Everybody Say Ye' Ye' An Organic Novel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 11 (v.1) - Part 10

Submitted: January 10, 2008

Reads: 229

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 10, 2008




Virginia was completely, unmistakably, high. She had never been high, but she knew this must be it. Her deductive reasoning went like this: I have no more feet. The third stair just said hello in an old man’s voice. Sorry stair, I have no more feet. I must be high. Her luggage floated behind her, its occupants unaware their mistress was flying.
The top of the stairs came quickly and easily. She laughed with delight at her extraordinary strength and agility. Music was everywhere and she assumed she was creating it with her movement. She started and stopped, hoping to speed it up and slow it down. It thumped rhythmically, paying her no heed.
She entered the room, taking big steps as if she were walking through piles of leaves. Was she under a tree? In a forest? With all the soft pleasing reds and yellows, she must be gazing at an autumn canopy. How pleasant. She inhaled, hoping to smell burning leaves, and instead shot even higher. She couldn’t believe her luck. She’d always wanted to climb to the treetops and view all the world from the safety of a bird’s nest and here she was. What luck, what luck.
She brought the luggage to the corner and ripped open the cage and carrier. The animals, too, escaped. She wandered to the center of the room and threw out her arms. No one stared at her. The music was her companion and she obeyed it. She found the light, a hole in the treetops, and lifted her face to the sun. She was free.
Virginia wheeled around, the drug making her movements slow and wobbly.
“What… why are you up here? What are you doing?”
“Damiana wasn't damiana. Damiana was just…damiana! MIDNIGHT!”
The cat let out a low growl and blinked his eyes at Virginia, not leaving Jeane's shoulder.
“Your cat was in the van when I picked it up, so I came here to…find you. Are you ok?”
“I'm…Yes, oh yes. It's so sunny here. It's beautiful. Midnight! I thought you were lost like me. Ha! We're not lost, silly Midnight.”
Jeane noticed that Virginia was clutching a glass vial, her knuckles white.
“What is that?”
Virginia realized she was still holding the potion.
“It worked!” she shrieked. “It worked! Midnight, Jeane, you're here. It worked! Here. Take a sip.”
Jeane took the bottle tentatively from Virginia's shaky hand and raised it to sniff. She shuddered as the scent violated her nose.
“Are you serious?”
“Jeane, trust me. It’s different now. Take a sip.”
Midnight once again leapt from his perch on Jeane's shoulder, and slunk away behind a pile of tapestries. Jeane and Virginia were left with one another, face to face.
“It's just like T-Dog said. We're like the bears. We can do anything we want. Nobody is watching us. I haven't felt this free in…oh, I don't think I've ever felt like this!”
Coming from Virginia's smiling mouth, the words sounded like voodoo to Jeane. Freedom, no one watching. It had been a long fucking day. Jeane flung her head back and emptied the bottle into her mouth. The thick liquid made its way down the back of her throat, tasting of bubblegum.
“Oh,” she said, as she looked around. “Oh!”
The music seemed louder and harder. Jeane and Virginia swayed, each one thinking briefly of her husband, and then only of each other, the music, damiana, and the incredible feeling of lightness and warmth. Jeane swore she saw a pile of pillows rustling in the corner, and heard the unmistakable sounds of mewing. Had the cats found one another? It made perfect sense. Cats uniting, united by cats. She opened her mouth, and the sound escaped naturally.
Virginia laughed a belly laugh. “Hissssss……” She forced the air out, letting it mingle with spit and tongue.
The women crawled around one another on the soft floor, stretching with the music, batting playfully at nearby drapes. Daisy and Midnight watched from nearby, silent, pensive, for all the world looking like people. Virginia felt nothing now but intense gratitude for the box that had brought her here. She licked her wrists and howled to the skylight, still believing it was a beam from the heavens.
Jeane stood up, stretching to the sky like a giant tabby, when her cat mentality was knocked out of her from behind.
Virginia felt confused as more women entered the little group. She watched as Jeane interacted with another, then another. The closeness of women was new. The women intermingled with her own scent, until she no longer recognized her own. She couldn’t breathe, feeling her head and lungs filling up again. Something was still in her, a pain in her long shadowed lungs. She retreated, leaving the women to caress each other. She took her brittle white shoulders with her, heaving them, relieved not to burden any longer the women with beautiful bodies who knew their place in the light.
Whirling around, she suddenly noticed the room was full of people. Where had they come from? She fled to the couches. One held a perfect pair, a woman and a boy. The other held the long body of an unconscious man, murmuring, lips touched by bristly hair. He was there but not there. Had he been there before? He was almost silent, just a few whispers of life seeping out through his nostrils and twitching toes.
She watched the toes for a while and the rest of the room faded in a familiar way. Here was a man. A man doing nothing at all, just resting and breathing. A completely unexpected gift. She was all ways of anxious all at once. Kneeling beside the couch, she stared into the side of his head for several minutes.
She watched the word float out of her mouth and into his ear. He stirred.
“Hello. I’m here now.”
