Chapter 12
Dean walked down alone one evening to the town. Though living with Dorothy Curtis was usually pleasant, there were periods when she would take to drinking heavily. Whenever this happened, she would become abusive, or, at best, uncommunicative for several days at a time. The tragic loss of her husband had disturbed her more deeply than she cared to reveal when sober. This was one of those periods, and Dean found it necessary to leave the house to find diversion and companionship on his own.
The day was in its last warm glow as Dean reached the plaza, or town square. Only a few elderly folks, too tired or too grateful for the warm sunshine to go home for dinner, remained on the benches. Dean found an unoccupied bench and sat down to smoke a cigarette. Several small children were playing on the railings of the ancient, canopied bandstand in the center of the plaza, and he watched their antics half-interestedly as he debated how he could best occupy himself. He thought of paying a visit to Tom and J.B., the young artists who had been his first acquaintances in San Miguel, but decided against it. Dolly's tantrums had put him in such a foul mood that he doubted that he could be very pleasant company for them. Just then, he noticed a strange-looking man approaching him along the sidewalk. The man was short in stature, and even darker-complexioned than most of his fellow Mexicans. One of his legs had been amputated at the knee, and he wore a weathered, wooden limb which resounded against the pavement as he walked. It seemed as if his other limbs had prospered in an attempt to offset the loss of the leg, for he was strong and thickly muscled. Over this remarkable body, he wore one leather boot on the good foot, a tattered pair of Levi's cut short on one side to allow freedom to the wooden leg, and a simple, white peasant's shirt, opened at the throat to reveal his brown, muscular chest. His physique and his clothing conspired to give him the appearance of a swarthy pirate of the high seas, which Dean somehow found amusing and sinister at the same time.
Dean had imagined that the man would walk on past him, and he was surprised when the wooden leg clumped to a halt directly in front of him, and he found himself looking up into the stranger's swarthy face. "Buenas tardes," said the man, knocking the crutch he carried for support against the park bench, as one might knock on a door.
"Buenas tardes," replied Dean. "What is it you want?" Impolite as this direct inquiry might have seemed under different circumstances, Dean had found it necessary when confronted by the various beggars, peddlers and pimps of San Miguel. If you did not immediately ask what their business was with you, they could keep you collared for hours with heart-rending tales of their families' health and welfare problems, hoping to soften you into opening your wallet to them. Sometimes the stories were true; sometimes they were not. Dean was in no mood to listen to a beggar's endless patter. His visitor, however, was not taken aback by the American's crude manner. His lips stretched into a grin which might have been disarming, had not Dean sensed behind it the air of a man who was wise in the ways of the streets and would not stand for being crossed. He remembered having seen the peg-legged man late at night, outside the bars, and wondering what his business was.
"You looking for a good time tonight, my friend?" the man asked. He spoke good, if heavily accented, English. "Maybe some pussy, yes? I got some, fourteen years old, and cheap. Forty pesos. How about it?"
Dean returned the man's smile. "No," he said, "that is not what I want tonight." Hell, he thought, why spend nearly five bucks for a fuck when he could get all he needed and more, plus room and board, for nothing? Then he got an idea. He had heard of strange, erotic shows being performed for small, select audiences, but he had never known how to get in on that particular facet of night life in San Miguel. "I was thinking," he continued, of seeing a show tonight. Do you know a good one?"
The Mexican seemed to get the hint, but he was wary. "There's a big gringo movie at the teatro tonight, 'The Guns of Navarone.' A war movie. That what you want?" he asked, cagily.
"No," said Dean, 'not war movies. I want to see a show with women, a good one."
The Mexican laughed, curling his lip back on his teeth. "Why you do not say so first, amigo? Juan will take you to the best show in Mexico. One hundred pesos."
Dean jumped at hearing the price. "What? A hundred pesos for one goddam show?"
The Mexican shushed him, holding a finger to his lips. "Eighty pesos for the show, twenty pesos for Juan. Without Juan you never find the show."
