Gynophagia Chronicles: Samantha

/files/Authors/LuisCypher/

Friday, September 11, 2218, 6:30PM

The Golding Home, 785 Marmalade Ave, San Ramon, CA

From Samantha Marie Wells’ Memoirs

I had to wait outside for Reba while she asked if I could spend the night (something I thought was already arranged). Truthfully, I did not really want to be there in the first place. I was tired and, thanks to Jenna’s little adventure the night before, really could have used some sleep. But finally Reba appeared and let me in.

Inside there were four people. Mr. and Mrs. Golding I had seen before, of course. Besides them were two very well dressed men dark in three piece suits. One had the most striking blue eyes on a beautifully handsom face, and I automatically assumed this was Reba’s Johnny. But no, the one with the interesting nose and dangerous smirk turned out to be Johnny. In his way, I thought him hansom enough, I suppose, if crocodiles could be considered hansom. His leer, however, filled me with… big word here: trepidation! It’s the only word that seems appropriate. There was something dangerous about him on a fundamental level, an aura that filled the entire room. Yes, he scared me. It was a little exciting, and I suspect that’s why Reba was so fond of him.

The other man was beautiful. In a manly way, I should say. He had not quite a rugged look about him. Hansom, but also beautiful. He towered over me and, while the gaze he favoured me with those piercing blue eyes was not at all what I’d call a leer, it lingered in such a way that is almost impossible to describe. It was the type of gaze that makes a woman feel adored. His jaw was slack, and very likely mine was too. I was also hot from the weight of his stare.

“Samantha,” Mr. DeSilva said. “This is my friend Michael Gianni.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Mr. Gianni’s deep voice was husky. He offered me his hand and mine disappeared into it.

“As well,” I managed. Did I curtsy? Reba later assured me I did.

“So,” Johnny DeSilva said, turning to Reba. “I brought you a dress and some baubles to wear,” he produced a bag. I caught the look on Mr. Gianni’s face, it was a knowing smirk, as if the man had some knowledge of some plan Mr. DeSilva had. “Mrs. Golding, I’m pretty sure I picked the right size.”

“You did not!” protested Mrs. Golding.

“I hope I did,” Mr. DeSilva said. “Or we’ll have to go back to Coulter’s.”

“Oh my god!” cried Mrs. Golding as she pulled out a long, shimmering golden evening gown. “It’s beautiful!”

“As I said,” I hope it fits.” Then he turned to me. “What are we going to do about you?”

“What’s this store? Coulter’s?” asked Mr. Gianni.

“Yeah,” said Mr. DeSilva. “I outfit all my girls there. Mr. Coulter runs a tight ship.”

“What are we doing?” asked Reba excitedly.

“I thought I’d take us all to dinner and a show,” said Mr. DeSilva.

“Uhm,” I said. “I don’t want to be any trouble. Maybe I should just go back home…”

“Nonsense!” said Mr. DeSilva. “We have plenty of time. Why don’t you ladies go get yourselves dolled up and then we’ll head out to Coulter’s to get Miss Samantha something appropriate to wear.”

Reluctantly, I headed upstairs with Reba and Mrs. Golding. My hair was still wet, but Mrs. Golding actually managed to make it look halfway decent, brusque though she was. She made it quite obvious she did not appreciate that Reba and I were tagging along. Then they put on their dresses.

As I said, Mrs. Golding’s was shimmering gold, go figure, and Reba’s was a shimmering shade of Scarlet. They were both beautiful, but both rather immodest. Reba’s entire mid section was exposed almost to her pubic mound as were the underside of her breasts, but even above that her large dark nipples were easily discernable. It could not be worn with any underwear. Mrs. Golding’s was even more immodest, leaving one breast covered by only see-through material. By the time we landed downstairs again it was nearly seven thirty, and the men seemed impatient.

“You look amazing,” Mr. DeSilva said as he took Reba’s hand, and helped her into her coat.

“Well,” Mr. Gianni said. “Everyone here has a date except you and me. Would you do me the honour?” He made a little bow. Remember, here I am clad only in a t-shirt and Jenna’s bedazzled jeans while he’s in this very fancy suit, and he’s bowing to me!

So what else, I simply blushed and smiled, took his offered hand and let him lead me outside to Mr. DeSilva’s enormous car.

With Mr. DeSilva and Reba up front, Mr. and Mrs. Golding took the back seat, while Mr. Gianni and I face them in the backwards facing seat.

“So,” Mr. Gianni began the conversation. “How long have you and Reba been friends?”

I told him about my family, who my sisters were, my Parents, and what they did. Before I knew it, we were all getting out at a store in what I later found out was Lafayette.

From the outside, Coulter’s seemed to be like any other fancy dress store. The window displays sported glossy white, headless mannequins wearing fine jewelry and dresses more or less as modest as those worn by Reba and Mrs. Golding. Inside it had that sound absorbent quiet one gets from plush carpeting and a hanging ceiling.

“Welcome, Mr. DeSilva,” said a stout man in a very fine double breasted suit. He stood on the blue patterned carpet in the middle of what amounted to a lobby area surrounded by racks of dresses.

“Mr. Coulter,” Mr. DeSilva said. “It seems I am in need of another dress for this young lady. We’ll be going to my club tonight, and I’d like her to look like a celebrity. Can you take her in hand, please?”

“Certainly, sir,” smile Mr. Coulter.

“And as she is my date,” said Mr. Gianni. “I will be happy to pay the tab.”

“Of course, Sir,” nodded the man. “Miss…”

“Samantha Wells,” Johnny said. “Remember that name, Mr. Coulter. She’s going to be famous after tonight.”

“Of course, sir,” Mr. Coulter said. “If you will step this way, Miss Samantha.”

I followed him into the dressing room.

“Miss Samantha, forgive me please,” Mr. Coulter said. “But the things you have on make it difficult to assess your figure. May I ask you to please remove them?”

“All of them?” I asked.

“It would be best,” he said contritely. “I assure you, I pride myself on my professionalism.”

I nodded, and undid Jenna’s jeans, slipping them off. He waited quite patiently for me till I slipped off my t-shirt. I hadn’t worn a bra (which is not normal for me. I may be small, but my boobs do better in a bra when I’m dressed). When I stood straight, he let out an almost inaudible gasp.

“You must be working with Lawrence Gray, or someone trying to emulate him!” said Mr. Coulter.

“Yes,” I said. “You know him?”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Coulter with a broad smile. “He’s well known for his humility among those in my profession. Now let me look at you please… the work is quite beautiful, I must say. It demands a certain style to it… I do hope your gentleman is aware of our prices, because the dresses I must select for you are quite dear. Those appear to be a blue clamatis, I think, am I correct? Very well then… aquamarine and royal blue… I shall return.”

I stood there hugging myself. In the multitudes of mirrors in front of me I saw myself naked wearing only the skin dye the artist Antone had applied to me the night before. They seemed to almost have a glow about them, blending perfectly with my skin as if they were naturally a part of my colouring. They made me feel pretty, and I couldn’t help but smile as I modeled them for myself twisting my body around so I could see the swirling vines crossing my back and front, over my breasts, belly, buns and hips. I would have expected for them to center a flower over each nipple, but they did not. My untrained eye would not have found it vulgar, but an artist, of course, would. My very pink nipples were quite naked.

When Mr. Coulter returned he brought with him two dresses. One was a greenish shade of Aquamarine, the other Royal Blue. He held up the Aquamarine one first, then the royal blue one.

“Maybe if you try it on,” he handed me the Aquamarine dress and helped me slip into it. It came down passed my knees, the skirt being draped around my hips and overlapping in front, corners down. The bodice was attatched to the skirt by the narrowest of fabric that barely covered my belly and drapped then over my breasts. It had an embroidered pattern on material that was translucent, and revealed every crevice of my body. I felt completely naked in it…

“Hmmm…” Mr. Coulter’s appraisal looked dubious. “It does go well with your eyes, but it seems to clash a bit with the design. The colour is definitely fine… but the style… so slip that off, and let us try this one…”

Once I had the royal blue dress on, Mr. Coulter began nodding and humming pleasantly almost as soon as the skirt was fastened.

“Fabulous!” Mr. Coulter seemed pleased. “Do see yourself, then!” He indicated the mirror.

It was single strap that wrapped around my left shoulder and draped over my chest, then wrapped around my hips front to back, tying on one side. The floor length skirt, therefore, was slit all the way up my right side to my hip. The material was interspaced strips of opaque and transparent blue that strategically covered my naughty parts, but also seemed to complement the design and the flowers, leaving them strategically exposed. Not a bit of them, however, were left uncovered by material save those across my lower back and left shoulder blade. I was pleased. I didn’t feel nearly as naked in this as I had in the other, and it seemed to have much more in the way of class. For the first time in my life, I felt beautiful without Mom standing next to me…

The shoes he brought me were burnished silver sandals, only one inch heels (thank God!), and seemed to go well with the dress. A matching purse, also burnished silver, completed the outfit. Into it, I placed my things, ID, PDA, pencil, small paper pad and keys.

Outside the five waiting for me looked stunned save one. Mr. Gianni, instead, had a Cheshire smile almost instantly after his eyes grew large…

Both Reba and Mrs. Golding now sported hair broaches, ruby and amber respectively to match their dresses. Reba’s was fashioned into a small rose while Mrs. Golding’s was in the shape of an orchid. Additionally, Mrs. Golding now wore two strands of pearls around her neck, and Reba had a heart shaped gold locket.

But it seemed I was not yet finished. Mr. Gianni put a hand on my shoulder and began pulling a necklace around my throat.

“Oh my God!” Mrs. Golding whispered as she watched.

In the mirror I saw the row of twenty nine 1kt sapphires draped over my collar… I had absolutely no idea what it was at the time, I just thought it was pretty…

Friday, September 9, 2218, 8PM

Coulter’s Clothier, Lafayette CA

Narative Reconstructed by Peter Howard

The woman-child Gianni adorned was as stunning as any Gianni could possibly imagine. Moreso, even. He thought absolutely nothing about laying down 25,000€ for the dress and another 40,000€ for the necklace and earrings, even if she could not wear the latter due to un-pierced ears. It was more than a bargain to be this close to her.

How could it be, he thought, that this girl had not been snapped up by anyone before now? How was he so lucky?

Gianni shook off his stupor. The situation, he knew, had all the makings of a disaster. Gianni considered he might need a surrogate to move into his place now more than ever. That Simon was waiting in the wings to replace him here in California was now, more than ever, necessary. It was also unbearable. How to mitigate this? He’d have a surrogate move into the house on Alsatian! That’s what he’d do. It would free him up and allow him to move more discretely.

Gianni reasoned that Simon would not be ready for a time in any event. He would make the most of things, and, in the meantime, the Professor need never know about how… infatuated he’d become with this subject…

Purchasing the baubles for the Goldings was another part of his mitigation of the events. An expense for three women would be far easier to explain than an expense for one… if the professor ever found out there would, indeed, be disappointment…

Friday September 9, 2218, 8:45PM

Tropicana Blue Club, Orinda California

From Samantha Marie Wells’ Memoirs

I still could not believe what I wore! I was not used to wearing dresses at all, much less evening gowns. It’s so easy to forget how humble I must have looked when Mr. Gianni first saw me. I sat in front with Mr. Gianni as he drove Mr. DeSilva's enormous car trying to think of something to say to break the ice that had formed in the silence.

“So,” I finally tried. “What do you do, Mr. Gianni?”

“Me?” He said. “You should call me Michael, Miss Samantha. Mike, if you like. We are, after all, on a date, are we not? I have a very obscene job as a head hunter.”

“You collect heads?” I asked naively, which brought a pleasant laugh.

“Not exactly,” he smiled. “I investigate people with talent coveted by my clients. Mostly with large companies looking to lure the employees of a rival company. Like Mr. Golding, for instance. He is employed by Tucker Kline, and there is no shortage of firms in the same business who would love to have him on their payroll.”

“Ah!” I said, understanding. He did not make me feel stupid, though I felt it anyway.

“And you, Samantha? What do you want to do?”

“I’m studying to be a journalist.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked, glancing at me. “Why not just get married and have babies?”

“I…” I had not honestly thought about that. So I evaded. “People interest me. You know, the things they do, good or bad… I find them fascinating.”

He laughed as he pulled off the freeway. Just up ahead, I could see a massive line of cars waiting to get into a particularly full parking lot.

“That’s a politic answer,” he said with a little smile.

