by Romi Hart
Diana threw back her head as far as it would go, and turned around and around, watching the patterns rotate. The quiet was shattered by a strange sound shrieked from the trees and she gasped.
“What was that?”
I laughed and drew her to my side.
“It’s just an owl. They screech like that. If you listen very closely, you can also hear coyotes.”
“I think the wildest animal I’ve ever heard was a feral cat!”
“That’s wild enough.” I pulled her close and we kissed under the moonlight.
Her hands went up to stroke the sides of my face as her eyes studied mine. We were shadowed, the bright blue color looking murky. Her skin was shining milky white in the evening glow.
When I kissed her again, her mouth met mine, and her arms wrapped around my neck. I felt the deep urgency in the tension of her body close to mine, the rapid heartbeat, the living passion, the taste and zest of pure lust and attraction!
She tasted the same flaming passions and was powerless to break away. She could not break away, I wouldn’t let her. She was drinking my lips, my saliva, and the fresh ocean air, the moonbeams shining down on us with its celestial magic.
We remained locked in each other’s embrace for several minutes, with the coastal air flapping around our clothing, the owl hooting in the distance, and an occasional rustle in the underbrush as small animals scurried about. Moonlight and kisses had a special taste.
I broke away first. “You can sleep in my room tonight. I’ll sleep in the cab of the truck. Don’t worry. It’s comfortable. As you well know.”
I walked her back to the house, showed her my room, then closed the door behind me. Leave her among the relics of the past. Everything from my childhood out on display from transformers and dinosaurs to baseball trophies and awards. Photos of family members. Memories piled on memories. I had my future to think about and an urban sophisticate from crime-infested Oakland had never been on my agenda.
I brooded through my feelings, not really understanding any of them when I heard the door to the cab open. I popped my head from the curtains, surprised. There she was, in a negligee and a silk robe, shivering in the evening air.
“I want to know what it’s like to sleep in a big rig,” she said.
I pulled back the curtains. “Do you want me to sleep in the house?”
“Not especially.” She climbed into the truck and up over the seat. There wasn’t enough overhead to sit up straight, but the bed was large and well-padded. I pulled back the blankets so that she could snuggle in next to me. “It gets a bit cold at night,” I warned. “The temperature drops around four in the morning.”
“We should be able to keep each other warm,” she said, as she kissed me.
At first, I only held her. Then as my passion became unglued, I slowly drew her thin clothing away and let my hands rove over the bare flesh of her titties, stroking her belly and sucking her nipples. Every newly exposed spot I wanted to taste. I kissed and caressed every inch of her luscious body I could find.
I listened and grunted as I felt her body blushing, responding to my touch and my hungry lips. She moaned in orgasm as I pulled her closer, inhaling her intimate scent. Dangling between the sweet nectar of youth and the deep musk of manliness, I felt on top of the world. She couldn’t resist me…I fucked her nice and good. But then again, I couldn’t resist her either. She conquered me and made me fall for her so hard, so fast.
She was the kind of sexy, smart woman that you had to make love to, tenderly, consciously, with genuine feeling. My whole body fluttered inside as I felt her breath rasping against my neck, warm and damp. Her mouth so warm and wet, like her beautiful pussy.
The tiny truck enclosure had the whole room steaming over. We both felt the heat but only craved more sex, more connection, more intimacy.
My breath drew in loud and shallow and only turned her on more so, bringing her closer to me. My hands gripped at the sheets as she pulled me down on top of her. I was falling… falling into a liquid world that was sweet, sticky and euphoric. I penetrated her beautiful, hot pussy and quivered at the sensation. Falling into a chasm that rose to meet me and enfold my manhood, I took my time going deeper, so slowly, so firmly into that warm, lulling darkness.
I came so hard and so did she. We both unleashed, unburdened ourselves inside each other’s bodies. We came simultaneously. I still remember my mouth being pulled apart in passion, just as I felt myself coming inside of her. My whole face desperately needing to rub against her face and claim her, possess her, keep her near me always.
It wasn’t long after such explosive sex that we fell hard asleep completely tangled in each other’s arms and legs, just like the way soulful lovers should express themselves. What can I say…a woman that hot and amazing…brings out the poetic side of even the crudest man.
7
Diana
I sat cross-legged in the middle of Keri’s bed, while Keri sat in front of her vanity mirror, trying out a new hair-do. It was time for girl talk.
“Alright, tell me,” Keri coaxed. “You’ve been back three days and haven’t said a word about the trip.”
“I thought I was forbidden to talk about Cody in your presence.”
“I’m over him. You can talk now. Did you enjoy your trip?”
“Yes, I did. He was a perfect gentleman, and there are a few good things to be said about country living. It wouldn’t do much good for my career, though.”
“He didn’t take you to the right places. There are a lot of hip people out there too, you know.”
“He took me to exactly the right places, the places he enjoyed. Let me tell you, there’s a restaurant outside of Santa Rosa with calories that will jump out at you as soon as you walk through the door. Don’t tell Angelique.”