She thought of a cat and leaned in to bite his ear. She giggled, waiting for his response. It registered halfway down his body.
“I did that.”
She breathed in his ear again. Heaving out, out, out. Blowing as hard as she could, freezing his brain perhaps. Did he feel her?
“I am going to make you my slave.”
Virginia let out deep, wide laughter. Her slave! She imagined him wrapped up in Jeane’s leather straps wearing nothing but slippers.
“My slave! Water me, slave, I’m thirsty.”
He responded. Her head was still shrieking full as she bit down hard and ground her teeth.
“I am going to feed you. Drink me now, slave. Son of a bitch, drink me!”
Virginia took no notice of the woman now tying up the boy on the couch next to her. She let go the image of the two women still dancing behind her. She cared for nothing but this man on this couch. He was just like her. He needed her. She needed him. She wanted him. The warm sunlight was coming from her now. She radiated.
She stood up on knees younger than before. She traced her fingers down her man’s legs and lingered on his feet. Without hesitation, she turned and sat squarely on his wiggling toes. She rubbed back and forth, up and down, chafing, until the pain was enough.
Deep within Virginia something mysterious was rising, something small and unformed as of yet, something new and delicious but yet to be known, something growing and pulsing, something unevenly getting bigger and broader until it swept up into her lungs and expelled for the last time all that was there, and she yelled, “Altruabraxion!” She convulsed a final time, and slid to the side.


The man at the park had told her that she could find a fortune-teller here, but this place seemed like much more than that. The walls were lined with old wooden bookshelves, piled high with books on magic, witchcraft, voodoo, and astrology. There were also candles, prayer rugs, and tarot decks—Micah stifled a cynical laugh when she saw a crystal ball for sale. A woman emerged from behind a curtain on the right side of the room. She was very tall, and the deepest black color Micah had ever seen. They locked eyes as the woman crossed the room to stand behind a desk near Micah.
“Welcome. I am Madame Chi.”
Micah found herself standing in front of the desk, all trace of cynicism gone. She heard Sam come in, furiously cracking his knuckles, but she was entranced by Madame Chi. “Um, we want to have our palms read…”
“No, that is not what you are looking for.” The woman’s voice was soft and deep, inflected by an accent that Micah could not place. Micah smiled and leaned towards her.
“And what is it that we really want?”
“Go up the stairs, and you will find what you seek.” Madame Chi cocked her head to the side and gestured behind Micah. Micah turned and noticed a wooden staircase tucked between two of the bookcases. She glanced over at Sam, and then turned back towards Madame Chi. The strange woman was already moving, catlike, towards Sam. Micah turned and walked towards the staircase. She put her hand on the splintered banister and looked up into the darkness. There was the faint flicker of candlelight on the landing at the top. She stepped gently onto the first stair, not sure that this staircase could hold her. She took a deep breath, and continued on to the second. When she stepped onto the third stair it creaked loudly and she flinched at a vision of herself falling through the rotting wood and into a forgotten basement below, her body broken and askew. Then she heard the music. It was faint, so she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she recognized it as Fela Kuti’s Lady. She ascended the rest of the stairs quickly, the music growing louder with each step until it seemed to be all around her. She reached the landing and passed through a tapestry into a large room.
On the far wall were two couches, one of them occupied by the sleeping figure of a man who appeared to have an erection. The rest of the room was full of large pillows, and hung from floor to ceiling with tapestries. Skylights filled the spaces in between with evening light. In front of her were three women, two of whom were topless. One was a striking blond, probably in her twenties, dancing wildly with another woman. This second woman was a voluptuous forty-something, her breasts flying to and fro with complete abandon. A small, mousy older woman stood next to them, watching contentedly.
Micah heard a scratching noise and noticed a cat sharpening its claws on one of the tapestries. She bent to pet the cat, but it ran to the older woman and wrapped itself about her ankles. Micah followed the cat, removing her shirt and tossing it on the floor as she approached the women. She suddenly felt high, and laughed out loud as she circled the dancing women. She removed her bra and threw it aside as she continued to circle the women, laughing, and gently touching their arms and backs.
As she completed another circle around them, she saw Sam standing by the door with a look of absolute terror on his face. His eyes were glued to the breasts of the older woman but his gaze quickly shifted to Micah, and recognition flashed for a moment. The terror returned when his eyes shifted downwards to her naked breasts. He began to move mechanically towards her, as though pulled by his eyes. Micah was hardly aware of herself as she danced towards him, meeting him halfway. He was breathing hard, as though he had run up the stairs. She reached out and touched his face, then slid her hand around to the back of his neck and leaned into him, brushing his ear with her lips and then her tongue. She pressed her body against him, her hand sliding down his back. She whispered, “Come with me,” and took his hand.
They walked to the couch and sat down. Sam seemed preoccupied with the drooling man on the next couch, so Micah gently slid her hand onto his thigh. He turned towards her, and as their eyes met she knew that nothing else would distract him. He was hers. Sam smiled wickedly and yanked the tapestry on which she sat, turning her body towards him. She slid her hand onto his shoulder and swung her leg over him to straddle his lap. She wasn’t going to be gentle anymore.


