Dallas Mayo
The fluffy girl
Chapter 1
The music didn't strike me as very sexy, just loud and brassy and a little off-key. Even a tiny bit ragged in rhythm. Or maybe that was only the noise of my fingers drumming nervously on the side of my tall tequila drink, I watched them tapping against the glass, my meticulously cared-for fingernails, long and tapered and glossy pink, too perfect to be other than nervous in the vaguely forbidding atmosphere of this dingy cabaret. The crowd looked pretty sinister even for a Tijuana strip-joint. Although that too could have been the work of my overwrought nerves, just a general feeling I had about this trip south of the border. Even if I really couldn't think of a darn thing to be nervous about.
Anyway, the bombastic little combo was simmering down and so was the audience, myself included. And after a long-winded spiel from the announcer, bilingual naturally, twice as dreary!, a blare of trumpet and a barrage of drum brought the first performer out on the stage. A fat girl, fat enough to warrant the music at its loudest. Or was I just being catty? No, I could see Jerome frowning, too, hardly the expression for a middle-aged American male at a sex show. Okay, so the opening act was going to be a stinker.
She wasn't all that bad, actually, just an overripe Mexican peasant girl trying to make a living the hard way. Her bikini-type costume was a bespangled green, pretty enough in itself but not doing much for her swarthy skin coloration. Especially where the meat appeared to gather momentum and bulge up over her bra-top, outshining the silver spangles in a double demand for recognition. Below that, low around her hips, the green panty-bottom sprouted a veil of heavy fringe that hung almost to the floor. The stuff was thick and ropelike but not very manageable; the slightest shift set it stirring and swirling to reveal a plump thigh and fleshy length of leg right down to the silver stilt-heels of her matching green pumps.
The spattering of applause seemed to please her. Smiling in gratitude, she swayed languorously and turned her head to make a panoramic survey of the place. Her hair, long and black and shiny, tumbled loose over her shoulders and down her back. She ran her fingers through it like a comb, still swaying from side to side, doing a sensual little dance without lifting her feet…
Not bad but not exactly spectacular either, and I took a sip of my drink with growing impatience. The woman was just too damn fat for this sort of thing. Still, her movements did show a certain skill, a knack for using her inner passion to blur the effect of the excess poundage. And she was really moving now, touring the front edge of the stage as though her whole body had to make that same panoramic sweep. The stage itself was unusual, I realized, elevated only a few inches but extending the curve of its apron right out into the clustered tables. Which obviously didn't leave much room between the eager performer and her equally eager audience.
Oh yes, the crowd was getting eager now. The stripper had come to a halt with her legs spread wide and was gliding her palms lewdly up the insides of her thighs. I wondered what it would feel like to do something that sexy with that many people sitting up so close and staring. It gave me quite a charge and for a moment I was right up there alongside her, all creamy and blond and beautiful, swinging my hair and stroking my legs, the sexiest bitch in the house! I shivered and blushed at the thought, painfully conscious of my shame but enjoying it nonetheless; oh shit, wasn't the shame itself part of that delicious thrill?
The fat babe had one hand on her bra now, fooling around with the catch between the cups. Still picking at it, she turned her back and jutted her buttocks as if to divert attention from what was happening out of sight, practically sticking that colossal ass of hers into the uptilted faces at the nearby tables. It was still covered, of course, both domes putting a severe strain on the bikini bottom, but by this time the green fabric had creased at the crotch and worked its way deep into the in-between furrow, leaving very little to the imagination. Just enough to make the picture a masterpiece of obscenity. Somehow even the dangle of fringe added to the total erotic appeal, a sensuous appeal that was nothing short of remarkable in view of just how much pudgy fat that lard-assed Mexican peasant girl had to camouflage.
But it was a moving picture, too, although I almost didn't notice the gradual disappearance of the bra. All of a sudden she swung back around again and there they were, those two big naked breasts, adorned only by two big rouged nipples. Then she had a kind of private party with them, flashing a half-smile for the round of applause but letting it fade to a dreamy look as her self-caress grew more intimate. They must have felt nice under her busy fingers, huge and soft and lovely, a fine pair of tits despite their overblown proportions, huge and soft and just lovely to touch. And to play with, no doubt, because now her hands were pushing and rubbing one against the other in a sportive little game. Oh, she seemed to be having such a grand time all by herself! With only a sly wink every so often to let the audience in on it: having a wonderful time, aren't you glad you're here?
