Chapter 12
Loxley Martinez was pacing back and forth in the lobby. He looked at his wrist watch every minute and muttered. It was almost three o'clock-only an hour until cocktails. He was damned if he was going to miss out on one free drink in Miami-that just isn't done. Not by people from New York, anyway.
He was just reaching the boiling point when Pistol signaled him from the plain doorway.
He strode to it and disappeared up the concrete stairway. Fingering his roll he muttered. He didn't know they were going to play him then set the hook quite so hard.
He couldn't find Debbie anywhere and he was horny. Nobody was around and he just had to have his nuts cracked before the party. He'd be a regular bear if he went like he was.
So he finally summoned Sapphire.
"Fifty Dollars! Christ!" He muttered again as he followed Pistol's perfect posterior down the hall. He wondered if she at least gave green stamps. Or gold stamps. Bad day, he cursed to himself.
Sapphire was like the Queen of Sheba, lying on her couch. Or she might have resembled the Reclining Prostitute by Ignazio Zuloaga. Their smiles were the same as were their postures.
"Hello, man," she laughed. "Which one y'all want?"
Loxley twitched and sweated as he looked over the array of girls. He was stunned. Fifty dollars for one hour-not even that. "Aren't your prices a bit steep, Sapphire?"
"Hun, if yo wanna go down Collins and pick yoseff up some dose a clap or maybe a bushel o' crabs for twenty bucks that's yo priviledge, right? Now, ol' Mamma Sapphire doan work like dat. Here yo' gets class stuff reasonable! Looky there! What yo wan' man?"
Loxley had to admit it was a fetching covey of quail. The only girl over sixteen was Pistol. She was exactly sixteen.
"Well," he stammered, "could I have two of them for forty-five minutes for fifty rugs?"
Sapphire looked at the girls.
They shrugged or curled their lips in silent reply.
"Hun," Sapphire laughed, "yo kin have all o' them for forty-five minutes."
"Credit card and stamps?" he asked. He was already getting a dynamite deal. And he could write it off on the card.
Sapphire sighed heavily. "Deal."
Loxley wasted no time diving in. Two king-sized beds were next to each other on the far wall. There were seven young girls on the beds, all nude or semi-nude.
He regarded them closely as he started taking off his clothes. One was particularly good. She was young and chubby, had long red hair and millions of carrot-colored freckles. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her chubby little tits were just large mounds on her chest. She had a cute little pot belly and her pussy was covered by a white, frilly pair of cotton panties. She was also wearing matching knee-socks but no shoes.
She caught his eye because she reminded him of a little girl he'd seen in the drug store after school. Her just-forming little tits and terribly short dresses made him want to try to get her into the car with a Mars bar or something. And he'd see her all the time.
The bad part of it was that the little girl would always smile at him and seem to walk in a way that was teasing. He'd been on the verge of picking her up one afternoon when he was waiting for the stop sign. She was standing there on the corner eating a lime tootsie-pop and she waved and smiled. "Hi, mister!"
Loxley had almost fainted. Sweat sprang out on his hands and temples and he almost went blind. But he couldn't do it. He merely smiled at her and pulled around the corner and parked. Then, rubbing his prick gently, he watched her in his rear-view mirror as she walked across the street.
The closest he ever came to her was at the neighborhood amusement park. They'd gone on one of those cart rides through the scary tunnel-the kind that bumps you around. At the first bump his cock was in her pussy and his hand was under her little slip top. He smiled at that, for the tit was only a soft mound, but the nipple stood right out. She was a virgin, so he couldn't go far up into her cunt. She was tight.
He had a large erection when they came out and he was glad there was a crushing mob. He'd jammed his rod into her in the crowd, then had lost her. And it was a damned good thing. He knew it was seven years of rocks and twine for cutting San Quentin Quail.
He'd looked for her around after that but couldn't find her. His disappointment was mixed with delight-she must have moved out of the neighborhood. Such a nice little girl.
Then he realized he was staring. The red-haired girl was staring back, no small amount of fear in her eyes. Her lip seemed to tremble. Was she the same chick? Well, he didn't give a damn one way or the other.
