Her Name is Pussy Galore

 

“….I must be Dreaming.”

“ They had been treated like a mixture of royalty and people from Mars. Bond had answered the first, most urgent questions and then it had all suddenly seemed to be too much for his tired mind to cope with. 

Now he was lying luxuriating in the peace and the heat of the whisky and wondering about Pussy Galore and why she had chosen shelter under his wing rather than under Goldfinger’s. The connecting door with the next cabin opened and the girl came in. 

She was wearing nothing but a grey fisherman’s jersey that was decent by half an inch. The sleeves were rolled up. She looked like a painting by Vertes. She said, ‘People keep on asking if I’d like an alcohol rub and I keep on saying that if anyone’s going to rub me it’s you, and if I’m going to be rubbed with anything it’s you I’d like to be rubbed with.’ She ended lamely, ‘So here I am.’ 

Bond said firmly, ‘Lock that door, Pussy, take off that sweater and come into bed. You’ll catch cold.’ 

She did as she was told, like an obedient child. 

She lay in the crook of Bond’s arm and looked up at him. She said, not in a gangster’s voice, or a Lesbian’s, but in a girl’s voice, ‘Will you write to me in Sing Sing?’ 

Bond looked down into the deep blue-violet eyes that were no longer hard, imperious. He bent and kissed them lightly. 

He said, ‘They told me you only liked women.’ 

She said, ‘I never met a man before.’ The toughness came back into her voice. 

‘I come from The South. You know the definition of A Virgin down there? 

Well, it’s a girl who can run faster than her brother. 

In my case I couldn’t run as fast as My Uncle. I was twelve. 

That’s not so good, James. You ought to be able to guess that.’ 

Bond smiled down into the pale, beautiful face. He said, ‘All you need is a course of T.L.C.’ 

‘What’s T.L.C.?’ 

‘Short for Tender Loving Care treatment. It’s what they write on most papers when a waif gets brought in to a children’s clinic.’ 

‘I’d like that.’ She looked at the passionate, rather cruel mouth waiting above hers. She reached up and brushed back the comma of black hair that had fallen over his right eyebrow. She looked into the fiercely slitted grey eyes. ‘When’s it going to start?’ 

Bond’s right hand came slowly up the firm, muscled thighs, over the flat soft plain of the stomach to the right breast. Its point was hard with desire. He said softly, ‘Now.’ 

His mouth came ruthlessly down on hers.  ”