“Mom,” Ling Mae cried. “Dao Ming has struggled with depression all her life taking care of us, and I have this fear of talking too loud. We need to get you to get out of this bed and leave this bedroom.”
“No,” the frail woman insisted as she held Dao Ming’s hand tighter. “I can’t leave this room or you’ll both be killed. It’s not about me! It’s about what I’ve been made to believe.”
“But you’re not sick, mother! The doctor said…”
“Daisy,” Chen called softly. And immediately, Dao Ming was silent, her heart stilled by the nickname her mother had given her as a little girl. “Daisy, listen to me. I want you and Ling to protect yourselves by never letting them in.”
“Letting who in mother?”
“Believers and those who crave love,” Chen answered with a matter of fact attitude. “That was my mistake. I was just a young girl and I worshipped your father. I did everything he told me to do—with him and with his sister Yao—I believed what they told me to believe. I walked into a circle of people who long to be loved and yet couldn’t love them selves. You don’t know what it was like back in the old China—the land of obedience and death to all questioners. I was their believer. I let them make me, and after they were done—it was my fault.”
Dao Ming realized that her mother’s insanity had come full circle. She was dying of an imaginary worm and nothing could save her, because other people and the society they had come from had made her believe in it so strongly. Then again, Dao Ming could no longer ignore the fact that her own bouts of depression were just reflections and residue of her mother’s worm. In that way, she was as weak to the curse as her mother, but hers would be a journey of resistance and escaping it. She promised Chen, “I save all emotions for my songs, mother. Just like you taught us—I save my best for white paper with ink.”
“Good. Now I want you to take Ling Mae away from this house, and I don’t want the two of you to ever look back.”
“But we can’t leave you behind mother! What will become of you?”
“I will be here in my room, just as I’ve always been. Even after I’ve died, my spirit will dwell in this room. But Ling Mae, promise me—that you’ll never be touched.”
“Mother, don’t put that on Ling! All you’re doing is burdening her with a whole different type of curse—it’s not fair!”
The winsomely beautiful Ling ignored Dao Ming’s protest. She said with a lump in her throat, “I promise mother, to die a virgin.”
“Now I want you girls—my precious, precious girls—to leave this house of curses and go free…out into the world. And whatever you do, don’t end up like me. I want you to be real, knowing that life is what it is and that the mysteries it—nobody knows. I want you to acknowledge that anything is possible; every dreamer has their own truth. But if you truly want to be free, then it is crucial when they’re training you, teaching you, orienting you…that you believe nothing. Avoid their curses and believe nothing.”
Dream Pussy
*Manhattan Crown Towers
New York City
The wheels had barely touched the runway at JFK before the broken-nosed Adam Crown turned to look at his wife as though he were some kind of wild animal spying a lamb. The look was slightly violent, but Bliss’s eyes conveyed a reticent ‘yes’ for what was to come. Dreams of conquering January Knuckle-Joy were what motivated Adam, but Bliss had never seen her husband that masculine; that ferocious. It made her wet, not just between her thighs, but in her mouth. Adam dug his fingers into her buttocks as they walked down the aisle exiting the airplane, and then all during the limo ride to the hotel, he’d refused to use speech. Like a predator, he’d kept looking her up and down, from her ankles to her waist to her breasts. And then when he looked her in the eyes—it really did seem gruesome and lustful. A look that said without censor or apology—‘I’m going to fuck you like an animal.’
Bliss had thought he should see a doctor about his nose first, but then she realized he was too wound up with anger. Fucking her would be his way of releasing tension and anxiety. And after so many years of dreaming of having her husband take her in such a passionate way, she didn’t object or play games. She welcomed it the minute her body hit the silken sheets of the King James bed.
“Take you stockings off,” Adam said coldly, and in that moment Bliss realized by intuition that he was seeing January perched on the bed and not her. “Take your stockings off and open your legs.” Amazingly, the wetness between her legs and the sting in her nipples didn’t care. Her eyes caught sight of the pipe bulge in his trousers and the suspenseful excitement of being its target erased all thoughts of jealousy or competition.
