Frankie took Cynthia to the "960 Club", a small nightclub on south State Street where, he said, the feature attraction of the show was a friend of his, Flossie McNamara, who was billed as Torchy Night, the Latin bombshell. After the show, he added, we can go backstage if you'd like, and meet some of the cast. Cynthia was pleased by the idea of actually being able to go behind the scenes and looked about her with interest as they sat at the bar, perched on high stools.
The club was small, consisting of a large rectangular bar with a scarlet curtained stage at one end, its floor on a level with the bar, and few small tables scattered along the sides. The floor was carpeted with a thick, scarlet rug and three of the walls were entirely covered with mirrors while the fourth was draped with the same scarlet material which curtained the stage. The ceiling was black, studded with stars which twinkled softly and afforded the only illumination in the room. In the dim light she could see in the mirror Frankie and herself reflected back a dozen times, his rugged darkness strikingly paired with her own blondness. On a small platform in front of the stage a four-piece combo was beating out a popular song. Frankie explained that when the show started the platform sank down to the floor, permitting a clear view of the stage, and that the girls not only used the stage for their acts but also walked along the top of the bar.
Torchy's appearance was heralded by a roll of drums, the darkening of the overhead lights and a white spotlight shining on the curtains which slowly parted. And there was Torchy, dressed in a tight, black evening gown, she looked like a black, sinuous mermaid for the dress was covered with shiny sequins which glittered and sparked in the spotlight like the scales of an iridescent fish and hugged each curve like a rubber glove. Except for her arms, which were encased in long, mesh gloves, the dress covered her completely and was fastened at the neck by a narrow collar of sequins. On her head was a glistening, winged cap which came down over her ears and held back the long black hair which rippled almost to her waist. One hand on her thrust-out hip, the other holding a long cigarette-holder, she was completely motionless, a shimmering statue against the red drapes, the blackness of her costume relieved only by her white, red-nailed hands, her face, chalky in the light, and her black eyes and full red lips.
As the music softly throbbed, she slowly moved her arm, took a drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke through her nostrils. She began to sing a torch song, her voice deep and husky, caressing each word and note, intimate and seductive. At first she barely moved her body, but as the song became more passionate she started to weave her shoulders and hips. Two long slashes of startling white flesh suddenly appeared; her dress was slit both from the collar to the waist and from the floor up to her thigh. With her eyes closed, her head and shoulders thrown hack, swaying in time to the music, the slit widened to show the rising curves of her breasts, framed by the jet-blackness of her gown. The music swelled up in strong, rhythmic beats and she glided languidly about the stage, her body undulating like a glittering, black serpent, her eyes staring brazenly at the audience through half-closed lids. Against the black inverted V of her skirt, her legs flickered in and out, their whiteness and nudity accentuated.
Then, as the spotlight changed to a soft rose, she unfastened some hooks at her neck and waist and the dress suddenly fell away. Like a statue of pink alabaster, her skin glowed with the soft luster of a seashell's interior. Her breasts and sex were covered with narrow satin strips, its color so nearly the same rosy hue as her skin that she seemed to be really nude, and it was only the long, pink fringe, hanging over the material, which betrayed the illusion. Swinging like moving fingers over the strong jut of her mound and over the plump orbs of her haunches, their ends caressed her lush thighs, the inner sides of which softly rubbed together as she rolled her hips in large circles and slowly revolved around the stage. Living the throbbing, sensual beat of the music, her body undulated suggestively, lewdly, her arms raised above her head, entwining and parting in the flowing movements of an Oriental dancer; her torso weaving in circles, her entire body seemed taut with sexual tension, but at the same time relaxed and languorous; the curtains of fringe swayed like the tentacles of a pink jelly-fish, drawing attention to the proud, pointed breasts, arched high, and to the hidden center of her sex.
As the spotlight followed her, bathing her in a pink sea of light, she sauntered slowly onto the bar and walked along its top. Leisurely she moved, gracefully and deliberately, her shoulders, breasts and hips pulsating in time to the music. Her heels clicked on the hard wood and as she passed, a pungent scent of musky perfume came from her body. Looking upward, following the long sweep of her legs which widened and met at the apex of her sex, one could see a faint film of sweat which coated her body like a pink dew.
