This is a sequel to "Show Time" and "Show Time II: Spring Break." 
 


               

                SHOW TIME III: SOUTH OF THE BORDER

                              by

                         C. Lakewood



Part 1

    It took me about 15 months after the Spring Break extravaganza 
to pretty much complete the scenario for the next Show Time.  
Meanwhile, Jeff, my young protégé, delivered the finished DVD of 
the Spring Break adventure.  It had a more professional look about 
it than the Santa Monica tape had.  To begin with, the plot was 
considerably more complex.  In addition, there were two cameras 
(one fixed and one mobile, the second one operated by Cisco 
Salazar, a film student buddy of Jeff's).

    Betty was now almost 40, but looked younger, despite her 
prematurely grey hair.  She stood 5'4" and weighed about 128 
pounds.  Physically, she was in great shape.

    Tempermentally, however, there was a lot of room for 
improvement.

    I'd noticed that, for a while after the Florida trip, she was 
more self-conscious and diffident than usual; she seemed quite 
deferential to everybody.  Then the pendulum began swinging slowly 
back, through her "normal" behavior range...and beyond, until she 
became intolerant, impatient, self-absorbed, and short-tempered 
with everyone (except me).  Thinking back, I realized that rather 
the same sort of thing had happened after Santa Monica, though the 
effect was much less in both degree and duration.

    I found this both interesting and annoying.

    By the time the spring semester was grinding to a close, her 
attitude was pretty close to being intolerable.

    Meanwhile, she continued to pester me about setting up our 
next "adventure."  From the many hints she dropped, she seemed 
especially interested in experiencing a professional strip-search 
and even in being "forced" to submit sexually to men and women in 
authority over her. 

    And, after much reflection, I decided that that was okay.  (I 
did sometimes worry about things maybe getting out of hand...about 
the possibility of Betty becoming actually addicted to these 
adventures, despite her natural good sense....  But then she'd do 
something particularly bitchy to somebody -- berate a bag-boy at 
the supermarket, for example -- and I'd shrug off my misgivings.) 

    I had also decided, fairly early on, that Mexico would be our 
next location, for several reasons.  The stakes were higher, the 
scene more intense, and therefore just out-of-state wasn't going 
to be good enough; this time we needed to go all the way out of 
the country.  Northern Mexico was convenient, and, even more 
important, Cisco Salazar's cousin was a police captain and more 
than happy to participate in the little melodrama I'd sketched out. 
Then, too, Betty had something of a prejudice against Hispanics.  
She tended to regard them the same way that some whites still 
considered blacks -- as socially inferior, but sexually superior 
-- and I hoped to make use of that. 

    So, early in July, she and I went off to south Texas (followed 
secretly by Jeff and his buddy, Cisco, and their cameras).   

    There was still one detail I had to iron out, however, but 
Chance came to the rescue.

    We had stopped off in a fair-sized Texas town down near the 
border, and Betty had bought some Mexican silver jewelry from a 
little shop, but, two days later, abruptly decided it was too gaudy 
and took it back, demanding a refund.  Things might have developed 
quite differently if she'd been less arrogant -- or if she hadn't 
lost her receipt -- but, in the event, the little señorita behind 
the counter had absolutely no reason to cut her any slack.  I had 
actually opened my mouth to admonish Betty, but caught myself in 
time.  The expression, "Give her enough rope to hang herself," 
came to mind.  

    She had become shrill, vulgar, and red-faced by the time I 
reckoned her rope was plenty long enough and intervened.  I smiled 
at the girl -- who had gone silent, but had not retreated an inch 
-- and laid my hand on my wife's shoulder and said, firmly, "Go 
back to the car, RIGHT NOW, sit there, and wait for me."

    She gaped at me for a moment and turned even redder, but, in 
the end, did what I said.

    I apologized to the clerk and carefully outlined my plan.  She 
looked dubious at first, but soon was grinning, nodding, and even 
offering suggestions.

    It took me probably 45 minutes, all told.  I had phoned Jeff, 
who was nearby, to come a-running and get some establishing shots.  
When I got back to the car, it looked like Betty really wanted to 
pout, but just didn't dare.  I opened up the paper bag that I'd 
brought from the shop and produced a bottle of water, a slightly 
used bar of Ivory soap, and a sturdy jack-knife.  As Betty sweated, 
I carved the soap, slowly and carefully, into a smooth cigar-shape, 
maybe 4" long and about an inch in diameter.  I took my time, 
enjoying both the craftsmanlike process and the effect it was 
having on Betty.  She knew exactly where that piece of soap would 
be going....  