Jeane stood up, stretching to the sky like a giant tabby. Her cat mentality was knocked out of her from behind when a woman enveloped her into a tight bear hug, threading her arms through the front pockets of Jeane’s sweatshirt. (END CO-WRITE) The arms were thin and sinewy, the nails perfectly manicured. She turned to find Marjorie, staring at her with wild, admiring eyes.
“So good to see you here!” she breathed.
Jeane’s animosity melted away when she saw the way Margie was gazing at her, drunk with admiration and sisterly affection. She became aware of the music once again and without realizing it, began swaying her hips without self-consciousness. The heaviness was lifting and with it, everything became exponentially lighter. Enveloped in a cloud of sensuality, Jeane pulled her sweatshirt over her head, dropping it to the floor. Without a second thought, she reached behind her back, releasing the hooks of her bra. She stood beneath a skylight, her hair flattened and tickling her eyelashes, the white skin of her breasts illuminated by the evening sky. She moved her body with joy. When she raised her eyes again, she wasn’t surprised to see Margie in front of her, dancing to her own rhythm. Their eyes met, locking in recognition.
Suddenly, the room seemed denser. Jeane sensed the presence of others. As she turned, she watched as a young dark-haired woman, full of life, came towards them. Her shirt flew from her hand, landing near Midnight’s tail. Jeane was calmed by her freeing energy. The three women moved slowly around one another, barely touching, admiring, relishing the aura of womanhood and soft, naked skin; absorbing their collective power.
Jeane’s existence felt strangely validated. She watched as the dark-haired woman straddled a blonde teenager who looked absolutely terrified. She smiled as she watched him relax and slide into her. She wondered if she had worn the same expression on her face so many years ago.
Jeane looked at Margie’s skin, wondering what she felt like. She reached out, uninhibited, and caressed Margie’s shoulder. It was communicating in touch, affirming their new solidarity. They stared at one another with astonishment.
A tall man with dark eyes seemed to float towards them. Jeane watched as Margie thrust her tongue into his mouth. The man grasped at her, his body tightening. Jeane was immediately drawn to this scene as she watched Margie’s body melt onto the man’s, but wasn’t surprised when Margie motioned for her to join them. She braced herself behind the man, sharing his body with Margie. Jeane removed a bright yellow plastic bag from the young man’s hand, feeling its contents.
“Is this a record?” she whispered. Her mind fleetingly returned to a memory of making love to George, scratchy vinyl serenading their bodies.
“Yeah, it is…”
Jeane pressed up against him, dropping the bag and lightly running her nails over the man’s smooth back and small, firm ass. She licked his neck and locked eyes with Margie, who reached around and touched her hair. Jeane reciprocated the touch, and after caressing the man’s sides, reached beneath his arms and felt for Margie’s hands, giving them a tight squeeze. Margie smiled at her over the man’s shoulder and the two embraced in a hug, enveloping the man they were sharing. Working as one, Margie and Jeane removed the man’s pants.
As Jeane leaned over the side of the man’s arm, running light kisses along it, she caught a glimpse of his pink cock, sprung forward. Jeane knew she had to touch it, touch the cock full of life, working of its own volition in response to her bare flesh. It had been so…long…since she had felt any sort of primal urge, the desire to have a man enter her body, the time to allow the feelings to rush back.
Jeane was suddenly ravenous. Instinctually, she moved her fingers down between his legs, reaching through them towards his balls. As she felt them, warm and taut, she moved her index finger beneath them and drew it back against the skin. She felt his body buckle, a network of flexing and collapsing muscles.
There was no waiting, no talking, no negotiation. He turned to her immediately, shaken from her touch. Jeane lightly stroked the head of his penis and felt his entire body twitch. It made her ache for him. She ran her hands up and down its shaft, delighting in the reaction she was creating, loving how this small gesture was yielding such a tremendous result. Jeane kissed his hipbone and then guided the man’ s hand gently to her wetness.
He laid her down on a large pillow, and slipped his fingers into her, curling them back to rub against her inside. Jeane stared up at the ceiling, watching billowy fabric float overhear. It started at the tips of her fingers and toes, a tingling sensation as though her extremities had fallen asleep. Her body stirred inside. Her pelvis moved instinctively with his hand, as jolts of feeling coursed through her body. She gasped for more air, her mouth suddenly dry. She released a guttural moan, and with it, the weight of the world. She laughed as she came, her arms flung wide on either side of her body, smiling without effort, releasing and retrieving.
And there she was, her petite frame leaning over Madame Chi’s desk.
With her weight on one foot and a lock of hair twirled around the ring finger of her right hand, she nodded to woman behind the desk. I couldn’t follow their conversation, but certainly knew to keep my distance. Without saying much of anything, each nodded in agreement. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this woman held my immediate fate in the palm of her hand.
