Eddie used to be one sick gaucho from the pampas of Argentina.
Eddie was considered sick because of his sexual behavior.
Eddie had been considered a gaucho, because that's what Argentineans call their cowboys.
Eddie used to know the pampas like the back of his hand. Which was the reason why he was sexually sick so often – because no matter where he was on the pampas, Eddie would find something to fuck or get something to suck off his cock. Some of those things even had two legs, and names like Conchita, or Rosita, or Juanita.
The "ita" suffix in good old Espanol means little – like little Concha, or little Rosey, or little Juan. Which was why Eddie Caruso was sick, because he liked to fuck around with little Conchitas.
Which, in Espanol, means a little women.
Conchita meant prime eighteen year old pussy. Conchitas meant a voluptuously curved, coffee-colored piece of pussy that beat the hell out of fucking, prime Argentine beef.
Conchita was cute. Even when she sucked Eddie's prick.
Of course, Eddie Caruso was a very young man when he had allowed Conchita Esperanza to suck his prick. He was thirty-eight. But because he had Latino blood running through his veins, he would look young even when he was sixty-eight because Mexicans and Spaniards, Nicaraguans and Argentinians, who all look alike anyway, always look young and full of fucking sprite – especially the men.
As for the Spanish women, usually by the time they were twenty-one they were ready for retirement.
But that was why fucking Mexican maidens at ages eighteen or nineteen was considered fashionable because those maidens looked like wonton instead of little girls with little pimples. Conchita had big tits. And they were very firm.
Which was very rare considering that she was a very old eighteen. Her tits were held up by a bandanna, then they were held up by Eddie's hands because he had untied the bandanna and thrown it over his shoulder, careful not to remove his prick from Conchita's sucking mouth.
"Mmmmffffggg! Mmmmffffgggg!"
"Aaaaiiiieeee! Aahhhhoooorrrraaa! Muuuucccchhhoooo!"
Which translated meant: "Mmmmfffgggg! Mmmmffffgggg!"
"Aaaaaiiiieeee! I'm coooommmmiiinnngggg! Now! Toooooo muuuucchhhh!"
But because Conchita did not understand English and because the Seventh Day Adventist Church in Mainnion, Utah, had not sent their missionaries down to her sector of the pampas to teach her English. As a foreign language yet, the only thing Conchita could understand was what was in her mouth at the moment.
A big huge prick.
It was a big, huge prick, banana-shaped and bulging with blood and other Latin goodies – such as jism, or spunk, or yen which in Espanol means cum.
And Conchita was getting paid to suck this banana-shaped prick. In advance. Not every eighteen-year-old maid of the pampas gets paid in advance for sucking banana-shaped pricks, for the Conchita considered herself very lucky three pounds of beef jerky that she gripped in her right hand for payment of what she was holding in her left and sucking with her mouth.
Eddie released his bolos, grabbed Conchita by the can and yanked her mouth hard against his groin.
"Aaaaiiiieeee! Aaaahiieeee!"
God! Maria! His cock had never been sucked like this before! His prick was on the verge of coming but because he had so much romantic and lusty blood coursing through his system, Eddie Caruso knew better than to feed this old maid her duly-earned sperm.
Eddie held back his cum.
His balls slapped against her slobbery chin.
"Mmmmmmgggggffffff! Mmmmmgcgggffff!"
Conchita prayed to God that Eddie would hurry up and cum in her mouth. She couldn't wait to run home and tell Papa about how much beef jerky the gaucho had given her for sucking his banana-shaped prick. Her papa would be so happy – so would her eighteen brothers and sisters who would gobble up the three pounds of beef jerky with nary a gracias.
Conchita sucked hard. Ohhh, his prick was almost there. She could feel it in her old bones.
Eddie knew he was almost there, too. Ah! Sweat was running down into his eyes. His balls felt like beef jerky. His prick felt as hard as the stainless-steel crucifix that dangled against his red gaucho shirt. His asshole tightened or, rather, he tightened his asshole.
"Aaaaihieeee! Aaaaiiiieeee!"
Then he was coming! Yen! Mucho yen!
And Conchita was so happy, so delirious with thoughts of sharing three pounds of beef jerky with her eighteen brothers and sisters and her bachelor father.
