It rained harder.
“Saw-dool-law, saw-dool-law!” the old woman shouted. She waved her bony arms toward Tina—cigarette smoke hung in the air like floating runes. “Jee-gum ee-yah!”
Hurry up, hurry up. The time is now.
He watched as Tina flared her nostrils. The image of a she-dragon flew across the borders of his rational mind. She muttered something that he thought sounded extremely unfriendly to the old woman, who simply shrugged and cackle-coughed in return.
Tina turned toward him. As she squinted her heavily outlined almond eyes at him in a glare, the she-dragon reappeared. It circled his brain and blew long, searing blades of fire through his consciousness.
He instantly felt what you feel when you realize that you’ve had a little too much—the sixth shot, the third hit, the fifth drag.
It didn’t occur to him that he should still be sober.
Without warning or prelude Tina roughly pulled the elastic fabric of her top down under her right breast—her plump, ivory titty did a little upward boing before it settled into the makeshift shelf of the Lycra.
He blinked twice and cleared his throat.
“Drleenk,” she commanded him.
He didn’t understand what she meant, and besides, the sight of her cherry red, pert-as-a-little-mushroom nipple pointing right at him was rather distracting.
He sat very still, looking foolish, staring at her tit.
“Drleenk, drleenk!” she commanded again. She cupped her breast in a death grip that was oddly accented by mother-of-pearl-colored, acrylic fingernails and jiggled it. “Drleenk!”
The more she jiggled, the more his crotch tingled.
The old woman pulled his ear violently, making him lurch forward, placing the lashes of his left eye less than an inch away from her breast.
“Dr-ink! Dr-ink!” the old woman enunciated in an exasperated tone. “Now! Her teat, drink her teat!”
Tina, evidently sick of waiting for him to get the picture, rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, grabbed him by the chin, and shoved her hard, rosy nipple into his mouth.
The old woman nodded her approval, which made the wrinkled folds of her neck fold in and out like an iguana’s. She shuffled over to the jukebox, pulled two quarters from the rusted coffee can sitting on top, plunked them in, hit a button, then hit REPEAT.
Drum machine, synthesizer, the pseudoraspy voice of George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex” over scratchy speakers.
Tammi, Sherilyn, and Mimi clapped and cooed their approval.
In another space and time he would have found the scene as ludicrous as it truly was—but not tonight.
He tentatively flicked his tongue over Tina’s nipple. Her skin smelled like coconuts. He flicked his tongue again and was rewarded with a drop of creamy liquid. On flick of the tongue number five he realized exactly what the pearly fluid tasted like: piña colada poured with Captain Morgan’s Private Stock—spicy and rich on his taste buds.
Tina colada served fresh from a titty, he thought, ingenious and delicious.
Simultaneously the room shrank in around him (he was oddly reminded of a Space Bag infomercial), and he became aware that at some point in the past forty-five seconds, his penis had become unnaturally hard.
I have been poisoned. I have been poisoned while on vacation by strange women. The thoughts in his head seemed watered-down and dull—his realization unimportant.
It had been thirty-seven long years since he had been force-fed a boob, and by God did he miss it.
He worked the drug from her breast like a thief until it flowed rich, sweet, and intoxicating. He took it down his throat like a baby bird takes food into its gullet; or like a porn star guzzling cock.
Tammi, Sherilyn, and Mimi began to strip off their clothes—a denim skirt here, a purple demi-bra there…long legs, short legs, a round, vanilla-ice-cream bottom popping high in the air as tight, black jeans were stripped off…nipples, nipples, nipples, six different nipples…cunts…three cunts—two with tufts of soft black pubic hair, and one shaved as bald as a newborn lovebird.
He watched the naked women begin to touch and lick and suck and poke at one another with the same distracted curiosity that a nursing babe has while watching the colors and shapes in a mobile spin above its mother’s head.
The rain poured down.