Micah released the knotted hair from her hand, turned toward me and stared. As I waited for her to say something a wind whipped through the store, kicking dirt into my eyes. By the time I regained my vision, Micah had already scurried up three quarters of the stairway. The dust must still have been in my eyes, for it seemed as though Micah was removing her shirt on her way up the stairs.
My eyes remained fixed on the stairway; she’d be back. But Micah didn’t come back. Against my better judgment, I turned back around towards Madame Chi. Before I could say a word she slid a silver carafe across the table, into my outstretched hand. Madame Chi turned her back to me, walked to the doorway and exited the shop. There was to be no discussion, no offer of assistance; apparently, all of that was within the elixir. I peered into the cup, making the mistake of breathing at the same time. The putrid stink of ammonia and dishwashing soap wafted upwards. I began to put the cup back down on the table when I heard a creaking noise from above, followed by the soft tap of rhymtically-synced footsteps. Dancing would take guts, guts I didn’t have. Looking back down at the elixir, I thought about Micah; was she worth it? My body made the decision for me. Without thinking I lifted the flask to my lips, said a prayer and swallowed the liquid.
Before I knew it I was frantically sprinting up the stairs. I galloped past the creaky third step, and on to the fourth, fifth, and sixth. On the seventh I rested so as not to give away my immaturity. I continued at a crawl. For the moment there was but one step separating myself from whatever was going on upstairs. Instead of preparing myself I burst through the door and stepped foot into what looked like a dungeon.
Once my eyes adjusted to the environment I was able to make out the layout of the attic. A skimpy bar lay directly in front of me. To my left were two long couches, with what appeared to be a nice Jewish boy passed out on one. His long legs extended to both the floor and adjoining couch. Poor guy didn’t have the stomach for Madame Chi’s elixir. Alright, time to find Micah. She wasn’t near the couch. Nor was she behind, or in front of the bar. Where was she?
I looked to the left and peered at a group of woman swaying to the music. This must have been the creaking noise from a moment ago. As their appearances came into view, I nearly jumped out of my skin. One of them was topless! Just ten feet to my right were boobs, actual, real-life boobs. These weren’t the pixilated kind or even the high-speed downloadable kind; these were actually here, and my lord, were they droopy! Is that what breasts actually look like? God, they were so, so, well, close to the floor! Her breasts sagged so low that I’m sure this woman could hold library books underneath them. As she danced her breasts bounced without any respect for physics; in fact, one nearly smacked her in the face. I rubbed my eyes to make sure the dust had been removed.
I re-opened my eyes, but the breasts were still there. From behind the topless woman emerged yet another woman, except she was much smaller. Topless, her fair skin looked young, taut and healthy. In fact, she looked a lot like—Micah? It couldn’t be. As the music pulsated, this woman swung her hips in wild circles and threw her hands in the air. There was no mistaking her. This was my Micah.
As I walked over to the naked, gyrating women, I tried not to stare at Micah’s breasts, but, I failed. In fact, this was quite possibly the toughest thing I have ever had to do. As if there were magnetized, my eyes were uncontrollably drawn to her taught breasts. Her nipples were much smaller than the first woman’s but stood completely erect. As she danced, they moved with her. In fact, her entire torso was beautifully sculpted. It was readily apparent that she was in total control of her body’s movements.
She twisted and turned her body as she approached me. She dropped her shoulders, raised her hands, and beckoned me towards her with her fingers. She was dripping with a sexiness I had yet to experience. She placed her long fingers on the side of my head and lifted her mouth towards my ear. As I awaited her words a tongue begin to explore the outer rim of my ear. Before I could resist, Micah’s pulled me in close, and pushed her tongue deeper into my ear. I let out a short moan. She removed her tongue and whispered her desires into my ear. I had to oblige.
We walked hand in hand towards the unoccupied couch. The music, once blaring and unnerving, was more melodic. As we approached the couch, I couldn’t help but stare at the unconscious Jewish boy on couch. A bubbling stream of drool connected his mouth and the orange tapestry laid out upon the couch.
Micah released my hand and sat down next to me. Her hand found it’s way to my thigh as mine reached for her collarbone. There was no doubt in her eyes and I hoped she realized that for once, there was none in mine either. Instead of tracing the outline of her neck, I reached down and gave a mighty tug on the tapestry she was sitting on. Micah’s entire body shifted towards me. Visibly stunned, she responded to my show of bravery with a heroic act of her own. Forgoing both words and gestures, Micah lifted her petite body and placed herself on my lap. Instead of stumbling for the wrong word, or awkwardly pulling at her pants, I somehow knew exactly what to do. We embraced, kissed and only broke the embrace when Micah began to struggle with my belt. We laughed as I easily unlatched the clasp.
