And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joe pour something into mine and Kathy's drink.
"I saw you, Joe. What was that you poured in our drinks?"
"Just a sort of ... medicine," he smiled sheepishly. "Gives you lot's of energy. Keeps you from getting sleepy. Go ahead, have some."
I had some-we all had some, and then we talked awhile ... but suddenly an electrical sensation ran through my thighs and buttocks ... and I was definitely in the mood for something besides conversation! I was on fire! And noticing the others, their restless squirming. I could tell that we were all of one mind ... that the time had come to stop talking and start loving!
CHAPTER ONE
Everything about me underwent a vast change shortly after I met Joe Sands-though "change" is, considering the remarkable transformation that took place in my life, rather a lame word. I met Joe at the beach. My girl friend, Kathy Blake, and I were wading out through the surf, shrieking and giggling, enjoying the shock of the cold water and the surge of the waves, when I received a distinct "shock" of another sort.
"Hi ya, blue eyes," I heard a rough masculine voice close behind me and, concomittantly, felt a large hand close down on the fleshy underportion of my bottom. I swung ... automatically; he ducked automatically.
"Why, of all the ... damn you!" I sputtered, feeling an all consuming blush wash over me despite the cold water.
"There, there, blue eyes, don't get hot, not out here," he grinned broadly and closed one eye in an impudent wink.
"C'mon, Emily," my girl friend grabbed my hand and tugged. "Just ignore him. He's not worth your anger."
"You're right, Kathy," I acknowledged, turning my back on him. And then, yes! Again! He grabbed me again! The other ... cheek! I spun and, quite beside myself with rage and humiliation, spit in his face (a large, tanned, and admittedly handsome face).
"Wow!" he grinned sheepishly. "You are mad. Listen ... I'm ... I'm real sorry ... I...."
I turned away and headed for the beach, Kathy right behind me jabbering excitedly.
"We should report him, that's what we should do! It's getting so a girl can't even swim nowadays, all these surfers with their creepy hands and such."
"Like you said, Kathy," I turned and grinned at her. "He's not worth getting angry about."
"I know. But he did it twice!" she exclaimed.
"So he's persistent. Let's forget him. This sun's simply marvelous."
And it was marvelous. The middle of July, Kathy and I were on vacation; we'd taken an extra two weeks without pay, giving us a whole month. We'd come by bus from Bakersfield to Long Beach; this was the afternoon of our first day. We were both stenographers; both of us had gone through school together and graduated together; both of us had been raised by inordinately strict parents and had led morbidly sheltered lives; both of us were looking for what we termed-rather naively-as "adventure". But neither of us had more than a nebulous working definition of just what sort of "adventure" we were seeking.
Face down on our beach towels, enjoying the penetrating warmth of the sun, Kathy echoed my thoughts.
"Well, Emily, that was a beginning, however crude."
"Oh," I stretched languorously. "Beginning of what?"
"Of adventure," silly."
"Think so?" I yawned indolently, feeling very healthy and very much opposed to abstract thought.
"Sure. He was kind of ... you know ... rougish. Like Errol Flynn. You know...."
"Yes, Kathy," I sighed, wishing she'd stop talking. "I know."
"Are you sure, blue eyes?" I heard that same rough voice above me and felt cold water trickling down on my back. I didn't move, didn't even look up. Kathy nudged me.
"It's him again," she said scathingly.
"So I gathered," I answered her. "And would you ask him to please stop dripping the Pacific Ocean all over me."
"My girl friend says to...."
"I know, I know. I heard her," he interjected. "And would you please tell your girl friend that when Joe Sands apologizes, he means it."
"That's right, he does," another male voice ventured; curious beyond further resistence I turned over; the other voice turned out to be a lanky red-headed fellow of about the same age as Joe Sands; he was looking Kathy up and down like a kid looks at a hook and ladder truck; Joe Sands was looking at me in a fashion that can only be described as ... hungry.
"Really," he grinned. "I am sorry. Shake?" he dropped a big hammy hand down towards me; reaching up, a little reluctantly, I shook it.
"And this red-headed joker is my buddie, Phil Denton," he nodded toward the lanky redhead.
"I'm Emily Townsend and this is Kathy Blake," I supplied, my voice brittle. "We're on vacation," Kathy blurted. "Good," Joe Sands smiled politely. "I'm sure you'll have a ball around here. How long've you got off?"
"A whole month," Kathy replied. "This is only our first day."
"Well, then ... maybe you'll forget my rank first impression and ... go out with us tonight," Joe's expression, as he said this, was somewhat doubtful; I'm sure he thought I'd turn him down.
"Glad to," I snapped. "As long as it's a double-date. That is," I hesitated, glancing at Kathy, "if Kathy's agreeable."
"Oh, sure," Kathy answered, excitement tinging her voice-I gave her a dark look and she added, almost demurely, "Why not. It might just be fun."
Kathy could be, at times, and when men were in the offing, terribly scatterbrained. In fact Kathy filled the dumb blonde with a whistle-provoking figure bill more than adequately; her legs and hips were flawlessly proportioned-full, fleshy, yet as firm and toned as those of any ballerina. I knew, from the way the redheaded Phil Denton was surveying her curves, that I would have to watch him ... and Kathy. Not that Kathy was ... untried. She wasn't. In fact, we'd both succumbed to the same Bakersfield Don Juan, only to learn, to our horror, and at the expense of our reputations, that he made a habit of de-flowering girls and then bragging about it to all and sundry afterwards. It was a bitter lesson; I didn't want it to happen again. Joe's rough voice interrupted my thoughts.
"You're back's getting a little red. Better let me rub some oil on it. Okay?"
I shrugged and nodded; he dropped to his knees beside me, opened my oil, squirted some on my back, shoulders, and the back of my legs, and began, very lightly and soothingly, to rub it in. Kathy looked up at Phil and said, "Would you please rub a little of that on my back too." The lanky red-head obliged-willingly; it was plain that he was completely taken by Kathy's loveliness.
I relaxed completely, enjoying the warm friction of Joe's big hand as he gently rubbed the oil into my back. My transistor was perched beside my head and playing a queer, lilting jazz piece; Joe was keeping time with it as he rubbed, and the sensation, when he lowered his hand and began on my thighs, was simply delicious. I gave in to it, even parting my thighs a little beneath the persuasive pressure of his hand. And then it began: a warm, electrical feeling, running down the full length of my legs and then up through my bottom in cascading waves. I felt Joe's hand massaging near the inside top of my thighs; I felt suddenly moist and flushed and terribly terribly excited; it was all I could do to suppress the cries and moans of joy that kept rising, dumbly, to my parted lips! Unable to stand it without moving, I leaped up, feeling decidedly weak-kneed, and, shouting incoherently, ran towards the water.
"Hey! Wait for me!" I heard Joe's husky shout behind me.
Standing shoulder deep in the water, still faintly feeling those warm electrical shocks coursing through me, Joe approached me, grinning ironically.
"You really got 'em, didn't you, blue-eyes?"
"Well ... I ... I'm...."
"Yeah," he nodded, his eyes sparkling mischievously, "you're only human ... and so am I." And with that he grabbed my hand and put it down there and "Lordie!" I cried out, not dreaming anyone could be so utterly brazen! But I closed my fingers there, enjoying the almost pious look that came over his big face as I did so. I moved my hand a few times, felt him grow suddenly firmer, and then, "Oh, damn!" he groaned hoarsely, and sank back in the water, his eyes crossed, his face relaxed in a foolish grin.
Walking back to the beach with Joe my head was whirling with confusing thoughts: doubts, excitement, remorse, pleasure, regrets, acceptance, shame, anticipation. Phil and Kathy had their heads together; they were laughing and giggling like juveniles; I blushed red to the ears, thinking they might be laughing at me, wondering if they knew what had happened. Joe moved our beach towels several yards away from them; we laid back down. He didn't talk, just laid there close to me, the calf of his leg laying gently against mine. I was glad he didn't talk. I wanted time to reflect on what had happened-to think about how easily and quickly his hand had brought me to such an unexpected and delightful achievement: to determine just why I had obliged him (so willingly) in the same fashion.
Not that climatic sensation was by any means novel to me ... it wasn't. For many years, I had, when the urge became irresistible, indulged in my own version of self-relief (a sedulously applied hair-brush handle). And once or twice (or maybe three times) Kathy and I had relieved one another out of sheer frustration and desperation--the event leaving us with a queasy blend of shame and guilt. But I had never before given in so quickly or shamelessly to a man. (Even my Bakersfield Don Juan had taken nine dates and seven weeks to accomplish his conceited mission.)
My parents (and Kathy's, too) had followed the Puritan doctrine in raising me ("rearing me", my father called it). Sex was never mentioned; no boy friends were allowed to even call me until I was eighteen-and whenever they did, my father would take the phone from me and hang up on them. My mother's cooking was simple, nourishing and unstimulating: meat, mashed-potatoes, salad and vegetable, and it never varied except on holidays. The lights were out at our house by nine thirty; no one ever slept later than seven. By the time I was nine I was already the chief cook, mender, ironer, dish-washer and housekeeper-my mother being busily involved in various clubmeetings and church socials.
I graduated at eighteen, valedictorian of my class, and promptly (without my parents' knowledge) entered a beauty contest, won, and was awarded a two year business course at a local college as first prize; Kathy, who'd placed second (the Judges must have been blind) won the same prize. We took the course, graduated, were hired by a local hardware firm as stenographers, and some six months later, having both turned twenty one, we left home and rented an apartment together not far from our work.
Our parents, of course, were outraged, we were both only children and the "foolish course" we had taken was bound to lead us down evil paths. And giving them their due they were partly right-it wasn't three months later that Paul Edwards (the Don Juan I've mentioned) had seduced both of us and related his conquest to every willing listener (of which, apparently, there was no dearth of in Bakersfield).
The man we worked for, being very wise, kind and understanding, gave us our two week vacations almost four months before we'd earned them; he'd suggested, too, that we take an extra two weeks off without pay to-"let all the gossip cool down and be finished with."
And so there we were, on the beach in Long Beach, lying beside two husky strangers, one of whom, some fifteen minutes after he'd met me, had brought me (however inadvertantly) to my first male-induced culmination. Is it any wonder then that I felt confused and doubtful? But if I had had even an inkling then of what the next four weeks would bring ... I would have cast all confusion and doubt aside and caught the first bus back to dear old Bakersfield.
CHAPTER TWO
Catalina Island is just twenty four miles across the water from Long Beach-and that's where Joe and Phil suggested we go for the evening.
"They have a moon-light cruise that leaves at 6:00 o'clock and comes back at 2:00 in the morning," Joe informed us.
"Yeah," Phil added. "And they've got a real swingin' dance casino and ... lot's of action."
We agreed. We gave them the name of our motel; they told us they'd pick us up at 5:00 o'clock.
We were both terribly excited as we showered and dressed. Neither of us had ever been on the ocean before and the thought of spending an evening on an Island with two handsome strangers loomed as an engaging "adventure".
"I wonder what they do for a living?" Kathy commented as we were dressing.
"Who knows?" I answered. "Maybe they're on vacation too."
"What if they suggest ... you know...."
I laughed and swatted Kathy's bare bottom as I walked past her. "That, little chum, is a bridge we'll cross when we come to it. We're big girls now."
"I know," she said, rubbing her bottom and pouting prettily. "But that doesn't stop me from having small thoughts. I can't help wondering what Phil meant when he said that Catalina had ... lots of action."
"Well, we'll find out soon," I winked at her and grinned suggestively.
The boys picked us up punctually at 5:00. They were both very nicely dressed; more conservative than I had imagined they'd be. Joe looked especially handsome; his light sportcoat brought out his tan well and made him look almost fiercely virile. We rode to the terminal in Phil's car, a late model Plymouth, and Joe kept up a light humorous line of banter all the way (Phil, evidently, was more the quiet type).
The trip to the Island was loads of fun; there was a bar and a small dance floor aboard; we had several drinks and danced, so that by the time we reached the Island everyone was laughing and in that gay tipsy mood that seems to promise a wonderful time. We walked around town a bit, looking in store windows, laughing a lot, and then walked perhaps a quarter of a mile beside the sea to the Casino: a huge dome-shaped building that contained two bars and a massive dance floor. It was still early, the band was just beginning to warm up, so we took a table and ordered drinks.
"This is some place. It's really huge," Kathy commented, looking around with that country girl expression.
"Like it, eh?" Joe replied. I nodded, and glanced around-and as I did so, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Joe pour something in mine and Kathy's drinks; I pretended not to have noticed. But just then, in a movement characteristic of her, Kathy swooped up her drink and downed nearly half of it before I could warn her. Alarmed, I looked at Joe and said, point blankly, "Just what was that you poured in our drinks, Joe Sands?"
"You saw me, eh?" he flushed slightly and smiled
"Yes. And I think you'd better tell me what it was. And right now."
"Nothing bad, really," he shrugged, pulling a small vial from his coat pocket. "Phil and I call it ... Go Juice." And with that he poured a quantity of it into his and Phil's drinks and then downed fully three quarters of his in three gulps.
"Yeah, Go Juice is right," Phil took a big swig of his drink.
"But what is it?" I queried.
"Just benzedrene. Gives you lots of energy. Keeps you from getting sleepy. Go ahead, have some. It's a long night and I don't want you to run out of gas."
"That's all it is? Just Benzedrene?" I looked at Joe, then Phil, then back at Joe. "Really?" I questioned them suspiciously.
"Really," Joe nodded soberly. "Go ahead. Try some. Get with it."
So ... I tried ... some ... and I "got with it". And some thirty minutes after trying it, I began to feel exhilirated, optimistic, marvelous! My limbs seemed light and agile and I felt like dancing and talking so I talked Joe's ear off as we danced, and I noticed that Kathy seemed overly excited and talkative too. And then-in my memory it was about an hour after we'd had those first drinks-I began to feel flushed and hot and, decidedly, in the mood for something besides more dancing and talk.
We were sitting at our table; I looked closely at Kathy and saw that she too was flushed-and from the way she was squirming around in her chair I was pretty certain her mood was the same as mine. I looked at Joe-he was flushed, nervous. And Phil was wriggling around like a small boy in church.
"Okay, Joe," I grinned at him. "Do you still claim that all you put in those drinks was benzedrene?"
"Well...," he shrugged. "Maybe just a wee bit of something else."
"I don't know what that something else was and all I know is I wanta be loved ... and the sooner the better."
"Yes," I said, clearing my throat, feeling my own desires rising rapidly, "can't we go someplace ... isn't there some ... beach maybe?"
"Yes, as a matter-of-fact there is a nice spot, not far from here. C'mon," Joe rose. "We can ... take a moonlight swim ... and have some fun and games."
We walked around the casino, up over a rather steep hill, and descended to a regular little jewel of a beach.
"Let's strip and hit the water," Joe began to undress immediately.
And then, in a voice I scarcely recognized as my own, I said, "I'll strip, but I'll be damned if I swim ... until I get something else."
"Me too!" Kathy squealed, and then began tearing off her clothes as if they were contaminated!
Moments later, frantic moments laterwith nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing as all four of us undressed in great haste, four nude bodies clashed with unchecked cries of feral delight! Out of the corner of my eye, as Joe pulled me into his muscular arms, I saw Kathy kneel and receive Phil in a fashion that, even under the circumstances, quite amazed me. And then Joe was at me. Not bothering to even lay me down (he'd spread his coat on the sand) he pulled me onto him like a tight boot, and before he'd made two moves I felt those electrical quivers began to bolt through me. I sank my teeth into his shoulder and moaned idiotically as the taste of his blood and perspiration mingled and joined forces with the agony of that so needed glandular explosion! My legs turned to rubber and I began to sink down, but Joe, reaching his own pinnacle, grabbed my bottom and pulled me tightly against him. And when he made it I kissed him and rammed my tongue as far into his mouth as I could. (And my mind, strangely enough, reverted to earlier in the day-when, after spitting in his face, I'd watched my saliva ooze down his cheek. And now, I thought, he's getting his own back!) And then I heard Kathy cry out.
"Emily! Joe! Come over here and ... help me.
I tore loose from Joe and ran over to her-but my alarm evaporated instantly when I saw that the "help" she needed was inspired by passion, not fear or danger. Phil was returning the favor she'd given him! And Kathy, a breast in each hand, evidently wanted someone to give them some attention. I obliged; kneeling I took one of them and ran my tongue gently around the nipple, the other I pinched teasingly between the forefinger and thumb of my free hand.
"Oh, Emily, Emily!" she loosed a long, tremulous sigh, "I've ... wanted you to do that for ... so long."
"Sh, kid," I intoned. "Just lay back and enjoy it. Relax."
And then, as I was kneeling there, I felt Joe press against me--back there. I interrupted my pleasure long enough to look back at him and ask: "What are you going to do, Joe?"
"Never mind," he grinned. "Like you told Kathy ... just relax and enjoy yourself. Get back to your ... relaxation, because ... the more you bend the easier it'll be."
I did as he told me, wondering vaguely if he had in mind what I thought he might have. Seconds later I found out! "Oh, lordie! lordie!" I all but screamed as he drove himself all the way with one rapacious action! He didn't move then, just left things there, resting quietly. I had fallen against Kathy and she was nibbling my ear, whispering obscene little messages of encouragement and carnal glee.
And then the pain subsided; I relaxed, began again to tend to Kathy's erect nipples. Joe began moving then-ever so slowly. Weird litle minglings of dull pain and ecstatic pleasure united and waves of gooseflesh rippled through my flanks and up across my back.
"Are you glad you came, Emily?" Joe grunted the question to me between clenched teeth.
"Yes, yes, Joe!" I answered him. "This is what I've been needing for ... oh, oh ... for so-o-o-o long."
I closed my eyes ... and enjoyed! I could hear the waves lapping the beach ... and Phil (like the waves) attending to Kathy ... and moist sounds ... back there.
Suddenly I felt Kathy grow rigid-her face began to twitch and her lips pulled back over her teeth grotesquely.
"Oh, Emily, Emily! I'm going to ... oh, Emily ... kiss me. Oh, o, o, o!"
I put my lips to hers; her tongue parted my lips frantically and quivered into my mouth like some injured reptile seeking the darkness of its lair; I reached down and, catching hold of Phil, treated him as I had treated Joe in the water earlier; Joe's movements quickened, tightened, and seconds later he grew in size and I felt the effusion of his love spewing home.
And then-everything sort of broke loose. In a wild, untrammelled way we began to play silly games, became rather antic-drunk: rode pigaback, wrestled, had sand fights, swam, laughed 'till we fell, and then, to cap everything, we joined in a sensual foursome that didn't terminate for at least forty five wild minutes. And then:
"Hey, it's a quarter 'till two! The ship leaves in fifteen minutes!" Joe's shouted warning sent us scrambling for our clothes. And I still blush when I think about what a sorry spectacle we must have made boarding that ship: sand in our hair, shirts and blouses unbuttoned, giggling and shouting like four moon-struck maniacs.
And that-"moonlight cruise"-was the beginning of what Kathy euphemistically calls "our great adventure". But in my book (in this book) I have more realistically given it the name: Lust, Laughs, and Miss-Adventure.
CHAPTER THREE
The boys dropped us off at our motel at 4:30 in the morning; by then the drinks (and what was in them) had worn off and I was beginning to feel the inevitable pangs of remorse and shame. Kathy, too, was unusually quietit was obvious that she felt pretty low also. Joe and Phil, though, were still full of energy and enthusiasm.
"I'll tell you what, girls. Phil and I have a littie ... business deal to take care of down in Ensenada, Mexico. We could all grab a few hours shut-eye ... and then head down there together. C'mon," Joe urged, noticing our reluctance. "Don't be such dead-heads. We'll have a ball down there-and it's only a three hour drive."
"We're not dead-heads, Joe. It's just that ... well...."
"I know, I know. The stuff has worn off and you're all tore up about our little beach party. Right?"
"Not exactly tore up, Joe. But Kathy and I have never...."
"We've never behaved like that before!" Kathy interrupted vehemently.
"Then you don't want to go with us, eh?" Joe looked a bit disgusted as he said this; Phil though he remained quiet, looked terribly disappointed.
"Tell you what," I said. "Leave us a number where we can reach you. We'll get some sleep first, and then ... if we do decide to go, we'll call you."
Joe scratched a number on the back of a card, handed it to me, smiled, shrugged, spun on his heel and left. Phil shot us a parting smile, and said, "Hope you decide to come along."
"What d'you think, Emily? Shall we go with them?" Kathy, as we were undressing for bed, asked me while she yawned sleepily.
"We'll see, kid," I yawned in return. "Let's sleep on it." And I crawled between the sheets with a tired sigh, scarcely feeling Kathy as she climbed in behind me and snuggled against me.
How long we slept I don't remember. But I do remember dreaming: weird, shadowy dreams, full of strange men and stranger women. And then I had a nice dream. There was a man-a tall slim stranger-bending over me and gently kissing my breasts. I was holding his head, pulling him against me-and he had soft, long, wavy hair. And then I awakened with a start, and found ... Kathy. She was lolling one of my nipples with her tongue and drawing circles around my other with her finger; she was moaning softly and trembling quite violently.
"Kathy, Kathy!" I whispered, stroking her hair. "Oh, that feels so very good. Please don't stop."
"I just had to, Emily," she whispered, pausing for a moment. "I woke up ... and saw you there ... sleeping so peacefully ... you looked so sweet ... so desirable ... oh, Emily I do love you so very much."
And with that confession something seemed to snap within her ... something arcane and animal. She threw off our covers and, bending low, began to kiss my feet ... my calves ... my thighs ... my navel ... and then....
"Kathy! What are you doing? Do'you think you should, Kathy? I mean ... I mean ... oh, Kathy! Yes! Yes! Yes! I know you should! But come here ... turn around and ... yes ... oh, Kathy ... I...." and then I became, as it were, flesh muted.
We dallied long at our "fun and games", playing with the naivete of adolescents, searching for ever fonder and more ingenious ways to prolong and enhance our titilations. It was all sweetness and tenderness and gladness-and when it was over there was no remorse. We felt refreshed mentally and physically! It was as if some long strain had finally been removed. We showered together, laughing and tittering like mischevious children.