Dean thought it over fpr a moment, then nodded his head in assent. "Okay," he said, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a ten-peso note and handed it over. "Ten now, ten later," he told the man.
"How much later?" asked Juan. "I can't stay all night to see if you like the show I have much other business."
Dean laughed. "No, I'll give you the other ten when we get there. Okay?"
"It is sufficient," replied the other. "Now we go, I take you to the place." Dean uncrossed his legs and stood up. Rising to his full height above the Mexican did little to diminish the smaller man's aura of formidability, and Dean was glad he had dealt carefully with him.
It had grown dark, and Dean pulled his collar up against the chill breeze as he left the plaza with his bizarre companion and stepped into the cobblestone street. They left the glow of restaurants and shops behind, and Juan pulled him into a dark, narrow alley around the corner from the post office. Over a narrow doorway halfway down the alley was one of the few neon signs Dean had seen during his stay in San Miguel. In flashing red letters, it gave the name of the establishment within. "Los Gates!" exclaimed Dean, "I've heard of it-it's just a restaurant and a bar. Is this your idea of a joke, Juan?"
The Mexican clattered to a halt, leaning against the wall and tapping his crutch impatiently against the cobblestones. "It is no joke, my friend," he retorted. "Los Gates is a place to eat and drink, yes, but it is also a teatro after the evening meal. Come with me." He pushed open the big wooden door and stepped inside, and Dean followed, unsure of whether or not he should trust this denizen of the streets.
Inside, just as Dean had imagined, were a bar and a small number of tables, crowded with the wealthy, jaded citizens of San Miguel, Mexican and American alike. The place was furnished rustically in a peasant decor. Juan went over to the bar and conversed quietly with a tall, Spanish-looking man whose finely tailored suit almost made him look out of place in the modest little restaurant. Then he returned to Dean, who was waiting just inside the door. "That is Senor Valdez, the owner of this place. I have made it all right with him for you to be here, even though you are not a regular customer. First you eat, then the show. You understand?"
Dean was a little perplexed. "When does the show start?" he asked.
"Valdez will tell you," said Juan. "Now give me my ten pesos and I will go." Satisfied with the arrangements, Dean pulled another bill from his wallet and gave it to his guide. Juan pocketed the note, and, with a conspiratorial wink, turned and hobbled out the door and back into the night.
Dean found a place at the bar and began drinking. After an hour of waiting, during which he had doubts as to the credibility of Juan's story, plates were cleared from the tables, and a hush fell over the place. As if they had been given a signal, the clientele rose from their chairs and filed, one by one, down the stone cellar steps behind the bar. Valdez himself attended to closing and locking the front door. Then he motioned for Dean to follow the other customers downstairs.
The cellar of the bar had been converted to a small, intimate theater. A stage rose up at the far end of the room, faced by several rows of plushly upholstered seats. Dean guessed the seating capacity to be no more than fifty. As the other customers were seating themselves, Valdez, who had been the last to come down the stairs, took Dean aside. "The others have already paid," he said. "The price is eighty pesos." Dean placed the required sum in the man's hand. "Very good," smiled Valdez. "Soon the show will begin." With that, he strode to the front of the room, mounted the steps to the stage and disappeared behind the curtain.
Dean took a seat in the front row, next to a well-dressed American couple. The woman, who was sitting beside him, was an attractive brunette in her early thirties. She wore a low-cut, sleeveless evening dress, and her thick, dark hair fell in careful waves to her smooth, white shoulders. Even at a quick glance, Dean could see the creamy globes of her full breasts almost in their entirety before the material of her dress hid her nipples from view. Her escort was older, in his midforties, and wore a conservative suit and tie. Dean imagined that he might be on the faculty of the art institute, and he chuckled silently to see this so apparently respectable gentleman in attendance at an erotic show.
