Foreign Affairs

by Antonia Adams

  The astronauts were safely off the surface of the moon. Smiley’s job was done for the time being. After lift-off and touch-down with Janice had been successful, he had turned his attention to the sojourn to Argentina. NASA had sent him to Buenos Aires for a conference about space flight. The moon landings had turned even the technicians into high-profile, sought-after personages. Still, it could have been a boring week if not for Tango watching and the parties.

  Everyone in the space program had secrets. Even those they kept from themselves. Jake was no exception, and secrets were how he had gotten himself into a fix. He’d met Rosalina at a party thrown by no less than the Russian Ambassador to Argentina at a plush residence on the outskirts of the city. Jake knew the party would be the kind that ambassadors liked to throw – lots of waiters, plenty of beautiful ladies, and a night that held possibilities for a mid-level celebrity. Mental breaks from Mission Control were like pages in an unfinished novel – the next page waiting to be written – a world in which he could have a tryst that would be no more romantic than a five-minuet carwash, or as awe inspiring as falling in love.

  Any number of sweet young things of every nationality grazed around the mansion chattering and fizzing like opened, inexhaustible bottles of champagne. But the woman who caught Smiley’s eye stood alone on a huge deck that overlooked the lights of the majestic South American city. His eyes fixed on her face, slid down her body and then climbed up again completing the inventory. She looked like a forties movie star with her raven hair, her heavily mascara-laden eyes and two-toned eye shadow. Her hands were dramatically posed on the railing as she seemed to study the flickering of city lights that offset the glow of the quarter moon.

  He made a beeline toward the vacant space beside her. She glanced at him suspiciously as smoke from a Virginia Slims leaked from her nostrils and one corner of her mouth. As their eyes met, he could feel his nerve endings sizzle.

  ‘Just room for one more,’ Smiley said.

  She looked at Smiley more closely, searching for something she couldn’t seem to find, appraising him. Finally, she said, ‘So, can you see this doodad in the sky at night?’

  Smiley turned his gaze to the pinpoints of twinkling light. Due to his line of work, he appraised the heavens often. On this night the stars were as bright as ice chips flung across the sky. ‘Afraid not,’ he answered. ‘That doodad is orbiting the moon. It won’t be headed home for a while yet.’

  She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you someone of importance?’ Her accent was heavy. She sounded like Natasha on The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, but her looks and figure were stunning.

  ‘I’d like to think so,’ Smiley said. ‘And how about you? A Russian spy here to steal all our space secrets?’

  She smiled at that. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Maybe by the cut of your jib – the skirt slit up one side and the sleeveless, oriental-style top. Very Tokyo Rose. Or Mata Hari, perhaps.’

  ‘So you’ve found me out. Aren’t you the clever one? Perhaps if you get me a drink, I’ll let you tell me about yourself and your secrets.’

  ‘The name’s Smiley. Jacob Smiley,’ he said with just a hint of a smile, trying to be as mysterious as she.

  The events were exceeding Smiley’s expectations. Back home in Houston, he’d make the rounds with the cute cowgirls and look for one that could be cut out of the herd for a ride in his phallic-shaped XK-E convertible. And later, he’d offer to provide a tour of his bachelor digs with its impressive spacecraft models and pictures complete with a photo of him shaking hands with the President. But this exotic bird’s company suited him just fine because he liked the enigmatic. If she were Cat Woman, he’d be happy to play Batman. It would be a refreshing change from country-western.

  Rosalina Lapierre, at least that’s what she called herself, said little but beguiled Smiley just the same. He wandered into her universe like a passing asteroid captured by gravitational pull into her orbit, for one night at least. She had no interest in a moonlit stroll, but after two dozen martinis between them, she did agree to accompany him back to his hotel.

  The mansion was in full swing when Smiley escorted Rosalina from the party. They trundled down the steps to the first in a line of waiting automobiles provided for guests. Before climbing into the backseat with his new companion, he looked into his bread-and-butter sky. He gazed at the quarter moon, curved like a shepherd’s crook, and thought about the man circling it and the men on its surface. Their adventure was world news, but his adventure with Mata Hari forecasted earthbound delights. And upon this blue bauble where humans resided, Smiley was anxious to fill in unwritten script.

