Chris and Harry couldn’t stop laughing.
“Now you boys don’t drink too much, you hear?” Tessa told the three of them.
After she had disappeared into the crowd, TJ fetched his wallet from his pants pocket. He thumbed through the larger bills, deciding on the face of Ulysses S. Grant after some careful consideration. “How much for her to take off her top? Fifty? Seventy-five?”
“This ain’t a strip club!” Chris shouted. “It’s a pub!”
“I damn well know it is! But those tits! Please tell me you saw the tits! I feel like Michelangelo. I want to preserve her beauty with a marble statue so everyone can see those fantastic tits for years to come!”
Chris howled with laughter as everyone went back to drinking.
So TJ’s mind was set. He had to see them, no matter the cost. He had to witness those fantabulous tits for himself. On any other day it wouldn’t be possible. Fifty dollars, a hundred, two hundred—it made no difference. But this was Mardi Gras and girls popped their tits out for a crinkled green fifty. He downed half of the stout, belched, lurched on his four-legged stool, and slammed the cash onto the table.
“Titties! Come here!”
The sweet girl with the busty chest returned, her nametag cocked sideways against the twin, jiggling mounds that preceded her. “More drinks, boys? Or are y’all moving ahead to shots?”
TJ blinked. He had to focus. His head felt like a glass of beer sloshing back and forth, swaying this way and that. He wiped a bit of drool from his bottom lip and pushed the fifty-dollar bill across the table. Now the words. The words were the most important.
“For fifty buckaroos.” Hiccup. “I … I want to see those boobies.” He drew a circle in the air with his fingertip. “Show me the boobies!”
Tessa glanced around the table. “Is that all? You know, a fifty can get you a couple of lap dances around the corner. Or some shots to knock you off your feet.”
“No.” TJ’s fist came down onto the table. Stout sloshed over the rim of Chris’s glass. “Those titties! Those ones. Right there. I’m pointing at them. I want to see them.”
Tessa leaned onto the table, resting her chin on her fisted hands. “Fifty dollars for that? Are you sure?”
TJ jerked his head up and down. “Uh-huh. Never been more sure about anything in my whole life, honey.” Hiccup. “Let’s see them. It’s titty time.”
“Well.” Tessa put two fingers on the cash and dragged it to her side of the table, right to where her massive chest was resting on the wood. “I’ll take the money and show you them, but only—” Pausing for effect. “—only if you can guess their size.”
TJ twiddled the air with his fingers. “I got this. Those are definitely a couple of Marthas!”
Harry shot him a puzzled look. “An M-cup? Are you nuts? Those are obviously—”
TJ held up his palm. “Wait! I got this! I got it, don’t worry! It’s coming to me. Let me just look at these crystal balls a little more. Speak to me, you beautiful fucking tits. Speak to Daddy!”
To TJ, it was like the partying crowd was suddenly gone from the pub. There were no groovy jazz tunes erupting from the speakers, nor drunken shouts and glasses clinking. It was just him, him and those awesome titties all wrapped up in a shirt not designed for such a chesty girl. Titties were like endangered species in city zoos; they should breathe in the wild air and be free of captivity. Out and about and jiggling, and … whatever else titties did.
He concentrated hard, focusing on the blurry letters in his brain. The tarot card with the answer was right there. He just had to turn it over, to see what the opposite side said. Finally, it came to him on the telepathic waves of men’s intuition.
The raucous shouting returned.
“You are a … thirty-four Francesca!”
Tessa’s face lit up. Color came to her cheeks. “That’s right! How did you know?”
TJ shrugged. “A titty hunch. Guys have what you might call a sixth sense for such things. I read about it.”
The girl glanced around the pub. An evening during Mardi Gras was one endless party that came and went, flowing like a stream through the front doors, out into the streets, across to the other side, down the next few blocks. There was no definite end to it. And TJ knew that, along with a copious amount of alcoholic refreshment, money could persuade a girl to give consent to naughty things that she wouldn’t have considered otherwise. He had plenty of money for the night to come.