I described the entire date, down to the starlight, the bright, shiny moon and the owl screeching from the trees. “We went beach-combing the next day,” I said. “We found some periwinkles and two sand dollars, perfectly intact. We also stopped by to say goodbye to his sister on the way back. I need to use their hot tub. It’s right outside, in the open. And it’s huge!”
“You’re planning to go back?”
“Well, sure. Even if he doesn’t invite me back, it’s a tourist area. I have a right to tour.”
“You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I enjoyed myself. I don’t have any regrets.”
“Is he a good lover?” Keri dabbed gel into a lock of her hair, trying to get it to stand higher. Frowning, she added two hair clips, so the lock sprang out from one side of her head. “I guess I wouldn’t know since I wasn’t his type. But that’s what makes a man hard to forget. You get a good lover and you don’t want to let him go.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than a country hick with a glorified ego to get me down. Cody is not registering on my heartbeat. It’s just a short-term dalliance.”
“If you say so, but you made a mistake by giving it up. Now that he’s had you, he’ll toss you aside. Like all men do.”
“I got tired of the game, Keri. It’s silly. To pursue me three months for what? A one-night stand? Better to get it over with so I can get on with my life.”
* * *
I believed I was getting on quite well. Four weeks went by and I had not heard a word from Cody.
Although, I had not made a single complaint, Angelique still offered his condolences.
“They’ve been playing out of state, you know. He probably hasn’t had time for visiting.”
I scoffed. “That’s why cell phones were invented! Oh well…we both got what we wanted. He had his day and I got him out my hair.”
I knew by now it wasn’t that hard to wash a man away. Men were uninhibited. Even the shyest and clumsiest were able to make their intentions known. They didn’t beat down doors like fan girls – they were far too strategic for that. They pursued patiently. They lied, schemed, stalked, bribed and swindled for their objec
ts of affection. It was as my brothers had said, ‘all men want, some men need.’ It’s finding the one who loves that is so difficult.
Every day, I distanced him further in my mind. I had no patience for men who separated women into easy to hard-to-get categories, wearing the hearts of the most challenging ones around their belts like trophies.
Men were easy. They were as transparent as glass. I kept these thoughts foremost in my head as I rehearsed the new opening number for our autumn show.
“We want to circulate you more this time,” said my choreographer, leading me through the steps.
Mr. Harrington watched from the shadow of the backstage entrance, his arms folded, his eyes measuring the effects.
“Involve the whole audience, not just the front tables. We will have four male dance performers, situated here, here, and here. As you come to their tables, they will stand up and interact with you.”
I practiced.
“The whole floor. The whole floor” interrupted Harrington. “I want you to take up the whole floor.”
I tried again, coordinating the song and dance with a stroll through an invisible audience. “Like liquid. Move like liquid.”
I tried again, then again, each rehearsal bringing me closer to perfection, or at least what Mr. Harrington wanted.
* * *
Autumn opening night always gave everybody the jitters. Opening night, we turned over a fresh leaf for new performers and new acts and attracted our largest crowds. Throughout the summer, we drew in primarily tourists and loyal locals who didn’t care how often they’d seen the same show, they still loved it. In the autumn, the back-to-school college kids crowded in, along with the tourists who had scheduled the tours to include opening night events and the San Francisco socialites who must be the first to see everything.
I had finally received a top billing; just under a jazz band that had begun circulating the music halls after three years with the Lamplight and Angelique, the number one Bay Area drag queen. I was billed as the Lamplight’s top female vocalist. A life-sized billboard of me wearing a blue-black satin evening gown stood outside the venue.
I felt jittery. This was my make or break year. The tedious platform no longer depended on proper voice training, talent scouts and management. It depended on my fans. It depended on whether or not I could electrify an audience. I took a deep breath and finished applying my lipstick.
Angelique burst into my dressing room.
“Oh, my dear! I thought you should know. He’s out there. He’s out there with his buddies and his girl club.”
I dismissed Angelique’s message. “Everybody comes out for the Lamplight’s autumn opening. It doesn’t bother me.” I turned to face Angelique, keeping my voice and face dispassionate. “It doesn’t bother me in the least.”
Still, as I walked out on the stage, my eyes looked for Cody.
He wasn’t difficult to find. He was at one of the front tables, a girl flanked at each side, surrounded by his buddies and their dates. Despite the crowd, he had pushed back his seat to stretch his legs, making others move around their chairs to accommodate for his extra space. He talked a little louder and more boisterously than usually occurred in swank night clubs.
He dropped his voice only a notch when I began to sing.
It didn’t matter. The club didn’t allow hecklers. If he got too rowdy, they would remove him, baseball star or not. He was not going to ruin my performance!
I deliberately chose his table as the first one to approach, dangling over one of his friends and breathing against his ear instead of singing to Cody.
I saw his eyes flash as I moved away. I slid around the room, purring at the audience until I came to the first dancer.
“The blues came down tonight. Lately, I’ve felt so blue.”
We circled and twirled. I waltzed through the room, glided around the tables, blues streaming low and funky, dark and moody. I circled and twirled, my dress flaring out until the room seemed to tip sideways and circle with me. The whole room was dancing, weaving a magic spell, capturing them all.
