Carl Van Marcus - The lady disk-jockey

As she studied her statuesque reflection in the bathroom mirror, Sally Sue wondered if the costume was perhaps a little too daring. It was one she wore frequently when broadcasting from the Trap, but that was a professional thing. She knew a lot of the male customers – and maybe some of the women – came to the night club not to listen to her mike chatter but to ogle her. Well, after all, she was in show business, Sally Sue reasoned. She decided to wear the revealing dress.

With relief Sally Sue learned Stan was taking her to a small but very exclusive dinner house miles out in the country. She had always wanted to go there but for one thing it was, for her budget, outrageously expensive. And as she very seldom dated, she would have felt uncomfortable in such surroundings without an escort. Even now she shuddered when she looked at the list of delicacies – Chateaubriand, breast of guinea hen, pheasant, Maine lobster, quail and numerous dishes with exotic French names which she couldn't come close to identifying. Sally Sue's mouth watered. She was disturbed to see that no prices were listed and guessed that if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.

The raven-tressed disc jockey found herself puzzled. She knew that with her talent fees and the separate salaries she was paid by the Trap and Rosie's, that she had an income five times that of the lean young man across the table in the dim lighted booth. She was well aware of how inflation and taxes ate into her purse – so how could a mere trainee who didn't take home over a hundred dollars a week afford to bring her to such a quietly extravagant place? She didn't think Stan Oakes was the sort to spend a huge amount of money just to impress her. Why should he – he'd already been in her bed!

But how could he afford a seventeen thousand dollar Ferrari either? She'd had a glimpse of the registration clipped to the sunshade. It said Stan was the owner – the car wasn't mortgaged.

And how come he never talked about himself or his family?

Sally Sue Bennett decided the tawny-haired young man was an enigma.

"What looks good?" he asked, smiling easily.

"Everything," she said quickly. "Everything here makes me drool. But one thing will look bad – the bill."

"No more than that zoo of yours eats in a week," he said, baring white teeth as he chuckled. "Would you like me to order?"

"I'd be afraid to," Sally Sue said. "I like it all."

He nearly took her precisely at her word. Course after course appeared. A clear, fragrant bouillon, grilled mountain trout, tender asparagus tips and a steaming baked potato whipped and fragrant with cheese to flank a huge, pink-rare Chateaubriand which the elderly waiter carved from a silver cart with the deftness of a surgeon; a bowl of fruit surrounded by a dozen different types of cheese, fresh strawberries in whipped cream and a Chantilly cake so fragile Sally Sue had an insane urge to toss it in the air and see how long it would take to float down to the table. There were wines, superb wines of which she had never been aware – the wine waiter carried a list that looked about the size of a billboard when opened.

The nature of her work had trained Sally Sue to pick up on little things such as body language, in which the folding of the arms, crossing of legs, leaning back in a chair or leaning forward, and above all, eye movements said much more than words. And this delightful dinner was full of inconsistencies.

Although the headwaiter had greeted them like any other diners who could afford the exquisite food and quietly sumptuous surroundings, he had escorted them to what was obviously the best and most secluded booth, overlooking a huge stone fireplace where a decorative blaze battled against the soft whisper of the air conditioner. No waiters hovered, but no sooner had they finished one course than the dishes and wine glasses were cleared away and the next brought.

And when Stan Oakes was selecting the wine, even as he requested the sommelier to suggest the best vintages, she saw his finger dancing over the list and almost imperceptible nods from the quietly dressed man with the chain and key around his neck.

Sally Sue made a snap judgment. She was escorted by a handsome young man who had a lot of money and for reasons of his own didn't want her to realize it. Although churning with curiosity, she had sense enough not to pry. If and when Stan wanted to explain, he would.

As they finished the huge meal, a silver-haired man began to play an organ Sally Sue hadn't noticed before. There was a small, dim lighted dance floor and wordlessly Stan took her hand and led her to it. The music was slow and soft – what a relief to hear something other than the crashing, thumping aural pollution she had to put on the air! With a sigh she fit her body to his as they began to move sinuously. Her breasts seemed to be on fire, and she could feel the long rigidity of his penis rubbing against the softness of her belly and his leg sliding teasingly between her own. He nuzzled her ear and whispered.

"I won't even ask if you liked it… you didn't leave enough for the kitchen cat to get a sniff."

"Ummmm… if anything but bare bones was left on a plate here, I think I'd be barred for life," Sally Sue murmured, holding the tall young man, tight. It was so good to be with him… so healthy after what she'd gone through. She thought he might even save her from herself. She felt tears begin to flow down her smooth cheeks and impulsively she pulled his head down and kissed him deeply, probing his hot mouth with her tongue as his arms tightened around her and a hand slowly moved down her bare back to caress the quivering cheeks of her buttocks. She felt the rigid pole of his manhood grinding against her hotly throbbing vagina as his tongue twined with hers passionately. The fire built within her, and abruptly Sally Sue Bennett made the most daring decision of her life. Hesitatingly she breathed "Stan…"

"Hey – you're crying/" he said.

"You'll think I'm terrible!" Sally Sue whispered. "But – well – something happened to me. I can't talk about it yet. Maybe never… but would you stay with me tonight?"

"Wheeeeewww!" he responded. He knew whatever it was must be really bad. Sally Sue didn't go around propositioning guys, even if they drove Ferraris and could pop for a dinner that was going to cost two hundred bucks! He gulped and managed to say, "Tonight and any night you want, Sally Sue," he murmured in her ear. "And this time I'll be better for you. Promise."

"It's not sex," the long legged dark-haired girl said. "I – I might not even be able to face it. But I'm afraid of being alone… not of anybody hurting me, but of myself!" "Oh," Stan said, completely puzzled. "Do you want to leave now?" "Noooo… this is the best thing that's happened to me in years..

It was well after midnight before the twelve cylinder Ferrari purred away from the restaurant.

"Now just where in the hell could she be?" Terry Claff growled the words and flipped a cigarette from the window of Virgie's station wagon. "Goddamnit, her car and bike are here. She sure didn't walk anywhere this late at night."

"Maybe she had a date," the little blonde mused.

"Shit, the way we did Sally Sue up last night, she shouldn't be able to crawl for a week. Christ, between the two of us, she was cumming for hours!"

"Maybe she remembered it all and took off scared."

"Naw, she wouldn't leave those damn animals," he disagreed.

"Well, we have to just wait, I guess," Virgie said. She reached under the seat and brought out a cigarette pack. "How about sharing a number?"

"Right on," the teenage boy said. "Prime grass."

Virgie lit up. The pungent fumes of marijuana filled the car as the joint was passed ritually back and forth. Still there was no sign of the voluptuous older woman.