“It’s true, though,” I defended. “I mean, there’s a whole world out there and I’d like to see some of it before I get culled.” He looked at me sideways with those piercing blue eyes. “I swear it’s true,” I added as a car horn urged us forward.

“I believe you,” he finally said. “That is the most honest answer I’ve ever heard from a journalism student!”

“Really? Have you talked with a lot of them?”

“In college I did. They always gave answers like: ‘I want to change the world,’ or ‘I want to make a difference’… or some similarly stupid answer! I like your answer better. It’s genuine. Funny. In a few years it’ll be a canned answer, I’m sure.”

“You think?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how famous you get in your endeavours. Someone will quote you, and that’ll be it…”

It was my turn to laugh… me… famous… go figure…

As we pulled into the parking lot, huge neon letters announced our location over the cars in front of us, “Tropicana Blue Club.” Men dressed in fine suits, some of them in white smoking jackets with women dressed in evening gowns not unlike mine or Reba’s or even Mrs. Golding’s were queued up at the door for yards and yards.

A woman with a lit baton directed us out of line and into the oncoming lane. It had been cleared for us and we moved to the head of the line we’d just left. When we halted several young female valets hurried to open our doors. There seemed to be a bit of confusion when they saw Mr. Gianni climb out of the driver’s seat until Mr. DeSilva appeared from in back. I climbed out of the car into the balmy night and Mr. Gianni was immediately at my side, his presence saving me from my own awkwardness.

“Isn’t that Kelly Crane?” asked Mrs. Golding as flashbulbs went off all around us. Photographers were taking pictures of everyone who came out of their cars and hocking their work to those in line.

“Who’s that?” asked Mr. DeSilva.

“She’s big on Broadway,” said Mrs. Golding. She pointed to a platinum blonde in a black sequin LBD and waistcoat waiting in line with a party of four other young women. Sure enough, I recognized her from the “Jane Porter Diaries,” the latest incarnation of the Tarzan legend. A few yards behind Miss Crane I recognized the Osric Brothers, who were both football heroes from the two local teams. Craig was the star left tackle from the Oakland Raiders and Daniel the quarterback from the San Francisco 49ers. Each had a girl on each arm, likely cheerleaders. I mentioned how envious my father and brothers would be.

Johnny DeSilva never missed a beat. He snapped his fingers producing an impressive crack and two valets were at his beck and call as if from thin air.

“See over there?” He pointed. “Those are the Osric brothers and that’s Kelly Crane. Escort them inside with my apologies, get them the best table you can and a round of drinks on the house. Get to it!”

As the frightened young women scurried off to carry out his orders, he took Reba’s arm, and proceeded inside. Michael Gianni had my arm and the two of us followed them as more cameras flashed.

“This is so exciting!” said Mrs. Golding with a giddiness worthy of a twelve year old. “I feel like a movie star!”

I glanced back at her and saw Kelly Crane and her friends were on the Golding’s heels, causing even more flashes to go off.

Just outside the entrance the marquee displayed the featured performers. “Tonight:” one poster said. “Peggy Cruise and the Congalese King, ON STAGE!” In the poster cases were photos of Peggy Cruise dolled up like a platinum era silver screen queen in front of an ancient microphone. Then there was Dizzy Davis and her Coast Starlight Orchestra clad in white coat tails with short shorts and bare legs. One enigmatic poster of a body builder from the back in a skimpy leopard skin loin cloth with “Phantasma de la Selva and finally, a double wide poster of the Shenbo Dancers, ten women and fifteen men, all ethnic Africans wearing nothing but feathers .

We walked in through the out door passing the line of people separated from us by a green velvet rope on polished brass stanchions, and more Valets were there to collect coats from those carried them. It was far too warm an evening for a coat, but some women seemed to need them to cover their skimpy attire.

I did as well, but I had no coat. Mr. Gianni, however, clothed me with his comfortable presence as he remained at my side.

“Mr. DeSilva,” a deep but feminine voice caught our ears. We turned to see Kelly Crane approaching. “Thank you for rescuing us. We were afraid we wouldn’t get in.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Mr. DeSilva replied. He proceeded to introduce the Goldings, paying special attention to Reba as his date. He introduced Mr. Gianni as “his friend, Mike,” as if Mr. Gianni might be a servant, then he turned to me. “And this,” he said. “Is Samantha Wells. She’s a very promising reporter who’s just beginning her carreer.”

Miss Crane took my hand politely, obviously unimpressed, and proceeded to introduce her four friends, who happened to be her partners in a new stage production soon to open in San Francisco.

“What’s it about?” asked Mrs. Golding.

“I can’t say yet,” said Miss Crane. “All I can tell you is that it will be as nothing you’ve experienced. If it’s successful, we’ll take it to broadway.”

As Miss Crane gushed about her new project the Orsic brothers slipped by without a word, much to my dismay. I would have loved to have gotten an autograph for my father. We stood for several moments as Miss Crane extolled her own virtue for having brought such culture to us poor provincials out on the left coast. “It’s so nice to find a quality night club in the west,” she said finally.

“Do let me know if you need anything, Miss Crane,” said Mr. DeSilva as Miss Crane and her party moved past, dismissively.

“Thank you, Mr. DeSilva.”

“I would have thought,” Mr. DeSilva said after Miss Crane was out of earshot. “that she’d have the sense to invite Samantha to an interview… Betty,” he stopped a passing valet. “Do keep tables on who’s in line. If you see any more celebrities, even minor ones, escort them in.”

“Yes, Mr. DeSilva!” she said emphatically.

Mr. DeSilva led us passed the lobby, which had music wafting in pleasantly. Three bars were standing room only three deep. On either side of the entrance hall were curved staircases leading up to the next level. The six of us entered the main hall through the left hand entrance, between the bar beneath the left hand staircase and the bar in the center.

At first, the main hall has a very low ceiling with cocktail tables for eight, all occupied below ceiling embedded lamps. The occasional waitress slipped by with a tray held high wearing form fitting black and white uniforms complete with bow tie. Once we were out from under the low ceiling, I could see we’d been under a grand balcony. Above us tables sat on terraced ledges that stepped up into the darkness and were likewise fully occupied. On the orchestra, or main level, the tables also sat on terraces, but far less steep than on the balcony. The terraces fell just enough so that the tables behind could look over the heads of those in front of them to see the stage where Dizzy Davis’s lighthouse smile on her dark face lit the stage below her low top hat as she directed her twenty piece orchestra.

Between the stage and the tables, the dance floor was also full, but not so full that the dancers could not show off their moves with the occasional twirl or dip. The crowd there was animated and quite enjoying Dizzy Davis’s jazzy music.

“Well, Mrs. Golding,” Mr. DeSilva said. “What do you think of my place?”

“It’s amazing, Mr. DeSilva,” said Mrs. Golding.

“It certainly is impressive,” said Mr. Golding, far more subdued.

“Oh, Abe!” admonished Mrs. Golding. “You understate everything. It’s wonderful, Mr. DeSilva. Thank you so much for bringing us!”

“My pleasure,” said Mr. DeSilva. “Abe, if you ever decide to change careers, my grandfather is thinking of opening one of these in Havana.”

“Cuba?”

“Yep,” Mr. DeSilva said. “Might be a nice easy job for you after the stressful work you do…”

“May I quote you on that?” I asked, quite inappropriately.

Mr. DeSilva gave me a look. “Yes,” he finally said. “You can. Have you decided to review my place?”

I looked around quickly, then to Mr. Gianni who was gazing at me with this little smile as if he knew something I didn’t… he probably did know something I didn’t, come to think of it. But I nodded to Mr. DeSilva who then smiled.

“You’ll be the first, then,” he said.

“So you’re serious, Johnny?” Mr. Gianni said.

“About?”

“Havana.”

“Oh, yeah. He came here, saw the place and actually gave me quite a bit of praise about it. He’d like me to try and replicate it as soon as he can find a deal on some property.”

Mr. DeSilva was now leading us to the left, past more tables. I had begun to notice some of the women wore those “frontless” dresses, even among those dancing. Many wore outfits very much like mine, barely modest but obscene at the same time. What shocked me were the waitresses who wore white collars, bow ties and body paint. Their coattails were the only real cloth they wore other than that, held in place by a thick belt that attached to their belly buttons. Dizzy Davis and her band were clad exactly the same way save that their “outfits” were white and only accentuated with black and gray lines that gave a very good illusion of a suit. The only thing they wore in addition to that were their low top hats.

“Is that Doug?” Mr. Gianni suddenly asked.

“Huh?” asked Mr. DeSilva.

“Doug,” Gianni pointed to an enormous man sitting at a tiny table in a shadowy corner all alone. “Old Doug.”

“Oh,” Mr. DeSilva seemed annoyed at the question. “Yeah. This way.”

Behind a black curtain in the alcove that led to the rest rooms, Mr. DeSilva opened a door to a dark staircase leading up and ushered us onto it.

At the top, I found myself in a large booth standing over the dance floor and stage.

Mr. Gianni guided me to a seat that gave me a command view and took his next to me but not too close.

“Rebecca tells me you’re on Doe Shakes?” asked Mr. DeSilva. I nodded and he picked up a receiver behind his own seat and placed an order. Shortly, our drinks arrived. Mine was something like a Doe Shake, but spiced with luscious chocolate and a hint of almond. Later I’d find out it was amaretto, which is still my favorite liqueur.

“Our special,” Mr. DeSilva told me after I’d tasted it. “Some of our dancers live on the stuff.”

The singer, Peggy Cruise had taken the stage in a modest gold sequin gown. With her was a boy in a miniature tuxedo, real, not painted, who was perhaps eleven who she introduced as her brother Danny. The two began a duet and I sat, enjoying music I’d never heard before, but have since come to love.

“When you're alone

“Who cares for starlit skies

“When you're alone

“The magic moonlight dies

“At break of dawn

“There is no sunrise

“When your lover has gone…”

“How are we doing so far?” Mr. DeSilva asked. It took me a moment he addressed me.

“We’re… I’m doing fine…”

“So, you’re impressed? If you’re reviewing the place, I’d like a chance to put up a good face.”

“It’s fabulous, Mr. DeSilva,” Mrs. Golding repeated.

“Well,” said Mr. Gianni. “If you want to leave Samantha with a good impression why don’t you take her on a tour? Miss Rebecca,” he then said. “Would you care to dance?”

Rebecca grinned at me, and I nodded. The two were off as if they were launched from a slingshot.

“Alright,” said Mr. DeSilva. “Let me show you around then.” He offered his hand and I obediently followed him out of the booth leaving the Goldings to their privacy.

“Reporters usually can’t afford to get in here,” said Mr. DeSilva as he lead me down the stairwell.

“I can’t either,” I replied.

“The prices keep out the riff raff. My clientel tend to like exclusive places,” he led me out onto the dance floor where Mr. Gianni and Rebecca were dancing and engaged in conversation.

“This is the tour?” I asked as he took me in his arms and we began to dance.

“This is the experience,” he said. “Old world class with good music and an easy atmosphere. At least, that’s what we’re trying for. In the end it’s the women we have to please.”

“You are kidding, right?”

“Not at all,” he said. “Men want their women to be happy. They spend a great deal of money to achieve that end. This place is designed to get some of that market. It gives women an excuse to get dolled up to the hilt and men an excuse to show off their beautiful wives or girlfriends like the prizes they are.”

“So women are just prizes to men?”

“Maybe you’re too young to have figured that out… you’ll learn,” he smiled.

When the song ended, we stood and applauded the band and the two singers, then Mr. DeSilva took me around to meet some of his regulars, those who had been with him from the beginning and were largely responsible for the club’s success. One of those was none other than the current Mayor of Orinda and his wife. Another was a prominent member of the State Assembly with his date. Every visit he bought his clients, who he genuinely seemed to like, a round of drinks and made personal inquiries about their business, health and families.

“Hey, Johnny, what gives?” a deep husky voice said as we moved between tables.

I turned to see a square jawed bruiser standing arms akimbo and glaring at Mr. DeSilva. It was not the same man that Mr. Gianni had seen earlier, Doug. He was not quite as big, but for my part, he might as well be. He probably out weight me by four times.

“Crack,” Mr. DeSilva snapped. “Not now!”

“Tha’ boss’zz gettin’ very impatient, Johnny, sent me ta talk wi’ yuz.”

“Crack,” Mr. DeSilva sounded annoyed. “I’m busy. See me tomorrow morning first thing. I’ll deal with it then, alright?”

