by Lou Cameron
“No thanks, buddy, you’re doing fine. Where did you learn to talk like a Yankee seaman with a slight Spanish accent and, come to think of it, you still haven’t told me who the fuck you are!”
She said, “Oh, yes, I mean to fuck you good before you get away, Deek. I make it a policy never to fuck the regulars downstairs. It can feel so awkward, beating up a lover, and—”
“Jesus H. Christ! You’re Boca the Bouncer?”
“Who were you expecting, Her Majesty, the Queen? Actually, Abdul told me to get you and Gaston up early. He didn’t say how early and so … well, once I’d seen you sleeping alone, naked, with such a lovely love tool lying there so lost and lonely—”
“Hey, don’t try to explain,” he cut in, thrusting in her fully awake indeed as he added, “This beats the prettiest alarm clock they could make out of solid gold by a mile!”
“Oofflf!” she hissed as he hit bottom for the first time. “You seem to be beating me with a mile, or at least a foot of candy cane. Let me get on the bottom. I’m going to have to take charge before you rupture me, you brute!” He didn’t argue, but her request still struck him as an odd one. Most dames said they wanted to be on top because they could control the pain better from that position. How in the hell did this one intend to take charge in the submissive position?
Boca the Bouncer showed him. She lay on her back and he mounted her as per usual. Then she drew her big legs up to brace her knees against his chest. So, okay, that did keep him from putting his full weight on her. But then Boca got her shins between them and wedged her bare feet between his thighs, cupping his balls in the insteps as her toes curled up to literally hold him in a sort of soft split-saddle, with his shaft still in her, and then Boca the Bouncer and the man she was playing Pony Boy with proceeded to bounce like hell.
He laughed incredulously and said, “Jesus, it’s no wonder they call you a bouncer!” as he rode effortlessly on her insteps like a sex maniac riding a bicycle seat with his balls hanging through it and his dong in someone very nice riding double with him.
She said, “Don’t talk dirty. I told you I never do this with the drunks I throw out, and by the time the joint closes the few guys Abdul might have staying overnight have usually overindulged in Abdul’s opium or freak collection. I can see you haven’t been at the dope or any of the dopey whores or queers I was afraid might have gotten at you first. Jesus, you’ve grown since I first met you!”
He laughed and asked, “How can you tell? You don’t have all of me in you.”
She said, “Half a meatloaf is better than one when a girl’s as petite as me. Are you saying you don’t enjoy doing it this way?”
“Well, I must say it’s a novelty,” said Captain Gringo, too polite to add he couldn’t have done it this way with a normal woman. How many women, or even men, had legs that long and strong? It felt crazy as hell just sitting on her feet while she used his whole far-from-light body to jerk herself off with. But it was having the same effect on him as Boca bounced him in and out of her now passionate love box with no effort at all on his part, save from hanging on to her knees to avoid being bucked off and out. But thanks to earlier adventures she attributed to opium, thank God, the sex-starved giantess was getting there ahead of him and as she suddenly moaned, “Oh, I can’t stand it. Stop teasing me and do it right, you brute!” he was able to do so, thanks to his restful ride in her cuntry. Boca spread her thighs and then spread them some more, since she had so much thigh to spread, and as he tried to mount her like a proper little gentleman, she seized him in a bear hug and hauled him down upon and into her, holding him in a viselike grip, everywhere she had a hold on him. He could barely breathe, let alone move his hips enough to matter once she’d wrapped her massive legs around him as well. But that worked out all right, in her end, since Boca the Bouncer bounced great that way, too. As she did all the work, bumping and grinding under him like a man-killing bronc, but holding him safely in her love saddle with her powerful arms and legs, Boca sobbed, “Oh, you’re so brutal! You’re killing me with your savage thrusting lust, but I’m helpless in your arms and, yes, yes, yessss, take me, you animal!”
He sure did, although it was hard not to laugh at the same time, knowing the Victorian under-the-counter novel she’d gotten all that bullshit out of. But what the hell, the poor lonesome gal didn’t get to meet many guys who could have survived her coy lovemaking, so she probably got to read alone in bed a lot.