“Okay, but only for a few seconds, all right?” Tessa began pulling up her shirt. “And no pictures! I don’t want anything showing up on Facebook!”
TJ poked his temple. “It’s all going up here.”
Chris drummed the table. Harry had those eyes of oh shit, this is really happening. TJ drooled.
In one sweeping motion, she pulled it all up—t-shirt and bra and anything else underneath. Two firm tits fell out, fair-skinned with nipples the same color as her blushing cheeks. She jiggled them back and forth for a few more seconds, making sure everyone at the table saw them. A few catcalls came from elsewhere. Then she rolled everything back down, situated the bra underneath her twin peaks, and pulled the shirt down over her navel.
TJ’s jaw was locked open. “Lord have mercy.” Not typically a religious man, he suddenly found himself praying to the almighty He above this great Earth for another glimpse. Just one. Five seconds wasn’t enough to savor them. He took as many mental snapshots as possible, but already the haze was setting in. He now knew how infants felt when they were hungry for mama’s breast milk.
Tessa resumed her serving duties. “Okay, you had your look! Can I get you boys anything else?”
TJ fumbled for his wallet again, fetched another crisp Ulysses S. Grant, and slammed it onto the table. Before he could say anything, the other two boys were doing the same thing. Chris produced another fifty-dollar bill with a mustache drawn on everyone’s favorite northern Civil War general. Harry pulled out a trio of twenties. Together it was one-hundred and sixty dollars.
The stakes were launched to the moon. “Tequila body shots!” TJ shouted. “You on the table!” Hiccup.
Tessa laughed. “I don’t think so!”
TJ scrambled for another fifty. Now the pot was two-hundred and ten.
The barmaid looked at the stack of cash, and then at the boys next, taking time to study each of their drunk, youthful faces. TJ patted the money-pile again. She would give in, he knew. He just had to find her threshold. Why? Because girls couldn’t resist money. And on a chilly February night down in New Orleans, the air was different. Prudish girls became dormant sluts waiting to have their wind-up handles cranked. He just had to find the resistance with a little bit of money. And alcohol if it came to it.
The other two boys contributed more to the donation pile. It was an even three-hundred now. Three hundred dollars for her to lay on the table and let them take shots off her fantastic tits. No sensible girl could refuse that.
Tessa slowly came around to the offer. “Only for five minutes!”
TJ held up all his fingers. “Ten, honey! Ten minutes! And here’s some money for the shots!” Hiccup.
When Tessa returned with a dozen shots of tequila, Mardi Gras was officially in full swing. She got onto the table and raised her shirt. On her back, her fantastic breasts weren’t as high or as full as before, but still equally hot. The three boys all took turns licking salt off her cleavage or navel, chugging tequila shots, and then taking the lime wedge from her mouth. Every round of three concluded with a cheer from the boys, as well as a few spectators that had joined in to watch.
For ten whole minutes, Tessa was the center of attention. She laughed and giggled as tongues ran all over her body. And when TJ had finished the final shot, she pulled his head down into her deep cleavage and jiggled her tits against his face.
He raised his fist into the air triumphantly. “I’m being suffocated by awesome titties!”
A cheerful roar erupted around the table.
When it was all done and finished, and Tessa was three hundred dollars richer for sharing ten minutes of her time and body, the boys were completely inebriated to the point of total mental impairment. Harry’s face was smashed against the table. Chris appeared to be contemplating the importance of his own existence through the light-bending surface of a shot glass. TJ stared into the distance, seeing everything at once, and yet nothing at all.
“Titties,” he mumbled, projecting another line of drool from his wet lips. “Great … big … titties.”
“Yeah man,” Chris agreed.
A revelation came to TJ just then, something so idiotic that only his alcohol-clogged mind could make perfect sense of. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before.
He poked his index finger down onto the table. This was important. “I should get tits. Great, big … big and great … and huge jiggling titties.”
Chris laughed.
