way to switch off this monstrous TV spectacular until I could cope with its unprecedented significance. I finally managed, couching my message in a groan that rose to a squeak.
'You're my date. It'll be just the two of us.'
'Great. You appreciate my body, hmm? Just like our mutual friend Florinda. You never saw such appreciation.' The panties were writhing back up again. 'Damn! If only I hadn't missed her, if only I'd been smart enough to get in touch by phone. Just when I need the money! Desperate, practically. It never fails, the bad breaks come when they're least expected. Shit! I sure could use that money.'
'M-money? What money?'
'Oh. I guess she didn't tell you. Prissy bitch. Ashamed to let people know I'm a whore. Not me. It's how I make my living, what's to be ashamed of?'
'Lizabeth… you… you're… '
'Kind of a shock, I guess. Poor kid. She really should have told you. But you'll get over it, no harm done. Hey, you might even give me a whirl yourself-just for a lark, you know? I mean, uh, if you'd care to buy my services… ' I shuddered. 'No! I-I'm sorry, the shock hasn't worn off yet. I must be pretty dumb. Anyway, even if that wasn't it, I still couldn't afford you. Money is a problem with me, too, I'm on a tight budget.'
'Too bad. But like I said, no harm done. We've still got a date tonight, just the two of us, right? No money, no business deals, just a couple of horny broads looking for some fun. Nice girly-girly fun. Only we're wasting time, aren't we? Let me unload that suitcase of mine and jump into the shower. Relax, kid, I won't be long. Think of me while I'm gone.'
Hah! What else could I possibly think of? Long after she vanished from view, my pulse was still racing. My nostrils still acknowledged the faint tickle of her vaguely familiar musk-tinged perfume. The visually oriented segment of my brain refused to blur the memory of those black lace panties on the verge of total downfall-as if that vivid TV spectacular was just waiting for a rerun. Hmm. How about the part I preferred to forget, the shock, what was that, a. commercial? Some of my best friends are whores. Maybe it shouldn't have come as such a shock, maybe Florinda was trying to tell me something. If only she could have been a bit less bashful and a bit more specific. No, I was stuck with some unsavory memories along with the sweet ones.
At the moment, though, I had something more Immediate to dwell on. Tense with anticipation, I strained my ears to pick up every nuance of that noise from the bathroom. It was quite steady, actually, nothing to stir the imagination, just a steady cascade of water in the shower. And yet I could shut my eyes and conjure up a vision of naked flesh spattered by the freshet that split into a hundred rivulets and then a thousand droplets, all sparkling silver on the descent down those creamy contours.
Talk about imagination! Lizabeth naked was a sight I had never seen. And here I was decorating her nude body with silver. The body of a whore. Ugh. Why bother? It was my body, not hers, that would soon become the focal point; wasn't it always thus? But she seemed pretty self-centered so far-maybe it was an occupational quirk, a characteristic of whores in general. I almost regretted getting involved with her now. And unless I was courting disappointment, perhaps it would be wise to view this night with cautious trepidation rather than wild excitement…
Improbable as it seemed a while ago, I was having a dam good time. Lizabeth had a hidden talent, uncovered and even unsuspected till now: she could make me laugh. I was almost over the dejection that started earlier and then turned to downright resentment when she came flouncing out of the bathroom with a meticulous makeup overhaul and draped in an expensive negligee that put my casual robe to shame. How could I sulk and listen to funny jokes at the same time?
Maybe they weren't so funny, maybe it was just the booze we were guzzling from Florinda's well-stocked supply; anyway, I progressed from giggles to chuckles to gales of laughter. And the jokes went from cute to naughty to dirty. Some were about lesbians and a lot more about faggots, but most of them fit into the category of real bawdy male jokes, with a stress on macho masculinity and the size of the penis. I got curious about that and finally had to ask why.
The answer surprised me. Lizabeth got along fine with men, it seemed, not as clients but as friends and bed-partners and prospective husbands. She was a whore for women only and loved her work, apparently, but her ambition was to marry and outlive a wealthy old man. And because of that, she kept her reputation unblemished among males and was always on the prowl for that one big fish to book and land. A clever woman, I realized, more than just a showpiece.
