“Where you from?” A softly spoken black woman, no more than twenty-five, had snuck up behind me. Observing naked ladies is less violating than talking to them. My eyes now accustomed to flesh drew up from slender hips up to her youthful breasts; nature holds them in suspense, there is no need for any anti-gravitational devices or surgery to make these stand to attention. Too perfect somehow, she lacks the worn-in character of years to come. They seem to be a computer generated graphic drawing of breasts. I try to fix my eyes on the orbs I can legitimately look at, her black brown eyes.
“I’m Dan from England.” I don’t get too specific in case it tests her geography.
“England, I have always wanted to go. I am Mirabel from Senegal. You here long?”
“No, just till Sunday. Are you a long way from home?” I have asked a semi-intelligent question so don’t feel as bad taking another full look at her naked upper body. My cock hardens a little and gets squashed in Juliet’s panties, creating yet further stimulation.
“Not so far. I live Paris for long time. Will you buy me drink?” Her lips are improbable plump cushions, which part infrequently as she speaks. I move for my wallet but hear a metal bucket of ice crash onto the bar top. A hand reaches over her shoulder towards me.
“Compliments of the lads.” Robert has rounded up a new kitty and is beaming at my involvement with Mirabel.
“You are kind men. Do you come for skiing or business?” She sips the champagne. The others seem to be fighting off advances behind her. Robert is getting more champagne for himself and a brunette waiting beside him.
“I am getting married next week.”
“Oh my congratulations. I am in delight. I sing you wedding song from where I come from? She closes her eyes to hum the introduction. She claps her hands slowly to pick up the beat. I imagine the setting for the authentic use of this song in a clichéd dusty African village. Its fragile refrain sends hope to newly-weds. I try but cannot picture Sophia. Mirabel’s song and breasts have sapped me of words, I grin approval but conversing with a semi-naked woman about my wedding doesn’t wash.
“It’s time to move on mate.” Robert is the only stag mate left; the others have read a script that this actor is yet to see. I overheard Robert say that we were following on in a minute, but I am still surprised they just left us. I am more surprised that Robert has called me mate. He nods acceptance of the extortionate bill to the barman and we take our last spin across the roulette wheel. I grin some more as I leave Mirabel; she walks away from the bar to pursue her evening’s seduction elsewhere. Robert leads me to a curtained door at the very back of the club.
We have done it, we have negotiated my stag do and we are heading home. The door leads up three steps and into an altogether different room. The expanse of scarlet carpet and the smell of money hit me first.
“Just let me have a quick spin and we can get off,” Robert asks.
“Okay mate, it’s getting late though.”
Robert schemes as best he can in his state. He looks at a small neon board that shows the outcome of the last few spins. An Asian man stands across the table, caging a deck of chips with his fingers; he drops each chip with a clunk into the palm of his other hand. He doesn’t look up; he is in the losing zone. Robert has lost his first bet lightly; he is not fazed by the prospect of losing more. He knows that in his demeanour lies his status in this room.
“Red 7 mate. Bet on Red 7,” I implore him.
“For you on your stag night, anything you say you lanky fuck-up.” He smiles sweetly to cover up the disrespect he is giving me. He is constantly looking around the room to see who is watching us.
“Hey can I have less of your aggression.”
“Calm down, you know it is only a … well fuck me.”
I have just instructed my first winning bet, except for a Grand National sweep and that bonus ball lottery syndicate we had at the agency. I was surprised that Steve actually paid out.
“Maybe I could clean up if I had trusted you. Have you got any other sensational hunches?” The croupier looks at Robert knowingly; a gamble that wasn’t followed through with conviction means a great night for the house.
“Sir, your drinks are ready at the bar through the billiards room. That way.” A gloved waiter instructs Robert.
“What? Oh the drinks at the bar. Come on Dan I have arranged a nightcap for us.” Robert throws a chip to the croupier who hands it back.