"Ole! Aaaaiiiieeee!"
The first spurt shot out of his cock, and it splattered Conchita's tonsils before settling on top of the guacamole that she had had for breakfast.
Mother spurt, then another, then one long continuous stream of yen shooting from his cock.
"Aaaaiiiieeee! Aaaahiieeee! Aaaaiiiieeee!"
Eddie nearly fainted. The sun broiled his head. Diablo whinnied as he finished his task of making little Diablos in Angeilca's womb. Conchita licked his banana cock – Eddie's not Diablo's.
Eddie sighed. He felt good. Macho. Mucho macho. And why shouldn't he feel mucho macho? He was no different than any other gaucho in Argentina who dined on barbecued bull balls and fucked little girls who were too old for their own good.
For Eddie, fucking a eighteen-year-old Argentinean was not considered sick – not at least in Argentina.
Actually no one considered him sick until he arrived in America at the age of forty-two with seven thousand ball-less bulls so that people in Natchez could eat Spain.
No, he had not learned what it meant to be sick until he was branded as a sick man by a psychiatrist in Detroit who was doing research where Eddie was employed at the time – making self-destructing Fords.
The psychiatrist was doing a research paper on the sex lives of people who worked in automobile factories.
When Eddie had told him about his escapades on the pampas, the psychiatrist had recommended that he see a psychiatrist.
Of course, back then, Eddie's English was no better than his command of Apache, so he had a difficult time communicating back in those old days.
Now, of course, his English was as good as George Wallace's. And he wasn't a burden on the government's welfare program because he was gainfully employed as a fucker for the Toy Casino.
Eddie liked his job as a fucker.
For one thing, telling people that he was a fucker was no worse, to his way of thinking, then being called a sick man.
For another thing, he got lots of tips and no social diseases. Because the women he fucked were either filthy rich or wholesomely clean.
Like the woman in room thirteen.
He had watched her undress.
She looked yew clean.
She did not look very rich because there was a slight tear near the crotch of her panties. And her left bra strap was held up by a safety pin. Two good signs of not being rich – because rich people never wear underwear.
But when the panties were taken off and the bra removed – ooh, she looked very delicious.
Eddie touched her and put perfume under her armpits. Good, no hair there.
He watched her put perfume on the hairs of her cunt. Um, lots of hair there!
He watched her put perfume behind her ears. Carumba! What a fucking hot bitch, she was!
Of course, Eddie did not know that she was a fucking hot bitch… yet. Because he wasn't in the same room as Frieda Higgins.
Eddie Caruso was standing behind the, two-way mirror that gave him a sweeping view of the bed, of the four walls, of one nightstand, of one standard New Testament, and of one luscious looking frustrated wife who would soon become one fucking hot bitch of a client.
Frieda moved into the bathroom.
Eddie moved to his right, slid open a secret wall paneling.
He gazed at Frieda as she sat on the toilet doing some tinkling.
Tinkle.
Eddie cursed. The fucking maid had left the big bar of soap right in his line of vision so he couldn't see Frieda's cunt as she sat spread-legged on the john doing her tinkling. That Goddamn black maid! Jesus! This happened every time he watched a fucking hat bitch pining in the bathroom.
And it always happened in room thirteen. Shit, in all the other rooms, the cleaning maid always left a fresh bar of soap on the toilet tank instead of in the soap holder which was sunk into the tiles of the shower stall.
Shit, Eddie wanted to break the tinted plastic backing off the soap-holder, reach in and removed the soap so he could get a clear view of Frieda Higgins as she pissed.
Goddamn! He had missed her tinkling!
Frieda unrolled her toilet paper, ripped off several toots.
Her hand disappeared behind the bar of Ivory White, and Eddie vowed that he'd fuck that black maid's dirty asshole!
He stepped to his left and watched Frieda start to dress.
Holy Carumbas! Time to get moving!
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Melinda looked into her compact mirror to make sure her lipstick wasn't crooked and that her nose didn't shine and that her false eyelashes weren't falling off.
She put the compact back into her purse, checked to make sure all the other items were ready and available.
"Hmmmmm… dildo… double-dong… Vaseline… douche bag… condoms…"
Yep, everything was in its proper place, now all she had to do was wait for Bernice Hudson to open up the door so she could start entertaining her Las Vegas style.