When she had circled the bar and returned to the stage, she put her hands behind her. When she brought them forward again she was holding the two satin strips which she tossed to the side. Her breasts and the lower part of her belly were now covered only by the pink fringe. Her movements became more intense and erotic, and the thin curtains swayed to and fro as she threw her torso into violent contortions, permitting glimpses of the firm twin arcs of her breasts, tipped with hard rosy buds and the large pad of her sex, covered only by a G-string. The spotlight dimmed, shadowing more deeply the tapering under-slope of her breasts, molding more richly the turning curves of her body and legs, accentuating the glistening, pink highlights on her thrusting breasts and belly and swirling buttocks. Her legs spread wide, she bent backwards, her long, black hair sweeping the floor while she swayed her torso so the fringe fell back and one could see only the long inverted V of her legs, climaxing at the wide open mat of her wide spread crotch, as wide as a hand and above it her breasts, completely nude and pointing upward like two cones. When she stood up again, she moved onto the bar and once more circled it, rolling her hips, thrusting out her pelvis, contorting her torso into erotic positions until her entire body seemed to be vibrating with sexual passion. With her heavy-lidded eyes frank and inviting, her hair floating behind her, her tongue sliding over her wet, red lips, her hands moved heavily down on her breasts, caressed the swell of her hips and slipped up her thighs to her mound, which she slowly and suggestively rubbed.
Once back on the stage, she quickly tore off the fringes and stood posed for a few moments in the rosy spotlight, entirely nude except for the almost imperceptible G-string. Then she ran off the stage. The curtains closed and the house lights came on again.
Cynthia was still staring wide-eyed at the closed curtains, her mouth partly open, when she felt Frankie's arm around her waist.
"Well, that's Torchy. How do you like her, baby?" Frankie said.
"She's terrific! I've never seen anyone like her before."
"Yeah. The greatest. How'd you like to meet her?"
"Oh, I'd love to. But what about the other acts?"
"Most of them are real drags. Come on, let's cool it backstage. I've already cleared it with Joe."
"Who's Joe?"
"He runs the joint. Come on."
As the curtains parted for another act, they went through a door near the bar and found themselves in a different world. In the bar everything had been clean and luxurious; here was dirt, confusion and the smell of powder perfume and sweat. Next to the stage sat a heavily made-up girl with red hair, sprawled on a broken down chair and smoking a cigarette. When she saw Frankie, she quickly sat up and straightened her dress.
"Hi, Frankie. What brings you here, darling?" she said, looking at him through heavily mascaraed lids. She stared rudely at Cynthia as if to add, "And what the hell are you doing here?"
"Hello Gypsy. Havin' a ball?" Frankie said.
"You kiddin'? There's about as much chance havin' a ball in this joint as havin' one at a meeting of the D.A.R.. Jeez!"
"What in hell are you complaining about? You're making some bucks, aren't you?" He stared back at her, a disgusted look on his face.
"Yeah, but for what? Put your clothes on, take 'em off to tantalize the bug-eyes out there," she said, jerking her thumb toward the bar, "put 'em back on, go out and hustle for drinks, change costumes, take your clothes off again, and so on and so on. My God, my skin feels like it's gettin' in-grown zippers."
"Good old Gypsy. Always complaining. I'll see you later."
"Don't I know it," she yelled after him and watched them sullenly as they walked down the corridor.
"What's she so stirred up about?" Cynthia asked.
"Aw, she bugs me," Frankie said. "Always biting her tongue. I got her this job and now she's putting it down. I'm about fed up with her."
Cynthia looked at him perplexedly wondering what the story was between them. She felt a twinge of jealousy that there should be something between Frankie and Gypsy, and then was surprised at her own feeling.
He took her by the arm and steered her around a corner. A girl sauntered out of a dressing room, completely nude, smoking a cigarette, and clicked down the hall on high heels into another room. Several girls walked by, smiled warmly at Frankie and greeted him by name. One of them was Torchy, now dressed in a tight, white gown.
"Frankie, darling? How are you?" she crooned and then kissed him.
"Fine, Torchy. Where you off to? I'd like to have you meet Cynthia here," he said.
"Hello honey," she smiled at Cynthia. "How do you like this rat nest?"