"I've wanted that for so long, Emily," Kathy told me later, as we were dressing.
"So have I," I admitted. "But aren't you aware of the implications, Kathy?"
"You mean ... lesbian implications? Because if you do ... you're way off base."
"No," I smiled at her look of wide-eyed seriousness. "I mean bisexual implications. The fact that we enjoy men so thoroughly ... and then can turn around and enjoy each other ... the head-shrinkers and experts on matters sexual would call us bi-sexuals."
"So, we're bi-sexuals, then," she shrugged and grinned. "Might as well make the most of it. Why don't you call Joe and tell him we'll go with them to Ensenada? Sounds like it might be a real fun scene."
"Fine. I'm glad you mentioned it, because I was just thinking the same thing."
"But I've been wondering, Emily. What sort of business deal d'you think they've got down there?"
"Who knows?" I shrugged. "Maybe monkey business."
* * *
We checked into the Sonata hotel in Ensenada, and Joe rather surprised me when he took two rooms. I had more or less expected we'd all room together-after that initiation romp at Catalina.
"Girls need their privacy," he remarked as he opened our door and handed me the key. "Our room's right across the hall from yours. I ... ah ... don't know about you, but I feel like freshening up a bit after that long drive down. We'll ... er ... all go down for drinks and dinner in about ... an hour. That suit you girls?"
"Fine, fine," Kathy beamed; I nodded, sensing that Joe was under some sort of tension.
We waited for them in our room-rather restlessly-for about 30 minutes; then, deciding we'd wait for them down in the lobby (where Kathy'd spied what she termed "the most darling bell-hop ever"), we crossed the hall to knock on their door.
"What in the world's all that commotion?" Kathy whispered, grabbing my arm in alarm. I looked up over their door-the transom was open, and from within came a cacophony of unusual sounds: raspy breathing, and what sounded like subdued squeals of pain.
"That little end-table," I whispered to Kathy and pointed at a table beside our door. "Let's pull it over here and stand on it. I want to know just what the dickens is going on in there."
We pulled it over; I got up on it first and then pulled Kathy up beside me. We looked through the smoke-smudged transom at the same time and-at the same time-grabbed each other in dumbfounded shock and surprise.
They were standing in the middle of the room; they were locked in a passionate embrace, kissing and fondling one another excitedly; they were dressed in women's clothes!
"Good lord, Emily!" Kathy's whisper was so loud I was afraid they'd hear-but no, they were involved to the extent that it probably would've taken a bomb to disturb them.
Joe, that big masculine, hairy-chested surfer, was wearing woman's black lace panties, a garter-belt and nylons, high-spiked heels and-last but not least-a brassiere that was evidently stuffed with toilet-tissue. Phil was completely dressed: skirt and sweater, hose and high-heels ... and he had a red ribbon tied in his hair.
Joe had pulled Phil's skirt up and was reaching up under it, fondling him. Phil kept kissing Joe on the face and neck-and they were both panting like crazy and making all kinds of weird sounds; Phil, indeed, was whimpering like a whipped puppy. We watched them-nonplussed! Suddenly Phil shoved Joe away and, laughing strangely, pulled off his belt: a wide, patent-leather thing that went out of style years ago.
"What's he going to do, Emily?" Kathy hissed.
"Sh!" I cautioned her. "Don't talk, Kathy, just watch."
"Okay, doll," she replied; and then I felt her lift my skirt and reach for me with a searching finger; I parted my thighs slightly to oblige and then reached for her skirt, worked it up, implemented a probing search of my own.
Phil was glaring at Joe malignantly, and suddenly, lashing out with that patent-leather belt, he struck Joe a resounding whack across the hips. Joe's eyes rolled and he let out a short, harsh grunt of pleasure. And then: whack! whack! whack! three more blows he delivered in rapid succession to the unflinching Joe Sands.
"Oh, Josephine, baby!" Phil suddenly cried and, dropping the belt, flew into Joe's arms, where, thrusting against him, he began to undulate like a belly-dancer.
"Yeah, Phillis! Yeah! That's it dear!" Joe's harsh voice sounded incongruous and foolish uttering those feminine words of endearment.
And then Phil dropped to the floor like a fallen sparrow where, arching, he drew his skirt up. Moments later Joe had dropped too (panties and all). And the two of them duplicated zealously the scene Kathy and I had so enjoyably performed shortly before. Watching, avidly, we caressed one another ardently-until, observing the two men below us as they achieved their peak, we achieved ours! Mine was short, rather weak, but so good! Kathy, however, seemed to be in the throes of a most uncommon treat; her eyes bugged, her nose twitched, and her tongue flew out the side of her mouth in a most extraordinary fashion. I dropped down off the table-but Kathy stood there for some time: eyes closed, hips describing jerky little north and south bumps, throat corded in tension.
"C'mon, kid, get down," I whispered imperatively. "We'll have to take a shower now before we meet the boys."
She nodded weakly, got down slowly, and said, "Boy, am I hungry!"
We had just finished dressing again after our shower when we heard the boys knock.
"Let's go, let's go," Joe urged eagerly. "Phil and I are hungry enough to eat a horse."
"Or to turn cannibal," Kathy quipped as she opened the door.
"What was that?" Joe grinned, looking at Kathy through half closed lids.
"Oh, nothing. I meant to say we're starved too."
"Swell, swell!" Joe rubbed his big hands together and nodded. "And after we eat ... there are some people I want you two to meet. Real fine people, eh, Phil?"
"What? Oh! Oh, yeah. Real fine people is right!"
CHAPTER FOUR
We all ate like we hadn't eaten for a week: big, thick steaks, baked potatoes with cheese sauce, salads loaded with dressing, garlic-toast, coffee, dessert, after dinner drinks. The works! And then, piling in Phil's car, he drove us to the outskirts of town-pulling up and parking in front of a lavish looking house.
"Everybody out," Joe said. "The people who own this place are friends of ours ... and business associates." He looked meaningfully at Phil, grinned ironically, and added, "This way we can mix business with pleasure."
"Yeah," Phil agreed tersely. "Business with pleasure is sure the word for it."
We walked up to a very ornate and gothic entrance, Joe pushed a button, a dark, swarthy looking Mexican answered the door and his face lit up in a pleased smile of recognition when he saw Joe and Phil.
"Ah! Joe! Phil! Come in, come in!" he greeted them, without the slightest trace of accent. Glancing at Kathy and myself (a quick, darting surveillance, but one that took in everything), he said, "And I see you've brought some lovely ladies. Wonderful! What a pleasant surprise."
Joe introduced us to him. His name was Manuel Soto, and his manner was terribly charming-almost chivalrous. He wasn't, by any means, a good looking man ... but there was something about him that I found unusually attractive. He led us down a long, dimly lit hall, into a spacious, high beamed room; the room was furnished in perfect taste: a gracious version of Spanish Meditteranean with contemporary overtones.
"Please sit down, all of you," Mr. Soto waved us to chairs. "I'll go tell Danny you're here. Pour yourselves some of that excellent sherry in the meantime."
He left the room, moving as lightly as a gazelle. Joe got us all glasses and poured them to the brim with the sherry. "Excellent sherry is an understatement," Joe winked portentously at me and raised his glass. "Well, drink up everybody. Here's to a ... satisfying consummation of our business ... and to the four of us."
We drank. The sherry was good; I felt it all the way down-ambient and smooth as silk, it raised my morale immediately.
"Who's Danny?" Kathy whispered hoarsely.
"Danny?" Joe shot an amused glance at Phil. "Danny owns this place ... and one hell of a lot more! This is only his town house. His ... business has made him one of the richest men in Baja California."
"And what is his ... business?" I asked, raising my eyebrows and staring at Joe.
"Well...," Joe hesitated, shrugged, looked uneasy.
"You might say he's a movie producer," Phil supplied, looking terribly pleased with himself.
"Oh!" I nodded at Phil. "And what kind of ... movies does he produce?"
"Sex movies, my dear. Sex movies," a sonorous voice at the end of the room startled me.
He was short, broad as the proverbial barn, and as ugly a man as I've ever seen. He walked to the center of the room, put his hands on his hips, looked at us (stared at us), first me, then Kathy, then back at me again. "Nice. Damned nice!" he nodded slightly, not cracking a smile. Joe and Phil had jumped up when he first spoke.
"Hi, Danny. You're looking great," Joe beamed.
"Yeah, yeah. You look real good, Danny," Phil parroted Joe.
"Nonsense!" the fat man grimaced. "I was born ugly and I'll die ugly." Then he turned his thick head slowly-like a pig on a spit-and looked at Kathy and me again.
"But these young ladies ... their beauty lights up this room like the soft light from candles."
"That's Emily. Emily Townsend," Joe nodded, indicating me. "And the blonde is Kathy Blake. Meet Danny Toya, girls," Joe waved, rather theatrically, at the ugly fat man.
"Well...," he drew out the word and blinked his small eyes rapidly, "it's fortunate for me that you people arrived just now. Manuel was getting ready to run my latest movie ... it should be a corker. And it's so much more entertaining when one has guests to ... share his pleasure."
He waddled to a far wall, pulled a cord; a curtain drew aside exposing a good sized movie screen. Manuel in the company of a slim, dark-skinned girl (evidently a maid) walked in and sat near us.
"Oh, Joe," our host spoke up. "would you be good enough to pour us all a generous glassful of my sherry ... nothing better than sherry ... especially this very rare and very ... stimulating sherry ... to put one in the mood for ... ultimate enjoyment."
"Sure thing, Danny. And I agree," Joe nodded vigorously and widened his eyes, "there's absolutely nothing like your sherry to ... put a person in a good mood."
I sat back and relaxed, sipping the wine slowly, enjoying the flushing warmth it imparted from throat to stomach. But my mind was far from relaxed. Questions, contradictory questions and contradictory answers, kept buzzing through my head. What was this set-up?-who were these people?-what kind of business dealings could they possibly have with Joe?
What was it with Joe and Phil?-their dressing like women?-Phil whipping Joe as he had? I had heard of transvestites. Were they ... in that category?-or were they-like Kathy and myself-only bisexual? And now ... this strange, smooth talking, ugly, fat man ... and his movie-making. What were we about to witness? I began to wish we'd never left Bakersfield ... and then ... like a switch ... my mind sort of ... turning off ... and I felt ... that feathery feeling ... that precedes ... sexual excitement. And I knew ... calmly ... that our sherry was ... drugged.
"Ah, yes. Now is everyone quite comfortable? If so, we'll start the movie," and with his last words our host pushed a button with a pudgy finger and the room was plunged in darkness. Then the buzzing whirr of a camera began and the screen lit up.
-LATIN LUST-
The title glimmered briefly-and then the show began. And if I lived to be a million I couldn't begin to describe the whole sequence of events with any accuracy. I immediately recognized the setting, though-it was the very room we were sitting in. The characters, naturally, were all strangers to me. There were several Mexican men and women, a Japanese girl, and several Americans (of both sexes). The movie was, as I had suspected it would be, a stag movie. I had seen one before, when I was sixteen or seventeen-but this one made that one seem pale and insignificant. All the characters were attractive, the women young and shapely, the men virile and ... large. It was a sound movie; the dialogue was quite provocative, the background music extremely sensual and gratifying. I felt myself growing unbearably lusty-hoping no one would notice (or hear), I slowly worked my skirt up and began to caress myself.
Moments later, my ministrations beginning to make wet slippery sounds, I stole a quick look around the room to see if anyone was watching me.
"Good lord!" I gasped aloud.
Joe and Phil had ... liberated themselves, and were exchanging fond caresses; the dark Mexican, Manuel Soto, had done the same, and the maid was toying with him. But what a toy!!! Never, not in my most lascivious day-dreams or night-dreams, had I dreamt that a man-a mere human being-could possess such amazing proportions! There was just no end of him! It was simply ... words fail me ... magnificent! I swallowed hard, resisting a powerful urge to leap from my chair and descend on that immeasurable weapon!
Our host, who was sitting closest to me, was slouched low in his chair, fondling a most inadequate ... situation with two fingers of one pudgy little hand; his ugly features were working feverishly; he closed one eye in a ridiculous wink when he saw me watching him.
Kathy, different than the rest of us, had opened her blouse, unfastened her brassiere, and was sedulously playing with her own nipples-tuning them in like radio dials. Her skirt was hiked up; she was low in her chair and her lovely thighs were opening and closing, like a butterfly preening itself in the sun.-
Suddenly the movie stopped and the lights snapped on. I didn't stop my attempt at self relief (I couldn't stop!). Glancing around, I was relieved and pleased to see that no one even seemed to notice the lights were on; everyone persisted in their personal "activities". Our host rose, grinning grotesquely, that short little avenger of his protruding humorously, and said, "Why don't we all ... get together? Make it a party?"
That's all I needed! With a low moan that rather embarrassed me, I leaped to my feet and hurried across the room to that swarthy Mexican, Manuel. The maid, who was by now half undressed (she was awfully thin, built for speed), was lavishing timorous kisses on Manuel's ... magnificence. I brushed her aside roughly (surprising myself again) and took hold of things in both hands, cooing softly as I caressed the full stature of that amazing and lust-inspiring implement.
"That's most pleasant," his thin lips widened in a smile. "But Maria was there first ... in the name of fair play I think the two of you should share."
"Si Senorita," the maid's voice hissed in my ear. "You mus be fair weeth me, eh?"
"Okay, okay," I snapped. "Come on then, there's enough here for both of us."
But then Joe came up and grabbed Maria. "C'mon, dark one," he grinned. "I want my friend to enjoy herself completely. You and me'll entertain ourselves ... and watch them."
Facing him, my skirt off now, I said, "Mind if I sort of ... sit down on...."
"Please do," he interjected. "But be very careful ... I'm considered to be unusually...."
"Yes, you are!" I cut him off. I straddled his lap, facing him; then, ever so slowly, and with innumerable pauses to catch my breath and to condition myself to so much, I lowered myself. Once there, all there, I loosed a long tremendous sigh of relief and pleasure and, resting there, unbuttoned my blouse and pulled up my brassiere.
"Inspiring! Like two ripe melons!" he hissed; bending forward eargerly he began to nuzzle my breasts, encircling my nipples with the tip of his wet tongue. Sitting there, engulfing all that fleshy pride of his, I looked around at the others through heavy-lidded eyes.
Phil had Kathy bent over the arm of the chair that our host was slumped in; she was, without any trouble, I'm sure, nibbling away there; Phil was advancing from the rear (I wondered, idly, if Kathy enjoyed such unorthodox treatment). Joe and the maid, Maria, were bent like two eager pretzels; the maid's thin shanks had Joe locked securely, his face was red as a beet from the strain. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds around me: moist, rapid sounds. And as I raised myself a bit, feeling the need for movement, I caught the redolent miasma of rutting men and libating women: the pungent odor of fresh lobster ... and the sea at low tide.
This is good, I told myself. Maybe I'll hate myself tomorrow ... but, what the hell ... the way I feel right now ... there's no tomorrow. And after all ... we wanted adventure.
CHAPTER FIVE
But "tomorrow" always comes! And when it comes! What a headache! And sore! Everywhere! I felt as if every bone and muscle in my body were wrenched and pulled. Kathy was a mess too. I got up, slowly, to head for the shower, and walking past the chest-of-drawers I caught a flash of green out of the corner of my eye. I stopped, looked, gasped in amazement.
"What's wrong?" Kathy sat up, her eyes wide with fright.
"I ... I don't know," I stammered. And then I picked up the pile and thumbed through it, counting it with shaking fingers. Money! Ten one hundred dollar bills!
"Where'd all that money come from, Emily?" Kathy's eyes were still wide-but with wonder now.
"I don't know ... unless...," I paused, getting just a glimmer of truth.
"Unless what?" Kathy urged.
"Unless ... when Joe and Phil put us to bed last night ... they left it here."
"But why would they do that? Why would they leave us a thousand dollars?"
"I'm not sure," I said, shaking my head slowly. "But I have a sneaking hunch that ... well, before I venture any more guesses I'd better ask them."
Slipping into a robe, I crossed the hall and knocked on their door; moments later a sleepy eyed Phil opened the door and grinned at me.
"Hi, gorgeous," he mumbled thickly. "What the heller you doing up so early?"
"All that money in our room, Phil," I ignored his question. "Where did it come from? Who does it belong to?"
"Belongs to you, honey ... and Kathy. Danny ... paid it to you. Didn't you know?" he chuckled and snorted. "You cats are movie stars now."
"You mean...?"
"Yeah," he nodded, grinning foolishly. "That scene we made last night is all on film. Except for Danny's part in it. He always has his action cut out. Bet that's the quickest five hundred you ever made, eh?"
I didn't answer him. I just stood there staring at him. And then, hearing Kathy call out, I turned away and walked back to our room.
"Well...," Kathy was sitting up, still wide-eyed. "What did you find out?"
I told her; she turned white as the sheets; tears brimmed in her eyes; she said, "Oh, those dirty, mercenary bastards!" and fell back on the bed, sobbing as if her heart were broken.
"Hold it, hold it, Kathy," I dropped to the bed beside her and stroked her hair. "It isn't the end of the world. They'll probably never show those movies in the States. C'mon. I can't bear to see you cry like that. What the heck ... we'll just go ahead and put that thousand to good use ... have a real vacation. Tell you what ... let's catch a plane and fly down to one of those romantic little Mexican villages. What was the name of that one? San Bias? Yes, that was it. We'll fly down there and have ourselves a real ball. Get tan, eat the best food, do anything we want. Okay, Kathy?"
She looked up at me, all red-eyed and teary, and nodded. And something about that look-the meek defenseless of it-evoked an immediate response in me: waves of tenderness overwhelmed me and I unbuttoned her pajama tops and buried my head between her breasts.
"Kiss them, Emily ... my nipples," she whispered, a sob breaking.
I complied, feeling almost compelled to inundate her with tenderness; soon, all too soon, we were wrapped up in each other, cocoon-like, and what had happened to us the night before was past and forgotten ... like some long extinguished fire. Everything was now! We gloried in each other, giving, taking, kissing, receiving kisses, stroking, being stroked. And then, after what must have been an interminable time, but seemed pitifully short, we reached our first mutual peak. The buds of exotic flowers sprang open where only flesh had reigned before and the sweetest libations I had ever known made me gurgle in lust-rapt ecstacy. We knew each other then, with a true true knowledge and familiarity-the familiarity of imbibed chemistry ... shared.
An hour and a half later Kathy and I, as unobstrusively as possible, left the hotel and, hailing a taxi, told the driver to take us to the American Consulate. (To make a long story short, we wanted information regarding visas and anything else that might be necessary for a trip to San Bias, Mexico.) And we got it. We were told where to obtain visas and told also that we would have to take several shots (for tropical diseases, typhoid, etc.). We did this, and some three hours later we climbed aboard an Aronaves De Mexico plane. We were off! And we both heaved a sigh of relief as the plane circled and headed south, for we'd got-, ten out of town without having to face Joe and Phil (something we'd both been dreading the thought of).
"I'll bet those crums are still sleeping," Kathy commented, almost gaily. And then she added, pursing her lips in a fashion that made me smile, "If we got five hundred dollars apiece for that deal last night ... I wonder how much Joe and Phil got?"
"Who are Joe and Phil?" I quipped. "Don't you mean ... Josephine and Philhs?"
* * *
It wasn't five minutes after we'd taken off that Kathy turned to me and quietly said, "Have you noticed that there is only one other passenger aboard?"
"Yes, I was just going to make the same comment," I nodded. "But I suppose...."
"Excuse me, ladies," a man, evidently the co-pilot, emerged from the cabin and interrupted me. "We are having a bit of engine trouble. Now if you'll remain calm ... I'll assist you in putting on these parachutes."
"Parachutes!" Kathy shouted, jumping up. "You mean we might crash?"
"Please ... no questions. I'm only obeying the pilot's orders. Now stand up, both of you. I'll assist you with the harness and show you the rip-cord and how it works."
There was something in his tone that made us comply promptly. He slipped the parachute straps over our shoulders, Kathy first, and then buckled them around our legs.
"Now this," he grabbed our hands as he spoke and placed them on metal rings, "is the rip-cord. You count to six ... after jumping clear of the plane, and pull hard on this ring. Understand?"
I nodded. Kathy nodded and then blurted, "But you talk as if we were going to jump for sure ... m-maybe the engine trouble will c-clear up." She sounded scared stiff; her fright began to communicate itself to me. He ignored her; beckoning to the lone passenger, an older man with a thick, bushy beard, he moved to the door of the plane and opened it; the shriek of the wind was frightening; Kathy edged up close to me and I put an arm around her.
"H-how come he isn't putting a parachute on?" Kathy nodded towards the bearded man.
Then a voice came over a speaker: "Okay, we're right over the ranch! Out with them!"
"What!" I gasped, a mumbling fear clutching at my throat; Kathy grabbed me, trembling violently and beginning to sob.
Then they descended on us-the co-pilot and the bearded man-and propelled us toward the open door.
"No, no, no!" Kathy moaned in abject fear as the bearded man tore her away from me. And then-a shove, and she was gone! a second or two later I was following her. The air hit me like a bank of sand; for a moment I was breathless; then, I counted-fast-and pulled the rip-cord at the count of six. Crack! I heard the chute open above me and, simultaneously, I was jerked like a puppet at the end of a string. I looked up, saw the billowing whiteness above me and sighed with relief. Then, fear stabbing me, I looked down and ... relaxed. There she was, far below me, drifting in the same direction I was: towards a large open field that appeared to be lined with trees. And in the trees, near the end of the field, away from where we were drifting, I caught a glimpse of a house and barn; then, suddenly, the ground seemed to be rushing up to meet me.
Thud! I lit rather hard, but immediately, rolled over on my side; the parachute came billowing down over me. I stood up, fighting to get loose from the thing's volumonous folds, and I heard a car pull up, a door open and slam, and then an all too familiar voice said, "Take it easy, blue-eyes. I'll help you if you just don't fight it." And soon, uncovered, I was staring into the unblinking eyes of Joe Sands.
