Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

Dirk approached the corner and stopped, staring down a pitch-black alleyway, the hairs on the back of his neck rising with suspicion. The little Oriental was nowhere to be seen. Dirk hesitated, debating with himself. Should he or shouldn’t he? Though he knew modern-day China was relatively free from crime and violence, his caution was getting the best of him. He was about to turn away when the cultured voice of the little man called out from the darkness, “This way, please. Do not worry. All is well.”

Dirk squared his shoulders and walked slowly into the alleyway. He had progressed only a few steps when he heard someone moving beside him. He whirled just as a karate chop crashed into the back of his neck, sending him sprawling to the pavement and into oblivion.

Slowly, tediously he climbed the steep ladder back to consciousness. A single lightbulb glared over his head, and he found himself lying on a metal floor. He eased his head into a roll to look around, and was pleased to note that he was experiencing no pain other than a slight stiffness in his neck. His eyes darted around the metal walls, which were held together with large rivets, like boilerplate. The bare room was small and looked like a cabin on a freighter of some sort. He experienced a flash of fear-was he being Shanghaied, as in olden days? Was he being held prisoner? He pushed unsteadily to his feet and swayed dizzily for a moment before his head cleared. Urgently he checked his pockets; his wallet and passport were missing. That sent him into a tailspin of remorse. Why hadn’t he listened to his inner voice of caution? He tried the handle on the single door. He was locked in. He began pounding on the iron door, shouting, “Open up, dammit!”

He ceased his racket to listen, pressing his ear against the cold metal. Not a sound. No engines throbbing, no sense of motion anywhere. Frantically he looked around for something to attack the door’s large hinges, but there was nothing in the room except himself. He flashed on Honey’s beautiful face admonishing him for taking such an unnecessary risk. And he longed for just one more opportunity to hold her in his arms. Cursing his own foolishness, he slumped against the door in remorse.

A sound broke into his self-castigation. Someone was opening the door! He stepped back with a clenched fist raised, prepared to attack. The door swung inward on its rusty hinges, squeaking loudly. Dirk steeled himself. To his astonishment, a tiny, grandmotherly woman poked her gray head around the door with a friendly smile. “You okay?” she asked politely.

He nodded and was about to bombard her with questions when she motioned to him to follow. She withdrew, and he could hear her cotton shoes swishing down the outside corridor. He stuck his head out, checking both ways before stepping over the raised rim of the doorjamb and hurrying after her. The woman was gowned in a richly embroidered robe of bright scarlet silk, and in her tightly bound gray hair a black lacquered comb formed a small crown on the back of her head. They were, indeed, on a ship of some sort, but there were no indications in the small compartments he passed that it had been used recently. Not a personal item could be seen anywhere. It looked like a ghost ship.

On and on he was led, through the bowels of what was apparently a large ship, until she stopped outside another closed door. She bowed to him formally and opened the metal door. This one did not squeak. A soft glow of light spilled out and he looked in. The walls were covered in rich tapestries that looked hundreds of years old, and on the floor lay an exquisite rug of blue and gold. On a small ebony table before a couch of yellow satin pillows lay his wallet and passport. He scooped them up and checked his money supply. Not a single bill was missing. Perplexed, he turned toward the hatchway. The little grandmother had vanished.

“Hello?” he called out. “Anyone here?” Silence greeted him. In the corner of the room, below a hanging paper lantern, he noticed another table. On it was a slender-stemmed pipe and a small box of wooden matches. He sniffed the bowl of the long pipe and grinned in recognition. Opium. The real stuff. Not one to let such an opportunity slip by, he struck a match and lit the black, sticky residue, inhaling deeply on the pipe. The heady effects of the powerful drug were instantaneous. He settled his long frame on the yellow satin couch and puffed away, realizing he was taking further risks, but too curious to stop.

Time slipped steadily away and he was so stoned that he had little desire to move; his limbs seemed extraordinarily heavy, and visions of Oriental concubines began invading his awareness. Lovely, black-eyed, raven-haired beauties in traditional robes appeared as if from nowhere and pulled him to his feet. Gently they eased him out of his clothes and, naked, he towered above them, grinning down on their perfect beauty, trying to determine whether they were real or only figments of his overstimulated imagination. A soft robe of blue silk was placed around his shoulders and he was tugged forward, one girl on each hand, another behind him, pushing steadily. They moved him directly to one of the large, gold-threaded tapestries, and as if by magic, it parted, revealing a large, opulent room.

The sweet smell of burning incense invaded his nostrils as he was maneuvered into the luxuriously furnished room. Priceless Oriental antiques were everywhere; it was a room truly fit for an emperor. At the far end he was lowered with delicate precision to a raised platform covered with silk pillows, and one of the lovelies stuck an orange segment into his mouth. Its sweetness was astounding. Another was bathing his feet in warm water, massaging them with a musk-scented oil. Still another was arranging pillows behind his head, propping him up to a partial sitting position. Grinning like a fool, he watched through lowered lids the dreamlike proceedings, trying to figure out whether he was blissfully stoned or in the midst of a fantasy come true.

Lute music began playing from somewhere nearby, and as if on cue, the three black-eyed beauties ceased their ministrations and gathered before him in a row, bowing subserviently, each a mirror image of the one next to her. In time to the delicate music, one by one they parted the sashes of their richly hued robes and dropped them to the carpet. He stared in wondrous delight at their perfectly formed bodies. Their breasts were small and set high, and the coal-black triangles between their trim thighs sparkled with a healthy sheen in the faint light. They turned away from him, displaying their straight, strong backs and the sweet curve of their asses, like rounded scoops of almond-flavored ice cream. Dirk’s bird began to sit up and take notice.

The lute was joined by several other Chinese instruments he could not name, and the music picked up tempo. The trio of beauties joined hands in a circle on the vibrantly colored carpet and, with a tantalizing smile in his direction, quickly formed a living, inverted pyramid. One girl stood holding on her slightly bent thighs one foot of each of the other two standing girls. The two on the sides arched way back, each held only by one hand of the girl underneath. Their black-haired pussies protruded like chocolate-covered cherries. The two on top leapt lightly to the carpet and at once fell forward onto their hands, kicking their feet up and rising into a handstand on either side of the girl in the middle, who once again held them balanced-this time by one of their legs. Dirk applauded madly.

Still more athletic formations were exhibited, each more difficult than the one preceding. The trio were remarkably elastic, able to bend and contort their slender, lovely bodies into the most unbelievable shapes and positions. Regardless of the permutation of bodies being displayed, there was an underlying sensuality in all their movements, as if the exhibition were for one purpose only: to arouse the viewer to a state of erotic tension. His bird was standing rigid underneath the blue silk of his robe and straining to be released, to fly into at least one of the black bird nests before him.