I kept wishing Jerome would shut the hell up. He was saying something about how the shoddier Tijuana nightspots, like this cramped hole-in-the-wall we were in, often put on hotter shows than the more expensive tourist traps. As though his excuse for bringing me here was more important than the performance itself. Bragging, really, bragging about how clever he had been to choose this place, but the dear old boy needed an ego lift, so I didn't have the heart to gripe. Although I did wish he would cut the chatter and just let me concentrate on this miracle we were seeing, the miracle of so much fat being churned into so much sex.
The private tit-party was over, apparently, and she had gone on to bigger and better things. Well, bigger anyway, considering the size of her buttocks. Too big, as it turned out, too big to maneuver the crotch-soaked strip of green off without making a mess of it. The silver spangles didn't help, naturally, and neither did the long fringe as the ends hit the floor limply and became a most unsightly jumble. She had to work at it, doing more stripping than teasing, and her awkwardness became almost embarrassing. By the time she finished with the stubborn little garment and its trail of tangled cord, all the enchantment had fled and we were left only with the fat peasant girl trying to make a living. The hard way! Luckily she must have been aware of it herself and did only a minimum of final prancing and posturing in her G-string before edging into the hidden safety of the wings. Even so, the last impression was bad enough to erase most of the good earlier one and she ended up looking pretty ludicrous. Like a shaky heap of coffee-colored gelatin, poor.thing, the second helping of a dessert that no one had wanted in the first place.
Jerome snorted. "Pretty heavy for a stripper."
"Downright fat. But sexy though, or at least she was until that pathetic ending."
"The next one ought to be better. Meanwhile; uh, time to get another drink… " He was already flagging the waiter. "Dana? Same thing for you?"
"The same, dear. Tall and icy. Tequila is okay, but I have no intention of licking salt or biting a lemon. Even if it does label me a tourist."
"Don't worry, we're all tourists. Just look around, the place is full of them. Hmm, quite a crowd. I guess other folks know about these out-of-the-way dives."
Looking around eased my mind immeasurably. Especially since I didn't spot a familiar face, or the familiar face, rather, the one I expected and hoped to see here in Tijuana. Fine! No hurry for that, no hurry at all, we were going to be here a week at least. And no need to feel panicky about it, either. Hadn't I already geared myself for the coming encounter? For that matter, there was no reason to feel panicky about anything these days, and it took only a second glance to convince me that the cabaret was about as "sinister" as, well, maybe it wasn't exactly Disneyland, but my eyes were open now and I could recognize a kind of tourist-type innocence in these nice folks sitting around and waiting for the next act. Waiting for another dark-eyed peasant wench to come out and strut and sway and bare her (hopefully!) less fat and more beautiful body. An adult Disneyland, perhaps, and the only thing sinister here was the dim lighting and the grimy atmosphere, all probably home-grown just to titillate the Yankee appetite and rake in the Yankee dollar. What else could one expect of a third-rate Mexican strip-palace that called itself the Blue Grotto?
I found it easier to look around now, too; the lights were a shade brighter and nobody seemed quite so furtive after sharing the dubious thrills of that first act. Other women were well-manicured also, I noticed, and some had evidently dressed up for the occasion, all very sexy in their slinky gowns and heavy makeup and salon-styled hair. My own simple frock was almost dowdy by comparison, although it did bring out the best in me, my hazel eyes and creamy complexion and natural golden hair, and my figure, of course, a figure I'd match against any in the house, on or off the stage. I didn't need fancy clothes and such to prove myself a beautiful girl. Nothing phony! Makeup, for instance, other than a touch of lipstick and eye-shadow, I let my pretty face speak for itself. Even my nails were an unassuming pink instead of a sophisticated scarlet. In spite of my former professional status, or because of it, perhaps?, I preferred the coyly virginal effect rather than the elegantly whorish. The fluffy type, that was me. And I had heard no complaints as yet, certainly not from Jerome, the old darling; oh, how that sweet old man loved his little Dana-baby! The only time he ever complained was when I didn't spend enough of his money.