Just then, the lights in the tiny auditorium were dimmed, and the red velvet curtains were drawn open. On a low mattress, bathed in the glow of red footlights, was the lone figure of a young, flaxen-haired girl. Her full, ripe body was clad only in a brief, black brassiere and black bikini underpants. As she lay back on the bed, one knee raised to show the lovely contours of her leg, she caressed herself slowly and lovingly. She began by placing her palms against her thighs, drawing them upward over the soft explosion of her hips, then together, stroking the pale flesh of her belly. For a tantalizing moment, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her black panties, and several low moans burst from the audience, urging her to strip off the meager garment. As if to comply with these requests, she flipped the hem of the garment down, revealing blonde tufts of pubic hair. Then she let go of the panties, to the accompaniment of disappointed grumblings from the audience. Her hands traveled upward again, rising slightly as they slid over the subtle rise of her rib cage, then higher as they came to the full mounds of her breasts. As she cupped and stroked the jutting globes, she opened her mouth slightly, flicking her tongue lasciviously along her lips. Her hips began to undulate slowly in imitation of the motions of intercourse, and again there were murmurs of appreciation from the audience. "Take it off," urged a man two rows behind Dean, and this time the girl complied. Slowly, she turned onto her side, placing her back toward the audience, and reached behind her to unfasten the catch of the black brassiere. In this position, the spectators had a clear view of the full, round rise of her hip, and her finely formed buttocks were almost fully visible beneath the sheer material of the black panties. She drew the brassiere off her shoulders and along her arms, then tossed it to the floor beside the bed.
When she turned, bare-breasted, to lie once more on her back, Dean felt a lump rise in his throat. Her breasts were the most perfectly formed ones he had ever seen. They were large enough so that, even though she was lying on her back, they thrust up proud and firm. Dean guessed she could not be older than eighteen or nineteen. She was obviously aroused by her recent self-manipulation, for the nipples were stiff and distended. Her hands returned to her breasts, pushing them together and letting them fall apart. The snowy flesh jiggled a bit, then was still each time she did this. Then she placed her palms directly over her nipples, and massaged her breasts with a circular motion. Her hips began to undulate again, and soon she slid her hands down, until they rested once more over the delicious mound at the crux of her thighs.
As she stroked this tender area, pressing both index fingers into the soft slit beneath the silky cloth of her panties, the bed on which she was lying began to rotate slowly until the girl was turned with her feet toward the audience, still pressing her hands against her cloth-covered cunt. For a moment, Dean heard the low whine of machinery in the stage floor beneath the bed. Then the sound stopped and was replaced by flamenco guitar music coming from speakers set into the ceiling of the tiny auditorium. As if on cue, the girl hooked her thumbs in the hem of her underpants, as she had before; but this time she drew her knees together and slipped the black garment gracefully off her long, shapely legs and dropped it onto the rough boards of the stage floor. When her knees opened once more, the audience had an unobstructed view of her fleshy slit, red and slippery beneath the sparse, blonde bush of her pubic hair, and of the pink, puckered hole between her buttocks. Dean was aware of the fierce surge of blood in his groin as his cock grew turgid and throbbed against the restraining cloth of his trousers. He heard a moan beside him, and glanced over and down to see the well-dressed woman gyrating slowly under the touch of her companion, who had lifted the hem of her dress and was stroking her cunt through the silk of her panties. As they indulged in this intimacy, the couple continued to face frontward, watching the developments on the stage with avid interest.
The nude blonde beauty was stroking her cunt again. While she rubbed her clitoris with the index finger of one hand, she inserted the middle finger of the other into her vagina, rotating it so that it stimulated her well-lubricated passage on all sides. She had aroused herself by this time to such a pitch that her body began to writhe almost uncontrollably on the bed. Beyond the busy motion of her hands, past the pulsing flat plane of her stomach, Dean could see her pink-tipped breasts bobbing as her shoulders repeated the rhythmic motion of her hips. As if describing the intensity of her arousal, the flamenco guitar music rose in volume and tempo to a pitch of urgency.