"You!" I gasped. "How did you get here? How ... what ... what is all this?" And then I spun around, looking for Kathy, and saw her walking towards us, some distance away. And Phil Denton was walking beside her!
CHAPTER SIX
Joe explained, as we drove towards the house at the far end of the field:
"The hotel clerk called us and said he'd seen you leave with your bags. We figured you had hi-tailed it to the airport-so we found what flight you were on ... called Danny ... who owns the airport ... and he arranged to have you ... dropped off ... above his ranch. In the meantime, Danny flew us down here in his private plane ... a fast little sportster. Now why don't you kids just relax and enjoy yourselves. You'll like this ranch. It has everything! You'll find Danny is ... more than generous ... so long as you don't cross him."
I was furious, but I kept my mouth shut. And I was frightened. Why were they going to so much trouble for us? Kathy voiced my thoughts.
"What do you want with us? Why've you gone to all this trouble ... getting us shoved out of that plane and everything? That was a damn fool thing to do! We could've been killed."
"To tell you the truth, I really don't know what Danny's got up his sleeve." Joe shrugged, giving the wheel a wrench to avoid running over what looked like a man and a woman in the weeds. "Maybe he wants to shoot a ... special movie with you kids in it. But that doesn't figure," he shook his head. "Because Danny can get all the broads he wants right here at Spanish Fly. Oh," he grinned. "Spanish Fly's the name of this ranch ... very appropriate, too."
"Could be," Phil spoke up, "that Danny's gone on one of you," and Joe glanced quickly at me.
As we neared the house, I saw what Joe meant about the place being adequately supplied with women. They were everywhere! Sunning themselves in bikinis, doing exercises beside a large swimming pool. My eyes bugged and I did a quick retake as we passed a tennis court-two lovely girls were on the court-stark naked and tan as indians-and one of them was administering to herself with ... a tennis racket.
"What kind of a ranch is this?" Kathy asked, her chin trembling.
"You'll find out later," Joe nodded. "But let me give both of you a word of warning. If you cooperate and ... play your cards right, you'll enjoy yourselves here ... and profitably, too. But if you get any ideas about ... running off ... before Danny's through with you ... you'll regret it, believe me."
And with those grim words ringing in my ears, Joe pulled up abruptly and parked.
"Here we are," Phil's laconic statement was accompanied by a twisted smile. (And suddenly, for no logical reason, I felt a distinct antipathy for Phil Denton.)
We followed the boys up a curving front walk to a really massive porch. Two men and two terribly young girls (one obviously an American) were sitting in deckchairs near the door; it was only when we passed quite close to them, and I automatically nodded and smiled, that I noticed the men were ... exposed.
One of them smiled broadly at me, and then glanced down meaningfully at his ... exposure.
"Good lord!" I heard Kathy utter the disgusted surd. "Are all the characters here sex fiends or something?"
"Quite the contrary, my dear, quite the contrary," I heard the familiar sonorous tones of Danny Toya, and looked up to see his squat body and ugly face framed in the doorway at the top of a short flight of stairs. "Let's just say that some of my guests are rather enthusiastic about using our ... facilities." And then he looked at me-hard, and said, "Welcome, ladies, to Spanish Fly. Now if you'll follow me, I'll escort you to your room. After you've relaxed and ... freshened up a bit . J. we'll have someone give you a tour of the ranch. I'm certain you'll find it interesting and ... unique." He rubbed his fat palms together. "I'm justly proud of what we've built here at Spanish Fly. I'm sure you girls will find our facilities ... most satisfying."
Leaving Joe and Phil at the door, we followed the fat man down a long, dimly lit hall that was lined with doors. "Like a hotel," Kathy whispered, grabbing my hand.
"But quite different, really," our host turned his head slowly and smiled. "I like to think of Spanish Fly as a ... health farm. We all take regular exercise. Eat the best food. Take therapeutic doses of vitamins. Most of us are deeply tanned." He stopped before a large, oaken door, opened it with a flourish, and said, "This will be your room while you're here. Feel free to wander about ... to come and go as you please. Oh, yes," he snapped his pudgy thumb and finger. "Your luggage will be here in a day or two. In the meantime ... I think you'll find some things in the closets that will fit you." He nodded, smiled mechanically, turned and walked off.
The room was sumptuous! Furnished in a heavy Spanish style, the ceiling was beamed and the floors carpeted with resilent wool that was richly brocaded. The bed was absolutely gigantic! There were several oils on the walls, depicting traditional Spanish themes. But on one wall, with a soft light illuminating it, was the most exciting and masterfully painted nude I had ever seen. The subject was a tall, lithe Spanish girl, with flesh tones of uncomparable viability and with a look of utter carnality stamped on her lovely features; indeed she had the look of one in the spastic throes of an uncommonly powerful orgasm. And her skin was blue!
"Some painting, eh?" Kathy echoed my thoughts.
Opening the closets, we found clothes of every size and description-all of very fine quality. There were gowns from Paris, shoes from London, droves of pocketbooks from Mexico and South America. Everything terribly chic, terribly exclusive. Kathy fairly purred as she slipped into a gorgeous white-sable fur.
"Hey, I think I'm going to like this place, Emily," she spun around, hugging the coat to her and making her eyebrows dance.
"Let's shower and dress," I said. "I'm awfully curious to tour this ... Spanish Fly."
The bathroom was a sheer dream! All in pink, mosaic tile, the tub was sunken, and there was every kind of bath-salt, body-lotion and imported perfume imaginable! We luxuriated; after the terror of being shoved out of an airplane, the hot water was soothingly welcome. I had the strangest feeling, though ... as if someone were watching us. I suppose that's why, when Kathy's eyelids grew slightly heavy and she edged over to me in the tub, I politely ignored her-pretending to be engrossed in bathing myself. I wanted her-sharply. But the feeling that someone might be watching us wasn't to my taste ... not then.
We had barely finished dressing when someone rapped softly on our door. I opened it, and when I saw who it was I felt a curiously pleasant drawing sensation between my thighs.
"Oh! You! Manuel. Manuel Soto," I felt stupidly tongue-tied and inhibited.
"Yes, Emily. May I come in?"
"Oh! Yes. Sure. Please do," I stepped aside for him, feeling light-headed and-somehow comparatively safe to know that he was with us. I liked him; not just for his outstanding physical qualifications (though they pleased me, I must admit), but because he seemed tranquil, relatively free from egotistical strain. In plain words, he seemed natural.
He nodded politely at Kathy, looked briefly around the room, and said, "If you ladies are ready, Mr. Toya has asked me to show you the place."
"Oh, wonderful," I said, restraining an urge to grab his arm. "I mean ... I'm glad he chose you to escort us."
"Thank you," he said, all too politely, I thought; I sensed, then, that somehow he wasn't overly pleased at the prospect of showing us around; why, I found out later.
And then I blurted (and why, I don't know), "Manuel, are you all Spanish?"
He looked at me, smiled slightly, and shook his head. "No, my mother was Irish. Now if you'll please follow me, we'll begin by visiting the laboratory." He led us back down that dimly lit, door-lined hall to a large room at the end of it. There were several people sitting around, conversing quietly; their faces, I noticed, were singularly devoid of strain and their very postures suggested composure, sort of an effette pliability. I was to learn why very soon.
"In here, ladies," Manuel opened a door and stood aside for us to pass.
There were three men in the room: two very old men dressed in white smocks, and Danny Toya. The two men were talking and Mr. Toya was listening to them, his fat jowels moving flabbily as he shook his head in agreement. Spying us, he smiled and nodded, passing his little eyes over me in an insolent evaluation.
"Showing them everything, eh, Manuel? Good. And don't forget to give them each an instrument when you take them back to their rooms."
Manuel nodded, looked quickly at me, reddened slightly, and beckoned us to follow him. At the far end of the lab he stopped at a table and picked up a test-tube.
"This blue colored liquid is what we manufacture here at Spanish Fly."
"What is it, some kind of medicine?" Kathy asked him.
"Indirectly ... one might call it a medicine," he nodded. "But perhaps you've heard of it by its slang name in the States."
"Oh, and what's that?" I said.
"Spanish Fly," he answered. "The same as the ranch."
My jaw dropped. "Spanish Fly," I repeated. "But isn't that a dangerous drug?"
"Yes," he nodded grimly. "Very dangerous. Wrongly used, it's quite deadly. But this mixture," he held the tube of blue fluid up before our eyes, "is a stabilized compound ... nontoxic ... non-habit-forming insofar as it is not a narcotic. But to the extent that it makes sex so thoroughly enjoyable and satisfying ... it does have a tendency to become habit-forming.
Those people we passed on the way in here ... perhaps you noticed how relaxed they looked."
I nodded. "Yes, I noticed them."
He looked at me, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he went on. "Their look of absolute relaxation ... euphoria, it's called . .Vis a result of an almost continuous use of this compound. Sexually stimulated to a degree that would normally be impossible, they indulge themselves numerous times every day and night."
"But ... how can they stand up to it?" Kathy asked, wide-eyed. "I mean ... the men ... how can they...?"
"They are given a monthly injection of serum extracted from the gonads of monkeys. We all take large doses of hi-potency vitamins, especially vitamin E. We all exercise. None of us waste our strength working-there are nonusers that do that. And the men here ... you'll find ... are extremely ... er ... well-developed. Perhaps you remember me ... last night."
"Yes, I do," I nodded, feeling my face grow hot.
"The reason for that is simple," he went on. "It's the same principle as, for instance, developing an arm muscle. One uses his arm a great deal ... it becomes larger and harder. Well...."
"Yes," I smiled weakly, "I understand."
"Would you like a bit of this before we go on?" he held the tube out, lifting his eyebrows politely.
"No, thanks!" Kathy and I chorused.
"Oh! Really? Well," he paused, shrugged. "No matter. You'll get it here in everything you eat and drink. You'll absorb a great deal of it before you leave Spanish Fly."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Following Manuel, quite shaken at his words about the drug being in all the food and drink, I became aware that he himself was different than the rest of the ... guests.
"Manuel," I asked him, as he showed us the pool area, "Aren't you a ... non-user?"
He shot me a quick look, then turned his eyes away and said, "No, I use cantherides ... that's the technical name for Spanish Fly ... but I only use it on occasions," his eyes met mine again. "Like last night."
"But why?" I persisted. "These people appear to be quite happy and serene ... so utterly relaxed," I made a motion with my head towards a sleepy old man with a smile on his face.
"Yes," Manuel nodded. "But it's my personal feeling that one shouldn't become ... too serene or satisfied. One loses his aggressiveness ... his desire to accomplish. Danny feels the same way about it. We both use cantherides with discretion. Our food is not prepared with ... the rest. We eat alone in our rooms most of the time."
"But what pays for all this?" I asked him. "How can a ranch like this make a profit?"
"Very simple," Manuel smiled. "Look over there ... at that threesome. And notice the man with the movie-camera. He's a non-user."
There were two men and a young (a very youngl) girl. The men were embracing-kissing, pawing at one another passionately; the young girl was swatting their behinds, first one and then the other, with a slim willow-switch and she had a strange knobby looking device in her other hand with which she was stroking herself rhythmically.
"Some threesome!" Kathy commented wryly.
"Movies of such events are being made nearly all the time here. They are sold all over the world-but mostly in South America and in the Orient."
"Thank goodness," Kathy whispered.
"So you see, the ranch is really self-sustaining. Everyone earns his own keep, so to speak."
We went on. There were steam-rooms, sunlamp rooms, a library filled with pornographic books and magazines, a projection-room, where lewd movies played continuously (and the viewers "played" continuously). There were two lavishly equipped bars: the bartender in one of them was a blond kid-he was naked as a jay bird and so "well developed" and firm that I wondered what he did with everything when he dressed. There was an art gallery filled with the most amazing paintings-all oils depicting perverse sexual themes, most of them brilliantly executed. And then-as if to cap the "tour" Manuel led us to a huge, well-lighted room that had bleachers around the side and soft mats all over the floor in the middle.
"For really special occasions," Manuel observed, rather ironically. "Danny calls this the 'orgy room'. As a matter-of-fact you're in for a treat. Danny has ... imported some young colored boys. I believe the show is scheduled for tomorrow."
"But with all this ... activity," Kathy lifted her eyebrows and made a funny face, "isn't there a problem with...," she paused.
"Pregnancy?" Manuel offered.
"Yes," she nodded. "Isn't there?"
"None whatever. You see the drug has a contraceptive to prevent such accidents. It was thoroughly tested, we've never had it fail yet."
"Hm-m," Kathy hummed. "Seems you've thought of everything here."
"Everything," Manuel nodded.
"Manuel," I said then. "May I ask you what you might regard as an impertinent question?"
"Ask away," he nodded, smiling politely.
"Why are you here? Why don't you leave? Surely this isn't all you want out of life?"
He nodded and grinned, "answering those questions one at a time ... I'm here because Danny brought me out of the slums of Mexico City and practically raised me ... I do intend to leave one day soon ... and no, this isn't all I want out of life."
"Why don't you leave now, Manuel ... and take us with you," I said this quietly.
"No," he shook his head and frowned. "Not now ... not yet ... Danny wouldn't like that. But why do you want to leave so soon?"
"Simply because the place gives me the creeps," I said.
"It simply terrifies me," Kathy added.
Manuel smiled. "It won't soon. Not after you've saturated your system with cantherides. Why don't you just pretend you're in Rome...."
"Do as the Romans do?" I interjected. He nodded and smiled.
"Why don't you?" I poked him playfully in the ribs and winked when his eyes met mine.
Escorting us back to our room (at my request), Manuel stopped in the hall, opened what appeared to be some sort of supply closet, and withdrew two boxes, shoe sized.
"Here, girls," he handed us each one at the door of our room. "These are the ... instruments that Danny told me to give you. You'll find them to be extremely valuable in ... working off extra steam. Feel free to use them at anytime ... anywhere. They're absolutely harmless and ... according to the women ... marvelously satisfying."
He left us then; we went into our room and, naturally curious about the contents of the boxes he'd given us, we opened them.
Kathy laughed out loud. "How silly!" she exclaimed, holding up her instrument. "If they think I'd ever use one of these things, they're just plain goofy."
They were long, thick, ingeniously made. And quite realistic! There was a wire with a plug-in leading from the base-and a switch. Their purpose was self-evident. The plug-in and the switch, though, took a bit of figuring. Evidently one was supposed to flip the switch at ... just the proper moment, to enhance one's climatic sensations. This was only a guess, which later proved to be true.
"Damn it, I'm starved!" Kathy suddenly announced, giving me an apologetic look.
"Me too," I said. "And I smell food cooking out there. It must be about dinner time." '
"Shall we go eat?" Kathy's expression was a ludicrous blend of yes and no.
"Let's," I nodded. "Spanish Fly and all, we've got to eat."
Following the scent, we entered a long, candle-lit room that was filled with little else but tables and chairs. There were twenty five or thirty men and women sitting at them eating; the food looked mouth-watering and my stomach began to churn frighteningly. Hearing a disturbance behind me, I saw Kathy's eyes open wide in disbelief. I turned, and was dumbfounded to see that a man had lifted a woman to his table (sitting her right on his tray of food!) and was attending to her for dear life!
I turned away, feeling waves of nausea pass over me, and stammered, "I guess we'll just have to learn to accept such things."
"How can we?" Kathy mumbled, looking as if she were about to retch, look again," she hissed.
I looked, and saw what Manuel had called a "non-user" busily panning the amorous pair with a movie-camera.
"They don't miss a trick, huh?" Kathy commented distastefully. (And from that moment on, wherever we went on the ranch, I noticed that there was always a "non-user" or two lurking about with a camera ... waiting for some tangent of "action".)
And then our food came, in large metal trays, delivered by an immaculately clad waiter all dressed in white. We dug in, too hungry to care about after-affects. And so good! The most deliciously prepared food I have ever eaten! We eyed the wine suspiciously, though, preferring to quench our thirsts on the iced-water the waiter had brought.
Eating our dessert slowly, enjoying the feeling of repletion after having been so starved, a thrilling little electrical sensation began to trickle through my flanks and up and down the inside of my thighs; I sighed and squirmed.
"You, too?" Kathy said. And I noticed then that her eyes were partially closed and the pupils strangely dilated.
"C'mon, Kathy," I rose, feeling the sensations intensify as I moved. "Let's get back to our room."
We hurried, but each step added maddenly to the lascivious electrical impulses. My limbs grew weak.
"D'you feel ... like little electrical shocks?" I asked Kathy, grabbing her hand and giving her that adolescent signal of vulgarity that connotates sexual readiness.
"Yes, oh, lordie, Emily! I feel like I'm going to ... Oh! Emily! Oh! Oh!" she stopped walking and leaned against the hall wall near our door. Her face twisted into a hideous caricature of ... something ... and she yanked her skirt up and began caressing herself frantically! "Oh! Emily, doll! I'm, I'm-oh, o, o, o, o, o," her hand moved so swiftly it resembled a blur.
I grabbed her other hand and dragged her towards our room; reaching it, throwing the door open, I pulled her in after me, and then, with a cry that didn't sound like me at all, I began tearing off my clothes.
We were at each other like cats on a backyard fence: scratching, digging, biting, yowling! At first our efforts were so uncoordinated and anxious that we didn't really accomplish much. One of us would begin something-some salacious maneuver-only to be thwarted by some whim or impulse of the other. It was a mad, chaotic kind of gladness!-my ears were ringing!-my throat was dry!-sub-human sounds kept welling up from my diaphram. But finally, through sheer exasperation, we settled down to the artful business of solid carnal achievement.
"Those things; Those instruments!" Kathy suddenly cried. "Let's try 'em! Lordie, I need something to reach that ... that itch!"
"Okay, you first," I agreed; rising, we got both of them and plugged them in. "I want to watch you, Kathy." I told her.
She began. Easing it there, slowly, she soon had it hidden from view. What a sight she was! Legs parted, bent at the knees, lying flat on the floor, her breasts pointed at the ceiling and vibrated as she worked. Her mouth kept twitching, her throat was corded in strain, her eyes were mere slits. Her cheeks were drawn taut, and her look, all in all, was of utmost piety-as if she were imprecating some sexual devil to bring her the vastly satisfying reward she sought. And when she began to get it, turning her toes up. sharply and moaning like a banshee, I shouted.
"The switch, Kathy, the switch!"
Somehow she managed to snap it on and ... well, I saw what I saw ... but there is absolutely no describing it! I can only tell what happened when, moments later, I had that instrument where it was made to be ... and J flipped that switch! Ecstacy! Sheer, unadulterated ecstasy! I had an explosion to make all my preceding ones seem paltry and inadequate by comparison! Great throbbing surges of spasmodic current pulsed through my extremities and spastic stars eclipsed as super-novas exploded them into ten-thousand delightful little itches. My abdominal muscles drew into a knot; my thighs convulsed like a speared frog's legs; a hot, flashing liquid seemed to be flowing through my veins; even my teeth and gums received blissful manifestations of voluptuous consummation! But through it all, I heard the droning whirr of a camera grinding away and I felt the most cyprian satisfaction imagineable in knowing that someone else was obtaining pleasure by watching me!
How long we kept going that first evening there is no way of knowing-but I must add that the drug was completely effective in voiding all shame. We indulged our asphrodisiac-induced lust with no more shame than children playing in the mud. Our moral hangovers came later.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I awakened slowly. And I heard, as if from a great distance, a grating sound. I opened my eyes, looking for Kathy. She was-on the floor beside the bed. Sound asleep. And then I recognized that grating sound. Snoring. Deep, heavy snoring. Terror struck me! It wasn't Kathy-she was sleeping peacefully! Someone, then, was evidently in bed with me. I turned, slowly, and looked. "Oh, no!" I said aloud, my voice breaking with fright and revulsion.
It was Danny Toya; his mouth was open, his huge jowels hanging slack as he snored. And he had that look of ... utter satisfaction. I was sickened, nauseated. I rose, as quietly as I could, and crept to the bathroom, where, adjusting the shower water as hot as I could stand it, I climbed in and scrubbed myself thoroughly.
Finishing, drying briskly with a rough towel, I crept back out and began dressing, not daring to wake Kathy until I'd finished.
"Get up, Kathy," I shook her then; she opened her eyes quickly, looking at me with surprise. "You're on the floor," I whispered. "Go take a shower and get dressed. We're going to find Manuel and ask him to show us some way out of this madhouse."
She did as I told her, and some ten minutes later we crept from the room, leaving our fat host to his obscene snoring.
We were some time finding Manuel. Finally one of the inmates told us he was having breakfast. Following our noses (the odor of bacon and eggs and toast was maddening), we found him; he had a huge plate of food in front of him and he was devouring it hungrily.
"Look good?" he indicated the food, shoving a plateful of toast my way.
"No thanks," I said, pushing it back.
"Remorse, eh?" he nodded. "That's too bad ... proves you're not really made for this kind of ... experiment."
"I'll buy that myself," Kathy inserted. "This place is just too much! It's absolutely revolting!"
"Manuel, will you either take us away from here ... or show us how to get out? Please?" my voice was pleading.
He looked at me, chewed his food slowly, swallowed, and said, "I can't. Not yet. Maybe in a few weeks, I'll...."
"A few weeks!" I cut him off. "No, Manuel. We can't ,wait that long. We'd both be ... well...."
"Insane?" he supplied.
"Yes, possibly," I nodded.
"No you won't," he replied quietly. "Cantherides are a marvelous tranquilizer ... or I should say ... the action they inspire is. In a few more days ... a week maybe ... you'll awaken in the morning without the slightest trace of remorse or shame."
"That's what we're afraid of," Kathy affirmed.
"I'm sorry, Emily ... I can't help you now ... not just yet. I'll ... let you know when I can ... but not now. Here comes a waiter with your trays. You might as well make the best of things ... and eat."