Loxley walked over to where the young girl was sitting, his large cock springing up and down as he walked. She had wide green eyes and perfect pink lips. She reminded him exactly of the other girl.
The first thing he did was to remove her panties. Then, with each hand, he brought her feet high into the air, spreading her legs so he could look at her cunt. It was just beginning to be covered by a fine veil of copper-colored fuzz. Her asshole was a clean little pink halo surrounding a black dot. Yes, he thought, I'll have to jam this prick right up that nize tight little azzole.
But first he was going to have her Estonian style, by the edge of the bed, her legs up, him standing. Right in the twat.
He thrust the head of his prick against the girl's tight and unlubricated little hole and pushed. The head had to be rubbed back and forth a few times, then it entered the warm part of her slit. Her lips were virginal and tight and he relished the thought that he had lured his other young friend up to his apartment and was fucking her there.
The thought made him want to come right away, but he wasn't ready. He wasn't going to pay fifty dollars for being nice to some underage whore. No sir.
His cock was barely in and he leaned heavily forward and down, driving his prick brutally into the fist of warm and wet flesh which was the young prostitute's pussy. He was surprised how tight she was, but he managed, by wriggling and thrusting jerkily, to get the prick halfway in.
But she was tighter than the skin on a guitar player's wrist!
He started thrusting in and out like a wild man. He felt his large, hard cock hit bottom and he jammed even harder at the feeling. He had the young girl in a ball under him, slamming down harder and harder.
All of a sudden he felt something behind him-someone had begun to lick his asshole and pump his balls. Then he turned to see the frail shape of Carol, the blonde from the day before.
It was no use! The licking, pumping and fucking was too much for Loxley. He looked down at the girl's face and let loose his voluminous gush of cum into her belly. If the girl had a matching orgasm, Loxley couldn't tell. She was lying like a lump, unable to move. She merely blinked.
Next he had her straddle the bed on her hands and knees. He grabbed and massaged her tits from underneath while he carefully aimed his cum-wet cock at her tight asshole. He pressed forward and the tip popped in. But it was so tight it was almost painful. Loxley used her young, soft tits as a handle and thrust his captured prick forward in a flurry of jerky and spasmodic rushes.
She was grasping at his cock with the ridged walls of her rectum and thrusting back at him like a bucking mare. Loxley then knew how this girl got her nuts off-she liked it in the back door!
Hanging on for dear life, Loxley rode her. The young redhead was completely wild, she was so sexy. She'd brought Loxley's hand down to her clitoris and he gathered she wanted him to jack-off her clit.
Now he was fingering the vibrating little nub of pink flesh as he rammed his machine in and out of her tight but horny asshole.
Suddenly, she started bucking harder, bouncing up and down on the bed like an epileptic cricket. And she was repeating the same phrase over and over again. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!"
Loxley's second orgasm was by far better than the first. She was able to take his whole cock up her tail, and when she felt him come she contracted her muscles as hard as she could. Loxley had never felt anything like it in his life.
The feeling of her rectum rippling and grasping against his nervous cock was more than he could stand and he released his shot, filling her rectum with steaming hot cum.
Temporarily exhausted, Loxley withdrew and flopped on his back on the bed. Carol was immediately on him, licking his limp cock clean and back to life. She lapped at his balls and squeezed them lovingly. When his prick was once again hard she, too, sat on it, butt over.
Simultaneously, the red-haired girl rolled over and squatted right above Loxley's face. His prick seemed to jump out another quarter of an inch. Eating out was fun; he knew that and he didn't care if it was beef or pork. Pork was pretty exciting.
She lowered herself down so she could just feel his prickly little mustache touch her fine pubic hairs.
Loxley lapped the little girl's lips and speared his tongue into her asshole. It was sweet, rather like honey, he thought, and probed deeper. Her pussy juice was no longer gushing out and Loxley sucked heartily for the last few precious drops of the succulent broth. It had a different taste, maiden juice did. It wasn't like that from old ladies. That was harsh, scathing, pungent. No, give me a clean young child every time!