The applause was deafening!
It poured into me, raising me up.
* * *
Backstage, Angelique kissed and hugged me. “You did it! You were spectacular. Look at all the calling cards and flowers that have come in already! You’re going to need a bodyguard when you go back out.”
“I’ll be fine as long as I have you,” I said. “We make a good team.”
“We’re both classics, aren’t we darling?” Angelique patted her hand. “Shall we go appraise the damage you caused?”
Intermission was more energetic than usual. Customers waited tightly to see if their favorite entertainers would visit them, leapt from their chairs and shook hands enthusiastically when they appeared, then sat down beaming, feeling important. Laughter broke out more frequently, voices pitched an octave higher, the words tumbling hard and fast.
There was a Mr. Buswell, who had come to see my performance three weekends in a row. He imprisoned my hand when I greeted him! He wasn’t bad as far as admirers went. He introduced himself as an architect, apparently a successful one.
He was expensively dressed in a conservative gray suit and wore a large, gold watch. He sprang immediately to his feet when he saw me approach.
“Did you get my roses?”
“I did,” I said reassuringly, moving closer to him.
Not that there had been time to sort out which bunch of roses had been from him, but it wasn’t something he needed to know. He had a pleasant, cultivated voice and a quiet demeanor.
I suspected there had to be something of an artist in architects. They had to visualize before they began drawing and measuring. Artists stick together, I reminded herself, although I felt kindly toward Mr. Buswell, rather than romantic.
“May I buy you a drink?” he asked, pulling back a chair for me.
I sat down but shook my head. “Only coffee. I have one more number to do tonight.”
“You don’t drink and sing,” he joked.
“Drinking while singing and dancing has a high casualty rate,” I answered, smiling.
In the background, I could hear Cody drawling to his own rapt audience.
“I looked up and here came the biggest, baddest, raging bull I had ever seen in my life. I tore out of there so fast, I left my pants caught in the barbed wire fence!”
The girls tittered, their voices high-pitched and carrying.
I small-talked with Mr. Buswell, blanking out the background noise until I had finished my coffee.
“It’s time for me to go backstage. Maybe we can continue this when the show is over.”
My second song was the Nat King Cole classic, “I’m in the Mood for Love”. People liked music they were familiar with, or at least could recognize as an old time favorite. Besides, I liked piano and the tinkling music backing my voice carried a special, cheerful quality.
I heard Cody call out, “me too,” and laugh.
My eyes flitted in his direction just in time to see him lean over one of the girls and whisper something to his other friend.
It wasn’t enough of a disturbance to be disruptive. In fact, his exclamation served to provoke several wolf whistles from my approving audience, as well as scattered, spontaneous applause.
“Go out and give them an encore,” encouraged Angelique. “Something with guts.”
Something that belted heat. Something to make you remember your hot summer fling! In the summer. In the city. Steaming like the jungle. The crowd that loved the oldies, especially the ones they could remember well, stood and applauded, crying out for more.
The back of my neck was getting hot and gritty.
Cody was watching, his wide blue eyes glittering, his nuzzling companions forgotten even as they tugged at his shirt collar and tickled his neck.
I sang straight at him, striding in defiance. “Been down, isn’t it a pity?”
“I know that song,” he told one of the girls.
“In the summer! In the city!” He didn’t shout the words, but his voice was carrying and melodious.
It wove underneath mine, thick with a country twang.
It was difficult to call him a nuisance because everything he did actually enhanced my performance. He was too cheerful, his looks too appealing, his voice too inoffensive, shining with guileless candidness.
I finished my encore with Cody enthusiastically providing an isolated chorus from the audience.
I couldn’t decide whether to be angry or to laugh!
Whatever mirth I felt, disappeared when I returned to the bar at the end of the evening. Mr. Buswell had disappeared. Feeling somewhat disconcerted, I paid for my drink and looked around for Angelique.
“Did you lose someone?” Cody asked, grinning and straddling the stool next to me.
“I suppose you had something to do with it.”
“Me? Do I look like a kidnapper or the mafia?”
“His name was Mr. Buswell and he was a very nice man.”
“The guy in the suit? The one you were talking to during intermission? He looked like he needed a few pointers, so I let him know somethings about you. Your four kooky room-mates. Your four big brothers. The kind of things that turn you on.”
I pretended to have great interest in the crushed ice melting into my cocktail, stirring it around with a tiny plastic straw. “Are you so fearful of competition?”
“Competition? I have no competition. Nobody’s beaten me. We won the finals, didn’t you hear?”
“Congratulations. And that, I assume, has everything to do with winning at love.”
“Nobody wins at love, Diana. You didn’t beat me, I didn’t beat you. We just had a good time. But…”
I laughed suddenly. “It’s fine, silly. Look, I know what you are, remember?”
“Oh, really?”
“You’re a Georgie-Porgie. You kiss little girls and make them cry. You’re terrified of a real woman. That’s what’s so obvious about you.”