    She begged me to wait until we got back to the motel -- or, 
at least, to move to an area of the parking lot that was not so 
well-trafficked, but I ignored the plea, simply telling her to 
get into the back seat and pull down her panties.  "You're going 
to get a sound spanking, and then you'll go back and apologize to 
that girl."  (I lowered the window behind her, hoping that it was 
light enough inside the car for Jeff to film the action.)

    I used the bottled water to wet the soap stick, got Betty 
across my lap with her skirt rucked up, and s-l-o-o-o-w-l-y pushed 
the soap up her asshole, then in-and-out, in-and-out until she was 
writhing and whimpering.  I pushed the stick deep and then paused 
a couple of minutes and just watched the mounting effect the soap 
was having on her.  

    (Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Jeff standing quietly 
a few yards off, concentrating hard on the view-finder of his 
camera.)  
 
    Satisfied that all seemed to be going well, I commenced to 
spank her, briskly, and kept it up until her butt was rosy and 
she was blubbering childishly.  Finally, I pulled up her panties, 
firmly, giving her a wedgie in the process, and made her follow me, 
barefoot, across the hot asphalt and back to the shop (where more 
humiliation lay in wait).  I knew that, all the while, the soap 
stick was burning away inside her.  I guessed that her bowels must 
be in a torment.  

    I addressed the clerk.  "My wife has something to say to you." 

    Actually, the girl (whose name was Luisa Rios) was a pretty 
good little actress and stifled her smirk better than I'd expected.  
Betty told Luisa how sorry she was for having been so cranky.... 

    But I interrupted.  "Not good enough.  You were acting like a 
vulgar, out-of-control bitch.  Admit it and beg the girl's 
forgiveness."

    And she did.  She owned up to everything I'd accused her 
of...and more, besides, sincerely and volubly.

    I noticed that she was already beginning a "potty dance," 
shifting her weight from foot to foot.  Her voice was also 
rising in pitch as she got more and more agitated.  

    I let her stew for a bit before I nodding that I was satisfied.  

    She immediately turned to me with a look of desperation.  "Oh, 
god!  I really need to get to a restroom RIGHT NOW....  PLEASE!" 

    The clerk began, "Well, we have one...."

    Betty interrupted.  "Where?  Tell me, please!"

    "But I'm afraid," the girl went on, "that it's for employees 
only...."  

    "Oh, please!" Betty moaned.

    "Sorry...."

    "Well," I said, slowly and judicially, "if Betty were to get a 
job here...."

    "For just a few minutes -- or even a day?  I'd like to help, I 
really would, but I'm sorry, the extra paperwork and all...."

    "Longer, then?  Several days?"

    The girl looked thoughtful.  "Okay...."  She placed a form on 
the counter and handed Betty a pen.  "But sign this first."

    Betty signed without hesitation and was told that the unisex 
john was at the very back of the store....  

    She scurried off, and, a moment later, we heard her pitiful 
wail.

    "Well, it IS locked," the girl said, picked up a ring of keys, 
and, grinning broadly, sauntered towards the rear of the store.

    I glanced behind the counter, at a shelf of what-nots, where I 
knew that one of Jeff's cameras was silently grinding away.  It was 
undetectable.

    The girl was soon back, commenting, "She did make it, barely."  

    Betty took some time, however.  When she did eventually rejoin 
us, I told her that I had some shopping to do -- so she should get 
started on her new job, and I'd be back...whenever.  

    "B-but we need to go somewhere," she whispered, squirming.  "I 
really need an en-enema to flush out the leftover soap.  It's still 
b-burning...."

    "That can wait a while.  Right now, you've got work to do.  We 
can rinse you out at the motel...later."

    The girl, Luisa, noted that Betty was going to get rather 
sweaty and dirty -- so, since the work would be out of the public 
eye, rather than ruin her nice clothes, perhaps she'd better take 
them off...."

    I turned Luisa's suggestion into a command.  Further, when 
Betty had rather peevishly stripped down, butt-naked, I said that 
I'd put her things in the car (with her purse and sandals) so they 
wouldn't get messed up.  Then, jauntily waving "hasta luego," I 
left.