  For most of the drive, Rosalina had smoked in voluptuous silence which added to her mystique. The couple was dropped off in front of Smiley’s hotel. Inside his suite was a bottle of expensive champagne. He popped the cork and made a toast to space travel and beautiful women.

  ‘Jacob Smiley.’ Rosalina said his name slowly as if she were seeing how the words tasted inside her mouth.

  Smiley knew exactly what would look best in her mouth. Something far tastier than those long feminine cigarettes she had a thing for, or good champagne. ‘All my friends settle for Smiley.’

  ‘Whatever you want, Mr Important Man.’ As she stood before him, one thigh peeking out of the slit in her dress, he could almost picture her gorgeous, naked body displaying two perforations across her midsection from staples in a Playboy Magazine gatefold.

  ‘Nice suite they gave you, Smiley,’ she said.

  ‘You want music and the nickel tour?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I want you,’ she answered huskily. The cobweb of a kiss clung to his lips – a promise of things to come. She wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Drink up then show me the bedroom.’ She kissed him again. Her tongue plunged into his mouth and slithered about.

  ‘Are you Commies all so impetuous?’ he asked, coming up for air, feeling a bit like James Bond himself.

  ‘Let’s say I like the way you fill out your trousers, much the way you like the slit in my dress. No more talk now, patushkin.’

  Rosalina was like an itch Smiley had to scratch. He drained his glass and led her by the hand into the adjoining room. He unzipped the back of her high-necked blouse and unhooked the black brassiere. She turned toward him so he could watch the garments slip over her head to reveal her admirable breasts, young and firm. He led her to the edge of the bed where he undid the skirt and pulled it down over her high heels. Then he locked her against him, his face between her breasts. He nibbled lightly then slid his face down her supple flesh.

  Rosalina wore a black garter belt that hitched to her nylons. But beneath the lingerie resided a pert pussy covered in curly blond hair. That seemed strange. Smiley rose and took a closer look at the countenance of his female party-favour. He gripped her hairline and tugged. Beneath the wig of raven hair were curly blond locks, not dissimilar to her pubic hair.

  ‘Methinks something is amiss, my pretty.’

  Rosalina’s come-hither look faded a bit. She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘So what’s the real story here, Rosie?’

  The woman suddenly lost her foreign accent. It was replaced with a hint of the familiar Texas twang. ‘Several girls were dressed up. I guess you glommed onto me so fast you didn’t notice the others.’

  ‘Guess not. So you were hired for the party?’

  ‘Three of us from home. Your boss figured that’d be enough for NASA guys looking for some company. Help keep you away from anything that might embarrass one country or another.’

  ‘Hookers?’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said with faux arrogance. ‘A very upscale escort service, thank you.’

  For once, Smiley was stumped for a quick quip.

  ‘I’m taking acting lessons. How did I do, Daaaaling?’

  ‘Oh, you did fine. What’s your real name? Connie Sue something from Houston?’

  ‘Close. Tammy Lee from Beaumont.’

  ‘I kind of l
iked the idea of an Iron Curtain bitch trying to suck and fuck national secrets out of me.’

  ‘We can still play. We were hired for the duration and I know you like my looks whether I’m a brunette or a blonde.’

  Rosalina/Tammy Lee slipped out of her belt and stockings. Smiley didn’t like getting fooled, but guessed it to be innocent fun and a big “haw-haw” on the part of his big-spending boss who had sent him to South America in the first place. Tammy Lee was still a lot of woman in her own right, even if she wasn’t Natasha or Rosalina, or whoever.

  ‘OK, let’s play,’ he said.

  ‘You want I should stay in character or just be myself?’

  ‘Whichever way you’re the hottest.’

  Tammy Lee left the wig off and smiled. She pushed Smiley down on the bed and pulled off his trousers and shorts. ‘I think I can satisfy you better if I’m my little ole self. My, that’s some booster rocket you had in your pocket.’