“The’ might not be uh tamarrah…”

Mr. DeSilva took my arm and led me to Kelly Crane’s table where we stood and bantered while the bruiser, Crack, fumed but did not approach. Miss Crane’s companions managed to spill the title of their production. It would be called “Slaughterhouse Dialog.” They made it sound terribly boring. I’m told it was.

“I need to use the ladies room,” I said, excusing myself and escaping away from Miss Crane. I was almost there when a large hand closed over my upper arm. I looked to see Mr. Crack standing over me.

“Ya tell ya boyfriend that Carmen chick ain’t budgin’! Da Boss’zz not a happy man, see? We has to get the goods on Sheila. I tailed her here tonight wid her goilfriend. Got it?”

“Sheila,” I said. “Carmen isn’t budging.”

“Right,” he looked dubious, studying me. “Ya make sure ya tell him, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” I barely managed. I was frozen with fear now, his hand was so tight on my arm. As soon as he released me I bolted to the safety of the ladies room.

God bless Alison LeFleur. My bladder was bursting and it was a simple thing to get the back of my dress pulled away so that I could sit on the commode. It was designed so that I did not have to hike it up as I would have with most dresses. My bladder had been screaming and I nearly peed myself when Crack had accosted me. Now I just reveled in the relief.

The when the toilet rinsed me, I was not quite expecting it. I had no idea what I was to do till it began blow drying me as well, leaving my nethers very much refreshed.

Outside the stall I surveyed the palatial décor. I took the time to dig into my purse and use the lipstick I’d brought to fix my face when I heard the sound of a woman choking in one of the stalls, then retching horribly. I was about to leave when two women came out of that stall. One was a black woman, quite drunk, and wearing one of those horrible frontless dresses. The other was a brunette that guided her ailing friend to the sink where the black woman began rinsing her mouth.

“Is she going to be alright?” I asked.

“Yes,” the brunette said sounding a little annoyed at me. “She’ll be fine.”

“Who’s that?” the drunk woman said.

“It’s just a stranger,” said the brunette.

“Huh? No it’s not! I know her! That’s… you’re name is Jessica!”

I was astonished. The black woman proved to be Sheila Jackson, her face horribly contorted as if trying to focus her eyes.

“Hi, Jessica,” she said. “Look, hun, it’s Jessica… I told you about her? The one who is the lesbian mom with all the daughters…”

“I’m so sorry!” said the brunette.

“Actually,” I blurted. “I’m Sam. Jessica’s my Mom.”

“You’re Mom! Oh yeah…”

“She’s not herself,” said the other.

“Sammie! I remember you! The reporter girl! You look just sooo yummie! I’ll bet you like licking pussy too… doesn’t she look yummy, hun?”

“I’m so sorry!” said the brunette looking terribly embarrassed and practically carrying Sheila out of the room.

I waited for the door to close and a few seconds more before I made my way out and ran smack into Mr. Gianni.

“Oh!”

“There you are,” he smiled.

“Hi!”

“May I have this dance?”

I looked around to see Sheila and her friend had got away, they were exiting into the main lobby as I watched. Mr. Crack sat at the bar, his eyes not on them but on me.

I took Mr. Gianni’s hand and let him rescue me…

Friday, September 9, 2218, 9:15PM

Tropicana Blue Club, Orinda, CA

Gianni danced with Rebecca for a while, engaging her in the only type of conversation she was good at, commenting on mundane things such as the appearance of those around them. Eventually he traded with Abe Golding, daughter for wife, Ester proving to be only slightly better than Rebecca. From time to time he cast a jealous eye on Johnny and Samantha as he took the most beautiful girl in the room around his club. They certainly were taking their sweet time about it. When Mrs. Golding excused herself and went to the ladies room he made his escape from her, making a b-line to Doug’s table.

Old Doug. He stood six foot seven and must have weight nearly tfree hundred pounds, all of it muscle. He was exactly what he appeared to be, an enforcer. This was the man that arrived on your doorstep when Carmine DeSilva was unhappy with you. He was the man you never wanted to see come calling.

“Hi, Mikey,” Doug gave Gianni his version of a smile.

“Hi, Doug,” Gianni gave Doug a friendly smile. He almost meant it. Doug was quite a loyal ally. “How’s the family.”

“Family’s good,” Doug nodded, his huge hand wrapped itself around a rocks glass and downed his drink. Gianni called for another and paid for it.

“I have a question,” Gianni said after the waitress had left. “If you can’t answer, please ask the boss if he can. Can you do that?”

“Sure.”

“If lesbians are legalized, will it hurt your boss?”

“My boss? Naw. He might be tough, but he actually likes girls, you know. His clients, that’s another story…”

Across the room, Samantha was moving toward the ladies room when some strange bruiser grabbed her by the arm. It sent a shock through Gianni and he stood.

“Who’s that?” Gianni growled.

“Crack? Gobana’s muscle. Real stupid, too. He buggin’ your girl?”

Crack said something to Samantha and let her go. She bolted into the bathroom.

“You want I should take care of him?” Doug asked, looking quite eager.

Gianni, to his own horror, almost said yes.

“No,” Gianni finally said, the fire in his chest still smouldering. “Doug, thank you very much. Please tell the boss I said hello.”

“Will do,” said Doug. “I’m here if you need to find me.”

Gianni favoured him with a smile, then moved across the room on the edge of the dance floor. Johnny was now having a word with the two football players at the right side bar. Not far from them he recognized someone else quite unwelcome. Martha Carrington and her daughter Astrid, to Gianni’s disbelief. Who else would he run into tonight? Astrid had put on weight. She was never all that attractive in the first place, but now… she looked pouty and about as attractive as curdled milk.

Just then, out of the ladies’ room, two women, one supporting the other stumbled out. Gianni recognized Sheila Jackson instant, did a double take on the woman. What was that thought he’d just had about running into people here? The woman stone drunk and her companion was almost carrying her, hurrying her out the door just as yet another person ran smack into Gianni.

Gianni looked down to see Samantha looking frightened and not a little flustered.

“There you are,” he smiled, feeling much better now that she was here.

“Hi,” she smiled, lowering her eyes.

“May I have this dance?”

As the girl looked around, seemingly not having heard what he said, he followed her gaze to Crack and the departing Sheila Jackson. Crack’s eyes were on Samantha, and Gianni felt the urge to have Doug take him out… or do it himself. But Gianni felt Samantha’s hand light in his that was still offered. He took it, and led her to the dance floor, feeling a little light headed as his right hand lighted upon the small of her back.

“Are you alright?” Gianni asked.

“Yes,” Samantha answered too quickly. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought there might have been a scene in the bathroom.”

She smiled a little smile that pinched his heart, and looked down again.

“Someone was a little tipsy,” she admitted with that smile still on her voice.

“Sheila Jackson was more than a little tipsy,” Gianni said.

“You know her?”

“Don’t you?” Gianni asked. “Johnny told me you interviewed her husband.”

Samantha stiffened in his arms, gazing up at him with those impossibly green eyes.

“I did, yes.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“I should read that interview,” he said. “I’ll bet it’s interesting. Would that bother you?”

“No, of course not. Why would it?”

“You seem nervous. Am I annoying you?”

“No! No. I… uh… it’s my first time dancing like this.”

“You’re a natural, then,” he said, giving what would normally be a line, but finding it to be quite true. She just happened to have a natural grace. “You’re an easy dancer. You don’t fight my lead like some do… so… what did that man want?”

“Who?”

“The one that grabbed your arm.”

“Oh, him,” Samantha said. “He wanted to send a message to Mr. DeSilva. I suppose I should deliver it.”

“I see,” Gianni said. “Does it concern Sheila Jackson?” It was a guess, but as Samantha seemed genuinely shaken by the question, it had been a good one he’d wager.

“I shouldn’t…”

“Don’t be afraid, Samantha,” Gianni cooed. Her luminous emerald irises raised to meet his own eyes looking child like, filled with hope and the hint of trust.

“Whatever the man told you, believe me, he can’t hurt you here.”

Samantha nodded, understanding.

“It feels like… it’s like a scene out of an old gangster movie…”

Gianni couldn’t help but smile at that. The depiction was as accurate as any he’d ever heard.

“So it’s true?” she asked.

“What?”

“Is this a place owned by organized crime?”

Gianni laughed.

“You certainly are a dangerous little girl, aren’t you,” Gianni said.

“What?”

“Behind that innocent face is a mind that misses nothing at all.”

“Now you’re mocking me.”

“Not at all,” said Gianni.

“That guy looks a lot like a mob enforcer. Probably is. What about that other man.”

“What other man?”

“The one you just nodded to. He looks like an enforcer as well...”

“Tha's Old Doug. He’s an old acquaintance of mine.”

“I see,” said Samantha. She was relaxing now, easing into his lead once more. “So, how long have you and Johnny DeSilva been part of the mob?”

Gianni laughed again. “I’m not, truly. I’m exactly what I said I was. I investigate people. Johnny taught me much of the skills I have toward that end. But don’t worry, Jonny isn’t as dangerous as he looks either.”

“So why is a mob goon trying to get information on Sheila Jackson from Johnny DeSilva?” Samantha asked with her head cocked prettily, but her brow furled with suspicion.

“What kind of information did he want?”

“He said Carmen isn’t budging and that his boss was not happy and that he needed ‘the goods’ on Sheila Jackson and her girlfriend.”

“He… that woman with Sheila Jackson was her girlfriend?”

“I don’t know,” said Samantha. “Would you mind answering my question now?”

Gianni sighed.

“Johnny’s an information broker,” Gianni said. “Nothing illegal.”

“And the mob are his clients?”

“He has a lot of clients. Bankers, industrialists, investors…”

“I suppose a mobster might be considered an investor…”

Gianni let out a hearty laugh, genuinely amused.

“That was good… I like that,” he said. “So, is Mrs. Jackson someone important to you?”

“Well… not personally. But I do support Marcus Jackson. He has an agenda I agree with.”

“I see,” Gianni said, suddenly finding the conversation very interesting. He thought on what the Professor had told him to find out about Carmine DeSilva, who, according to Doug would not be bothered at all if the Sanchez-Jackson bill passed. He deliberated with himself for a moment as he danced on the pros and cons of proactive action on his own part, without consulting the professor.

“A lot of people think Carmen Sanchez and Marcus Jackson are working on legislation to legalize Lesbianism,” Gianni said.

“She’s eluded to it,” Samantha said. “He’s hinted.”

“Back east it’s huge news,” Gianni said. “And the suspicion is that a lot of elected officials are under the control of organized crime because they have evidence against wives or daughters.”

“Are you serious?”

“That’s the rumour,” Gianni said.

“So a bill legalizing feminine intimacy…” the way she said it made it sound less ridiculous somehow.

“…would be bad for business,” he finished.

“So, what do I do?”

“That depends,” Gianni said.

“On what?”

“On who’s side you’re on.”

“I already told you…” she said. “I have…friends who are bisexual.”

“I see,” said Gianni. “In that case you do everything you can to warn Marcus Jackson. You tell him everything that happened here tonight. You leave my name out of it, and Johnny’s name out of it. But tell him everything else.”

“I’ll… I will!” she declared. “I swear.” Samantha's declaration only added to every aspect of her own special beauty. This one was no shirking violet. She was not just a cow one slaughtered. This one was truly special. But still, Gianni's fingers luxuriated over the soft skin at the small of her back had a warmth and a quality that soothed the tips of his fingers. Again, her eyes met his, her lips parted, inviting. Gianni let his head fall and met those lips with his own and the world, for better or worse, went away…

For a long moment nothing else existed, only that kiss and the wonderful figure in his arms. He was in her spell and quite lost…

“They asked me how I knew

“My true love was true

“Oh, I of course replied

“Something here inside cannot be denied…”

The music filled his ears and he finally came up for air, Samantha’s arms eased off his neck and she slipped back down till her feet touched the ground, he’d gathered her up without knowing it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t resist…”

“Uh-huh…” she said, a hint of a smile on her lips, and her eyes hooded.

This was intolerable! Snap out of it, man! He could not be falling in love! He was immune. Surely he’d experienced infatuation… all men did! It was easily solved and the woman easily forgotten. But this encompassing need… surely it wasn’t different. He had to escape and meditate, focus his mind on the beautiful world around him before he lost himself again to this woman! The professor would not approve.

Gianni looked for a distraction, anything. He saw Martha and Astrid Carrington engaged with Johnny and Reba.

“There’s someone who can help you,” he managed, nodding toward Martha.