A brassy fanfare sounded and the second stripper came on. A slim one, too, as though in answer to everybody's prayers, young and cute and tiny and amazingly energetic, a veritable little hoyden of a girl. With red hair, imagine! Under the flashing strobe like floodlight, I couldn't tell if she was a dyed Mexican or a misplaced Irish colleen. Her costume was black but pretty much immaterial; in that wildly volatile manner of hers, she wasted no time shedding a few pertinent items of apparel and getting right down co the bare essentials.
Her breasts were simply adorable, so pert and precocious after those big balloons awhile ago. Even my own body soon began to respond to their enticement and I had to squirm around in my seat to soothe the itch. All the more so a moment later when she whirled and gave us a prolonged rear view, grinding her bare bottom like a naughty coquette; such a delectable little fanny! Oh, it was quite a performance she put on, more real than theatrical. Toward the end she seemed to go into a fit of ecstasy, shivering and shaking in a way that just couldn't have been faked, reaching the climax of her act in a series of shamelessly abandoned pelvic convulsions that must have brought her to the verge of orgasm. Or beyond? I couldn't tell for sure. It was pretty wicked, though, dragging the entire audience right along with her, right into that same stew of excitement. When she finally made it to the wings, there was a collective sigh of relief before the crowd regained poise enough to function physically and start applauding. And then, of course, the clamor rocked the joint to its foundations.
"Not bad, huh? Dana?"
"Not bad at all."
"Lots better than the fat one."
"Uh-huh. At least she didn't get tangled up in her pants. I thought she looked awfully young, though. Just a kid, really, wouldn't you say? Bouncing around like a high school cheerleader… "
"Some kid. In a place like this?" Jerome's grin became a bawdy leer. "Honey, don't go moral on me. They like 'em young hers, the younger the better, it's good business. See all the wolves with their tongues hanging out?"
"Bastards! And stop leering at me. Oh, you're all alike, you men, always on the make. I pity the poor child."
"Don't waste your sympathy, the wolves won't get near her, I'll bet. Not if she runs true to form. When the show is over, she'll just cuddle up with one of the other girls and… well… "
"What? Oh. You, you mean they're lesbians?"
"It's a safe guess. Most strippers are, you know. It's almost a tradition; they just leave the boys drooling and go off by themselves for their own kind of fun. Saves wear and tear that way. So don't worry about the kid, I'm sure she's in good hands. Hmm. I wonder whose. Now that would be a show to see, wouldn't it?" He laughed aloud. "Maybe they're making it in the dressing room right now, the little redhead and that big fat dumb broad… "
Chapter 2
I was glad when the band struck up again, loud enough to drown outpour conversation. Loud enough to allow the subject to be dropped and forgotten, the one subject least likely to preserve peace in the family, although the old darling couldn't have known that at the time. And never would, hopefully! Lesbians and the like belonged behind a shroud of secrecy; why should it even come up between us?
My fault, no doubt, even though I had only sympathized with the cute young stripper for Jerome's sake. It was good for him, a sop to his waning virility, good for his ego to be included among the wolves on the make. But he had picked it up from there, of course, launching into the taboo topic even as I expressed a proper degree of shock and scorn. Along with a little chagrin! Oh shit, how was I to know that he considered himself an expert on the mating habits of the bare-breasted Tijuana titmouse?
Anyway, no harm done. Except that the next performer was bound to be wearing that invisible "lesbian" label now, and I couldn't help but feel a certain loss of innocence along with my sudden sense of kinship. Rightly or wrongly, I would be seeing her as a lesbian rather than a dancer, a lesbian using her body to excite men she didn't even like. It seemed a bit shoddy somehow, teasing the boys without giving them their money's worth. Unless maybe they knew all about it and just didn't mind being teased. Hmm. Hope springs eternal? Wasn't that the very essence of the striptease, to dream the impossible dream? Yes indeed, hope springs eternal; no wonder so many successful strippers were gay! Look but don't touch, a kind of soft sadism, just perfect for the unwitting male masochist…
That was when the third girl ambled onstage, tall and blond and beautiful and making mincemeat of my theory. Maybe the wolves were still getting their fair share of graciously dispensed frustration, but I could have sworn this one was teasing me! As if she had read my invisible label, somehow, was it so indelible?, and was already stating her challenge in no uncertain terms. Hey, look at us! How about it, tourist lady, blond on blond tonight? A bed full of nice blond cunt? Come on, baby, put up or shut up. And never mind the blank stare, it's no good anymore. Let's go, blondie, shit or get off the pot!
