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Lenny's Roots

He had it all and it blinded him to love.

I probably shouldn’t be writing anything out in public about my former best friend, Lenny Mazurka, but now that he is dead and buried, I can only say, What’s the problem?

Lenny and I go way back.

Back before his womanizing became a national scandal and images of his schlong were posted on billboards and sides of city buses like some sort of heretical endorsement of a hedonistic lifestyle. I had a good laugh right after the story broke about his deal with the Hollywood Madame and I saw him on television standing next to a couple of broads with bodacious boobs talking about some lubrication product that was supposed to give females a tingle that they would treasure forever.

I remembered the first time I had ever had sex with a real live girl and the fact that it was Lenny’s leftover just following his instructions to treat him real nice, honey!

Looking back on it now, I guess I should be ashamed for my less than appropriate behavior, but a teenaged boy with a still a virgin problem doesn’t take time to consider all the angles. My only response was to look frantically for a rubber so I wouldn’t miss the opportunity of a lifetime.

That first time for me was a memorable experience even though the dirty blonde with the potty mouth kept calling me Lenny when she was reacting to my ten inches buried in her pretty female business. I didn’t mind because all the girls were gaga over him in those years. He only had to show off his ultra-slender waistline and give them a profile of his cute pointed chin. It never failed to make them ready to cause their undies to disappear, if he so much as just crooked his little pinky for show time.

Gloria Gabor was one of those bright-eyed young things that loved looking over her shoulder to see what she was getting on the other end. Lenny had used her, abused her and generally wore her female parts to a frazzle keeping up with his voracious need for feminine companionship that considered a cuddle the prologue for the actual story.

At any rate, I managed to get it on with Gloria at a time when she was real confused about the signals that Lenny was sending her almost non-stop ever since she had surrendered the secrets of her anal delights to his plundering satisfaction. I knew the signs real good because Lenny was one of those guys that worked his ass off to get into a girl’s rear-end and once he had succeeded, he lost all interest in the broad and wanted to move on to greener pastures.

I lost no time in plumbing Gloria’s gorgeous depths and much to my surprise we seemed to hit it off with an audible bang.  She was eager to give me what every teenaged boy dreams about and seldom gets to experience, except in a fantasy world of magazines and silly video movies.

Anyways, this story is about Lenny.

Gloria is a story for another day.

Lenny was doing fantastic until he managed to get on the wrong side of the wise guys that pretty much ran everything around us in the neighborhood, except possibly inside the church where sanctuary was a sacred concept, and even the wise guys kept hands off with superstitious aversion to test the power of the almighty.

He was supposed to be singing at one of Mario Leone’s dinners to celebrate the upcoming wedding for Mario's eldest daughter and had been so boozed up with the free drinks at the Union Hall that he missed the entire shindig. I was commiserating with him in the basement mass at Saint Bernard’s.  It was the first time I saw a hint of fear in his eyes, when he talked about the mob guys and their silly code of honor that required a prompt response to some sort of supposed insult to their authority in the community.

We saw a pair of Don Leone’s soldiers in the back of the church. They were standing right next to the holy water and I fully expected it to start steaming and evaporating just because they were so close with their evil intent. I was still a bit of a romantic and probably overly naïve at that point in my life and I saw everything in black and white with no understanding at all for the expanse of grey in between.

I wanted to help my best friend, so I scurried from the basement church to the Pizza parlor that acted as Don Leone’s headquarters. They knew I was coming as far away as five blocks from the innocent looking little by the slice restaurant with absolutely no frills whatsoever. I liked the place because it was so honest in delivering a decent slice of pizza for a fair price and if you didn’t like it, just move on and find some other place to sit your ass down and fill your belly.

It was a mix of wise guys and teenagers looking for a cheap snack and hooking up with one of the local easy lays that would bend over for pizza, a coke and maybe a back row seat at the movie-house with the miracle air conditioning that almost chilled your spine with constant blasts of refrigerated air. It was dark and secretive and the sound of furtive sexual fumbling was loudest in the last row where the girls would do almost anything just to get that sense of tingling romance. Even the nice girls were ready to spread their knees watching Jimmy Dean or one of those sensitive Hollywood types with perfect teeth and a smile that would charm the panties off a nun.

I quickly erased the thought of angelic faces hidden under black robes because I knew it was a dreadful sin to think about actual nuns with their legs up in the air and taking it from behind just like the girls in the back row. I kind of had a thing all through high school for Sister Veronica with her heart-shaped lips and wet red tongue that was sometimes visible when she was thinking about some problem difficult to access from certain angles. It was easy to imagine those succulent lips wrapped around my big boy and her eyes looking up with a submissive attitude to anything I wanted to do. Of course, it included the simple task of swallowing and showing me her empty mouth to prove her ability to let me reside deep inside her belly along with the remains of her dainty lunch. I had these terrible dreams about bending poor innocent Sister Veronica over an altar rail and showing her the fury of my desire to fill her virginal tank with my creamy white sticky stuff just the way I was giving it to my Gloria whenever I could get her alone and stationary for a few minutes of fun and the fireworks of a satisfactory happy ending for my sex-obsessed family jewels.