  Smiley smiled at the golden triangle between Tammy Lee’s thighs and gave it a kiss. With the Natasha bit behind her, she giggled like a good ole Texas gal rather than a Russian spy. ‘You know, a hard cock sort of looks like a rocket with its passenger cone sitting on top,’ she said teasingly. ‘Maybe you should paint USA on your shaft.’ She bent over so her tongue could do to his cock what it had done in his mouth – darted and probed. First, it teased the cone’s slit then the helmet’s rim. His cock became her lollipop and her vagina his honey pot. James Bond would be proud, he had thought.

  ‘I have a condom. You can take off into the wild blue yonder, but you need to keep your little men in their capsule.’ Tammy Lee opened the package and efficiently rolled the rubber down Jake’s cock. Then she mounted him like so many cowgirls had done before. Like she’d dropped a quarter into the slot of the little wooden horse outside of a Woolworth’s, she started her gallop.

  ‘You gettin’ over the fact that I’m no more than some hot Texas stuff?’

  ‘No problem,’ Smiley groaned. ‘We all wear masks of some kind.’

  ‘Besides, everything from Texas is bigger and better.’ She lifted her bouncing tits to prove her point.

  Smiley had no objections. Tammy Lee’s wild pink yonder of a pussy felt more than county-fried chicken fine. She was one of the best, if not the best, pieces of tail he’d ever had – a semi-pro all-American, schooled in the fine art of giving men pleasure.

  After his first orgasm, Tammy Lee climbed off so that the swimming little men in the rubber capsule could be captured and tossed aside to fend for themselves. She held out a hand and pulled him off the bed.

  ‘Dance with me. You said you liked the local stuff. Let’s try it.’ Tammy Lee wrapped her bare legs around Smiley’s waist. He bent her back toward the floor as if they were a couple of naked dance-partners doing the Tango, sort of. She took time out for another cigarette and to refill their champagne glasses, but soon returned to the task of nurturing Jake’s phallus. Smiley went at her doggie-style for their next coupling.

  ‘Girls want to be ridden, Spaceman, whether they admit it or not,’ she said over her shoulder.

  Smiley rode Tammy Lee long enough for the cows to come home, but the drinks were finally taking their toll. After he pulled out of his partner’s wiggly cunt, he dropped onto his bed feeling a bit out of it.

  ‘Didn’t mean to wear you out, but I think we’re both getting your boss’s money’s worth.’

  ‘I’ll have to remember to thank him,’ Smiley said groggily.

  Tammy Lee led Smiley toward oblivion by dropping back on her knees and giving his cock and balls the old Spic ‘n’ Span cleanup. Her rosy reds attached themselves to the head of his captain like a vacuum cleaner extension. He almost expected her to start humming Deep in the Heart of Texas as she snuggled up against his scrotum, the last thing he would have expected in the land of the Gaucho and the Tango. She gobbled his prick, tongue swirling within gentile sucks. Her head moved up and down on his shaft slowly as its veins thickened and again achieved the hardness of the barrel of a six-shooter. She pulled her rubies back to the tip of his glistening lead pipe and held it like a peeled banana. In no time Smiley filled her mouth with his ejaculate, thick and hot as shaving cream. Some of it bubbled out around her lips like fast-acting Burma Shave.

  ‘There, buckaroo. You go to sleep now,’ she whispered.

  With this delightful spectacle complete, Smiley slipped into Never-Never Land with thoughts of dancing, drinking, and fucking the night away in this love-nest, warm and safe, set to the music of Argentinean guitars.

  Smiley had fallen into a deep, trance-like sleep, but not too deep for his subconscious to be titillated by current events. In his dream, he was the astronaut to follow Armstrong out of the Eagle space capsule onto the lunar surface. The landing module was shaped like his XK-E, long and phallic. Like most dreams, there were many bizarre twists. He’d found something miraculous – a moon woman, just like in some tacky fifties sci-fi flick.

