Читать книгу Thrill Seekers: Erotic Encounters - Elizabeth Coldwell - Страница 5

I was the new girl in town. Sashaying down the street wearing just enough skirt not to get arrested, I was a walking target for adventure. I found just what I was looking for with Bella, the best-looking chick at PJ’s Cabaret on Broadway. Bella went on stage occasionally, belting out songs the way a venal middleweight delivers punches. Maybe she could have been a contender but there was something elliptical, something defensive in her voice that put audiences off until they fulfilled the two drink minimum. It would take a long while before I found out what this buff babe did for a living. I didn’t care. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend or my soul mate. Before moving to San Francisco, every day held no more excitement or an ounce more of texture than a bowl of oatmeal. I wanted nights glazed with marzipan and cherries. Life, if lived to the fullest, had to taste like something.

Bella tasted like hops, sugar and wine, perhaps because she lived on all three. We met in the middle of the night, our bodies calling out to each other like island castoffs looking to be saved. There was a Casual Dating column in a free weekly paper. Back in the day, a ‘casual date’ was code for strangers who wanted to hook up, fuck each other’s brains out and skedaddle. Animal sex. Raw rogering. The kind of coupling that was only good with a stranger you knew would remain a stranger like a masked mystery at a costume ball.

My date paid for the room. I was too busy checking her out to notice the overpowering smell of chemicals drifting from the hot tub. I laid some towels down on the canvas pad countless people had used as a makeshift bed, presumably for illicit purposes. It was no secret that hookers and their johns took advantage of places like this.

‘How do you want it?’ the stranger asked, smirking knowingly.

‘Whatever you can give me, I want now,’ I said, matching her attitude if not upping the ante. ‘That’s why I’m here. I just want to get off.’

Bella’s black spiky mane appeared shiny even under dim lights. Her hair seemed as much armor as the torn black leather jacket she quickly tossed to the side, knocking over a bowl of complimentary breath mints.

‘Take off your skirt and bend over my lap,’ she commanded.

I thought she’d fingerfuck me from behind or tickle my crack with a butt plug, but no. From the first slam of her palm on my goose bumped flesh, I knew I was in for a sound spanking.

Her slaps came down evenly and succinctly until I squirmed, accidentally scratching the skin beneath her cargo pants.

She pulled me up by the hair, surprising me with a kiss, her tongue probing so sweetly, I shuddered with delight.

‘You need to trim those fingernails, hon,’ she said gently.

Then, it was back to a no-nonsense paddling. Her hands were an ode to rhythm; unlike her voice, her palms were born to perform. The cadence of smacks could not be measured against the pleasure she gave. I could feel my bum burning with sensation and wanted only to be branded with her version of love. She was all over me now and my pelvis bucked, welcoming the chaos of her swats.

Finally, she turned me over, straddling my torso.

‘That’s what I think of femmes who just want to get off,’ she whispered while running her tongue along my temple.

I lifted the T-shirt she was wearing and was amazed to see she had bound her bosom in gauze. At first I had just assumed she was flat-chested.

‘Why do you do this?’ I asked, too curious to worry about my stinging behind. ‘Breasts are beautiful.’

Bella snorted. ‘On you, doll. What? Are you turned off now?’

‘Just the opposite. Touch me and see how turned on I am.’

She let one sinewy arm snake between my legs. I smiled at her reaction.

‘You hot chick. Where have you been all my life?’

‘Tell you later. Information traded only on satisfaction.’

Bella worked my clit with her finger pads, massaging the pip until it ached with a need to be sucked. When she plunged her digits into my vulva, I cried out shamelessly begging for more.

‘Fuck me,’ I begged. ‘Don’t stop.’

She didn’t stop. She plugged my pussy with her fingers, packing my vagina with as much passion as it could hold. Having brought me to orgasm that way, she quickly tugged off her pants and mounted my glistening mound.

