Chapter 16
The PEACOCK moored in the bay of Acapulco four days later, and everybody went ashore-everybody, that is, except Eduardo.
"But why on earth won't you let the boy off the boat," Beverly said, arching one beautiful eyebrow toward Claude. "You know how much he would enjoy it."
Claude smiled thinly. "I know how much you would enjoy it, my pet. The first time my head was turned by one of those coco-loco drinks, I'd find both of you hied off to some cheap hotel. You're dying to fuck him, so there's no point in denying it."
"I've never touched him, damn it."
"No, but I've seen you looking at him, undressing him bit by bit, imagining in that sluttish brain of yours how wonderful it would be to feel his long, brown cock buried to the hilt in your greedy cunt."
"That's a hateful lie."
Claude smiled again. "All right, then, my darling, I apologize for my outrageous imagination. Let's say that I'm insisting Eduardo stay on board because I don't want him being pawed over by strangers. If the little colt stepped one foot onto Hornos Beach, he'd be picked up by any one of a dozen filthily rich American tourists-male and female. Not even Eduardo would be able to say no to an hour in a motel for four thousand pesos. No, I feel safer if my treasure is right here on board. I'll not carry him to the beach like some silly, overconfident pirate captain."
Beverly made a face. "Why don't you just admit that you don't want Eduardo along when you pull down Laura's panties."
Claude gave her a sly, sideward glance. "You've guessed that much, then, my dear wife."
"Of course. Are you going to have her shave her cunt-to make the effect that much more nostalgic."
He clapped his hands like a child. "What a marvelous idea! Just like Ada all the way! You're a genius. I knew there was some reason why I married you!"
Beverly smiled. "You haven't told Laura about that, have you?"
"Of course not. I think the little brat actually believes that she can make you jealous. It would spoil things if she knew we were married."
"Do you really think she's jealous? How absurd."
"Oh, I'm quite sure of it. She will no doubt think that all she'll need to do is snip the hairs off her cunt to make me swoon all over the place. And, all the while, I'll be getting the most delicious kicks out of fucking my sister-in-law."
"Do you think you can, Claude?"
"I shall certainly give it the old college try. Perhaps if she sucks me first, the way she sucked Stanos, then-"
"Where are you planning to take her?"
"To the house of a friend on the other side of the bay."
Once ashore, the crew scattered like scorpions. Beverly knew that they welcomed this opportunity to find pussy on their own, instead of having to play stud to two women only while their queer, voyeuristic master watched it all over his closed-circuit television screen. However, Claude kept one of the crew with him, as he had said he would: Stanos, the Greek. The tall, husky young sailor was the perfect bodyguard, and if all else failed, he would provide Claude a night of sultry pleasure through the art of sodomy.
Beverly always marveled at Claude's capacity for back-door copulation. But she knew that he was capable of taking anything into his ass. She had come upon Stanos and Claude one afternoon aboard the yacht. Claude was on his knees like a puppy, and Stanos was straddled over his thin buttocks, pumping that monster cock in and out of Claude's ass. The sound was a kind of disgusting slurp, but Claude had been in heaven, getting so royally fucked.
Another one in Claude's company for the evening was Laura. She seemed too timid to move out of Claude's eyesight. Like so many people who have never been much beyond their doorsteps, Laura seemed not only awed, but terribly frightened by a foreign country, a foreign tongue.
Beverly and Claude had already worked out the procedure by which Claude would be alone with Laura, but he made a production out of it anyway.
"You can dine with us also, Bev-if you wish," he said as they sped along the Costera Aleman in a taxi. "But I dare say, you'd much rather be off on one of your fabulous hunts."
"That I would," Bev nodded, casually.
Claude grinned. "I'll expect to have a full report tomorrow-but for Laura's benefit, I can predict the evening our Beverly will spend right down to the last sordid detail."
"You can?" Laura echoed.
"Of course I can, my little pigeon. Your big sister will check into the Hilton or the Fraccionamiento Las Brisas. She'll doll herself up to her teeth, then stroll down to the bar. There are all kinds of fabulous people sitting around such places-all ungodly rich, many quite handsome. She'll pick her prey carefully, and he will have to meet exactly the right qualifications. He'll have to have money, but he will also have to be reasonably young. Your sister is a regular genius at finding such types: the fucking rich, I call them.. She'll make her deal right there in the bar. How much are you asking these days, Bev?"
"Powder room change," Bev said.
Claude laughed lightly and put one limp hand on the knee of Stanos, who was wedged into the small cab beside them, smiling when they smiled. "Can you imagine, Laura? I give Beverly everything her little heart desires, so the root of her need can't be material. Nothing so banal as money, and yet she demands that money be a part of the transaction. She says it's something about the Puritan Ethic . . . something about one having to work and pay for one's pleasures. She puts her little missionary pussy to work, in effect. And she's had some absolutely marvelous times. Tell your little sister about the Russian Colonel you met in Spain, the one who had twelve inches ..."
Bev sighed. "Why is it you always remember that episode . . . His name was Ivan, and he was only thirty-one, or something like that. The Russians have a habit of making young men colonels. Ivan was built like a peasant, but he was very refined and cultured. He spoke French and he loved the ballet."
