What a memorable evening for a one night stand.
It was mid eighties and I was tour managing a new band for Warner Bros. We were playing a showcase club in the midwest and the club manager and I had been trading teasing lines and double entendres since load in. I think her name may have been Donna. She ran her venue well, was a sharp operator with a quick wit.
As the day and evening progressed a joking semi sexual tension was developing between us. She was definitely not what one would call pretty but she had plenty of vibe and I was intrigued. And yet the band and crew commented repeatedly on the “dyke manager”.
With jeans, a Dickies work shirt and short hair cut, there was a bit of a dyke vibe to her look, so I might have been misinterpreting everything. With the band on stage, we closed the box office, and proceeded to settle the show. Turn out was good and both club and artist went into percentage. As I was counting out the overage and separating bills, she came around the table, turned the office chair I was sitting in, until it faced her, then put her hands on my knees and leaned her face toward mine.
“It takes about an hour to clear the house. Can you get your band back to the hotel and be back here by then? I want to take you home……………………”
AIDS is a troubling reality at this time and I paused, I also can’t quite believe this a the conversation during a show settlement………… Not to mention the way it was delivered. No kiss, no surreptitious rubbing against me, just an invitation with an assumption on my end. The long pause in response, causes her to elaborate.
“Look, drive yourself, you can leave anytime, but I am clean, safe, have very few partners and when you see why, you will understand. I am not a lesbian, but most cock is not enough for me, which means that most men don’t like being with me as they get intimidated by my love of big toys”.
“Fair enough” I declared, a bit deflated about the size thing and certainly intimidated, but aroused by her direct and open manner and all that was left unsaid.
I lean forward to kiss her, but she avoids my lunge, laughs and pats the top of my hand as she stands up and returns to her desk. Okay, this one is going to be different for sure. This show is a fly leg and we have two town cars for the band and a 15 pax van for the crew. One band cat opts to stay, trolling for pussy at the bar before they do last call.
The crew are on their own, packing up our travel gear and leaving the local rental rigs onstage. I ferry my carload back to the hotel, grateful we have a late wake up tomorrow. Dropping my briefcase in my room, I lock my cash in the room safe and head back to the venue. Back at the club, the band member is gone and the crew are finished and piling into the van. I
respond to their quizzical looks with “Just a few issues to resolve on settlement. See you guys tomorrow” and I head back in the stage door.
While it is a 1,500 seat showcase club, that does not change the fact that deep in it’s DNA, it’s just a bar……….. Even though I had only left 40 minutes earlier, the smell still smacks me in the face — stale beer, cigarettes, body odor, mildew — just a dull, dead scent that I am so grateful is not a daily part of my life.
The door to the office is locked, so I knock. Donna opens the door, her jacket on, a bag on her shoulder. “Let’s go” she says as she double bolts the door. A security guy and two bar backs wave goodbye to her and I think I see knowing smirks exchanged by them all.
“Follow me, it’s about a 10 minute drive.”
She gets into a nicely restored El Camino with Cragar mags and I shake my head as the woman grows more complex each moment. Driving behind her barely muffled V8, I can hear that it is in fine fettle and obviously more than just a cosmetic restoration.
In the middle of a typical suburban sprawl, we drive into a two block section of old storefronts. A few are boarded and vacant, a few have old, faded signs and occupants (a dry cleaner, a stationer), but most are hip little boutiques, mostly clothing outlets. It’s a semi gentrified, boho rejuvenation of what was probably a waste land 5 years before and a thriving ethnic neighborhood 20 years before that.
The buildings are brick and look to have been built in the 30’s. Each side of the street is 4 stories tall. Pulling around back, she parks up behind a yoga studio and waves me into the spot next to hers. An exterior wooden staircase, with little landings on each floor sits against each of the semi detached buildings.
Without me asking, she opens the hood of her El Camino.
“It’s not even close to stock, 454 box motor and a 4 barrel Edelbrock as you can see. Inside, everything is balanced, polished, ported etc etc — she’s my baby. I do some of the really basic wrenching, but farm out all the important shit.”
With that she lowers the hood until it rests on the latch hook. Making sure I am watching, she takes two finger and pushes it shut with a simple thunk.