Suddenly the music stopped. Then the tense silence was broken by the sound of bare feet padding across the boards as a handsome young Mexican man strode into the glow of the footlights from backstage. He was slender, and rather tall for a man of his nationality. From the black curls at the base of his bronze belly jutted a large, finely formed cock in full erection. He approached the head of the bed, standing sideways so that the audience could fully appreciate the impressive profile of his member. The girl on the bed turned, casting a hungry glance up and down the length of the newcomer's body. Then she raised and turned her head, touching her lips to the young man's twitching cock. After allowing her tongue to linger against the broad head for a moment, she took the first few inches of the shaft into her mouth. From where he sat, Dean could plainly see the man's organ sliding slowly past the tight oval of her lips. This so excited him that, after glancing about him in the near darkness, he unzipped his fly with feverish urgency and wrapped his hand tightly around his own throbbing tool. Nervously, he looked around again, only to discover that his self-consciousness was unnecessary. The couple beside him were fully absorbed in caressing each other's genitals as they continued to watch the action on the stage before them. The man's trousers were fully unfastened at the waist, revealing a long, thin erection which the woman was stroking with her soft, delicate fingers. He, in turn, had pulled her panties down so that they fell around her ankles, and was moving his finger back and forth inside her dripping cunt. Dean could hear the squishy noises the finger made as it moved within the sucking folds of the woman's labia.
On stage, the blonde girl sucked her partner's cock fully into her mouth, until her lips brushed against the springy curls of black hair at its base. Then she drew back her head, and reclined once more on the bed, her face glowing with an expression of passionate expectation. For a moment, the handsome young Mexican just stood there, his twitching organ glistening with her saliva. Then he climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs, his back to the audience. With his arms fully outstretched, he supported himself on his palms and positioned himself so that the head of his cock was poised scant inches from the girl's waiting pussy. Her pale hand descended, contrasting beautifully with the darkness of his well-formed thighs and pendant balls, and encircled his cock, directing it into the hot orifice between her legs. With a single, smooth thrust of his muscular buttocks, he was fully inside her, and a murmur of appreciation rose up from the audience.
The music began pouring out of the speakers again as the couple on the bed fucked. The slow, intense rhythms of the Spanish dance music coincided perfectly with their movements. When the girl locked her legs over the man's back and lifted her body up to meet his. Dean could see perfectly the long brown cock sliding in and out of her cunt. He jerked furiously at his own frustrated organ, wishing he had some better mode of relief than that afforded by masturbating himself. Just then, he was surprised to feel the left hand of the woman beside him brush his own hand aside and take hold of his cock. He looked to his right, and saw that she and her escort bad made a change in their seating arrangement. The man was sitting immediately next to Dean, and the woman was sitting atop him, impaled on his cock. She still faced forward.
Dean accepted the strange woman's touch gratefully. She stroked him with an expert, measured rhythm as she squirmed around on the other man's erection. Meanwhile, the couple on the stage began to slam wildly against each other, increasing the speed of their thrusts as they drew closer to the moment of climax. Finally, the blonde raised herself almost entirely off the bed, hanging by her legs upside-down from the strong back of her lover, and let out a strangled moan of pleasure that was audible over the music. The Mexican apparently came at the same moment, though silently, for Dean saw the white juice trickling down the girl's buttocks as her cunt filled, then overflowed with his semen. He heard the couple beside him grunting their fulfillment; then the soft, flashing hand of the woman brought the thick come up through the pulsing tubes in his groin, and great, hot gobs of it spurted from the livid tip of his penis, splashing against his left forearm as it lay along the arm of his chair.
For a moment, Dean closed his eyes and saw patterns of color exploding and changing within his eyelids. When he opened them again, the couple on stage had released each other from their fierce embrace, and the young man had slid down so that his head was between the girl's thighs. With long, sensuous strokes of his tongue, he carefully cleaned the mixture of their juices from her cunt. As he did so, the bed began to revolve again until the two performers were presented to their audience in profile.
