SEX ON PISMO BEACH by Tweet

by ATLANTIC LIBRARY PRESENTS Jackie Christian

  It was him who visited her dressing room one afternoon and laughingly threatened to give her a “prankster vitamin” called the Vichy Pill that was popular down in New Zealand. It was a cruel little pink tablet and Deborah found herself unable to stop laughing when E-Joe told her what it does.

  Basically, the vitamin was made from the enzymes of foods that make you stink—cauliflower, curry and hedge hog cheese curd. A few lab chemicals were added so that when taken regularly by a female, the pill induced a very serious and difficult to treat medical condition—Bacterial Vaginosis.

  “What is that?” Deborah had asked E-Joe as they set their scripts aside.

  “Bacterial Vaginosis…is chronic pussy odor. It’s a smell that gets embedded in a woman’s cervix the same way chronic halitosis forms on the very back part of a person’s tongue. Once it builds up throughout the lining of a woman’s vagina—not even God can help her. No amount of vinegar, douching or bathing with tomato and lemon juice is going to get rid of it. Her pussy is guaranteed to smell like tuna, skunk and mayonnaise left for days on a hot sidewalk.”

  Deborah fell off her chair. She couldn’t stop laughing.

  “It’s awful!” E-Joe laughed with her. “That’s why I threatened to give you some if you don’t stop out-acting me in our scenes together, you talented woman, you!”

  “Listen, Hon—I want you to get me some of those vitamins from New Zealand. I don’t give a shit how evil it is. You remember that bitch Lorna that Tiger and I told you about?”

  “Oh hell yeah,” said E-Joe. “Should I order Regular Fishy Foul…or the dark pink Extra Strength Stank-Stank tablets?”

  Deborah promised herself—and this is just for starters.

  ~*~

  Still naked beneath that morning’s silken bed sheets, Lorna hadn’t been expecting the return of Buck Knuckle-Joy.

  It had only been an hour since Jared Presser pissed her off by calling her “Ling” at just the moment he reached orgasm on top of her. By this point in the relationship, however, they’d fucked so many times that he was becoming noticeably bored with Lorna. He’d clumsily denied having any interest in the Chinese babe Ling, taken a shower and then jetted off for practice camp in San Francisco.

  “Men are such dogs,” she’d fumed. But the minute Buck walked through the door she was up jiggling naked, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders calling him “daddy” and licking his ear. Buck was her favorite piece of dick and she hadn’t been able to contain herself tearing his clothes off.

  He whined all through it, remarking how he’d gone by Dao Ming’s only to be told that she now called herself “Daisy” and wanted nothing more to do with him. Lorna ignored his hurt feelings. She knew that Daisy loved her brother, Noble, and had never really taken Buck seriously.

  “Where’s my Step-Great Grandmother?” Lorna asked in reference to January. Buck answered with another jealous rant, “I left that bitch in Paris. She’s hanging around Europe, waiting on that racing car driver to fuck her.”

  So that explained it. Only two days ago, Lorna had picked up the latest “Celebrity Gossip Confidential” and saw Buck plastered across the cover with sexy blonde film actress Barbie Bluetooth. The magazine claimed that Buck had ditched his wife in Paris and gone bar-hopping in Germany. There he’d met Barbie and danced the night away.

  “I did it on purpose to embarrass her uppity ‘Queen of Sheba’ black ass,” Buck told Lorna. The insatiably hot babe now had his glorious chocolate body naked and was sucking on his flaccid penis. Amazingly, it wasn’t responding.

  And this was the same thing that had happened in Germany when he tried to fuck Barbie Bluetooth—no erection.

  Buck laid Lorna on the bed and started kissing and grinding her. He just knew that he’d get it up any minute. But the harder and longer he tried to arouse himself, the colder and more shriveled up his Johnson got. He tried closing his eyes and pretending it was Dao Ming he was screwing, but fantasizing about the Chinese beauty didn’t even produce a tingle in his balls. He was impotent.

  Lorna took it personal. Horny and pissed at the same time, she said, “Do not insult my beauty like this, Buck!”