"Oh, I… I… really, I think it's exciting," Cynthia said. She was somewhat awed by all the activity backstage and the glimpses of nude women through the open dressing-room doors.
"How about a talk someplace, Torchy? I promised Cynthia a real look at you!" He laughed, winked at Torchy and patted her plump haunch.
"Hell, Frankie, I've got to go out and hustle drinks. Sorry, honey," she said, looking at Cynthia. "But why don't you go in my room back there and make yourselves at home?"
"Okay," Frankie said. "See you later."
They walked back to Torchy's dressing room which, as she was one of the stars, she shared only with two other girls. It was a small cubicle, with two dressing tables at one side, their tops littered with jars and bottles of cream and perfume, lipstick tubes and mascara brushes, loose bobby pins and spilled powder, and a hundred other items, all jumbled together in a hopeless mess. Against one wall was an open closet, bulging with costumes and dresses, some dirty and frayed with torn hems hanging limply. On the chairs were scattered other costumes and a few G-strings piled in wrinkled masses, mesh brassieres and filmy panties flung over the backs, while on the floor were spike-heeled shoes, red, black, lavender, lying where they had been taken off together with a pair of soiled underpants and a litter of spilled pins, bits of thread and scraps of paper; while over all, the sweet heavy odor of talcum powder and perfume mingled with the acrid scent of female sweat. From the bare, glaring light bulb suspended from the ceiling hung Torchy's pink G-string, still swaying slightly.
"Home, sweet home," Frankie said.
"How do they ever find anything to put on in this mess?" Cynthia laughed as she peered in the door.
"No trouble there – the customers like it better if they don't find anything to put on."
They walked into the room.
"How about a drink?" he said. He brushed a pile of clothes from a chair onto the floor and picked up a bottle of cheap whiskey which was standing under it. He fished around in the litter on the table until he found two glasses, both dirty and rimmed with lipstick. He splashed some liquor in the glasses.
"Here, have a slug."
But as he raised his head, he saw Cynthia in the mirror. She was standing behind him, looking around at the costumes and G-strings at the tables covered with cosmetics, her eyes dreaming and wondering. Putting the glasses down, he turned around.
"You're a strange chick, baby," he said. "Damn if I don't think you're somewhat shocked by all this." He paused. "Are you?"
"No," she said slowly, looking at him wide eyed. "If anything, it sort of excites me." She laughed, a rosy flush creeping up her tanned cheeks.
He stared at her a moment and then reached out and took her roughly in his arms. Tilting back her head, he pressed her lips against his and felt her body, at first tense, slowly relax as he kissed her warmly and deeply. But then she began to struggle and push him away, glancing at the door.
"Really," she panted, "should we being doing this here?" She gestured toward the open door.
"You kidding?" he grinned. "If anything, they'd gather around to watch, and then hire us as a new act."
He leaned against the dressing-table and folded his arms, his long legs stretched out before him.
"But if you're worried, baby, we can always close the door, and in the meantime, relax and have a drink."
He handed her a glass.
"Oh, it's not that. It's just that… well… I just…" She stammered and then stopped. "I'd just like to look around a little. It's all so new."
She took a large gulp of the whiskey, coughed at its rawness and moved slowly around the room. She fingered Torchy's pink tasseled brassiere, held up a wisp of black panties and glanced up at the G-string dangling from the light cord. Pausing in front of the closet, she ran her hand along the bright line of costumes and evening dresses, picked up the skirt of a blue satin gown and rubbed it against her face. Finally she put out a tight, black evening gown and walked over to the mirror; she posed in front of it holding the dress against her.
"Why don't you try it on?" Frankie said.
"Oh, could I? Do you not think they would mind?"
"Sure, go ahead. Try everything on, if you want."
He reached up and pulled the G-string from the cord.
"How about this? You'd look fine in it."
"Well, shut the door then, and turn around while I change."
"Why the bashful act? Think I've never seen a nude woman before?"
"No, I just want to be in the other costume before you see me."
"Well, okay, but there's better things to look at in this joint than a dirty wall. I'll be back in five minutes."
She watched him as he walked over to the door and shut it behind him. A tingle of anticipation prickled in her belly. Seems the strippers flaunting their nude flesh had made her want to imitate them and eager to try on their costumes so she could see how she, herself, looked. And above all, she wanted to display herself to Frankie.
