It is late at night. Hot. The three of us sleep naked on the mattress. We have the windows open wide but there is no breeze. I feel restless, get up for a cigarette and sit by the window. In the room across the street I see the same couple I saw the first day I came here with Armand. They are talking, laughing about something, their arms around each other.
They come to the window and look out. The man fondles the woman's breasts. I wonder how often they've watched Hal or Armand or both of them fuck me. They can't see me now though. I've put out my cigarette and am hidden in darkness. They turn to face each other and embrace. I get the hot feeling in the pit of my stomach as the man begins to stroke the woman's pussy on the outside of her dress. She turns suddenly and draws the shade, but only halfway and I can still see his trousers and her skirt. In a moment her thighs are bare and I can see she isn't wearing panties. They move back deeper into the room and the man takes off his pants. I stare at his prick. It looks big and thick to me even from across the street. They get down on the bed. I watch them.
I put another cigarette in my mouth but don't light it. The cream begins to run in my cunt as I look at them. I want to be fucked too. I look over at Armand and Hal lying on their backs naked. Hal has screwed me almost every day since that first time a week ago, Armand less often. I know I could have either one or both of them now just by going over and waking them. But I can't help watching the others. I look at the man's cock pushing in and out of the woman's pussy and imagine how it would feel if it were in my cunt instead. I concentrate on it. Then suddenly they are finished and after a minute or so their light goes out. I sit there next to the window looking into the blackness and feeling strangely alone.
I go back to bed and crawl in between Armand and Hal. I reach down and take their soft pricks in my hands and stroke them very lightly. I don't want to wake them. Not now. I want to go over it again in my mind about the man and woman. I keep fondling Armand's cock. And Hal's. And keep imagining that the cock of the man across the way is pushing deeper and deeper into my cunt.
I take care of Armand's paintings at the Square while he goes to the dentist. It is sunny out and he has expected it to be a good day but no one buys anything from me, not even a sketch. I get impatient sitting on the bench smoking and watching all the people going by. I want to get up and walk along with them. Go somewhere. Anywhere…
A man comes by and stops to study the paintings. He is tall and wears dark glasses. He seems interested in the painting of the old woman and the vases. He examines it carefully, holding his hand to his mouth. Then he looks at some portraits Armand has done. He says he likes them and asks me if I will paint his.
I smile. "I'm not the artist," I say. "I'm just here to help sell things. Come back tomorrow if you want to be painted."
"I'll be gone tomorrow. I'm alone in town… staying at the Holiday Inn. I'm only here for tonight." He turns to study the painting of the old woman again but now I know he is just faking it.
I light a cigarette.
He tries to pick me up. He isn't very subtle about it. He even tells me how much money he has with him. I turn him down, say I can't leave the paintings.
"You could at least have a drink in the bar across the street with me," he says finally. "We'll sit by the window. You can watch the paintings from there."
"I don't need someone to buy me a drink," I say. I flip my cigarette into the gutter even though it is only half gone. "Did you want to buy a painting or not?"
He moves on. I watch him shuffle down the street. He stops again in front of someone else's paintings. I wish Armand would come back. I'd expected this to be enjoyable. But the time passes slowly. I smoke more cigarettes. I am bored and tired of it. I begin to wish that I'd gone with the man in the dark glasses.
It is late afternoon when Armand finally gets back from the dentist. We quit for the day and carry the stack of paintings back to his room. His jaw begins to hurt when the Novocain wears off. He opens some wine. I haven't eaten since breakfast and the wine makes my head hot even though I only sip it. Armand drinks the wine by the glassful but it doesn't help his jaw much. He lights a joint and asks me if I want some. I shake my head no. He smokes it down all the way and flops on the mattress. In minutes he is sleeping and I am just sitting there alone.
I make myself something to eat, then stand at the window staring out. I can hear the music and the shouting coming from Bourbon Street where the crowds are gathering a few blocks away. The room is stuffy. I wish we had a balcony so that I could sit out in the cool night air. I begin to feel shut in, imprisoned. The noise of the crowds and the music in the distance grows louder, beats a din against my ears.
I put on a tight black dress that hugs my breasts and go out. I wear heels but no stockings. When I reach Bourbon Street I mix in with the crowds and move along rapidly with them. It feels good to be away from Armand's room at first, to breathe in the fresh night air, to be a part of the crowds.
I walk on several blocks. Two soldiers try to pick me up but they look drunk and I ignore them. I gaze at the faces of the people coming the other way, hoping to see someone I know. But the faces all look alike. Eyes, noses, mouths pasted on white skin. Sometimes the eyes turn to stare at me. The crowds grow thicker, the music and the laughing louder. People keep bumping into me. I can't stand the bustling, the noise. It all presses in on me.
I turn at the corner and walk down to the next street, a block from Bourbon. It is quieter there. The crowds are smaller. There aren't so many cars, so many neon lights. I go into some of the antique shops and look about. In one place I play the music boxes until the clerk comes up and asks if I'm interested in buying one. I shake my head and go back out onto the street.
I walk on. I light a cigarette. At the next corner I catch a man's eye while I wait for the traffic light to change. I smile. He smiles back. Our arms brush as we cross the street. The shock feeling hits. Surges through me. We walk on together. We don't speak but there is no awkwardness. It just happens. He takes my arm and we walk back to Bourbon Street. He tells me his name is Jacques. "I'm Carrie," I say.
