Tarotica

with the rhythm as naturally as if she’d been doing this all her life. When the man pulled her close for a tango, she glanced at Eli. Her lover wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to her; he was busy chatting with a couple at the next table.

If this man tried to move in and take me away, would Eli fight to keep me? she wondered. The idea went totally against her feminist sensibilities, yet something primal deep within her wished Eli would step up and claim her as his woman. As the thought flitted through her mind, another primitive part of her responded to the Mexican man’s embrace and she leaned against his agile body. A buzz of excitement stirred between her legs. I see why they call this the “dance of love.”

When the music stopped, Miranda extricated herself from the man’s arms. He raised an eyebrow and searched her face with his sparkling dark eyes, as if to say, things were just starting to get interesting.

“Gracias,” she said, smiling as she walked away. Her body still tingled from his touch. Time to collect Eli and go back to the hotel.

* * *

At this time of night, they had the Menger Hotel’s swimming pool all to themselves. The cool water felt good on her hot skin. Eli backed her to the side of the pool and pressed his hard cock against her. He opened her lips with his, his tongue seeking hers, teasing, twirling, then retreating, inviting hers to follow. She explored his warm mouth, slowly searching for and finding what she wanted, and sucked his tongue back into her own mouth.

Kissing’s like dancing, she mused.

He slid his hands inside the top of her bikini and toyed with her nipples. She sighed and wrapped her legs around his hips, grinding her pussy against his bulge. He eased off the bottom half of her swimsuit.

She giggled against his neck. “What if it floats away?”

He scooped up the tiny triangle of Spandex and hooked it over her arm. Then he freed his swollen cock from his trunks and stroked her with its head. Miranda arched against him, moaning softly. Her whole body ached with longing. Letting the water buoy her up, she opened to receive him. As he thrust into her, the hard edge of the pool bit at her back, but she barely noticed. The only sensation that mattered was the heat his piston generated as it pumped her cylinder.

Pleasure gushed through her, and she felt his cock pulsing as he came inside her.

Not until after their passion had ebbed and he’d withdrawn did it register that his cock was bare. I was so hot, I didn’t think.

She pulled away and stepped into her bikini bottom, then pushed herself out of the pool. She felt his juice leaking from her pussy. Okay, don’t get freaked out, she told herself. It’s highly unlikely that he has HIV—I’ve never known a straight man, except junkies and hemophiliacs, who got AIDS. Still, he could give me clap or chlamydia.

Eli laid his hand on her thigh. “Miranda, is something wrong? Did I come too soon?”

“We didn’t use a condom.”

“Does that worry you?”

“Should it?”

“Of course not. I’m clean. I’m always careful.”

“We weren’t this time,” she reminded him.

“Do you want me to get tested? I will if it’ll ease your mind.”

“I don’t know.”

He climbed out of the pool and sat beside her, their feet dangling in the water.

Putting his arm around her, he pulled her against him. She laid her head on his shoulder.

“Miranda, you’re special to me. I wouldn’t put you at risk. Really, it’s okay.”

Can I believe him? she wondered. If he’s my future husband, he won’t hurt me, will he? Wouldn’t Dad’s vision have shown if Eli had some kind of disease?

“I don’t want this to be a problem between us,” he said. “We’ll both get tested so we’re in the clear. Then I can stop using those damned condoms.”

Card 12: The Hanged Man

When their tests came back clear, Miranda and Eli celebrated with two hours of the best sex they’d ever had together. Then they packed up and drove east on I-10.

Refineries populated Louisiana’s southwest coast like futuristic cities of steel and smoke.

Even with the car windows up, the noxious smell of petroleum and sulfur permeated the air.

“I wish I’d seen New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina,” Miranda said.

“From what I understand, the French Quarter and the Garden District didn’t suffer much damage.”

“Do you think I’m crazy for wanting to go to New Orleans in late July?”

“Yes, but you’ve got your mind made up and I’m not going to try to talk you out of it.”

She reached across the console and laid her hand on his thigh. “I’m glad you decided to come along with me. I know this isn’t something you really want to do.”

“Au contraire. I want to spend time with you, even if that means sweltering in New Orleans.”

“I booked us into a really pretty B&B, but it has, um, a dark side.”

“No electricity?'

“What I meant was, it used to be a whorehouse.”

“Used to be, ” he sighed. “Too bad…”

“…and now it’s supposedly haunted.”

Eli chuckled. “So, if I wake up in the middle of the night and a ghost is sucking my dick, I shouldn’t be too surprised?”

“If you’d rather stay someplace else, that’s okay with me.”

“Oh, hell, no. I’m looking forward to a three-way with a vampire or succubus while we’re there.” His playful grin lit up his face, making him look younger than thirty-two. “Where’d you read about this place anyway? The Anne Rice Guide to Big Easy B&Bs?”

“Very funny,” she said, but couldn’t help giggling. “Don’t make me laugh. I’ve got to pee.”

When she spotted a stretch of live oaks and cypress, bordering a stream that cut through a fallow field where cotton might once have grown, she flipped on her blinker and pulled off the road. I don’t know when I’ll find another gas station or rest stop; this will have to suffice.

Behind a sheltering oak, she pulled down her shorts and did her business. As she started to zip up, a voice sang out, “I see London, I see France. I see a lady’s underpants.”

She glanced around, but saw no one.

“Up here,” the voice called.

Miranda looked up and saw a man hanging upside down, about fifteen feet above her. A rope tied around his ankle held him suspended from the branch of the large oak tree. Tall and gaunt, he wore a pair of camouflage shorts and nothing else.

Startled, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Just hanging around.” His voice had a peculiar lilting quality that rose and fell, accenting syllables that weren’t usually stressed.

“Out here, in the middle of noplace?”

“It’s not no place, it’s my place. I live here.”

High up, near the top of the huge old oak, Miranda noticed a wooden structure.

She could just barely make out windows and a door. “You live in this tree? Why?”

“Because I get a better view of the world from here. Come up and see for yourself.”

“Miranda, are you all right?” Eli called from the car.

“Yes, I’m talking to a man in a tree,” she called back.