Quickly she stripped off her clothes and put on a black G-string, fitting the small swatch of silk over her mound and adjusting the almost invisible string over her haunches. Next she found a black mesh brassiere, really only half a brassiere, for it came up only to her nipples, supporting the soft under part of her breasts and leaving the top half free. Picking up a rouge stick, she reddened and rubbed her nipples until they stood out like two crimson eyes. Then she slipped on a short gauze jacket beneath which her golden skin glowed warmly, and a short black skirt which cinched over her belly and hung in two sections, slit at the sides, one panel covering the triangle of her pubic hair and the other, her full, ripe buttocks. Here and there the black satin was slashed in the pattern of large flowers, gauze-covered, her tawny skin showing through the mesh like pale copper flowers lying on a black field. She combed out her long, blond hair so it rippled freely down over her shoulders, applied a slash of bright red lipstick to her mouth and a heavy coat of dark mascara to her thick eyelashes. Running a finger over the exotic labels on the row of perfume bottles, she picked out a heavy, spicy scent and sprayed herself liberally.
Just then she heard the door open and she turned around to see Frankie standing in the doorway, staring at her.
She laughed and said, "How do I look?"
He continued to stare at her without saying a word for a few moments and then whistled. He shut the door and turned the key in the lock.
"Baby, I'd hire you in a second."
Poised on her high heels, she revolved slowly before him.
"All we need is some music," she said.
"We can supply our own music," he said, as he started toward her.
"No, wait," she said. "Let me take it off first."
He paused, watching her, his eyes narrowed, following the golden curves of her body as she took off the jacket and the skirt. She stood before him, the firm upper swell of her breasts protruding out above the black mesh of the half-brassiere, the nipples swollen and rouged. On her loins the small patch of silk lay like a painted black leaf, accentuating the tawny tan of her full hips and thighs. She turned around, her haunches rotating slowly, their orbs rising and falling, a thin dew of perfume still lingering on the small of the back and filming the downy hair which traced a pale line from her navel to her mound. Her back to him, she tossed back her hair and arched her breasts, watching him in the mirror, as he stared at her, holding his breath. Their eyes met in the mirror and as he started for her, she turned and leaped toward him, scissoring his waist with her bare legs and flinging her arms around his neck. His hands under her buttocks, holding her against him he buried his head in her chest and sucked the nipple of her breast into his mouth. They fell over onto the floor, tipping over a chair, their limbs and bodies writhing on the floor amongst the scattered costumes and spilled powder.
He ripped off her G-string with one quick jerk of his strong, lean hands and at the same time she heard the harsh metal grate of his zipper ripping down the front of his trousers. Pinioning her on the hard wooden floor with his arms, he insinuated his pulsating cock between the warm, flowing lips of her tight, already throbbing vagina and without halting for a moment stabbed upwards.
"Oooooooh," Cynthia cringed before the sudden entry as she felt his hard male flesh slithering deep up inside her. He penetrated her so deeply on the first thrust their short pubic hair twisted and tangled together as he ground his pelvis tightly down into her loins. The soft skin of his testicles brushed teasingly against the now widely exposed lips of her soft sensitive anus nestled just below their wet coupling. Without waiting he began sliding in and out of her with long, desperate thrusts. She arched her back, unable to hold herself back. Her blood pounded through her veins like hot, molten lead and she could feel every tiny ripple of skin around his warm, thrusting penis as it raced madly in and out between her wide-stretched legs. She jerked her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, her heels beating on the hollowing cheeks of his buttocks like a drum. And then, almost as suddenly as it began, she began a roller coaster of orgasms, one right after another until she felt his cock begin jerking deep down inside her womb and the warm hot spurts of his sperm flooded inside her with the hard driving force of his spending passion.
"God Cindy, that was beautiful," he gasped into her ear, his body still quivering on top of her. Then he was still.
