Renee led the way to a small couch and sat down, putting what she was beginning to think of as "her burden" between herself and Fran.
Slowly, the room started to fill. Renee realized mostly with men. But here and there a man and a woman edged in and took seats near the back.
"Where are we?" The voice was thick, uncertain.
"Do you remember our conversation?"
There was a pause and Renee could almost see the wheels grinding slowly in her companion's head. Finally he nodded. "Yes. I remember."
"Well?"
"Oh!" The man lifted his head and looked around carefully. Renee noticed he was avoiding sudden movements. He had broadly chiseled features. High cheekbones, heavily slabbed cheeks, a broad forehead with his eyes dug in, deeply separated by a thick nose already dented, as if it had been broken and improperly. In a way, his appearance gave Renee a feeling of confidence.
"My name is Alex," he rumbled suddenly.
"I'm Renee."
"Sorry about being drunk. Thought you could tell."
Renee blushed and shook her head. "Not until you stood up."
"That bad?"
Renee nodded.
The man started staring around the room. His eyes lingered. It was almost as if he took the room piece by piece and memorized each section carefully.
"Alex," Renee stumbled, then hurried on. "If you want to go, you're not obligated to stay."
"I paid my money, didn't I?"
Renee started to say something. Then thought better of it and shut her mouth. If he knew she paid he ought make a scene giving her the money back – or just walk out.
The whorehouse didn't give her enough confidence to want to be left alone. And, strangely, even though Alex was less than fully alert, he exuded a sort of physical strength that reassured her.
Finally, Alex scratched at his head awkwardly. "Look," he said. "I don't know how to say this, but you were probably right about not wanting to come here alone. The best thing, I think, is for you to pretend I'm your husband. It satisfies a lot of conventions down here."
Renee blushed. Not because he said it, but because of what she was feeling at the thought of actually being married to Alex. She nodded. And then she realized the two of them had been overlooking Fran.
She leaned across Alex toward Fran and quivered at the feel of his heat seeping into her.
"Really," Fran was saying. "I don't know where he came from. My friend was afraid to come here alone so she picked him up." Fran's voice took on a pained tone as she shifted gears. "We don't even know what his name is."
Renee groaned to herself. Fran was prattling on to some good-looking Mexican a little younger than herself, who had somehow managed to convince the couch to hold four instead of three.
He was nodding his head and answering quietly like a star-struck swain basking in Fran's beauty and the dumb cluck was eating it up.
The less he said, the more she had to say. Fran was running on and on about Eureka and what a regular little Peyton Place it was. Renee groaned and sat back. It was too late to talk her into being coy now.
"Too late?"
Renee nodded.
"It's all right." Alex rested his hand gently on her knee. "Nothing can happen here."
"I know." Just as gently, but much more firmly, Renee moved his hand off her knee.
"All right!" he chuckled.
Renee giggled and patted his hand.
Suddenly the lights went off and they sat in pitch blackness. There was the sound of bare feet padding by them. Then the other sounds she couldn't identify in the center of the room.
It was eerie. Scary.
Instinctively, Renee moved against Alex. Just as instinctively, his arm went around her and she didn't squirm away.
She sat rigid, staring into the darkness, then the music started. A slow, throbbing beat that matched the tempo of Alex's heart against her body.
Renee quivered, willing the lights to stay down. Afraid to want to see what they would reveal when they came on.
Her body was threatening to betray her.
Fear and excitement. She couldn't separate them, one from the other. She knew she was one or the other. One or the other…
CHAPTER THREE
For a brief instant, the light blinded Renee, and then she lost interest in Fran and her Latin Romeo.
Standing in the center of the stage area was a swarthy skinned Mexican wearing a sombrero and hip-high riding boots, and nothing else. Dangling between his legs was the longest penis Renee had ever seen. She couldn't help gasping as she realized it almost reached the man's knee.
When he was sure he had everyone's attention, the Mexican raised his hands and said, "Amigas y amigos, we are about to begin the show for your edification. I wan' to tell you what it is the ladies like." His hand had crept down to his thigh and he was slowly massaging his massive cock.
Starting in the back of the room and spreading toward the front, a low snicker welled from the audience.
A pained expression showed on the Mexican's face and he waggled his hands negatively. "No, no, no. It is not what you are thinking. No! It is that the ladies they like the well-dressed man. Like me!" With his free hand he indicated his sombrero and boots.
The audience laughed, Renee hardly noticed. She wasn't able to take her eyes off that huge prick and his slowly moving hand. It was still limp. But even while she watched, she could see the blood surging into it, swelling the purplish head and giving his long prick a slight bow.
"No!" the Mexican continued. "I am just joking you. No. It is really the music the ladies like. Look, I show you. I play my flute and like a snake they come."
Through his half-closed tipsy the Mexican hummed a strange, nerve-tingling tune. His hands began to strain and tear at his dangling cock. Slowly, it filled, swelled, rose up. The foreskin pulled back from the enlarged glans, exposing it to the hot lights. It was a dark, shiny purple.
The humming became more and more intense and the audience leaned forward. Renee felt a tightening between her thighs. An aching hunger. She didn't want to feel it. But she couldn't stop herself. She couldn't take her eyes off those moving hands.
She almost sobbed out loud. She didn't want to look. It was the same as it had been earlier when she watched the movies. Her hips started sliding back and forth on the couch.
The humming stopped. Looking around the room, seeming to look directly into Renee's eyes, the Mexican said, "Aha! You thought something was going to happen, didn't you?"
A sailor gave a wolf whistle.
The Mexican wagged his finger at him. "No sweetie. Later!" He frowned and began rubbing his prick again. "This time, I play a different tune." Only he began humming the same tune as before.
Within seconds three women were on the stage, rubbing against him. They were completely naked and they straddled his thighs, rubbing their vaginas against his leg, pressing their hard nipples against his arms and his chest.
He let go of his cock, now fully erect, and began to stroke a different woman with each hand. On his right was a tall, bleached blonde. He grabbed her tit in his fist and crushed it. She squealed and jerked against him. And then she was moaning and crying as he rhythmically milked the soft globe.
His other hand stroked the slender back and buttocks of a shorter, younger girl. He jiggled the firm cheeks of her butt. His fingers probed at the juncture of her thighs.
He whispered something and she put her hands on his shoulder, leaning against him and spreading her legs wide.
While Renee watched, shocked, the Mexican's fingers burrowed into the heavy hair of the girl's crotch and forced the pink lips apart. Then his thick fingers were slowly working their way into her, disappearing from sight.