Dean sank gratefully back in his seat, and glanced around the little room to see the other patrons carrying on much as he and his neighbors in the front row had been. Behind him, a middle-aged woman in a mink stole was gobbling her husband's stubby prick. Across the aisle, a young couple were thrashing together on the floor between the seats. Still the passionate notes of the flamenco guitar poured out of the speakers, and Dean wondered what further performances were in store.
He wiped his dripping cock on his shirttail, and looked up at the stage. The young man had risen to his knees between the blonde's legs, and she was gazing up at him with an expression that clearly indicated her appreciation for his sensual talents. His big, brown organ still stood firmly out from his body, gleaming with her secretions. He motioned to her to turn over, and she obeyed, rising to her hands and knees, facing away from him. He ran his hands over the yielding flesh of her buttocks, molding them in his palms. Her breasts swayed slightly as they hung down like ripe fruit.
Suddenly, three more young Mexicans, as well formed and as well hung as the first, appeared onstage. Side by side, they advanced toward the girl, their half-erect cocks swinging thickly before them. When they were directly in front of her, standing at the head of the bed, they stopped. The blonde raised her head to look at the newcomers, shaking the hair out of her eyes. Then, as if acting upon predetermined arrangements, the three men took up their places in the new configuration. The middle one presented his cock to her mouth, which she greedily swallowed, sucking expertly on it until it grew to mammoth proportions and lay throbbing between her pliant lips. The other two turned and lay on their backs in such a way that their feet were still on the floor, and their mouths directly under the girl's pendant breasts. Raising their heads slightly, each sucked a nipple into his mouth, while their comrade who stood between them reached out to grasp their up-jutting cocks in his hands.
Dean was fascinated and aroused by this new arrangement, and his lust increased as he saw the first young man thrust his staff into the girl's cunt from behind. The throbbing in his groin grew fierce as he watched the Mexican's cock slip, inch by inch, into her vagina until his belly was pressed tight against her buttocks.
Thankfully, the woman next to him came again to Dean's rescue. This time, she reversed what she had done before, sinking down on his cock, facing the stage, while she manipulated her escort's tool with her right hand. She squirmed slowly on Dean's lap, the cool flesh of her buttocks pressed down against his thighs. She was obviously restraining herself until the action onstage reached its dramatic climax.
It did not take long for the performers to work themselves into a frenzy. As the rearmost man fucked the girl from behind, he reached under with one hand to play with her clitoris, rubbing it until she twitched, as if her cunt were being shot through with static electricity. Meanwhile, the two young men on their backs were sucking on her distended nipples with hot, wet mouths, and the prick of the man in front slid in and out of her mouth's tight grasp with increasing speed. He, in turn, was jerking furiously at the cocks of the other two.
They were the first to come, shooting their eager sperm into the hanging tresses of the girl's blonde hair as they sucked all the more avidly at her pulsing nipples. Then, as the blonde began to tremble all over at the onslaught of her orgasm, the cock in her mouth exploded, and the semen that shot from it ran down her throat, filled her mouth, and overflowed, dribbling down her chin. Finally the man behind her, his penis stimulated almost unbearably by the hot whirlpool of her twitching cunt, shot his load into her, and the entire group collapsed on the bed, a mass of flesh slippery with sweat and secretions.
Dean, meanwhile, reached his own crisis as the woman bounced up and down on his lap, groaning her pleasure and pummeling her escort's cock as if it were the handle of a pump. With a long sigh, the man spurted out his tribute to her manual dexterity, and collapsed in his chair, satiated.
Then the curtain was drawn closed, concealing the exhausted performers, and the music faded into silence. Dean remained slumped in his seat for a long moment, stunned into a kind of paralysis by the richness of his sensual excesses, like someone who has eaten too much at a great banquet. Then he adjusted his clothing and filed out with the others through the bar upstairs and into the dark, hushed streets. Somewhat embarrassed, he avoided contact with his two companions of the evening, and soon slipped off by himself onto the street that led out of town and homeward.