“Oh?” Samantha said. While her head was turned he quickly set his phone to ring at the end of a five minute timer and just managed to hide it before she noticed. “Where?” Samantha asked.

“Martha Charrington,” Gianni said. “Shall I introduce you?”

“You know her?”

“Do you?” Gianni raised a brow as if he was unaware of Samantha’s acquaintance with Martha Carrington.

“Yes,” Samantha replied. “She’s an old friend of my parents’.”

“Oh!” Gianni said. “Well, that’s good! Better, even. I’m fairly certain she can help you with this. You need to ask her to help you get in touch with Jackson. Don’t tell her why. Make something up if you must, but be very, very candid with Jackson, excepting the part about me.”

“Okay,” Samantha was drinking in his instructions the way an enthusiastic child would. “I guess she knows Mr. DeSilva,” she observed.

“Yes…” said Gianni.”Be careful about that. Martha’s a bit of a gossip, so anything you tell her will very likely get back to Johnny DeSilva. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” she nodded with emphatic enthusiasm, and Gianni favoured her with a genuine smile. How beautiful she was. Her eyes sparkled and that smile she returned… it would haunt him. This had to stop! It had to stop now!”

The song ended and Gianni guided her off the dance floor toward the hidden steps. Even as they began climbing back up, the phone in Gianni’s pocket obediently rang. Gianni snapped it out of his pocket and began speaking to no one at all.

“Yes…? Yes, professor… of course… Not the best timing in the world, no… well, we all have to make sacrifices… Of course, I understand… I’ll be on the next plane out… yes sir… I’ll see you then…” Gianni pocketed the phone and did his best to look forlorn…

“What’s wrong?” Samantha asked at the entrance to the booth.

“I uh…” Gianni said, struggling with how to play this. “I have a little emergency.”

“Nothing serious, I hope!”

“I’m afraid so,” Gianni said, guiding her into the booth, the Golding’s looked somewhat concerned. Johnny was rolling his eyes.

“Johnny,” Gianni turned to his host. “The professor called and, unfortunately, I have to bolt out and take care of a little problem back East. Would you mind terribly seeing Samantha home?”

“Sure,” Johnny said with his unconvinced tone threatening to out Gianni. Gianni suppressed the urge to strangle him. He’d get that opportunity someday anyway.

“It was very nice to meet all of you,” Gianni managed, greeting everyone in turn. Turning to leave, he instinctively held Samantha’s arm as she glided down with him till they were out of sight and earshot of their companions. When he turned back to her she gracefully found his lips with her own and delivered to him a kiss that might very well have killed a mere mortal. Into that kiss, she poured her whole self, her desperation came through loud and clear to him, and his urges to strip her of that overpriced dress and impale her right then and there was almost overwhelming. He let the kiss linker far longer than he should have, savoring her needfulness as her body molded to his own. When he found himself drowning in her overpowering aura, he managed to pull her away ever so gently and quite unwillingly.

“When…” she was panting. “When will I see you again?”

When? NEVER! He needed to say it. He should have said it. He could not bring himself to say any such thing that would shatter that serenely sculpted, alabaster face. He paused to find his bearings, and instinct saved him. Out of his jacket pocket he slipped a velvet case that had been there since he’d purchased the necklace it had come in.

“I almost forgot,” he whispered, revealing the case to her. Opening it, he revealed it to be mostly empty, the molded space where the necklace had been obvious, yet empty. Flanking it were two sapphire and diamond earrings that had gone with it. “These are yours.”

“Oh,” her impossibly emerald eyes widened and sparkled even more. “My… I…” she touched her earlobes. “My ears! I’ll have to get them pierced.”

“I could have them install clips…”

“Oh, please don’t!” Samantha said. “I’ll have them done tomorrow! My God…” She looked up into his eyes and touched his face. “I don’t know what to say!”

“You already have,” Gianni smiled, regaining some of his lost composure. She was putty in his hands, if he could maintain control. It was the control that threatened to leave him, and embrace her. But for the moment… he brushed her lips again, kissed her cheek and slipped away.

At the coat check, he collected his Slate Gray German Army coat and left Tropicana blue with purpose filled strides. It took a few impatient minutes to get his car back, but as soon as he was back on Highway 24, he managed to breath. He had fallen in love. In love, for the very first time in his life. The professor would most definitely not approve.

Friday, September 9, 2218 9:55 PM

Tropicana Blue Club, Orinda, CA

I stood there with the ghost of his touch on my nose and cheek, and with the tingle of his kisses on my lips. I was unable to move for what seemed an eternity and an instant. It was the arrival of Peggy Cruise that woke me from my stupor. She’d changed out of her nightgown and now wore a khaki shirt and shorts, complete with bush helmet and light beige army boots.

“Hello,” she said, eying me suspiciously. “Excuse me please?” she said as she pushed passed. “Johnny,” she said as she entered the box. I had followed her back up the steps and into the booth, taking the seat next to Mr. DeSilva.

“Peggy!” Mr. DeSilva replied back.

“I take it tonight’s my night?”

“Oh, really?” Mr. DeSilva replied. “How did you figure that out?”

“I got a transfusion, on your orders!”

“So did Jasmine. So did Danny. So did a few of the waitresses…”

“Oh, Hello Mr. Golding,” Peggy smiled.

Mr. DeSilva made introductions all around, and Peggy shook hands and smiled gracefully as with the aplomb of a real celebrity.

“You didn’t answer my question, Johnny,” Peggy complained after the introductions were done.

“And you seem to keep forgetting,” Mr. DeSilva chastised. “That it could be anyone. Even one of these lovelies could end up on a platter tonight…” He ran fingers through my hair, giving me an uncomfortable chill down my spine.

“Her, Maybe?” Peggy indicated me. “Johnny puts inhibitors in the doe shakes, Samantha? Is it? So watch yourself.”

“Oh, give away all my secrets, why don’t you?” Mr. DeSilva laughed. “Besides, inhibitors are expensive. I don’t pass those around like candy.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Peggy, darling,” Mr. DeSilva crooned, looking hurt. “Who would replace you?”

“Oh, any of fifteen waitresses or ten valets or whoever else you might have auditioned this week…”

“Alright,” Mr. DeSilva said with his wolfish grin. “I guess you’ll just have to live in suspense and be surprised like the rest of us.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You better get your perdy little butt down there, Miss Peggy,” Mr. DeSilva warned. “If you’re late for your first mark, I’ll make sure it’s you!”

“Nice meeting all of you,” Peggy smiled graciously.

“Break a leg,” Mr. Golding said.

When she had left, I turned to Mr. DeSilva.

“What was that she said about a transfusion?” I asked.

“Oxy Hydro Globen,” Mr. Golding answered for him.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a blood replacement made by Tucker-Kline,” Mr. Golding continued. “It flows slower but is super oxygenated. If it is exposed to air, it will congeal faster than real blood. It’s also quite inexpensive to make and easily transfused.”

“If we didn’t have that stuff,” Mr. DeSilva said. “I couldn’t put on the show. I mean, well, I could. But the inhibitors would bankrupt the club in short order.”

“Wait,” I said. Someone is getting culled?”

“That’s the idea,” said Mr. DeSilva.

“Wow!” Reba said. “Really?”

“The floor show on Friday Night is our big draw. We can’t disappoint our paying clients. It’s not cheap getting in this place…”

“And Miss Cruise might be the one?”

“Maybe…” Johnny nodded to the stage, where Peggy and her young sidekick, Danny, both clad in khaki and bush hats were retaking their places at the microphones. Their rendition of Cole Porter's Anything Goes sped up the pace, and brought some of the more energetic dancers onto the floor. The duo did two more swing style numbers then slowed things down with In the Still of the Night and Night and Day. In our box, we sat and simply enjoyed the show, occasionaly commenting on famous faces on the dance floor. Everyone found it amusing that the Osric brothers kept cutting in on each other dancing with Kelly Crane during those two numbers. Crane finally laughed, seemingly at both of them, and grabbled a random man from a table and took him to the dance floor, leaving the two football players flumoxed.

“Well, Danny,” said Peggy. “This is our last number tonight!”

“So,” Danny replied. “What do you want to sing to say goodnight?”

“How about… 'Thanks for the Memories'…” and the whole orchestra section of the audience applauded in approval…

Danny sang: “Thanks for the memory, of rainy afternoons, swingy Harlem tunes, and motor trips and burning lips and burning toast and prunes…”

“How lovely it was…” Peggy sang. “Thanks for the memory... of candlelight and wine, castles on the Rhine, the Parthenon…”

“And moments on the Hudson River Line…” Danny added.

“How lovely it was…”

It was lovely. Tonight was my first exposure to big band, and I have loved it ever since that day.

“Goodnight everybody,” the duo sang as those dancing on the floor applauded.

“We are off to Africa!” Peggy added. “Wish us luck and enjoy the show!”

Drums suddenly sounded and the patrons on the floor hurried back to their seats even as the dance floor was invaded by several tall, powerfully built and nearly naked black men wearing only white paint over their fronts and backs depicting skeletons. Their faces were covered with the stuff in a primitive depiction of skulls. They carried spears and terrorized some of the slower female patrons as they tried to leave the dance floor. They performed impossible feats of acrobatics that Gracie would have admired. The first of them leapt into the air in a spectacular scissor summersault.

I counted fifteen men on the floor just before ten very, tall svelte, if top heavy black women, who wore nothing but skimpy loin cloths and feathers tied to their upper arms and thighs joined them, heavy breasts flopping. The women were lighter skinned than the black men, who were universally dark, almost blue skinned.

Finally, a man in an oversized wooden mask appeared carrying the most obscenely adorned staff. It’s phallus tip was oversized and gaudily painted bone white with green and red accents. The mask was mostly black, with white and red markings on it, and was carved into an angry face that covered the man from above his crown nearly to his sternum. On his back he wore a cape made from zebra skin, and that was all. His erection pointed straight out ahead of him when he stood up straight, but mostly he was crouched in stances ready to execute acrobatics no less impressive than those of his companions. He took the time to terrorize two hapless waitresses with his phallus tipped staff much to the amusement of the audience. He even terrorized Mrs. Carrington’s young companion, who looked ready to bolt away, and likely would have if Mrs. Carrington had not caught her arm.

But the masked man let out a very loud, happy trill and resumed his dancing retreating to the undulating mob where they, all twenty six of them, locked step and danced an amazing finally.

The crowd applauded with pleasure at the end of the display. They even began to stand in doing so, just as the lights went completely out. Silence, and pitch blackness gave all of us a disconcerting embrace.

In the dark as pitch blackness the sound of an engine sputtering to life surrounded us, and soon it buzzed loudly in our ears as if we were all standing next to it. Then there was a light, a screen above the stage lit up and the black and white image of a test pattern showed, then counted down the way old fashioned film does till it revealed the image it had filmed. Black and Gray clouds, looking particularly angry with a deep gulf between them were on the cinemascope sized screen. Into the gulf appeared a small object that proved shortly to be an ancient airplane, it’s only radial engine sticking out around the single propeller. It appeared to be quite similar to the “Spirit of St. Louis” that we have all seen in school, the first plane to fly trans-Atlantic, down to its silver skin.

Slowly, the view approached the aircraft and moved around the front to look through the main wind shield to view three occupants in the cramped compartment. They, unlike their surroundings, were in colour, but not any colour. They appeared to be Technicolor characters out of the age when film was coloured by hand, with too even toned skin and lips that were strangely magenta.

The pilot was in front, a 40ish, balding man who spoke to his passengers with a cockney accent and seemed rather impatient and alarmed. Behind him sat Peggy and Danny.

“That’s Victor DeCrux playing the pilot,” said Mr. DeSilva. “Our writer/director. He’s a big fan of old Alfred Hitchcock films so he had to cast himself in a cameo role…”

“Why’s the colour so unnatural?” asked Mrs. Golding.

“It’s meant to resemble old film stock,” said Mr. DeSilva. “It’s actually a standard digital image, but we used a fancy piece of image software to get that effect… it helps set the ambiance…”

I missed the panicked conversation on film while those two had been talking, but I did catch that the plane was struck by lightning and headed down. The sounds of a crash were heard against the sight of those angry black clouds, then, once again, darkness… Long moments later, the lights came back up to reveal a scene that caused all of us to collectively gasp. The entire stage area and off the edges and into much of the dance floor had been transformed completely into lush, dense, foreboding jungle. The smell of burning fuel and metal combined with the sounds of fire in the distance assaulted our senses.

“Danny!” came a pleading feminine cry. “Danny!”

