and Ms. Flyswat was taking the accident with the vegetable entree quite well really, all things considered. There had been a fairly major expletive when the piping hot slop hit her bronzed decolletage, but the ship had lurched just as I passed the bowl and my dainty little wrists have always been on the fragile side when it comes to lifting great big heavy items like dishes of steaming ratatouille. Oops. What was more, a brief but educational stint as The Great Superbo's glamorous assistant, Miss Fortune, taught me that the swiftness of the hand deceives the eye. It was a good flip. Superbo would have been proud. Meanwhile, the blonde was busy trying to turn the mess to her advantage.
'There was waaay too much liquid in that dish! Ah shall have a word with the chef. Ah might even offer to show him a couple of mah specialties.'
There was a polite murmur of appreciation. I noticed that either Blondie's boobs had swollen with the heat of the sudden hot shower or she had artfully eased the melons another inch or so out of her skin-tight black gown.
Whichever it was, she looked ready to pop, her pronounced nipples defining the very edges of the plunging neckline. A glimmering crevasse opened up, like a bosomy gold mine and, unable to help himself, Harry grabbed his napkin and began to dab furiously, muttering inanely about the high cost of dry cleaning. And the Flyswat let him! A true Southern belle would have launched into outraged Scarlet O'Hara mode faster than you could say mint julep. Hmm. It wasn't just the boobies that were fake. In fact, there was something vaguely familiar about Ms. Swat. I calmly watched my husband eradicate every last molecule of ratatouille from the valley of the doll. I wasn't the only exponent of sleight of hand. He'd given her titties quite a massage beneath the white linen napkin. The harlot gasped as he finally withdrew. I swear her breasts looked as if they'd just been polished. The Southern drawl grew huskier and more pronounced.
'Why, Mistah Neptune. Y'all sure know how to treat a lady. Ah'm eternally grateful to you, ah'm sure. Ah mean, really grateful, if yuh know what ah mean…'
This was getting quite indecent. Then it came to me. The super-sized chest, the phony Southern drawl. I knew Loretta Swat's true identity or, at least, one of her former incarnations.
'Well, I'll be damned! Voluptua Luscious!'
Everyone turned to me and stared. Except for Blondie, who positively glared. I giggled.
'Oops! Hey, this ratatouille is really rather good. Dig in before it gets cold!'
Harry excised his peepers from the thrusting orbs. His mouth worked furiously:
'Rocket thrusters?'
We really had to take a lip reading course.
'I'll tell you later!'
I returned to the veggies and a trip down mammary, sorry, memory lane. Voluptua Luscious was a former porn star and exotic dancer, once upon a time, way back in the shady mists of antiquity (the mid-1980s, to be precise). It was an era of big hair, big tits and big tips, and for one brief but heady season, Lush, (as the other girls affectionately called her for various reasons), was the veritable Queen of the Pink Pussy Lounge. What she couldn't do with a brass pole and a gallon of baby oil wasn't worth knowing. Why, it was there that I learned the infamous pussy dance. My own XXX career was brief but fascinating. A quick dip in the retro section of an adult video store should unearth at least one Titty Boomboom erotica classic.
'Nympho Vixen Sluts Do Miami' was my personal favorite, especially the lesbian gang bang scene in the car wash. Happy days.
I finished my ratty and beamed at my husband, suddenly feeling more at one with the world. After all, he almost looked like a rather well upholstered and mature version of James Bond in his debonair outfit. I was just pursing my mouth to blow him a fond little wifely kiss when I spotted the creeping hand. It was an artful little technique which my nearest and dearest had oft used to give me a frisson in a public place. Although, to the other guests at the table, it would simply appear as if H was politely hanging on Ms. Flyswat's every murmured word, I could clearly picture the furtive maneuvers taking place beneath the napkin draped across her lap. My dearly beloved had worked his hand up her long tanned thigh and inside her flimsy knickers. If she was wearing any. Somehow, I doubted it. Lush's eyes were slightly glazed, the pupils dilated. Harry knows where to find a clitoris. Just at that moment, the band struck up a ruckus with a Latin-American beat. I stood up and threw down my own napkin as if it were a gauntlet.
'Right! That's it! Come on, Harry – let's dance!'
My freshly betrothed stared at me as if I'd gone completely bananas.
'Jay, sweetheart, you know I was born with two left feet. I'd only crush your lovely little tootsies with my great plates of meat.'
This was true, not an avoidance device. I groaned, inwardly. No way I was tripping the light with Boner or that greasy, sozzled doc. That left the Captain and instinct told me he'd stay close to his table in case it went down (the strained remnant of Lush's bodice, that is).
I lifted my chin and marched onto the small spotlit square of parquet which formed the dance floor. There was no one there, it being mid dinner, but the band played a mellow background medley. A sign on their glitzy podium read 'Escabeche.'
Mm, hot sauce. They certainly were a rather tasty quartet. Four hunky young Latinos in gaudy ruffled shirts and cock caressing pants jiggled their snake hips to a lively beat. One played the maracas and sang, one beat on his bongos, the third strummed a bass guitar and the fourth tootled a trumpet. The resulting din sounded a bit like Herb Alpert grafted to Santana, which more or less summed up the average age of the diners. I'd rather have had Carmen Miranda myself, but I've always been a retro kind of gal.
Seizing the spotlight, I surreptitiously undid the top two buttons of my slinky gown and began to sway sensuously to the sultry rhythm. This was going to be the performance of a lifetime. I'd show that has-been old Lush that Titty Boomboom still had the power to drive men wild with desire.
Harry would not be unimpressed.
Jay had obviously gone bananas. Everyone from the Falklands to Oslo knows Harry Neptune can't put one foot in front of the other on the dance floor unless it's a strict 3/4 waltz. The Gay Gordons may be performed under extraordinary pressure, but the tango and suchlike modern gyrations are definitely where Harry happily sits it out. I have never even attempted the Twist.
Miss Lawrence, on the other hand, is something of a whiz on the dance floor. Not to mention the brass pole and the lap. Early ballet training had found an application that would have scandalized old Miss Prodworthy with her cardigan and metronome.
I settled down to see what La Lawrence would deliver, and kept up a deft rhythm under cover of the napkin.
'Oh, my, Mistah Neptune! Ah do declare I may at any moment experience some deep satisfaction!'
Good. That was the idea. Then maybe this luscious Luscious would come back for more under the ministrations of the well-known tag team of Lawrence and Neptune. The name Voluptua Luscious rang a faint bell. Something to do with the X-rated Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. Ah well, I would find out later when I presented my bride with her honeymoon gift and ripped off the wrapping.
Speaking of my bride – by golly, she was on form tonight!
'Good heavens!' Even the squiffy doctor raised his head at the entertainment.
Jay's dress was hiked up nearly to the top of her thighs. Her feet were wide apart, her arms raised high in the air, her hair flew in a dizzying circle as she tossed her head wildly. At least three buttons had come undone on the top of her dress and her ample breasts thrust rhythmically against the expensive material as her body grated to and fro.
My fingers increased their pace inside Loretta's thin and sodden panties and I circumspectly eased the growing pressure on my trousers.
'Ooh la la!' squealed Mrs. Goldfinkel as the tempo of the music increased. 'Just like the Crazy Horse in Paris before my second husband passed away!'
The Captain took another sip of mineral water and smiled quietly to himself. This was beginning to look like a memorable evening.