The Don was not in the place and I could easily understand that because of it being a Sunday and he was all caught up in the final preparations for his Angela to marry the jerk son of his Wall Street accountant with all his fine ideas to switch into legitimate enterprises. The wise old Don was all smiles and diplomatic tact to all suggestions along those lines because it was a way to survive in a changing world. At the same time, he was already setting up a mirror organization that would handle the harsh world of criminal activities. It would be out of sight of all except for just a few and his reputation as a reformed hood would be a way to survive the obsessed witch-hunts of the Justice Department. It was not a perfect plan, but it would suffice until he was able to relocate the bulk of his illegal business offshore where the Feds were not likely to be as efficient.

His next to oldest son, Vito Leone was addressing envelopes in the corner booth, and I approached him with my hands in full view because I knew they were constantly worried about the Russians starting to move into the outskirts of the other boroughs, and the former communist bastards had no hesitation to use violent tactics to achieve their success.

Vito was only a few years older than me but was light-years ahead of me in devious planning and under-the-table deals that defied comprehension.

“Don Vito, I am Tony, the son of Sophia Sorrentino from below Fourteenth. I am a friend of Lenny the Singer and I wish to pay my respects.”

He looked up at me with his tired, old-man eyes and pointed to the bench on the other side of the booth.

“Your friend Lenny has made a bad mistake by disrespecting the Don.”

Actually, I couldn’t agree more, but that was not the way to get a deal that required a lot of positive thinking on my part.

“Lenny wants your family to know he is devastated that he was suffering from a bout with the flu last night and was unable to perform for his daughter Angela’s gathering of friends. He begs to be given another chance and will bring a band from the Radio City to make it seen even more professional.”

The seated man picked up a small cup of espresso swimming in raw cane sugar and sipped it with a noncommittal look over the edge of the tiny cup.

“We got a gift party for the happy couple up at the villa on Friday night. You get that putz up there ready to sing and stone cold sober and we can let bygones be bygones. Capiese?”

I assured him I did understand and almost ran back to Lenny in the basement church. He was actually praying and I thought it was funny, but kept a straight face and told him the good news. He seemed visibly relieved, but I knew he would be certain to play it like he was not in the least bit worried because that was his modus operandi to fit into his nonchalant attitude when it came to most matters.

Lenny was spectacular at the special party for Angela and the haul of gifts was generous enough to make even the jaded Don a happy man. The orders on Lenny were lifted and we both breathed a sigh of relief. I think that was the incident that led the Leone organization to back me financially at the University to study law and I soon became a mouthpiece for the mob in all matters that related to non-criminal misunderstandings. It was not that I had an aversion to such proceedings, but that my studies were mostly directed at commercial law and not criminal law that required an understanding of rulings and cases of an entirely different nature.

Lenny thought I was doing the specialized legal work because I didn’t want to get my hands dirty in the criminal side of the business. I might have had that on the back of my mind, but I was only focused on the non-criminal side because it was my area of expertise and it made sense to stay where you knew all the little tricks of the trade to gain an upper edge in the courtroom.

One of the areas that Don Leone kept close to his vest was the call-girl racket. He had a tight organization of nifty looking young things with the best clothes and cosmetic assistance. They worked the hotels, the airlines and almost all conventions and major sporting events that took place in the city. I was called in on several occasions to mediate some disputes related to financial matters with the girls but not for any direct charges of vice-related matters as that was already a done deal with the district attorney’s office that took care of such mundane services in an orderly way that required lots of cooperation on both sides to keep the ship from going off-course. I was comped girls on several occasions for a successful legal battle and had gotten used to finding some blonde or redhead bending over my white leather sofa with her panties down at her ankles and a smile that promised me a tight fit and happy ending riding her twin globes of heavenly beauty slapping into my meaty thighs with a sound that made me hard as a rock and ready to release at the slightest hint of movement on her part.

I seldom got a real name or even minimal intelligent conversation from any of the supplied females sent to me without charge, but I indulged my fantasy world of rear door humping and often used the girl’s willing mouths to drain all my stresses between tight-fitting lips and wet mouths to ease my need for female flesh. I lost count of the number of girls and after a few years they all looked the same to me with only their open mouths and bare bottoms vividly in my mind and pleasant to reflect on whilst on a solo journey working on organization business.

I was working on just such a job when I ran across Lennie in Las Vegas.

That is a story for next time and we can see what makes the Vegas showgirls tick when they are not up on stage taking it all off for the pleasure of paying customers.           





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