Danny’s soot streaked face popped up out of the foliage and looked around desperately.

“Peggy?” he called. “Peggy! Where are you?”

Peggy appeared, her face, bare arms and legs as sooty as Danny’s. Her clothes were quite tattered, and suggested they might fall off at any moment. The two found each other quickly and fell into a relieved embrace.

“Where’s Mr. DeCrux?” Peggy demanded.

“He’s in the plane!” sobbed the boy. “He’s dead!”

The young woman held Danny as he sobbed.

“We can’t stay here,” Peggy said. “We have to find people to help us. And food! And water! Danny? Are you with me? Let’s go, come on…”

To mark the passage of time, the lights dimmed to darkness for a few moments and came back up again to find the setting slightly different. It was still dense jungle, but with a path the two were following.

“Peggy…” the boy, who trailed behind Peggy dragging his feet. “I’m hungry…”

“I am too, darling,” said Peggy sympathetically. “As soon as we find food we’ll eat, okay?”

The bushes rustled.

“What was that?” demanded Danny.

“What?” Peggy said, alarmed.

Above, on a branch previously unnoticed, a dark figure appeared. He was large, human, and very, very dark. He was so dark that the whites of his eyes seemed, almost, to emit their own light. It was also completely, and utterly silent.

“Did you see that?” Danny demanded.

“Noooo…” Peggy crooned unconvincingly.

Behind the two, the bushes rustled again, and a low, sonorous growl could be heard.

“Run!” Peggy shrieked.

The two bolted as a very real leopard materialized from the bush. Peggy completely disappeared off stage and the big cat was almost ready to pounce on the fleeing Danny. Just as it leapt, the hulking dark figure swooped down in a long, graceful arc suspended from a vine. In one astonishing instant, he swept Danny into his outstretched arm around the waist, leaving the frustrated cat roaring in protest where Danny had been. The dark figure, with Danny under his arm, disappeared. The cat pranced away, something else having attracted its attention, and the sounds of the jungle took center stage.

Suddenly, Peggy’s head popped up out of the bush.

“Danny?” she cried desperately as she limped along, one shoe missing off her feet. “Danny!”

She seemed to stagger, pitifully, aimlessly, her sooty face streaked with tears as she called Danny’s name. Finally, she collapsed sobbing on the ground as if she were a Disney princess lost in the woods.

Drums, distant, but growing louder, could now be heard above Peggy’s sobs. She stopped crying and looked up. As she turned her head too and from the drums would become louder and softer till she looked straight back at the back of the stage area, at which point they became very loud.

“Help!” she called. “Help!” Peggy ran straight back, disappearing into the green denseness… “HELP!”…

The lights dimmed to darkness again and remained so for several moments as the sound of drums faded. But the sounds of the jungle never left. If anything, they became more intense. Then those sounds were pierced by the shrill, panicked cry of a boy. The lights came back up.

The floor was in complete darkness, and only the area above it was lit, giving the impression of being very high up to the point where I actually experienced a bit of vertigo. All we could see in that window of light was a sea of vines and branches. Into that lit window came that ominous dark figure, swinging from those vines and carrying a terrified Danny under his arm like a sack of dirty laundry. For the first time, I could see the hulking dark figure sported longish, dirty blonde hair, but his features, save for the whites of his eyes, were unnaturally dark. In fact, they seemed to absorb light!

The figure lighted silently as he had so far been onto a thick branch above center stage where he let go of Danny. Danny, free, but trapped on the branch, scrambled away from his captor and embraced the trunk of the “tree”, his terror looking very, very real.

The dark man seemed to regard the boy curiously, and approached him even as the boy seemed to try to climb into the tree’s bark. The man tugged at Danny’s khaki shirt, then caught Danny’s kicking boot and pulled it off.

The dark man seemed to regard the boy curiously, and approached him even as the boy seemed to try to climb into the tree’s bark. The man tugged at Danny’s khaki shirt, then caught Danny’s kicking boot and pulled it off.

“Nooo!” Danny protested pitifully. “Pleeease!”

Carefully, the dark man caught the tail of Danny’s shirt and tried to pull him away from the tree trunk. The action ripped the buttons off the shirt and the Dark Man fell back with only the ruined shirt as a prize.

More aggressively, the dark man lunged forward and caught the boy’s arm. This time, he pulled Danny away from the tree trunk aggressively and held he boy up in front of him, both wrists in one hand. The man held the boy’s feminine chin, moving it side to side, inspecting his lovely face, then running that hand down the boy’s torso. As the hand touched his belly, Danny convulsed ticklishly even as the fingers dipped into the waistband of his shorts. In one fell motion, the shorts were violently ripped away to Danny’s squeal of surprise, revealing the white cotton briefs that he wore over his slender loins.

The dark man inspected the boy’s cotton briefs, tugging at them from the front and back till he finally ripped those away as well, leaving Danny naked in all his nubile glory. Danny’s tender, hairless body glowed in stark contrast to the dark man’s light absorbing skin. His whole, sweet body only served to enhance his beautiful face.

Part of me was falling in love for the second time tonight as I gazed at Danny. My nipples tingled with the desire to nurse the helpless captive in my arms. He looked perfectly vulnerable and effeminate as he cowered before the dark man from the time he’d arrived on the tree limb.

“The actors,” Mr. DeSilva informed us. “Only rehearse so far. Everything Danny’s been doing since he arrived on the branch is unrehearsed…”

The tension in the hall was palpable. The dark man had Danny over one burly forearm now, holding the boy’s wrists behind him as he inspected the boy’s fragile form more closely. Danny took his examination with wide eyes and gasps when he was touched more brusquely, having given up any real struggle even as his captor caressed and fondled every inch of his tender flesh.

The audience moaned as the dark man examined the shape of Danny’s erection and testes with the boy leaning back against the man’s chest. In this position, Danny’s whole front was exposed to the audience for the first time and the dark man’s hands made love to every square inch of Danny’s body.

Shortly, Danny was over the man’s knee, rump high as the dark man inspected the shape of it. He ran his hands up Danny’s inner thigh and between the cheeks of Danny’s rump, when he suddenly withdrew his hand and brought his fingers to his nose, sniffed them, and his head recoiled in disgust.

The hearty chuckle that was loosed from the audience broke the mood, and the dark man swatted Danny’s bottom three times, extracting three high pitched squeals before he tossed the boy over his shoulder, and leapt off the branch. The two disappeared into the sea of vines and foliage to dimming lights and ominous music…

The hall lights came back up and the audience applauded politely.

“So,” Mr. DeSilva asked. “What do you think?”

“Is that it?” asked Mrs. Golding, who was trying to hide her flustered state and pull down the dress that had become hiked up around her hips. She pulled Mr. Golding’s hand from between her legs as an after-thought.

“Oh, god no!” said Mr. DeSilva with Reba snuggled under his arm like she belonged there. He had his hand dangling precariously over her breast, which, I couldn’t help but notice, had a very erect nipple. “That was act one of three. There’s a fifteen minute intermission… it helps the set people do their thing and the actors regroup…”

Mr. Golding, his hand free, folded both his hands in front of him on the table as if to protect his vodka tonic.

“I’m very interested how you got that lighting effect,” said the older man. “The boy’s skin seemed to glow, and that other man’s skin absorbed light… or so it seemed.”

“Yeah,” Mr. DeSilva said. “It’s an old Broadway trick. It’s a latex cream with particles in it that absorb light or reflect it very well. There’s even one that has phosphorus in it, but we don’t use that. Danny looked great, didn’t he? Or am I overly bias?”

“He looked fantastic,” breathed Mrs. Golding. “Is he really Peggy’s brother?”

“No. Victor found him up in British Columbia for a lot less than I’d have expected, so we picked him up. Peggy’s sort of adopted him, and all the stage girls are completely in love with him.”

“I can see why!” I said, and Mr. DeSilva favoured me with a pleasant smile.

“The act seems very… uh… homoerotic, don’t you think?” said Mr. Golding.

“Yeah, so?”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Everything we do is permitted,” Mr. DeSilva protested a little emphatically. “Everything!”

“Well,” said Mrs. Golding. “I have to use the little girls room…”

“Me too,” said Reba.

Mr. DeSilva and I stood to let Reba out and I glanced down at the dance floor. I looked for a moment on the very spot where I’d been kissed for the very first time, and suddenly I felt terribly lonely. I felt terribly awkward. I felt like a fifth wheel in a foursome…

Then my eyes wandered and lighted upon Mrs. Carrington, sitting at the table front row center with her young, brunette companion. I was admiring the splendid red sequin dress she wore and the silver jewelry that enhanced it. Her blonde hair was elegantly swept up with dangles from the hair broach on the left side.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” said Mr. DeSilva. “There’s someone I need to speak with.” He was looking straight at Mrs. Carrington.

“Mrs. Carrington?” I asked him.

He stopped and regarded me with a look I’ve come to know as suspicion.

“You know her?”

I nodded.

“She was at my house when Mr. and Mrs. Jackson came to visit…” Part of me regretted mentioning the Jacksons as soon as their names left my tongue. But it was done…

DeSilva, however, simply lifted his chin with a very satisfied eureka expression on his face as if he’d suddenly solved a difficult puzzle. He offered me his arm.

“Then you should definitely say ‘hello’.”

“So,” he said as he escorted me to the main floor. “How do your parents know the Carringtons?”

“My father took out a mortgage for our house with Mr. Carrington’s bank.”

“That follows,” said Mr. DeSilva. “Half the Bay Area owes him money, it seems.”

“Jessica?” Mrs. Carrington called with surprise in her voice. “Oh my, it’s Samantha! What are you doing here? Johnny, isn’t she under age or something? My goodness, you look so much like your mother it’s positively uncanny! What on earth are you doing with this lady killer?”

She was standing as we approached in that fabulous red sequin dress. For the venue, it was quite conservative. Anywhere else, however, it would not be. The neck line plunged nearly to the woman’s belly button and its line was barely enough to cover the woman’s nipples. The underside of Mrs. Carrington’s breasts were plainly visible to anyone rude enough to stare… like me…

“You shame me, Martha!” Mocked Mr. DeSilva.

“Do I?” Mrs. Carrington feigned innocence. “Or am I augmenting your well crafted reputation?”

“Well crafted or not, Samantha is not my date. She was unfortunately abandoned by Michael Gianni who I believe you know…”

“Michael abandoned you? I can hardly believe that! He’s such a gentleman. You have a good eye for men, Samantha, if you somehow manage to land that one…”

“He actually had an emergency,” I defended.

“I couldn’t imagine him being so rude,” protested Mrs. Carrington. “It must have been life or death for him to abandon you, of all people. How beautiful she is, isn’t she?” the woman turned to her companion. “This, By the way, is my lovely daughter Astrid. Astrid, am I wrong or does she look like she could be Jessica’s twin?”

“Jessica has blue eyes,” Astrid droned. She was a little pudgy, enough so that I’d not seen anyone older than twelve that overweight before.

“True,” said Mrs. Carrington. “Johnny, I’m so glad you came back. I love the scenery and the ambiance. It’s very engrossing and quite impressive. But I don’t see anything special about the story yet…”

“I understand, Martha. Even so, I’ll send Victor over later to speak with you.”

“Isn’t he dead?” asked Astrid with languid sarcasm.

“Only on stage,” said Mr. DeSilva with an unkind look on his face.

“Very well,” said Mrs. Carrington, smirking disapprovingly at Astrid. “We shall see. But I truly want a special event, you know…”

“I do,” said Mr. DeSilva. “We’ll come up with something, I promise.” The lights flickered warningly. “Show’s about to begin again… I’ll speak with you later.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Carrington,” I managed. “It was nice to meet you, Astrid.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Astrid replied.

“Do stop by before you leave tonight, Samantha. I’d love to chat with you a little…”

Astrid rolled her eyes at that.

“Okay,” I said, not sure I wanted to come back.

We made it back to Mr. DeSilva’s personal box just in time for the lights to go completely dark, the sounds of the jungle loud in our ears, seeming to shake the building. A lilting cry and a scream pierced the air as the stage lights came on.

The scream came from Astrid Carrington reacting to a very threatening business end of a phallic tipped staff waving in her face. It was obscenely painted white with red and black marks on it and was held by a dark skinned man in an impossibly large wooden mask that covered his face and chest down to his sternum. He wore a zebra skinned cape, feathers at his neck, wrists and ankles, and nothing else.

To the beat of the drums, the masked man launched himself into the air and spun fully twice before landing, his massive and long erection seeming almost a third leg as he performed this feat.