In a half-hour Loxley was Beyond the Land of the Ninth Martini!
He'd eaten all the girls and had stuck every one at least once. Now, slightly used but with still another good day ahead of him, Loxley smiled wearily as he buckled his shoes.
"Well, Sapphire," he laughed, "that was certainly something."
She'd just clamped his card down on the receipt and was counting out his stamps, somewhat grudgingly.
"Yassuh, that it was, yes indeedy!" She returned his card and gave him the rest of it. Then she smiled broadly and began to laugh uproariously.
"What's the matter?" Loxley asked. He hated to be laughed at. Then, what man doesn't?
"Nothin', hun," she laughed, "but you like to eat here?"
"Sure! Why not?"
"Member what I said before? Here you gets class stuff?"
"Yeah. Class stuff and no twenty-dollar clap...."
"Right, man. Well, you gots yoseff fifty worth of high-class clap! An' seven bushels of crabs into de bargain, hee hee hee!"
Loxley was out of the room in a flash, vomiting air and belching. He found a corner in the hallway and didn't even have to stick his finger down his throat. Everything just flew out in a gush. He was on the point of fainting but he didn't want them to find him. That would be horrible. He staggered up the stairway, red-eyed and broken.
My God, he thought, crabs! I'll have to shave off my mustache and eyebrows! Then he started to rush up the stairs three at a time. Maybe I can quell the little devils, he thought. Maybe I can kill them with cologne before they entrench. I'll even gargle with the stuff. "Aaacchhppttuuiiee!" He almost turned blue as he retched and spit.
In thirty seconds he was giving himself a French bath and gargling with the same cologne. He completely covered his face, mustache, eyebrows and hair with it, then opened his shirt and looked at his chest in the mirror. "Christ," he cried, "it's hopeless, utterly hopeless!" His chest was a tangle of black hair extending all the way down to his belly and onto his toes and fingers. Resignedly, he removed his clothes and left them in a heap on the bathroom floor.
He then turned the shower on full hot and gritted his teeth while the steaming torrent shot down on him. "Drown, you little fuckers," he shouted, his mouth filling with the water for another gargle. After five minutes he was as red as a boiled lobster-or crab.
Loxley looked like a prince when he strode into the cocktail party, but he smelled like a princess.
Billy Jack had been drinking quite a bit and caught the scent of the New York manager. "Well golly damn, Lox, you smell right pretty! Good enough to eat; don't he, Ellen?"
Ellen was flying before she got to the party; now she was really high. Nobody'd ever seen her like that before-sedate old Ellen Speakman! She laughed drunkenly and draped herself over Loxley's shoulder, sniffling at his ear. "My gosh, he doesh slimell gish like a flower!"
He pushed her away, then he had a magnificent idea. An evil gleam sparkled in his dark brown eyes and he whispered to both of his friends. "Hey, did either of you have anything to do with that old bitch Sapphire?"
"Why?" they both asked.
"Because not only do her girls and she all have clap and crabs, they have syph!"
Billy Jack stopped dead in the middle of a laugh and his face looked like he'd just eaten a very bad oyster. He couldn't talk but let out a slight whimper.
"What'sh that-that slituff?" Ellen asked. She'd never heard of those things. Martinez smiled, then looked very serious.
"Syph is a disease you get from women that makes your head swell up and fall off on the floor. And there's absolutely no cure known to modern medicine for it! And if you've been with either Sapphire or any of her friends, you've got it. Get religion!"
"You mean it's fatal?" Ellen asked. She was sobering rapidly.
"And it's a rotten way to go. You'd better get your things in order, Ellen." Loxley looked as though he might have been fingering the pennies to place on her eyelids.
"But why aren't Sapphire and the girls dead?"
"They're on their way! You could see it in their eyes!"
All of a sudden a wave of nausea covered him and he raced for the men's room. Billy Jack was right on his heels as he went in.
"Hey, Lox, you shittin' about that up there?"
Loxley was heaving his guts out into the urinal and his eyes were watering. He gargled with a mouthful of water and heaved once again.