Our pussies were meant for each other. Her clit snicked into place over my nub while she rode my labia with her own. While our mounds locked in a fevered embrace, Bella’s mouth covered mine as we fucked and sucked each other’s tongues like we were the very first people to discover sex. Sex with one’s own sex. So free. So uninhibited.

I wished it would last forever, or at least all night.

But this wasn’t that kind of date.

We were kissing and lathering each other’s bodies in the shower when a voice over an intercom told us we had ten minutes to wrap up, take our business elsewhere. Chop, chop.

It was a little unnerving but … what did I expect?

I knew how guys responded to the question: When will I see you again? I couldn’t risk Bella rolling her eyes at me or worse, speaking words that sounded sincere only to prove false.

We walked outside into a mild September breeze. I was instantly glad I had parked my ride at the far end of the lot.

‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ she offered.

I gulped, feeling far more naked than I was twenty minutes earlier. I pointed to a teal blue number that had cost me less than a week’s pay; it was the vehicular equivalent of a paper weight. ‘Actually, that’s me over there. The scooter.’

Bella guffawed. ‘A baby bike! That’s so precious. I wish I could tuck you in my back pocket and take you home.’

I wish you could, too, I thought. Home for me was an apartment in North Beach without even a cat for company.

‘Look,’ she said, leveling her gaze to meet the query in my eyes. ‘I’m embroiled in a sticky situation right now. We made a connection and I really like you. Give me your number and I’ll call when I’m not so … complicated.’

I shrugged. It was a ridiculous ritual but one that begged to be gotten through. I wrote my info on a cocktail napkin and watched Bella hop on her motorcycle. She drove a Yamaha Route 66: a real bike.

I watched her pull away knowing I’d never see her again. Still, I didn’t regret meeting Ms. Sex on Wheels. That was the most excitement I’d ever had in my life. The next time I masturbated, I would simply close my eyes and think of Bella. She tried to look tough but her heart-shaped face, soft hands and delicate mouth betrayed how beautiful she really was.

And the way she kissed and caressed my bottom after the spanking proved she was a giver not just a taker. If only she had looked over her shoulder as she pulled out of the parking lot; I would have followed her to the moon if she had dared me.

***

In the morning, I considered calling in sick but knew my voice would have sounded too elated to fool anyone. I had a dreary, albeit well-paying, job at an insurance company and I didn’t dare lose it. I had moved to a very expensive city. My employer was a severe woman who never smiled and always wore pantsuits with those embarrassing frilly shells that went out of style in the 70s. She caught me daydreaming twice and pulled me into her office.

‘You’re having difficulty concentrating today, Ashley. Is there a problem?’

‘No, Ma’am.’ And then, because her lips made no effort to move and she wasn’t going to dismiss me without further explanation, I added, ‘I met someone.’

‘Indeed.’ Steepling her branchlike fingers, she sat up straight in her leather wingback chair. ‘If I catch you dawdling again I’ll require you to compose a memo to me explicating the exact reasons for your inability to focus. If that’s not enough to rein in your imagination you’ll want to have a contingency plan.’

No doubt about it: Ms. Swanson was a first-rate bitch. To this day, I can’t remember her first name. It began with a ‘P’, I think. Once, during my first week on the job, I addressed her as something other than ‘Ms. Swanson’. She pulled me aside and said, ‘Ashley, in this office, superiors will be addressed by their surnames.’

The faux pas was reflected in a fun house mirror of other transgressions I’d make until finally mastering a labyrinth of office etiquette rules.

Of course this superior was the object of relentless fantasies. She wasn’t a woman I wanted to have sex with but she loomed large in an imagination that would not be quashed.

If Ms. Swanson knew how I climaxed to images of her working as a spandex-clad dominatrix, spanking bosomy secretaries prone to coffee spills and typos, she would have sent me manacled and defeated to Alcatraz for sure.