She came again ahead of him, protesting he was making her feel used and abused. Then he ejaculated in her, harder than he’d expected to, and she felt it, gasping, “Oh, my God, how could you have done such a thing inside me, Deek?”
He laughed and said, “It was easy. You were doing all the work. Didn’t you expect me to come, sooner or later?”
“Of course, but not inside me! It’s a sin to go all the way when you’re not married! A gentleman is supposed to pull it out at the last minute!”
“Jesus, I didn’t come here tonight to be insulted. I gave up being a gentleman long ago, but does anybody listen and, ah, by the way, if you want me to take it out, how come we’re still bouncing like this, Boca?”
“I’m trying to teach you how merely courting couples are supposed to make love, of course. Tell me when you are about to come again. I am, ah, sort of busy right now.”
She could have said that again, but as she bounced him in her even harder and faster, Boca was too overcome with passion for conversation, which was just as well, since she talked awfully dumb for a dame who screwed so good. He wasn’t sure, now, whether he was enjoying himself getting sea sick. Making love to Boca the Bouncer was a lot like riding a roller coaster or a ship at sea in a storm.
But the big soft broad was a lot softer and yummier than anything else he’d ever ridden that moved so violently. The effortless thrusts in her smooth wet warm interior might have kept a corpse with a hard-on if it had ever had any feelings at all. He wasn’t sure how or if Boca would notice the difference if he died on top of her right now. He deliberately lay limp in her arms, not trying to even keep it in, as she moved faster and faster, sobbing, “Oh, not again! Have you no feelings, Deek? How can you keep doing this to me, over and over, without even giving me a chance to catch my breath? What are you, a man or a machine?”
He growled, “I’m a big steam pile driver, my proud helpless beauty! Too long have you evaded my unholy desires and now, if you don’t surrender yourself to me I mean to tie you down to the railroad tracks and screw you till the Pacific Flier thunders down on us, going puffatapuffata as we die, creamed in one another’s arms beneath its cruel steel wheels!”
He thought he was joshing her and her reading material. But Boca sighed, “Oh, you’re so romantic! I feel so helpless and little as you vent your lust in my all too weak flesh!”
This time he had to laugh. But she didn’t notice as she added, “Oh, oh, God help me, I can’t resist any longer! I’m cominggggg!”
That made two of them, or it would have, had not Boca suddenly gasped, “No! Don’t you dare! Let me show you how to come with a lady!”
He had nothing to say about it as she ejected his shaft like a watermelon seed with a powerful internal contraction, hauled him up her smooth and now sweaty torso as if he was a rag doll, and as he just let her toss him around, to see what on earth she had in mind, Boca sat him on her lower chest, shoved his confused erection between her moist, massive breasts, and said, “There, finish that way!” as she pressed her big mamma-mias together, encasing his privates in the resultant tight crease between them.
Stimulated by the novelty, he started moving back and forth on her chest, using her breasts as a surprisingly interesting substitute for the real thing. Boca laughed, raised her head from the pillows, and giggled, saying, “Oh, I can see the head of it peeking in and out of my titties at me. Are you ready to come that way, Deek?”
“I might be, if you’d just shut up and let me!”
“I don’t want you coming on my chest.
It feels icky. Could you move up a little, Deek?”
He did, hugging her massive rib cage with his thighs as he kept fornicating her knockers. But now, damn it, most of him was thrusting out the far side. So he was about to move back, when Boca cranked her head higher and kissed the throbbing head of his dong, saying, “Farther, just a little farther,” until suddenly he had half of it between her slippery breasts and the other more important half between her tightly pursed lips. So when he came, and he did, hard, it was not on her chest. He gasped, fell limply sideways, and just lay there, wondering where he was, as Boca rolled after him, still sucking. He’d already found out why “Bouncer” fit her. Now he could see “Boca” did, as well, since Boca meant mouth in Spanish. He’d assumed when they’d met she was a loud mouth. He liked educational surprises. But he protested, “No shit, honey. Enough is enough. I have a boat to catch and at this rate they’ll have to carry me up the gangplank!”
She raised her head from his lap to grin roguishly down at him and say, “Hah, I just licked Captain Gringo!”
