Carlotta Graham - A wild yearning

The lights of the city went swiftly by them, all bright and twinkling in the early evening. Even in the ghetto it seemed as if people were out for a good time, carousing with bottles of wine in their hands, arms around sultry, lusty black women with large, heaving busts and bright, flashing smiles. And before long they had reached the Gold Coast, where they left the car in a parking lot in back of the Ambassador East and then made their way by foot to the secluded hideaway between the Water Tower Inn and the Elks Mosaic Temple.

The building was almost entirely constructed of concrete blocks, and Steve looked around himself curiously as they passed through the large West African mahogany double doors which were presided over by an immense Negro bearing a faint resemblance to Harry Belafonte. Then they were in a long, marble-tiled corridor and making their way towards a huge shining metal door at the far end.

"Where – just what sort of place is this?" Steve asked, looking around.

Sarah gripped his hand snugly. "You'll see, dear. Just wait and see."

While Arnold guffawed loudly. "Best show in town, son. And so long as Jan is not here with us, there's no harm in your joining us. – But you'll see what we mean in a few moments."

Steve didn't know what to make of it. Actually he felt that his in-laws were being altogether too mysterious about wherever it was they were taking him. He half-suspected that the wildest thing they could think of would be an illicit bingo parlor presided over by a bunch of old ladies holding long, thin cigarette holders and dressed a la 1930's.

The large metal door was opened by a greasy-looking fat man with a black mustache. Arnold immediately pulled off a roll of bills and Steve gasped to see him pass the little man three hundred dollars. But surely that must be a deposit on some gambling chips! And then he stumbled forward as his mother-in-law warmly took his hand in hers, scarcely noticing that her index finger was tickling his palm, for they had stepped into the most lavishly decorated room he'd ever seen.

Everything was a deep rose velvet embroidery from ceiling to floor, the color of sensuality. And long, low couches were arranged in enormous staggered semi-circles facing an inclined stage which contained in its center a single large level platform carpeted with pillows of every color and shape, some satiny, some velvet.

Steve looked around. Most of the men present in the large entertainment room had the appearance of obvious wealth, small diamonds numerous and prominent on their little fingers. The majority of them were elderly or middle-aged, and their companions were generally young, some of them alarmingly so. He was shocked and impressed by one spike-heeled, long-haired girl who he would have sworn could not be more than thirteen years of age.

But there were also middle-aged women in the room as well, none of them with a youth over twenty. All of these younger men were splendidly fitted out, and several of them tramped along guided by very severe looking older women, occasionally being admonished not to be naughty. A gorgeous redhead with hair very long and wavy all the way down to the crevice in her low-cut gown, eyes heavily made up with blue shadow, was guiding a large German shepherd on a leash very reminiscent of Rex, Marge Levitt's dog. – But she was the only person in the room without a companion.

The air was sultry and there was a trace of too much smoke. Steve undid his necktie and collar. "Well, there's a stage. What time does the show start?" he murmured in a low voice.

His attractive buxom mother-in-law gripped his arm possessively. "You'll see, dear."

A tall, white-haired man in a tuxedo came up and whispered something to the Talbotts. After a brief exchange – during which Steve rather thought he had heard his name mentioned – he guided the three of them to a couch in the furthest, most darkened end of the big room. "I'm sure you will feel comfortable here," he said, and then he was gone.

There was a movable tray covered with every sort of liquor, and apparently it was all included in the admission charge, for Arnold quickly fixed drinks for the three of them and then sat back down with them into the deep, soft cushions which were so soothing and womblike that Steve was half afraid he would fall asleep in them.

"Here's to an exciting evening, Steve," said Arnold, "drink up." He lifted his glass and downed whatever it was in an instant.

Steve drank with them, of course. He wasn't sure what they had given him – he couldn't quite pinpoint the taste. It was sweet, yet faintly bubbly as well. Something like a cross between absinthe and champagne. He found that it soothed him immediately and helped him to relax. It so relaxed him in fact that he didn't even notice Sarah's hand resting casually inside his upper thigh.

Where is it? she thought. It can't be that small.

Suddenly the house lights seemed to be dimming. Steve looked around. "What's that?"

"Oh, we must have gotten here just in time," Sarah said delightedly. "The show's probably going to start – in which case I'd better hurry up and freshen up a bit so I don't have to go out in the middle."

"That goes for me, too," said Arnold, "Excuse me, Steve."

So Sarah went to the powder room first, and then Arnold also disappeared. Steve continued to sit there by himself, and gradually the house lights dimmed until where they were, way in the back, was almost totally in darkness. Pitch black would have been an understatement. Steve could not see his hand in front of his face.

And then there was a shuffling of feet, and he could sense the subtle expensive perfume of his mother-in-law.

But then instead of sitting on his left side, she moved across him – her buttocks brushing tantalizingly across his sensitive nose – and settled down into the couch next to him. Immediately she placed her slender, rapier-nailed hand on his leg and whispered, "I feel much better now, Arnold, darling. Has anything happened yet?"

"But I'm not…" he tried to protest, only to be cut off in the darkness with: "Sssssh, it looks like the show is starting."

As indeed it was. The lights had gradually brightened on the center of the stage, and now Steve could make out, up there, a teenage girl – she appeared to be no more than fourteen – seated at a vanity in black net hose, black leather boots, and a shiny patent leather suit. She was combing out her shining, long red hair, which was not flame nor exactly carmine, but rather the exact color of ripe orange rind. She had been made up with a beauty spot on one cheek, and now as she put down her comb and brush, she began to make up her lips, using altogether much more lipstick than was necessary. In moments her lips were shining a bright pinkish shade, and spilling well over her lip lines so that she had every appearance of a street whore.

Steve winced, wondering exactly what kind of a show this was. And then, peering down in the blackness, he suddenly felt something else – Sarah's hand on his leg, slowly, groping for his penis, which lay in quiet recline along the inside of his right thigh…

He gulped and felt dumbfounded. What could he do? He couldn't very well protest and alarm her. And by now he was in such an embarrassing position that it would be awkward for both of them.

On the other hand, he couldn't very well let her continue with this most intimate caress… mystified, he wondered what to do… as the girl on the stage slowly began to strip out of her black-flavored things…

Steve gasped and looked towards the stage, totally confused. He didn't know which to give his attention to – the gorgeous young creature on the stage who was gradually disrobing, or the slowly moving hand that had finally located the rapidly responding genitals between his legs.