Funny how movies filmed in San Francisco never focus on the working class. All the shots would have to be black and white and everyone would look the same because working stiffs all shop at the same thrift stores. Since I didn’t come from a rich family, I had to experience glamour obliquely. Let my body be my passport.

***

When Bella surprised me with a phone call, I was more than ready for another adventure.

‘Hi, hot chick,’ she said, by way of greeting. ‘You forgot to tell me where you’ve been all my life.’

‘Ha. I moved here from Florida. Had to work a lot of jobs before I could save up to come here, the Promised Land.’ Florida! For all the sweet manna in heaven I would never go back to that state. I keep hoping the bugs will carry it off so the alligators can cavort without the constant threat of human malice.

‘Hmm. Well, I’m calling to invite you to a party tomorrow. In fact, let’s make a day of it. I’ll take you to lunch, we’ll do a little sightseeing and then it’s off to Twin Peaks for a good time in the hills. Sound doable?’

I scratched my chin. ‘As luck would have it, I’m only working in the morning tomorrow. Our office is shutting down for some asbestos cleaning. Only … I don’t have any Kim Novak outfits to wear to a gala in the Peaks.’

‘You really are a femme! We’ll go shopping tomorrow. Ashley, hon, I’m going to show you the real San Francisco and you’re going to like it very much.’

I had no doubt about that.

***

First we went to Fisherman’s Wharf for some whiskey crab soup. Next stop: Ghirardelli Square to gorge on hot-fudge sundaes.

There was a boutique that seemed custom-made for wayward blondes travelling with well-heeled lesbian friends on their way to a party in the hills. Bella picked out and purchased a pair of Capri pants along with an embroidered madras shirt.

‘Voilà!’ my new friend said, handing over the glossy embossed bags. ‘Instant, appropriate, soirée attire.’

When Bella took me by the hand and dragged me into the Wax Museum, I said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘C’mon. It’ll be fun. It’s probably deserted on a weekday.’

‘All the more reason not to be trapped in the Chamber of Horrors.’

Who would have thought a wax museum would be the best place in the city to make out? As I shuddered at the Titanic display, Bella slipped her warm palms under my shirt and cupped my breasts, grazing each nipple with her thumbs.

We didn’t last long in the Bloody Chamber. Every time I shrieked, she covered my mouth with her sensual lips. After making out in every room, we left the dark strange world for the promise held by the rest of the day.

‘You left your bike at home,’ I said, stating the obvious when she opened her car door for me. A shiny new BMW.

‘What do you do for a living, Bella?’

She checked her rearview mirror before backing out into traffic. ‘I’m a bartender.’

‘No, seriously.’

Giving me a sideways glance, she said, ‘Seriously. This car was a gift from my aunt.’

OK. So I was on my way to a bash with a woman who trussed her boobs and was possibly mafia connected. Welcome to my world.

***

An elegant woman wearing a white silk tank over perfectly tan skin answered the door. She ushered us past the tiled foyer into the main living room where women were huddled in pairs and groups. I was instantly aroused before checking my naughty thoughts at the door. Bella could unspool the very threads off my back, leaving me naked and hitching a ride if I so much as ogled another woman’s décolletage.

Was she the jealous type? I had no idea. Much as I had enjoyed our day, I still didn’t know this woman who held me in such carnal thrall.

A margarita was placed in my hand and then another. Someone had told Mira, the hostess, margaritas were my downfall. I tried to figure what kind of soirée this was even as the tequila coated my palate and curled my tongue most pleasantly.

I was led to an outdoor patio where several women were entwined in a sunken L-shaped pool. The view of the San Bruno Mountains couldn’t compete with so much exposed womanly flesh. The pool’s water was crystal clear. I could see hands touching genitals. One woman with bright-red hair arched her back and played with her own vagina.

Mira produced a scarf from a pocket of her linen shorts. She bent down and blindfolded the contorted woman.

‘Now, someone be nice and play with Tina.’