"By Gar, I guess you ain't kiddin' at that!" Billy Jack was plunged into a silent depression and he felt like crying. A triple-header in Miami-the convention should have met in the Sahara Desert or at the South Pole.
But what to do now? He knew Ellen and Loxley were infected and so were Norma Jean, the Okatas, the Hollywood producer and old Stevenson's new girl. Therefore Stevenson must have it, and Mrs. Stevenson, too! He seriously doubted Ellen had touched anybody. Then he revised his opinion. She might have been into all sorts of mischief. Billy Jack's neck was itching and so were his eyebrows.
Then he remembered and whimpered softly. "Golly damn, Lox, what we gonna do about this? We done went and got ourselves in one nice fix!"
Loxley cleared his throat and tried to talk. He, too, was itching. It was driving him crazy, the itching. He didn't have enough hands to scratch everywhere at once and was doing kneebends against the corner of the toilet stall to reach his back.
Billy Jack was beside himself. Watching Loxley itch was making him itch worse and it seemed his skin was burning off. And there wasn't a Goddamned thing he could do about it except scratch. His crotch was especially bad. He whimpered again.
"We've got to pull ourselves together, old man," Loxley said to him. "And find ourselves a doctor."
In a few minutes they were once again in control and had decided to find out who was involved. Ellen could supply the first clue.
"Ellen," Loxley said, "may I ask you an ... ah ... rather delicate question? It would be helpful if you'd tell us...."
"Shure, Loxsh," she laughed. She was drunker than before.
"Has anybody ... er ... touched you-I mean, you know ... like on or near ... ah ... your ... ah...."
"You mean has anybody fucked me?" she blurted. A silence fell over the marble-floored room and everybody looked at her. Old Grimshaw couldn't believe his ears.
"Sssshhh," Loxley whispered. He scowled at the old lady. "Yes, did anybody fuck you? ... if that's how you're used to putting it."
"Shure, Lox," she laughed, spilling her drink slowly into her lap. "Lotsha people."
"Anybody here?"
"Why, shure, dosh people right there!" She pointed at Lou and Marilyn who stood transfixed by the finger of the accuser. Lou tried to melt and wished he were hunting somewhere, but he knew that everybody would merely regard her as a drunken old lady.
Stevenson was concerned about the commotion and left Monica to get right to the bottom of everything. He knew that the center of the disturbance was with Loxley, Billy Jack and Ellen, so he headed that way.
"What's going on here, boy?"
"Ellen's juiced, skipper, that's all. But there is one problem. And that's this." Billy Jack put his arm around Stevenson's shoulder and whispered. He was nodding and itching one calf with the sole of his other foot.
Stevenson was becoming as white as a sheet and he, too, started to scratch here and there. All of a sudden he became very nervous and started waving his arms up and down. Then he had to scratch his armpit. It felt as if he had fleas or armies of mad ants.
"Golly damn, skipper," Billy Jack whined, "sheeit-fire! I can't help it! Wasn't none of my doin' that you got yourself...."
"That'll do," Stevenson exploded. Then, more quietly but with a private little menacing smile he repeated it. "That'll do."
Everybody at the party started breaking up into small groups to discuss what possibly could have happened. There seemed to be something very wrong with Stevenson, but lots of people were acting strangely.
Norma Jean broke away from the Japanese couple and rushed over to Billy Jack. He was explaining to her, before she left, how his act about being a partner of Irv's was just an act to get a little good pussy. And Norma Jean was a good sport about it. Now she wondered what was troubling Billy Jack.
When she returned to her new friends her face was blanched and drawn. She looked like she'd just been sucked clean by a vampire.
"What's the matter?" Taiiko asked her.
They held a private huddle and both the Okatas turned pale also. Ikuni started off for a round of drinks and Okata yelled, "No! No alcohol. That's the worst thing in the world when you have...."
"Have what, for pity sake?" Mrs. Stevenson asked. She'd just come in from her rendezvous and was standing next to the Okatas.
Stevenson signaled to her and explained what Billy Jack and the rest seemed to have contracted.