    I picked up three burritos and some beer (for me, now), as 
well as (for Betty, later) a couple of pre-mixed Fleet enemas 
and a t-shirt -- size 2XL Tall, grey with "REMEMBER THE ALAMO!" 
in large red letters.  Then I drove back to the motel, showered 
in pleasantly cool water, and kicked back in front of the TV 
with hot food and cold drink -- and didn't feel a bit guilty.  

    After watching 4 innings of a dull Astros game -- and napping 
for 5 innings -- I figured it was about time to fetch Betty.  I 
took along the big, new t-shirt.  As I drove back to the little 
shop, I wondered how the first few hours on her new job had gone.

    I found her grimy and bedraggled, quite earthy-looking, in 
fact -- a far cry from the bluestocking bitch she'd been for 
months.  I insisted that she thank Luisa politely for giving her 
this opportunity to redeem herself.  She promised to be back early 
in the morning.

    Once we got back to the motel, however, she became much less 
deferential.

    "I had to move 73 cases of assorted who-knows-what from the 
loading dock behind the store into a storage shed across the yard.  
The whole area had a high wall around it, and there were no 
buildings that overlooked it, but still....  Working outside like 
that, naked, sweating like a peasant, my asshole on fire and 
longing for an enema -- that was...oh, god!...such a turn-on....  
May I please have my enema now, sir?

    "Where did you get the marks on your butt?" I asked.

    "The greaser bitch came out to check on me several times...with 
a switch!"

    "And did you cum while she was switching you?"

    "Aaah...well...y-yessss."       

    "So.  Tomorrow morning, you'll thank her for that -- AND you'll 
confess that you referred to her as a 'greaser bitch.'"

    "Tomorrow....  She told me she wants me to go with her into 
Mexico tomorrow on a buying trip.  I'd be pretty much just her 
servant, a péon.  Can't I please get out of that?" 

    "No.  You'll go, and you'll be a good little servant.  And 
remember, for the length of your employment, she's your superior 
and must be obeyed.  Now, do you want to pout, or do you want that 
enema?"

    "Oh, the enema, please!" 

    So I used one of the store-bought enemas, plugged her, and made 
her take a loooong shower.  After letting her expel the first enema 
at last, I gave her a quick rinse with the second and took her to 
bed.

    She was very responsive.

		****************************** 


Part 2               

    The following morning, Betty dressed in her Alamo t-shirt and 
a pair of huarachas, and I drove her out to the shop.  I saw signs 
that she was beginning to enter into her submissive personality 
phase.  Luisa was nicely dressed in the South Texas version of 
"business casual," and her cool, rather sophisticated look was an 
excellent contrast to Betty's sweaty peasant appearance.  Since 
Betty had neither pocket nor purse, I handed her ID to Luisa.  The 
possible ramifications seemed not to occur to Betty.

    Seconds after they had driven off toward the border, I was 
headed back to the motel, to rendezvous with Jeff and Cisco.  
Cisco reported that he'd phoned his cousin, Capitán Rodrigo 
Fuentes, who was in charge of the Agua Verde constabulary, 
and everything was a "go."
 
		***********************************

    On the road, Luisa deliberately took her time, so we had no 
trouble getting to Agua Verde first.  It was a pleasant town, 
with clean, well-paved, tree-lined streets.  There was some 
light industry.  The town was big enough to be prosperous, but 
small enough to remain pretty much a fiefdom of the local chief 
of police -- in this case, the man who was going to be our host.

    We needed the extra time to meet with the captain and get 
set up in the town's relatively modern jail.

    El Capitán turned out to be extremely gracious.  First, he 
took us on a quick trip through the local "Boys Town."

    In Mexico, prostitution is legal, but a town can officially 
concentrate its prostitutes into a distinct red light district, 
and even wall off that area from the rest of the municipality.  It 
may be termed "La Zona de Tolerencia," "La Zona Rosa," or "Boys 
Town," but it smells pretty much the same, regardless of whatever 
it's called.  

    This Boys Town was located on the southwestern edge of Agua 
Verde.  It was surrounded by 8 foot walls, plastered with ads and 
political posters.  There was only one gap in the perimeter.  This 
was about 18 feet wide, located right next to the whitewashed 
police sub-station, and did double duty as the only entrance to 
and exit from Boys Town.  Next to the station was the office of 
the "médico" (where all the girls were examined twice a week).  
A taxi-stand was located just across the street.   