With a mighty tug she yanked the belt from my jeans and smiled. Before I could reach for her breast she removed her belt as well. With a glance that screamed, trust me, she took my hands, and using the belts, tied them to the light fixture behind the couch. Once she was convinced that I was restrained, she stood up, ran her hands across her shoulders, down her breasts and across her stomach. Resting her hands upon her hips, she licked her lips, leaned over, and began to unzip the fly of my pants. I bucked forward in a fruitless effort to fondle her breasts; she was in complete control. Leg by leg, she pulled my pants to the ground and followed suit with my boxer shorts. As my body became more and more exposed, I grew increasingly paranoid of my surrounding environment. I knew very little of where I was, and aside from Micah, knew no one. In fact, what did I know of Micah? I knew how she took her hot dogs, her home state and apparently I know mo—her small hand was wrapped around the shaft of my penis. I let out a moan unlike any I’d ever produced. Her eyes remained focused on mine as she began to slide her hand along the underside of my shaft. As I wiggled and moaned she smiled in delight. Her hand quickly caught up the beat of the music and before long was gliding along the surface of my erect penis. She needed to slow down, but the louder I moaned, the quicker she moved, until without a moment’s notice, she stopped.
This was no break. Instead of resuming the hand-job, she leaned forward and drew the head of my penis into her mouth. The combination of her lips, tongue and warm breath nearly sent me over the edge. This was unlike anything I’d ever felt. Micah watched me as I moaned. Realizing that I was about to cum, she slowly removed my penis from her mouth, gripped the shaft and ran her tongue along the underside. Returning to the head, she ran her tongue across it until I pushed my hips forward in an attempt to end the torture. Responding to my movements, she placed her lips on my head and began to move downwards until her she reached the base. While I wasn’t going to win any Big Dick Contest, I was content with what I had, and apparently, so was Micah. She let out a moan as her lips slid back and forth. As if this was not enough, her right hand began to stroke my penis in unison with her mouth. I screamed out, begging Micah to stop unless she wanted my experience to end here. Without saying a word she continued with the blowjob. Instead of looking me in the eye, she focused on the task at hand. The pace quickened and a warm feeling began to grow. With every stroke of her hand and lick of her tongue I grew closer to orgasm; I held on for as long as possible. Before I knew it, an orgasm of immense proportions was on the horizon. I screamed out in a poor effort to warn her of the onrushing orgasm, but she seemed to mind little. I moaned, tensed, pulled at my restraints and exploded. Without missing a beat Micah kept her mouth wrapped tightly around my penis. I continued to cum, yet Micah never moved. It wasn’t until she had squeezed every last drop of cum from my body that she removed her lips from my penis. She smiled, kissed me and carefully removed the restraints.
As my hands fell from the restraints, I slumped down on the couch. For the moment, I looked very much like the unconscious Jewish boy. Micah pulled her legs onto the couch and rested her shoulder on my neck. I did not have words for what just happened. Off in the distance, Madame Chi seemed to be having a conversation with herself. The woman with the saggy breasts was still dancing.
I leaned forward; Micah kissed me as I took her breast in my hand. My mouth began to trace its way from behind her ear towards her collarbone. I trekked downwards and began to gently kiss her breasts. With more force than I had ever expected, I took Micah’s left breast in my hand and began to suck her nipple. Running my teeth and tongue over her erect nipple she began to arch her back and moan. Imploring me to push on forward, I kissed my way down her stomach until I was on my knees in front of her. Ready for whatever was to come, she placed her left leg on my shoulder as I kissed the inside of her thighs until I reached the edge of her underwear. Quickly pulling it aside, my tongue began to explore the warmth between her legs.

Jody swallowed the concoction, thanked the woman, and began browsing along the bookshelf that lined the stairs to the second floor. Somewhere in between a heavy volume called Altabruaxtion and a niftily embossed copy of Tales of the Tarot, Jody noticed that the words began to pour off the yellowed leaves like silver-scaled fish in a stream. The spines of the books, made of coarse cloth, began to melt in his hands as well. Then they congealed, sticking to his mitts like fresh flypaper. Frightened, Jody turned back to Madame Chi for explanantion, but the fortuneteller was gone. The sunlight from the fading day had disappeared, and he now felt as if he inhabited a shaken snow globe, or a ticker tape parade seen in sabatier, with ghostly bits of grey, black, and white paper falling all around him. The paper then became colorful, a riot of greens, reds, and oranges, yellows and blues. He heard music, the bump of a party, coming from the second floor. He dropped the books, rubbed his hands furiously on his jeans, and groped his way upstairs along the bookshelf, gasping as the third step creaked and whined like the shrillest bird cry in creation. Madame Chi had clearly introduced him to a vertiginous state of consciousness, rather than the upper register of the musical scale.
At the top of the stairs, Jody entered a dark room that seemed infused with miniature, multi-colored comets, little zings of pop and flash. The music was louder, and the beats encircled him like hobby horses at a merry-go-round. He made out the swaying shapes of people, dark outlines amidst the crackles of color and undulating ether. He looked to his right, and saw two women dancing together in a mutual act of goddess worship. Jody froze when he noticed that one of the women was looking at him. He noticed her angular, pert features, blonde hair, and the delicate curve of her shoulder. She pointed at him through the darkness, curling her finger in the universal sign of beckoning. Jody approached, helplessly caught by this heaviest grade of line.