Melinda knew that it would be a long time before Bernice came to the door. She knew that because she had spied on the six-foot Amazon while she was taking a crap and reading. Sappho's Ode to Lesbos.
Melinda brushed the lint off her cocktail dress. She checked to make sure that there was enough cleavage showing. There was much cleavage showing because she was wearing her favorite dress – well, it really wasn't a dress, it was the costume she wore in the Marseilles show in the Follies Lounge downstairs.
The costume consisted of one square yard of crepe material.
About two square feet of the material was used for the halter, which was indicative of how big her tits were.
The other square foot of crepe was slung around her hips, hiding her crotch from sick men like Eddie Caruso who drooled at Melinda during her Marseilles show.
God, Melinda was so happy when Pixie Delight had phoned in sick today. And she was doubly happy when Manny Schwarz had grabbed her, thinking that he had one of the chorus girls instead of the star of the Marseilles show.
What a break!
Melinda smiled. Christ, if her agent knew what she was doing now, he'd fuck the shit out of her. But, hell, she couldn't help it! It had been a long time between women – Fuck! It had been almost two years since she had been with a woman, two long yearn without feeling titties or clitties.
And two years for a hot-to-trot bisexual like Melinda was just too long to go one-sided. Melinda as dying to fuck the shit out of Bernice.
Dying to grab the Amazon's huge tits, dying to have Bernice go down on her.
The door opened.
Melinda was shocked.
Bernice was startled.
Melinda had been shocked because she was not familiar with what Bernice was wearing on her head – it didn't look like something Dior would dare design – yet. Because it resembled a huge prick, and beneath the prick, where a pair of balls should be, were two very startled eyes.
And the reason Bernice was startled was because she had been expecting Frieda Higgins instead of this scrumptious-looking piece of Sappho delight.
And the reason why Bernice had on her Head Job was because she had come to the decision that she was going to make a frontal attack on the reluctant Frieda. It had been bad enough riding four hours in a cramped bus with Frieda's head on her shoulder. And it had been bad enough riding up in the hotel elevator tit to tit with Frieda. It had been so bad that Bernice was ready to rape the Goddamn hotel maid if she had wandered into her room a minute ago.
But this delectable woman didn't look like the hotel maid. Not with that frilly costume on. And not with tits like that, or legs like that, or a face like that.
Melinda pretended not to notice Bernice's phallic forehead… "My name's Melinda. Melinda. Can I come in? I heard rumors that you were lonely for someone like sue. How 'bout it? Wants get it on?"
Did she want to get it on? Did Bernice Hudson want to do dirty nasty, lesbian tricks with this babe? Do eunuchs have balls? Does Superman screw Lois Lane?
"Holy shit! I think I hit the jackpot! Come on in!"
Melinda went in with a swaggering, ass-swaying motion that made Bernice drool. God, if she were a man, her cock would have sprung a leak a long time ago! If she were a man, she'd have raped this fucking cunt!
Stilt! Why not? Women loved to be raped all the time!
"Look… what's your name? Oh yeah, Melinda. Look, Melinda, let's not beat around the bush. I wants eat you… I wants put my cock into your asshole while I eat you. You dig?"
"Oh, wow! Honey, you do come on strong, don't you? Oh, wow! I dig! How do you want me?"
"On the bed and spread 'em wide!"
Melinda sank on the waterbed, going crazy with the itchy-twitchy feeling that ran through her loins. She was so fucking hard up for a girl. So fucking hard up for a woman to make love to her siliconed tits and siliconed hips, and all over her body, even between her legs – where she felt real hard up.
Bernice stood over Melinda.
"Melinda, I'm going…"
"Please, call me Mel. I need a woman to call me Mel! God! It's been so long between women. Usually I have to fuck and suck so many guys that their cocks make me sick! Oh, God! I can't wait for a woman to make love to me!"
"Yeah, well… okay, Mel. Listen, Mel. I just wanta tell you I'm really hard up, too… well, if I hurry too much and come too soon, well, you know how those things go."
"Oh, Jesus! Just hurry! Suck me! Suck me all over!"
