Part 4
Two hours later
Speak Easy
After George had regained his composure, he and Miss Blackmore had retreated to a nearby bar. Kelly had three more sets to do, but had talked the club manager into letting her off for the night, owing to the negligence of his employees. After throwing on a tightfitting black dress with a short hem, the two had flown off. The Speak Easy was your average corner bar frequented by patrons, who by their familiarity, were obviously regulars. As the two walked in everyone took a moment to survey them. The consensus view was that the hardworking 'Joe', George, had picked up a beautiful young prostitute, Miss Blackmore, and was taking her to get liquored up so when he took her home he could be more free in his dealings. A not so difficult assumption as there were two lovely pieces of ass for sale down the block; a blonde haired woman in a dress the color of lust and a curvaceous negress in a black dress and blue overcoat.
The two had gone into the back and sat down across the room from a Jewish man in a ratty suit with headphones in both ears looking deeply immersed in that day's paper. George went up to the bar and got a gin and tonic with a lime twist for Kelly and a whiskey sour for himself. He returned to the table and handed the woman her drink. As he sat down she leaned her face onto her hand and devoted her undivided attention to him. George didn't know what to say to her.
"I didn't realize you were married," She said, gazing at his wedding band as he lifted his drink to his lips.
"Almost ten years." George mused.
"What were you doing in a strip club, if you don't mind my asking?" She asked playfully.
"I'm an investigative journalist. I was meeting a source." George replied, not seeing the harm in truthfulness.
Ah-ha," she laughed, running her index finger around the rim of the glass, absentmindedly "What was he telling you about?"
"I was called away by what happened before he could tell me anything. When I returned he had fled." George related, hoping to stave off further conversation.
"I am sorry. But what kind of story was it you were investigating?"
"The confidential kind," George said harshly and abrupt. Miss Blackmore looked taken aback and said nothing for some time.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I haven't had a decent night's sleep this past week and the stress of the past hour has hit me very hard." George said, not having to fake a haggard look.
"It's alright, dear," she said softly.
"What were you doing in a strip club?" asked George.
"Working, obviously." giggled Miss Blackmore.
"I mean why are you working there?"
Miss Blackmore's expression became serious suddenly.
"Well, a girl has to do what she can to survive. You see, I was married once to a Paradigm man, a lower board member, Arthur Blackmore. I was sixteen, almost seventeen, and he was thirty-two. Sounds bad when I say it now, but we were in love. He had to marry me, because I was carrying his child. "
"You're a mother?" George interrupted.
"No, I became ill with a high fever in my fifth month and miscarried. Arthur was crushed. It was after that that he changed and became violent. Three and a half years I was forced to endure his sadism, paying for the crime of killing our child. I was a slave to his madness until an aneurism killed him." Here she laughed, ironically, "You'd think I would be happy, but I was far from it. Paradigm invalided his pension and I was left penniless and, months
later, homeless. I was orphaned and had no marketable skills, so I used what little I had to gain employment at the Motor Lodge. I was a terrible dancer and hardly made an tips my first week.
But, strangely again, my luck was never better. I met a kind dancer named Faye who took me under her wing and taught me the tricks of the trade. She even let me stay with her in her apartment while I got back on my feet. She was the dancer tonight on my right."
George flashed back to the dance and the girl to his left.
"Yeah, it appeared that you two were . . ." George paused and waved his hand histrionically, searching for the right term, "very close."
Angel smiled.
"Well, she taught me how to move, look, and act. We slept under the same roof and eventually we fell in love."
George didn't know what to say. He'd suspected as much from what they had done on stage, but to hear it from her was different. As his mind cascaded with a barrage of imagery he did find the idea arousing, yet a part of him cried at the thought that she had all fo a sudden become inaccessible to him. Angel sensed his trepidation and took it upon herself, since he would not break the silence, to explain to him.
"I hope you won't think that I am only a woman's woman. My relationship with Faye is not an uncommon one among dancers. We merely appreciate the body and when it is expressed in the way we use it, our respect can transform in to physical appreciation." Kelly paused and put a hand on George's, covering his wedding band.
"I meant what I said tonight. There is nothing I won't do, just for you . . .my heroic prince." George smiled at this.
"I have an apartment I rent to work out of in the slums of North Kensington . . ." He trailed off letting Miss Blackmore's imagination do the rest.
"What about your wife?" she asked.
"She lives in our East Dome #3 home."
Miss Blackmore grinned mirthfully at George's statement.
"I am yours to command, my darling."she breathed seductively.
George got to his feet with as much debonair flare as he could manage, downed the remainder of his whiskey sour, flipped a could dollars from his billfold onto the table, and extended a hand to Miss Blackmore, who took it and rose up gracefully. The two walked out of the Speak Easy, hand in hand, like two newly declared lovers.
Part 5
One hour and a half later
4281 Kensington Ave.
The cloths of George and his evening's companion were added to the clutter of the apartment floor. Their occupants lay in the hideaway bed under a scant two sheets with their limbs entwined in loving congress. They had made love like animals for over an hour and their, bodies exhausted, but their passions still smoldering, they let their mouths express their desire.
George lay with his hands pacing slow laps up and down his lover's back and his mouth locked upon hers, sometimes breaking away to explore the soft skin of her neck and supple breasts. Miss Blackmore in turn had her arms around George's neck and her delicate fingers immersed in his wiry hair. Whenever his lips left hers, she would take long gasps of air like a surfaced diver, but laced with moans of ecstacy.