“So … I can play with them … I can play with them all the time.” He looked down at his chest and cupped a pair of invisible boobs. “Bounce them … and squeeze them … and give you a tit-fuck.”
Chris laughed even harder. “You’ll need bras!”
“No! No bras.” TJ was certain about that. “They’re going to be free … free like birds … free birds. The way tits—” Hiccup. “—should be.”
Harry began snoring.
“Right on, man,” Chris said. “Right on. I will be the first to squeeze them if you do.”
TJ glanced at his phone. It was almost midnight. Or noon. He wasn’t exactly sure, but it was dark outside, so it was probably almost midnight. Or maybe it was just a really overcast day.
He really wanted to see Titties again. She had a name, but he couldn’t remember it. It was Titties now. Titties had huge titties. He looked around the overcrowded pub. Waitresses were out in full-force, serving glasses of beer and shots and sparkling cupcakes. None of them was Titties. Maybe one of the other waitresses would take her top off for the right amount of money. He still had cash in his wallet, and it was Mardi Gras—the night when girls revealed their inner sluts to the world.
He saw one coming and pointed. “Hey, you there! Whatever … whoever … show me those titties!”
The woman stopped at the edge of the table. “You talking to me?”
“Yeah! You with the tits … obviously. Tits were meant to be free, lady. It’s the American way! America! Don’t you believe—” Hiccup. “—in America? I do. America!”
“Fuck yeah!” someone shouted from afar.
TJ swiveled around on the stool, almost toppling over. He pointed over the crowd. “Thanks, dude!”
When he turned his attention back to the waitress, TJ realized he had been mistaken. Maybe. The girl didn’t look like a waitress, unless the Irish pub’s staff changed into sexy costumes right before midnight struck. It was possible. It was Mardi Gras. But none of the other serving girls was wearing stockings and a garter belt, nor a black bustier with a bone necklace and a white skull panted on her face. The skin that wasn’t covered by sexy lingerie—and there was plenty to feast the eyes on—was a rich, dark ebony.
“And you like boobs, young man?” she asked.
TJ smirked in a way that could only be interpreted as my charms are working as intended. “Of course I do. I’m a … a red-blooded man.”
“And you want to see my boobs?”
TJ started reaching for his wallet. He needed money. She looked like some stripper, and strippers liked money. “Well … I’ll have you know … I’m really … really attracted to your type. Black girls are … my thing. You get it? I think Jesus said it himself … the blacker the berry, the sweeter … the sweeter the juice. The bible don’t lie. That Jesus dude … he had it right. He was really smart and stuff.”
He blinked, and now he had to squint. Sometimes the girl was crystal-clear, but now she was just a blur again. Everything was. He didn’t want it to be that way. If she wanted to take her clothes off, he wanted to see her nakedness in all its glory! The mental camera was primed and ready, in any case.
“You like black girls a lot?”
Didn’t he just tell her that? “Yes! And I’m not saying that … cuz you were all slaves … you know. I … I really like black chicks. They’re good … in … uh … bed.”
The girl reached around behind her left hip. Oh here we go, TJ thought. And not just tits! She had seen the money in his wallet, and she was ready to strip on their table. Too bad Harry was going to miss it. A good hard slap to the cheek should wake him. Or maybe TJ could convince their new friend to sit on his face. Imagine that! Waking up to a girl’s pussy right there on your mouth. His tongue flopped out.
“When you’re ready,” she started, “you can come see me.”
She had something in her hand. A disappointed TJ saw that it wasn’t any of her racy clothes. Rather, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him—which was completely possible at this point—it was some sort of stuffed doll. An ugly handmade black one with mismatched eyes and stitching down the center of the body. One arm was longer than the other, and the head didn’t want to sit straight on the shoulders. Whoever had made it had done a piss-poor job of it.
TJ glanced up at the girl, or where she had been standing. She wasn’t there. The festive crowds continued to roar behind him, and Mardi Gras went on well past midnight. And it probably wouldn’t stop until first light of the next day. Yet, TJ felt let down and stuffed his wallet back into his shorts. No surprise lap dance from a sexy black girl.
