Dallas Mayo: The fluffy girl

The music didn't strike me as very sexy, just loud and brassy and a little off-key. Even a tiny bit ragged in rhythm. Or maybe that was only the noise of my fingers drumming nervously on the side of my tall tequila drink, I watched them tapping against the glass, my meticulously cared-for fingernails, long and tapered and glossy pink, too perfect to be other than nervous in the vaguely forbidding atmosphere of this dingy cabaret. The crowd looked pretty sinister even for a Tijuana strip-joint. Although that too could have been the work of my overwrought nerves, just a general feeling I had about this trip south of the border. Even if I really couldn't think of a darn thing to be nervous about.

Anyway, the bombastic little combo was simmering down and so was the audience, myself included. And after a long-winded spiel from the announcer, bilingual naturally, twice as dreary!, a blare of trumpet and a barrage of drum brought the first performer out on the stage. A fat girl, fat enough to warrant the music at its loudest. Or was I just being catty? No, I could see Jerome frowning, too, hardly the expression for a middle-aged American male at a sex show. Okay, so the opening act was going to be a stinker.

She wasn't all that bad, actually, just an overripe Mexican peasant girl trying to make a living the hard way. Her bikini-type costume was a bespangled green, pretty enough in itself but not doing much for her swarthy skin coloration. Especially where the meat appeared to gather momentum and bulge up over her bra-top, outshining the silver spangles in a double demand for recognition. Below that, low around her hips, the green panty-bottom sprouted a veil of heavy fringe that hung almost to the floor. The stuff was thick and ropelike but not very manageable; the slightest shift set it stirring and swirling to reveal a plump thigh and fleshy length of leg right down to the silver stilt-heels of her matching green pumps.

The spattering of applause seemed to please her. Smiling in gratitude, she swayed languorously and turned her head to make a panoramic survey of the place. Her hair, long and black and shiny, tumbled loose over her shoulders and down her back. She ran her fingers through it like a comb, still swaying from side to side, doing a sensual little dance without lifting her feet…

Not bad but not exactly spectacular either, and I took a sip of my drink with growing impatience. The woman was just too damn fat for this sort of thing. Still, her movements did show a certain skill, a knack for using her inner passion to blur the effect of the excess poundage. And she was really moving now, touring the front edge of the stage as though her whole body had to make that same panoramic sweep. The stage itself was unusual, I realized, elevated only a few inches but extending the curve of its apron right out into the clustered tables. Which obviously didn't leave much room between the eager performer and her equally eager audience.

Oh yes, the crowd was getting eager now. The stripper had come to a halt with her legs spread wide and was gliding her palms lewdly up the insides of her thighs. I wondered what it would feel like to do something that sexy with that many people sitting up so close and staring. It gave me quite a charge and for a moment I was right up there alongside her, all creamy and blond and beautiful, swinging my hair and stroking my legs, the sexiest bitch in the house! I shivered and blushed at the thought, painfully conscious of my shame but enjoying it nonetheless; oh shit, wasn't the shame itself part of that delicious thrill?

The fat babe had one hand on her bra now, fooling around with the catch between the cups. Still picking at it, she turned her back and jutted her buttocks as if to divert attention from what was happening out of sight, practically sticking that colossal ass of hers into the uptilted faces at the nearby tables. It was still covered, of course, both domes putting a severe strain on the bikini bottom, but by this time the green fabric had creased at the crotch and worked its way deep into the in-between furrow, leaving very little to the imagination. Just enough to make the picture a masterpiece of obscenity. Somehow even the dangle of fringe added to the total erotic appeal, a sensuous appeal that was nothing short of remarkable in view of just how much pudgy fat that lard-assed Mexican peasant girl had to camouflage.

But it was a moving picture, too, although I almost didn't notice the gradual disappearance of the bra. All of a sudden she swung back around again and there they were, those two big naked breasts, adorned only by two big rouged nipples. Then she had a kind of private party with them, flashing a half-smile for the round of applause but letting it fade to a dreamy look as her self-caress grew more intimate. They must have felt nice under her busy fingers, huge and soft and lovely, a fine pair of tits despite their overblown proportions, huge and soft and just lovely to touch. And to play with, no doubt, because now her hands were pushing and rubbing one against the other in a sportive little game. Oh, she seemed to be having such a grand time all by herself! With only a sly wink every so often to let the audience in on it: having a wonderful time, aren't you glad you're here?

I kept wishing Jerome would shut the hell up. He was saying something about how the shoddier Tijuana nightspots, like this cramped hole-in-the-wall we were in, often put on hotter shows than the more expensive tourist traps. As though his excuse for bringing me here was more important than the performance itself. Bragging, really, bragging about how clever he had been to choose this place, but the dear old boy needed an ego lift, so I didn't have the heart to gripe. Although I did wish he would cut the chatter and just let me concentrate on this miracle we were seeing, the miracle of so much fat being churned into so much sex.

The private tit-party was over, apparently, and she had gone on to bigger and better things. Well, bigger anyway, considering the size of her buttocks. Too big, as it turned out, too big to maneuver the crotch-soaked strip of green off without making a mess of it. The silver spangles didn't help, naturally, and neither did the long fringe as the ends hit the floor limply and became a most unsightly jumble. She had to work at it, doing more stripping than teasing, and her awkwardness became almost embarrassing. By the time she finished with the stubborn little garment and its trail of tangled cord, all the enchantment had fled and we were left only with the fat peasant girl trying to make a living. The hard way! Luckily she must have been aware of it herself and did only a minimum of final prancing and posturing in her G-string before edging into the hidden safety of the wings. Even so, the last impression was bad enough to erase most of the good earlier one and she ended up looking pretty ludicrous. Like a shaky heap of coffee-colored gelatin, poor.thing, the second helping of a dessert that no one had wanted in the first place.

Jerome snorted. "Pretty heavy for a stripper."

"Downright fat. But sexy though, or at least she was until that pathetic ending."

"The next one ought to be better. Meanwhile; uh, time to get another drink… " He was already flagging the waiter. "Dana? Same thing for you?"

"The same, dear. Tall and icy. Tequila is okay, but I have no intention of licking salt or biting a lemon. Even if it does label me a tourist."

"Don't worry, we're all tourists. Just look around, the place is full of them. Hmm, quite a crowd. I guess other folks know about these out-of-the-way dives."

Looking around eased my mind immeasurably. Especially since I didn't spot a familiar face, or the familiar face, rather, the one I expected and hoped to see here in Tijuana. Fine! No hurry for that, no hurry at all, we were going to be here a week at least. And no need to feel panicky about it, either. Hadn't I already geared myself for the coming encounter? For that matter, there was no reason to feel panicky about anything these days, and it took only a second glance to convince me that the cabaret was about as "sinister" as, well, maybe it wasn't exactly Disneyland, but my eyes were open now and I could recognize a kind of tourist-type innocence in these nice folks sitting around and waiting for the next act. Waiting for another dark-eyed peasant wench to come out and strut and sway and bare her (hopefully!) less fat and more beautiful body. An adult Disneyland, perhaps, and the only thing sinister here was the dim lighting and the grimy atmosphere, all probably home-grown just to titillate the Yankee appetite and rake in the Yankee dollar. What else could one expect of a third-rate Mexican strip-palace that called itself the Blue Grotto?