“That took Haymana Escort forever to get right. The arms on this hood were so jacked up that we had to search every junk yard in the state to find replacements and even then, it took repeated adjustments.”
Her pride is obvious and I am impressed. I follow her up to the third floor into a large sort of railroad flat. We enter in the rear through the kitchen. Then there is a hallway on the left. A bathroom opens on the right side of the hallway and appears to run its length.
The front flairs back out to the full width of the apartment with a large, open area serving as bedroom and living room. A pair of Japanese reed screens shield the sleeping area from the living area.
Donna is most definitely not a housekeeper. The bed is unmade, assorted clothing is thrown on the couch, bed and floor. It’s not really dirty, but it is messy.
There are four Japanese woodblock prints on the wall. They are all framed and to my eye of high quality. The largest is Hokusai’s famous “Great Wave”. I know a bit about ukiyo-e art and decide to show off, complimenting her on the Hokusai and asking her if she is familiar with other ukiyo-e artists. Smiling, she points to one of them.
“That’s a Yoshitoshi, from the 100 Aspects of the Moon series, but the others are all Hokusai.”
The Yoshitoshi print is almost monochromatic, with a large, full moon anchoring the bottom left hand corner, a rock cliff in the foreground, a warrior, struggling to climb it’s outcropping, while tall grasses before and behind him pull incredible depth from the print. It is truly remarkable work.
The next Hokusai is a burst of color, showing a river scene, filled with activity both on shore and on the water. Kites fill the sky, and every group of people seem to have a story. Moving to the last one, I can feel Donna watching me as I take it in.
“Shunga” she says. “It means picture of spring, a edo period euphemism for sex. Most of the ukiyo-e artists did Shunga, it was very popular and people would hang the prints in their homes.”
A woman is lying astride a boy, her disproportionately large vulva spread open and his rather immense cock, veins bulging, is half buried in her while semen drips out of her and down his shaft. One of her breasts hangs free, but the rest of their bodies are covered in kimonos or robes.
But certain things are a bit off. Feet are smaller than hands. Thighs are the size of torsos, with stick like calves. Each of their heads are twisted at unnatural angles. And yet the key pattern on the bed covering is perfect, it’s intricacies laid in with architectural accuracy. The cherry blossoms on her kimono are just as detailed and accurately flow as the material wraps her body.
When one steps back and simply takes it as a whole, everything falls together and you literally can feel the ravenous, lust of the woman as she pleasures herself on the listless young man’s penis. Hokusai has been meticulous with the folds of her labia, using color to give it depth, the same way he details the veins bulging from the shaft of the boy’s penis.
My throat constricts a bit and I can feel a slight pressure on my chest as my arousal blooms.
“So what do you think?”
There is a definite teasing tone to her voice and she knows she has cut me down a notch from my cocky recognition of the Great Wave and showing off with my limited knowledge of Ukiyo-e wood block art. I start to explain my thoughts about the weird presentation and proportions of the body versus the precise detail of the textiles and sex organs, but she cuts me off.
“You are missing the point. Here, look at these.”
She pulls a well worn book from the shelf. The cover is another Shunga picture and the text is all kanji. It’s a Japanese collection of Shunga prints. They show all imaginable positions. Like the one on the wall, the cocks are enormous, some of the penis crowns are almost the size of a person’s head.
Most of the faces are simply drawn with narrow, slanted “oriental” eyes and small mouths, but the artists are able to imbue a lot even with those limitations. While there are some portrayals that truly appear to be love making, the bulk show one partner taking their pleasure from the other.
90% are coital, with a few showing cunnilingus or masturbation. There is no fellatio. I slowly flip through the pictures, most definitely on my back foot and now wanting to simply get back to equal ground. I am on her playing field and I know it.
“There is no connection between most of these other than the sex.”…………
“Bingo!, Exactly” she says, taking the book from my hand and replacing it on the shelf.
“Do you think that’s because the “floating world” focus of Ukiyo-e emulated the concubine’s world?” I ask.
Her head whips back around and she very exaggeratedly looks me up and down.
“Fair enough. Real good point…….. I am not really sure, but the picture turns me on because the woman in this İranlı Escort one is fully in control and not asking for anything beyond her physical satisfaction.”
