The Taste of a Woman Page 13

  Now the bottom. There was a choice. Underneath was a pair of blue bikini bottoms, cut high on the hips, tight in the crotch, white stars scattered over the night sky of the shiny material. Over, drifted a pleated mini skirt of the same blue-with-stars design. Below, a pair of brilliant red stockings reaching to her mid thigh, black pumps below that.

  She looked in the mirror. She trembled at what she saw. She felt a vibration in her loins that frightened her. She fidgeted. She paced. She wondered if she had made the right decision. Intuitively, she reached for the mask and put it on. This time as she looked at herself things were different. She found herself stroking her body from the smiling breasts with their swollen nipples to the fire in her crotch. She rubbed herself a little.

  “The skirt has got to go,” she said, and threw it over her shoulder to the corner of the room. She pranced for the mirror. Looked over her shoulder.

  “I like it,” she said.

  The plan was to meet in the parking lot outside the dorm. Amy was to drive. That was a good thing. Juice couldn’t possibly.

  Amy arrived first. She felt self-conscious walking out of the dorm dressed like a superhero. But when she put on her mask she discovered she didn’t give a flying damn. In fact, when she arrived at her car and Juice wasn’t there, she launched herself onto the hood and posed there like an oversexed hood ornament, one leg propped, elbow on knee.

  What she saw then, coming toward her, knocked her socks off. It was a Witch Potato Head on legs walking directly toward her with arms where her ears should be. A large black pointy hat sat with the wide brim resting on her shoulders, brown ragmop hair streaming down, black mesh in the cone so she could look out without anyone seeing in.

  She wore a grey body sock, her boobs had become eyeballs, stretched out like cartoon popeyes projecting forward in a startling stare. A sponge nose was tacked to her belly button and a large, red, luscious set of lips was sewed to her crotch.

  Amy whooped and hollered. “Fantastic,” she said.

  “Wait till you see my sign,” she said.

  “Show me. Show me. Show me!”

  So she held it up. “Free kisses,” it said.

  “Hot!” said Amy. “Super hot.” Then it hit her. She squealed as she finally realized how those kisses might look. “You’re in for a fabulous night, sweet lady.”

  “Not so bad yourself.” She looked her over. “Maybe you’ll find Zoro.”

  The address was in an exclusive neighborhood, up a winding street in darkness, a large lawn with a row of Yew trees lining the drive. Lights and music reached them as they curved into the circle drive, turning over their car to the valet.

  “Welcome, witch,” said the valet dressed as a Chippendale dancer. “Welcome Wonder Woman.”

  A butler dressed in tails and boxer shorts greeted them at the door. “Welcome to the Ball,” he said. “May you bask in the pleasure of sensual delights.”

  Juice whooped.

  Amy shivered.

  He took them by the arms and brought them in. “There is just one little requirement before you enter,” he said, “something to set the mood.” He led them to a side foyer where lying on a chez lounge was a completely naked woman.

  “You must touch her somewhere before entering,” he said. “Anywhere you like, but only for three seconds. No breaking and entering.”

  Juice the witch, jumped right to it, dragging two fingers up her thigh to the edge of her furry thicket, quivering there briefly among the brush. Amy started to touch her on the shoulder but at the last moment changed her mind and grabbed her breast, squeezing it like a half-inflated balloon.

  Standing before the grand door the doorman delivered his last message. “One further requirement from your host. Before the night is over you must tell someone a secret about yourself.”

  Inside they found a large room with a grand chandelier, music from a live band on a landing half way up the winding stairs, people in masks and costumes milling around.

  “Lets sget a little eye candy,” said Juice.

  “Ex-actly!”

  They locked arms and began circling the room. “Check out the Superman with the bulge in his pants,” said Juice.

  “How about that Lady Godiva.”

  “I kind of like the S&M girl in leather and a whip and the one breast hanging out. That’s way cool.”

  “Ooooooh,” said Amy. “I found my plum pudding.” She pointed to the muscular Nordic guy with blond hair streaming to his shoulders holding a tall staff with a gold medallion on top, the shiny muscular skin of his chest undressed under straps of leather, tight fitting leather pants cut off at his knees with a large cutaway - Amy shrieked- around his genitals - “Oh my god, I just realized... ”- so that his junk hung right out in the open.

  “So that’s why you like him so much. Good for you, babe.”

  Amy couldn’t take her eyes off his crotch. She stared from afar. She curled one finger over her lips. How they dangled. She turned her head slightly under itself in shyness but kept her eyes on the large tubular penis draping way down over a tight set of balls tucked up against his bottom.

  “He must have rubbed that penis of his - she giggled. Jesus, have you seen anything like that? - rubbed it with oil of some kind. Look how it glows.”

  “That’s your eyes glowing, honey.”

  “No. For real! Check it out.”

  “Hummm,” said Juice. “Just your size.”

  Amy gulped and choked and turned away.

  They went to the punch table. A large bowl was steaming and bubbling.

  “That looks dangerous,” said Amy.

  “It is,” said the coachman in short shorts, jacket and no shirt standing behind the table. “It’s Purple Jesus, Welch’s and Vodka. Just the right thing to get underclassmen drunk and seduce them.”