The blonde woman grabbed his hand and pulled her into him, and immediately squeezed her firm, lovely breasts into his chest. Jody gasped. Entering his mouth with her tongue, she overpowered him. He felt his penis and balls begin to liquefy in the heat of her advance. She was exactly the kind of woman he always fantasized about, a busty, sexy blonde, and he returned her kiss with as much energy as he could muster.
The other woman, whom he had barely noticed, reached for the plastic bag he was still carrying and softly removed it from his limp hand. "Is this a record?" she asked, and Jody looked towards her wondering voice, beginning to answer, "Yeah, it is..," before the blonde's lacquered, filed fingernail led him inexorably back to her charms.
Still overcome by the novelty of female attention, Jody began to draw confidence from the insistent, festive beats, and his desire began to grow forth like an engorged, tropical plant. He danced with the blonde as she squeezed various parts of his body, and welcomed her curious, brown-haired partner when she joined them. The two women got on either side of him, forming a personal erotic enclosure, a paradise of flesh. Jody felt a battery of erogenous feedback from as two tongues darted around his neck, ears, and face. A hand began to massage his erect penis, and his knees buckled in pleasure, but the sexy blonde grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him ferociously, keeping him on his feet. Together, the women pulled his shirt off, and the blonde bit his shoulder, squeezed his ass. They giggled as they started to unbutton his pants…he wanted to fuck them both.
But just when he was about to reach for the shapely ass of his seductress, she suddenly turned away, pirouhetting into another part of the darkness. Jody wanted to follow her, but before he could move, he felt an exceedingly warm hand rest on his shoulder. It lingered, slowly caressing, providing comfort as well as arousing desire. He looked after the blonde for a moment longer, but found that he also wanted to turn toward this new woman with the warm, warm touch. A fingertip traced a line down the center of his balls, making the choice for him.
She touched, tickled, and stroked his penis with a gentleness and skill that drew him closer and closer into her aura. He felt immediately that this woman was here for him, that she wanted him badly. Faint impressions from the rest of the room faded altogether, leaving him to concentrate on this new creature. He looked her in the face for the first time. Her round features reminded him of the mother of a childhood friend; he could picture her standing in her light-filled kitchen and smiling, waiting to greet him and his buddy after they threw down their backpacks in the hall, looking for cookies. Large and pendulous, her breasts hung inches from his chest, the nipples purplish-pink ovals that dwarfed the tiny areolae of the departed dancer. His body twitched from her hand, his entire groin seemed to light up with electricity. The woman looked into his eyes, took his hand, and led it through and underneath her thick brown bush.
She bent her knees and lay down among the pillows on the floor, all the while keeping Jody's expectant fingers on the cusp of her vagina. She curved his index and middle fingers into a soft hook and guided him inside of her. Simply moving in and out at first, Jody recalled some erotica he read in Bust magazine about an encounter at a New Wave Night, where a guy brought a woman to orgasm on the dance floor in the middle of Blue Monday. Buoyed by the writer's description of technique, he scooped deep into the woman's vagina, digging into the warm, peachy flesh. She bucked and moaned in response. Her insides became a trickle, a stream, a river of juice. She laughed a warm, wet laugh, and flooded his fingers with her torrent. After a moment, Jody gazed down at the woman he had just brought to orgasm. In the colorful haze of his mind, her body seemed to be emitting after-shocks of ethereal energy, like a rippling feminine pond


Margie swirled the liquid, taking in its full scent. Her nostrils grabbed a large whiff, it was sweet smelling, but not sickly. Grasping the cup with both hands, she took a tiny sip. Her eyes became wide, her taste buds stood on end. It was delicious. She ravenously licked her lips and thrust the cup to her mouth. Dipping her head backwards, she took the rest in one gulp. Madame Chi smiled and motioned toward a dusty staircase.
The world swirled in front of her. She had to account for her steps. Slightly stumbling, she walked towards the stairs, wanting to leap up each one. She reached the first, second, third! A resounding creak let out.
Stop. Her heart pounded in her chest. Thump…thump…thump. She turned. All desire to reach the top of the stairs had dissipated. She was scared. She wanted to be curled up in a ball, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Thump…thump…thump…
A resounding beat from the top of the stairs matched hear pounding chest. She felt it enter through her toes, caress her thighs, shoot through her bloodstream to her brain. It felt…green…blue…then yellow. Swirls of color were trapped in her head. They became hers. She owned them.
Thump…thump…thump…she again began her ascent. Spry. She considered herself a deer, pounce…pounce. Deep breaths and open space, her field to prance and play! Colors flashing wildly about, embracing her, enveloping her. Her face reconfigured, a smile emerged. She looked over her shoulder and saw an old woman with a cat. The cat smiled. The old woman did not, she was busy talking. She looked through this woman’s eyes, where was she looking? Her gaze drifted along her sight line. A woman. There she was! She was beautiful, her skin milky, it looked so soft.