Shaking her head, she mumbles to herself, but loud enough that she knows I can hear her…….”This one is full of surprises, isn’t he?”
She leads me back to the kitchen, which is the opposite of the living area. It’s neat and tidy, with washed dishes racked next to the sink. The counter tops and kitchen table are spotless, in fact everything kind of sparkles………………. I think: Will the contradictions never end? I consider parroting her comment about surprises back at her, but change my mind.
She takes a bottle of Stolichnaya from the freezer and grabs two shot glasses from the cupboard. Sitting down, she fills each and pushes one over to me.
“I don’t drink until work is done and you already told me the same when I offered you a shot at settlement, so we are both starting out sober for this game.”………….
“What game?”……………..
“Well, you could call it strip poker or strip blackjack, but I just like to think of it as a fun way to get naked and get a buzz on at the same time. I’m all about efficiency.”
I have played games like this with women before and always have ended up “losing”, naked way earlier than they. It’s mostly because they have lots of accessories while men have few. I quickly scan Donna and realize that except for an assumed bra and panties, we are pretty even. She gets a deck of cards from a kitchen drawer and shuffles them.
“Okay, first card shows, second and more are covered. Highest under 21 wins — over 21 loses.”
The first three hands go to her and I am quickly shoeless with one sock remaining on my left foot. I also have a warm vodka wave washing over me. The next hand goes to me and she stands and takes off her work shirt……………. She sees my reaction……………..
“Hey, I told you, ‘a way to get naked and get a buzz on’ “
She smiles, downs her shot and pours another. I am already two ahead of her and while not naked, most definitely have a buzz on. As she slowly deals the next hand, I see that her figure is not as blocky as her outfit suggests. The work shirt hid a pronounced waist and her bra is a runners bra, holding her breasts tightly against her chest and denying any bulges of female form.
I have blackjack and sit on my two cards, enjoying watching her go over. This time she does her shot first and then her belt comes off. My turn to deal. The vodka is spreading its warmth through me and I am starting to feel at home with this decidedly different woman.
I show a jack and have a 3 hidden. She shows an 8. We both take cards, I get a 5 and decide to rest. She takes one, then another and flips them over to reveal a 5 and a jack. We are now even on the losses, but you couldn’t tell from our attire as she steps out of her jeans, standing there in stockinged feet.
I start to comment on where her boots went but she stops me a “look”, reminding me of the true purpose of the game. Like her bra, her bikini briefs are tan cotton, more athletic than sexy, but they cling tightly and there is a pronounced “camel toe” showing at the cleft of her lips.
I lose the next hand and as I reach down to take off my last sock, I get a glimpse of real disappointment in her eyes (I have obviously not grasped the game’s purpose) and I quickly stand and take off my shirt.
“Nice! You’re tattooed as well!”
Throwing down my 4th shot, I reach across the table and fill the shot glass myself. Losing the next hand she laughs, tosses down her fourth and then reaches around to undo her bra. Lifting one strap forward and then the other, she drops her arms and lets it slide down over her forearms, wrists and hands to lie on the table, obscuring the playing cards, which I think have now served their purpose.
The bra slide must be a parlor trick because why else would I have followed its trail rather than watching her breasts escape it’s hold. Looking back up, I see she has already cupped her palms under each, supporting their weight and presenting them to me.
“Nice, huh?” she asks.
The athletic bra had flattened and obscured two fulsome breasts of near perfect shape and symmetry with dark brown, half dollar size areola. But most extraordinary in the mid 80’s were her pierced nipples, each wearing a heavy gauge ring with ball closure.
I swallow deeply, “Yeah, very nice”…………….
“Okay, game is over, I lost, I won, we won — but it seems to me that you need to even the score.”
Needing no urging, I pull off my remaining sock and strip out of my jeans, my erect cock, barely held by the skimpy briefs I am wearing. She leads me to the messy bedroom where she pulls the duvet and top sheet completely off the bed, tossing them in the corner, leaving no doubt of the bed’s purpose this evening.
She opens the dresser drawer, which is as neatly maintained as the kitchen…… Karapürçek Escort Inside are an array of sex toys, neatly lined up, pulling out the next drawer, there are more of the same and she begins examining them carefully…………..
Without turning around, she continues her assessment and says “Lie down and let me set the mood.”