So we ate. What could we do? But half way through we had a visitor. Or I should say-J had a visitor. Danny Toya, a bathrobe covering his lardy bulk, walked up to me, still sleepy-eyed, and said, "That was most stimulating, Emily. I just might have to put you on a non-user's diet ... and keep you all to myself. I don't know when I've had a more enjoyable session." And with that repulsive news he turned and waddled away.
That did it. I lost my appetite. I gagged. My eyes watered. I swallowed repeatedly to keep from throwing up. Manuel shoved a mug of coffee towards me and said, "Drink this," and I did, downing it in several hasty gulps.
Moments later (yes, only moments!) I felt the unmistakable tricklings of lust began to warm me.
"That coffee!" I gasped, beginning to pant.
"Yes," Manuel grinned. "Coffee being a stimulant, it causes a rapid absorption of the drug."
"But I thought ... your food was...."
"Not today," he shook his head. "Today's special. Remember what I told you yesterday? About the colored people Danny imported ... for a show?"
"So...?" I intoned, squirming restlessly, feeling my nipples crawl erect.
"So I'll enjoy it more if I'm in ... accord with everything. I witnessed one of these orgiastic shows once when I was ... straight. It affected me much like Danny's little speech affected you a minute ago ... made me quite sick in fact."
"Give me some of that coffee," Kathy said. "I don't want to be left out in the cold."
"Let's go to my room, Manuel," I hissed at him; reaching under the table I ... squeezed him and felt him grow rigid.
"Not yet, Emily," he moved my hand away. "You'll have to learn to put up a bit of resistance. You can, you know, if you try. It's most pleasant in fact. And then ... waiting makes the whole thing so much more enjoyable."
"But when does this ... show begin?" I asked.
"In about two hours. Let's wait until after ... I'll take you both to your room. Or ... if you'd like ... we can join the others in the pool."
"The pool? Others?" Kathy questioned.
"Yes, these shows always seem to bring out a sort of ... community feeling. Everyone finds the pool to be rather a convenient place to work off their energies and ... cool off."
Waiting with an impatience I had never felt before for that "two hours" to pass, three guests joined us at the table. (I had been looking around for Joe and Phil, but no luck.) One was a tall, well-proportioned girl; the other two were men, both slightly oldish. Manuel rose and introduced us. The men were obviously brothers: Dick and Jim Crane. The girl-Stella Sherwood-was strikingly handsome and very witty.
"I see you're all with it," Stella Sherwood commented, as she sat down.
"Means on the stuff," Manuel explained, winking suggestively at me.
"They're new, Stella. Just dropped in yesterday," Manuel added.
"Dropped in is right!" Kathy made a face, and began squirming excitedly.
"Oh! Wonderful! Fresh meat!" the tall girl snapped her jaws canniballistically. "D'you mind if we wait for the show with you? Maybe we can ... do something after."
How I passed that two hours at that table with three men and two women without popping my cork I'll never know! I swear, I felt like jumping them, one at a time or collectively! I squirmed, scratched, wriggled, sighed, shook, perspired, panted, squinted, bit my tongue, chewed my nails, pinched my thighs, and purposely cramped my toes. But I made it! (Kathy later confessed to me that she'd managed to relieve herself twice-disguising her sighs of relief by laughing shrilly at Stella's wit.)
We filed into the ... orgy room ... and sat down near the front. Danny was in the center of the room, dressed in a red suit that Manuel claimed was supposed to make him look like the devil (it did), and he was holding a microphone. When everyone was seated, Danny smiled broadly, bowed, and began to speak:
"Is everyone with it?" he shouted.
'Yes! Yes!" the crowd roared back.
"Okay, then! Relax and enjoy yourselves! But please ... refrain from blocking the camera-man's view at all times."
He clasped his pudgy hands and some music began to play-weird, wild strains-something like gypsy music. And then a door opened at the far end of the room and four negroes (one young girl and three youths) walked out. They were all fully dressed-the men in dark suits, white shirts and ties; the girl in a black, high slit skirt, mesh nylons, heels and a lavender blouse. A low moan-like wind down a canyon-went up from the crowd and everyone began to fidget in their seats.
Danny walked up to them then, carrying a tray with four glass tumblers and a large container. Handing each of them a tumbler, he proceeded to fill them with a blue colored liquid that I recognized at once.
"Sh," Dick and Jim Crane chorused, obviously anxious not to miss any of the act.
The girl danced with each of the men in turn, obviously waiting for the stuff to take effect. And then:
"Yow-e-e-e! Motha!" one of the negros let out a blood-curdling yell and began tearing off his clothes as if they were on fire. And before he was half stripped, the other two men joined him, all mouthing the most uncouth animal sounds I've ever heard. And then the girl!!
"Hey! Man o man! I'm with it!" she shrieked, and tore off her blouse in one desperate yank.
Soon all four of them were undressed-and the men converged on that poor girl like carnivores after helpless prey! One of the men (even more "well developed" than Manuel!) attacked from the rear; another from the front; the third silenced the girl's shrieks, turning them to flesh-muted, slobbering moans. Like a black, shiny ball they rolled and gamboled about, a quartet of animated ebony flesh! I was enthralled! Never had I dreamt that mere human beings could generate such decrebrated lust! It was unbelievable! Wedged between those two massive nubians (a lust sandwich!) and nearly strangling on the third, that comparatively small colored gal was taking everything she could get-and more! And then I heard a rumbling sound-a deep, gutteral sound as if thunder were booming over some distant mountain range.
"What's that?" Kathy asked, looking bewildered.
"It's them!" Stella cried. "Look! Listen!"
I looked. I listened. And what I saw can only be described as a whirl of black! And what I heard can only be described (as before) as distant thunder! It was incredible! They were in harmony with their peak! As perfect x as any barber-shop-quartet! And after what seemed like at least a full minute of that sound and fury-the girl, with a shrill cry of triumph, broke away from them; running over to Danny, he handed her what looked like a ... whip.
The three negros, in the meantime, fell into a triple clinch. The biggest of them fastened himself to the smallest of the three, shoving himself there with a lurch that even made me grimace in vicarious pain. And then the other, the middle-sized one, attacked the biggest in like fashion. Glued together, they were writhing around on the mat like truncated earthworms when the girl descended on them with that whip. Swinging it around her head like a lion-tamer, she cracked it on their ebony exposures, which caused them to writhe faster and to cry out with each resounding blow.
.On and on it went-that flesh-torturing orgy. And I, drug-crazed, revelled in it. I looked around at the crowd, their excited, frenzied faces. And I knew-for then at least-that I was one of them. Still ... somewhere within me ... the stubborn spark of my puritan upbringing still burned. I could tell ... because I pitied all of us.
CHAPTER NINE
It's unfortunate the pool was so large, because nearly everyone in the place went there after the show! What a scene! I'll never forget it! Men with men! Women with women! Girls with old men! Old ladies with slim-limbed youths! Chaos prevailed!
Manuel and Stella led me, one on each arm, to the diving board.
"Climb on up," Manuel encouraged me. "Stella and I'll show you something nice ... something different."
Although I was somewhat afraid of heights, I was in no mood to argue. I climbed up, wondering what they were going to show me. And then ... I found out! Without hesitating, Manuel walked me out on the diving board and laid me down (everyone had shed their clothes at pool's edge); then, mounting, he put things where I was so terribly in need of them. And Stella, straddling me, came down, offering me her tangled labyrinthe in a manner that was impossible to resist. I groaned in sheer delight and untrammeled joy. And though at times I could scarcely breathe, I kissed away like Aphrodite's own feral lover, emersed in redolence!
It wasn't long in arriving, that first cataclysmic event! And when it came, vibrating through me in swift undulating waves, I could taste Stella's effusive arrival and feel Manuel's love spout forth like molten lava.
"Now! Hold on to me, Emily!" Manuel cried out. And as I gripped him with my thighs, he rolled off the board, pulling me with him-Stella's thighs embracing my torso, we fell in triplicate to the reviving water far below. But that fall! That vertininious drop through thin air while reaching my peak! The sensation was blissful! We struck the water at an angle, and only broke our clinch and came up when the need for air became unbearable!
Swimming together to the shallow end, Stella pulled me to her when we could stand up-pulled me to her and kissed me, plunging her tongue into my mouth. Then, lifting me gently to the coping, she began to return the probing kiss I'd given her on the diving board. Relaxing, enjoying that "kiss", I spied Kathy on the other side of the pool-she was watching Dick and Jim, who were at each other like light-blinded moths. And then I noticed that someone else was watching Kathy-one of the negros who'd been in the show. His pride was up and preceded him, as he walked toward Kathy, by an incredible distance.
I heard Kathy's squeal of delight when she saw the giant nubian. She pulled him to her eagerly and, dropping to her knees, tried to silence herself with as much of that enormity as she could. The negro's rather ugly features relaxed in a broad smile; reaching down, he pulled Kathy's head towards him a little more. Then he dropped his hands from her head to her breasts and began to caress her nipples. Kathy loved this, I could tell. (She was enormously sensitive in the nipples.) Seconds later, I saw the negro's eyes open wide, his buttocks began to quiver, and I could hear Kathy's gurgling sounds all the way across the pool. My time came then, and I pulled Stella's bobbing head tightly against me, letting my libating machinery dampen her kiss.
It was madness! Kathy and I had been shoved from the skies into sheer, unadulterated idiocy! I became convinced, even as I debauched myself with every known (and unknown) perversion, that everyone around us was incurably psychotic! Inflamed as I was with the drug, I had enough common sense (or uncommon sense?) to realize that continuous unchecked lust could lead to nothing but feebleness and degeneracy.
That pool experience was interminable! From early afternoon it stretched on, far into the night. I remember dropping into bed, feeling as if further movement would kill me. But I couldn't fall asleep at first. I was too utterly exhausted! My mind kept rehashing the events of the day--the sad, sick scenes we'd all played together. And ... down there ... I felt as if I'd been immeasurably overused. I felt dirty.
* * *
I had horrible dreams! Nightmares! Sex-obsessed demons had their way with me. I woke once, terribly frightened, and heard Kathy sobbing. I called out to her, but she didn't answer. She, too, was spent and was crying in her sleep. And when morning came, and I had stretched and yawned and gotten the cobwebs of exhaustion and sleep to clear from my brain, I made a firm resolve not to eat or drink a thing-until I could find a way to escape from that menagerie.
I woke Kathy, told her of my resolve, she agreed with me.
"I feel all tore up, Emily. And I sort of hate myself."
"Naturally, you've got a core of decency in you, that's why. Let's shower and dress and go find Manuel. Maybe we can convince him that we've simply got to get away from this ... this sexual grab-bag. Lordie, Kathie ... I feel like a female Tom Jones!"
"I'm fed up, too, Emily." Kathy nodded emphatically. "It's real fine ... you know ... as long as that stuff has ... got me with it. But when it wears off ... I feel I can never really get clean again."
"Well, you wanted adventure." I chided her.
"Yes," she nodded and bit her lower lip. "But not this much!"
We looked for Manuel everywhere, but couldn't find him. We were about to give up, to return to the room and wait till later, when one of the "non-users" walked up to us and handed me a note.
PLEASE COME TO ROOM 9. I WANT TO HELP BOTH OF YOU. SINCERELY, RENA.
Kathy, reading the note over my shoulder, said, "What can we lose? Let's see what she wants."
"Okay," I agreed. "But remember ... it was your idea, Kathy."
Room 9 was just down the hall from our room. I knocked gently, wondering if we were making a serious mistake. The door swung open immediately and ... I heard my raspy intake of breath as I stepped back. But I had recoiled, not from fear or horror ... but from ineffable beauty!!!
"Come in, girls," her voice, a resonant contralto, was as warm and friendly as her smile. Gaining a measure of composure, I did as she bid me; walking past her I caught the nebulous odor of her flesh: sweet, musky, a curious blend.
She was a veritable giantess! At least six foot four, she was as perfectly proportioned and as Rubensianly fleshy as the Venus De Milo! She was dressed in only the scantiest panties and was wearing high, spiked-heeled shoes. Her breasts, each the size of large cantaloupes, were firm and high and imperious; her waist was tight and tiny; her thighs, really huge, molded down into the most enticing calves I've ever seen! Her bottom was round and seemingly terribly solid! Her hair was long, wavy and black as pitch! Her eyes were large, widely spaced and blue. Her features were flawlessly lovely! All this I saw in a quick glance. And then, smiling at each of us in turn, she said:
"I'm sorry about the note. I would have preferred coming to you myself ... but ... I think I'm being watched."
"Watched?" I said, rather lamely. "Why?"
"Because I don't agree with everything my husband does."
"Your husband?" Kathy spoke up.
"Yes. Your rolly-polly host, Danny Toya."
"What? Really? You mean ... he's really your ... husband?"
"Yes, really," she smiled warmly. "I'm Rena Toya ... have been for ten disgusting years."
"Oh, I'm ... I'm...."
"Sorry?" she nodded and grinned. "You needn't be. I asked for it. I married him with my eyes wide open."
"What do you want with us?" Kathy blurted out my unspoken question.
"I want to help you," her voice dropped an octave, became confidential. "I've been watching you ... at that disgusting show yesterday ... at the pool. Neither of you belong here. You're not really with this kind of thing, and I ... envy you."
"You mean," I paused, reaching for the right words, "you are with it?"
"Yes, unfortunately. Though it took a long time to get me ... I'm gone. That's all it takes for anyone ... time to need the stuff. It's not a narcotic ... but it'll hook you just the same. And now ... seeing you kids ... recognizing myself a few years back when I look at you ... I want to help you get out of here."
"You don't know how much we'd appreciate that, Rena," I told her in a level tone.
"Okay, then," her voice dropped even lower. "Tonight ... at nine thirty sharp ... walk down that dirt road that leads to the far end of the field. D'you know the one?"
"Yes, that's the one Joe and Phil drove us in here on, isn't it?"
"Right," her face brightened. "Walk to the turn in that road ... a little over a mile. My car will be there ... keys in the switch ... tank full. Just drive straight to the end then turn right. That'll take you to the main road to Ensenada. But don't stop there. Drive on to Tijuana and leave the car in a parking lot at the border. Got it? I don't want you to goof, now."
"No, I've got it, Rena. And thanks a million. I ... we ... couldn't stand this place much longer."
"Yes you could, dear. A few more days ... a week perhaps ... and you'd resign yourself to . the joint. And-then ... after awhile ... wild horses couldn't drag you away."
"Gee," Kathy glanced up at a wall clock. "Nine thirty is a long way off."
"Yes," the raven-haired amazon nodded. "Long enough for the two of you to ... return my favor."
"You mean...?" I looked hard at her. "Yes, I mean get with me. I can give you just enough stuff so that you'll thoroughly enjoy our party ... and you'll be straight and clear-headed by tonight. And, oh ... by the way ... I've got some food for you. Manuel gave it to me. It's clean. Manuel's sort of ... helping me pull this deal. It was he that told me you kids wanted out."
"Well ... I'll do anything to get away from here," I said.
"No kidding," Kathy nodded energetically, "me too! And you are ... real nice looking and ... you know...."
She gave us a few drops of the blue fluid (she had a gallon of it in her closet!) in water. Then, telling us to relax, she excused herself and went in the bathroom-we soon heard the shower running and heard her humming a merry tune.
"Well...," Kathy shrugged, flashing me a guilty look, "at least she'll be ... you know ... fresh."
"Yes," I said sarcastically. "That'll make it all good clean fun. Oh, Kathy!" I cried, suddenly feeling that familiar itch.
"Wow!" Kathy's eyes bugged. "That-stuff was lethal! It's never given me the hots that fast before!"
And then Rena walked in and my eyes bugged! She was wearing black high-heeled booties, the old-fashioned kind that lace up the side and cling tightly to the calf. Black mesh, nylons contrasted with the whiteness of her flesh. She had painted her nipples with lipstick and hanging from one hand dangled an "instrument" that must have been nearly twice the size of those Manuel had given Kathy and myself.
"I see you're both with it," she said, her voice breaking harshly. "And I'm nearly out of my mind ... I swallowed a glassful ... undiluted."
Looking at her, I could tell she was nearly "out of her mind." Her eyelids were fluttering queerly, her nostrils flaring like a mare in heat, her mouth hanging loosely. Her stomach was pulled in tight, making her waist appear even smaller; her breasts, with their scarlet-painted nipples, pointed straight out-like gigantic, red-tipped peaches. I began to drool, to actually slobber, as I gazed at her phenomenal loveliness, her massive thighs, her deep, rounded buttocks! My palms began to itch. My lips trembled. The muscles at the inside top of my thighs began to ache with yearning. I was really with it!
We began slowly-all of us, I'm sure, fighting down a desire to engage one another in wanton abandon, to give all and take all in one frenzied, greedy sweep! She handled us gently-like a large, powerful child playing with delicate toys.
"Touch me, touch me," she began repeating. "Yes, my breasts ... yes! Yes, Kathy ... kiss this one ... yes, Emily ... bite that nippie. Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! What sweet, lovely little hot-assed bitches you are! Oh, damn. Damn! Oh, yes, Emily ... that'a girl! Oh, you're good ... really talented! Don't stop that ... please don't, Emily! I love you, you little bitches!"
On and on she went, talking, repeating nasty words, saying droll things, swearing, insulting us, praising us! Her response to our every move was immediate and dynamic! And I responded in kind! Doing arcane little things I'd never done before. She was inspiring! She caused us to surpass ourselves! I rooted with utter abandon, enjoying the mephetic effluvia of her cryptic zones as I had never enjoyed anything before! Excited once, beyond resistance, she lifted Kathy right in the air between her thighs, and I heard Kathy grunt with surprise and pain as her back popped in several places. It was a carnal bedlam! And I loved it! Every tangent was explored and every errogenous zone tickled and titilated beyond any known measure.
I was panting, having worked myself to the thin edge of nausea and exhaustion, when "Oh, Rena!" I heard my own voice as if it were the voice of a stranger.
"That's right, honey ... just ease 'em apart and ... relax," she whispered as she plyed me with that impossible oversized "instrument".
"Go slowly, Rena. Please!" I cautioned her, wondering if she was going to try to ... bury the thing. And ... much to my surprise ... and acute pleasure ... she did bury it! And once there ... all there ... she flipped the switch!
I screamed, that I remember. And I arched myself sharply, as if in convulsions. That I remember too. But then ... I must have temporarily lost my sense of time and distance and reason. It was as if I were dreaming: pulsing throbs were echoing through me and thousands of hot-deliciously hot-little knife stabs seemed to be wavering about through my lower extremities. I vaguely remember groaning, and then biting down hard on something ... then the hot, salty taste of blood ... and then all went black for quite some time.
"Hey, hey, Emily!" I heard Kathy's voice, as if from a great distance. Opening my eyes, blinking, I saw her looking down at me, smiling.
"Where am I?" I said thickly.
"In our room," Kathy replied. "Rena carried you here after you bit her."
"No! Really!"
"Yes. Really."
"Did I actually bite her ... where...?"
"Yes," she nodded grinning and looking meaningfully over her shoulder, "back there."
"What time is it?" I sat up quickly, alarmed.
"Only eight. Here," she handed me a drumstick. "Eat up. Rena packed us a big sackful of chicken. You'll need your strength for tonight."
And then came a brisk knock at our door. Kathy jumped as if she'd been hit; I groaned in desperate apprehension. "Oh, no! I wonder who that is." I pulled the blankets tightly around my shoulders.
"It's me, open up," we heard the familiar voice of Manuel; he sounded scared.
Kathy let him in. He had our bags with him.
"These came yesterday," he said, looking nervously back at the door. "You weren't supposed to get them until Danny gave the okay. But I knew you'd need your clothes."
"And there was money in them," Kathy whispered. "Five hundred in each."
"Yes," Manuel nodded. "And now there's a thousand more in each bag ... something I confiscated from Danny. He'll scarcely miss it ... and you girls have more than earned it."
We thanked him; I was strangely embarrassed; he patted my leg through the blankets, winked at Kathy and headed for the door.
"Good luck, you two," he blew us a kiss. "And who knows ... maybe we'll meet again some day."
And with that he left.
CHAPTER TEN
I don't believe I've ever been so dreadfully afraid as I was that night when we crept down the hall, carrying our bags, expecting any moment to come face to face with Danny Toya-or with someone who would raise the alarm at our escape. But no, we made it without a soul seeing us (I believe they were having some kind of affair in the "orgy room").
Our bags, though they were small and lightly packed, slowed us down considerably as we trudged down that dirt road in the dark. But we finally made it, coming on Rena's car parked right in the center of the road. Approaching it warily, I jumped back away from the door and stifled a fear-rent sob. Someone was in it! Behind the wheel!
"Hi, girls," I was relieved to hear Rena's contralto. "You're ten minutes late."
"Oh, Rena!" I gasped. "We didn't know you'd be here."
She got out of the car, looking statuesque and lovely in the moonlight.
"I thought I might as well come and wish you luck. And I brought you a couple of ... these," she reached through the car window and pulled out an "instrument". "You never can tell when one of these will ... sort of ... come in handy. They're imported from France ... cost several hundred apiece to import, and ... well...." she paused, evidently embarrassed. No doubt it had just occurred to her that we didn't want any mementoes of Spanish Fly.
"Thanks, Rena," I said, laying my hand on her arm. "That was very thoughtful of you. And you're right ... they just might come in real handy sometime."
"Gosh, yes," Kathy affirmed. "They're loads of fun!"
"Well...," the amazon shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I'd better get back. It's a long walk ... and ... I've got a date with six guys."
"Wow!" Kathy exclaimed a minute later, as we roared off in a cloud of dust, "six guys! And I'll bet she makes 'em all cry uncle!"
An hour and a half later we pulled into Ensenada, but-remembering Rena's instructions, we drove through without stopping and headed towards Tijuana and the border.
It was shortly after midnight when, tired, hungry and thirsty, we pulled into Tijuana. We had a big Mexican dinner, two bottles of ice cold beer each, and then we rented a room in a motel close to the border and went to bed.