He cashes his chips in. “Three hundred smackers for ten minutes work, that’s the way I do it.” He congratulates himself again. “Follow me Dan.” We walk past three more roulette wheels and tables for poker and pontoon. Most men are in black tie suits to intimidate each other. I am feeling more sober, but still manage to bump into the last table I pass; I can feel a grazed welt develop on my right thigh. I am so busy trying to right myself that I am through yet another curtained door and into the night before I enquire about the nightcap.
“Robert, I thought we had another drink. Not that I mind if you want to go back now…” There at the bottom of the stairs is a clothed Mirabel. She is the first woman since my mother that I had experienced mostly naked before I saw her clothed. Her brown leather bomber jacket and knee length skirt don’t suit or seem to fit her; they are someone else’s.
“I am so delighted you are to have another drink with me. We walk, not far away.” We are behind the casino; there are no heavy-handed streetlights illuminating this side of the square. We are soon turning into a narrow road of well-kept houses.
“Great, so you are from Senegal. That’s west coast of Africa isn’t it?” I chivvy our walk along with some geography.
“Yes I think so. I have not been for long time.” I am uneasy about her sketchiness. She doesn’t exactly offer a flood of information about the geo-political system in modern Africa.
“Isn’t Dakar the capital? Have you seen the Rally?”
“Stop boring the girl, she will fall asleep on the kerb in a minute.” Robert calls for less chatter.
“It is the next house on the right.” She runs ahead slightly to open a black metal gate that is as high as her six-foot frame.
I hold Robert back a little. “What’s happening here? We are just having a drink.” I whisper so much I don’t think either of them heard me. I suspect what is happening; so weak Daniel, how utterly stupid. From minute one Robert has wanted this. This is the ultimate test of my bravado. But I will play his game, I will go along with it and when I am in the bedroom alone with her I will slip her a few Euros to say I was the best shag since Casanova.
We enter her ground level flat. She lights some tall candles by the door to provide just enough light for our safe entry. Maybe she wants to save the planet as well. I hate the smell of sulphur; a deathly smell but a warm vanilla fragrance subsumes it soon enough.
“I am not sure I can…” Robert hears me waver as we close the door. Mirabel readies herself in another room.
“Stop Dan. This is it, your last chance to dip your wick in some tasty honey. Sophia is still shaggable I know, but you will be having her for years to come. You have to do the business for the guys. They all chipped in for you, you can’t let them down. Just imagine that po-faced Johnny’s gob when you tell him. Just imagine how jealous that sad fucker of a boss of yours will be. We will all have something to bring us together after this, you have to…”
Mirabel returns in a basque. She walks straight to me and pushes those sensational lip pillows onto my cheek. I shiver as she holds my hand and leads me to a small bathroom.
“Clean yourself underneath and then we have beautiful time together. Here paper towels and a bin.” The dinginess is too much; I have to put a light on in here. Unfortunately at the wash basin, I see what others have been looking at for hours; my long hair matted ridiculously at each side of my face. I drop my trousers and push my hips forward to take a leak, holding a straight arm on the wall for steadiness. The pizza repeats on me; a little bit of vomit escapes onto my tongue. It burns my throat.
I wash my hands; I have no need to wash any other body parts as they are going to stay in my trousers.
She comes to meet me outside the toilet; she puts a hand over my penis. “You super clean boy now?” I flush a little at lying to her. Robert must be in the kitchen as there is a light on at the other end of the hallway. More candles in the bedroom; a gothic arrangement either side of the bed throws scant light onto a cushion strewn mattress on the floor. Her wiry hair is fixed close to her head in braids; I wonder how different it would look unleashed. A presence moves across the far side of the room, obscured by the streaming of the candlelight. It is a trap, we are going to be beaten and robbed.
“Robert!” I shout to see if he is still conscious in the kitchen, as I take two slow steps back to the door.
“Not so loud old boy,” he answers back from three yards away. “Hey, now dont get intimidated by my prowess.”
“What do you mean?
“We have paid for a double header.” As he steps across the minimal light from the far set of candles I see he is stripped to his underpants. Too much flesh surrounds me.