I did neither, straining mightily to hold everything in check like a well-behaved tourist lady should, and was rewarded by a richly deserved sense of triumph that turned cloying and faintly oppressive as she shrugged and swung her attention elsewhere. Just watching her seemed compensation enough, though, and I was soon lost in the erotic sorcery of her spell. Only I couldn't go up there alongside her this time, not like with the fat-assed Mexican peasant, oh no, I just didn't dare.
She was still fully dressed, a vision in floor-length white satin shot with shimmering gold, a dйcolletй gown that made her look more like a singer than a stripper. Quite sedate except for the scandalous display of cleavage. Indeed, her every breath was clearly delineated by the rise and fall of her breasts, the upper slopes naked almost to the nipples. But a change was just about due, evidently, and I could see her body sucking in and storing up vitality from the surrounding tables, moving in a kind of slow abandonment that appeared to grow increasingly sexy. As if the very next intake of outside energy might bring the one potent spark of pollen or semen or what-have-you needed to jolt new and crackling life through the swollen anticipation jelling inside her bosom and belly. An extrasensory conception, as it were. There was an indolent elegance in her flowing form that seemed to be demanding the opportunity to exhibit itself without the constraining shackles of society.
The hot spark landed and the jell came alive. I spilled a little of my drink and then set it down hastily, my transfixed eyes thirstier than my parched lips. Only a fool would miss this part of the show. And yet, unaccountably, I became more and more conscious of my own reactions and responses. There was the sloshed drink, for instance, the leftover dribble of moisture on my chin, I was dying to wipe it off but couldn't go pawing around blindly for a napkin for fear of a far worse spillage. Especially with the blond dancer teetering on one precarious golden heel to lift the other net-sheathed leg through a suddenly unzipped zipper in the gown. So I did the next best thing, I used my tongue. A wise course, as it turned out, the first sight of that breathtakingly beautiful leg was worth the effort and then some. Although I must have looked pretty weird ogling a woman's body with my tongue stuck out like that. In case anyone was stupid enough to be looking in my direction. Oh shit, anybody that dumb wouldn't know a lesbian cuntlapper if they saw one!
Another thing began to irritate me. For no earthly reason, I found myself resenting the men in the place, all of them, every lusting son of a bitch. How could any hairy-legged male understand or appreciate the aesthetic smoothness of those shapely feminine limbs? Or the beauty of those bewitching breasts, now being laid bare by a flurry of tenderly solicitous fingertips? Such purity was too precious to reveal to anybody, much less a roomful of lecherous brutes with dirt under their fingernails. Or if the divine creature couldn't perform in solitude, well, why not an audience of women only? Attractive women, though, with a sprinkling of sweet young girls to help balance out the glut of sleek matrons. And why not make nudity the rule rather than the exception? Nude women all around. Women of grace and delicacy, of smooth skin and softly lyrical curves to enhance the flawless masterpiece in the center as the many leaves of a flower enhance its single blossom…
No such luck. But I had enough to satisfy me for the moment. Even the combo sounded just fine now, the rhythm honed to a precise edge that matched the unabashedly naked undulations of breast and belly and hip. My thighs felt damp and sticky, and I wasn't even aware of how long ago they had started this business of rubbing and chafing against each other, prickling like a pair of hot and horny porcupines. It didn't matter. Help was on the way. As though he had read my mind, or put a lie detector on my libido, heaven forbid!, dear old Jerome was reaching for me under the table with those nice soft hands of his.
Hmm. Almost soft enough to be feminine, actually, making me all the more conscious of the velvety texture of my own skin. Ah yes, tempting! Wouldn't that bouncy little redhead just love to slide her fingers over me like this? Or even the big fat peasant, the one whose skill almost made up for her lack of beauty; oh shit, that one would know how! Uh-huh. She did, she sure did know how, and as long as I had something more beautiful to gaze at, why not let her go on with that sneaky lesbian caress?