I awakened in the morning to a curious sound ... and a slightly familiar odor. The bed-spread was partly over my head-but peering out I had enough vision to see the reason for the sound ... and odor. Kathy was sitting in a chair close to the bed and, with her shortie nightgown pulled high, she was going to town with an "instrument". Glancing in the mirror behind her, I could see that she had uncovered one of my legs ... and as she busied herself with that thing she was staring at my leg with a rapt expression. Why you little dickens, I thought. You really are a hot little number, aren't you? You don't need any ... drugs to have your fun.
Faster and faster she worked! Her mouth was twitching uncontrollably and she began to pant like after two flights of stairs! I began to feel an itching response and it was all I could do to remain motionless.
"Oh, Kathy!" I cried suddenly, throwing off the covers. "You are an oversexed little bitch, aren't you?" and she gave a glad little cry of assent and, reaching down behind her, came up with the other "instrument", which she handed me, not saying a word.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her, I followed her example-and soon both of us were applying those projectiles with frenzied energy. Kathy, having begun first, flipped her switch first-and I, enraptured at the sight of her event, flipped mine prematurely. Then, lifting our legs as if we'd rehearsed it, we placed the soles of our feet together and kept them there while those low-voltage things sent their ecstatic static rampaging through our spewing machinery. With a sobbing moan, Kathy suddenly withdrew and, extended that thing my way, gesticulating suggestively, I bit into its massive end, obtaining a voluptuous pleasure at the co-mingled odor and flavor of effusive womanhood. And then my chemistry exploded, showering my paps with fiery atoms and plunging me into the ephemeral caverns of blissful mindlessness.
Showering together later, we embraced tenderly, letting the warm water cleanse us of passion's juices and mold us as one.
Dressing leisurely, laughing like play-worn kids, we felt the exhilaration of shared dangers and excitements, and we felt very close and grateful. We checked out of the room, breakfasted in a bright little coffee shop, and drove across the border, parking Rena's car in the nearest parking lot.
"Now what?" Kathy sighed, as if she were looking forward to some more "adventures" with expectant eagerness.
"How about San Francisco? We could take a taxi to San Diego, catch a plane, and be in 'Frisco sometime this afternoon."
"Wonderful!" Kathy beamed. "I've heard San Francisco's a real fun town."
"We'll soon find out," I said. "San Francisco here we come!"
"But do we have to hurry?" Kathy asked. "Do we have to fly to 'Frisco this afternoon?"
"Of course not," I replied. "We're in no special hurry. I just thought...."
"I'd like to stop for awhile in San Diego, Emily," she cut me off. "I've got a sort of distant relative there I'd like to see again. I haven't seen him since we were kids and ... well ... I always liked him a lot. If I remember right he had quite a crush on me."
"Suits me fine, Kathy. Let's take it slow and easy from here on in. We deserve it ... after all that's happened."
Kathy looked up his address in the phonebook. We crossed the border in a Mexican taxi and then caught an American taxi in National City and gave the driver her "distant relative's" address. Forty minutes or so later we pulled up to a small tract house, and Kathy, not knowing if anyone was home, told me to wait in the cab while she checked. She knocked, and when the door opened and a man stepped out, I could hear her laughing cry of greeting. The man, tall, light and balding, seemed overjoyed to see her. Kathy turned and motioned for me to get out; I paid the driver, tipping him generously (I felt at peace with the world), and walked up the short side-walk to the two of them.
"Emily, I want you to meet Dick Marshall. Like I told you ... he's some sort of distant relative."
He nodded, looking me up and down quickly, and said, "My pleasure. But for the relative part I'm afraid Kathy's wrong." He looked at her, kneading the flesh of her upper arm affectionately. "I think you assumed that, Kathy, because you always used to call me Uncle Dickie. Remember?"
Kathy grinned, shrugged and shook her head.
"But why are we standing out here? Come on in. The house is a mess, but ... well, two bachelors can't be concerned with housekeeping."
The house was a mess, but not dirty, just cluttered. And no sooner had we walked in and sat down than a man in a robe entered from another room; he looked at us in surprise and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, Dick. I didn't know you had company," and he turned to leave.
"Hold it, Cylde," Kathy's friend spoke up. "I want you to meet my childhood sweetheart ... and her friend."
Introductions were made; the man in the robe, like Dick, seemed very nice. He excused his appearance, pulling at the sash of his robe self-consciously.
"Not at all," I said. "It's early. We should've called before barging in on you like this."
"How about a drink?" Dick asked us. "It's been so long since I've seen Kathy that, even though it is early, a celebration is certainly in order."
"Okay," Kathy said; I nodded and smiled.
"And might I say, Kathy," Dick looked at her approvingly, "that the years have been exceedingly kind to you. You've turned into a very lovely young lady."
"And she travels with lovely friends, too," the be-robed Clyde added, looking at me.
We had a drink. It was good. Refreshing. We had another. It was good. Stimulating. We had two more (vodkas with orange juice). They were superb! Heady! And then the strained, quiet talk that is engendered by meeting new people loosened up. We began laughing and joking like old friends. (This is alcohol's greatest boon-the melting of reserve, the relaxing of inhibitions.) Dick and Kathy began to laughingly recall episodes of their childhood infatuation; Clyde egged them on, chiding them about fate having brought them together again so that they might "consummate their love."
He was very witty, Dick's friend, Clyde. And while he wasn't necessarily good looking, his gay enthusiasm lent him charm and his eyes were warm and friendly. His voice was strange: high, reedy. It had musical overtones and undertones that kept one's ear ever alert. He kept stealing surrepititious glances my way-and after the fifth drink his robe failed to conceal that he was getting ideas. And I, crossing my knees and stretching so that my skirt rose high on my leg, encouraged him.
"Have you got some music, Dick?" Kathy asked him. "I'd like to dance with you."
"Sure, I'll put on some records," Dick rose, a little unsteadily.
Clyde looked at me, his warm brown eyes absorbing me. "I'll ... go dress. A robe's not practical for dancing and...."
"Why isn't it?" I interjected. "I think you look very nice in your robe. Leave it on ... for awhile."
"Well...," he shrugged, looking down at his swollen pride with some embarrassment, "if you're sure you don't mind."
"I'm sure," I said, and then I rose, walked over and sat close beside him.
"That's it, you two," Kathy grinned. "Get friendly. It's a short life and a merry one ... we all need each other in this crazy ole world."
Kathy was getting quite high; she rose and put her arms around Dick while he piled records on a turn-table.
"That's an interesting philosophy, Kathy," Dick mused, winking at Clyde.
"No, not really," Kathy said her head against his back and squeezed him. "If you had just been through what Emily and I have, you'd welcome a little genuine friendship yourself."
"That's enough, Kathy," I warned her. "Let's not be pooping the party by complaining about ancient history. That's all over with. Enjoy yourself ... I intend to."
Kathy and Dick began to dance, slowly, glued closely together, as people are won't to dance after drinking.
Clyde sat beside me rather stiffly, not asking me to dance (and I knew it was that, his "stiffness" that prevented him from asking me). I was surprised to find him so shy-my experience with "witty men" had always been quite the opposite. I leaned against him teasingly and, reaching down, deliberately pulled the hem of my skirt high-very high.
Dick Marshall, spying me over Kathy's shoulder as they danced, gave a long low whistle; Kathy turned, looked, smiled, and said, "Hasn't Emily got the most perfect legs you've ever seen?"
She had directed the question at Clyde; Clyde looked down, swallowed hard, nodded and said, almost whispering. "Yes. They're beautiful."
"Touch them, then, Clyde," I murmured. "Go ahead. Put your hand there ... on my thigh."
"Well...," he sighed. And then, looking straight ahead, he laid his hand on my leg ... very lightly.
"Squeeez me, Clyde," I intoned.
He squeezed, still looking straight ahead.
"Higher, Clyde. Run your hand up higher. Yes, like that. Now ... on the inside ... higher...."
He looked down then, and I parted my thighs and raised my bottom and pulled my skirt up around my waist.
"Wow!" Dick Marshall exclaimed.
"Never mind them," Kathy pulled him close. "Pay attention to Kathy."
Clyde was becoming reckless. His hand was wedged high between my thighs and he was fairly devouring me with his eyes. Reaching over his arm, very slowly so as not to shock him too severely, I shoved my hand through the opening of his robe and caught hold of him. He gave a jerky little gasp, looked me in the eye, then reached down and untied his robe sash. Then, still holding my eyes with his own, he opened the robe wide.
"Well well," Kathy commented. "Look at all the fun we're missing, Dick." Dick looked, and then without so much as a word he led Kathy into another room.
"Have fun, see you later," Kathy quipped over her shoulder as they passed through the door.
I kissed Clyde then, lightly and caressingly on the mouth. And that set him off! With a sigh of resignation he cupped my chin and kissed me-hard-his tongue exploring my mouth with quick imperious stabs! I shoved him away ... gently, and then rose and began shedding my clothes.
"Leave your garter-belt on, Emily," he whispered hoarsely. "And your nylons and heels."
I stood before him that way, sort of wide-legged, and began to slowly undulate my hips, performing little north and south grinds and bumps. He gaped, mouth hanging open, like a kid eying some favorite dessert. He bent forward a bit, seemingly enticed, but then retreated, glancing confusedly up at my face, his eyes as pleading as a puppy's.
"Go ahead, Clyde," I encouraged him softly. "It's all yours, help yourself." And then I swayed close to his wide-eyed face and, that did it! Cupping my bottom like a man carries two watermelons he pulled me closer; I yielded eagerly, pulling his perspiring head against me. Moments later he paused, looked up at me all warm-eyed and dewy-mouthed, and said, "I've ... never done this before."
"Come here, then," I pulled him up. "The floor's better. We can both get in the act."
And so we did. And when I closed with him that way, taking all I could muster, he moaned down there and the vibrations of that strange reedy voice sent weird thrill-chills up through my flanks and back like wind on water. Not wanting him to peak, I kept pausing-and when, despite my pauses, I felt his pride swell to the verge, I stopped completely and let him cool a bit. And when my own denouement came perilously near I stopped him and swung around.
"Come here, Clyde," I held up my arms to him. "Let's be old-fashioned for awhile."
But that too was too much! Our keenly aroused desires threatened to bring us to premature satisfaction-so I shoved him off and flipped over on my stomach.
"Now. Go ahead, Clyde. But slow. Easy. You're an awfully big boy you know."
And credit to him he was slow and easy-at first! But partly there, perhaps half, he suddenly became obsessed with a selfish yen to hurry things. Bang! He was all there and I felt hot spasms of pain and a sharp, tearing sensation!
"Damn you! That was cruel!" I cried out, my voice shaking as with ague. "No, no! Don't move yet! You half killed me! Hold it, damn you! Oh! Oh! You're ... Oh, Clyde! Yes, move now!"
His event was as soothing as milk on a wound and things moved about without the attrition of friction and felt rapturously good. I reared-up, wanting everything, and he began to pant and sob as his back-play began in earnest. Seconds later, movements drawing down to tight little stabs, I became the recipient of his second gift of effusing love.
"And that," he said weakly, as the throbbings ebbed, "is the first time I've ever done that too."
"You're making me feel positively evil, Clyde ... what have you done before?" I chided him.
"You won't laugh? You won't get mad?" he looked down at me meekly.
"No, I promise I won't. Believe me, Clyde ... I've seen some pretty weird things ... especially lately."
He looked at me then, his eyes covering me from heels to hair, and said, "You're the sexiest woman I've ever met ... or seen. Your skin ... it seems, maybe it's only the light in here ... but it looks blue. I noticed it right away. Your girl friend, too. You both look as if you had been painted with a light tint of blue. It's damned sexy."
"Don't change the subject, Clyde. You were going to show me something. So show me."
He rose and reached down and pulled me up.
"Okay, then. You asked for it. But don't get mad because ... there won't be much in it for you."
"Oh, why?"
"Well ... I'm ... I'm what head-shrinkers call a Voyeur."
"A what?"
"A peeker. I like to peek at someone ... like you. Especially someone in heels and nylons ... and ... like you are now."
"Really? Then what do you do?"
"I ... well ... you go ahead, Emily, and just stand there ... as if I weren't here with you ... sort of adjust your garter-belt ... move around ... look at yourself in the mirror ... scratch yourself ... act natural ... don't try to entice me. And I'll just...," he moved across the room and squatted down behind a chair, "watch you from over here."
"Okay," I shrugged, feeling a little silly. And then I did as he said: adjusted my nylons, looked at myself in the mirror and primped my hair, yawned and stretched casually.
"That's it!" I barely heard his reedy whisper. But seconds later I did hear his quick movements plainly. And soon his breath was coming in jerky sobs and I heard telltale wet, slippery sounds and realized he'd obtained his sordid and lonely objective.
"What a waste," I smiled over at his straining face. "Come over here," I motioned with my head. "Your peeking has given me an idea. Let's go see what Kathy and Dick are up to."
"Oh! Yes! That's a grand idea! Why didn't we think of that before?" The prospect of a genuine "peek" seemed to regenerate him completely.
I slowly opened the door they'd entered-expecting anything. But what I saw, while Clyde gasped incredulously as he "peeked" over my shoulder, nearly threw me!
Kathy was on the floor. Rather her head and feet were on the floor. Thighs parted wide, she was curved in the half-moon arch of a backbend; indeed so sharp was the arch she described that her feet were only inches from her head. She'd let her hair down. Like wheat in the moonlight, I thought, and my eyes widened at the look of her. Her skin appeared tauter than usual, its tan enhanced by the "sexy blue" tint and by the soft lamp-light and the slight sheen of perspiration that had formed. Her breasts, because of her nearly inverted position, appeared almost ridiculously large; they pointed up at Dick, who was straddling her, and her nipples were tightly erect, as if imploring his attention. Her delta, that gentle rise that began at her navel and curved down into the apex that divided her thighs, was convulsing spastically.
"Take me this way, Dick! Hurry! Come down to me! Oh, hurry!"
And so Clyde and I both became "peekers"-and as those being peeked at progressed with their play, Clyde, behind me, began a project of his own, and I, feeling somewhat left out, proceeded to have a go at things myself. But as I reached my event (rather quickly), I found it impossible to refrain from loosing the squeals of pleasure that were bottled-up in my throat. My commotion distracted Dick and Kathy; Kathy's backbend collasped like a house of cards and four eager hands reached to put back what had slipped out-but too late. Kathy's curved delta became passion's depository and she giggled like a drunken tart.
We got together a little later for another drink-everyone flushed and breathless-and we all decided, on the spur of the moment (as vodka is prone to make one do), that we would like to continue our little "get-together" for an indeterminate time. Clyde and Dick owned their own business; Dick told Clyde, who was the more practical of the two, that it was "time they took a few days off." Clyde agreed. Everyone agreed. And so, for a hectic while, we postponed our trip to San Francisco. And as things turned out later-we were sorry we hadn't postponed San Francisco indefinitely....
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Next morning as we were getting up, Kathy looked sleepy-eyed at me and said, "D'you suppose we've still got some of that stuff in us? We're still real blue, and we've never made a scene like that before. Maybe it's still affecting us."
"Could be," I replied. "But they are real nice guys. Where is it they said we were going this morning?"
"To see some friends of theirs. Some married couple who work for them."
"Sounds dull."
"I know," Kathy nodded glumly. "But if we get bored we can make some excuse to leave. And then ... San Francisco."
"You're having fun, aren't you, Kathy?" I smacked her rounded bottom affectionately.
"No kidding," she grinned, "I'm having a ball! Even that deal in Mexico had ... you know ... it's high-lights."
"Yes, and I'm sure we won't forget it soon either."
There was a sharp rap at our bedroom door then and I heard Dick clear his throaty gruffly. "You girls up?"
"Yes, we're dressing," Kathy called out.
"Okay, but hurry. Clyde's starving and I'm dying for a Bloody Mary. We'll grab a big breakfast in some restaurant and then introduce you to our friends. You'll like 'em, believe me. They're a real unusual couple."
Later, having downed an enormous breakfast (and two Bloody Marys apiece), and having smoked and chatted pleasantly afterwards, Dick drove us to a rather shabby section of town. Turning up this narrow little street and down that one, he finally parked in front of a gaily-painted frame-house; the yard stood out, green and trimmed, making the weedy yards on each side look terribly forelorn and unkept.
"These people work for us," Clyde murmured to me as we walked up to the front door.
"That's what Kathy tells me," I squeezed his hand and swayed my hips teasingly so that they kept bumping him as we walked. (I really don't know why, but I've always taken a sort of perverse enjoyment in teasing shy men.)
Dick knocked; footsteps sounded from within; the door opened and the blackest, shiniest, handsomest negro I've ever seen smiled out at us.
"Hello dere, Mr. Dick and Mr. Clyde. Come in, come in. I was sho glad'ta git yo call las' night. Stella an me has been wonderin' when you'uns was gonna visit us again. A real pleshah, belee me. An Stella's sho be glad'ta see yall's brung yo lady frens."
We walked in and the colored man very graciously directed us to chairs; then, just as Dick began to introduce us, a door opened and a woman entered. She was very tall, her skin was light, chocolate brown, and she was quite lovely. Breathtakingly beautiful in fact!
"Oh!" her face instantly lit up in a smile of pleasure. "You've brought friends! How wonderful!"
Dick introduced us and I was struck by the vast difference in the man and his wife. The man, though extremely handsome, was almost your typical southern negro: heavy accent, over-polite, always smiling. But his wife was his exact opposite: no accent, polite but reserved, a great deal of poise and class. They were Mr. and Mrs. Lyle Hogan, "Lyle and Stella" Hogan.
"How about mixing us all one of your famous drinks, Lyle," Dick asked the politely smiling negro.
"Aw sho will," he nodded. "If ya'll will forgive me," he looked at Kathy and me, "Is'l be rat back."
Mrs. Hogan-Stella-chatted with Dick and Clyde about work; she told them she was glad they were finally taking some time off...."for pleasure"-glancing quickly at us as she said this. And she thanked them for giving her and her husband the-"day off with pay."
Stella Hogan was a pleasure to both look at and listen to. She had a way of talking that seemed to include everyone, and her voice was smooth, low and mellifluous. Her face was delicate, with a narrow, almost aqualine nose, and a rather small, but expressive, mouth. Her hair was done up in an Italian bouffant. Her figure couldn't be described as voluptuous, it was too slim and classical for that. But then "slim" wouldn't really do either. She was in between : a graceful and enticing blend of rounded curves and statuesque litheness. She was dressed in a knit suit, very chic, that accentuated her rises and hollows, and its color-off white-set off her long bronzed legs magnificently. She carried her shoulders back, like a woman proud of her breasts-and well might she be, for they were large, high and flawlessly shaped (or at least the suit made them appear so).
Kathy kept staring at her; I had to nudge her twice with my elbow to remind her that there were others in the room.
Her husband, Lyle, came back into the room shortly carrying a tray-full of drinks: tall, cool and inviting looking. I had a chance to look at him as he passed them around. He was nicely dressed-though not as smoothly as his wife-and he moved about in the slightly subservient and shuffling fashion that reflects an ancestry of slaves. He was broad in the shoulders, narrow at the waist, deep through the buttocks-everything suggesting unusual strength and virility. I decided I liked him.
Sipping the drink he handed me, I murmured, "Delicious!" and I began to sense that we were going to have an unusually enjoyable day.
The conversation was desultory; we drank, talked, joked, voiced personal opinions. Stella was well-versed on practically every subject we discussed-but when sex came up (as it inevitably does on these drinking, chatting occasions) she nearly startled me out of my wits by calmly stating: "Let's stop wasting time with idle talk. Sex is what made us and sex is what we all want! Let's have an orgy I"
She hadn't so much as flickered an eye or dropped a hint of warning-the suggestion came out as easily as a casual remark about the weather. Everyone looked at everyone else; no one said a thing. Clyde reddened, Dick smiled vaguely, her husband, Lyle, raised his eyebrows and nodded noncommittally; Kathy tittered, and I took several gulps of my drink.
"Watch me ... everybody," Stella broke the strained silence. Then she stood up and, without further ado, began to undress.
"Ain't she sumpin'?" Lyle commented, looking a little sheepishly at Kathy and I to see if we agreed with him.
"She's ... she's perfect," Kathy nodded.
And "perfect" was the word for her! Her dress off, she stood before us clad only in a black brassiere and black-lace panties; she'd removed even her nylons and shoes.
"Put those heels back on, Stella," Clyde spoke up and, glancing at me, made a motion for me to come over to him. I rose to cross to him, but-as I passed Stella, she reached out for me and pulled me against her.
"Why don't you undress?" she whispered tensely in my ear. And then, smiling ironically, she pulled my mouth to hers and kissed me-and as her tongue flicked my parted lips I felt desire rise in me like a flood-tide.
Dick and Clyde were undressed in an instant! Kathy, her eyes blazing as I'd seen them once at Spanish Fly, stripped just as fast and, eying Lyle hungrily, she advanced on the nubian before he could even remove his pants!
"Watch my man now, Emily," Stella said, her voice rich with pride and passion.
"Hey, hl'gal!" Lyle cried out and, reaching for Kathy with powerful hands, he picked her up and flipped her around so that she was bottom-side up! His strength was amazing!
"What a purty lil" honey-pot!" he drawled, and then proceeded to help himself eagerly ... to the honey.
"Undress me, Stella!" I said-and she complied, caressing each freshly exposed part of me with evident approval and relish.
"Look at Dick and Clyde," Stella suddenly made a motion with her head for me to look behind me.
"Well I'll...," I clapped my hand over my mouth and stared.
They were locked in a supine embrace; Clyde's legs were up over Dick's shoulder's and Dick, all in, was kissing him ardently. Clyde was raking his fingers across Dick's backmuch like a woman in the raptures of sexual congress. Clyde's eyes were tightly closed and he emitted a carnal grunt every time Dick bore down.
"You've looked enough," Stella said; turning my head with a gentle pressure she kissed me and squirmed against me, throwing one chocolate brown thigh up around my waist and crushing me to her.
"Come on, Stella," I pushed her slowly away. "I want you in ... that chair."
"Oh, why?" she said, teasing me.
"Use your imagination," I replied; reaching out again I lightly stroked her blue-black nipples with my finger-tips.