He was joined by ten black women who’s skin was several shades lighter than the masked man. They were modestly clad in loin cloths that barely covered their nethers and served to accentuate their tall, svelte, heavy breasted bodies. They, likewise, wore feathers at their ankles, wrists and necks, leaving their bouncing breasts bare.

They were, of course, the same dancers we’d seen earlier, and were soon joined by the skeletally painted male dancers. Each of the men entered in turn, performing spectacular acrobatics till all were on the floor. As the masked dancer again took center stage, the ten females carried in a palanquin bearing a skull encrusted throne. The masked dancer let out a cry that sounded like some kind of summons, and a large, powerfully built man, taller than the rest, came dancing on stage. His skin was so dark it was almost blue. He twirled his spear like a baton as he made his way out. He wore no feathers at all, only a cape, this one of leopard skin.

When the drums suddenly stopped, all stopped in place. The large man center stage stood imperiously, one arm akimbo with the spear’s but on the ground in his opposite hand. For the first time, we could all get a true sense of his massive size. He stood fully half a head taller than any other man, and a full head taller than the tallest woman. His penis and testes can only be described by one word: Ginormous!

His testes alone looked to be the size of one of my boobs and his penis… at least twelve inches. It had to be a foot long and as big around as my wrist.

The tall black skinned man pointed with his spear to tallest of the females. The tall woman bowed her head and took her place on her knees in front of him. Astonished, I watched transfixed as she took the entire length of his manhood into her mouth and throat. Its girth made it self evident under the skin of her swan like neck as she swallowed him.

The music came up, heavy on the drums as she pleasured the head man. Finally, his body jolted almost imperceptibly, and the woman let the massive penis, now flaccid but no less impressive, slide out of her mouth.

The headman turned, leaving the kneeling woman and strode onto the palanquin to take his rightful place on the skull encrusted throne. By the time he sat, his penis had already begun to recover.

In his own obscure language, the headman barked out an order and two of the skeletally painted dancers rushed off stage. They returned almost instantly dragging a Caucasian man between them, standing him up at the side of the headman so that he was recognizable as the pilot from the film at the beginning of the show.

“Yes! Yes, my King!” said the man. “I am here!”

Again, the king barked.

“I lost them, my king. My plane crashed short of here and when I awoke from the wreckage, they were gone!”

The king leaned toward the pilot and growled menacingly in his African tongue, a hungry scowl on his face. The pilot shirked back, looking quite ill and jumped a bit at the snap of each of the king’s syllables.

“My king, I’m quite sure my head would make an unworthy trophy for your majesty…”

“Help!” Came a female cry in the distance.”

“Could it be?” asked the pilot to himself.

“Help!” The cry was closer now.

“Oh! Lord be praised!” exclaimed the pilot. “Peggy, my dear! Over here!”

Stage right, Peggy appeared.

“Mr. DeCrux!” called Peggy desperately, and she rushed into his arms, hugging him. “Danny… Danny said you were dead!” She sobbed.

“No such luck, I’m afraid,” said DeCrux. The king spoke again. “Yes, your majesty, of course. Peggy, I’m afraid King Mulahulabingasamawangachunga forbids women wearing clothes in his presence. I’m afraid you’ll have to get undressed or the king’s warriors will surely be offended.”

“What? But we need to find Danny! I need your help! He might still be alive!”

King Mulahulabingasamawangachunga barked again a raspy set of commands with brought forth two skeletally adorned dancers. They flanked Peggy and caught her delicate forearms in their large, powerful hands.

“What are you doing,” shrieked Peggy as she struggled in her new found bondage as the two men brought her center stage to face the audience.

“Don’t struggle, dear,” said DeCrux. “You’ll offend the king!”

Four of the women surrounded Peggy, carefully stripping away Peggy’s safari outfit till she was clad in vintage underwear, which might have been daywear anywhere in Southern California today. She wore an over engineered bra and a kind of feminine cut boxer shorts. The outfit still had an allure to it, if dated.

They pulled and tore at Peggy’s bra till it finally came loose to reveal a lovely pair of breasts. They were at least d-cups, firm with oversized dark pink nipples.

“But I’m naked!” Peggy protested.

“East coast girl,” explained Mr. DeSilva. “They’re very modest.”

She seemed shaped very much like Fatima Khan, and even more so when the women pulled away Peggy’s shorts, exposing her naturally blonde pubic hair. The women surrounding Peggy made a very good show of being fascinated with Peggy’s blonde pubes as if it were the newest fashion. Peggy wept as they examined her, turning her around to face the king as they pinched her bottom.

The masked man spoke in high pitched sing song tones.

“Peggy, Dear,” said DeCrux. “Where is Danny? Shaman Mbawannaboitudobanga is worried for him.”

“I don’t know,” cried Peggy. “Something chased us! I think it was a gorilla! My god, Mr. DeCrux, please! I’m naked! Please help me!”

The king and shaman conferred, then the shaman screeched some orders and two warriors, naked save for the skeletons painted on them, ran across the stage and dissapearred.

“Peggy,” said DeCrux. “Can you be quite sure it was a gorilla?”

“I don’t know what it was! Please help me!”

The king conferred again with the shaman, then stood, his once again fully erect penis pointing straight ahead. He pointed a finger at Peggy, issued a command, and Peggy was dragged away as she shrieked in terror.

“Don’t worry, dear,” called DeCrux. “They’re just going to bathe you!”

The lights dimmed again, to the blackness we already knew. The drums faded, and the jungle dominated the darkness, as did the growing sound of falling water.

The lights shortly came back up again to reveal a waterfall center stage pouring into a surprisingly large pool that looked perfectly natural in the surrounding foliage. We all gasped again at the effects, it was breathtaking in its beauty, and not at all expected.

Dark man swung into view with Danny clad only in his nubile nakedness clinging to his captors neck. We could finally see he wore a plain skin leotard that covered both his chest and loins as he landed silently at the edge of the pool with his back to us. He made quite the show of washing Danny’s rear end, and as he dipped into the water bodily, when he emerged he was no longer dark. Instead, he was quite tan, but obviously Caucasian, the rippling musculature of his back impressive. He took Danny into his arms and planted a kiss on the boy as his fingers toyed with the boy’s erection.

Danny was gasping and looking into the dark man’s eyes as the man doffed his garment. Under his arm we could now see the swell of a very feminine breast. When the dark man turned, he revealed his body to be not male at all… but a very, very well muscled female. She wore her skin hairless, and her breasts were not overlarge on her body, but they were not small. Her nipples tiny specks on the tips of her breasts. The whole room reacted as she lay Danny out face up and strattled his hips, taking his pretty little penis into herself.

The music augmented her languidly pumping hips and danny’s small hands exploring her chest and belly. The two made a great show of their climax, Danny’s looked so real to me… as if I’d ever seen a man climax before… at the end of which they both collapsed gracefully to the ground.

Then the woman rolled Danny onto his side displaying him to the audience, his tiny penis now flaccid.

Dannee,” she said in a surprisingly musical voice.

“Yes!” Danny said with surprise, and sat up.

“Cassandra!” the woman pointed at herself.

“Cassandra!” said Danny. “Do you speak English?”

“I speak… little…”

“Please help me find my sister! Please, I have to find her!”

“Sister? Woman?”

“Yes! Peggy is her name! Can you help me find her please? I’ve no hope without her!”

“Sister… Peg-gy?”

“Yes!”

“Come!” Cassandra stood, momentarily displaying her extraordinary body. She slipped on her garment to cover her waist as a loin cloth, but did not pull it up over her chest, leaving it bare. She then picked up her beautiful lover as if Danny were his prize slavegirl and planted a kiss on him.

“Come,” she said after. “We find!”

And with that, she launched herself onto a vine and swung away, the lights went out…

As the lights came up, I sat contemplating how I could have watched so sexually charged a scene with no arousal at all. I did not find it boring, and it was very, very beautiful to me, just not arousing.

Mrs. Golding, however, was visibly flushed and embarrassed. Looking to Reba, she was in a similar state. I’d never seen Reba so flustered. Looking down, I saw that she now sat squirming on something made of crystal and held by Mr. DeSilva.

Mr. DeSilva grinned as he regarded Mrs. Golding and produced a large glass phallus, ribbed, of course, that no doubt was the twin of what was causing Reba to squirm. He held it out, offering it to Mrs. Golding.

“I think you may need this,” he said.

Mr. Golding’s brow furled even as his wife accepted the ominous object with feigned reluctance.

“Enjoying the show, Samantha?” asked Mr. DeSilva.

“Very much!” I said honestly.

“Good. But you don’t seem to be as affected as some. Not that I’m surprised, but I am disappointed.”

“Don’t be,” I tried to assure him. “It’s very impressive.”

I probably came across as phony simply because I was no longer comfortable in the situation. It had changed dramatically, and I had no doubt that Mr. DeSilva intended to proposition me at some point. I had no desire at all to be with him. Especially with Michael’s touch so fresh on my lips. His ghost already haunted…

“Mr. DeSilva?” I asked.

“Yes, Samantha?”

“I feel as if I’m in the way here…”

“Not at all…”

“Even so,” I said, stopping him. “Would you mind terribly if I joined Mrs. Carrington?”

He nodded, looking hurt. “Not at all,” he said. “Do remind her to see me before she leaves…”

It was as ungraceful a retreat as I could manage. I also had left the box with no guarantee Mrs. Carrington would appreciate my company much less welcome it. Add to that I’d just ditched my ride home!

I need not have worried.

“Samantha!” Mrs. Carrington called. “Come join us! Have you met Victor? He’s the director.”

“Are you enjoying the show, Samantha?” asked Mr. DeCrux in his elegant British accent.

“Very much,” I smiled.

“I just hope the boy gets his ass fucked,” said Astrid.

“Astrid!” Mrs. Carrington chastised.

“That’s actually how a lot of people feel at the moment,” said Mr. DeCrux. “Secretly, of course. Won’t you sit down and join us, Samantha?” he asked, pulling the last remaining chair at the table out for me.

I smiled, took the seat as Astrid rolled her eyes.

“Mr. DeSilva hopes you’ll see him before you leave, Mrs. Carrington.”

“He’s anxious,” said Mr. DeCrux. “He truly wants the fundraiser to work and be a success.”

“Really? Is it that important?”

“To the club, absolutely, yes. He thinks, and so do I, that it will raise the profile of the club in a big way… So, Astrid, you like Danny, eh?”

“He’s okay, I guess.”

“Funny how that works out,” said DeCrux. “I found him in Vancouver and picked him up for a song. Son of a singer mother. Boys are quite common among them up there…”

“He looks very young,” said Mrs. Carrington.

“He’s twelve,” said Mr. DeCrux, matter of factly. “Just into puberty, but I had him dipped. The whole cast is completely in love with him.”

“I can see why,” nodded Mrs. Carrington. “The black actors, are they locals?”

“No. All the girls are from New York, Peggy too. The men are all from the British Congo, where I was born. Specifically the Rwanda province, near Kigali.”

“The buildup is putting me to sleep,” Astrid yawned.

Mr. DeCrux frowned.

“I truly enjoyed the love scene,” I said, and was rewarded with Mr. DeCrux’s face lighting up. “And the whole atmosphere is very immersive.”

“Oh, wow, she knows some big, important sounding words too!” Astrid said.

“Astrid!”

“Excuse me, I need to go hurl… I mean pee…”

“Charming,” Mr. DeCrux snorted.

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Carrington almost lost her composure. “She used to be such a nice girl… puberty transformed her into this… thing…”

“There is the cull…”

Mrs. Carrington shook her head. “She’s Daddy’s girl! But he’s finally tiring of her antics, at long last…”

“Well,” Mr. DeCrux said. “I do have a script for you based around what it is you described. I’m quite sure I could work her in…”

“Uhg…I can’t imagine a more unpleasant thing for the donors than to be presented with her meat…”

“Let me work on it,” said Mr. DeCrux. “I need to get back stage. I’ll speak with you later. Nice to meet you, Samantha.”

“Likewise,” I smiled.

“So,” Mrs. Carrington said as he was still leaving. “Why did you feel the need to endure Astrid?”

I smiled. The woman was nothing if not observant. “I was the odd one out up there.”

“Ah,” said the woman. “You’re much more pleasant company than my daughter, believe me.”

“She’s probably just having a bad night,” I suggested.

“She sits in her room all day, reads sleazy magazines, eats bonbons and masturbates,” her exasperation was palpable. “You’re seeing exactly who she is. I’ll bet even her meat will be bitter.”