Bernice sat down beside the luscious creature, ran her hands up and down the goose pimply flesh of her thighs, deliberately avoided her crotch, deliberately moved to the bandanna bra.
The bandanna bra slid away, and Bernice gasped. "Oh, God! Kiss them! I can't help it if they're false – my agent made me do it! He made me put silicone in my titties!"
Bernice wanted to kill Melinda's agent, wanted to find his cock and cut it off. He was no different than any other man who treated women like toilet paper used them, then threw 'em away, used some more, then threw'em away.
But silky soft hands soothed her anger. Bernice moaned as Melinda undid the buttons on her bowling shirt, reached inside and cupped her titties.
"Ooh! Mel! Jesus! That feels so good!"
"Then please do the same to mine! I still have lots of feeling in my tits."
Bernice rubbed Melinda's rubbery tits.
They felt like tits.
They smelt like tits.
They melted – like tits do when they're in an experienced lesbian's mouth.
Bernice went ape-shit as her tongue made wet circles around Melinda's nipples. God! What beautiful false tits! Poor girl! She probably had to have her tits sucked twice as hard because of the insensitive silicone.
Bernie sucked twice as hard as usual.
"oooohhhh! my titties! Suck 'em, babe! Oooohhhh suck 'em, babe!"
Bernice shifted the cock at her forehead to one side.
Melinda stopped her.
Melinda grabbed the false cock.
Melinda licked the false cock that unicorned from Bernice's forehead.
Bernice looked up, watched Melinda's sensuous tongue flick once, twice, then thrice against the knob of her prick.
Oh, God! Look at that tongue! God! What a long tongue! Only women had tongues like that – so smooth and delicious-looking and ooh, sooooo gentle! Not like a fucking slobbery man's tongue that was caked with tobacco and felt like a rasping file.
Bernice went back to her task of tonguing Melinda's false titties as Melinda licked her false cock.
This was true love! This was how it should be! Two women completely honest and open, loving and licking, lapping and lost in the heat of honest-to-goodness passion.
Bernice's cock quivered as her head shook, because her tongue was doing whirling-dervish whiplashes on Melinda's rubber tits.
Melinda's tongue flicked left and right, up and down, trying to follow the movements of Bernice's rubber cock.
"Aaaaiiiieeee! Oooohhhhh! Please! Bernice! Go down on me! Go down on me! It's been so long since a woman's gone down on me!"
Bernice's tongue moved south, like the birds and ducks and mallards, her mouth migrating to the feeding station of Melinda's navel, found the navel unappetizing, then moved to the border of crepe material that hid Melinda's pussy.
God! Bernice couldn't wait! She was like a hen in heat! Like a duck who wanted to fuck! With that crepe border lay a pussy that would be hot and hungry for Bernice's pecking lips.
Melinda groaned: "God! Hurry! Tongue me! Suck it! Go down on me! Huuurrrryyyy!"
Bernice wanted to hurry, but she also wanted to savor the Sappho delicacy of this creature spread before her. Shit, there was lots of time before her tongue roosted, or, rather, rooted in Melinda's pussy.
Sure, Bernice was hot. But teasing was half the game. Chasing was half the fun.
She teased Melinda – tickled her navel and her false tits.
"Aaaaiiieeee! Hurry! Oh, God! I want your mouth on my – aaaaiiiiffpr! Yes! Squeeze my titties! Oh, yeah!"
Bernice chased – moved her hand from beneath Melinda's hips to her ass, then stoic a few feels of the woman's hot asshole.
"Aaaaiiiieeee! Hurry! Oh, God! I want your mouth on my – aaauiieeee! Yes! Finger my asshole! Oh, yeah!"
Bernice teased Melinda's false titties and chased her real asshole.
Then it was time to go down south.
It was time to roost in the nest of Melinda's cunt.
Bernice peeled the crepe material down, moved it southward, slowly, teasingly.
Hair!
Ooooooh, rich, luscious pubic hair. So soft and downy. Unlike man's hard and coarse curls that reeked of cooked walnuts.
Bernice held her breath, took a good grip on the crepe material. Her forearm tensed.
Rrrrriiiipppp!
God! Look at that! A beautiful prick! So soft and feminine. So unlike – "What?! My God! You've gotta prick, Mel! oh, God!"
Melinda said: "Huh?"