"Let's go ... that chair," she panted, and I followed her to it like a child follows an ice cream vendor. She dropped and reached up for me ... but I paused first and looked down at her, letting my eyes feast on her dusky perfection. Her thighs were parted widely-and her calves, accentuated by those high-heels, were the loveliest I have ever seen on a negress. Her waist was drawn in, as if to ward off a potentially hard blow. Her breasts pointed up at me, imploring my touch, my kiss; her face had assumed that half-straining, half-relaxed expression that is engendered by impatience and anticipation. Her mouth was open and her tongue was quivering nervously. Her eyes, half closed, regarded me with the candor of a woman to whom shock or sexual inhibition is totally unknown.
I knelt and, bending eagerly, ran the wet tip of my tongue in and around her navel. This seemed to excite her greatly; she began breathing very deeply and she put her hands on my shoulders and kneaded them lightly. Then I moved up to her breasts, lolling one of them, pinching the other. This excited her even more! She kept catching her breath, and I heard the beginning of a low, rumbling moan-the reverberations of a domesticated African animal. Then she put her hands on my head and, with a strong insistent pressure, bore me down ... and down and down. And as I began there, enjoying the succulence of that rich Aphroditian repast, she dug her heels into my back and groaned like a terminal patient in the last searing heats of pain. Sweet moments later she began to culminate-and the rare sweet spillings of her love nearly sent me out of my skull; I rooted greedily and my temples were throbbing and my lungs aching before I would leave my post and come up for much needed air.
"You, now," she sighed, resting indolently, her eyelids fluttering spastically. Finally she rose with a tremendous sigh and we traded places.
Stella was artful; I could tell immediately she knew her business. She was so artful, in fact, that I feared my event would happen too soon. I looked around, trying to sever my mind from the delicious ripples that her kiss was imparting.
Kathy had Lyle like Stella had me (shades of Spanish Fly\), and the powerful nubian was grating his jaw and rolling his eyes in intense enjoyment. Kathy, as she worked, was fondling the pendulous spheres that dangled beneath the object of her fevered affection. And Lyle, one mighty arm extended, was periodically slapping Kathy's upraised bottom. And smartly too!
But Clyde and Dick really helped take my mind off things! They were sitting on the floor, facing each other; each was fondling the other (as Kathy was fondling Lyle) with one hand ... and with the other they were exchanging rather hard back-handed slaps across the face! And as I stared at them, feeling, despite the strange diversion their actions afforded, the faint promptings of orgasm organizing within me, they both arrived. Pulling apart, stopping their slapping, they bent like hungry kittens and caught one another's half-spent events.
Then I reached the top rung on my own libido-ladder, and I pulled the negress's plunging mouth against me frantically-and as that siren-wail vibrated through me she poked me lower with a naughty forefinger and moved it around with quick, beckoning motions that set me wild!
"Oh, Stella! You sweet black-bottomed bitch! I love that! I love that!" my cries earned me smiling stares from everyone. Ignoring them, ignoring everything but my throbbing pleasure, I cried, "Come up here and kiss me, Stella! Hurry!"
And she did. And I caught the flavor and scent of myself as her tongue plied my mouth and her loving hands caressed my ears and eyes and cheeks!
"Hey, ya'll! Le's all chain-up!" Lyle's drawling cry brought me to temporary sanity.
And so all of us ... got together! On the floor! Six of us united in a strangest and most perverse chain imaginable! A chain of living, breathing, panting flesh! Soon, though it sounds impossible, we established a kind of rhythm; all of us sort of tensed and relaxed in unison, until, squealing and moaning like a team of banshees, we achieved what must have been unique and rare in such realms of "togetherness": we culminated as a unit!
Noise! Movement! Frenzy! All the elements of fleshly chaos blended and united to evoke the weirdest sexual orchestration ever played! It was appalling! It was bestial! My own snorts seemed to compress in my scorching throat and come out of their own demented volition (the comparison came to me that we sounded like a pen-full of frightened pigs).
We laid there afterwards, still together, lazing in the soothing langour of exploded machinery and emotional catharsis. Finally Lyle brought us back to reality (and to some embarrassment) when he broke silence by saying, "How come you gals is blue lookin? Ya'll look lak sumpin' from outa-space."
"That's us, Lyle," I said, trying to muster enough strength to rise. "We're strictly from outer-space."
"Looks swingin'," he grinned broadly. "Le's you an me git togetha' and git all black an blue."
And that-to say the least-topped my day! With everyone watching, Lyle and I played every game feasible (and a couple that weren't). But when he took me in the plain old-fashioned way, taking his time, using his pride with an "artfulness" that surpassed even the "artful kisses" of his lovely spouse, I knew that I had indeed been had! My peak was so high and so terribly powerful that my mind reeled off momentarily into limbo! When Lyle's plumbing erupted I thought he would never stop! And it was the claps and shouts of our audience that finally brought me back to a semblance of reason.
We sat around for quite a spell, everyone too tired to even dress (and too tired even for aftermath's embarrassment). Then, one by one-at Stella's suggestion-we took showers and casually donned our clothes.
And then came what seemed to me to be a most interesting sequence of events. We all had several more of Lyle's "famous" and most reviving drinks; we talked and joked affably; Stella brought out some excellent cold-cuts and sandwiches (which we devoured in short order); Lyle turned on a FM radio and we danced; we drank, talked, joked and danced and had a wonderful time. (And later we got into a serious discussion concerning prejudice and its causes.) But not once was sex or the sexual affair we had just indulged in even so much as mentioned! There were not even any of the "off-color" jokes that drinking usually inspires. It was almost as if what had happened had never really occurred. I have been to tea parties where simpering old-maids at least alluded to the existence of the flesh-pots.
It was as if we had satisfied ourselves, and by so doing had completely negated even the memory of our previous carnality. We were like a group of saints-fleshly desires burnt out through self-punishment-who now gravely pondered things of the spirit. It was as if through the act of showering we had washed away any lingering sensual taint-and then dressing and eating and drinking and dancing and discussing the problems of society had obliterated the very spark that is needed to rekindle the fires of passion. We were pure. We talked, thought and breathed as only those with an unworried conscience can talk, think and breath. And when we left-it was: "Goodbye Mr. Hogan; goodbye Mrs. Hogan. We enjoyed ourselves very much. We hope to see you again."
And driving towards Dick's house, Clyde broke a long silence by saying-"A really nice couple, aren't they?" which was just a little too much for me.
"Yes, they were marvelous people," I replied. "Stella has the loveliest shape I've ever seen on a negress. Lyle was quite a man, too. I don't know when I've had such fun sexually. Why don't we have a sort of ... you know ... night cap?"
"Please, Emily!" Kathy gave me a shocked look. Dick and Clyde looked at each other and then shifted uncomfortably in their seats. I grinned, shrugged, and settled back with a happy sigh. (I had hoped no one would accept my "night cap" suggestion, for I was in no mood either ... but at least I had admitted, to myself and them, that we hadn't just come from a friendly social gathering, and that "sex" had been the primary motivating force of our day.) And raising my hands to scrutinize their blue coloring ... I looked forward to tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWELVE
What wonders a good night's sleep can work! Dick and Clyde, so quiet and chaste the night before ("orgy-pooped", as Kathy colorfully phrased it), were full of energy and enthusiasm the next morning. Dick surpassed himself as a gallant host by barbequing thick Porterhouse steaks which he served us with eggs and butter-melted sweet-rolls. Topping that off with brandied-coffee, we all felt in rare form and ready for whatever the day might offer.
"So, what'll it be today, girls?" Dick wiped his mouth with his napkin and grinned at us mischievously.
"Anything you want," I shrugged. "You boys know your way around. Kathy and I are just small town girls on vacation."
"D'you feel ... rested?" Clyde jibed, laughing.
"Not really," Kathy replied.
Dick pulled out cigarettes then, passed the pack around, lit everybody's, took a deep drag of his, exhaled slowly and said. "How would you girls like to see a real kookie house? The owner's a close friend of mine and he's out of town right now on business. I have a key ... and Clyde and I have an open invitation to use the house and its ... facilities ... any time we want."
"Hmm," Kathy hummed, "something about the way you emphasized facilities has got me curious."
"Yes, just what kind of facilities are you talking about, Dick?"
"That you'll find out when we get there," he replied. "That is ... if you really want to go. But I'll say one thing ... you'll both agree before you leave that it's a real fun-house."
"Let's go, then ... right, Emily?"
"Suits me. You know," I began, addressing Dick, "we've really enjoyed our visit with you boys; it's been ... very satisfying. But vacations don't last forever. So ... much as we hate to ... we're going to have to leave in the morning."
"We're going to San Francisco," Kathy put in.
Dick's face fell; Clyde groaned disappointedly-
"Well," Dick shrugged, "I can't think of a better way to send you off with fond memories than by visiting the friend's place I've mentioned. It's really something."
"Let's go then," I laughed. "By all means."
"That's about the size of it ... all means," Clyde nodded, smiling mysteriously.
The "friend's place" turned out to be a modest home that we drove to in less than five minutes. Dick parked in the driveway and, grinning strangely, said, "This is it. Now be prepared for a surprise. This place isn't exactly conventional ... it's...."...." the kookiest house on the face of this earth!" Clyde filled in.
As we approached the door I looked around for signs of "kookiness"-but found none. The house, on the outside at least, looked like any of the others in the rather plain neighborhood. It wasn't until we walked up to the door and Clyde said, grinning. "Look at that crazy doorknocker," that I noticed anything at all unusual. And had he not mentioned it, I probably would not have even noticed the obsenity. The outside part of the knocker was a man-the part one lifts and raps with. The other part (the upper part) was a woman with thighs parted; both were remarkable in detail-and the man was ... well ... use your imagination.
"How cute," Kathy said.
"Yes, but it worries me," Dick frowned gravely.
"Oh. Why?" Kathy searched his face naively "Well...," he paused, running his tongue around in his cheek and beginning to smile, "with all that knocking I'm afraid the upper part of the thing might turn up ... you know."
"Oh, no!" I said, giving him a mock look of horror. "Not knocked up?"
"Who knows?" he shrugged, grinning broadly. "Nowadays anything can happen."
"Oh, you're too much, Dick! Let's go in. You've got me curious. Outside of this silly little door-knocker I haven't seen anything unusual yet."
Dick unlocked the door and swung it open; in we walked.
"Oh, my!" Kathy's staid exclamation made us all laugh. But as I looked around my laughter quickly subsided to a weak smile, then to a frown of amazed concentration! There were paintings everywhere! From wall to ceiling-and even on the ceiling!
"Is the ... whole house like this?" I asked.
"Even the kitchen," Clyde replied.
"No kidding?" Kathy looked dumbfounded.
"See for yourselves. Come on."
They led us from room to room and-"even in the kitchen"-there were paintings everywhere!
"They're Japanese, aren't they?" I said.
"Yes, all of them painted by Japan's master pornographers. My friend has over a hundred thousand dollars invested in these paintings."
I stared-completely overwhelmed! Each painting, down to the most minute detail, displayed men and women in some sort of sexual embrace! And all of them were beautifully executed-really flawless gems of art (however perverse and unusual).
"But the paintings aren't the half of it," Clyde said, winking at me.
"Oh, what do you mean by that?"
"Let's go to the bar first. We'll have a couple of drinks. Loosen up. Then we'll give you the grand tour of the house."
"And Dick really means grand tour!" Clyde added, opening his eyes wide and nodding smugly.
Dick made a shaker full of drinks: some fiery stuff he called Absinthe and something else. We drank slowly, walking around looking at the paintings. I looked to see if I could spot anything else "unusual"-but I couldn't. The furnishings were strictly assembly-line stuff; nice enough, but not matching the elegance of the artwork. And then Dick put a stack of records and some of the loveliest (and most sensual) instrumental music I have ever heard began to play!
"Like that?" Clyde noticed my look of approval.
"It's marvelous! But ... what kind of music is it? It's so ... so terribly sexual."
"Isn't it," Clyde nodded. "It's Arabic. Listen to those wild strains! The Arabs are experts on sex ... of all kinds. And some of their music reflects that expertness. This piece for instance
... one can almost feel the aggressive rhythm's of cohabitation ... of a man having his selfish way with a maiden."
I listened. Closing my eyes I was caught up in the feral ecstasy of drums and flutes and oboes; their uncanny discords drew on my loins like a warm, soothing poultice. Someone handed me another drink; I sipped it-letting its heat mingle with the suffusing warmth of those enchanting melodies.
"Haunting music, eh?" Dick pulled me from my reverie by cupping my breasts in his hands and lifting them playfully.
"Yes," I sighed, opening my eyes with an effort. "What's on your mind?" I asked him, smiling.
"Guess."
"Ham," I squinted and puckered my lips. "Could it be ... food?"
"Indirectly," he nodded.
"Oh, I see. Hey, Kathy," I called. "Your friend here is getting friendly with me. D'you mind? I think he has games in mind."
"How right you are," Dick sallied. "Did you ever play musical chairs?"
"Not since I was a child," I replied, getting suddenly curious again.
"Come with me ... to the den. You and I will go back to your childhood."
I followed him into a small room; there was a couch, a chair, a fireplace and a bookshelf full of books. And somehow-as I looked at the books and paintings-I was reminded of the library at Spanish Fly. In point of fact there was much about the place (its strong sexual motif) that reminded me of Danny Toya's Mexican movie-colony ... sans drugs. The paintings at Spanish Fly, though, while very good, would not begin to compare with the ones surrounding us in that house.
"This chair, Emily, delivers more kicks than a football game."
"Oh! Quick punts or field-goals?" I teased him.
"Both. It's kind of a...."
"Dick," I cut him off. "D'you mind if we quit joking around and ... cut the preliminaries? I'm ... well ... the drinks ... that music ... all these pictures. I'm all worked-up."
"Fine with me, Emily. But we'll have to undress to get the full benefit of ... everything."
And so we did. And Dick took me in his arms and kissed me, and I felt his pride against me, imperious, ready, and I shuddered in tense anticipation. He sat down then and, reaching up for me, said, "In my lap, Emily ... facing the same way I am ... yes ... like that ... just like that! Yes, all the way. Yes! And now ... just relax while ... I push this little button and....
That chair came alive! Rocking, lurching, bouncing-it raised and lowered me with jerky, erratic strokes! It was like a storm at sea, a ride on a horse, and a bumpy sled ride all at once!
And then: "buzz" the thing began to suddenly vibrate as it rocked, lurched and bounced! Dick held me by my breasts, pinching my nipples as that chair quickly jerked us to an effortless climax! And as we began, Dick pushed another button, and the vibrations doubled then tripled in speed!
I ululated shrilly, and my cries stuttered weirdly-and as my spasms ebbed I twisted my head and bit Dick's neck savagely.
"Ouch! Damn you!" he cried; pushing me up he delivered my vulnerable bottom a smarting slap. I turned, angry, and pulled back my hand to slap him, but-
"Hold it, hold it!" he laughed. "As the saying goes-I'm a lover not a fighter. You need to work some of that steam off ... and that room over there should help a lot."
Mollified, I shrugged, smiled, and said, "What's in there?"
I'll show you. But let's take our time. Let's go have another drink and rest awhile. After all ... yesterday was a pretty busy day. And while we're drinking ... we'll see what Kathy and Clyde are doing."
We had two drinks, relaxed, took our time, listened to that provocative music. But Kathy and Clyde were not to be seen.
"Where d'you suppose they...."
"In the owner's bedroom," he interrupted, "using his favorite gimmick."
"And what might that be?" I asked.
"Come on. We'll join them. We can save that other room for later."
I followed Dick to a door that adjoined a bathroom.
"The master bedroom," he whispered, opening the door slowly. "Look at them," he gestured with his head. "They're really all juiced up."
They were on the bed; they were naked except for gloves. Yes, gloves! They were both wearing strange, cumbersome looking gloves. And fastened to the gloves, leading to an electrical wall socket, was what appeared to be a wire. Clyde was on his back, Kathy was astride his chest; they were touching one another with those gloves-and with each touch the touched one would jerk and cry out with evident pleasure. Kathy was reaching down behind Clyde, touching him there; Clyde kept dropping his gloved fingertips to Kathy's nipples.
"I don't get it," I whispered to Dick.
"You will, soon," he grinned. "Those gloves are ingenious little shockers. When you touch someone with them, they project a current of low-voltage electricity."
"Oh, I've seen something like that before. Only not with gloves," I told him.
Clyde turned and saw us then. "Aw ha! Peekers! I thought that was my game. But come in ... join the party. We'll let you wear the gloves for awhile ... if we can watch."
And then the four of us "got together". And we stayed "together" throughout the rest of the day! The gloves were marvelous! Especially so when, about to have an event, Dick reached back and poked me with an electrical forefinger-I thought the butterflies would never stop winging their way through my extremities!
Resting afterwards, having more of that fiery liquor, I asked Dick if he still felt like showing me "that room". Well-to make a long (and probably unprintable) story short-he showed me. He showed us! It was a steam-room of sorts; thus his previous statement about a place for me to "work off steam". But all I'd best say about that room is that, whoever designed it, had an imagination that surpassed any writer or any surrealistic artist or any "way out" progressive-Jazz musician who ever lived!
There were devices to excite; devices to prolong culmination; devices to rejuvenate exhausted flesh; devices that tickled, titillated, tortured and tormented (but all in a wonderously pleasant and enjoyable way!). There were gadgets that lowered and pulleys that raised! There were benches that tilted and belts that vibrated, and all was used and re-used to the weird strains of that unusual Arabic music!
When we went back to Dick and Clyde's place we were hungry, tired and sleepy. So ... we showered (still "together"), ate, talked sleepily for awhile, and then went to bed (still "together"). And it was mid-morning when we awoke, showered again, dressed, had a light breakfast, bid Dick and Clyde a fond farewell, caught a taxi to the airport, bought tickets, boarded a plane and finally headed north for San Francisco.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The flight north was uneventful. We napped most of the way. Kathy made a memorable comment as we landed and got off in San Francisco.
"I much prefer this way of leaving a plane. Not as thrilling, maybe, but a whole lot safer and more dignified."
Kathy's last word made me chuckle; somehow I couldn't put her in the verbal frame of "dignified".
We caught a taxi, told the driver to take us to the best hotel in town, then minutes later we were there and all checked in.
"Let's go to Fisherman's-Wharf and Chinatown and ride one of those crazy cable-cars!" Kathy exploded excitedly.
"Okay, okay, but one place at a time," I told her.
We chose Chinatown by flipping a coin. And since the cable-cars were a considerable distance from our hotel we hailed a taxi. The driver gave us a searching look when we told him where to take us-and as we drove along he kept glancing at us in the rear-view mirror.
"What's wrong, driver?" I finally asked him coolly. "Why are you staring at us like that?"
"Was I staring? I'm sorry ... but ... well ... you gals remind me of a place I stayed for a couple of days in Mexico last summer."
"Oh, really," I tried to sound matter-of-fact. "But how could we possibly remind you of a place ... in Mexico?"
"Well...," he hemmed and hawed, "you ... ah ... have the same coloring the ... guests have down there. Kind of a blue tint. Comes from the ... er ... health foods they serve there."
"How interesting." I mumbled; looking hard at Kathy I saw that her skin was tinted a light shade of blue.
"Am I...?" she whispered; I nodded.
"You, too," she widened her eyes and nodded.
"I was just going to suggest something to you gals ... a real swingin' place ... that is if you were familiar with that ... Mexican health resort."
"Well we're not!" I said, rather over-emphatically.
"Oh! Okay, I'm sorry I mentioned it," he shrugged meekly.
"But we would like you to take us to that swingin' place. We're on vacation and this is our first time in San Francisco."
"Swell!" he brightened. "I'll be glad to take you. But be sure to tell the doorman that Al sent you."
Why, I wondered, as we climbed a bumpy, cobble-stoned hill, did I tell him that? It was obvious he'd been to Spanish Fly. So the swingin' place he referred to was undoubtedly some sort of sex-den. I glanced surrepetitiously at Kathy, noticing the definite blue hue of her skin, and wondered how long it would last. I concluded that neither of us had noticed the color on ourselves because it had come on so slowly-and everyone around us had looked the same. And then it occurred to me that it was more than likely the drug was still in us to some extent-and would be until our skin coloring returned to normal. That explained our "instrumental" scene that morning in the Tijuana motel. And no doubt it was the subconscious reason I had told the driver to take us to his "swingin' place". And as these thoughts ran through my head-a pleasant itching sensation ran through me someplace else and I squirmed restlessly in my seat.
"Al sent us," I told the yellow-faced chinaman who peered at us through a peek-hole in the door. He nodded quickly and opened up.
We walked into a large, smoke-filled room that had a raised stage at one end. There were tables around the sides and chairs down the center. The place was fairly crowded-mostly men, perhaps twenty or twenty five women, all watching the stage with expectant expressions. The chinaman led us to a side table and asked us what we'd like to drink. We told him, and a few moments later a bar-maid, scantily attired, served us, charging an unbelievable ten dollars for the two drinks. I paid her, but I was furious.
"What do they have in here that rates five dollars apiece for drinks?" I remarked to Kathy.
"Looks like we'll soon find out," she gestured towards the stage. "The entertainment is about to begin."
A band struck up an introductory note (discordant and loud) and a man, ostensibly a master-of-ceremonies, came out and began telling an assortment of bawdy jokes (as stale as the air in the place). Then, the music flaring up again, he introduced a young, red-headed girl. She wasn't a bad looking girl; she had a better than average figure and was somewhat on the small side. Two stage-assistants shoved out a platform, sort of a large bench affair that stood up at an angle. And then, keeping pace with an off-tune fanfare, she began to strip. Removing everything but high-heels, she gave the audience a perfunctory smile, and then reclined (or leaned) on that angular bench.
"Oh, no," Kathy leaned towards me and whispered. "I think I know what's going to happen. I've heard about this kind of thing before."
