Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

Dirk bolted upright on the pillow-her hair was exactly the same tone of blonde as that of the girl in the park! He waited breathlessly for her to turn to the crowd of hollering, appreciative men. Her full hips swaying like a flag in a gentle breeze, she slowly came about, her face partially obscured by soft, curly tendrils of golden hair. With an almost impatient toss of her head, she threw the hair back from her forehead and smiled serenely-straight in his direction. He stared, frozen in surprise and delight.

His pal had not steered him wrong. Jamilia was the spitting image of the fantasy blond he’d captured on film. In spite of the differences in their bodies, their lovely, angelic faces were identical-the same fine sweep of brow, the same classic nose, the same high, regal cheekbones, the same full, sensual mouth. Dirk’s expert camera eye could not be misled; the facial similarities were too strong to be a mere coincidence. Jamilia had to be related to his quarry in some way. Entranced all the more, he swallowed his excitement, and his bird of paradise sprang into a full-grown boner. He could not wait until he was alone, face to face, with the magical beauty. He began to sweat with tension.

Immediately upon the conclusion of Jamilia’s ripely erotic dance, he pushed himself to his feet and, weaving through the densely packed crowd of raucously cheering men, made his way to the backstage entrance. He pushed through the beaded curtain and bumped into the portly master of ceremonies, who emphatically barred his entrance. Dirk pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his money clip and shoved it into the obstinate man’s greasy palm. At once, a more-than-pleased grin broke out on the swarthy face and the rotund man bowed mockingly, pointing to a small, grimy door.

Pushing his rigid dick into a less noticeable position, Dirk knocked and a woman’s musical voice called out in Spanish, “Come on in.” He opened the door and stepped into a cluttered, cramped dressing room that smelled like the inside of a Moroccan whorehouse-sickly sweet perfume, sweat, and the arousing, intoxicating scent of women. Jamilia stood before a full-length mirror on the opposite wall, wiping her beautiful face with a towel. Her full breasts, heaving in the tight coin-bra from the recent exertion, rose and fell like rapidly inflating and deflating balloons, their creamy skin filmed with perspiration. She swung to him questioningly and his heart hammered even harder. She was even more breathtaking in person. Her large, pale eyes stared boldly into his, and he could not find his tongue to speak.

“Yes?” she asked lightly.

“I… I think I’m in love with you,” he stammered. She laughed as if she’d heard that line before. “You’re from the States?”

He nodded, transfixed by her mesmerizing allure. She laughed again at his silence and stepped behind a folding screen of tightly woven latticework. From behind it she asked, “What brings you to Cartagena?”

“I… I came to find you…”

“Me?” she queried, her blonde head appearing briefly above the screen. “Why?” With a soft clinking sound, she flung her coin-covered bra onto the top of the wood screen.

Just thinking of her womanly body being exposed behind the lattice wiped all other thoughts from his mind, and for a moment he forgot the pressing reason for his visit. With a soft rushing sound, her billowy blue skirt appeared next to her bra, then her heavy coin girdle. She poked her gorgeous head up again. “We don’t get many Americans down this way,” she commented easily. A bemused but interested smile graced her lips.

Pulling his thoughts together, he fumbled into a pocket of his blue blazer and brought out, a slightly crumpled copy of the photograph of his vanished blonde. Hesitantly he took a step forward and held it out.

Perplexed, Jamilia reached a graceful hand over the screen and took it, holding it up to the ceiling light to look at it. At once her face blanched. “Kolina?” she gasped, and disappeared.

“Kolina?” he repeated. “You do know her, then?”

With a flurry, Jamilia scooted from behind the screen, gathering a sky-blue silk robe about her nude figure, her lovely face a mask of concern. “Where did you get this?” she demanded hoarsely.

“I took it myself. In New York.”

“When?”

“A week ago Sunday,” he replied, increasingly concerned by her obvious alarm.

Almost frantically she searched his face, then burst into tears. “My darling Kolina,” she sobbed, and kissed the photo. She collapsed into a straight-backed chair and wept openly into her hands. In a flash he was kneeling beside her, his arms around her soft body, pressing her head to his shoulders, his fingers tracing the silken robe on her back. She did not resist his embrace, and he marveled at her open trustfulness. “There, there,” he said quietly into her blonde mass of sweet-smelling hair.

She cried for several moments, and with each renting sob, his desire to help her intensified all the more. Finally she pushed away and her tear-filled eyes sought his, imploringly. “You must tell me everything you know about her. I beg of you.”

Burning with his own curiosity, he hurriedly relayed the entire story of his encounter with the girl in Central Park, her plea for help, and the two thugs who chased him and whisked her away. He finished with how and why he had come to Cartagena, then quickly added, “Now it’s your turn. Who is this Kolina?”

She stiffled a sob. “She’s my younger sister. And she’s been missing for over a month.”

As Jamilia hastily pulled on her street clothes behind the lattice screen, she explained in broken phrases, often interrupted by a new burst of tears, what she knew of Kolina’s disappearance. Much to Dirk’s disappointment, he learned very little, but he could piece together a general outline.

Jamilia had been paying for Kolina’s education in an exclusive girl’s school in Switzerland ever since their parents had drowned in a freak boating accident in the Mediterranean, some five years earlier. She and Kolina were very, very close and would meet in Paris each summer to spend Kolina’s vacation touring and having a grand time together. During the school term, Kolina wrote to her often, and occasionally, when Jamilia felt especially flush, she would call overseas for a friendly little chat with her sister. She had spoken to Kolina in this manner only two days before the telegram arrived.

The fateful cable from the Swiss school’s headmistress had awoken Jamilia one morning over a month ago. Kolina had disappeared overnight from the school’s grounds and could not be found. Desperately, Jamilia had flown to Switzerland and spent two frustrating, ennervating, and painful weeks hounding the school, the local police, even Interpol, but no trace of Kolina could be found, not even a single clue as to what might have happened to her. Heartbroken, Jamilia had returned to her high-paying job in Cartagena, waiting in dread each day for some word. Until Dirk had shown up with the photo taken only a short time before, Jamilia had not known for certain that her precious little sister was even still alive.

Protectively, Dirk walked the distraught exotic dancer back to her place within the oldest part of the city. She lived on the top floor of a white stone house surrounded by wrought-iron balconies. Reaching her door, at the top of the narrow stone stairs off a small interior courtyard, Dirk was longing to comfort the beautiful creature on even more intimate terms. But he was too much of a gentlemen to press his own raging needs upon the obviously upset young woman.

Much to his delight, Jamilia invited him inside. Her small apartment was decorated charmingly with handicrafts of local artisans. colorful wall hangings of patchwork appliques, thickly woven wool rugs, stuffed lizards of various sizes; a huge stuffed tortoise, balancing a sheet of glass on its shell, served as a coffee table before a comfortable-looking couch. In an alcove, a large bed was covered with hand-embroidered pillows. Jamilia switched on a pounded-brass lamp and threw open the glass doors to the small balcony, revealing the twinkling lights ringing the harbor. She indicated an array of liquor bottles on a shelf near the kitchenette and told him to help himself while she took a bath. She entered the adjoining bathroom and closed the door.