The Jimmy Porter Letters - The A Set - Edited by Jerome Poynton

The Jimmy Porter LettersThe A Set

Edited by 

Jerome Poynton

Literary Executor

______________________________________________________

Jimmy Porter was a well-known con-man, musician and dope-fiend on New York’s Lower East Side during the thriving underworld of the 1960s and 70s. 

His prowess with women was legendary. The following letter recounts one night in New York City-- a Bob & Carol, Ted & Alice moment --

The letter is written to his friend Bill Hiene at Kagyu Thubten Choling Thubten Choling Tibetan Buddhist Monastery in Wappinger Falls, New York. 

Jimmy Porter died from an A.I.D.S. related suicide in 1986.

Jerome Poynton

Literary Executor

______________________________________________________

October 22, 1984

J. Porter

84A1405 4F25

Downstate Correctional Facility

Saturday P.M.  (October 20, 1984, date of Hagler, Hamsho fight)

Dear Bill,

I sent out some other “emergency relief” requests, aside from the one I sent you, including one to Lee. She wrote she just might send me $5., the penurious Christ monger.  Well, she does endure a condition that’s just this side of abject poverty, I suppose, and undoubtedly can’t really even afford that much money.  I had no idea you were on such a straight budget, Bill. I guess I sort of took it for granted that you had access to more because of your inquiry about tapes. When I got your letter I was literally abashed and dismayed by the revelation of you situation. Wouldn’t you know that Buddy, the electrical contractor I’ve worked for, visited me the day after I wrote you requesting succour. I think I’d shit if you and Anne sent me any more bread. Please, please tell how touched and grateful I am for her unselfish gesture. Your generosities have moved me considerably. Thank you, thank you both. Don’t dare to send anymore, please. Bless the two of you.

Hagler knocked Hamsho down twice in the third round tonight, and the fight was stopped before Hamsho could get up. I’m including the Ring magazine standings with your diminishing supply of sluts. If I can, and if you wish, I’ll make some overtures for replenishment for us. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble to me to re-up for me alone. Not yet, anyway. Not when I have access to their perusal without buying, begging, or stealing.  I’m off on a tangent.

Did you ever meet Harry, my ostensible rival for Emily’s affections? Emily introduced him to me as the guy who cooked up that speed she had when you and I met her. It was potent shit, remember? Almost immediately after meeting him, he asked how big my dick was. Just like that! Right out of the blue. I called Emily over and told her that her erstwhile lover had bigger eyes for me than he had for her, which she denied vehemently. So I asked him, with Emily there, and he said he’d rather freak off with me than with her. I modestly assume he was searching for adventure more than love, with a bit of perversion thrown in for good measure. I couldn’t accommodate the restless devil and dismissed him forthwith. Emily and I took four overdoses after his departure, and in the heights of our euphoria, she finally confided that she had had homosexual fantasies concerning that fag bastard Harry’ woman. God we were lasciviously lusting that night. The speed was intense. Harry and his chick--I forget her name--were living at Seagate in Brooklyn, so we decided to try to make Emily’s fantasy a reality by visiting them. Emily, Harry and his old lady were roommates at Antioch College, a liberal, indeed, experimental co-ed perversion factory, and Harry had chosen “his” slut over Emily, my slut. We masturbated each other in the cab, on the way out there, until we were both sopping wet, just barely this side of coming. Bill, a fucking vision of loveliness answered the door, an aesthetic dream. When Emily introduced us she commented that she had never wanted the two of us to meet, and I said I could see why. Without any preliminaries at all, Emily told the girl the reasons we were there. At first, I interrupted Emily’s confession, as it were, fearing that she’d be being too forward, too precipitous, that she’d frighten the chick with her straightforward admission of our mission. Emily dismissed my hesitation out of hand. You see, Emily had never made it with a chick before, and, as far as we knew, neither had her ex-roommate. She continued her proposal to the tramp, and finished her blunt divulgence, and Harry’s bitch said she’d just love to join us in a threesome. My dick was hard before, but it began to pour down my leg then. We turned the beauty and ourselves on again, on to too much, as was our wont, and we began with the two of them flanking me, their legs spread to admit my fingers. Bill, have you ever experienced two angels sucking vaginal fluids from your fingers simultaneously? The three of us were breathing heavily though our mouths, we were so hot . . . and that sissy Harry burst in. And dig this, the punk motherfucker arrived with a young P.R. piece of trade! He’d picked-up the little spick on his motorcycle. But of course, we were indisposed by their arrival, as you might expect, and that lame had the audacity to be upset by the obvious complexion of the situation between myself and the females, so before I allowed myself to bust his ass, I made my apologies to the woman, invited her to come to Emily’s and my pad later, and we split. My nuts were swollen with desire at that point; nevertheless, Emily and I decided to wait for the whore’s arrival before satisfying our lust. Not two hours had past after we got home when she was at our door, panting and groaning and begging and pleading. She threw her clothes off and pushed Emily to the floor, stuck her ass in the air, and beseeched me to fuck her as she jammed her mouth to Emily’s cunt. I came, Christ, did I cum, but the wood stayed hard throbbing with desire. She’d never been fucked in the ass, she said, so I wet the “head” on her labia and drove it up her bum. She was screaming into Emily’s cunt. Screeching with pleasure, and then Emily began to really pierce the sound barrier, while I was growling and whimpering and biting and pitting and crying and jerking spasmodically. As soon as I came Emily insisted on instantly sucking my semen from the girl’s ass, and on and on and on. An eventful night. The girl asked if she could leave Harry and come to live with us. Emily refused without reservation, although the two of them had become conscious of the depth of feeling they’d harboured in their perverse bosoms for each other. It’s the human condition, Bill. The degradations lift us whether we wish it or not, it brings us closer to Nirvana. That’s why I’m a sensualist. That’s why I can be construed as being among the lucky few.

Are you ready? Someone asked about Tessa the other day. My study skills instructor at college gave me her address last night. I love her too.  

Is Anne being “supposedly” celibate . . . physically?

Love,  JP