And then a stage hand, or rather a trainer, led a Shetland Pony on stage; approaching the reclining girl the pony's nostrils flared and he tossed his head and whinnied. I gasped then, in utter amazement when I saw what was going to happen. The pony reared up on his hind legs, resting his front hoofs on the top of the platform on each side of the girl's head; then, the trainer guiding what was just too huge for any normal female human-being to absorb, the beast lunged. A pleased, nonchalant smile crossed the girl's face, as that excited beast drove everything all the way! I couldn't believe my eyes! Where did it all go?"
"Hard to believe, isn't it, blue-eyes?" I whirled, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and looked up at a leering Joe Sands; Phil Denton, smiling sheepishly, was standing at his elbow. "Mind if we sit down?" Joe's voice sounded mean and cocksure; he eased into a chair before I could think of what to say, nodding curtly at Phil to do likewise.
"But ... where did you ... how did you know we were...," I swallowed hard and, picking up my drink, downed half of it in a gulp.
"How did we know you were here?" Joe finished my question for me. "We didn't. We figured you were still at the ranch ... having kicks. We left and came up here right after we picked you up that day ... after your little parachute jump. This joint is one of our best spots for picking up ... potential guests ... and spotting new talent. I ... uh...," he peered hard at me, and then at Kathy, "see you gals are still wearing blue."
"You mean ... our colorings?" I looked self-consciously at the back of my hands.
"What else?" he shrugged, grinning ironically. "Your systems are still loaded ... will be for another few days."
"I thought so," Kathy said, giving me a searching look.
"So...," I drew the word out. "What's on your evil little minds now? Don't get any ideas about taking us back down to that ... funny farm, because we simply won't go."
"Naturally not. Danny's through with you ... isn't he? Suddenly Joe's look became suspicious; it was obvious he didn't know we'd run off.
"Yes, yes," I sat up straight and nodded. "He ... uh ... gave us some money and ... a man named Manuel drove us back to Ensenada."
"Oh, I see," Joe nodded, glancing sideways at Phil. (I knew, then, that I'd made some sort of mistake-he knew I was lying.)
"Tell you what," he cleared his throat and smiled brightly. "There's a place next door that serves the best Chinese food in town. Just to show you that we've no hard feelings, we'll stand you to dinner there."
"Let's do," Kathy urged, seeing me hesitate. "This place gives me the willies," she glanced towards the stage where the Shetland was still lunging away at the dimunitive red-head. And she still looked bored.
"Well...," I looked around nervously and shrugged. "It's a deal ... if you boys don't insist on any ... dessert."
The place was very nice, very modern but with enough Chinese background to give it an appropriate atmosphere. The food was good, too, and as usual in a Chinese restaurant there was lots of it. We were drinking tea afterwards, chatting amiably, no one so much as mentioning the sordid events of the recent past, when suddenly I noticed Kathy's "blue tint" had gotten bluer, deeper. And no sooner had I noticed than that insidious itch began within me and I knew we'd been had.
"You!" I looked accusingly at Joe. "This food has been...."
"Yes," he cut me off. "I thought perhaps you girls would enjoy yourselves at a little party we're going to attend. It should be most amusing. And I knew you'd ... enjoy it more if your mood was right ... you know ... cooperative."
"Damn you, Joe Sands! I should never have trusted you ... I ... oh, lordie! Let's get out of here! Let's go someplace ... anywhere ... but let's go!"
Kathy only nodded, but from her expression and the weight of her eye-lids I knew she was way out.
Joe was driving a rental car. Kathy climbed in the back seat with Phil and I rode up front with Joe. "It's only a short ride from here," Joe explained, as we drove off. I moved over close to him, reaching to liberate him, but-he stopped my hand and shoved it away. "Later," he smiled. "This should be quite a shindig and I want to be fresh and eager."
"Not me," I sighed, lifting my skirt and reaching to caress myself. "I'm fresh and eager right now!"
And some five minutes later, as we pulled into the driveway of a large and fashionable house, my hand reached its agitated objective; I moaned low and slumped in the seat and, as I did, I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Kathy bent over Phil-administering to him like a hungry baby calf.
"Okay, break it up back there, you two," Joe said. "We're here ... and I wouldn't want any of the guests to get a wrong idea about us."
"Very funny, I'm sure," Kathy retorted, panting heavily, patting at her hair to straighten it.
A woman answered the door, drink in hand and obviously quite tipsy-and, except for black shoes and black gloves, she was nude! She handed me her drink, giggled tipsily, and throwing both arms over her head and standing with her feet widely spaced, she said, "Guess who I am?"
"I wouldn't know," I answered, resisting an impulse to reach out and caress her breasts (which were marvelous upturned!).
"I'm the five of spades," she tittered; snatching her drink from me then she spun on her heel and walked away.
"That was Mrs. Magnum," Joe smirked.
"She owns this place ... she and her husband. And what a couple they are!"
"So I gather," I nodded. "But where's a bedroom, Joe. We can socialize later," I felt in, so to speak, a "blue funk".
"No, the socializing here will take care of your ... problem most adequately," Joe snickered; taking me by the hand he pulled me along after him.
"Where are we going?" Kathy sounded annoyed, it was evident she was becoming desperate.
"The ball room," Phil replied. "Can't you hear the music?"
We walked through several rooms, all elegantly decorated, and stopped in front of a double door.
'After you, ladies," Joe grinned, throwing the doors open. We walked in.
I was surprised at first. I had expected (especially after being greeted at the door by the "Five of Spades") to walk in on some kind of wild, sex-party. But no. Everything was occording to Hoyle. It was a costume party, and everyone, dressed in various stock costumes, was dancing. There was an eleven piece band, all very decorously dressed and led by a reserved, white-haired old man. Several maids were circulating about with trays of cocktails and choice tidbits. The conversation was low: the droning buzz of people enjoying themselves quietly. Even the music was tranquil and insipid; the costume dancers moved to it with the lugubrious heaviness engendered by a funeral dirge. I was reminded of some period setting back in the day of Marie Antoinette.
"Why the dickens did you bring us here, Joe?" I frowned at him angrily. "I'm certainly in no mood to dance the minuet!"
"C'mon," Kathy pulled at Phil's hand. "Let's grab a cab and go to our hotel. We can dance the way we'd like without music."
"Hold it, hold it," Joe laughed; then he glanced at his watch and nodded. "It's about two minutes 'till ten. The Magnum's parties don't really begin until ten. Fun and games, you know," he winked at me and repeated, "fun and games ... and a winner every time."
Then, just as I was about to ask Joe where the women's rest-room was (and take Kathy with me) the band struck a loud, discordant note and I saw Mrs. Magnum dash up to the orchestra stand.
"It's ten o'clock!" she shouted, gleefully. "Time for fun and games! Everyone .unmask and disrobe!"
It was a meelee! Everyone in the room, laughing merrily, began to divest themselves of their clothes! Even the orchestra! Even their dignified, white-haired leader! Even Joe and Phil!
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Joe said, laughing at our looks of bewildered amazement. "You wanted action ... get with it!"
"Okay, let's!" Kathy cried.
I nodded, rather dumbly, and proceeded to undress; looking around me, I noticed that some of the guests had blue complexions. And then ... the "fun and games" began.
But before I could say "yes" to a tall, thin boy who had made me a terribly enticing proposition, Mrs. Magnum walked up to me and, whispering in my ear, asked "Are you Emily Townsend?"
Something in her tone alarmed me. I stepped back, studied her face (which was quite serious), and said, "Yes, I am. Why?"
"There's a long distance telephone call for you ... from Mexico. From someone called Manuel Soto. Know him?" she looked at me curiously.
"Yes, where can I take the call?" my knees went rubbery and my heart began thumping hard.
"In there," she motioned towards a door. "But maybe you'd better take your clothes with you. I'll ... tell your friend to do the same." She smiled then, and patting my arm, added: "Any friend of Manuel's is a friend of mine. I'll see that your two boy friends are kept busy."
"Thanks," I blurted. Then, scooping up my clothes, I hurried to answer the phone.
Manuel's voice was low, strained, as if he were terribly worried. He told me that Joe had called the ranch and given him a message to give to Danny, and that he'd given it to him, knowing it would be useless not to. And that Danny was furious about our-"stealing his wife's car and running off."
"What was the message, Manuel?" I interrupted his low flow of talk.
"That you and Kathy are going to be with them at the Magnum's all evening. Now Danny thinks I'm talking to Joe ... in fact he's right across the room from me now ... watching me ... I'm supposed to tell Joe to get you back here to the ranch ... and that if he can't get you to come back ... he's to give you a lethal dose of cantherides. In short, Emily, if you raise too much hell about coming back ... they'll murder you."
"What do you suggest? What should we do, Manuel?" I was surprised at how level my voice sounded, considering the fear that was making my ears ring.
"Get out of there, just as fast as you can! But watch those boys! They'll be waiting for a call from either me or Danny-so they'll probably be watching you."
"Mrs. Magnum said she'd keep them occupied, Manuel."
"Good, you can trust her. Bye now, kid. And stay away from cantherides. Believe me ... you don't need them."
Kathy walked in, just as I hung up. She was panting heavily, half from excitement and half from fear. She had her clothes in her arms.
"What's wrong, Emily? That Mrs. Magnum shooed me in here when I was ... you know ... involved."
"Get dressed, and hurry!" I told her, fumbling into my own clothes.
"But...."
"No buts about it, kid! I've just talked with Manuel Soto. Joe and Phil are going to either take us back to the ranch ... or poison us with an overdose of that stuff."
Her mouth flew open; her "blue tint" changed momentarily to "snow white." Beginning to dress hastily, she looked at me and said, "Where are we going?"
"Home," I said. "And just as fast as our blue little legs will take us."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We finished dressing and then made our way through the big house to the front door. Stepping out, I took a deep breath of the damp, foggy night air and thanked my lucky stars we'd made it (so far). We walked a block and a half, spotted a cab, hailed it, and went to our hotel, showered together (and took the keen edge off our itch by scratching one another). We slept for awhile, then-but the first faint rays of dawn filtering through our window wakened me and I shook Kathy gently.
"Let's get up, kid. Let's pack and catch a plane for dear old Bakersfield."
We were dressed, packed, and just about to leave the room when someone knocked on our door.
"Who is it?" I called out, feeling safe enough because we hadn't (I didn't think) told Joe and Phil where we were staying.
"The bellhop, ma'am," a gruff voice (that I should have recognized) answered. "Message for you ... from Ensenada Mexico."
Not thinking, not remembering that I hadn't told Manuel what hotel we were staying in either, I opened the door.
"You! But how...?"
"Real simple, blue-eyes," a grinning Joe Sands stood there, holding up a pack of matches. "Next time ... tell Kathy not to leave her matches laying around. Especially when they have your hotel's name on 'em."
"What do you want, Joe?" my voice quivered and I bit my hp in exasperation.
"We want you gals to fly back to the ranch with us. Danny's ... real anxious to see you. Now you can either relax and make everything easy on yourselves ... or...."
"Certainly we'll go with you, Joe. We've got lot's of vacation time left ... might as well spend it there, eh, Kathy?"
"What! Oh! Oh, sure, sure. Why not? We had tons of fun down there. I'd love to go back for another pound of two."
Joe nodded, frowned, then winked and grinned.
"Swell. I'm glad you're being reasonable. But before we go, Phil and I have a little work to do."
"Oh, what kind of ... work," I smiled affably, stalling for time, knowing that our wisest course was to cooperate with them completely until some chance for escape offered itself.
"You'll find out soon enough," Joe said. "And you'll learn a few interesting things, too. So let's go. Here, Phil and I'll carry your bags."
Kathy and I rode in the back seat this time. And there was very little talk. It was quite apparent that everyone was out of the party mood; everyone was dead-pan and very serious. I had lost the tight edge of my fear by then-but a grimness had taken its place. One could sense that everyone was playing it for keeps.
We drove a considerable distance; then, turning into a boat-yard, Joe drove to the end of a short wooden pier and parked.
"All out," he snapped. "We're going for a little boat ride."
Walking out to the end of the pier, the clomp-clomp of our heels on the boards seemed to be beating out a message of doom. Holding Kathy's hand tightly, a dozen different thoughts ran through my head. Where were they taking us? Was it possible they were going to take us out to sea and dump us? Should we turn and run? Should we scream like hell? Should we simply refuse to go for any boat ride? Should I offer them all of our money? There was a boat tied up at the end-and as we approached it I saw the name; BLUE GIRL.
"Okay, girls. Climb aboard," Joe ordered curtly. "Throw off those lines, Phil. Let's get out there before flood-tide."
It was a cabin-cruiser-large, quite comfortable, and on the deck was what I recognized as skin-diving equipment.
"Hey, Skinner, wake up!" Joe pounded on the cabin door; I heard someone shuffling around inside, the latch twisted, the door opened, and out stepped the most profoundly ugly dwarf I've ever seen. I shuddered involuntarily.
"This is Skinner, girls," Joe grinned at our expressions of loathing. "Isn't he a beaut?" he added, glancing at the dwarf. "This is Danny's boat; he keeps Skinner aboard as a caretaker ... and to frighten away nosey people."
Less than four feet tall, the little creature had the hideous face of a gargoyle. He was wearing shorts and a filthy tee-shirt; his bandy little legs were grotesquely crooked and luxuriantly hirsute. His back was twisted and his arms covered with literally hundreds of yellow-headed pimples. His mouth was lipless. And his eyes! Like evil little red orbs, they reminded me of a boa-constrictor's eyes I had seen at a county fair as a child. All in all he was the most revolting little package of tormented flesh that one could possibly imagine! I looked away from him as waves of incipient nausea welled through me.
The chug-chug of the motor took my mind off the dwarf. Pulling away from the pier slowly, Phil at the wheel, we gradually picked up speed; some five minutes later we cruised out through the opening in a breakwater and, wallowing sickeningly through heavy groundswells, headed for the open sea. Then, perhaps fifteen minutes later, Joe yelled back at Phil from the bow:
"This is it, Phil. Cut your motor; I'll drop the anchor."
"What are you going to do out here?" Kathy asked Phil, fear thick in her voice.
"Dive," Phil answered brusquely.
Riding at anchor, all quiet except for the wind whistling across the cabin's top, Joe jumped down beside us, opened the lid of a conical device, and said, "C'mere, girls. Look down there."
We looked. The thing was some kind of observation tube. We could see the bottom quite clearly-there were rocks, and on the rocks a fuzzy blue growth that moved eerily to and fro in the current.
"That blue colored weed," Joe pointed down and grinned, "is the main component of Spanish Fly. Phil and I are going down now to harvest a batch of the stuff. We won't be long," he said, beginning to undress.
And then he closed the lid of that observation box, walked over to the dwarf, and said, "Keep that lid closed while we're down, Skinner." Then he shot a look at Phil and added: "Danny doesn't want anyone to know how we pick the stuff. Right, Phil?"
"Yeah, that's right. A real secret operation," Phil grinned and nodded.
They stripped (and though fear was rampant in me, I looked at them and felt rising desire) and donned swimming-trunks, then, with the dwarfs help, they put on aqua-lungs, fins and masks.
"Okay," Joe nodded at us, before pulling his face-mask down, "we'll see you soon." And with that they both flipped backwards into the water.
I leaned against the side, watching their surface bubbles, letting my mind drift-Kathy was right beside me.
"Ahem, 'scuse me," I turned to see the dwarf standing there, an unopened bottle of whiskey in his twisted little paws.
"It's kinda cold out here ... thought you'd like 'ta have 'a swig 'a booze," he held the bottle out to me, a grin twisting his horrible face into an even more ugly travesty.
"Thank you," I said, taking it from him and breaking the seal with my thumbnail. "I think we could use a drink or two."
I took a long pull at the bottle, hating the raw hot taste of the stuff, but relishing the warm glow it imparted immediately. Kathy drank, throwing her head back like a Tom-Boy and gurgling a vast quantity. Then I took another drink and so did Kathy.
"Hey, wanna look?" the dwarf said. And I saw he'd raised the observation tube's lid and was peering down through it.
"Let's," Kathy nudged me. "How'll they know if we've watched or not?"
We walked over to the tube, the dwarf moved aside, we looked down.
"A secret operation is right!" Kathy guffawed.
The two of them had-it seems-turned once again into Josephine and Phillis. They were embracing ... passionately ... and sans swimming-suits! And it was plain they were terribly excited, because the bubbles from their aqua-lungs were bubbling profusely!
"Oh, Emily!" Kathy hissed. "I'm getting ... you know."
"Me too," I kissed her ear lightly, then looked around at the dwarf. He was leaning against the side, grinning knowingly. "You little ... turd, you!" I grinned at him. "That whiskey was loaded!"
"S'good fer ya," he piped; taking a swig from the bottle himself, he wiped his lipless mouth and grinned hideously.
I turned away from him and looked back down at the activity below.
Joe (or should I say Josephine?) had Phil bent over a large rock now, and-water lubricated-he was alternately burying and exposing his masculine pride. And Phil was reaching back and, with both hands!-pinching Joe's rebounding backside.
And then ... leaning over that tube ... watching that sodomic wrestling mis-match below ... I felt a rough little hand on my calf. A thrill of revulsion surged through me ... and for a moment it was all I could do to resist kicking backwards. But then ... as the scratchy little paw began to slowly work itself up my leg ... I shifted ... parting my legs slightly ... and relaxed. Soon he was at the top inside of my thighs ... his fingers poking exploringly. I glanced back at him quickly-and saw then that he was subjecting Kathy to the very same treatment. She looked back too, then at me, and her eyes closed half way and she sighed tremulously and said, "Isn't he just the sweetest thing ever!"
I spun around then and, yanking my skirt up, pulled his bestial little head against me. He squealed, like a stuck pig, and went at me as eagerly as a chicken pecking hybrid grain. Kathy dropped down then and, zipp!-I heard her liberate him and heard her own gurgling little moan as she began there. One glance I'd caught of him before she'd started: black, twisted, bent, as hideous as the rest of him. But proportionately (like his head) much larger! Leaning back against the tube I relaxed. Until! Until his bobbing head brought me to the crusty edge of peak! Like small vibrations it started; then, like an electric eel gone berserk, the vibrations reached their blissful limit; I threw one thigh up over his shoulder and suffused his gargoyles maw with the frothy emollients of culminating lust!
And then we fell on him, both of us. Lavishing him with caresses and bites and kisses. Grabbing a handful of his coarse hair in one hand, I bent his head back, pressed my mouth against his and kissed him hard-running my tongue in and out of his mouth, tasting the acrid phlegm of his spittle. And all the while he kept mouthing queer noises, blabbling like a half-wit, grunting and squealing like a castrated boar. Kathy got him on his back and sat on him-and as she eased herself there the dwarf's eyes went to fluttering and his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth like a Barney Google cartoon character.
So engrossed were we at our play we failed to hear Joe and Phil come back aboard.
"I see Skinner has been entertaining you kids right well," I heard Joe's sarcastic baritone and heard Phil snicker appreciatively. They tossed two sackfuls of the blue weed on the deck and removed their gear.
Then they ... joined us. And for several lusty hours we rocked the boat with our antics. And Joe and Phil proved one thing to us during those mad hours: that while Joe could at times become Josephine, and Phil Phillis, they had no trouble at all reverting to just plain Joe and Phil. They, too, we learned, were bi-sexuals.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
At four o'clock the next afternoon we landed in Ensenada. I was despondent and Kathy was utterly shattered. Our scene with the dwarf aboard the BLUE GIRL had-when the drug wore off-plunged us into the deepest despair imagineable. And I kissed him, I kissed him! kept hammering through my mind; I could only guess what was running through poor Kathy's mind-after what she'd done.
Joe and Phil had, after our boat trip, taken us directly to the airport. Three and a half hours later we had landed in Ensenada, and Joe, in a big, musty-smelling sedan, drove us straight to the ranch. Danny was there to greet us; no sooner had Joe pulled up in front of the main building and parked than Danny walked down the front walk towards the car.
"Well, well," he rubbed his pudgy hands together and smiled wryly. "The prodigals have returned, eh? Why did you leave?" he looked at me.
"We wanted to, that's why?" I snapped angrily.
He shook his head slowly, sadly. And then his pig's eyes narrowed and he said, "Now I want the truth from you. Did my wife help you run off?-did she loan you her car?"
"No, we stole it," I replied, perhaps too quickly.
"How about Manuel Soto? Did he help you ... in any way?"
"No," Kathy shook her head in denial. "Like Emily said, we wanted to leave so we stole the car. What do you want with us anyway? We don't like it here and we'd like to leave?"
"And you shall leave ... when I'm good and ready to let you leave." He turned to walk away, stopped, twisted slowly, looked at me and said, "You bed to me about Manuel ... he did help you. I'm not sure about Rena ... but they're both being punished anyway."
"Punished?" I said. "How?"
"In a very effective fashion," he chuckled (reminding me of a fat version of Bela Lugosi). "Show them, Joe. And thanks, boys, for bringing the ladies back. I've got a special production in mind for them ... it should be quite a big hit." And with that enigmatic statement he waddled off.
"C'mon," Joe took my arm. "We'll show you one of Danny's ingenious ideas for punishing rule-breakers. I think you'll agree ... it's pretty humane. Right, Phil?"
"Yeah," Phil's freckled face broke into a broad grin. "Danny's a real genius when it comes to humane methods of punishment. C'mon, Kathy," he took her arm.
Walking down that long, door-filled hall, Joe stopped at room #38 and opened the door. We walked in.
Manuel and Rena didn't so much as glance at us. They had eyes only for one another! Two long poles in the center of the room completeed the room's furnishings. Rena was tied, hands behind her back, to one of the poles; Manuel was tied, in the same manner, to the other. The poles were spaced so that the two of them, by straining forward, could just about touch one another. In fact there couldn't have been over an inch separating them-in a certain area.
"Manuel, Rena," I said, "Are you all right?"
They both glanced our way then-but only momentarily; not answering they quickly returned their eyes to one another. They were both completely nude; Manuel was straining to reach Rena, his pride throbbing like a great pulse. And their skins were tinted a dark blue! Rena was moaning softly; it was obvious she was in a delirium of passion. Joe explained:
"They're kept like this for two days and two nights. And on the hour every hour they're given a hypo of undiluted cantherides."
