Jay slowed to an offbeat rhythm. She ran her hands lasciviously over her breasts, over her stomach and along her thighs. She was moving very slowly now though the music was becoming even more frenetic. Her eyes were closed and I knew she was moaning quietly to herself.
Her hands ran back up her thighs and for a moment took her dress to waist level. The glimpse of knickers disappeared as the dress fell back and she massaged her ribs. She started moving quicker again, eyes still closed. She squeezed her breasts.
Miss Swat's breathing quickened and I felt the warmth of approaching orgasm. My fingers slowed and she convulsively grasped my thigh. Harry knows when to prolong the pleasure.
Jay opened her eyes and in a sudden movement pointed at the maraca-wielding chanteur. He needed no second bidding. As he leapt from the low stage I saw it was Raoul, Mrs. Goldfinkel's quoits companion. He had all the usual greasy Dago attributes.
The band launched into what I think is called the Lambada. Whatever it was, Jay was into it. She slithered all over Raoul without touching him. He obviously knew the score because he matched her move for move with arms outstretched.
'The view's much better beside you, Harree!'
Mrs. Goldfinkel had tripped round to my side of the table and now gripped my arm tightly as she watched the dance with what I thought might have been a touch of nostalgia.
Loretta dug her nails in and I slowed the pace yet more. I felt a faint shudder pass through her body.
I saw that Jay was dancing a few inches further away from the Latin male bimbo, and the reason was evident for all to see. He needed more space to keep to the no-touching rule. Jay ran her hands down her breasts and thighs again and I knew he was willing her to grab his meat and two veg. She licked her lips.
It occurred to me that this was hardly the way a lady was supposed to behave on the first evening of her honeymoon. Dash it, her eyes were supposed to be on me. Never mind her hands. I began to wonder if she would be quite as appreciative of my gift of Miss Swat as I anticipated. She seemed to be in a hetero mood tonight, which is not at all the kind of threesome I had in mind.
All of a sudden Jay stopped dancing in mid-movement. Still in dance pose she fixed her eyes on Lothario's. He stopped too, mere millimeters away from Jay's sweating body. Her hands slowly traveled down her heaving breasts and glistening thighs. As they moved upward again her dress rose too, slowly this time. One hand caressed her crotch, a finger pushing the wet material into her pussy.
The band played on, on autopilot now. Every eye in the room was on Miss Lawrence. Raoul was mesmerized.
Jay's free hand ran round the inside of her thighs. She opened her mouth wide and ran her tongue over her lips.
Then her hand darted to Raoul's bulging erection. His gasp could be heard over the music as she tugged him to her.
Several things happened at once.
The lights went out.
The music stopped.
Miss Swat had a loud and enthusiastic orgasm.
'Ach, I spilled ma' whusky!'
A champagne cork popped.
Mrs. Goldfinkel grabbed my crown jewels and stuck her tongue in my ear.
A thump came from the dance floor as of a falling body.
'Lights!' in the Captain's commanding voice.
The lights came on.
Miss Lawrence stood in a theatrical gesture, one palm outstretched where she had evidently thrust away the panting and now frustrated Raoul. Raoul lay motionless face down on the floor.
Miss Lawrence gestured imperiously to the drummer.
'You! Next!'
There was a stunned silence followed by a roar of rapturous applause!
'Bravo! Bravo!'
I looked around the large dining room of the Caribbean Conch and witnessed a veritable sea of enthusiastic faces. Some diners whistled and stamped, others clapped as if I were a Broadway star making a final, much hyped farewell performance. I felt just like Ann-Margret. Harry told me afterwards that my most vociferous fans were a group of senior citizens from Cleveland but no matter. It was sublime. The bongo player thumped out a long, dramatic drum roll and I took a deep bow, placing one stiletto-clad foot on my partner's back for effect. Raoul seemed determined to play his role to the hilt. He remained slumped across the parquet, a glazed expression in his one visible eye. Smiling glamorously, I gave him a little kick in the ribs and hissed:
'OK, Fred Astaire, take a bow. Don't even think about stealing the limelight!'
It was years since I'd performed and I realized just how much I'd missed that feeling. Then and there, I vowed to make a comeback. Titty Boomboom would ride again. There was, after all, quite a market for plump and mature.
The applause faded, my Latin lover didn't move an inch. My artistic temperament came into play. I inserted the sharp end of my high-heeled sandals between his tight little spandex painted buns. Not a flicker. I crouched down and muttered in his ear.
'Up, Raoul!'
Then, unfortunately, I started to laugh uncontrollably. Don't ask me why, but for many, many years, the name Raoul has given me the giggles. There's just something about it which taps my funny bone and it can't be uttered without me creasing my sides. I spluttered. I heaved. Finally, I looked up to find myself almost nose to nose with Dr. Dunnett, who was peering officiously at the limp Latino. The whisky vapors almost knocked me out cold. The Scotsman placed two fingers on my partner's neck then shook his head.
'Thir's nae pulse. The laddie's deid.'
Mrs. Goldfinkel screamed like an express train entering a tunnel.
'Raooooooul!!!'
Unfortunately, this set me off again and I clutched my sides. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and they weren't ones of sorrow for the boy's demise. I was helpless.
'I've never actually killed one before!' was all I could gasp, before setting off on another session of mirth.
'Please return to your seat, Mrs. Neptune.'
Captain Ahab had materialized, all gold braid and understated mastery. I looked up into his deep brown eyes and a sudden wave of nausea overcame me. Must have been the ratatouille. I swallowed.
'Oo-er, excuse me, I feel a bit Moby Dick.'
Of course, when I realized what I'd just said, the hilarity started all over again. The Captain frowned.
'I must remind you that this is a very serious matter. There may be an inquest.'
Dr. Dunnett looked up from examining the body, his thin face pinched and grim.
'Ah fear there will be. The laddie's been shot!'
There was a fresh banshee wail from Mrs. Goldfinkel, accompanied by various gasps, shrieks and squawks from the company. It was darned good entertainment, even if Raoul did get the fuzzy end of the lollipop. I rushed into Harry's manly embrace and pressed my face against his crisp white shirtfront. To the gathering ghouls, it would look as if I were weeping my little heart out in horror and fear. In truth, I was desperately attempting to staunch my hysterics. It wasn't easy, as the Goldmine kept crying her toy boy's name, while wringing her multi-carated hands in a credible performance of bereaved histrionics. One got the definite impression she'd perfected the act. I wondered how many husbands she'd buried and whether the Gigi curse extended to Latino playthings. Harry patted my bottom tenderly.
'There, there, darling. It wasn't your fault, really it wasn't. These hot-blooded Latin gigolos are always getting bumped off by jealous husbands, outraged fathers and incensed uncles! It's a fact of life, like fluff in your