Mira looked from me to Bella expectantly, but we stood frozen in place. The golden-haired goddess shrugged and took off her clothes. She had no tan lines and I could just see her spending day after idle day frolicking at nude beaches.

The woman named Tina was lifted by her underarms out of the pool. Still wearing the blindfold, she gasped with pleasure as Mira’s face disappeared between her inner thighs.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had heard of live sex shows but assumed they were relegated to sleazy men’s clubs and the sex industry’s equivalent of the vaudeville circuit. Bella relaxed her hand on my shoulder as if we were casually watching fireworks.

Two others joined the scene. They had been drinking in the living room but were now both naked. A petite woman with sleek, long black hair curled like a shrimp into the supine love interest now cresting toward orgasm. A short, muscular blonde took the other side, bookending the blindfolded woman as they tweaked her nipples and caressed her belly.

It was too much. I grabbed Bella’s hand and told her I wanted to go home. No sooner had I shut the car door though, I realised my panties were as wet as if they’d been dropped into the pool.

Without giving her a chance to resist, I yanked Bella’s arm to my crotch.

‘You need to get me off, right now. You got me into this mess.’

With one pull, my date torqued my panties round her fist. I leaned into the driver’s side and let her fuck me with her fingers. My loins were shaking; I wanted to get fucked so badly. She tilted my torso to achieve better purchase and soon I was coming on her hands, grabbing her shoulders and crying with relief.

We drove home in silence but she continually reached over and stroked my hair and brow. I desperately wanted to know what she really did for a living but a part of me didn’t want any more knowledge for a while. I looked out the window and this time took in the view of the glorious mountains.

Bella dropped me off at my North Beach apartment. I politely thanked her for lunch and for the clothes. I never expected to see her again, not that I didn’t want to. She was a mystery; if I could get beneath the gauze of her breast wrap, a story would surely unfold.

***

I ran a bath and let my body disappear beneath a cloud of bubbles. It felt so good to be in my own place with views of kitchen workers dumping garbage and Italian women hanging clothes on wooden pins.

Bella. Charming, inscrutable Bella. Why did she have to be so beautiful? To picture her was to want to be touched by her. I touched myself instead. I let my fingers glide over my belly and down to my vulva. I imagined my fingers were Bella’s digits pinching and probing, pumping my pussy over and over again.

I hunched over in the bath, my vagina aching from the sensations of another come. What would it be like to share a balneal moment with the raven-haired beauty? I closed my eyes and saw Bella’s face. I shook my head to clear it; I got out of the tub determined to steer clear of wild women who could lead down a crooked path. I had no sooner towelled off when the phone rang.

‘Hi, Ashley. We need to talk.’

‘Really? That’s interesting because I don’t have your phone number. You never gave it to me. It’s bad enough I have a control freak for a boss. I don’t know what kind of world you’re embroiled in but it’s not for me. You’re a dangerous woman, Bella. Sexy, but dangerous. Goodbye.’

‘I’ll give you my number. First, let me ask: how long have you been in San Francisco? Two weeks? Three?’

‘Two whole months,’ I said, a tad defensively.

‘I was born and raised here. You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman trying to survive in this town. You have a lot to learn.’

‘Maybe you’re not the one to teach me.’

‘I am,’ she sighed. ‘My real name is Isabella. Let’s start from there.’

‘My name is really Ashley. Nice to meet you, Isabella.’

I pictured the heart-shaped face at the other end of the line and wondered what my next life lesson would be.

The next night I met my heart’s desire at the cabaret joint where she sang some nights and bartended on others.

***

Women who had made unconventional livelihoods strutting onstage at PJ’s Cabaret were milling about, their breasts bare save for glittering pasties. They were all shapes and sizes with no discrimination toward age. They billed themselves as ‘The Cabaret Girls’ even though one woman was old enough to be my grandmother. That was cool. Their act though was forgettable with out-of-sync gyrations and giggles that morphed into shrieks.