Soon this too gave way to a calmer state of longingful looks. Neither George nor Kelly said a word. Neither knew what to say. Adulterous trysts like this were awkward when the fires of passion had extinguished. Kelly was not so callous as to make any reference to the wife of her bedfellow like so many would, even accidentally, when they are at the particular juncture, so she smiled a genuinely contented smile. George smiled back in kind. He did feel bad to a degree for the betrayal he had wrought, but the pleasure outweighed the guilt. Martha would never find out so why not indulge in a some exotic fare while leading this second life outside the domes. After all, he was a living breathing man reaching the middle of his life and he had a young, curvaceous
blond offering herself to him.
At this point, Miss Blackmore leaned out of bed holding her left arm over her chest to shield her breast from sight and reached into her little black purse and extracted a cigarette and a lighter. She put the cigarette to her lips, lit it, took a deep drag, and exhaled laughing melodically.
"Who'd've thought that being attavked could turn out so well. I seem to have very ironic luck." She said tenderly.
"I would say I'm the lucky one. Not many men my age and like could ensnare such and angel as thee."
"So does that mean that you are going to call me 'Angel'?" she asked.
"I'll call you whatever you wish, my Angel."
"What should I call you?"
"I've never had a nickname before. My wife always calls me Georgie-Porgykin after we've been intimate."
George uttered this reference so casually that Angel found she could be at ease with him.
"Do you love her?" George nodded.
"Do you love me?" George smiled, nodded, and caressed her rosy cheek.
"Well what do you plan to do?" she asked whimsically.
"I've been leading two lives for the past three years: George Buchheim, editor of Paradigm Press, and George McGuinness, investigative reporter. I feel that while George Buchheim is happily married with two children, George McGuinness' is cold and empty. Would you consider becoming McGuinness' mistress?"
Angel smiled, closed her eyes, and nodded. George responded by kissing her passionately and moving his hands once more to her back. As he did his hands brushed something tough amid her soft, delicate skin. He had noticed something on her back as she leaned over to retrieve her cigarette, and his interest was once more piqued.
"What are those things on your back, Angel?" George asked. Angel looked like she had resigned herself that she would have to tell him about them.
"It's funny you should ask it like that, 'What are those things on your back, Angel?'. My mother used to call me her angel and tell me I was a beautiful angel, reincarnated on earth.I cherished this memory. I told Arthur about it many times. One night he caught hold of me, and bound me up, then carved these into my shoulder blades, scoring skin, flesh, then bone itself, saying all the while he was cutting off my wings, and mommy's little angel was fallen from grace."
She related this story with much courage, never shedding a single tear, but conveying deep emotional scars, on par with the ones she bore on her back. George was moved greatly by her words.
"You asked earlier about what my story was about that I've been feverishly working on. Well, I'll tell you. I feel that you , who have suffered so much in this city of the damned, would
appreciate it. My story is an exposé on how Paradigm HQ is poisoning this community and deluding us that they are the benevolent protectors of civilization. I have accumulated quite a bit of dirt on Paradigm." George spoke this triumphantly with an air of civic pride. From the look of it, George had his mistress riveted.
"But most intriguing of all is what my source has told me most recently. IT seems that Paradigm isn't the last vestige of human civilization. There are foreign powers at work here in Paradigm. These same Powers are responsible for many atrocities that I had thought to be Paradigm's work, and all of it done to put a bad name on Paradigm. My source was going to tell me something tonight about the incident at JFK-Mark , but was cut of by the disturbance."
Angel had a childlike look of wonder about her.
"So he told you nothign about JFK-Mark?" she asked curiously.
"Nothing except something about it having to do with foreign involvement, no."
"Fascinating," Angel remarked, "I look forward to reading your piece."
"Perhaps I can read it to you in bed when next we meet." Angel laughed.
"Perhaps. But if you will excuse my rudeness, I really should take off to Faye's and fill her in on what happened. I know she was worried before I left."
George felt a pang of jealousy thinking about that other girl putting her hands on his mistress and trying to make love to her as he had without the proper equipment. But he had to keep the beast in check. He could with time win her away from her dyke-ish lover with his charm and passion, and have soul occupancy. Worrying was a waste of energy.
Instead George focused his attention on the nude woman exiting his bed and fishing through the sea of clothing, bent over, fully displayed. It was very arousing. What really caught his attention was when she picked up her low cut pink thong and put her legs through. He watched as she lifted them up and that thin, thin piece of cloths in back wedged between her perfect buttocks, and her fingers tucked the straps above her hip bones. He thought about how absurd his wife would look in a thong and how laughable the situation would be if she ever attempted to. Whereas this woman before him looked as though no other form of undergarment could be worn by her. Something in his soul burst at that moment.
Angel continued to search for cloths,.but was interrupted by George.
"So when you said that you'd do anything, just for me, you meant anything?" Angel looked at him, perplexed.
"Yes," she said with confusion.
"Anything?" he asked again, getting out of bed completely naked.
"Sure,' she affirmed again, still unaware of his intentions.
George took this for what it was worth and pushed Angel's back down wit his left hand until she was bent over the bed with her hands resting palms down on the mattress, reached his right hand down to her ass and plucked out the floss from betwixt her cheeks, thrust himself into her tight anus, and then began to lustfully as fuck her. Angel let out a gasp of shock, but let him work her until he was finished, letting out questionable gasps of pleasure. After he had finished and withdrawn from her ravaged rear, she finished dressing and left with a strangely pleasured grin, ambiguous of it's sincerity.
"See you soon, Georgie. . ." she said, under her breath.
To be continued . . . . .