that would have old Ringo
squirming in his pants if he knew about it. You know that cat up there with Chita?
The cat she’s doing all the moaning about?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“His name’s Pancho. And this’ll bust you up, Lily. He’s Chita’s brother.”
“What?”
Cassie’s eyes sparkled. “Her brother, Lily. I swear to God. One night Chita got smashed
on tequila and put me hip. She told me he was the first guy who ever made it with
her, when she was twelve and he was fourteen. He caught her while she was taking a
bath and he copped her cherry before she knew what it was all about. They’ve been
making it ever since. She takes all the tricks she can handle, but Pancho’s the only
cat who ever gets her for free.”
“I suppose they want to keep it in the family.”
“I don’t know what it is, but that’s how it swings. And if Ringo knew about it, you
can bet he’d put the audience wise. Can you imagine watching a chick making it with
her brother?”
“If that’s her kick,” Lily said, “then more power to her. But why in hell did she
stop moaning? Are they done?”
“They’re not done.”
“So why no moans and groans?”
“Because they’re doing it another way,” Cassie said, a silly smile on her thin face.
“And she can’t moan now, Lily. It’s impossible.”
* * *
Meg was still shaking. Her body ached dully with desire and throbbed with need. The
house lights were on now, and the waiter was bringing them a fresh bottle of tequila,
and the same intrepid trio was playing mariachi music. But Meg’s mind still whirled
with the memory of the Mexican guy and the Mexican gal, loving like savages in the
spotlight just a few yards away.
There had been a moment when she had almost left her chair, had very nearly torn off
her own clothing and leaped onto the stage to join in the fun. She had wanted to throw
herself upon the contorted bodies on the bed, had wanted to add her own sweat to the
pool of perspiration upon the black sheet. But she had controlled herself until the
impulse passed.
She looked at Marty. It was strange—she was very highly sexed-up now, so much so that
she felt ready to explode, but still she had no immediate desire to make love to Marty.
He was a perfect lover and the whole night long had never failed to excite her. But
now she was more concerned with a different sort of excitement. The show was driving
her mad, not because she needed a man’s embrace but because it was so exotic, so forbidden.
There was a genuinely evil aspect to it, and this sense of evil was driving her wild.
Now Marty was sniffing the air, a bemused expression on his face. “That smell,” he
said. “Do you recognize it?”
“No.”
“Ever smoke marijuana?”
“Never.”
“That’s what it is,” he told her. “And somebody’s smoking one whole hell of a lot
of it.”
“Isn’t it illegal in Mexico?”
“Sure, but so’s prostitution. Like to try some?”
“I don’t know. What will it do to me?”
“Probably knock you on your ear. Not like alcohol. You won’t pass out. You’ll just
get higher and higher.”
She was already wonderfully high, but she wanted more, more of everything. She told
him to get some and he called the waiter over to the table.
“Marijuana,” he said. “Four or five cigarettes.”
When the waiter came back, leaving five slender brown cigarettes with twisted ends
on the table, Marty handed one to her and put another between his own lips. He lit
them both and she took a drag of hers. It tasted a little like a Turkish cigarette
she had smoked once. She did not particularly like or dislike the taste.
“Hold the smoke in your lungs longer,” Marty suggested.
“Why?”
“So you absorb it into your bloodstream. That’s what gets you high. The more you get
into your blood, the higher you get and the faster you get there. Just hold it as
long as you can.”
Meg closed
squirming in his pants if he knew about it. You know that cat up there with Chita?
The cat she’s doing all the moaning about?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“His name’s Pancho. And this’ll bust you up, Lily. He’s Chita’s brother.”
“What?”
Cassie’s eyes sparkled. “Her brother, Lily. I swear to God. One night Chita got smashed
on tequila and put me hip. She told me he was the first guy who ever made it with
her, when she was twelve and he was fourteen. He caught her while she was taking a
bath and he copped her cherry before she knew what it was all about. They’ve been
making it ever since. She takes all the tricks she can handle, but Pancho’s the only
cat who ever gets her for free.”
“I suppose they want to keep it in the family.”
“I don’t know what it is, but that’s how it swings. And if Ringo knew about it, you
can bet he’d put the audience wise. Can you imagine watching a chick making it with
her brother?”
“If that’s her kick,” Lily said, “then more power to her. But why in hell did she
stop moaning? Are they done?”
“They’re not done.”
“So why no moans and groans?”
“Because they’re doing it another way,” Cassie said, a silly smile on her thin face.
“And she can’t moan now, Lily. It’s impossible.”
* * *
Meg was still shaking. Her body ached dully with desire and throbbed with need. The
house lights were on now, and the waiter was bringing them a fresh bottle of tequila,
and the same intrepid trio was playing mariachi music. But Meg’s mind still whirled
with the memory of the Mexican guy and the Mexican gal, loving like savages in the
spotlight just a few yards away.
There had been a moment when she had almost left her chair, had very nearly torn off
her own clothing and leaped onto the stage to join in the fun. She had wanted to throw
herself upon the contorted bodies on the bed, had wanted to add her own sweat to the
pool of perspiration upon the black sheet. But she had controlled herself until the
impulse passed.
She looked at Marty. It was strange—she was very highly sexed-up now, so much so that
she felt ready to explode, but still she had no immediate desire to make love to Marty.
He was a perfect lover and the whole night long had never failed to excite her. But
now she was more concerned with a different sort of excitement. The show was driving
her mad, not because she needed a man’s embrace but because it was so exotic, so forbidden.
There was a genuinely evil aspect to it, and this sense of evil was driving her wild.
Now Marty was sniffing the air, a bemused expression on his face. “That smell,” he
said. “Do you recognize it?”
“No.”
“Ever smoke marijuana?”
“Never.”
“That’s what it is,” he told her. “And somebody’s smoking one whole hell of a lot
of it.”
“Isn’t it illegal in Mexico?”
“Sure, but so’s prostitution. Like to try some?”
“I don’t know. What will it do to me?”
“Probably knock you on your ear. Not like alcohol. You won’t pass out. You’ll just
get higher and higher.”
She was already wonderfully high, but she wanted more, more of everything. She told
him to get some and he called the waiter over to the table.
“Marijuana,” he said. “Four or five cigarettes.”
When the waiter came back, leaving five slender brown cigarettes with twisted ends
on the table, Marty handed one to her and put another between his own lips. He lit
them both and she took a drag of hers. It tasted a little like a Turkish cigarette
she had smoked once. She did not particularly like or dislike the taste.
“Hold the smoke in your lungs longer,” Marty suggested.
“Why?”
“So you absorb it into your bloodstream. That’s what gets you high. The more you get
into your blood, the higher you get and the faster you get there. Just hold it as
long as you can.”
Meg closed
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