The next act was a stand-up comic who was quite good until she forgot one of her own punch lines and turned belligerent on a heckler.

I was about to wonder why Bella (the name Isabella would take some getting used to) asked me to join her at PJ’s when there she was, standing in front of a microphone and looking directly at me.

‘This is for Ashley,’ she told the nodding crowd, ‘my new ladylove.’

If you’ve never been serenaded in front of dozens of lesbian couples and a dancing troupe wearing nothing but short shorts and pasties, well, I’m sorry for your troubles.

Bella crooned my favourite Tracy Chapman song and, though she sang it off-key, I was touched that she’d go to such lengths to woo a newbie in town with a staid job at an insurance firm. Her life was definitely more intriguing and she seemed to want to share it with me. She was a white girl trying to sound black. A tough chick who couldn’t hide her softness. Drove a car no part-time bartender could afford. These contradictions that first gave pause were now driving me into her arms.

***

We held hands walking down Broadway. She opened the passenger door and I slid in, the contours of my body eagerly conforming to the cushiony seat. I was wearing the madras shirt and Capri pants she bought for me at Fisherman’s Wharf.

I pulled her to me and kissed her. ‘Why did we have to meet through an ad, Bel?’

She nuzzled my neck, tilting my chin for another kiss. ‘We were both horny, that’s why. But I’ve got a plan to get you away from that grim day job of yours. You’re going to be so glad you met me … if you’ll forgive my lack of modesty.’

I stroked her chest under the proverbial leather jacket she wore like a second skin and was relieved she hadn’t trussed her breasts again.

There was no telling if we’d make it back to her place in Pacific Heights without crashing. The attar of new BMW upholstery filled my nostrils and admittedly elevated what might otherwise have been a tawdry experience. I was having difficulty shaking the image of all those pasties blinking at me like bike reflectors.

Bella owned a condo off Clay Street: another red flag.

Before I could admire the artwork on the walls and objets d’art daubing every available surface, my lover was tying my wrists behind a ladder-back chair and diving between my legs. She fastened her lips to my clit and let her tongue go haywire. It was maddening not being able to touch her back. Every time she pulled away to fork her fingers into my sex I wanted to push her face back to my pussy where it belonged.

But she was a giving lover so when I begged her to fuck me with her tongue she did. She licked my lobe frantically until I was rocking in my seat. She kept my loins parted until they were trembling and she adjusted her palate to my labia as if sampling a fine liqueur.

When her lips moved in tandem with her fingers I thought I’d melt from sheer pleasure. She made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world as she licked and loved my quim like it was the most precious thing ever.

Finally sated, she led me to her bedroom where we made exquisite love, enjoying each other with luscious abandon. She had a symbol tattooed to her sternum. I kissed round the familiar icon, tracing a trail down to her own sweet mound. Her pussy was tighter than a snapped reticule and lavish with nectar. She came readily enough as I fingerfucked her moist mound with only one digit and let my tongue orbit her labia till I thought I’d go dizzy with my own ministrations.

***

We must have set a record for orgasms. She surprised me in the morning with coffee and scones. Above the aroma of my favourite brew and pastries reticent of cinnamon and butter, I could still smell and taste her female gifts. The promise of sex permeated the air and clung to our clothes. My ears were still ringing from shouts fisting from under the covers. My jaw hurt. It was a good thing I didn’t have to face my boss for another two days. I needed time to recover.

I thought it would be awkward seeing Bella in normal light but one of her many talents was for lending normalcy to the less intrepid. I tried not to think where this relationship was headed. Tried only to savour the moment.

‘What are you thinking, Ashley?’ She tucked a stray lock over my ear.

‘I’m thinking it’s unusual for someone our age to have an original Diane Arbus photograph hanging in the foyer. I know you don’t come from money.’

She leaned back in her seat and picked at her scone. ‘Like I said, this town eats women alive. If you stick with me, you’ll always eat well.’

‘We’ll see, Bella. We’ll see.’