Astrid made a face as she resumed her seat, but the lights flickered and her mother made a show of not having seen it.

Drinks arrived for us delivered by the blonde waitress with the bob cut. She put a doe-shake in front of me.

“I had it spiked with a little Crème De Mint. Try it.”

I did in the darkening gloom. It was delightful!

Drums suddenly thundered once again.

When the lights came up, the king was on his throne with his skeleton painted warriors dancing around him. Mr. DeCrux was once again at his side with the shaman opposite. The female dancers were lined up on either side of him, dancing in place. Behind them, dozens, it seemed, of very authentic looking tribe’s people, mostly women and children, looked on, some dancing to the drums as well.

Up front and center Peggy was brought, still naked, even more so now, flanked by the two warriors. Between her legs her skin was newly bare and pink from waxing. The shaman danced out in front of Peggy, terrorizing her with the phallus capped staff. The woman’s fleshy parts rippled as she quivered. Two more of the male dancers ran in, stopping the drums, and kowtowed before the king, talking emphatically in their own language.

The king spoke to DeCrux, who nodded gravely.

“I’m terribly sorry, Peggy, dear,” DeCrux informed. “But it would seem Danny has been taken by the Jungle Queen. She has claimed him as her own, so I’m afraid you must be sacrificed to bless the gift to her…”

Peggy’s legs momentarily failed, but her two flanking captors caught her and turned her to face the audience as music began to play.

“Oh, Danny…” she sang. “This is goodbye… I’m sorry I could not see you grow...”

The sad tune continued and Peggy sang her farewell even as her captors pulled her back toward the king’s throne and lifted her bodily by the upper arms onto the palanquin.

“Farewell, Danny, please don’t cry…

“I’ll be a feast for all to try…

“Farewell Danny, and know this too…

“No matter what, I’ll always love you…”

With that last verse, the king took hold of Peggy by the hips and held her bottom directly above his lap with that massive, menacing penis pointed straight up.

The two guards tied the hapless singer’s wrists to the skull capped poles on either side of the throne while two of the female dancers secured her ankles to the arm rests.

Peggy’s sex was fully exposed for all to see as the king lowered her hips, his penis making contact with her anus. She uttered a high pitched whimper as it slid in, the shock of impalement carved on her face.

One of the women at the king’s side put a hand on Peggy’s belly and moved down till she found Peggy’s cleft. The woman’s dark hand fingered Peggy’s clitoris extracting a quivering moan from Peggy.

Through all this, from the moment the tip of the king’s penis slid into Peggy’s rectum the drums struck up, and the unoccupied dancers began, once again, to dance.

Three of the male dancers each took a turn between Peggy’s legs, thrusting themselves into her vaginally till they made a show of their climaxing into her. After the third man was done, the shaman danced to the fore, twirling his staff. A young naked black girl, perhaps the same age as Danny, came to the fore out of the assembled “tribe’s people” bearing a large wooden bowl she placed at one side of the palanquin. Almost immediately, the Shaman had the tip of the staff dipped into it. It came up dripping a thick red substance that might have been real blood. This he raised to Peggy’s face, causing her eyes to widen in terror as if it were a harbinger of doom.

The shaman lowered the ominous bone white phallus till it touched her sternum. From this point, he drew a thick, red line down Peggy’s abdomen to her pubic mound. It lingered there where he used it to tease Peggy’s clitoris as the woman giving that part of Peggy’s anatomy attention gave way till he drew it off, and she resumed her ministrations. Then, viciously, he thrust the object into the singer vaginally, leaving her doubly penetrated. With her free hand, the dancer fondling Peggy’s cleft took hold of the staff and eased it in and out of the helpless captive.

The glint of a sharp blade appeared in the shaman’s hand.

“Nooo!” Peggy wept.

The shaman felt with his free hand to Peggy’s breasts where he pinched her nipples and teased the underside of her mammaries. Shortly, his fingers found Peggy’s sternum and the beginning of her fleshy abdomen. He brought his knife to Peggy’s skin and the girl squirted out an orgasm to the shock of all, even the players. Even then, Cassandra, bearing Danny, landed dead center stage with a thump.

“Oh My God!” cried Mr. DeCrux. “It’s the JUNGLE QUEEN!”

The shaman pulled away, snatching his staff out of Peggy even as the female dancers worked hurriedly to undo Peggy’s bonds. Done, the king lifted Peggy off her impalement quite slowly, revealing the ginormous erection to be glistening with the lubricant that filled Peggy’s rectum.

When the king finally separated himself from Peggy, he stood and with one deft hand on Peggy’s collar, forced her to her knees.

The king spoke.

“King Malahulambingasamagangachunga welcomes Jungle Queen Cassandra,” translated DeCrux.

Cassandra spoke.

“Cassandra brings boy to find sister.”

The king spoke again, pointing a finger at Peggy.

“King Malahulambingasamagangachunga thanks Cassandra Queen. Please accept our gift of this white slave for Cassandra.”

The dancers flanking Peggy lifted her to her feet and wiped away the red marks on her belly. They brought her forward to the Jungle Queen, where Danny waited and the two, now free from anyone’s grasp, fell together kneeling on the stage floor. Peggy and Danny, naked as they were, hugged each other platonically as if they’d not seen one another for months.

Cassandra folded her arms over her bare chest standing straight backed. She stood nowhere close to as tall as the King. Many of the female dancers were taller than she. But Cassandra held an aura of imperiousness that seemed to command the entire stage. She spread her hands questioningly at the king, and the king responded, by signaling to his warriors, four of which pried the two naked singers apart with great drama. Two female dancers took Danny while the males bound Peggy’s arms and legs, delivering her into Cassandra’s arms.

The two females took Danny’s sobbing self to the foot of the king’s throne, kissing him forcibly, hands playing with his lovely little erection and cupping his testes.

Meanwhile, Cassandra inspected her prize, then spoke at length.

“The Jungle Queen accepts the gift of this slave and vows to make use of her. Please accept the gift of this boy and make use of him well,” DeCrux declared.

The king bowed, and Cassandra stood to the side, holding her slave by the neck beneath her.

When the king sat back down, Danny was lifted bodily, the king catching his lithe form by the hips as he’d done with Peggy, save that his hips were far, far more slender in his massive hands. Again, he held his captive’s hips directly above the head of his penis, so that it would slide in if he lowered the boy, the glistening black erection looping like the monster it was.

The two svelte women tied Danny’s wrists, then his ankles to the skull capped polls and arm rests respectively. His beautiful face had stopped crying and was looking down, trying to see with unmasked fear. Below him, the tender flesh between his anus and his testes was well lit and visible to all. His little erection seemed to be twitching with fearful anticipation. His testes were a tiny, tight ball.

I could feel it, and I think all around me could as well when the tip of the king’s penis made contact with Danny’s flesh, its head massive between the cheeks of Danny’s bottom. Slowly, gingerly, and far more carefully than was done to Peggy, the King lowered the boy’s nubile, lithe and fragile body so that the head of that entity Danny’s cheeks slid in. Danny made no sound, his mouth and eyes were agape in a silent scream that ended in rapid, labored and raspy gasps. Slowly, ever so slowly, the king lowered the tender boy. The boy’s sphincter, with agonizingly gradual progress, drank in the massive rod.

I could feel it! Even as it finally had sunk into Danny, its entire length! Its entire girth! I could feel it. I feared it and I wanted it! My own sex tingled and demanded attention as it had never, ever before, and never before had I wanted to masturbate, I did now… how I resisted, the fear of humiliation won.

When Danny was fully impaled, the drums, silent till now, broke the tension. The dancers began to dance. The “villagers,” women, children and a few men kept bodily rhythm in place. Once again, the shaman took center stage with his staff, twirling it as he’d done before. Again, he dipped it into the wooden bowl with the thick, red liquid, and drew another thick, red line, this one down the belly of a beautiful little boy. As the two women flanking Danny played with his penis and testes, and caressed his nether flesh, the Shaman felt for the bone that, on a woman, would be marked by her cleavage, and the knife appeared again. Even as the blade made contact with Danny’s skin the boy climaxed, his penis spitting white juice up to land on the boy’s belly.

It mattered not at all. No rescue came. The knife slid easily, opening up the downy soft flesh of the boy’s abdomen in one graceful motion.

“Oh, God!” I heared a woman at the table next to ours. I looked over to see Kelly Crane, the Broadway actress, looking for all the world to be in the throws of orgasm, with the other members of her party looking terribly embarrassed. Even so, a whimper from Astrid rescued poor Miss Crane. Astrid, likewise seemed to be pleasuring herself, though my attention stopped her.

When I turned back to the stage, the shaman was already extracting the contents of Danny’s abdomen and depositing the organs into the same wooden bowl brought out earlier, now held by one of the dancers. All the while the other dancer gave Danny’s sex her tender attention even as Danny’s hips squirmed as he became accustomed to his impalement, though his chest still heaved in labored breaths.

“Danny!” Peggy sobbed.

The rest of the dancers continued to dance to the drums ad Cassandra picked Peggy up bodily, threw the helpless singer over her shoulder and exited stage left.

The lights dimmed to darkness, the drums became louder, and louder, and louder, till they abruptly stopped.

The floor lights came up and the Male Dancers were lined up to take a bow. The audience showed warm enthusiasm as one of them leapt, twisting in the air. Warmer it came for the female dancers. When the shaman took the stage, it became thunderous. He took his bow and gave way to Cassandra and the still, very naked and bound Peggy. That brought them to their feet as the two women took a bow. Cheers came when Cassandra let her tongue slide forcibly into Peggy’s mouth.

But the most came for the King and his lovely boy. The king held the boy’s back to his chest with a forearm across Danny’s shoulders passing under his chin, his full frontal nudity, gaping wound and all, fully visible. Even Danny’s erection was back again. The shock was that Danny was still impaled on the king’s giant manhood. Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks, but he had a serene sort of smile on his face, even as he sobbed. He seemed genuinely touched with the cheers. They died down a bit as two of the dancers came over, the same women who had been there at Danny’s side as he was impaled, to help lift him off his internal prison. Each held one of Danny’s legs, all could see Danny come off his impaler as his body rose. Not so slowly as he had gone on, but still, quite slowly, till the king’s erection was finally free, and Danny lay cradled in the king’s arms. The cheers and applause grew louder, and moreso as the king planted a tender kiss, his thick lips consuming the boy’s small mouth.

Mr. DeSilva appeared holding a hand held microphone and looking for all the world like the ring master he was. The club owner introduced his dancers in turn, then the players. He introduced the extras as the Sengo Ex-patriots, and singled out one of the tallest Female Dancers, a beautiful woman named Jasmine, as the choreographer. Finally, he got to Allain Mbokatu, the king, and Danny, the beautiful, nubile boy.

“And finally, Ladies and Gentlemen, last, and certainly least… our Writer/Director, Victor DeCrux!”

That brought a standing ovation as the relatively, compared to the negro dancers, diminutive man, now clad in a white smoking jacket and bow tie, came out and took a deep bow with a humbled smile on his face and flushed cheeks. Mr. DeSilva handed Mr. DeCrux the microphone and slipped away.

“Thank you so much, Ladies and Gentlemen!” Mr. DeCrux spoke, a hint of shake in his voice. “Thank you! It means so very much that our first veal performance be so warmly received as you have been gracious enough to do to tonight. Danny is,” He indicated Mbokatu came forward, the pale, lithe figure still cradled in his arms. “He is our first veal dinner hear at Tropicana Blue, but he certainly will not be our last!” Again, warm applause. “It should be no secret by now how much I adore the early film adventures. I hope you will continue to follow these adventures we will present each and every Friday, if you dare! I’m quite sure some of you very lovely ladies may, should the opportunity present itself, find herself up here, on this very stage… perhaps, not wearing much at all…” Laughs, somewhat nervous laughs erupted. “I’m sure some of you lovelies have already experienced a personal climax… Miss Crane?” He indicated, and a spotlight fell on Kelly Crane. “Stand Up, Kelly. Don’t be shy! Ladies and Gentlemen, our esteemed squeeler all the way out from New York, New York, Miss Kelly Crane!” There was an enthusiasm to the applause as Miss Crane took very embarrassed bow. “Next Friday,” he began. “Next Friday at Ten O’Clock PM, we will, once again, return to deepest, darkest Africa to follow the continuing adventures of King Mulahulabingasamawangachunga and Cassandra, Queen of the Jungle! Till then, thank you! Once again, for your listening and dancing pleasure, please welcome back Dizzy Davis and her Coast Starlight Orchestra!”