Adam ripped off his shirt as though he were escaping from a straight jacket, the buttons popping to the floor. His muscled brown chest heaved like a furnace as the knuckles in his hands undid his buckle and swiftly pulled loose the black leather belt allowing his trousers to slide to the floor.
“Oh god,” Bliss muttered, because as beautiful as she’d always thought Adam’s penis was, she’d never seen it so impressive as it was then. Long, arched and purposefully erect—the head of it full like an inflated mushroom reaching to heaven; the staff of it dark like a candy bar; the balls of it large and powerful like a bull’s. He seemed to be on the bed in no time—kissing her mouth, grasping her neck, devouring her neck and shoulders.
“You just did this to me in California—now in New York. Twice in one…”
“Shut up.” Adam didn’t want to hear her voice or be reminded that it was Bliss and not January. What he wanted was for her to surrender what for him was the sweetest, warmest chocolate dream pussy. Soft and wet as he’d remembered February Foster’s to be.
“Fuck me!” Bliss squealed in this last time that they would ever make love, the power of his naked buttocks pressing her gleaming white body into the mattress. His fury at being hit by Buck had filled him with fire, and as much as Bliss preferred tenderness, she found herself swept away by the insatiable ecstasy that anger can produce in a man’s passions.
“No,” she whispered with more determination than she’d ever felt in their marriage before. “I’m never letting you go.”
Her creamy white legs curved around his chocolate body and her arms wrapped around his backside like branches of a very old tree. Neither of them expected Bliss to get pregnant after all these years, but that’s exactly what was happening. She took his banging thrusts like it was good exercise—his hardness pounding her wetness into a strawberry slush—at last reaching the egg delta.
“Never…letting you…go, Adam.”
~*~
Lorna Sinatra stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of him.
Not to be horny was impossible!
She was supposed to be rushing to the board room for yet another meeting with Noble, January and her famous feminist mother regarding the infamous Red Panty Kit, but here she was hypnotized by one of the nation’s top football players—Jared Presser—as he signed in at the Warm Leatherette front desk and received his electronic bungalow key.
Lorna’s nipples got hot like fire pokers. All kinds of sexy women from gold diggers to soccer moms had begun migrating to the lobby to catch a glimpse of the Oregon-born quarterback of the San Francisco Coalminers, but the gorgeous Italian beauty vowed to be the one to get his celebrity “dick autograph.” In fact, when it came to celebrities visiting Warm Leatherette—it didn’t matter if they came with their wives, mistresses or husbands—Lorna was a pro at racking up the spa’s most prestigious “star fucks”. This one being such a renowned playboy would make him a piece of cake, she figured. Putting her brother’s meeting on the back burner, she quickly wet her lips with custom made Salt-Pussy-Apple flavor lip gloss and made a determined bow pucker.
She was just about to walk over and pretend to bump into him (then pretend not to know who he was)—when someone beat her to it. Debbie Dallas.
“What the…”
Tall, gorgeous blonde body
of a goddess Debbie turned the desk corner coming from the work out room in a skimpy San Francisco Coalminer’s football jersey and bumped right into the sexiest, richest man in football—only her bump really had been a total accident.
“Oh, my goodness—I’m so sorry,” Debbie squealed in her Texas twang, apologetically. Jared Presser wasn’t sorry, however. He looked down at her as though she was the best thing that had hit him in a long time. He said, “Wow. I think I’m in love at first sight. Hey—cut the apologies. What’s your name, babe?”
Shyly, Warm Leatherette’s newest exotic dancer replied with huge innocent blue eyes and her trademark doll baby’s voice, “Debbie…Debbie Dallas.”
Lorna Sinatra tossed her mink-like dark hair over one shoulder and began bristling. She had enjoyed eating Debbie’s tight little pussy and teaching the girl what few techniques one could teach a virgin, but she wasn’t about to play nice when it came to real life conquests or the competition from airheaded little country bumpkins like Debbie.