After a few minutes he breathed deeply without saying a word and dismounted her. She lay on the floor still gasping and moaning softly from the utter abandon and power of her quick orgiastic releases. She opened her eyes slightly and watched him as he quickly undressed and strode over to the dressing table. He picked up a large jar of cold cream and returned to kneel down beside her on the floor. He ripped off her brassiere and began spreading large globs of the cool, sweet smelling mess over her entire body from head to toe. Then he covered himself with it and lay down beside her. His arms snaked around her waist and he pulled her over on top of him, her back against his chest, her taut, full breasts pointing straight up to the ceiling. He began rubbing the cream over her body, his hands smoothing its thickness over her shoulders, all around the hard throbbing nipples of her tits, and down over her belly and thighs. His teasing fingers were almost driving Cynthia crazy and her body squirmed uncontrollably on top of him, sliding in the thick coat of cold cream as though she were some wet, slippery eel he was trying to subdue. His hands halted at the Vee of her loins and he gently pulled her thighs apart. Cynthia, groaned and let them limply slide open, her feet falling to the floor on either side of his. Then his fingers massaged slowly between her legs, pulling at the full, throbbing lips surrounding her vagina and gently easing them open. He coated the soft, hidden flanges of wet flesh heavily with the smooth slippery cream and then slowly inserted his middle finger inside to massage well the pink, inner walls. She moaned from the weird sensations coursing through her and felt the hardness of his cock pressing up against the fleshy crevice of her buttocks jerk slightly into a beginning erection.
The lust mounted in her with each moment she felt his penis growing against her until finally she could stand the tantalizing ministrations to her body no longer. She squirmed around on top of him and straddled his upper thighs, her knees slithering up onto the floor on either side of his hips. Her wet, cream covered vagina was poised directly above his now fully erect penis and reaching down between their slippery bodies she directed the huge, rounded head straight into the lips of her waiting vagina. She didn't lower her buttocks immediately but let it prod up between her wide-open loins for a moment, at the same time reaching behind her with both hands to pull the flanges of her pulsating pussy a little wider apart to allow him greater access. She felt him jerk up towards her and then with a tight, gasping groan she screwed her buttocks hard down against his loins taking the whole of his rigid rock-hard cock deep, deep up in her belly.
"Ooooooooh, Frankie! God, ooooooooh, Frankie!!!!"
The soft, rounded cheeks of her ass smacked down against the upthrusting pelvis and she felt the giant, pulsating head smash into her cervix like the end of a hard, cruel, battering ram. A flash of blue raced through her brain at the unexpected depths he reached from the position she was in. There was nothing to prevent his total entrance into her wide-open cunt and she groaned like an ancient captive impaled on the sharp pointed spear of a philistine warrior.
"God, baby, you're tight, tight, God how tight," he panted beneath her pained assault and then began a slow grinding up into her. His hips rotated slowly around on the floor, sending the head of his cock into great swirling circles deep up in her belly. Cynthia groaned, her mouth hanging open in helpless acceptance, her eyes bulging wide until suddenly the whole of her loins became accustomed to the strange, deep invasion that seemed as though it would gouge the very intestines from her. Finally, she grunted and the deep burning passion within her, kindled more by the sudden pain than anything, took hold of her body. She moved slowly at first and then began riding his body like a racing jockey on a wildly sprinting horse. Her pelvis slid uncontrollably in wide, harsh circles against his greased hips, her breasts and belly slipping back and forth over his chest. Like a golden, buttered nymph she rode him until suddenly she felt it rising again inside her. The hot, burning sensation of lust that had to be drowned, drowned in the hot, swirling liquid of the orgasm she could feel bursting upon her. Frankie, beneath her churning body, thrust like a madman as far up into her as he could go with each downward stroke of her buttocks, their creamed bodies slithering hotly together, the sound blending with the wet sucking noise of the lewd coupling of their genitals as they both raced for a fulfillment seconds away.
It came!
"Frankie! Frankie! I'm cumming! Darling, I'm cummmmming!"
Hot flashes of red and yellow exploded in her brain as she felt the whole of her white, quivering belly erupt like a thousand roman candles around the hard driving shaft of flesh skewering up into her humping body. At the same time, she heard a harsh guttural cry beneath her and felt his cock begin pumping like a fire hose hot jets of his thick, warm sperm far up into her cunt. Their intermingling juices poured out the tightly clasped lips of her vagina and ran in thin, pearly rivulets down his still spurting rod and disappeared as it churned into the cold cream covering their genitals below by their still wildly gliding bodies. Its musky scent mingled with the sweet smell of the cream, the flowery fragrance of the powder and perfume and the animal odor of male and female sweat.