  They took half servings and sipped them slowly.

  “I think it’s time for my sign,” said Juice, and she held up “Free Kisses.”

  People around her pointed and laughed. A boy dressed like Icarus came over. “You’re going to be the most popular girl of the night witchy lady,” he said. Then he bent down and planted a kiss right on her “lips.”

  “I’ll take some of that,” said a woman in a white robe, wrapped seductively around her breasts leaving way too much showing. She knelt, stretched her arm between Juice’s legs and pulled her buttock forward so her jucy lips were thrust to her open mouth. She kissed and rubbed her head back and forth and gobbled and crooned.

  Amy heard Juice moan inside her pointy hat and imagined eyes closed, mouth open.

  The music picked up.

  “Time to dance,” said Juice and grabbed Amy by the ass and pulled her in. Juice was humming.

  “I didn’t know you cared,” said Amy.

  “You bet your sweet bippy I do.”

  “Is that your confession?”

  “You can take it so.”

  Juice pulled the brim of her hat up and hooked it to a loop on the side of the conical top to make room for Amy next to her. They danced. Close. Locked together. Wonder Woman and the bodiless witch.

  “Saw your Zoro on the stairs just now,” said Juice.

  “No. He was by the punch bowl. And why is he my Zoro?”

  “Just is, that’s all.”

  They turned to check out the Zoro but the mysterious figure was not in sight.

  “You might have to have a tangle with that one before the night is over,” she said.

  “I’ll pick my victims, thank you.”

  They danced and whirled and weaved in and out of other couples: a cat woman in skin tight leotards, Benjamin Franklin, a Spanish Flamingo couple dancing with her fluffy skirt hiked up around the body of her partner.

  Winter Warlock came up. “Cute couple,” he said. �
�I think I’d like those witches eyes on me for a while.” And he cut in.

  Wonder Woman was left standing but not long. Albert Einstein stepped in. He was just tall enough to place his eyes right in her cleavage where he buried his face. He had bad breath and was making her wet. She ditched him when she spied a cute little Cupid sitting by himself on a bench against the wall.

  She sat beside him.

  “Hi Wonder Woman,” he said.

  “Hi yourself.”

  He nodded.

  “Seems you’re not having much fun over here against the wall and all. Being Cupid, aren’t you supposed to be out there doing the love thing?”

  He sighed. “Supposed to.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  He looked forlorn. Looked down at his hands. “Okay, maybe it’s time for my secret.”

  “I like secrets.”

  “The truth is I’m painfully shy.”

  Imagine, thought Amy. Someone more bashful than I. Only he hasn’t found a way out of it. “Oh, I love this,” she said.

  He looked hurt.

  “No, no. What I meant was... ” She paused and looked him over. “Don’t you know that Wonder Woman has superpowers?”

  He smiled. “I’ve heard that.”

  She took his hand and led him on the dance floor. “So here’s my first power of the evening. Are you ready?”

  “God I hope so.”

  “So this is my power to make you horny.”

  She clutched him to her body, placing her thigh between his legs, rubbing there, spinning him around the ballroom, her breasts pressed against him.

  “Horny, is not the problem,” he said. “And I have to say you’re doing that really well. Really well,” he said looking down at her breasts pressed against him. “The problem is making the connection.”

  “Then that’s not horny. I’m going to make you horny enough to charge out and get someone.”

  She stopped in the center of the floor and planted a hard kiss on his lips, holding there as the cheers rose around them, holding longer, working her tongue and sucking at him until she felt him go hard against her thigh.

  “I think you’re ready now,” she said. “Anybody you’ve seen you want to go get?”

  “Thank you,” he said, turning to find Little Bo Peep coming out of the dining room. Without saying a word he picked her up and carried her upstairs.

  Wonder Woman clapped her hands in delight. Then she made an interesting observation. Go figure. Making Cupid horny made Wonder Woman horny.

  Oh My God! I can’t stand it. She spied “penis envy” heading off into the kitchen. She half-ran to catch up with him and, slightly out of breath, tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned around she grabbed him by his root and looked him straight in the eye. Nothing there to dissuade her, she dragged him by his handle into the kitchen where she backed him into a dark corner and started stroking him.

  He was soft and silky. Yes. Oil. I knew it, she thought. She rubbed some on her forefinger and tasted it. “Olive.” She said.

  “Extra Virgin,” he said.

  She laughed. “Get a-way!”

  “The better for your health, my dear,” he said.

  She knelt and licked him. “Mmmmm, Italian pasta,” she said, and took him in.

  He moaned. He firmed up.

  She paused. “You want to know my secret?” she said between licks.

  “You’re a Fluffer.”

  “Not. No. Not that.” She took a few more gulps. “The irony is... you picked... the right kind of oil.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked up at him, his penis bounding beside her nose. “My secret is I’ve never done this before.”

  She returned to her passion taking him deeper, spiraling her mouth around him. God, he was hard. She felt the little channel under the shaft fill to make a ridge against her tongue. She uttered a small cough, swallowed and stood up. She kissed him, squeezing his penis as hard as she could, then pulled back, drifting her hand to his balls which she jangled. Lets let that gism stay in there a little while. You might need it a little later in the evening. Then she squeezed him once more and left the kitchen. God, she was proud of herself.

