Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume One

"Why, no, of course not," Cynthia stammered.

"Well, don't, if you know what's good for you." She stared at her awhile and then suddenly smiled warmly.

"I'm sorry, honey, for suspecting you… I guess you're on the square, though." She got up. "God, I need a drink. Want one?"

"No, not right now, thanks," Cynthia said.

She went over to the portable bar, poured herself some gin and sat down next to Cynthia, putting her arm along the top of the couch behind her.

"Being a woman, I guess you know the rest," Gypsy said.

"I suppose so, but…"

"And another thing. The pay is for a reasonable straight job. If they get any funny and weird ideas, and believe me, honey, you'll come up against some you never even dreamed of, you can either refuse or get more dough out of them."

"Oh?"

"And unless it's an all-night job, get the hell out right after they've had their shot. If they want another, make them pay again."

Her arm slid down and rested tightly on Cynthia's shoulder.

"But don't worry, honey. You'll be okay. Just play it cool and you'll soon learn the ropes. And stick to the high-class joints."

Cynthia couldn't avoid looking at Gypsy's maturely rounded body so casually displayed under the delicate blue negligee which lay like shadowed ice over the slumberous, heavy curves. Her hand was lightly stroking Cynthia's shoulder and she wondered whether to get up and leave, but decided to wait and see what would happen.

"Sure you don't want a drink, honey?" Gypsy asked.

"No, thanks." Cynthia didn't know what to say or where to look. Gypsy uncrossed her legs and the skirt fell open. Like polished ivory her thighs lay smooth and creamy, their heavy flesh pushed out against the blue cloth by their own weight.

"That's a pretty negligee," Cynthia said awkwardly.

"Thanks. Got it from a boy friend." Her hand rubbed the nape of Cynthia's neck. The loose neckline slid down over one shoulder, its edge draped lightly over the full curve of her breast, as large as a cantaloupe.

"Well, I guess I'd better he going," Cynthia said. She moved slightly on the conch.

"What's the rush, honey?" Gypsy leaned toward her, her face a few inches from Cynthia's. Over the dilated pupils of her eyes, her lids were partially closed. She ran her tongue over her red, half-parted lips, and then pressed them suddenly and unexpectedly against Cynthia's.

For a moment, Cynthia twisted in her arms and struggled to get up but Gypsy held her securely. And soon the sweet honey of her mouth and tongue, her gently stroking hands and the warm heavy weight of her body, conquered her momentary shock and sparked a strange fire of desire in her belly. She relaxed and surrendered herself to Gypsy's lips and body, turning her torso as Gypsy's hands unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off, arching her hips as they drew off her skirt and panties, kicking off her shoes and lying on her back, passively and quietly, as they slowly peeled her nylon stockings from her long, slim legs.

Cynthia suddenly squirmed again in an attempt to rise and fight the teasing of her body, but her mind seemed to have gone blank and all sense of perception vanished. The rebellion was only momentary and her body stilled again.

"Oh, baby, you're terrific," Gypsy murmured. With a hot, moist tongue she gently licked up her legs, fluttering her lips against the tender flesh of her inner thighs while Cynthia groaned helplessly below her.

Then, as though some magic spell had been wound over her, Cynthia reached down, grasped Gypsy's shoulders and pulled her up until she was lying on top of her; their lips met as her full white body writhed hotly against Cynthia's golden breasts and belly, their pubic mounds grinding slowly together, the soft blond fleece tangling gently with the deeper red.

Gypsy ground down against her for a moment and then with a deep, musky sigh slithered around on top of her. Her fingers pressed gently outwards against the soft, tender lips of her cunt, exposing the now gently palpitating clitoris to her greedy eyes. She moaned again and dropped her head down between Cynthia's open thighs, sucking the tiny throbbing bud wetly into her mouth. Cynthia held her breath from the strange and new sensation of another woman's lips touching her there in her secret portal of girlhood and she could feel the flames of lust again begin to lick slowly within her. Without thinking, she reached up and clasping Gypsy's slowly gyrating buttocks, drew them down softly over her face and began deeply tonguing the salty, sweet center of her loins. She moaned as the tip of her probing tongue suddenly broke through the outer barrier and slipped wetly up inside the pulsating walls of her cunt. She could feel the girl's movements over her become more desperate with each second she continued the teasing torture – and then, suddenly, but gently it was over for both of them. Gypsy emitted a low passionate mewl from deep in throat and Cynthia could feel the wetness of her passion flooding down over her cheeks. A moment later she felt a long, easy flush of fire ripple through her belly and burnt like a dam inside her.

Cynthia moved over to Frankie's apartment. Several days later the two scratches, long parallel streaks which ran across his cheek like red threads, had disappeared. When she asked him about Gypsy's departure, he would stroke the scratches and say, "Yeah, she was realty pissed off, baby, but she's gone now, thank God, so don't worry about it."

That evening he drove her downtown to one of the more fashionable clubs so she could begin bringing in some money, assuring her that this was only temporary and he would soon be getting her "some rich suckers" as soon as he had made a few more contacts. He pointed out a nearby hotel which accepted clients for short stays, kissed her and let her out at the corner.

She felt nervous; she was reluctant to enter a bar alone for the first time in her life. Nearing the neon-lighted club, she glanced at the doorman who looked her up and down appreciatively and then walked past, her courage failing her. She was afraid to enter and afraid not to, knowing how angry Frankie would be if she returned empty-handed. She walked around the block and stopped for a cup of coffee. Finally, deciding that she couldn't put it off any longer, she left, walked determinedly to the club and, clutching her purse with nervous fingers and holding her head high, marched through the door which was swept open by the uniformed doorman. Inside, she paused in the small foyer which was higher than the rest of the club and looked down the short flight of steps. To the right was a bar and beyond were several dozen tables with a spot-lighted piano at the far end, set on a small dais and being played by an anemic-looking Negro who was moaning about his woman who had left him for a Cadillac. Feeling lost and very conspicuous, she looked around and wondered what to do, but then spotted an empty stool at the bar and walked down the steps and over to it.

When she had sat down, a man standing next to her turned around, glanced over his shoulder to see if she was alone or not and asked if he could buy her a drink. He was short and fat and his bald head glistened in the dim light; on his nose was a wart with two long black hairs growing out of it. She said she'd like a Scotch. When he leaned toward her, making idle chatter while his eyes appraised her, the smell of his breath almost toppled her off her chair. My God, she thought, what do I do now? I can't possibly make love to this man. As he talked and become more openly admiring, she wished she'd had more experience and wondered frantically how to get rid of him; she glanced around to see if there were any likelier prospects, but all the other men at the bar seemed to be accompanied by women. Shivering at the thought of his hands on her naked body, she decided she couldn't possibly do it, no matter how much money he might pay. He asked her if she were busy the rest of the evening. She stammered that she had a late date, had only stopped in for a drink beforehand and would have to leave. Gathering up her gloves and purse, she murmured her thanks for the drink and quickly walked out. Outside, she breathed the clean, fresh air and debated where to go next. She was afraid to go back to Frankie too soon and without any money, so she started ambling down the street, planning to stop at another bar and there perhaps have better luck. She passed one bar after another; something seemed wrong with all of them. She was beginning to wish she had taken up the man back at the club, just to get it over with so she could go home, when she heard a soft voice behind her. She looked over her shoulder; it was the same man from the club.