Margie bounded towards her. It was Jeane. She was stunning. She came from behind, and awestruck, took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around the silky body. She felt a kangaroo pouch on the front, and slipped her hands inside. Jeane was warm. Jeane turned to look at her, she smiled. It was warm.
“It’s nice to see you here,” Margie said quietly. Jeane just smiled. Margie felt the room start to pound.
The pounding…colors pounding…Margie began to move with the colors. Thump… thump…thump… the thumps were still trapped. She didn’t want to let them go. Days passed, or perhaps hours, maybe moments. Margie wasn’t sure. She glanced up, down, inwards outward. Caught a sight of creamy white. Milky skin with a touch of pink bounced. She wanted to touch it, caress it. Milky, milky….white. Jeane’s pink nipples were taut. Margie became inspired and ripped her shirt off. Delighting in the buttons pop…pop…pop…and began to dance, she and Jeane, in circles. Thump…thump…thump. The music was endless.
Margie looked toward the door and saw another woman enter. She was cautious, but confident. She ran towards Margie and Jean, took her shirt off in one swift movement, and threw it into a corner.
She began dancing circles around Jeane and Margie. Pounding with the music. Thump.thump.thump. She didn’t dance long. The woman and her black hair disappeared quickly. It was ok. Jeane was enough for Margie. The room felt smaller, Margie looked, and noticed more people filling up space.
She noticed activity towards the door again, and watched as a man entered. He was very shy, guarded. His eyes were wide open, full of blinks, his mouth was half-cracked open and his lips were full. Margie liked him, she imagined taking a slight nibble from his bottom lip. Without reservation, she flipped her hair to the side and caught his eye. She gave him a slight wink, pointed her perfectly manicured finger directly at him and summoned him in. He came, attached to an invisible string. Slowly, giving Margie enough time to turn to Jeane. They looked directly at each other. They knew.
Margie grabbed his hand and pulled him over, pressing her naked breasts into his chest. She settled one hand on his ass, which she squeezed up and into her body. She led him in a half-circle, close to Jeane, who reached her arms around him from behind. They created a sandwich with the boy, or perhaps a wrap. He was completely consumed in their two embraces.
Margie grabbed one side of his head, gently tickling his hair with her fingers. With a soft moan, she began nibbling the bottom part of his ear, moving downward to his salty neck. He began to dance with the women; thump…thump…she reached down towards his crotch, and through his jeans could feel his hardened cock. Her hand settled there, with a slight grab, and now filled with desire her mouth went for his.
Margie grabbed both sides of his face and she pulled his face downward, his lips aggressively touched her own and she began kissing them, hard. His lips were soft and chewy, like fruit snacks. All Margie wanted to do was bite them. She felt a hand brush her shoulder and looked to see Jeane. Without saying a word, the two women reached underneath his shirt, and recklessly lifted it upwards, over his head. His body was slightly unkempt and Margie found herself running her fingers through the spirally hairs on his chest. Thump…thump…the hair on his chest tickled her breasts, and she led his face closer to her nipples. His skin was so soft, malleable, she wanted nothing more than to grab, pull and bite. His shoulder was taunting her so she bit it, hard. He let out a soft yelp, pulling slightly away. She reached back, put her hands on his now-clenched ass and slammed him into her body.
Catching eyes again with Jeane, she reached towards the front, and began unbuttoning his pants. From behind, Jeane joined in and they removed them. Thump…in one beat. And they danced…thump…thump…thump…
Margie looked over her shoulder and noticed a man staring through a video camera. He looked serene, comfortable, intrigued. She had a great desire to peer through this camera, see what he was seeing. As she approached him, she realized it was someone she knew. The man from the street! She bounded to him. He was too engrossed in his filming to notice. She didn’t mind. She just wanted to see his world. Not wanting to interrupt him, she snuck behind him. It was a new camera, the screen pulled away from the body to show what was being filmed. She sat, distanced from the remainder of the sexcapades taking place. She carefully scanned, and re-scanned. Periodically removing herself from the viewfinder. It brought everything closer, but still untouchable. Like looking at New Jersey through binoculars.
Margie’s eyes rested on a couple on the couch. The black-haired woman appeared boundless, gazelle-like, full of energy. And the boy, young, was allowing each drop of life to be sucked from his body. She gazed at both of them, blue and purple, swirling around their faces. They were beautiful. She was beautiful. Margie wanted to wrap her arms around her tiny body. She wanted to take her fingers and trace each line up and down. The woman’s eyes were striking, bright. She peered at Margie through thrusts. For a brief moment, their eyes caught. Margie locked her legs tight, careful not to let any wetness drip through.
She walked to the couch, wanting to be as close as possible. She crouched down, wanting nothing more than to lock eyes again. They did. Margie began giggling, uncontrollably, and fell to the pillow-covered floor. Moments passed, or did they? Her head was spinning, but it was ok, because she could tell where it was going. Suddenly, black-haired woman was hovering over her. Ravenous, yet gentle. She was heaving deep breaths; Margie met her heaves…thump…thump…
The woman kissed her; it was so gentle. She felt orange goose-bumps cover her from head to toe. The woman kissed her, starting with her ear. Gentle kisses followed a line, hovering above her belly button. It tickled. Margie couldn’t stop giggling. The woman looked again at Margie. Its ok, her eyes said, I like your giggles .
