The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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loving it? Ah, it was so great breaking them in. It was so great having them wrap their 
legs around you. Their thighs were all different shapes, their asses were different, their 
skins were all different colors and shades of white and brown and tan and when he had 
slept with that young colored girl in Detroit, a good girl, not a hustler, the young daughter 
of a jazz singer on the same nightclub bill with him, she had been one of the sweetest 
things he had ever had. Her lips had really tasted like warm honey with pepper mixed in 
it, her dark brown skin was rich, creamy, and she had been as sweet as God had ever 
made any woman and she had been a virgin. 
And the other guys were always talking about blow jobs, this and other variations, and 
he really didn’t enjoy that stuff so much. He never liked a girl that much after they tried it 
that way, it just didn’t satisfy him right. He and his second wife had finally not got along, 
because she preferred the old sixty-nine too much to a point where she didn’t want 
anything else and he had to fight to stick it in. She began making fun of him and calling 
him a square and the word got around that he made love like a kid. Maybe that was why 
that girl last night had turned him down. Well, the hell with it, she wouldn’t be too great in 
the sack anyway. You could tell a girl who really liked to fuck and they were always the 
best. Especially the ones who hadn’t been at it too long. What he really hated were the 
ones who had started screwing at twelve and were all fucked out by the time they were 
twenty and just going through the motions and some of them were the prettiest of all and 
could fake you out. 
Ginny brought coffee and cake into his bedroom and put it on the long table in the sitting 
room part. He told her simply that Hagen was helping him put together the money credit 
for a producing package and she was excited about that. He would be important again. 
But she had no idea of how powerful Don Corleone really was so she didn’t understand 
the significance of Hagen coming from New York. He told her Hagen was also helping 
with legal details. 
When they had finished the coffee be told her he was going to work that night, and 
make phone calls and plans for the future. “Half of all this will be in the kids’ names,” he 
told her. She gave him a grateful smile and kissed him good night before she left his 
room. 
There was a glass dish full of his favorite monogrammed cigarettes, a humidor with 
pencil-thin black Cuban cigars on his writing desk. Johnny tilted back and started 
making calls. His brain was really whirring along. He called the author of the book, the 
best-selling novel, on which his new film was based. The author was a guy his own age 

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