As-the blood drained from her face he knew that she'd been getting diddled again. But she saw his trembling hand and knew it wasn't shaking out of a highly developed sense of paternalism for his managers' states of health. No, he was into it, too.
Ellen was talking with four people from Idaho, obviously enjoying her state of health. She was so drunk she could hardly stand and was relating something to the group she thought to be incredibly funny. But they weren't laughing. They were gazing at her, open-mouthed, with undisguised horror in their eyes.
Linda broke down and sobbed, her face in her hands.
Bob's hands were spread out, palms upward. He was looking toward the ceiling and snaking his head. "Why me?" he asked.
Lou gulped his drink down and finished Ellen's. Then he stalked off to the bar. He needed a drink to straighten out his head.
Monica was the last to know-with the exception of Grimshaw. Grimshaw had purchased a small rent on her tail just before the party. But she didn't intend to tell him what she'd heard. Somebody else could. Fifty bucks didn't include condolences.
Monica wasn't at all worried. People died all the time where she came from. Yet, it did seem rather a pity.
Irv the producer would never know. The manicurist had found him and had immediately gone for the house detective. Barney Ryan had heard a lot of cock-and-bull stories in his thirty-seven years as a house dick, but this one beat them all.
He just couldn't believe the Japanese had rushed into the room with razor-sharp Samurai swords and kidnaped his second wife. He invited the man to call the FBI but Irv blanched, saying that they'd surely murder her after torture if he called.
Now Irv was driving down U.S. One, looking for a nice high-class hi-rise hotel somewhere north of Miami-Miami was getting a bit hot. Ft. Lauderdale was looking very good.
Sapphire and the girls were all laughing their heads off. But Carol wanted to know why Sapphire would play such a dirty trick on anybody.
Some of the others also wanted to know. Burning off money clients was never a good move from what they could see.
"Gather round, children," she'd laughed. "Time for a lesson in simple economics. Now gimme yo' ears for a minute."
"First, what were those people, every last one of 'em?"
"Swingers?"
"Right, Pistol. Head of de class! Now den, swingers don't go spendin' no money on us-they ball each other, right?"
"Right!" they echoed.
"An who's dyin' to come two days early for their big convention?"
Pistol once again showed her superior knowledge of the scene. "The Royal Order of Mountain Goats!"
"Right once again, Pistol, hun!"
But Carol wasn't satisfied. "I still think telling them something awful like that is just the height of meanness!" She rather liked Loxley.
"Honey chile," Sapphire said, "won't you ever learn? These people ain' spenders and words don't never hurt nothin'! If they have bad consciouses let 'em live wid it! Ain' no problem of ours, right! A good scare might do 'em some good-sort of square 'em away so they start comin' to us again and leave the swingin' to others. Now, sweet, does that make sense?"
Carol nodded sullenly. It made sense but it was still a nasty trick to play on paying customers.
Sapphire and Pistol were laughing their heads off and the other girls wanted to know what was so funny.
"Can you imagine the hullabaloo goin' on in that there ballroom at this very minute? Can you imagine the hell those porr dumb people is goin' through? Why, in the whole mob I'd bet there ain' one who ain' sweatin' his tail off! Har har har!"
Stevenson, Loxley and Billy Jack were having an emergency meeting in the men's washroom. They had two options-call old Doc Trimble, the company's physician, for a complete examination for all of them, or go home and each go to a doctor under an assumed name.
"Trimble will squeal," Loxley muttered in dissent.
"Where the hell we gonna go where we're not known?" asked Billy Jack. He was pouting between scratches. He felt the tip of his cock burning and he thought it was going to fall off. It itched terribly and was wet. There was nothing he could do but rub it.
Loxley's cock was sore also, and he was on the verge of hysteria.
Stevenson was annoyed. His cock burned more than any of the others and all he could do was tub it.
After a few minutes it was decided that the meeting should be broken up immediately. Everybody was to keep his mouth shut-strictly shut. And there'd be a nice bonus check on the fifteenth. Discretion. And medical care. But mostly discretion.
Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson were up in their room, hurriedly tossing their clothes into two large suitcases. Their cab was to be there in ten minutes and have them at the airport in time for the seven-fifteen flight to Des Moines.