  She told him he wouldn’t believe how good fucking could be in an atmosphere with only one-third the gravitational pull of earth. No matter that she possessed two heads and four tits. There was only one pussy between her legs and it was covered with blond curlies just like Tammy Lee’s. But before he could take another giant leap for mankind and become the first earthling to fuck a moon woman, his sleep tumbled further into the black void beyond even the moon and its neighbouring blue bauble in the sea of night.

  Vertical strips of sunlight painted Smiley’s face as he awoke. He reached out across the bed for his most recent companion, but she wasn’t there. He sat up and tried to remember when he’d zonked out. His head was swimming, but it wasn’t from the booze although he had drunk plenty. It felt more like he’d been drugged with something more potent than alcohol.

  ‘Rosie,’ he called out.

  No answer.

  ‘Tammy Lee from Beaumont!’

  Nothing.

  Something was wrong. Without searching for clothes, he stumbled to the suite’s work area. He couldn’t find his satchel that contained any number of technical schematics and propulsion estimates.

  ‘Shit,’ he said. He searched for his plastic-coated ring of access cards and high priority identification badges.

  ‘Fuck!’ He grabbed the telephone from its cradle and dialled the hotel’s front desk. The spiral cord stretched to its full length as he searched for other missing items.

  The phone rang four times before the concierge answered. ‘I’m placing a call to Houston, Texas,’ he shouted and gave the man the number. Smiley tried to calm himself and waited for the big cheese to pick up. His boss finally answered.

  ‘Those girls from the escort service you sent down here to keep up company, boss. I think there may be a problem.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘One of them came to the hotel with me.’

  Smiley heard his boss slurp down a sip of coffee then softly chuckle. ‘Someone said you left with a real looker. You just never get enough, do you, Smiley?’

  ‘But she was with the escort service.’

  ‘I don’t know if getting our baby off the moon has crossed your wires or if you had too many martinis and too much poon-tang, but there was no one from any escort service that I know of. I don’t have time for a true confession at the present. I’ll see you at the shop in two days so we can get our boys home.’ His boss hung up.

  Double-crossed and counter-spied by Rosalina or Tammy Lee or whoever the babe was with the curlicue pubes and the sweet pussy, the best ever. She’d certainly taken his ass for a ride. It was a low-tech intercept. He supposed that his bed-partner was looking for microfilm and gathering up charts while he was off trying to score with the two-headed, four-titted moonchild. Whatever she’d slipped into his drink hadn’t been without some reward.

  He tried to figure the logistics. If she scored at the party, there had probably been an accomplice she could call to pick her up while her target was in Never-Never Land. She’d eve
n taken her Virginia Slims cigarette butts with her. She’d blown smoke both from her mouth and up Smiley’s ass. He felt a lot more like Maxwell Smart than James Bond at this juncture. His name might be Mud. Jacob Mud. The wild blue yonder, indeed.

  The southern-simple act had been the one that was the put-on. He would have to become more proficient with tools other than his dick and more perceptive with women who seemed a little too willing. ‘Damn, but those spies can hold their liquor as well as they can suck dicks,’ Smiley mumbled. Didn’t Bond get burned on occasion when playing with fire? But Bond was wiser than he was, perhaps not with propulsion estimates or space coordinates, but with the sense to kill sexy spies when he’d finished fucking them.

  He showered and dressed while pondering his course of action. It certainly had turned out to be an eventful evening, quite a new page in the unfinished novel of his life – a crisis that he hoped would have a not-too-unpleasant resolution. He tried to think what to do about stolen NASA information and about explaining how he had been duped by a blond bush. He was Jacob Smiley after all, James Bond’s Yankee cousin. He was down but not out. He decided he could do his best thinking by going back to the dance hall and watching the Tango dancers applying their passion for upright fucking. Life was often a Tango dance, and he would have to learn some new steps to dance around what had happened the night before.

  Fly me to the moon, Smiley hummed on his way out of the hotel.

  Romanesque by O’Neil De Noux

  Just as I finished snapping a picture of the Romanesque statue of the three nymphs inside the rear archway of The Arena, a woman walked through into Verona’s ancient Roman coliseum. Suddenly, the naked bodies of the buxomly nymphs looked like pudgy boys to me.