“You don’t mean a threesome do you?”
“No chance you gay bastard. We just both take turns for a ride. You can have first go if you really want but I would prefer not to have sloppy seconds.” Mirabel is plumping cushions; cocooned in cheap home furnishings, waiting for insertion. Her breasts barely move as she takes her basque off; they have a different quality now that they are touchable. I am a few feet away from touching my first black breast, but they have lost their allure now I know we have paid for access. Her facial features are hardened by the transaction; she knows she has to deliver as well. She has seamlessly moved from innocent enticement to hard-nosed naked businesswoman. There was something girlish about her in the club; she has betrayed that falsehood now.
“I’m not sure if I’m ready. Why don’t you go first Robert?” Maybe I can slip out while he is in flagrante delicto. Maybe I can say I don’t fancy going second. Maybe I can claim brewers droop.
Robert jumps onto the bed straight onto his knees. While he is airborne he slips his underpants from his crotch to his calves and throws them at the wall behind him. He holds his cock and pumps himself a few times to maximise his hardness.
“Can I get a suck first?” he enquires.
“Pay extra yes?” Robert stays kneeling while those perfect pillows slip over and up his cock; they are innocence violated. He controls her rhythm by holding the back of her head.
“No more, I will come. I want to fuck doggy-style now.” He reaches for and applies a condom from a box on the floor with one hand. He flips her over and pulls her hips back onto him. He smacks her right buttock and she responds with a moan. He smacks her again and frantically pulls her hips back and forth like she is a masturbation machine. Again a smack but this time it produces a whelping noise from her.
“No hard please,” she asks in between breaths.
Again a slap but this time he changes angle and hits her outer thigh. Robert comes like an apology; a short ohh greets his end. He grabs her breasts as a last thrill for his money as he pulls himself out.
“Your turn Dan, I am just going to put the spunk in the toilet. I need a dump as well.” He walks out proudly displaying a semi-erect penis.
This is my chance; I sit on the bed while she turns around. “I am sorry about my friend, Mirabel. He is rough with you.”
“He is not first. You will come now?”
“No. I can’t do this; it is not right for me.”
“I am not right for you.” The smell of the candles is intense now; I waft it away and point my nose towards the back of the bed to get respite.
“No, no. We got on well in the club. But I can’t have sex with anyone other than who I choose. I mean, just say to Robert that we had a quickie, you sucked me and I came…
“Dan, let’s see you ready for action then.” Robert is back.
“I think I can’t get it up with all the drink.”
“Get it out and give the girl a ride you prick. Or should I say get your prick out and give the girl a ride.” I unbutton my cuffs and pull my shirt over my head, revealing Juliet’s un-filled bra. Why do I have to be here? My top button on my well-worn jeans pop open with much ease and fall to bind my ankles. I feel the goading presence of the bully behind me. Mirabel props herself up again with the cushions and lies with her legs open and knees in the air. I get that primal urge that you always get from the certainty and thrill that soon you will enter a vagina; a warm glow from my loin that I struggle to hold back. I imagine holding onto my boy at the airport, I will never let him go; this image of purity starts to combat my animal.
“Look it isn’t happening down there.” I only have Juliet’s knickers left as a barrier.
“Get on with it man. Get your knickers off you pervert.” He must be luxuriating in this farcical image.
What would this girl’s father have wanted for her? Maybe he wanted a small family, or for her to get a job in a new factory unlike her homebound mother. Not great dreams, not asking much. The man’s beautiful daughter is laid before me opening her deep charcoal black vulva with two fingers. This doesn’t fit into a father’s life of dreams. I bow my head to him, I am sorry for my part in this man’s torn life and degradation.