Stevenson looked exactly like a deflated stuffed shirt, and Mrs. Stevenson stopped and stole a glance at him. His lower lip was out so far he looked like a ninny. She laughed and walked over to him.
"Honest to God, honey," she sang, "won't you ever grow up? You're exactly like a big fat old little boy! You're crazy!"
Stevenson looked at his wife in disbelief. How dare she talk like that! "I'm not so old and fat," he said. Then he smiled at her and put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. He didn't think her mouth tasted any different than usual and she was awfully pretty.
Taiiko and Ikuni were both very quiet. Taiiko wanted to sever somebody's head with a karate chop but he didn't know how to do karate. And that made him madder. He could swear he felt things crawling around in his pubic hairs, and his cock was burning like fury. It was the first time he'd ever wished he had a small cock like other men.
He knew a nice Jewish doctor in Harlem who'd fix them up in a hurry-if it killed them all!
The quartet from Idaho was involved in a soul-searching session. Lou was only semiconscious, so his wife had to pack for both of them. It was hard to reconcile incest, but done was done. There were, after all, worse things. Incest was a matter of opinion and taste-nothing more, nothing less. Having children that way was, really, the only problem about it. Something about chromosomes.
Monica was sitting on the toilet seat with her large mirror looking at her cunt. She couldn't see anything more than a good old irritation from too much screwing. She'd seen that many times before. She was still going to go to work for Stevenson and it looked as if she were going to pick up some pin-money from Silas Grimshaw, the actuary.
That is, if someone didn't queer it by telling him.
Monica thought it was all a bunch of rubbish and she pulled up her pants and straightened her tennis skirt. Then she made her way down to Sapphire's room.
Billy Jack was irritable and Norma Jean was snappish. They both blamed each other, and Billy Jack just couldn't see how he could have given anything to anybody except maybe Mrs. Stevenson. But maybe he got it from her. He didn't want to talk about it. They had a long ride home and he was going to drive all night-if his prick would stop burning.
Loxley sat on the edge of the bed and bawled. Several people walking by his door stopped and listened. It's not every day you hear a grown man sobbing like a child.
He looked at his mustache, his eyebrows, his lush, white streaked hair. "Gone," he cried, "all gone! I'll have to walk around looking like a Martian for months-My beautiful hair!" And he wondered if he'd have to have his whole body shaved, the backs of his fingers and all.
Everybody said good-bye at the party and the hotel was losing a good number of paying guests. The manager didn't understand, but, being an on-his-toes type of guy, he was calling the office of the Royal Order of Mountain Goats to let them know they could come two days earlier than they'd anticipated. When he was finished with the call he smiled. They were really big spenders and were all vacation bachelors. He'd get spiff from Sapphire.
U.S. One was jammed. The rush-hour traffic was causing Billy Jack's blood to boil as hard as the water in the car's radiator. A Country Western station was blaring out Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire and he instantly thought of Sapphire and her girls. He viciously twisted the station selector, almost ripping it off.
"Golly, Billy Jack," Norma Jean said, "you're sure in one bad mood this afternoon. The world ain't gonna come to an end, you know!" She was gazing intently out her window. Her Hollywood career was gone, crushed, an unfulfilled dream.
All of a sudden she let out a whoop of delight. "Billy Jack!" she screamed, "stop the car, stop the car!"
He jammed on his brakes and was almost hit by a semi-trailer full of synthetic mango juice. The burly driver shook a ham-sized fist at Billy Jack and swung by.
"What is it?"
"Looky there, Billy Jack," she squealed, "it's Irving! Maybe my career isn't washed up! Can we talk to him for a minute?"
Billy Jack's forehead was resting on the steering wheel and he thought he was really going to cry.
"Please, Billy Jack? I'll let you have a six-pack if you do!"
No man could prevail against such a deal and he pulled in. His eyes narrowed as he watched the effusive man gesturing while engaged in conversation with a good-looking young woman dressed in a bikini. The woman seemed to be posing right there.
"I should have such a deal," Billy Jack mumbled.