But she was a showpiece, sure enough, always conscious of her appearance. The gorgeous black negligee was sheer to the point of translucence, revealing much of the equally gorgeous figure inside it. I could see the dull glow of her nipples, the shadowed curve of her abdomen; every dip and swell seemed to gain prominence under its film like cloak. A well endowed bitch, no doubt about it. Her creamy skin Was smooth, flawless, and I got the impression that it would be overly warm to the touch-even hot, perhaps, a bit incongruous in view of the color, no red, no pink, no hint of any hue normally associated with heat. And still I had the feeling that my fingertips would sizzle at the contact, a possibility that was both stirring and scary. All those sensuously ripe curves turned that big body into a wellspring of desire, exuding an unadulterated sex appeal so potent that I was besieged by all manner of shamelessly wanton impulses. What was happening to me?
Whatever the reason, I began to get restless and looked for an excuse to move around a little. That was easy. I felt pretty tacky in my robe; why not go and change into that reddish-brown negligee, the one in the closet? I mentioned it in passing, a mere formality, but Lizabeth shook her head emphatically.
'What for? An old broad like me needs a negligee to hide the defects; you don't need a goddam thing. You've got a great little body there, kid, what negligee could be that beautiful? Just ditch the robe if you don't like it, go ahead, get naked.'
At last! Some interest in my body. The opportunity was too good to miss. Only there wasn't much I could do to make a pretty production out of it, not with just that one garment to take off. Still, I managed to do it with a flair, as much for myself as for my audience, outwardly frigid and inwardly aflame. And all of a sudden there was sex appeal shooting both ways, an interchange of hot lust, and I basked in the warmth of those amber eyes…
'Terrific! You're turning me on, baby.'
What was she doing, licking her chops? I shimmied my tits and wiggled my ass and moved this way and that, wondering how much rare meat it would take to fill that ripe red-lipped mouth. How would it feel to be eaten alive?
'That's a body, all right. You know something? I'm drooling for you, that's how good it is. And believe me, kid, I don't do that often, it's usually the other way around. I'm a real soft feminine type-or haven't you noticed?' Her self-caress turned lewdly demonstrative. 'I just lie back and let them suck my cunt, that's what the rich bitches pay for. But what the hell, for a doll-baby like you… ' She licked her lips with a pointed tongue, another deliberately lewd gesture. 'Let's just call it amateur night, huh? Yeah. Amateur night! Except that you're getting the benefit of my professional experience. You ought to be grateful, I just hope you appreciate it.'
'Oh, I do. I will. Only I'm not getting anything yet; how can I tell? I'm still waiting for our first kiss.'
That shortened the wait considerably; she was already rising from the sofa, her amber eyes aglow, almost hypnotic. And when the kiss came at last, I could only yield mutely and try to understand the weird thrill that seemed to mingle fear with fascination. Her open mouth began to suck at mine with a passionate and almost terrifying fury, the squirming tongue strong and aggressive. A fire blazed in the pit of my belly. I moaned in my throat and writhed against her in an instinctive motion, a spontaneous bump-and-grind. It helped some but not enough, not nearly enough-my naked flesh craved naked flesh!-and I clawed the folds of her negligee apart and wormed my way inside to scratch myself on the hairy tuft down there, trying to assuage my need.
Her hands fluttered over my body, fondling me with tantalizing fingertips, my breasts, my back, my buttocks. Our lips separated, hers remaining parted to slide over and nibble at my earlobe. She was uttering breathy syllables of sound, words that didn't come through, words I could feel rather than hear, hot noises of urgency. I became aware that we were moving, inching across the floor as she kept on stepping backward and pulling me along inside her embrace. Until, quite unexpectedly, we both toppled to the sofa.
Was it accidental? I couldn't tell. I knew only that she had fallen underneath me, and now somehow my face had come to rest just below her breasts. I was tempted to nuzzle up into them, but there was a downward force being exerted on my shoulders, a kind of lazy but stubborn guidance. Then too, I was being lured by a force of another sort, a whiff of something from below, a perfumed something that took hold and gave me no chance to resist. Watching her slow but sure transformation from active to passive, I could only feel a thrilling sense of