"Let's get out of here," I cried, knowing what the two of them must be going through. Wanting sex, needing sex, with a need that transscends the furthest reaches of imagination-and yet denied even the solace of simple contact! It was just too much. I liked Manuel and Rena, felt responsible for their predicamen-tbut watching wouldn't help them.
Joe and Phil took us to our room-the same one we'd had before. And a few minutes later a white uniformed waiter brought us a tray of food-there was a note on the tray.
"You may eat this food without restraint it is not drugged. Nor will any of your food be for the next several days. The reason-I'm going to, as I mentioned, make a special movie, a very special movie. And I want both of you to be fresh for it. Relax. Enjoy yourselves. Swim. Get some sunshine. The movie may be rather demanding.
Danny Toya
So we did relax. We did try to enjoy ourselves. We did swim and get tanned. And we rested as we hadn't rested since our eventful vacation had begun. But always, in the back of our minds, was the nagging worry about what lay in store for us. That "very special movie" ... how would it involve us?" And when it was over ... would we be free to leave?
Three days after our arrival Manuel walked by us as we lay by the pool; I spoke to him but he didn't so much as blink or look my way. He seemed to be looking for something-or someone. His mouth was twitching nervously, his hands opening and closing-he looked terribly blue. He was wearing swimming trunks ... but his "condition" had them stretched ridiculously. And then I heard a woman's shrill cry-"Manuel! Over here, darling!"-and Rena emerged from the bushes at the far end of the pool ... completely nude. And then I heard a tittered remark from a nearby sunbather: "Watch this, everybody. Danny just turned Manuel and Rena loose."
Manuel tore off his trunks and they clashed in the grass at pool's edge like two enraged wrestlers! At first touch Rena began to howl and Manuel snorted like a rutting bull! Hitting her in a bounding leap, he was right on target!-that rigid excrescence stabbed home, drawing a blended cry of pleasure and pain from Rena's panting mouth! Riding high, Manuel rode like a spurless rodeo-cowboy and Rena dug her powerful fingers into his back and held on for dear life!
Culminations meant nothing!-after the slightest, groaning, clawing pause, they'd commence again-Manuel bearing down and up like an indefatigable battering-ram! I counted them inside the space of ten short minutes they peaked seven times! It was incredible! It was monstrous! I pitied them! I envied them! I encouraged them!
"Go, go, go!" I joined the others, my cries more vented rage than anything else.
And they went, went, went! Only pausing after their ninth culmination-to flip around for a different method of attack! After another fifteen minutes-sweat pouring from them profusely-I began to feel uneasy. This wasn't right. Not natural. Not ... human. They'd be drained ... juiceless ... possibly harmed ... permanently injured. Poor Manuel. Where was it all coming from? And Rena? How was she ... taking everything? And then, without warning, Manuel loosed a long drawn out sigh and sort of ... fell over on his side in the grass. Rena bent and rested her flushed face against his heavy chest ... and moments later they were sound asleep. One of the bathers, an old man, covered them with his sunning-towel. Their breathing sounded wonderfully peaceful.
Several days drifted by, fairly uneventful days. We ate well-the food they brought to our room three times a day was plain but very nourishing. We began-out of a sheer excess of unused energy-to exercise with the equipment beside the pool. We soon became darkly tanned-my own somewhat golden hue covered the last fading traces of blue tint. And I knew, when one night I awakened to find Kathy bent over me, nibbling gently though hungrily at my nipples, that everything was normal again.
It was some two or three days before Rena and Manuel looked halfway themselves. They walked listlessly around the grounds together, arm in arm, their expressions terribly apathetic, their steps faltering and unsure. I watched them, and the more I did the madder I became. Who did Danny Toya think he was twisting the lives of two such superior persons? And, whenever he was around, I observed Danny Toya, too-noting with wonder his strange combination of polished gentleman and egotistical slob. And once, when he was quite near, I was almost certain that I detected the opaque gleam of insanity in his eyes. Was he insane? And if he was ... had our running off made him mad enough to plan some ... special form of revenge and punishment for us?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As days passed, Kathy and I gained weight-became sleek, tanned, milk-fed animals. Our regular hours, our prodigies of sunshine, exercise and sleep, gradually engendered an intense sexual restlessness in us. I began to have dreams-dreams that would sometimes waken me and find me with my pillow between my thighs, groaning and undulating in climatic ecstasy. And Kathy took to spending hours at a time-entertaining herself with an "instrument".
And then one afternoon-as we were dozing in the warm sun beside the pool-a "nonuser", camera in hand, informed us that Danny wanted to see us in the "orgy-room".
"Maybe this is it," I remarked to Kathy, as we followed the man.
"I ... I sorta hope so," Kathy whispered. "Frankly ... the idea of sex appeals to me right now."
"Yes, I feel primed, too," I replied. "But everything depends on what kind of sex."
Walking into the "orgy-room" I saw that a very elaborate stage had been set. There were beds, couches, chairs, strange looking ropes and pulleys, large mirrors, one of those vibrating machines that are used to reduce the waist, an assortment of different "instruments", all sizes and shapes, and several ugly looking whips.
My heart began to pound wildly when Danmy Toya and another man walked up to us. "Good afternoon, ladies. My, don't the two of you look brown and healthy." Then, glancing at the other man, he said, "This is Doctor Zinken. He's going to give you a little shot of cantherides now."
What could we do but relent and cooperate? We both sensed that resistance of any kind would be worse than useless. There was no way out for us except to give in to our host's unholy whims ... in the hope (however unrealistic) that he'd let us leave when it was over.
The man administered our shots with a big, mean looking hypodermic and it hurt like the very devil. Then an older woman approached us-Danny explaining briefly that she was to be our "wardrobe director"-and handed each of us a very scanty sunsuit. "Put these on, girls," she said-and we did, rather non-plussed to learn that the suits left our bottoms completely revealed.
"There won't be any planned sequence of events in this movie, girls," Danny explained. "Just ... follow your instincts. I have several other ... actors ... who will come on at certain times. They'll be a little rough ... some of them ... but ... well ... you shouldn't have run off to San Francisco like that And besides ... you're young ... healthy ... you can take it. It'll be something you'll never forget."
Kathy moaned then, deep in her chest, and flew at him-throwing her thighs around his flabby waist she began biting his neck and kissing his greasy mouth.
"Save it, girlie, save it," he grinned sardonically and pulled her off; giving her bottom a vicious swat he shoved her towards me. "Now get out there and give us a good show."
While Kathy rubbed her bottom, pouting like a spanked child, Danny clapped his hands sharply and the buzzing whirr of several cameras began. Two men ... actors (and the blue tint of their skins would make them "method" actors) ... emerged from the swinging doors at the far end of the room. They were stark naked-tall, lean, and superbly "built". But their faces, their eyes, were hard and cold looking. Relentless. They walked towards us ... and by the time they reached us I was more than ready for them! That undiluted shot, coupled with my high state of health and general restlessness, was causing electrical sensations to buzz through me as I'd never felt them before!
One of the men grabbed me-roughly-and pulling me towards a chair he immediately bent me over it, face down. I twisted my head to look for Kathy, and saw the other man dragging her towards me, urging her to take a whip that he'd picked up. She shook her head, and tried to pull the man against her-but he slapped her a reasounding blow across the mouth and shoved the whip in her hand.
"Now, blondie, use that whip-on your friend's lovely round bottom."
"No!" Kathy cried, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Use it!" he snarled. "Or I'll use it on you!"
So she dealt me a light, half-hearted swat that brought snarls of digust from both men.
"Hard, dammit! Lay into her or you'll be sorry!"
"Go ahead, Kathy," I told her. "Do what they tell you or it'll be worse for both of us."
"But ... but, Emily ... I...."
"Go ahead! Do like she told you!" the man who was holding me barked gruffly.
Swat! The whip bit into my flesh and ... strange as it seems ... the pain was delicious!
I writhed, lifting my bottom high, waiting impatiently for another blow.
"Come on, blondie! Keep it up!" one of the men shouted excitedly.
Crack! Swat! Swish, crack! The whip stung like a wasp and each burning sting set off a melange of electrical charges within my unflinching buttocks! Several voluptuous blows later I screamed in blended bliss and ecstatic agony!-my peak was a scientillating, throbbing electrical storm whose thundering spasms threatened to break the bands of my very reason!
And then it was turnabout! With Kathy bent sharply over the chair's arm, I wielded that whip. And Kathy's cries and moans floated up to my ears like the ethereal notes from some decerebrated musician's "sex"-aphone!
The whipping having achieved their purpose, the two men took us! But back there ... where our mutilated flesh was in no need for further prodding.
"Let me turn over," I begged the one who was attending me-but my supplications only spurred him on in his avant guard purpose. But when he culminated, grunting nastily, his libations soothed me, balming my irritated membranes.
"Oh, lordie," Kathy sighed in relief as they walked away from us. "That hurt terribly-I prefer the whip to that."
"Cut!" Danny shouted. The whirr of the cameras stopped and the wardrobe lady approached us. She gave us black lace panties, brassieres, and ultra high heeled shoes.
"Put these on," she said, waiting for us to change. We changed rather slowly-our sore bottoms making us wince with pain. And then:
"Okay! Action!" Danny's shout set the cameras to grinding again. And the "action" began. A woman walked out. She was attractive-a little on the plump side-and was fully dressed. She smiled sweetly as she approached, and she swayed her hips in an exaggerated, provocative manner.
"Hello, girls," she drawled. "Wanta fight?"
"What?" Kathy stared at her, and then looked at me, rolled her eyes and shrugged.
"You heard me, kid," her sweet smile vanished. "I asked you if you wanta fight."
"No," I said. "Of course not. What for?"
"Kicks," she replied, smiling vaguely.
"But we don't enjoy fighting," I told her.
"Who cares," she shrugged, "I do!" And with that terse statement she dealt Kathy a cruel slap across the face.
"But ... why did you do that?" Kathy held her face and tears of pain and humiliation sprang into her eyes.
"I wanted to," she replied casually-and then let me have it across the mouth with a vicious backhanded blow.
"Oh, I see," I nodded, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth. "You get your pleasure by fighting. Well, Kathy," I looked at her quickly and then returned my gaze to the woman, "let's work off a few of our aggressions. I don't think I care for this fat lady anyway."
"Fat, eh?" she gritted her teeth and went for me.
"Yes, fat!" I cried; stepping aside quickly I gave her my elbow in the ribs-hard. Kathy, taking my que, leaped to the attack! We bore her down to the mat where, bringing my knee up into her stomach repeatedly, we began to tear her clothes off. Soon she was down to her panti-girdle, that rubberized material being too tough for our nails to tear. She began to swear, then-like a man! Filthy curses fell from her snarling lips in a steady, semi-coherent stream. My knees on her shoulders, I began slapping her face-first one hand and then the other until my hands hurt too much to go on. And then I saw her smile--crookedly-and her eyes closed half way in unmistakable enjoyment. Why!-I wondered. Turning, I saw why. Kathy was kneeling and kissing away furiously, wriggling her fanny in sheer pleasure and utter abandon! What a sight that was! My anger melted instantly; I bent and began kissing the woman-on the nose, eyes, mouth, neck, breasts! And then, straddling her, I lowered my yearning chemistry to her and she returned my kisses-where it really counted! Soon the three of us were one; we worked and sweated and traded and changed, forming a chain of flesh that had no weak link ... and we strove as a single unit to achieve a concommitant peak of passion and a synchronized climax. And our strivings were rewarded! Like a tidal wave it hit us and our mutual threshings and moanings had much of the sea and its ceaseless power and movement in them.
There were other shows and other people: men, women, lesbians, homosexuals, sadists, masochists, perverts of every kind, type, and variety. Kathy and I took what came-riding that sexual merry-go-round like fun-loving kids. We asked no quarter and gave none. We were in fine shape for it, our bodies tuned to a high pitch by rest, sunshine, good food ... and cantherides! There was no occasion we failed to arise to; we used others as hard as we were used and played their games according to their individual rules and needs, even inventing a few games of our own. But one "experience" stands out in my memory above all the others....
She was tall, stately, beautifully proportioned-and as black as bituminous-coal! Wearing only heels, she advanced on us with the grace and feral dignity of some great jungle cat! My throat ached at first sight of her-and when she approached me-ignoring Kathy-I fell into her ebony arms and pulled her against me hungrily. She was very strong! Pressing against me, she bent me back easily and gently lowered me to the mat; then, after smiling down at me and sticking her tongue out at me naughtily, she got down on all fours at my feet and began nibbling on my toes. Slowly, ever so slowly and deliciously, she worked up-my calves, my thighs, my lower abdomen, my navel-kissing and probing me with just the wet tip of her tongue.
Kathy, who had been watching enviously, suddenly bent and began stroking the lovely negress.
"Thas nice, real nice, lil' gal," the negress gave her a pleased smile.
Then I pulled her dark face down to me and kissed her, reveling in the tasty fleshiness of her thick lips, pleasuring in her darting tongue.
"Les' turn round, white gal," she whispered eagerly in my ear, and with that she spun around and soon I was delving in the arcane miasma of darkest Africa's darkest and most humid jungle. We culminated there--each of us dipping deeply and surrendering to the most extravagent sensations imaginable!-lip met hp and probed there with the expertness of the vivisectionist's knife.
Used up almost beyond belief-the "moviemaking" finally came to an end and Kathy and I staggered off to our room in mute exhaustion. We cried for hours, lying in each other's arms, shaking with fatigue, and when we finally drifted off, jerking to momentary wakefulness now and again, we slept for a straight fourteen hours. We had had it. We felt as if we had fallen into the yawing pit of sheer madness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was Manuel who awakened us fourteen hours later-and I felt as if I were still asleep and dreaming. One at a time, he carried us into the shower and let the cold water pour over our enervated limbs. And then he fed us, like babies, spooning "straight" food into our slack mouths, holding our heads while he poured glass after glass of fresh milk down our burning throats, reliquifying our terribly dehydrated bodies.
And Rena helped too-they worked on us in shifts, massaging our sore calves and thighs, applying a soothing liquid balm to unmentionable areas. And they walked us! Endlessly! Around and around the room, down the halls, around and around the pool!
"We've got to work some of that stuff out of your systems," Manuel explained patiently.
"Yes, get you white again," Rena affirmed.
It was like some endless, interminable nightmare! Speaking for myself (and Kathy must have felt just as bad), nothing could ever induce me to once again experience that dreadful loss of identity, that zombie-like (but still aware) trance that that sexual debaucherie engendered in me.
But three days later, our bodies nearly mended and our apathy shaken off, it was much worse! Remorse and shame and disgust and self denigration ... all combined to give us a "moral hangover" that was far far worse than exhaustion or physical fatigue. It did no good to tell ourselves that we were blameless, and that without that mind-warping drug we would never have indulged in such perversions.
It was during the afternoon of the fourth day after we'd acted in that "obsenity epic" that Manuel and Rena came to our room with a strange proposition. I could tell at first glance that they were excited about something-they were holding hands, and Rena, her Amazonian body shaking and trembling, seemed about to burst.
"Y-You tell them, Manuel," she stammered. I'm too darned excited."
So be began, patting the big woman's hand to soothe her as he talked.
"Rena and I ... well ... strange as this might sound ... coming from someone on this ranch ... but ... we're in love. And ... like you kids ... we want to leave Spanish Fly."
"Why don't you?" I looked at both of them.
"We can't," Manuel shrugged.
"Danny would kill me," Rena put in. And then she smiled, rather ironically, and added, "The crazy part of it is, though, that if Danny hadn't put Manuel and I on the poles ... for punishment ... we wouldn't have fallen in love. I've known Manuel for years ... and until then ... on the poles together for two days and nights ... we had only been casual friends," she looked at him as she said that and her expression was unmistakably that of a woman deeply in love.
"But I don't understand," Kathy put in. "You say you want to get away ... and you know how badly we do. But how can we be of help to you?"
"By coming with us," Manuel looked towards the door and lowered his voice. "By coming with us ... and cooperating."
"Count us in, Manuel. Naturally! But I'm confused. Like Kathy said ... how can we help?"
Then Rena broke in, her face tight with anxiety. "It's actually me that needs help. You see ... I've been using the blue juice for years. My system is saturated with it. And while it's not a narcotic ... it does hop up a person's libido ... sexual drive that is ... to the extent... that ... some people ... when they get off it after using it for a long time ... go insane!"
"Yes, but there's a way to prevent that from happening," Manuel broke in. "Or at least to lessen the danger."
"Oh! How?" I asked him.
He smiled, shook his head, shrugged rather disconsolately and said, "By not using any cantherides for five days ... and during that time indulge sexually ... whenever the desire arises."
I turned to Rena. "But why don't you do that here then? You could eat with Manuel ... get off the stuff ... and indulge all you want."
"It wouldn't work here, Emily," she shook her head sadly.
"She's blue as the blue-boy right now," Manuel inserted. "If she quits the stuff ... begins to turn white ... Danny will notice and...."
"... And give me the stuff by hypo," Rena interjected. "Danny doesn't want me to get off the junk ... my size ... I'm one of his best movie subjects. He'd kill me before he'd let me turn white."
"So here's what we want you to do," Manuel paused, looking slowly at each of us before he began again. "I know of a little fishing shack about 30 miles from here. We could go there. The four of us. Rena'll get off the stuff for five days ... during which time she and I will ... indulge freely. And then ... after two or three days rest ... we'll head for the border and Los Angeles. Oh, by the way...," he grinned at me. "I am a naturalized American citizen. So there'll be no trouble there."
I shook my head, smiling confusedly. "Excuse me for being dull, Manuel and Rena ... but ... what help will Kathy and I be to you? I mean ... as much as I appreciate all you've done for us here ... and that you'd like to help us escape ... wouldn't it be easier for you if just the two of you left?"
"Perhaps it would," he nodded, his expression serious. "But remember how completely exhausted the two of you were ... after that movie ordeal? Well ... in order to ... keep up with Rena ... to help burn her out ... I'll give myself a shot of cantherides just before we leave."
"We'll need someone like you kids to nurse us back to health ... otherwise...," Rena shrugged.
"... Otherwise we'd probably starve to death," Manuel added grimly.
"We'd be honored to help you," I said.
"Gosh, yes! Count us in! You guys've treated us fabulously!" Kathy exclaimed.
And so it was set. For two nights hence. Details were gone over, plans polished. Manuel and Rena managed to smuggle boxes of food into the trunk of the old Chevy he intended to steal. Water, Manuel claimed, was no problem-there was a fine well beside the shack to provide that. Kathy and I waited in an agony of apprehension, hoping against hope that nothing would go wrong-hoping that this time we could escape Danny Toya and Spanish Fly forever.
It was a dark, moonless night the night we crept down the long corridor of what Kathy and I had come to regard as the Devil's playground. Carrying blankets, our bags, and our shoes tied together and slung around our necks, we padded down the path that led to the trees where Manuel and Rena were waiting in the car. And only a chirping cricket bid us goodbye.
We drove for an hour, and then the fresh, clean smell of the sea hit our nostrils and, ten minutes later, we pulled up and parked beside the fishing shack. There were two beds inside, we made them, using linen and blankets we'd taken from the ranch. And then I noticed, even by lantern light, how dark blue Manuel looked-the shot he'd taken was obviously a terribly powerful one!
We got precious little sleep that first night! Manuel and Rena fairly shook the shack with their wild exertions-and the odor (overpowering!) of spilled love seemed to have contaminated even the furthest reaches of the shack (and our bed was a considerable distance from theirs!). When morning came they paused long enough for a quick breakfast, and then, already beginning to look hollow-eyed and wan, they tangled again. I watched, envious of Rena, and was tempted once or twice to offer my services to Manuel. But I held out-respecting them; admiring them in their herculean efforts to achieve normalcy.
The second day passed; the second night. On they went, resting only to catch their breath or to snatch a bite of food or to visit the outside privy. Kathy and I grew restless-the nearness of so much impassioned flesh was catching and extremely upsetting. Finally, during the dim hours of the third night, Kathy and I relieved our tensions; with Rena's moans and Manuel's grunts keening in our ears, we gave and took of each other with the generosity engendered by reciprocal need.
The fourth day passed, and the fourth night-the fifth morning found them nearly paralyzed with fatigue. Manuel's eyes had black circles beneath them and his cheeks were hollow and drawn. Rena's expression was one of uncaring apathy-her movements listless and heavy. It was the middle of the afternoon of that fifth day that their flesh-carnage came to a halt. Manuel had seemed to be reviving; indeed he was whaling away in dead and impassioned earnest when ... with a long, tremulous sigh ... he slipped off and fell to the floor.
Kathy and I managed to get him back up on the bed, and he lay there, dead to the world, sleeping peacefully with a happy smile on his gaunt and ravaged face. Rena, snoring softly, looked like a woman who has searched for a lifetime ... and finally found satisfaction.
We nursed them. For two days and nights we attended their needs as a parent attends a helpless infant. On the third day after their ordeal they got up and walked a little; Rena even fed herself. On the fourth day, Manuel rose early, had a big breakfast, took a swim in the surf, and announced he was ready to drive us to Los Angeles.
We made it! Six hours after bidding goodbye to that fishing shack we pulled into the city limits of Los Angeles! Manuel, who had friends in Los Angeles and intended to settle there (after marrying Rena-who, it turned out, had never been legally married to Danny Toya anyway), drove us to the bus station. (We didn't trust planes anymore!) And there they bid us a fond goodbye.
"Thanks, kids. Rena and me'll never forget you. You're two fine girls."
Rena grabbed each of us and kissed us impulsively. "Thanks," she said, blinking fast to hide the tears.
"Oh, Manuel, just one thing," I said, as they were about to drive off.
"Yes?" he lifted his eyebrows and smiled vaguely.
"Instead of taking that last shot of stuff yourself ... and knocking yourself out like that ... why didn't you just give Rena an instrument to ... work off her energies?"
"You thought of that, eh?" he grinned broadly. "Well ... what better way was there to celebrate getting away from Spanish Fly?"