She let them have their stupid cutesy chance meeting—and then when Jared had secured Debbie’s phone number and departed to get settled into his bungalow—Lorna walked right up to Debbie’s beaming, smiling Barbie Doll of a face and shocked the girl by slapping the shit out of her!
“Ow!” Debbie gasped, holding her cheek and demanding, “What did you do that for?”
Lorna wasn’t the least bit sorry. She dug her fingers into the girl’s arm, yanking her to a corner of the lobby and hissed, “I thought you were supposed to be loyal to your girlfriends, bitch!”
Debbie blinked in confusion. Her understanding had been that what they did in secret was just “play rehearsal” in getting Debbie ready for marriage and being with a man. And in reality, Lorna was not serious about her lesbian flings. Though Lorna could certainly switch up—more than anything, Lorna loved cock. So why was she acting this way, Debbie asked her?
“Give me the card he gave you.”
“No,” said Debbie angrily.
Lorna snatched it out of her hand—but Debbie had a surprise of her own. She reached out and knocked the Welcome-to-Texas fuck out of Lorna; socking the woman so hard, she tripped in her heels and fell against a potted tree.
“Now give me my card back!” Debbie demanded, oblivious to the lobby patrons who were now noticing the scuffle between the two women. Not wanting this to get back to January, Lorna reached up and handed the card back to Debbie.
As Lorna got up, Debbie explained, “He’s a football star and he’s here to tape a guest appearance on a cop show in Burbank in a few days. He said he’s going to have the producers get rid of the girl who’s supposed to play his love interest and cast me instead. He said I look like a young Anna Nicole Smith mixed with Pamela Anderson and that I should a movie star. This card is the directions to the studio.”
Lorna didn’t know what to say, because she realized that underneath Debbie’s Monroe-like femininity was a Texas tom boy who could kick her ass in a heartbeat. Lorna opted to apologize and do some scheming later, but Debbie surprised her yet again by breaking into tears. Full of sadness, the pretty blonde girl said, “You hurt my feelings, Lorna. I trusted you and I liked you. I don’t know why you’re not my friend anymore.”
“I’m in love with you,” Lorna lied deceptively. “I saw you with that guy and I got jealous.”
Debbie wasn’t buying it. “We’re not real lesbians, Lorna. You said it yourself. We were just playing ‘sleepover’. What I think is that you want Mr. Star quarterback for yourself.”
Lorna decided to stop fronting. “And what if I do, Debbie?”
Debbie’s angelic blue eyes blinked apologetically. She said with her breathy Texas twang, “He wants to make me a T.V. star—and that’s very important to my life.”
“He’s a jock, Debbie—he’s here to fuck pussy. And let’s face it. You barely have enough talent to complete your stripper routines. I don’t see you making it as an actress.”
“Pamela Anderson and Anna Nicole did it!”
“But those women had perfect beauty, Debbie. They didn’t have what you have—that little bump on the nose.”
Immediately, Debbie gasped. Her hand went to the part of her body that she was most self-conscious about—her nose. It was the normal European ski slope nose, but all Debbie seemed to notice and complain about was the tiny ‘bump’ in the middle of it. Nobody else noticed it, but Debbie talked about it so much that she’d made Lorna aware of it.
“Oh my goodness,” Debbie moaned in panic. “Do you think that will stop me, Lorna? Is it really that bad?”
“Well, it’s just a bump,” Lorna played along, feeding it. “It’s a bump in the middle of your face, and it’s probably going to ruin everything. Then there’s the problem of your breasts…”
“My breasts?”
“They’re only 38 C, Debbie. That’s not star quality.”
“It’s not?”
Lorna shook her head. “You’ll need to get implants, acting lessons; that bump in your face fixed. Debbie I’m not against you having big dreams and coming to California to try and make those dreams come true. But you’ve got to be realistic.”