I crawl onto the bed, with her crotch directly below my nose. The smell of other people’s sex turns my stomach. It is an act I didn’t want to witness and certainly don’t want to smell. My nose catches a hint of rubber from the used condom and I can’t hold back. It is not so much vomit but a spray hose of watered down wine that saves me. I bow my head slightly to direct it away from her stomach and onto the whitish sheets. A violet red patch forms easily; leaving pools and eddies like when the tide goes out. She squeals as I inevitably splash her inner thighs; she holds her hands together over her mouth, wrapped in disgust. This conjures a vivid picture for me. I did not have such a clear view of Bepe’s delivery but I imagine him emerging from this mess. My bottom lip quivers as I remember the vaguely green coating he had all over his body. I had not really expected a baby to appear; we were there so long I had forgotten what we were there for. I think I have been in shock ever since. Bepe’s arrival should have provoked what Wednesday’s re-birth eventually did. I can feel him in my bones now; there is no truer feeling, no scarier thought than losing him.
“You bastard Robert. You pushed me to this. All the way you push me.” I wipe vomit from my hand as I stand to confront him. “No more now. I have had enough now.” He has no retort to the shock of this gruesome scene.
“You finish off for me if you can work round the vomit. I’ve had enough of your little man shit. I am off.” This has given me the excuse to disappear with a high moral tone.
I need to change in more ways than one. Vomit on Juliet’s knickers reminds me how close I came to violating my principles. It looks as if I am bleeding from a chopped off emasculated penis but I can start by getting out of here fast. My shirt and trousers slip on in indignation over Juliet’s bra and knickers.
“I can’t be with you Robert. Mirabel I am sorry.” I walk away with some pride. Saved by the sick maybe but I am proud of not prostituting myself.
I am most proud of where my Bepe is in my heart. I leave the front door with a stagger; I am not out of the grip of alcohol yet. I slam the metal gate shut behind me. The phosphorescent hue of the centre of town is ahead. I need to repent my soul; I need a wee.
CHAPTER 32
Dan 02.10
Thump-thump, thumpety-thump. My heartbeat explodes in my skin; seemingly seeking a weak point for exit. It normally beats incongruously, but now shows its power. I thank it for its continuance without demanding my conscious effort. It is only revealed because it is working hard, but why now? Water pours beside me; incessant, demanding, flowing, commanding. Its constancy leads me to suspect a natural source, although a hosepipe might do it. No, it is a natural source and I feel carried along with it.
Salt
water kisses my lips. I had felt water on my face but now I can smell and taste it, the rest of my body is temporarily unknown to me. There is a sweet warm smell in the air that I cannot locate. I want to go back to sleep, circumstances have worn me out. Without opening my eyes fully I sense light above me, but I am largely in the dark. I don’t think I am moving but the water force might be carrying me along; maybe I am a twig buffeted on a stream. I want to stop the water, turn it off now. I gingerly lift my head to scan my prone body, although it is still truncated from feeling. I am intact but my penis pokes curiously from my trousers; a mole sniffing the air before departing his burrow. I pop him back in but he is shrivelled to a bump; why have I no underpants on? I was once asked what I did for a living while a nurse stared intently at my member for any sign of sexual disease; I waited for my dick to reply. Why am I unzipped now?
Thump-thump, thumpety-thump. A nearby club plays trance tunes that echo in the space around me. I drop my head back onto hard ground; rocks and a little vegetation cradle it. It is difficult to rest it without sharpness in the back of my cranium. The jet-black sky is littered with stars. I look to my left and see my arm draped in a river; the force of which powers a foot away from my head.
I remember now I needed to pee in the middle of town. I found some metal steps leading down to the river and thought it might be discreet. I wanted to get to the riverside before unleashing myself but found a locked metal stepladder at the far end of the platform blocked my way. Six feet or more above me is the metal platform I stood on to wee, from which I must have fallen. The sweet smell is the result of my core body warmth heating up the urine puddle I must be lying in. The last thing I remember from up there was the expansive splash that my wee made on the rocks below from a height. I can move all my limbs but the night air numbs them. I touch my face on the left side, it leaving small traces of either blood or mud on my fingers. My left shoulder has taken a beating. My physical preoccupation is to escape, bruised and battered. How long have I been here?
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