The music started up, a jazzy instrumental I had never heard before. The stage curtains opened revealing the band as if they had never moved and the whole previous production had never taken place. It was all back, exactly as it was before. The players quickly disappeared and a few couples found their way onto the dance floor.

Out of nowhere, Victor DeCrux materialized with Mr. DeSilva in tow. Those around us applauded politely, DeCrux obligingly taking a bow, his vace beat red.

“Congratulations, Victor,” said Mrs. Carrington.

“You approve, I take it, Martha?” asked Mr. DeSilva.

“Johnny,” Mrs. Carrington shook her head. “It was splendid! And that boy! That beautiful boy! How wonderfully erotic it was! I’m quite breathless!”

“Well,” said Mr. DeSilva. “In that case, you and Victor have thins to discuss. Oh,” he glanced my way. “Martha, would you mind terribly seeing Samantha home? I’m a bit embarrassed to admit my party has put her off a bit, and I doubt we’ll make it back near San Ramon tonight.”

“I would be delighted,” she said, squeezing my arm.

“Samantha.”

“Yes, Mr. DeSilva?”

“Do be kind in your review, please?”

I shook my head. “It will be difficult doing justice to this place,” I said honestly. “I agree with Mrs. Carrington. The show was spectacular.”

“Well, then. I’ll be in touch. Goodnight, all of you.”

Mr. DeCrux took a seat as Mr. DeSilva left us.

“Samantha.”

“Yes?”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Would that you ever consider being an actress, I have a place for you.”

I smiled and blushed even as my belly filled with butterflies and my nethers tingled. Yes, Mr. DeCrux, I’m quite sure you have a special place for me…

“Danny,” is what I did say. My thoughts confused with love, sympathy and worry for him… “he was so beautiful, Mr. DeCrux.”

“Is, my dear, is!” Mr. DeCrux protested. “And do call me Victor. Your voice is quite lovely. Do you sing? No? In any event, you have this quality and freshness that is easily the match of lovely Danny.”

“She does!” added Mrs. Carrington, with Astrid snorting in the background. “You should see her mother. Imagine Samantha as an adult with all the qualities of a mother, but none of the defects.”

“Indeed,” said Victor. “And she blushes, my goodness.”

My face was getting hot…

“Yes,” Astrid said. “And she makes everyone want to fuck her…”

“Astrid!”

Victor glared at Astrid with unmasked disdain. I favored Astrid with a smile, of sorts. The comment had rescued me from further embarrassment after all…

“Victor,” I called his attention back. “May I ask, how did you get the idea for this production?”

Victor sighed, and confessed that he was often dissatisfied with his beloved adventure cinema.

“Their potential so very often is not quite achieved… so I have made it my mission, since I was a young boy, to write my own scripts.”

“So, was Danny an after-thought, a lucky error, or planned?”

“Oh! Planned, definitely. I’ve always wanted to show how boy veal is regarded by real Africans! It is considered a delicacy there. I recruited my baby brother Richard to be veal. Richard was the first subject of my plays back in Kigali. He was fourteen, so just on the old side for veal, but he did quite well and he performed well. It was a simple production not unlike this one. He was not, of course, as tender as Danny will be.”

“How did you recruit him?”

“I raped him, actually. I started having sex with him when I was twenty and he was eleven…”

That shocked me. I’d never imagined I’d meet an openly homosexual man. Even as I’d seen Allain Mbokatu’s performance, it did not seem the same. Danny’s rape did not strike me as homosexuality… and it still does not.

As I was at a loss, Victor turned to Mrs. Carrington.

“In any event, Martha, how shall we play your end?”

“I’m petrified of what you may have in mind for me.”

“You should be. Here is the script, and here is the outline.” He handed her a pair of envelopes.

“Mom likes licking pussy,” said Astrid. You should see her licking her mom’s twat…” by her, Astrid indicated me.

I gasped at that. I suspected, of course, ever since the visit Mrs. Carrington had paid us and her behavior toward my mother. But it still shocked me and hurt having come from Astrid.

For her part, Mrs. Carrington looked ready to beat Astrid senseless. Instead, she snatched up her purse and produced a wallet from which she extracted a gold credit cart. This, she held out to Astrid.

“Take it!” Mrs. Carrington hissed at the pudgy young brunette. “Catch a cab and go home or so help me I will have you culled right here and right now.”

Astrid regarded her mother with anger for a moment. Finally, she snatched the card and stood.

“Careful, sweet thing!” Astrid spat at me. “She’ll have you before you get home in the front and back seat of her car. Toodles…” with that, Astrid stormed off.

A moment of silence descended upon us as we watched her leave.

“In any case,” Victor said. “Oh, this is much more pleasant, isn’t it?” He sipped the drink just set before him by the smiling blonde waitress with the bob cut. “Ah, Allain is here.”

Mrs. Carrington and I followed Victor’s gaze to see the most massive Allain Mbokatu. He wore a red bow tie around his neck and a cashmire smoking jacket with silk lapels, sandals, and nothing else. In his arms he carried the dozing lithe form of Danny, still nude and still quite erect, even with the slit in his belly. Then I noticed the big man’s penis perilously close to me. It was even larger than I had thought. The head was very nearly as large as my fist! Up close, it was, I thought, beautiful.

“Mrs. Carrington,” said the impressive actor with his deep, resonant voice. “Master John has sent you a gift.”

“A gift?” she asked.

“Yes. Danny?”

“Mrs. Carrington,” said the boy, the timber in his voice weak, but friendly. “Mr. DeSilva would like you to have any part of me you wish. Any at all.”

“Oh! My!”

Mbokatu leaned over and effortlessly held the boy’s body close for her to inspect. Tentatively, but eagerly, she put a hand on Danny’s skin.

“Oh my,” she breathed as her hand caressed the boys quivering flesh, and made its way over Danny’s hip to his rear. Mbokatu maneuvered the boy’s body so that he lay his head on the hug man’s shoulder, backside to Mrs. Carrington, and parting the boy’s legs so that her hand had full access to him. Mrs. Carrington caressed the boy’s rear, then his tender crotch, then further under to his testes. The last brought a sigh of pleasure from Danny’s lips as she fingered sensitive skin. I wanted to weep at his beauty.

“Any part?” Mrs. Carrington looked to Victor.

“Any at all.”

“Perhaps,” Allain Mbokatu again repositioned the boy to cradle him once again, presenting the boy’s erection close to Mrs. Carringtons’ face. “The lady would care to sample the boy’s flavor.”

“I couldn’t…” Mrs. Carrington blushed.

“I cleaned him myself, Madam,” said the actor. “He is newly bathed and fresh.”

Mrs. Carrington hesitated, but finally took the lovely miniature penis gingerly between her fingers, dipped her face till her lips touched the tip, tongue darting to saver the morsel as if it were a richly sweet treat. Then her mouth engulfed it, lips wrapping around it’s base and moving up again. Many at the tables around us looked on, some with obvious envy.

Danny moaned, and once again, ejaculated. She seemed surprised at first, but took it in again as the boy went soft.

“Oh my,” she said again, wiping her lips with a napkin.

“Does he meet with madam’s approval?”

“He does,” she said. “Yes…” regaining her composure. “I’ll have his penis and testes. And if you would be so kind, a few slices of this lovely rump as well…”

“It will be so,” said the actor. “As madam commands.” He then looked to me and moved to present the boy for my inspection.

“I can’t,” I stammered.

“My dear,” said Victor. “His meat is as tender as any in the world.”

“I… I can’t east solid food…. I’m on doe shakes.”

“Ah,” said Victor.

“Even so,” said Mbokatu, still holding the boy, that oh so lovely boy close. Below him, I was also quite aware that that massive dark member was perilously close to me.

I looked into Danny’s eyes and saw serenity, but also sadness and fear. He was about to die and he knew it, and my heart was breaking for him. I reached over and touched his perfect face with the barest hint of freckles lightly sprinkled over his nose. Mbokatu, bless him, moved Danny’s head closer to mine. I kissed the boy, brushing my lips on his, and the boy’s lips responded. I then gave him all of me. I pourled into him through my own mouth as much love as I cold… he was panting wide eyed when we parted.

“You are so beautiful,” I said.

“Thank you,” he said easily and gratefully. “Are you an angel?”

“Danny,” Mbokatu said. “Say goodbye to the young miss…” Mbokatu looked to me. “I am so sorry miss. I have forgotten the beautiful lady’s name.”

“Samantha.”

“Samantha,” Danny breathed. I loved the way he said my name. “Goodbye Samantha.”

“Goodbye, Beautiful Danny…” My heart broke then and there. I wanted to weep.

The rest of the evening… after midnight as it was, passed in a haze for me. There was dancing on the dance floor, and music but I only sat like a lump. I nodded absently to whatever was said. When the platter bearing Danny’s penis, testes and rump slices arrived, presented, as it was, artistically with honey mint sauce. I could only stare transfixed. It landed in front of Mrs. Carrington who proceeded to slice the meat into bite sized pieces and consume them with a relish on her face I’ll not soon forget.

Victor stayed with us, he and Mrs. Carrington animated in discussion about what it was they discussed over her political fundraiser. When it was finally time to leave, I made my way behind Mrs. Carrington to the coat room where I found Mr. DeSilva had graciously checked the bag with my school uniform inside. Id’ forgot completely about it. It seemed a lifetime ago since I’d worn it.

In the car, on the way home, Mrs. Carrington prattled on about nothing I can remember.

“Samantha!” she finally snapped.

“Yes?”

“Have you been asleep?”

“I… I don’t know!”

“You’ve been very much like the walking dead since we left the club.”

“I… it’s passed my bedtime.”

“Oh, poor dear, I’m quite sure of that. Jessica is so protective of her girls, I must say. But look at the results.”

We were stopped. I hadn’t noticed till now that we had not been moving at all, but when I did, I realized we were parked on Beagle Street in San Ramon, right in front of my home. I turned back to Mrs. Carrington to find her regarding me in an odd way.

“I… thank you so much Mrs. Carrington.”

“No,” the woman gently shook her head. “Thank you for rescuing me from my dreadful daughter, and giving me a most pleasant evening.”

I smiled.

“I am guessing, and correct me if I’m wrong. Your parents have no idea you were in Orinda tonight, do they.” It wasn’t a question.

Ashamed, I shook my head: no.

“If I were a better person, I’d tell your mother. But I am not, for better or for worse. I’m a bit of a bitch, I’ll tell you. Do you know why Astrid is still alive? Why we haven’t culled her?”

“No.”

“My husband has his ways of getting back at me for being a bitch. Astrid is one of them. Another is that he loves fucking my ass in front of other people. It’s the only time he fucks me. He usually makes sure Astrid is there to watch me get humiliated. Your parents have witnessed this quite often on Wednesday nights. Yes… your mother is quite the nymphomaniac when it comes to ‘kissing’ girls… but it is sometimes my own personal hell…”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. I do deserve it, lord knows. Your mother is the one pleasure I look forward to weekly. And since I’m keeping your secret, I would like, from you, something in return.”

“I… alright…”

She breathed heavily for a moment.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded. “Kiss me like you did that boy…”

I could not imagine that. Not like kissing Danny. I did submit to her control, it seemed natural to me. I let her take me into her arms with no hint of resistance. I accepted her lips on mine and her exploring tongue. There was a pleasure in it, but nothing compared to the desperate joy of kissing Danny. Nothing like the enslavement of kissing Michael. Those were magic. She guided my hand to her breast and I felt its shape, its weight and the hardness of her nipple. She moaned at my touch. She did not quite force, but more guided my head till my lips landed there to suckle and I’m quite sure she orgasmed in those moments.

She kissed me, hard. She squeezed my breasts till they hurt. Then she pushed me away.

“Go home, Samantha,” she said with adamance. “Before I rape you here and now. Go home.”

“I… goodnight, Mrs. Carrington.”

“Goodnight, Sweet Samantha,” she breathed.

I slipped out of the car, awkwardly carrying my things. As soon as the door closed, the car sped away. It was only then that I noted it to be a very large silver Mercedes Benz.

As quietly as I could, I slipped barefoot through the back door, my thoughts racing. I hid the dress and jewelry before I tip toed quietly into our bedroom. Jenna and Gracie’s breath was even, they were deeply asleep. I said a little prayer of thanks to God for that, and slipped naked into bed. The red LED alarm clock said it was three. It read five before I finally managed to sleep…