Charles Bock - Beautiful Children

Now her lips, luscious and billowy and a gloss of ruby red, formed words that were drowned out by the yelps and whistles of an excruciating pop hit.

Bing shrugged. She leaned toward him, the naughtiest and most mischievous Catholic girl there ever had been. If it was possible to shout intimately into someone's ear, she did this: Thanks for being such a good sport about my panties.

“Oh.”

He looked down, became distracted by her breasts. “My pleasure. Heh. Put your panties on my face anytime.”

A giggle. “I'm Cheri.”

“Nice to meet you, Cheri. Bing.”

“Bling?”

“No L. ”

Ponytails bounced as she nodded, her smile impossibly larger and more devastating.

“That was astounding, ” he said. “That, the way you…” He almost pointed to her chest, but caught himself. “Amazing.”

“Yeah.” She giggled. “I guess I am.” Her hand pressed onto his shoulder, at once suggestive and soothing. “Are you just here for the weekend?”

“The night.”

Between sips of his soda, leaning forward, trying to hear and be heard through the music, Bing followed her lead, answering each question, willingly proceeding into a conversation that was polite, courteous, empty, and an awful lot like talks he'd had while watching television with his housemates’ girlfriends. Only where those conversations usually ended with awkward silence, presently, Bing was more than eager to participate. —Not one of the hotels, he answered. — Actually it's a pretty nice motel. At the bottom of the strip. Toward the airport? — Kinda both, really, business and pleasure. — They had me come in to sign these books I draw. — Yeah, it is pretty cool, I guess. — Tonight? Awm. So far I blew forty bucks to see a pair of fags make a white tiger disappear….

When she laughed, his heart did a little jig. Emboldened, he kept talking, About four hands of blackjack. They wiped the floor with me, I guess. But it's all good, you know. It's only money, right?

“Just what I like to hear.” Cheri giggled and leaned in closer, more affectionate now, taking his hand, squeezing with a presumptive knowingness. Did he want a refill on his drink? Did he feel like buying a lady a drink? Was he in the mood for a table dance? How about heading someplace more private?

Through his blasting goggles Bing stared into her azure eyes — or were they jade?

“Crap,” she said. “Who knows what color they are tonight. I lose track. Hell, sometimes I mix up my contacts, work all night with one green eye and one blue.”

“Heh.”

“I'm an idiot, I know.”

“Somewhere without so much music sounds nice,” he said. “A room without all this commotion.”

Her hips swished in a way that was worth any uncertainty Bing felt about how much money was in his wallet, and she led him by the hand across the main floor, the crowd parting for her as if she were royalty, guys gawking and staring from all over. Cheri paid them no mind, but kept her head high, the smile chiseled across her face. A nod to the steroid freak in front of the black curtain. Promptly he pulled the curtain aside.

Tasteful faux torches supplied what lighting the hallway had. Between the torch lights, curtained cubicles were discreetly hidden. Small red lights flashed above the first few cubicles, and when Cheri found a green light, she opened the corresponding curtain.

“Thirty bucks a dance,” she said, ushering him inside. “Half an hour for a hundred.” A wink. “Or we can really get wicked and head back into the VIP room.”

“Why don't we start with one. See where that goes.”

The closet's walls and floors were covered in a plush black surface similar to carpet. Bing got comfortable on a padded bench against the wall. Cheri took the drink from his hand and set it down on the surface of a round table he hadn't seen.

She smiled at him and he smiled back. She played with the end of a ponytail and crossed one leg in front of the other, giving what had to be the fourth throaty giggle since she'd introduced herself. Bing gave her the benefit of the doubt. A natural tic, he decided. A means of filling silence.

When the song ended, Cheri promptly moved toward Bing, placed one hand on each of his knees, and gently eased them apart, widening his legs so they were like the foul lines of a baseball diamond. She then stepped up, between his legs and into his lap. The outside of her knees brushed against the inside of his thighs; her bloused breasts popped into his face. As she lined her pelvis up with the top of his crotch, Bing smelled the jasmine and honey oils on her skin, the sweet apple perfume on her neck. Languid, electronic beats began, filling the room, and Cheri began grinding, leisurely changing pace and direction in time to the beat, her motions fluid, wavelike. She undid the first and second buttons on her blouse, and let the fabric fall open, easily sliding off the garment, teasing him with it. Next she undid her bra, let it fall free, and was on top of Bing, straddling him, sitting on him, pressing down onto his erection, leaning forward, pushing those huge melons into his face, their heft delicious, warm on him, her nipples still smoldering, still redolent of the cinder burn.

The song hit its chanted reggae-inspired chorus and she put her hands above each side of his head, pressed the wall for leverage, and bounced on him, Bing feeling her pushing weight, her ass muscles flinching and tightening on him. The collagen of her smile betrayed a momentary pain. Just as quickly her face was blank.

She kept riding, bouncing, bringing soft groans from him. And then she withdrew, taking a step back, into the space of his opened legs. Bing watched, transfixed as she swayed back and forth, slowly wiggling her hips, and drawing out the removal of a thin, spangled string of panty.

Despite all her moves, Cheri's pubic area remained a fairly sturdy and centered sight. This allowed Bing to focus his attention.

Still, it took a moment for the sight to register.

Her mons pubis.

The damndest thing.

It wasn't pale, but a white that went beyond the limits of pale, that had nothing to do with staying out of the sun. The entirety of her body was luxurious and bronze, except for this whiteness, and this was a stunning contrast. Against this dark perfect body, the whiteness formed a heart — what looked like a heart — only there was even more to it. Because inside her white heart of skin, the stripper's pubic hair was shaped. Sculpted. Arranged. Littler hearts. A bull's-eye of three brightly colored hearts — green, yellow, and a small red heart at the center — the colors glowing wildly in the black light.

Whenever the stripper stayed centered long enough for Bing to really lock in, it appeared to him that each layer of hair had been cut to a different level of height. He was able to see the slight, grainy patterns of each level, as well as the thin white base of skin that separated one level of heart bull's-eye from the next. It was stunning. The white ink appeared embedded to him, sunken inside the stripper's well-tanned body. Simultaneously, the different levels of her colored hearts of pubic hair made it look as if the heart bull's-eye was jumping out from her. The harder Bing looked the more it seemed the whole design of hearts was both shrinking into and sprouting from her body.

“Three dimensional,” he said.

She swayed in place, expressionless.

“I mean, I thought that's what it was when I saw it onstage, but then with, with the fire…”

She stared blankly.

“It really looks…,” Bing said. “Just unbelievable.”

Her hands ran seductively over the skin atop his head, her pelvis rotated in a tight, circular motion.