He laughed weakly and said, “You call that licking? It felt more like sucking to me. But okay, I surrender. You fight dirty, but what the hell, I like it.”
Before she could tell him the penalty for losing, the door opened and Gaston said, “Ah, there you are, Dick. I see you and Boca have met. I hate to be a spoilsport, mais that swishy black of Abdul’s is waiting for us downstairs and he apparently expects us to either cornhole him or follow him to the ship. My Arabic is getting rusty.”
Boca the Bouncer swore like a sailor in three languages, but let Captain Gringo sit up and even helped him find his clothes among the loose pillows as the big but now weak-kneed American asked Gaston about their papers. Gaston patted his jacket and said, “Oui, trés artistic, too. You are a M’sieur DuVal and I must be an Irishman unless McBride is a Jewish name. The forger seems to have gotten our descriptions mixed up. But no matter, very few customs officials can read English and that is what the supercargo licenses are made out in, hein?”
Captain Gringo laughed, finished dressing, and rose weakly with the aid of both his friends. Only Boca insisted on kissing him at the door. She didn’t follow, since lady bouncers looked silly in the nude on the stairs.
By the time they were down them, Captain Gringo was feeling at least able to walk unaided. Gaston chuckled and asked, “Hard night?”
“If I told you you’d accuse me of making it up. How did you make out, Gaston?”
“Outside,” the Frenchman warned softly. So neither said another word until they joined the black mariposa out front. He spoke neither Spanish nor English and led the way with a point and a flounce of his head and hips. So as they followed him down the quay, Gaston felt safe to explain, “I had a call of closeness. One of Abdul’s wives, Marib, most treacherously neglected to tell me who she was until I had given her a French lesson and a Greek one as well. Arab women love it up the derrière. Come to think of it, so do Arab men.”
“Never mind that. Was this Marib a little pale-skinned critter with big almond eyes and henna-stained nipples?”
“She was indeed! Don’t tell me she crept into your tent, too!”
“Only to warn the other three about something. I never found out what. They all took off like scalded cats.” Gaston nodded and said, “As well they should have. Arab men are allowed to screw other women, bugger boys, and, merde, suck off sheep if they want to. But the penalty for an Arab woman cheating on her lord and master is death, trés sure, mais slow!”
“Sure, in Arab countries, but this is Costa Rica, right?”
“Right and wrong, Dick. No doubt the adorable Hispanic police would frown on a woman being tortured to death on their beat, if they knew about it. But Abdul El Gemal is a man who deals in secret assassination by profession. At any rate, he is usually doped to the gills and sound asleep by sundown, so perhaps his Marib thought it safe to visit an even older man she admired. But for some reason, last night, the species of Arabian insect was up and about and wondering, trés loudly, where in the fuck his wives might be fucking.”
Captain Gringo whistled softly and said, “Oh well, all’s well that ends well. We’d have probably heard the screams if the girls hadn’t gotten away with it. But how did your Marib find out in time if she was playing house with you, Gaston?”
“Boca the Bouncer told us, of course. She popped in to say the boss had sent her to look for the girls. At which point Marib lost all interest in me, alas.”
Captain Gringo chuckled indulgently and said, “Well, at least you got laid first. Sorry the rest of the night was so dull for you.”
Gaston frowned and asked, “Dull? How can you say that, after you just had some of Boca the Bouncer, too?” Captain Gringo scowled thoughtfully as they followed the mincing Negro in the pale gray light of dawn. Gaston asked, “What’s wrong, are you annoyed at me for getting in there first? Le Bon Dieu knows you’ve made me take sloppy seconds often enough!”
“I’m not worried about that. I didn’t eat any of them. But have you ever had the feeling people have been fibbing to you, Gaston?”
“Often. And we are only talking about the women in the House of Abdul, not Abdul himself, hein?”
“That’s what I mean. Boca wasn’t sent by the boss to round up those cheating dames. She just wanted in on the action and she sure as hell got it, or gave it. But screw the dames.”
“We just did.”
“I mean, if nobody anywhere near Gemal tells the truth, how the hell can we believe Gemal himself?”