A gentle lassitude came upon me, a limpness I could feel but couldn't resist. Nor did I care to after a while. Something wild was going to happen, something up there on the stage and down here underneath the table. The same thing, maybe, and wouldn't it be grand to tumble into the dark abyss together? Blond on blond, lighting up the darkness, a bed full of nice blond cunt, come on, striptease lade, shit or get off the pot!
I couldn't catch her eye, though, and that was the worst kind of teasing, a mixture of pain and humiliation. So it ended on a disappointing note for me, no shimmering gold beauty, no red-haired hoyden, no pudgy-fingered brunette, only poor old Jerome foraging around down there and doing it pretty much for himself. Awkwardly, too, no better than those lousy musicians fingering their lousy instruments. Clumsy! Like that fat peasant tripping over her own fringe…
“Another drink, Dana?"
“You still want to stay? I figured the show was over."
"We haven't seen the star yet. Pilar. She's supposed to be the headliner. But if you'd rather not-"
"It's okay. I'll have that drink now, too. With both hands on the table, if you don't mind. Or they're liable to cancel the star and just move us onstage instead. Which wouldn't be such a bad idea, you know? If your diddling finger holds out, I can do bumps and grinds all night long. I'll even let you use your tongue and give your finger a rest."
"Hush."
"Don't hush me or I'll put you under the table. Hey, how about that drink you promised me? Looks like show time already."
Appearances were deceiving, though, and we had to suffer through another bilingual announcement and a long stretch of fussing with the lights before the one and only Pilar came on. And even then she took awhile longer, coming on piece by piece, a little bit at a time. An arm first, fingers pointed and bunched, moving slowly into view from behind the curtain; in the murky blue light it looked like a wriggling snake. Then a shoulder, turning the snake into something that gave evidence of eventually becoming a full-bosomed female body, glowing with an eerie phosphorescence that seemed almost spectral. Incongruously so, I thought, especially since the body itself proved to be big and solid and voluptuous as more and more of it came out from in back of the curtain.
Big and solid and voluptuous, -and naked? No. Not quite. But she might just as well have been, considering the size and texture of her garments. The tiniest of G-strings. A gauzy bra that was transparent except for the slight thickening of fabric over each nipple. And the inevitable high heels, of course, but even these were fashioned like dainty sandals, with only a narrow thong-type arrangement anchoring them to her bare feet.
The audience loved her. She drew a vehement round of applause just standing there lazily and scanning the tables, an all-knowing smile on her ripely sensuous mouth. Once again I succumbed to the urge to squirm around in my seat, assailed by a hot spasm of agitation as her all-encompassing glance singled me out for an extra intense moment or two. But then I wondered if that wasn't just a bit of tricky stage technique, the kind of thing that implants the same uniquely personalized notion in each and every onlooker. Although my mind simply boggled at the idea of everyone else feeling exactly the same as I did; oh shit, they couldn't all be squirming!
Pilar had started her promenade, gliding out upon the elongated apron of the stage. It was more of a strut, actually, a stripper's walk to show off her figure. A damn good figure, too, generously stacked and just about perfect in proportion. Her calves were a trifle heavy but still quite firm-dancer's muscles, no doubt, and those ultra-high heels threw her thighs and pelvis into a seductively prominent curve.
My eyes had grown accustomed to the light by now, no longer bothered by that strange luminescent effect. It was fascinating, somehow, adding an impossibly beautiful luster to her thick crop of billowing blue-black hair. And when the wispy little mini-bra came off, her already aroused nipples gleamed vividly and brought an audible gasp from the crowd.
The music faded, leaving only a soft drumbeat to carry on. Her fingers wandered, playing restless melodies on her own flesh. And for the first time, she seemed to go into a trance that excluded the breathless audience. A highly volatile trance, though, as if the caresses of her hands had at last penetrated her skin and found some deeply buried turn-on switch. Something was taking place inside her, something beyond her control. Her hips began to gyrate wildly, her torso twisting this way and that, apparently in the throes of some exquisite torture. Her face contorted, the gluttonous ripe lips tightening and drawing back to bare her shiny teeth.