He grabbed the doll.
Chris was laughing again. “What the hell is that?”
Harry snorted and turned his head the other way.
TJ shrugged. “Some stupid doll. I—”
All at once, he was exhausted and barely able to keep his eyes open. All the drinking and the partying had caught up like a lumbering freight train on its rail. He was standing in the middle of the tracks, unable to move. And then it hit him. TJ’s head went down. He was asleep before his forehead ever thumped the table.
He saw the girl again. Everyplace else was dark, but the girl was right there, standing beside a cauldron, chanting something he didn’t understand. The bottom of her face, her breasts, and her arms were aglow with orange light. The skull painted on her face no longer seemed as such. It was actual bone, a sort of mask, only there were no straps to hold it in place.
When her eyes snapped open, they were pure white.
“You!” she bellowed, pointing.
TJ looked around, but there was no one else. It was just the girl and him and the impenetrable black beyond. And it was cold. So cold. His body started to shiver. As the girl continued to stare at him, he continued to get colder.
“You!”
“Me?”
She gestured with her finger. “Come here. Look into here.”
TJ still remembered the pub. And the offer. Somehow he figured the girl wouldn’t be interested anymore. He should’ve been tipsy after all the beer that had gone into his stomach. Or at least having a hangover. Yet, his mind was astoundingly clear at the moment.
He peered into the cauldron. Despite the orange glow that illuminated the girl and made her skull mask seem even more ominous, there was no such light inside. Whatever she was brewing was dark. Dark as a starless night. Dark as the shadow of a shadow. So dark that there was no reflection. Only a void, a pure absence of light.
“Stick your hand in there,” she ordered. “It won’t hurt. I promise. You will like it, actually.”
“My … hand?”
TJ saw that the girl was naked. Why had he not noticed that before? Maybe he just wasn’t attentive. Or maybe her clothes had disappeared only recently. In any case, his eyes went right for her chest, expecting to find a pair of chocolate-colored tits. Instead, her chest was as flat as a board, and in place of nipples there were mouths.
“Your hand,” said the left. “Go on,” the right.
“O-okay.”
He reached far down inside, his f
ingers lost in shadow in what seemed like a bottomless pit. His heels left the ground, and he really had to stretch. Finally, the very tips of his fingers touched something lukewarm with the consistency of molasses. He pulled back in shock. Once back into the light, he saw that some of it clung to his fingertips—the index and the middle one, specifically. It was gooey and as black as the darkness in the cauldron. He looked up at the girl.
She nodded. “Yes.”
On his fingers, the syrupy substance from hell had started to spread. It was stretching up to his knuckles, quadrupling in area, swallowing his thumb and pinkie. It raced up his arm next, and TJ could only watch as the front-line of this microscopic black army enveloped his elbow and then his shoulder. In seconds it was going down his body, wrapping around his abdomen, covering his junk, turning everything it touched into black molasses.
“Yes!”
He felt it creeping up his neck, sticky tendrils latching onto his chin. He tried to scream, but by then it was already flowing into his mouth and down his esophagus. Darkness set in.
TJ jolted awake. The bed gave out a screech as he rolled to the edge and coughed. He was hot. He was sweating. The sheets were suffocating him, so he yanked them off. It was only a dream, a really fucked-up dream, but a dream nonetheless. He wasn’t choking on black tar, though it had almost felt like it.
Outside, it was nighttime on Canal Street. TJ and his buds had split the expenses for a hotel room just down from the popular bars and Mardi Gras parades; they knew they wouldn’t be driving anywhere. It was a divine miracle they had made it back to the room in the first place. Chris was facing the wrong way on the bed, with his bare ass and legs sticking out of the coverlet. Harry was sprawled out on the floor. He was dressed, at least. The odor of alcohol hung heavy in the room. The empty beer cans on the bedside table suggested they had brought some home last night. TJ couldn’t remember it. He recalled the bar, Titties, bringing himself to the cusp of an alcohol-induced coma, and now waking up.
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