Gaston sighed and said, “We can’t. He’s probably lying to us about the entire set-up. Mais on the other hand, what other choices do we have? We are cooked, for certain, if we stay here. The odds are only ten to one against us if we accept his offer, non?”
*
There wasn’t one woman aboard the rusty rundown banana boat as it steamed out of the harbor. So the voyage up the Mosquito Coast should have been anticlimactic if not downright dull. It began sedately enough for Captain Gringo. Once they were safely out to sea he retired to the dinky cabin he and Gaston had been assigned to catch up on his sleeping. As usual he’d elected to sleep in the top bunk. It was annoying to sleep under the sagging bed-springs of a dirty old man who masturbated shamelessly and often. Gaston, of course, hadn’t been leading as active a life of late and insisted on prowling the ship while the sun was shining. No knockaround gent was about to sleep in strange surroundings behind an unlocked door. So as Gaston left, Captain Gringo told him not to come back for a while, God damn it, and bolted the door after him.
He stripped and climbed up into his bunk, hanging the strap of his gun rig from a handy wall hook near the head of it. The porthole was tiny, but open, and as they’d lucked on to a windward cabin, the trades blew in across the cubbyhole cabin and out the transom atop the door. He stretched luxuriously and was asleep in no time. He was too wrung out to dream anything at all wet, so he had to settle for the usual nightmares of a man on the run with a price on his head.
Nightmares didn’t bother Captain Gringo, the former First Lieutenant Richard Walker, U.S. 10th Cav, as much as they bothered people who led less interesting lives. Since he’d crossed the Mexican border one jump ahead of the army hangman’s noose after being court martialed for a crime he’d never committed, Captain Gringo, as he’d soon been dubbed by admiring and not-so-admiring Hispanics, had been in many a situation, wide awake, that had your average nightmare whipped like a pup. As he tossed and turned on his bunk between spells of deeper much-needed rest, he was able to cope with the bullshit his dream machinery kept churning out as fast as it came out.
An ogre popped out of an otherwise pretty New England meadow he was striding across, naked, for some reason, and in his dream Captain Gringo just smiled pleasantly and said, “Get the fuck out of my way, ogre. I’m not going to say it twice.”
The ogre growled, “Hijo de cabrone, you do not have your machine gun. You do not have your pistola. Shit, man, you don’t
even have your pants on! I’ve been waiting for a chance to eat the famous Captain Gringo!”
The dreaming American shook his head and said, “Sorry, I only let women, pretty ones, suck my dong.” Then, since the ogre was still standing there, Captain Gringo proceeded to tear his arms and legs off like daisy petals, muttering, “You call yourself an ogre? Shit, you don’t even have a guerrilla army and a mountain fortress to call your own, like the last ogre I ran into in my eternal quest for peace, quiet, and a good cigar.”
As he walked on across the meadow, trying to remember where he was going, the torn-off head of the ogre called after him, “Nyah nyah, you got no clothes on and everybody’s going to laugh at you in church!”
Captain Gringo started to point out he was nowhere near any church. But suddenly he was, though nobody in the pews all around seemed to have noticed yet that he was standing in the aisle stark naked. The little old nun came over to him and whispered, “You are late, my son. The ceremony was about to start without you. Come, take my arm, por favor.”
He did, not knowing what else to do, as he hoped she wouldn’t say anything about his full frontal nudity. She didn’t. Now they were moving down the aisle toward the people waiting by the altar and though he couldn’t see her face under that white veil his bride to be sure had a nice figure and… hadn’t she been a little old nun just a minute ago? And how come they were getting married? He didn’t even know her name or what she looked like. But now they were at the altar and the priest, a heavy-set mestizo wearing a big black sombrero and crossed ammo belts over his sweaty cotton shirt, was saying, “Do you, Ricardo, take this woman for to be your lawfully wedded mujer, to keep her, to cherish her, and all that bullshit?”
“Ah, padre, there’s something I’d better tell you.”
“Shut up, or I’ll tell everyone here you are not wearing any pants and they will all laugh at you. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
“Hold it! I don’t even know this lady, padre!”