    Inside the wall was a sun-baked compound, with three streets 
running north-south and two east-west (all of them unpaved), filled 
mainly with bars, strip joints, bordellos, and cantinas.  Mixed in 
were rows of small, dingy rooms -- "work stations" as it were.  At 
night, we were told, there were lots of little stands selling hot 
food and cold beer, and the area was loud and teeming with street 
life.  During the day, though, the few people that we saw moving 
around tended to be old, dried out, and listless. 

    There, in Boys Town, free-lance whores and "weekend warriors" 
were looked upon as potential trouble-makers and simply not 
tolerated.  All hookers were required to obtain a license called 
a "boleta de registro" before they were allowed to ply their trade. 

		******************************

    Back at the central jail, we found that our host had set aside 
for us a large room on the viewing side of a one-way mirror -- and 
furnished it with comfortable chairs, an admirable buffet, and a 
cooler of assorted beverages.  It was a good thing that it was 
spacious, because there were a dozen of us, all told -- Jeff, 
Cisco, me, the captain, seven other uniformed cops, and an older 
man, paunchy and balding, in a wrinkled white jacket.   

    The exam room, on the other side of the glass, was fairly drab 
by comparison.  Painted a medium blue, it contained a couple of 
wooden chairs, a sink, an elderly gynecological exam table (with 
stirrups), an IV pole, a galvanized bucket, and a little stand 
that held some miscellaneous equipment.  On the far wall was a 
large mirror.  

    Jeff and Cisco readied their cameras and relaxed for a bit, but 
we didn't really have all that much longer to wait.  During that 
interval, however, Capt. Fuentes showed me personnel records on 5 
policewomen, any of which he said would be happy to conduct Betty's 
"processing."  I picked a girl who seemed to be ideal, in several 
respects.  Mina Morado was 5'1" and 105 pounds (significantly 
smaller than Betty), and, though her age was listed as 27, she 
looked like a teenager...no older than Betty's students.  Perfect. 

    Presently, two burly cops brought my wife in.  She was clearly 
nervous, but I could tell that she was also aroused; one of her 
major fantasies was about to play out in the real world.

    (By arrangement, Luisa had let Betty out near the town's main 
plaza, telling her that she wouldn't be needed for a couple of 
hours and that she should amuse herself until then.  A few minutes 
later, the cops had picked her up for vagrancy and unregistered 
prostitution.  Her lack of ID seemed conclusive.  They had then 
driven her through Boys Town, made a brief stop at the sub-station 
there, and then proceeded here.  For purposes of continuity, Luisa 
had surreptitiously filmed Betty's arrest from a nearby alley.)  
  
    The girl, Mina, confronted Betty, rattled off some heavily 
accented mumbo-jumbo, and then ordered her to strip.  (The two 
male cops hung around as witnesses and potential muscle.)

    Stripping didn't take long; Betty was, after all, wearing only 
the t-shirt and sandals.  And Mina checked them over in seconds.  
I was a little surprised that the Mexican cops seemed so blasé 
about Betty's "Brazilian," until Mina commented that it practically 
proved Betty was a whore.  

    She spent very little time searching Betty's hair and mouth.  
But then the pace slowed dramatically.  By the time the girl had 
finished examining Betty's very ticklish arm-pits, my wife was 
practically peeing herself.  

    She then had to lift her breasts by the nipples and jiggle them 
up and down repeatedly, until Mina was satisfied.

    The next phase was what I came to think of as the "floor 
exercise."

    Mina started off with Betty standing at attention.  Then....

    "Hands onna head!"

    "Espread you legs! 

    "Now esquat 12 times. 

    "No, puta, ESQUAT...lower! 

    "Tha's righ'!  An' espread WIDER!" 

    It was quite a sight. 

    "Now face righ' an' do 12 more esquats!" 

    She went on, until everyone had had a chance to observe all of 
Betty's assets from a variety of angles.

    Then she had Betty "prancing" all around the room, knees high, 
toes pointed, tits and butt jiggling and bouncing. 

    Despite her embarrassment, Betty's pussy was hot and wet, and 
that wasn't overlooked by the spectators, especially since Mina 
made a point of it.  This, of course, resulted in rauchy comments 
from the two cops (and from us in the observation room, as well).  
Betty probably understood less than half of what the two witnesses 
were actually saying, but she certainly grasped their gist.  This 
humiliated her further...and aroused her even more. 

    The next step was the cavity search.

    Mina snapped on latex exam gloves and held out her right hand 
to Betty.