Debbie’s blue eyes filled with tears. She broke down crying as she believed that Lorna was right. In fact, the things that Lorna was telling her were the same things she’d always thought back in Texas. But for some silly reason, she’d sent a nude shot of herself to KITTEN magazine and they’d published it under the headline: “Goddess of the Month.” That small celebrity with truck drivers and guys who played pool in her home town bar had given her the courage to get on a bus and come to California searching for her dreams despite her insecurities.
Lorna said, “He’s not trying to make you a T.V. star. He’s trying to fuck you and take away your virginity so that when your Prince Charming comes along—you won’t be good enough for marriage. You remember that movie ‘Carrie’ with the pig’s blood?”
Debbie nodded, tearfully. “Sissy Spacek starred in it. A cute boy took her to the prom and all the kids splashed blood on her.”
“Well that’s what he’s trying to do to you, Debbie. He knows that you don’t have any talent. He knows that you’re barely getting by as a stripper. He just wants to make a fool of you. That’s the main thing men do with all of us—make fools out of us.”
“It is?”
“Look—I want to introduce you to this doctor I know down the coast. All the big stars go to him. You’re very, very beautiful right now—but you’re not yet T.V. quality, you get me?”
Debbie spied the card that Lorna had fished from her purse. “Dr. Habit. Yeah, I’ve heard of him before—he does a lot of stars.”
“It’s the secret key, Debbie. It’s the key that will unlock all your dreams. Look at me, look at how fucking gorgeous I am. Trust me—if you want to become America’s hottest blonde bombshell, then you’ve got to be perfect.”
Debbie sighed deeply. “I believe you, Lorna. I really do, but how do I get the money to pay for all this perfection?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll loan you the money.”
“You would do that for me?”
Lorna Sinatra thought with a smile—hit me; knock me down, fuck my target before I can get to him. Yeah, I’ll teach you—you black root peroxide blonde country bumpkin bitch!
~*~
Bliss was impregnated by the time Adam buried his face in the pillow, muffling the howl of his orgasm with a final thrust.
Drenched in sweat, the glistening muscles of his brown body trembled atop his wife uncontrollably. But like seconds shy of a minute, the hot sweat turned cold and damp. Bliss tried to massage his suddenly chilly back muscles, but he rose up off her.
“We’ve never had it like that before, Adam.”
“That’s because it wasn’t you and me,” he answered, bitterly. He couldn’t look at her. Flickers of February Foster running on the beach in flowing purple chiffon were still speeding through
his mind. Only now the memories of February kept morphing and crashing into images of January.
It was January’s canoe-long face of almond shaped eyes and high cheekbones; full lips and a soulful nose that mystified, beguiled and called to him.
“You were fucking January Knuckle-Joy?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry, but yes I was.”
Bliss was scared, because she had never seen him so wound up. It was as though he was wrestling a demon. She said, “Maybe you need to have an affair with her, Adam. Get it out of your system. Men in your position do it all time. They go fuck their little wild chicks and then they come back to the light.”
Adam looked at Bliss knowing that her use of imagery was not by accident. Until a few days ago, she had wanted to leave him. Now all of a sudden, a black woman had him by the short hairs of their shared reflection, and she was ready to loan him out as long as he came back and kept her light lit.
He said, honestly, “I don’t want to hurt you, Bliss. You’re a good woman and a good person. You’re like family to me, always.”
“Then it’s settled,” she said with a forced giggle. “Go have your conquest and then come back to mama.”
“I want a divorce, Bliss.”
Bliss stared at him for a very long moment. Then she erupted out of fear. “That bitch is already married, Adam!”
“I’m going to take her from her husband.”
Bliss jumped up from the bed, screaming and beating him across the chest, “Fuck you…fuck you!”
Adam grabbed her arms, containing them. He forced her down on the bed.
It should have gone from there to a kiss, their faces so close together—but in her husband’s eyes, that close up, Bliss Crown could see that he never wanted to kiss her again.
Desperately, Bliss began to sob. “You’re my man!” And after a moment, Adam cried, too.
~*~
Warm leatherette…warm leatherette.
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