  He jumped up and rushed back into his clothes—then bolted out of the executive’s bungalow. What was coming over him, he didn’t know. Pussy was the one thing he never got enough of, and his was a penis that definitely had no conscious. Yet he was changing. Just the thought of January leaving Paris and going to Spain without him was eating him up inside.

  Mafia Hit

  Tony Scarfist uttered the name with surprise: “January.”

  “That’s right,” the church Deacon nodded.

  A photograph of January’s dead sister, February, was slid across the table for Tony to look at, and the swarthy short Italian nodded with a chuckle.

  Just that afternoon, Noble Sinatra had been over to see him. His face heavy as he’d told Tony that he was calling the whole thing in regards to having January snuffed out.

  “Why the cancellation?”

  “Love,” was all Noble had said, “Love.”

  But now a bible-carrying black man with soft brown eyes sat in the presence of Tony Scarfist and his huge spaghetti-fed, neck-bone eating bodyguard, Face-Breaker.

  “Beautiful, beautiful woman,” Tony said of February’s photo.

  “She’d be more beautiful in a coffin,” the church guy said ominously. And then he pulled the cold hard cash from his bible.

  ~*~

  Otis Crown picked up the pen, unscrewed it, frowned as he about his son’s obsession with January and went on to ink the business deal with his legendary signature.

  A check for fifty million dollars was presented to him, and then all around the board room table in the skyscraper offices of Manhattan’s NICE FOODS, there was a round of applause.

  “Welcome to Nice Foods, Mr. Crown—your new line of Daddy Otis Jell-O is going to become a phenomenon!”

  And Otis certainly hoped so. He was, after all, putting his reputation on the line for something people might possibly see as “silly.” He wasn’t a comedian like Bill Cosby, who’d already made hundreds of millions selling jell-o pudding pops—but after years as a civil rights icon and founder of institutions like “Crown Magazine” and BTV, it couldn’t be denied that the nation’s black community considered him to be one of its ultimate father figures.

  The executives at NICE FOODS introduced him to the guy who would be directing his first appearances in the string of Daddy Otis Jell-O television commercials he’d agreed to appear in. In his deep southern drawl, Otis vowed that although he and the legendary Bill Cosby looked and talked nothing alike, he would do his best in competing with Bill Cosby’s Jell-O brand. Then without further adieu, Otis nodded his compliments and was escorted by his bodyguards out of the building and into his waiting limo on Madison Avenue.

  Queenie Crown was waiting inside, her body draped in a gray fox chinchilla coat with matching hat and leather gloves. She had a big smile on her face as Otis climbed in.

  “Deacon Weatherly just called from California,” Queenie told her husband as she flipped her cell phone shut.

  “Oh—and how’s the weather in California?”

  “The same as it was when somebody fixed the brakes on February Foster’s mustang four years ago,” his wife replied with faintly remorseful eyes.

  Otis Crown gave a cruel smile. He had always appreciated the way Tony Scarfist sabotaged February’s car, thus providing the Crown family with a nice, neat abortion. It had freed up Adam and made it possible for him to bring Bliss into the family.

  “Very good,” Otis said as their limo glided through the streets of Manhattan. “Because now it doesn’t matter what happens in Spain. Adam’s going to have a better choice in life.”

  ~*~

  Noble Sinatra couldn’t contain his excitement. He’d cancelled the mob hit on January. Now he had to track down Daisy so he could be near her in that moment.

  Li
ng Mae told him where to find her—the Pismo Beach Recording Studios. She’d apparently been renting four hour segments there each day to prepare professional demos of the songs she wrote.

  Ling said that Tiger Holden went with her, because years earlier, he’d done the same thing for his sister, Fox. And now look at Fox; she could barely carry a tune yet was dominating the American music charts. Daisy was bound to strike gold, Tiger believed, and he went each day to coach her through the recordings.

  “Thanks,” Noble told Ling. But there was something about the girl’s tone of voice that was making him suspicious.