It was scary almost, but terribly exciting too as some of that sensation imparted itself to me. I felt a hand clutching way down deep, much deeper.than Jerome could possibly go, an artful hand that contracted and expanded maddeningly. And again I realized that everyone else must have been feeling it, too. I got the impression of bodies twitching all around me, twitching to the touch of hot fingers encroaching and squeezing intimately, the lascivious fury of the performance brushing against a thousand exposed nerves to create an atmosphere of hushed delirium…
The band slammed back in with a violent shock of sound, driving the dancer to an even higher level of activity. Her movements grew more frenzied and her body jerked crazily, leaning backward in arched abandon. There was beauty in it. But now it had become the beauty of raw emotion, an animal thing that went beyond the boundaries of civilization. She wasn't a lesbian anymore, she wasn't even human, she was just a female beast of the jungle copulating with the male of her species.
I hated that. But the invisible hand clutching my vitals never let up for an instant; it was unbearably real now as the inexorable contraction and expansion kept pace with the ever-increasing tempo of the onstage madness. Until my inflamed secret flesh seemed to be shipping itself into an irrepressible rage, about to spark and sizzle and explode right through the prison of my skin. Monstrous, absolutely monstrous, and I couldn't do a damn thing to slow it down!
Then, abruptly, Pilar came out of her distant trance and made contact with the audience again. It happened without warning, so swiftly that even the musicians missed their cue. All of a sudden she was a civilized woman once more, an artiste, a striptease dancer flirting gaily with the people who were paying good money for the privilege of seeing her perform. Her gait turned mincing and then swaggering, lewdly suggestive one moment and impudently disdainful the next, the act of an experienced stripper.
She took her flirtation pretty seriously, too, getting intimately involved with the men at the nearby tables after a while. One of them she grabbed and hauled in close to her body, bending down to mash her bosom against his laughing face. The laughter stopped as he put up a struggle, but her strong arms and smothering breasts held him captive until at last he quit fighting and moaned in token of total surrender, bowing to her will with a slight but visibly tremulous motion of his cheeks and chin. Above his half-hidden head she smirked and rolled her eyes shamelessly to let the amused audience know how much she was enjoying the unseen but obvious fruits of her victory.
All of that calmed me down, naturally, and I too became nothing more than a giggling spectator as she went from man to man using those big breasts of hers. Those big beautiful tits, first as a lure and then as a weapon. It was something to giggle at, too, except for the one time when she chose her foolish victim from the very next table, near enough so that I could sniff her perfume and see the tiny iridescent beads of perspiration on her skin. The poor dolt actually whimpered as her powerful hands pried his jaws apart and forced his buried mouth open. And then I shuddered and almost died of embarrassment as that big naked lesbian bitch winked right at me and pursed her thick lips in an obscene kissing gesture! Worse yet, she followed it with a flash of luridly glistening tongue that made me squirm again, doubly humiliated because of the undeniable surge of heat in my loins…
Chapter 3
Outside our hotel there was still plenty of activity in the street, the mixed shouts and strains of music floating up to catch my ear and interfere with my concentration. Not that I really needed to concentrate at that point; Jerome was doing fine down there all by himself. Down there between my legs. Just the same, though, this was no time to be thinking of other things.
His cheek brushed the skin of my thigh. I quivered involuntarily and my limbs went lax, twitching now and then in an irregular rhythm that seemed to stimulate him by its very inconstancy. Somehow I got the feeling that he was doing his best to follow that fitful, capricious cadence, and the more difficult the task, the better he liked it. I shifted my body in a lazy fashion, deliberately desultory.throughout the motion, making his chore even more complicated. It spurred him to greater effort, and he seemed almost abject in his anxiety to please me, the old darling, burrowing into my crotch as though every nook and cranny harbored some priceless pearl.