She unbuttoned Margie’s skirt, gently tracing along her hipbones. She slid it off quickly and came back up, gently touching the inside of Margie’s thighs. Margie flinched. Took a deep breath, and allowed drips of dampness to drizzle down. Margie opened her legs, ready for anything. The woman began kissing; licking. Each movement caused Margie’s individual hairs to stand on end, higher and higher. She peered down at the woman, and briefly caught a glimpse of her own bright red shoes. She promptly set her feet on the floor. Clack.
She smoothly separated Margie’s lips, gently taking individual licks, green took over, and Margie relaxed. The woman’s fingers slid inside. Her tongue and fingers moving in tandem. Margie clenched her teeth, individual motions melding into one. With each thump, she felt colors building within her, packed tightly. Thump…thump…thump…she tried to contain it, but it was impossible. She took a deep breath, gave a great sigh, and let the colors explode from the top of her brain. Her entire body clenched…released, clenched, released. She let it. She reached down, pulled the woman on top of her and heaved…in…and out…
From the couch, the young boy started rustling. He turned towards the two women heaving together on the floor. His eyes were spinning in circles, but his body laid still. In a flamboyantly uncoordinated motion, he whipped his hand in the air, waving it like attached to a puppet string. His eyes settled on the woman with the black hair, his lips parting to an innocent grin.
“High five!” he sloppily ejected.


As Adams voice echoed in Thor’s mind he could almost see the trails of energy leaping behind the boy wonder; prisms of light bounced off his jeans like a Keith Herring drawing to extenuate the excitement caused by his flow of grace. The city became quite, as still and shiftless as the slow motion heightened awareness one feels whist in a car accident. As he stood on the corner tall and proud Thor felt pure peace, the type of serenity only imagined one feels when the soul leaves the body at death. He slowly tilted his head up to the 11th floor third window to the right, above St. Vincent’s emergency room. That was the room his only brother Merritt had died of cancer in two days before his 30th birthday. Merritt was 13 months older than Thor was and actually, the only person he trusted. Thor and Merritt used to lifeguard on the beach, surf and do ecstasy together. They also came out of the closet around the same time making them bond beyond just kinship, no not incest as dirty old queens would inquire, they were friends, fighters for a cause, on occasion castigated, and mostly adventurous in life during the nineteen eighties when cocaine, MDA, LSD and Disco-punk ruled. Thor forgot what trust was when his brother left earth but he never forgot the day when he went up to the 11th floor of St. Vincent ’s cancer ward and his brothers bed was empty. He was numb. He had been watching a beautiful a dancer for the Joffre Ballet slowly whither away. This man who knew him better than he knew himself had left him alone to fight the fear of being alone. Thor swore he had known what his brother experienced when he left the window of his hospital bed it was blinding Light, nothing but light.
“Get a room” the voice of the dead women with the cane, came out of nowhere and bitch slapped Thor back into his own repugnance of being. Like a zombie he turned and shift sifted back to his apartment. “Got to get my camera, night lens, can’t carry the lights, how old is Adam? Do I need my tripod, I’ve still got a boner! Gotta get film, Does Adam have a big dick!”…”Turn the beat around!”
On the train to Coney Island Thor felt the cool breeze of regret. He had never been able to articulate the reasoning behind a relationship. Peering down again at the Albuturoxian flyer and romanticizing a propos of Adam, he smirked out the pain of never fathoming what an intimate comfort meant. He was picky, real fucking particular they must be, naturally hairless, thin, athletic, intelligent, big dick, Adam, flexible, non-judgmental, vegan, spiritual, nice cock, Adam…”I wish I would fucking Stop!” I big bad gang banger of a guy jumped back away from Thor’s fidgeting feet. “Did I say that out loud?” “What am I doing, where am I going…I will survive, hey! hey! (Bad rendition of Gloria Gaynor) As the Gang Banger and a Hasidic women started to point and laugh. Thor gave himself the usual reassuring gloat “At least my shoes are fashionable, bitches”
He had no problem finding a path to Madame Chi’s in fact as he got off the train the aura of direction pulled him through the winding corridors of alleys and stuffed animals hanging from water pistol ranges. As he walked toward the well lit sign he thought “Physic Neon” what a great name for a band, he paused, he stopped, he felt he began to understand everything and nothing at all, he was getting high the ironic feeling of falling his heart began to explode as his mind flew from the explosion. “Welcome to Madame Chi’s” The voice of Feila was uttered from a beautiful blond women he looked into her strange opaque eyes that slowly became water colors and said “there is something wrong with that third step” she put her hands on his eyes and whispered “ Your
reputation exceeds you! We are waiting!” Thor couldn’t help but slowly yelp, “MISS THING! Are you a drag queen?”

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