  He had no idea that Ling now made it a habit to sneak and watch him make love to her older sister as often as she could spy on them. He hadn’t a clue that Ling knew the masculine beauty of his naked body from head to hairy chest to toe. And he certainly had no idea that Ling was on her way to the Clinton Library area of the Spa to perform her very first striptease.

  “Is everything alright Ling? You seem nervous.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said from an innocent baby’s face. And then Noble thanked her again and left to find Daisy.

  ~*~

  “This house of cards; this sinful, sinful place…” the alluringly sensual Chinese woman was singing in a soulful voice, “…it’s like a dream you’ll never forget…a prayer your soul regrets…our room of sin…in mother’s Warm Leatherette.”

  “Yeah January’s going to love hearing that on the radio,” Tiger Holden whispered under his breath with a sarcasm.

  Buck Knuckle-Joy was there, too, with his nose pressed against the thick glass of the recording chamber. But Daisy couldn’t care less. She’d told him it was fine for him to stay and watch her record. But then she’d become like some human ice burgh, coldly freezing him out.

  They use me, thought Buck. Use me for my coolness; my big black dick that takes them to a place other men can’t take them. Yeah, banging the G-Spot, he thought with conceit and self-pity. These bitches use me until they use me up.

  And as he turned leaving, Noble Sinatra was just arriving. The Italian shooting Buck a look of contempt.

  Daisy’s voice soared, dramatically. Tears falling from her eyes as she belted: “A prayer your soul regrets…our room of sin…in mother’s Warm Leatherette!”

  And at that very moment, her sister Ling Mae was on the stage of the Clinton Library; her small tender breasts bare and her naked virginal hips pulsing to a dirty Luke jam as she writhed and slid sexily on that notorious pole that went from the roof to the floor as men clapped and clapped, egging her on.

  In the recording studio, as Daisy wailed the highest, longest end note of her song—Ling was across town, ripping away her panties and seductively serving up the smooth contours of her shaved vagina for all the men to see.

  The attention was like a drug. Ling knew now for sure that she’d fight Daisy down once her sister found out she was stripping. It was too thrilling, to full of stardust to give it up.

  “You are…the fucking bomb!” men hollered with wolf calls as their eyes beheld her nudity in mob-like worship.

  “That’s a wrap,” Tiger told Daisy after she’d belted the ballad for a sixth take. “You’re singing better than I’ve ever heard you.”

  “Let’s just hope your big idea works,” she told Tiger.

  And for many people in the music business, his idea was already working. It was becoming a fact that because of the internet, singers no longer needed a record label to have a career. They could cut their own tracks, make them into MP3s and marked them directly online through a growing spate of music clubs.

  This, in fact, had been the way Tiger’s sister Fox broke out to become noticed. He was certain that it would work for Daisy. But what he didn’t know about was Daisy’s decision to present the music under the face and image of a black woman.

  Daisy knew he’d try to talk her out of it, which is why she didn’t tell him. She’d befriended one of the gorgeous black college girls who dropped in for the basement orgies and paid the girl to be the “face of Daisy” for the internet.

  Happy with her demos, she ran into Noble Sinatra’s waiting arms, the two of them peck-kissing like birds as Noble assured her with a meaningful glance that she had no reason to further worry about January’s life or safety.

  “I love you more than life itself,” Noble confided. And for the first time ever—Daisy accepted his engagement ring!

  With regards to January, she told him, “We’re not even married yet and you’re making me the happiest wife.”

  “Good,” the happy man rejoiced with laughter. “And how about considering my next idea…”

  “Just say it King.”

  “Lavish wedding…Mardi Gras 2010.”

  Daisy narrowed her gaze. “You want us to get married during Warm Leatherette’s Mardi Gras next year?”

  “Well, we could be married right away. But I’d like a big spectacle to show the whole world how I feel about you, Daisy. And what bigger spectacle can there ever be than Mardi Gras at Warm Leatherette? It’s damn near what this place is famous for.”

  “A Mardi Gras wedding,” Daisy surmised with a smile. “It sounds absolutely sinful.”