"To hell with his love for ballet. Tell Laura about his damned twelve-inch horsecock."
"It's true. I measured that thing of his at one point during our evening. It was actually a bit over twelve inches. God, I've never seen such a jumbo penis on a man, and I've never been fucked so well in my life."
"Lovely little slut, isn't she! And honest, to boot. She said her Colonel drank a gallon of vodka, and dulled his capacity to shoot off. So he just screwed her all night long while she had one wild orgasm after another. I've forgotten what one might call the climax of the story. Did he ever come at all, Bev?"
"Of course he did-when I sucked on it."
"Decadent beasts, those Russians," Claude grinned. "But awfully male and good-looking. If they ever take over the world, I'll whore myself to death among the troops."
"You can drop me off at the El Paris o," Beverly said. "I'll try my luck there first."
"Good fucking, my sweet," Claude grinned.
"It always is."
Beverly felt a slight, indefinable dullness in the pit of her stomach as the taxi pulled away. There was something odd about this evening, and something very strange about the kind of digging snideness Claude had leveled at her during the entire ride. It was as if he were trying to tell her something in symbolic language.
But he had been quite wrong about trying to second-guess her intentions for the evening. She wasn't after a rich fish, young or old. She had something far more romantic in mind, and she knew precisely where to look for it. If she couldn't have Eduardo, then she would have a substitute, and by one of those lovely quirks of coincidence, she had been told exactly where to find him. The coincidence had come in the guise of Mrs. Bentney Richardson, one of Claude's erstwhile friends, and one of the most lascivious creatures ever spawned from the Devil's balls. One evening a month ago, when the yacht had been anchored off Catalina, Beverly had gotten into a rather drunken conversation with Mrs. Richardson. The wily, perfumed old bitch was every bit of sixty, but when she told Beverly of her adventures on the beaches of Acapulco, her eyes glowed like an amorous cat full of Spanish Fly.
"My dear, I've been fucked in the slums of Liverpool by Beatle-like bullyboys with long hair and gaps between their teeth. I've been fucked by sailors from seven continents, by Arabs in the shade of their camels, and once, I swear to God, in the Sistine Chapel behind a marble angel by a fourteen-year-old altar boy from Sicily who had a prick on him like a stallion. But I have never-repeat, never-been fucked quite so deliciously as the time Alfreno took me across the bay of Acapulco in his little sailboat. He charged me fifty pesos an hour for the ride, but he fucked me absolutely for nothing. My randy old cunt actually foamed, my dear. I thought my clit would rotate all the way around his wicked young Spanish prick!"
"His name was Alfreno?"
And now, the long month later, Beverly remembered Mrs. Richardson's sultry conversation. It set the drumbeat faster in her breast as she walked through the lobby of the El Pariso and followed the inevitable path to the open patio bar. She went beyond that, across the little bridge spanning the twisting swimming pool, and out onto the beach itself.
She walked quickly out to the very lip of the bay where the dark tide was washing in with a curling, muted hiss. Then, remembering more of what Mrs. Richardson had told her, she turned left and began to walk up the beach toward the area known as La Condessa.
It was there she would find the beach boys.
Almost at once, a sharp sail came into her view. It was silhouetted on the horizon like an inverted tit, as if hinting sensually to those who could understand. And she could.
A lad appeared beside her, then another, and another. All dark faces and glistening bodies with smiles that caught the moonlight. Boys of sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . .
"Sail-eeng, lay-dee?"
She narrowed her choice down to one-the handsomest one of the lot. But she said: "I'm looking for a boy named Alfreno."
Two or three of the boys grinned and hung back. The one she had addressed nodded seriously. "Alfreno no there, senorita. He in Los Angeles, U.S.A."
Beverly smiled. She had come a thousand miles only to find the stud of Acapulco was in California-no doubt fucking for board and keep. "And who are you?"
The handsome young satyr smiled triumphantly. "I am Alfreno's brother-Josel"
The gods they say, are lewd and loving-even if they are also liars.
"And will you take me sailing, Jose?"
"Si!"
The others faded into the shadows as the willowy young boy escorted her down to the small sailing boat. Then several of the older beachboys appeared to help push the boat out into the water.
There was a fair wind, and in moments the little boat was tilted toward the huge pile of shadowy rocks just off the beach. Jose managed the sail very easily, and settled down just in front of her. The boat was so small that she could reach out and touch him-an effect no doubt calculated to please all concerned.
When they were only yards away from the shore, but well into the moon bathed shadows, Beverly reached her hand out and touched the boy's bare leg.
He grinned at her, showing his flashing white teeth.
"Fucky-fuck?"he whispered, coyly.
"Yes, but let's sail further out into the bay. Then we can drift undisturbed."
The boy grinned again-, and nodded.
As he tightened the sail and the breeze caught in it like a velvet fist, Beverly slipped between his legs and pulled his trunks down to his ankles.
She was trembling as her lips closed around the long, quickly hardening rise of his brown, boy-prick. It tasted salty, horny.
She licked at it a few times, then settled down to. suck it . . . hungrily . . .