I wondered if the strip-show had affected him as much as it did me. Probably not. This was affecting him more, this sudden urge of mine, a demand he could never resist. Tired and sleepy as he might-have been, the dear boy had succumbed readily and without protest, offering his services willingly. Even hopefully! As if he feared a possible rejection after my clearly stated desire had whetted his appetite. Although he needn't have worried on that score, not tonight certainly. Rejection? Fat chance! If ever my cunt needed a good hot suck…
Anyway, he was doing just fine at the moment, satisfying himself with whatever appetizing delicacy I cared to dole out to him; oh yes, the guy was in love with all of me. His little Dana-baby was one sweet dish. So there was no great necessity for concentration on my part, not at this stage of the game, and I could afford to relax and simply flow with the tide. Or even rush with the torrent, if and when that minor miracle occurred.
Our hotel room was dark, but the drawn blinds were only small protection against the glare from outside. It penetrated the darkness in an ever-changing pattern, a multicolored blossom of light generated by a streetful of animated neon signs. Quite pretty, in a way, but garishly symbolic of the wicked city, a psychedelic sight to complement all that sexy noise out there. None of it came from the place we had just left, though, the Blue Grotto lay some distance beyond this centrally located area. But that was where my mind kept drifting, naturally, right back to the little hole-in-the-wall that had put me in this sultry mood.
The next performance had probably gone on by now, the last of the night, most likely, just the thing to leave all those poor bedazzled males in torment. Oh well, the desperate ones could always find a whorehouse. In this town, it was merely a matter of knowing which door to knock on; any bellhop or cabdriver would be glad to help. But could a whore ease that kind of frustration, a common whore after those distinctly uncommon strippers? It seemed pretty doubtful. Unless the man had imagination, of course, an ability to shut his eyes and fancy himself in more fortunate circumstances. And even that would be a sad substitute, like water after wine!, only how else could a mere male achieve intimacy with a seductive but oh-so-scornful lesbian?
If they were lesbians. But that was no longer in question, at least not to me; after all, hadn't I been the target of their attentions? Especially the dark one at the end, the star of the show, the arrogant bitch who had winked so brazenly while smothering that whimpering idiot half to death with her big soft tits. Pilar. Was she just as bossy backstage? Not so flagrantly, perhaps, but I'd have been willing to bet that the other girls respected her rank and bowed down accordingly. The youngster, for instance, the cute little redhead with all that bubbling enthusiasm, wouldn't she be prime material for an experienced lesbian to befriend and win over and then train as some sort of sex-slave? Pilar would use a kid like that for her own perverted pleasures. And get plenty of help indoctrinating her, no doubt, help from those two others.
The clumsy fat one was probably a slave already, obeying the star's orders even if only to keep her job. And. the tall blonde looked like the kind of woman who lived for sin and sensuality, a perfect partner-in-crime for the depraved boss. Maybe they were lovers from way back, the golden girl and the blue-black bitch; oh shit, wouldn't that be a sight to see? Too bad they couldn't put on that type of show, the two of them together, a pair of beautiful bawdy lesbians rolling around naked…
I sighed softly. Jerome heard me and went on sucking with renewed fervor, apparently accepting it as a compliment to his own prowess. And rightly so, of course, considering my state of clitoral excitation, surely a tribute to the talent and technique of my dear old adoring and devoted cuntlapper. I sighed again, strictly for his benefit this time, sighing long and loud in response to the hot rasp of his tongue, happily aware of my approaching orgasm. True, I might have been even happier if his cheeks felt less scratchy to my clamped thighs. If his hands were smoother and daintier. The touch of his lips more delicate. If the odor in my flaring nostrils had a tinge of perfumed femininity, the scent of woman, ah yes, the lesbian thing, the smell of woman immersed in woman; and wasn't it odd that I should be feeling so little guilt?
Guilty or not, though, I had a definite block against yielding completely, even in these private fantasies of mine. I refused to bow down like the rest and let that big dark arrogant Pilar bitch boss me around. And when Jerome slipped into a haze again, it was to the other one that I turned for solace, the tall creature in the white gown. Only I saw her naked now, naked and amorous, beckoning me into her embrace. Blond on blond tonight! Such a classically sculptured face, so lovely even in the midst of its obscene invitation. Jut-nippled breasts, utterly enchanting. Slender waist curving in and out to deliciously dilating hips. And that flawless length of leg, shapely to the last seductive contour. A wealth of nudity shod in gold, appropriately enough, all perched upon the sexiest of shimmering golden high heels, a sex-image to drive this poor bewitched tourist lady to distraction!