  SINNERS

  San Diego, California

  “Ashanti, its breakfast time,” a stout mean-looking Mexican woman called to February Foster as she slept on a cot. And when February didn’t respond, the woman kicked the cot hard, causing the head of end of it to slam against the wall and February to jump up screaming and confused.

  February still believed that her name was “Ashanti”—but now that her husband had died in the bathtub accident and she’d been evicted from their apartment—the only safe place she’d been able to find to live in was a homeless shelter.

  Maria Nina wasn’t the least bit sorry for kicking the cot. As the beautiful but raggedy, unkempt black girl looked up at her, she said, “Look Caverona…no welfare benefits for the front office…then no cot with oatmeal. You have to be out of here by three o’clock.”

  Like most homeless shelters, the residents had to at least secure and turn over food stamps and a monthly Welfare Check in exchange for lodging. If you couldn’t do that, then you had to work some type of job and make a financial contribution to the shelter. February could neither. She had no social security card, birth certificate or driver’s license to obtain government assistance with—and she was too mentally confused to even know how to appeal for a post at Burger King or Food Heaven Supermarket.

  Her husband had forced her into prostitution, so that was something she knew how to do. But when given a choice, February didn’t like anyone touching her. Emotional trauma had literally caused her brain to “induce delusions” during sexual intercourse as her way of escaping those encounters. She wasn’t about to make it as a prostitute, because even after The Voices in her head had electrocuted her husband, she still suffered from those voices.

  And now Maria Nina was looking at her with that “look.” The same “let me eat your pussy and you can stay” look that she’d fixed on February from the beginning.

  “Why don’t you take a nice hot shower before you leave,” Maria Nina said, suggestively. But February would rather stink. She was too frightened to shower with Maria around.

  Blanca Castillo, another Mexican woman, came into the room just then announcing, “If Ashanti’s being thrown out—then I’m taking her with me.”

  Maria Nina turned and looked at the much younger Blanca as though she could pull her hair out by the roots.

  Blanca was a beautiful woman with two children. As a battered wife, her jaw had been broken four times and she still had blinking problems with her eyes, but somehow, she had gotten up the courage to leave her husband.

  “I’ve been working two jobs, saving up a whole year to get out of this hellhole,” Blanca said proudly. “Ashanti—get up and get your self a shower. I’ll guard the door. Then we’re out of here!”

  February was too thrilled. As she stood up from
the cot, she asked, “Where are we going, Blanca?”

  “To Pismo Beach—my brother’s a bartender up there at a resort called Warm Leatherette.”

  Pismo Beach…Warm Leatherette…Immediately, the voices in February’s head started popping and crashing like circuits crossing! She felt a cloud of pressure rise up out of her heart and fill her mind like helium. Pismo Beach, Warm Leatherette…It was too much!

  “I’m dancing as fast as I…”

  February began grabbing at her head and staring at the floor as though she could stop the flood of memories that were trying to break through. She saw herself naked, dancing greased up on a pole as men clapped, tossing hundred dollar bills at her feet. She screamed out, “I’m dancing as fast I can!”

  “Ashanti? Ashanti, what are you doing?”

  With a shriek, the raggedy unkempt dancing girl collapsed to the floor.

  ~*~

  Tiger couldn’t believe the phone call he was getting from January in Spain. She wanted him to begin the systematic removal of any and all cameras on the Warm Leatherette premises that were in hidden places designed for spying on guests.

  Sharing an intimate lunch in his office with soap star, E-Joe Bradford, the two of them marveling over the cover of “Celebrity Gossip Confidential” and its headline about Buck Knuckle-Joy ditching his wife in Paris for a night with a sexy blonde actress in Berlin—Tiger had decided not to press January too hard about her decision. Obviously, this was a time of public humiliation for his boss, and whatever had happened in Paris, he didn’t see their marriage surviving it. He asked how she and her mother were enjoying Spain, but January sounded vague and languid as though something was going on over there that she didn’t want anyone to know about.