    "Hokay, puta.  You get tha' big jar of lube over there and 
grease up my fingers real good."  

    Trembling -- from humiliation, apprehension, and anticipation 
-- Betty obeyed.  She was blushing all over.

    Betty had to stand, front and center, with legs well apart, 
bend over, and then reach back with both hands and spread her 
butt-cheeks.  Mina was careful to stand to one side so that we all 
had a clear view of Betty's slick, swollen cunt-lips and her sweaty 
asshole (usually a tight brown rosebud, but now stretched by her 
position into a dark round hole).   

    The rectal search was lengthy, but mesmerizing.  Mina probed 
Betty slowly and deliberately, corkscrewing one...then two...then 
three fingers in and out of her defenseless asshole.  I had often 
finger-fucked my wife's asshole, of course, but it was fascinating 
to watch somebody else do it -- especially when the "somebody" was 
a young female.  (Jeff and Cisco seemed even more distracted than 
I, and Capt. Fuentes and the other policemen on either side of the 
glass were practically drooling.)

    Mina insisted that Betty hold her head up and look at herself 
in the mirror on the far wall.  (That meant, of course, that we 
could film both the action in the foreground AND Betty's face 
reflected in the mirror in the background.  Mina was absolutely 
brilliant.)   

    At last, however, the rectal phase came to an end, and Mina 
gave Betty a quick, stinging slap on the bottom and let her  
straighten up.  She handed her some coarse paper towels and 
ordered her to wipe herself (while we all watched).  The used 
towels went into the bucket, which was apparently doing duty as 
a hazardous materials container.  

    And then it was time for the next phase.

    As she changed her gloves, Mina noted, contemptuously, that 
the "gringa" was not going to need any artificial lubricant for 
this part -- the probing of her "bollo."  
    
    Betty was ordered to bend all the way over, with her hands 
flat on the floor, pigeon-toed, knees splayed, and, as before, 
head up.  The play of expressions across her face was, as they 
say, priceless.  It seemed as though she was trying hard not 
to cum under those conditions (why, she's never been able to 
explain to me), but it didn't make any difference; Mina simply 
worked on her, skillfully and persistently, until she orgasmed.  
Over...and over.  (Four times, by my count.)

    I again congratulated myself on making such an inspired choice 
when I picked Mina.  

    It took Mina a long time to satisfy herself that Betty wasn't 
trying to conceal any contraband.  But finally she nodded, slapped 
Betty's ass again, and ordered her up onto the exam table.

    At this, the older guy in the wrinkled white jacket got up and 
left our room.  A moment later, he re-appeared in the exam room.

    Capt. Fuentes leaned toward me and murmured, "El Médico."

    After the doctor checked her BP, took a blood sample, and ran 
a few other, miscellaneous tests of some sort, he proceeded to give 
Betty an extra-thorough vaginal exam to make sure that she had no 
"deesgoostin' deeseeses" and was fit for work.  The stirrups 
spread her wide, as open as I'd ever seen her, and that doctor 
certainly knew his way around a cunt.  Unlike Mina, who had 
forced Betty to cum despite her resistance, he used a delicate, 
on-again-off-again, tantalizing touch on Betty's ultra-sensitized 
crotch, and he soon had her writhing and whimpering and aching to 
cum some more.  

    To tell you the truth, I was rather surprised that he displayed 
such savoir-faire and craftsmanship in what must have have been a 
busman's holiday.  I mean, he was used to fingering countless cunts 
every week.  Betty must have been something special (or he was 
particularly obsessive-compulsive).

    In any case, he played her for almost 20 minutes, as she got 
more and more desperate....

    And then she went rigid and climaxed -- in a protracted, 
multiple orgasm that left her dazed and gasping and barely 
coherent.  When she finally went limp, she managed to murmur 
two words, "Gracias, Señor...."

    The next step was a public shower.  Mina attached a hose to 
the cold water tap, pushed Betty into a corner (over what I now 
recognized as a floor drain), handed her a bar of coarse (and 
apparently pungent) soap, and then began sluicing her with frigid 
water while everyone shouted instructions, insisting that Betty 
scrub herself just EVERYWHERE...especially, of course, tits and 
cunt and ass-crack.

    The cold water clearly snapped Betty out of her cum-induced 
lethargy, and she immediately began to prance and wriggle in the 
spray, trying to wash herself clean enough to suit the observers.  
That took upwards of 10 minutes.  
 