No wonder the torrent stuck in a rush; who could drift with the tide now? Too soon, too soon, the climax already?, dammit, I hadn't even got close to her cunt yet! And besides, why was that bitch still there, the dark bitch with the luminous skin-sheen? Couldn't she keep her bossy nose out of my orgasm? What a time to be throwing kisses! And look at her, just look at the insolent bitch, smiling and winking and licking her lewdly voluptuous lips with that lesbian tongue of hers.
For the sake of peace and harmony, I remained prudently rational enough to make all the right sounds and motions, giving Jerome his due. Pleased with himself, the old darling took only a few minutes to wash up and fall asleep, obviously tickled pink to be starting our Mexican holiday on such a propitious note. Which left me exhausted but still somewhat unsettled, too jittery to drop off in the aftermath of that nerve-wracking climax. So I spent the next quarter-hour tossing restlessly and trying to calm myself down.
All in vain, though. The bedsheets felt wrinkled, the mattress developed lumps, the pillow turned stiff under my head no matter how many times I fluffed it up. Only it wasn't the sheets or the mattress or the pillow that kept me awake, nor was it even that silly orgasm with its candid camera snapshot of the stripper's teasing tongue; no, there was another reason why I couldn't sleep. A reason named Zoe! My own personal reason for this Tijuana jaunt. Zoe. Was I really prepared to face her? Prepared to brave the lioness in her den? I had figured on it, of course, but now there were certain doubts beginning to undermine my resolute stand. All because of that strip-show tonight, those naked lesbians!, wasn't it weird the way I had reacted td the sexy spectacle? The way I was still reacting, really, worried all over again about my imminent and highly imperative clash with the woman whose shadow had darkened my past.
My past; oh shit, why open that can of worms? I didn't even want to think about it. But at this point I pretty much had to; anyway, maybe it would do me good to get the whole mixed-up mess straightened out in my mind. And as long as sleep seemed so impossible…
About my past, funny thing, or pathetic, perhaps?, it dated back only to the time when I first met Zoe. Even though my life hadn't exactly been angelic previous to that! As a matter of fact, I was a professional prostitute then, a whore, to put it bluntly, and a damn fine one, with no childish qualms of conscience, no maudlin self-pity to puncture my pride. My sense of morality didn't relate to sin and such, it was more oriented to the old Puritan work-ethic, value given for value received, a good day's work for a good day's pay. And considering the kind of pay I got for just an hour or two of my services, well, it seemed no more than fair to shake my ass and assure the paying client of complete satisfaction. Then too, I had the best of natural assets for a kid in my profession, a genuinely beautiful face and body. All of which made me a pretty successful call girl, a lovely young blonde very much in demand.
I had begun whoring just to get through college, but formal education palled after a while and eventually became a bore. I soon lost interest and dropped out. So my way of life settled into a comfortable groove, quite pleasant except for one small but tiresome drawback. Loneliness. Oh, I was one lonely kid, all right. Business was great and I knew plenty of paying Johns, naturally, but they didn't count as friends. And the only fellows I knew socially just weren't nice enough. I had dropped college boys right along with college, and the more mature guys all seemed too interested in exploiting my talents as a hooker, prospective pimps, really, and who needed them? I had a good solid connection with a high-class madam; why should I give a rakeoff to some lousy pimp? But I was lonely as hell just the same, ripe and ready for a real honest-to-goodness friend. Ripe and ready to go gay, probably, although the idea of such a liaison never even occurred to me.
Odd about that, the way I simply avoided girls. I'd made friends with a few other hookers by then and could easily have attempted a closer relationship with one or another. Not a gay relationship, of course, since I considered myself strictly a man's woman and had no use for lesbians. But even aside from that angle, somehow the friendship of a female wasn't what I wanted, it just didn't seem like the cure for my kind of loneliness.
Anyway, I was ripe and ready for something. It got so bad sometimes that I'd actually sit and wait for my phone to ring, glad of the business but even gladder to have a human companion for a little while. And that was when Zoe came along. Almost as though fate had timed her entry into my life!
Chapter 4