  Juice, meanwhile, had found a magic marker and was writing a new sign on the back of “ Kisses.” It read, “I do Oral.”

  Ten people immediately gathered around her.

  She found a partner only she would take. Frankenstein. And she quickly had him upstairs trying doors here and there until she found a large room with books everywhere. Library. Perfect. The light was dim and people there were engaged in their own passionate pleasures. King Lear was licking Cleopatra’s breasts. The Grecian toga woman was kissing a Fairy Queen. Robert Louis Stevenson was masterbating.

  The last corridor was empty. He pushed her against the bookcase and massaged her eyeball. He lifted her to a tabletop and rubbed her fat red lips. She lifted his face. Put her finger to his mouth and stood down to the floor.

  She unzipped his pants to find Ugo standing at attention, then pointed to her ruby red lips, her mouth of the southern hemisphere.

  While he watched in amazement, she found the little zipper at the corner of the lips and opened herself. She pulled him through the lips into her deep, deep throat. He began pumping her like any good monster would do. His groans and howls aroused the neighboring kissing women and the Royal couple. They came to watch. Soon people were piling in from the hallway. The witch was bobbing her mouth against his rod, the large red, happysmiling lips wrapped around him, her eyes goggling wildly. The whisper in the hallways was, “Come see the witch giving head to Frankenstein.”

  The girls met at the punch bowl.

  Amy looked at Juice. Juice looked at Amy. They burst out laughing. “Don’t tell me,” Juice said. “I don’t want to know.”

  They laughed again.

  Amy caught a glimpse of Zoro behind a column. Then he was gone.

  “Maybe we should slow down a bit,” said Juice. Then she continued. “Maybe not for too long,” she added. She chuckled.

  Amy nodded. “Let’s go spying,” she said.

  They took their sipping cups and passed through the crowd. Amy touched the muscles of a Hulk as they passed. Juice reached out and stroked the one open breast of the S&M lady. The lady came forward and rubbed her rosy lips. A French Gentleman was kissing a Maid in the corner. Amy and Juice stood on either side and grazed their bodies with fingertips.

  They sat on a love seat and watched the crowd dancing, talking, drinking.

  “See how much fun it is to be uninhibited,” Juice said.

  “Scary fun.”

  “Good scary?”

  “You don’t realize you have this side until something like this happens.”

  Juice nodded.

  “I mean, I am so inhibited and yet I helped that Cupid fellow break through his wall and go after Bo Peep.”

  “You couldn’t have done that without a strong sensual side... ”

  “I know. I know that now.”

  “... hidden under there somewhere.” Juice patted her heart gently.

  “But I’m guessing that I will go right back to the Cinderella I was when I take off my magic slipper.”

  “The Power of the Mask.”

  “Love that.”

  “Gives power.”

  “Healing.”

  “The man I made up is me.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Sam Shepard.”

  Amy tilted her head to one side and closed her eyes. “Do you think we can create ourselves?”

  “I do every day.”

  Amy looked at Juice, this friend, this tempter, this wise woman. She put her hand on her thigh and squeezed her. “You are someth
ing else,” she said.

  “I amaze myself sometimes.” She took Amy’s hand in both hers. “I don’t think much of all that New Age stuff but there’s something to the idea that we all have these inner beings longing to get out. How many times do we have to measure ourselves against other people’s expectations?”

  Amy laughed. “Except when we have a mask.” Something about this discussion was making her feel empowered. She liked that feeling.

  “Ah ,Wonder Woman, are you ready for a little action?”

  “Let’s see what we can find.”

  They held hands strolling through the rooms. Some people were talking. Some dancing. Some arguing politics. Some already tipsy dancing on table tops. Some just holding on to someone.

  “Want to try and guess our friends?” said Amy.

  “If they’re even here.”

  “We’ll imagine them if they’re not.”

  “Or maybe we’ll guess occupations, something about their background.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” said Amy, nodding toward the Benjamin Franklin fellow, “I would guess he is a banker.”

  “Right.” Juice looked around. She nudged Amy. “And that nun over there is a prostitute.”

  Amy laughed out loud. Then covered her mouth.

  “Oh, I found Jonathan.”

  “Where?”

  “See if you can guess.”

  “Okay. What would he do? Something far, far from his stodgy rich-assed self. Something that would allow him to behave like he never could in real life. I have it! He’s the hobo with tattered clothing, his boxer shorts showing through.”

  “Eggs-actly! And I think Richard was the Spider Man we saw earlier.”

  “I don’t know,” mused Juice. “He could be something really break-through.”

  “Well, what do you think? Mother Theresa.”

  “More like the French Chambermaid.”

  They had arrived at an upstairs sunroom, now barely lit by outdoor lights, a few pieces of wicker furniture just visible in the rising darkness. It had started to rain, the early, smaller drops popping lightly on the glass panes, sliding down in streams of altered light.

  “Oh, I love rain,” said Amy, feeling like a nine year old. “I think I’ll just stand her a while and soak it in.”