wall—a live stage shot where his face was covered in makeup.

I worked as a bartender at my stepfather Stan’s restaurant even though I was under age. At this time, 18 was legal drinking age.

I continued to date Cassie. One time, I accompanied her to Simpsons-Sears downtown where she bought an eye pencil and paid for it with a credit card.

I don’t think we should shop together, she said afterwards. I felt puzzled.

We’d have dinner at Fran’s All You Can Eat Spaghetti Cellar on Yonge St. and take in movies such as American Graffiti; Heavy Traffic, this animated movie that had this great scene depicting Chuck Berry’s song, Maybellene; and Performance with Mick Jagger. We’d see concerts like Roxy Music at Mas-sey Hall and Alice Cooper at Maple Leaf Gardens and then usually end up back at her parents’ home in Rosedale.

Her rec. room was furnished with antiques, a record player and a red velvet sofa where we made love on so often that we had to turn over the cushions from the white come stains. We listened to Rolling Stones’ Hot Rocks and Roxy

Music’s For Your Pleasure. Sometimes she would tell me that I was Mick Jagger and I didn’t mind because she’d fuck me nearly to death when that would happen. I knew everything about the Rolling Stones. I’d been a fan since I was 8. I listened to the radio station C.H.U.M. day and night from the time I was born. I would like to think my parents were radios and that I lived in a juke box.

One day, Cassie got into her mind after making love on the red velvet couch that she should measure my 17 year old penis, so out came the measuring tape—eight inches she said. If that made her happy I wasn’t going to complain because I read in Time Life books once that any penis over nine inches was deformed. Sometimes Cassie would do things like stop me before leaving, and at the bottom of the stairs to the main floor, have me drop my pants just to fuck me for a few strokes to tease me on my way out and have me worry about her mother opening the door at the top of the stairs to catch us in the act. This was Cassie’s way of being sensationalistic at my expense. This was coming from a girl who told me she masturbated with a candle.

Another time, we were on the red velvet couch when she told me if I wanted to fuck her, I had to take her belt off. It was one of those kinds of belts with a large 2" ring for a buckle in the centre. The leather would appear to be wrapped around both the left and right side of the ring. So this night, in order to get Cassie’s pants off, I was to guess the secret of getting this belt unlocked. Much to Cassie’s surprise, I had the combination for the belt and her jeans off before she could blink twice. I was thirsty for a good fuck and a chastity belt with 10 rusty locks wouldn’t get in my way.

Cassie was a wonderful, caring girlfriend. She would insist on taking my laundry home in a suitcase and bring it back, washed and folded. This made me feel uncomfortable because I did not want her parents to think I was lining