    As soon as the shower was over, Mina used a spray bottle to 
squirt generous amounts of delousing liquid all over Betty, from 
head to toe.

    Betty didn't get a towel, but was left to drip-dry...except for 
her hair.  I was curious to see Mina produce an antique hair dryer 
and begin using it.  But I soon understood.  As Betty's hair was 
force-dried, it began to frizz.  In a few minutes, she looked 
remarkably like my idea of the typical cheap Boys Town whore.

    Satisfied with the effect, Mina stood Betty against a wall and 
took her picture -- head and shoulders -- with a digital camera.  
She made a note of Betty's height and handed that and the camera 
to one of the cops.  When she asked him something about an 
"impresión," he nodded and left.  (Fuentes whispered "fingerprint" 
out of the corner of his mouth.)  

    There was a pause then.  Betty just stood there, looking numb 
but with a slight, silly smile on her face.  Mina fingered an enema 
bag for a moment, but glanced at Betty and shook her head.  Enough 
was enough.

    Presently, the cop returned, holding a pink rectangle about the 
size of a credit card.  Mina showed it to Betty, remarking that it 
was her official "boleta de registro."  She was now a certified 
whore.  You could see the realization gradually dawn on Betty that 
she might very well be spending some time as a Boys Town "door 
girl," standing outside her small, grubby room and attempting 
to entice a customer into paying 90 pesos for 20 minutes of her 
services.  I tried to read her expression...but failed.

    Of course, that wasn't going to happen.  She was simply turned 
over to Luisa, who still had some fetch-and-carry work for her to 
do before they headed north, back across the border to Texas.  
Along the the way, they pulled into a rest area for over an 
hour....

		******************************

    That evening, back in our motel room, Betty was very tired, but 
also horny, articulate, and eager to talk about her adventure -- 
at length and in great detail.  And I secretly tape-recorded it; 
parts of it could be used for voice-over later.  She masturbated 
both of us late into the night while she told her story.

    I knew most of the facts, already, of course, but I was very 
keen to learn how she felt about her experiences this time -- 
especially since she still didn't know that I had set up (and 
monitored) the excursion to Agua Verde.  I was gratified to learn 
that she had been unbelievably aroused as well as deeply and 
intensely humiliated...feelings (both of arousal and humiliation) 
that came surging back every time she looked at her pink "boleta 
de registro" (which Luisa had insisted she show to the border 
guards).

    Among other things, she confessed to having fantasized for 
several years about having to submit to people younger than herself 
-- both males and females -- but especially females (particularly 
minority females), ever since she'd been dominated by Sasha on the 
beach.  God knows to what extent her experiences with Mina and 
Luisa would intensify those fantasies.

    "I felt so helpless when I was arrested," she told me.  "I was 
shaking, afraid of what they'd do...or make ME do....  I knew I had 
absolutely no rights, no power...but no guilt, either....  Oh, god! 
How I got off on it!  And that cavity search!  And the doctor!  I 
even imagined being taken back to Boys Town and made to earn enough 
to pay the fees and fine, by putting out for a long line of filthy 
Mexican roustabouts at cut-rate prices while Mina and Luisa 
'supervised' me, laughing, ordering me to move my 'lazy white 
ass' and give the men their money's worth...and then sneering 
at me when I did...."

    That would bear thinking about.
    
    In the end I learned something more about Luisa, too.  The 
trip had meant some extra expenses for her, which had been Betty's 
fault.  She reckoned that the cost of registration, medical exam, 
and fine added up to 1000 pesos (about $90).  The casual labor 
didn't figure to quite balance the books, so she made Betty eat 
her out for an hour to compensate.

    More food for thought....

		******************************

    Betty spent one more day serving Luisa and was even rewarded 
with a worn and crumpled 20 peso note, as payment in full for her 
"personal services."  I decided to have it framed after we got back 
home and to hang it in our bedroom (side by side with the framed 
"boleta de registro" that bears her picture).

    The following day we headed home, with Betty still wearing her 
t-shirt, sandals, and nothing else.  She dozed most of the way, 
except when we stopped for gas, food, or a piss, and I roused her 
and made her walk around the truck stops for a while.  (She got 
more than a few propositions at these places.)

    So ended our third adventure.  Would there be a fourth?  At 
this point, I didn't know.  How could I top this one?  

    Or, more to the point, would I really want to?  Or should I 
perhaps shut Pandora's box while I still could?  IF I still could?

    Time will tell.