I fluff up some pillows and lie back, watching her. She disappears behind the screen for a moment……. I hear a switch click and the hum of a tube amp warming up and Miles Davis’s “Kind of Blue” fills the room, not at all what I expected….. contradictions, contradictions, contradictions………
She reappears with several large votive candles which she lights and places around the room while selectively turning off various lamps. The result is spectacular. There is a mellow, amber palette to the room but enough light that it glints off her piercings and shows the defined furrow in her panties.
Turning back to the dresser, she begins laying her choices across the top. There are nipple clamps, a small box with wires and alligator clips, pair of dildos of various sizes and shapes, a flogger, a pair of hand cuffs, four neoprene Velcro cuffs, some rope and a leather jock strap. By now, the crown of my penis is out above the waistband of my briefs, but as I go to stuff it back inside, she stops me.
“Let’s just see what happens naturally from here on. Now, let me lie down where you are and you can follow my instructions.”
She has me cuff her wrists and ankles with the neoprene cuffs and then arranges herself spread eagle on the bed. I had not noticed earlier, but there is a 3″ stainless steel ring anchored on mattress high posts at each corner of the bed. She has me tie the restraints to each one, taking up any slack and leaving her entirely helpless.
“Don’t worry, I trust you” she says in response to whatever look my face must have been wearing………. “And oh, by the way, you are going to have a chance to trust me too!”
With that stimulus, my cock swells and rolls out over my waistband, my balls still held in the pouch of the briefs……
“huh, Nice looking cock”……..
Like her comment about her own breasts, it was not really a compliment. Just a statement. Not sexually tinged, No innuendo at all, no intimation of what she might want to do with it, so fucking weird……………………
She has me place the little black box between her legs, connect the wires to two of the terminals and clip the alligator clips to the ball closures of her nipple rings. Following her direction, I flip the switch to on and gradually turn up the voltage,
“slower”
I slow down.
“stop”
And I do. Her eyes are closed, lips parted slightly and she begins to pant lightly………..
“more”
I turn it up a few more degrees on the dial and her mouth opens wider, her chest now moving in and out, gulping air. The cleft in her tan panties is growing dark as her glandular flow starts seeping out…………..
“More”
Another two degrees and her arms are pulling at the restraints, her pelvis raising off the bed as she gulps for air. Her panties are now soaked and she is thrashing about on the bed. Without realizing it, I have taken my cock in hand and am stroking myself as she writhes in front of me.
“Okay, okay, Okay”………. She cries and I begin dialing it back.
“Mmmmmnnnhhh, so something happened naturally, I see”, she says looking at my hand around my cock. I guess we don’t need them any more do we?”…….
I begin to unhook the alligator clips………..
“Silly, I’m talking about our underwear”, but first, I need some water.”
Hopping off the bed, I head to the kitchen for some water and come back with a tumbler full of tap water. Filling my mouth, I go to kiss it into hers, but she shakes her head.
“I don’t like kissing, that’s for lovers, we are not lovers, we are not making love, you can spit it in, but don’t try and kiss me again.”
She opens her mouth wide and from 6″ over her, I purse my lips and let the stream find her. Some splashes on her face, some on the pillow, but she does not seem to care.
“Thanks, okay, now the panties.”
I quickly step out of mine, my balls finally swinging free.
“You might have an average cock there, mister, but those are the biggest balls and sack I have ever seen, we’re gonna have to find a use for them tonight!”
I go to unhitch her leg restraints but she stops me again.
“In my bedside table, there is a straight razor, get it and cut my panties off me.”
Sure enough, inside the drawer, there are actually two straight razors. I pick one out and carefully open it, exposing it’s gleaming, hollow ground edge and mirror polished surface…………………
So I am in an apartment that I don’t even know the address of, no one knows I am here, with a woman I just met who has intimated she will eventually tie me down and she keeps two straight razors in her bedside table. Suddenly, my raging hard on goes flaccid and it is immediately noticed by Donna.
“Yeah, I expected as much……… well, hey, thanks for the nice restraint assisted zap, I can’t do that by myself, so greatly appreciated. But if this is as far as you can go, untie me and we can call it quits now, just don’t expect me to suck you off or anything.”