We go into a seafood place and order two plates of cold shrimp. They taste delicious. We each have a mug of beer. The waiter who brings our order is black and strikingly handsome. Jacques' knee presses against mine beneath the table. We eat the shrimp. I keep glancing at the black waiter as he moves about the restaurant. I push my leg back against Jacques, It is settled.
Jacques finishes his beer. "Do you want more shrimp?" he asks.
"Another plate? I couldn't.".
"Shall we go then?"
"All right."
"To my place?"
"Yes."
His room is small and dark. It has a bluish oriental rug. The head of some animal sticks out from a plaque on the wall. There is a lamp with an opaque green shade that casts an almost eerie glow across the room.
Jacques brings me a drink. It tastes bitter at first but the whiskey feels good on my throat. We share a cigarette. It is quiet in the room. The black velvet sofa we are sitting on is very soft. It relaxes me to be away from the crowds.
We kiss each other a little. Jacques feels my breasts. I rub his thigh, moving my hand almost all the way up to his prick.
"Would you rather go on the bed or stay here?" he asks.
"This is nice," I say.
"The bed is wider… it'll be more comfortable."
"All right."
"… you want to undress first?"
"Yes."
We stand next to the bed and strip off each other's clothes. I cling to him, push my breasts against the hard warmth of his chest. His cock presses against my stomach. It feels large but not very hard. I pump it with my hand for almost a minute, trying to put some stiffness into it. I don't have much luck but still it excites me to be holding a strange new prick. I rub it against the curls of hair on my mound, pull the tip down to the soft moist folds of my pussy. Still nothing happens.
"I'd like to have you inside me," I say, "but I don't think you're hard enough yet."
"No…"
"Do you have trouble that way?"
"Sometimes…"
"Often?"
He nods. "But I didn't think I would with you. It was all right until everything started. Then I just…"
"Is there anything I should do°"
"Just what you are… keep rubbing me against yourself like that."
I do. I fit the head of his prick between my pussy lips and move it up and down as tantalizingly as I can against my skin. It seems to stiffen some. "We could try it now," I say. "Maybe if we could just get the end of you into me that would take care of the rest."
I pull the pillow out from under the bedspread and slide it under my buttocks. I spread my thighs wide, opening my pussy to him as much as I can. He kneels over me. Together we try to stuff him into me. It doesn't work. We manage to get his cock almost halfway in but then it bends and softens and he shrinks out of me.
I give it up and let go of him. "Maybe we should rest awhile," I say. "Try it again later."
He nods and moves away from me. He sits on the edge of the bed and smokes a cigarette. He doesn't offer me one. He doesn't even look at me. He is obviously miserable, unhappy, frustrated. I am only frustrated.
"I think you worry about it too much," I say. "Probably thinking about it and all just makes it worse."
He doesn't answer. He stares straight ahead.
I sit there for a minute feeling helpless. Then I have an idea. I slide up next to him on the bed until my cunt is pressing against his ass. "Maybe I should eat you," I say.
He turns, looks at me. He doesn't say anything but his eyes brighten. '
I keep it up, make it stronger. "I'd like to suck you. You have such a nice prick to look at. It would feel so good in my mouth. I'd kiss it, suck it. Your balls too. All of you. Let me feel your cock now. Mmm, it's a nice warm one. I like men who feel so warm and smooth. Come on, slide over here next to me so I can eat you… make you big and hard. You can eat my cunt too if you want. I'd like to feel your tongue way up inside me."
He swings his legs back up onto the bed. I turn so that my mouth is in front of his prick, my belly against his face. I feel his fingers separate the folds of my pussy. His touch is delightful. I stroke his cock teasingly, take the tip into my mouth. He eats my cunt. I feel his tongue dip between my pussy lips. He reaches up and feels the points of my breasts.
I suck his prick. He has a different taste, a sweeter taste than other men. I like it. I swallow what I can from him as the stickiness keeps leaking out. It is like thick honey, like sweet wine. His cock is not hard but it fills my mouth. Thick. Supple. Smooth. I slide my lips down the outside of the shaft. I kiss his balls, press my tongue against them.
I go back to the big wet tip. I don't care now whether his cock gets hard. I just want to feel his scum spill against my throat. I want to taste it, drink it.
I suck him harder. I rub the tender skin behind his balls. I feel his hips lift, his hands grip my legs. I mouth his prick expectantly. It throbs. He lunges up. His seed spurts into my mouth, warm creamy, sweet. I swallow some of it, let the rest trickle out of my mouth. I lick his prick once more, then slip it out of my mouth and nuzzle my cheek in against its sticky softness.
I expect him to be satisfied, happy that he's finished in my mouth. But instead he gets up and paces about the room irritably, smoking a cigarette. He makes two drinks, hands me one. But he doesn't say anything. He avoids looking at me.
I feel awkward, try to think of something to say. "I think you were really hard enough for awhile there," I lie. "But I got so carried away I just couldn't stop eating you…"
He doesn't answer. He just looks at me blankly, takes a long swallow of his drink.
I give up trying to talk to him. I put the pillow under my head and lie back on it and close my eyes. After a few minutes I feel myself slipping off to sleep. When I wake hours later, the room is dark except for the dawn light seeping through the window. Jacques isn't in bed with me. I decide he must be gone and get up and dress quickly to leave.
As I cross the room to get my purse, I see him asleep on the sofa sitting up, his head drooped forward against his chest. I stand there looking at him for a moment. I feel sorry for him. I go out the door quietly, careful not to wake him. The streets are empty, bleak in the grey dawn. I pass a man who is pulling a cart filled with old clothes and bottles. The bottles rattle. There is debris all along the street.