A spotlight comes on and falls upon a black drag queen with a truly impressive amount of make-up, a glittery evening dress, and long, trailing earrings that go past her shoulders. Oozing cool, she glides from the sliding door that she has come out from and goes to a small platform that serves as a stage.
She introduces herself as Nina Simone.
Sitting at a piano she tells us her first song will be: I Put a Spell on You.
Simone turns out to be eye-bleedingly good. Her voice is so strong and clear it makes the hair on my arms stand up. Her Nina Simone is exquisite. When the song is over she stops, wisecracks, and then smoothly eases herself into the song that electrifies the entire room and defines it as hers. Sinnerman!
So I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
Ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
She gets everyone going. I turn at the end of her performance to look at Jaron and he is staring at me. His eyes are intense and almost quizzical, as if there is something about me he cannot understand.
‘What?’ I ask.
But he doesn’t tell me what is truly on his mind. ‘Wait till you see the toilets,’ he says lightly instead.
‘Why?’
‘The doors are transparent until you lock them and then they mist up.’
‘Sexy! Shall we try one together?’
‘Nope.’
‘Have you gone conventional on me then?’ I tease.
‘A: I like this joint and I want to be able to come back and B: I have other plans for you.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
It is an amazing night. I eat chicken—well, I hope it is—I drink loads of Voltaires and thoroughly enjoy Jaron’s company. He is charming and suave and attentive. By the time we leave Jaron is stone cold sober and while I am not exactly drunk, I am what you could call merry and what most people would class as very, very horny. The taxi turns into Upper Belgrave Street and Jaron runs his hand along the inside of my thigh. I shift my legs farther apart when his fingers start brushing the crotch of my shorts.
He looks into my eyes. ‘Wet?’
‘Dripping,’ I reply.
The taxi comes to a stop outside a very grand and imposing white stuccoed building. I hop out of the taxi and while Jaron is paying the driver I look around me curiously. The street is completely deserted. I wonder why he has brought me here. I look all the way up at him. I actually love that I have to look up at him. It makes me feel like a child again. Everything is taken care of. All I have to do is just have fun.
‘Come on,’ he says, taking my hand and pulling me up the steps to the house. He puts a key in the door, opens it and walks in. I don’t generally like exaggerating, but it is fuck balls amazing. I stand and stare, completely speechless!
Gray-veined marble floors, polished to a high shine, pull all the way to what I imagine must be the kitchen. The walls are adorned with large paintings framed in heavy gilt. The ceilings are lofty and there are tall doors, all closed, leading away from the hallway. Then there are the marble stairs with their beautiful, beautiful banister that curves around. I lift my head and see the glass roof at the very top of the third floor.
‘Wow!’
I turn back to look at him. He is leaning against the door watching me. His eyes are utterly unreadable. I feel as if I could fall, am falling into those depths. ‘Whose house is this?’ I mouth silently.
‘Mine.’
This multi-million pound mansion belongs to him! My brain does cartwheels. ‘Who the hell are you?’ I mouth.
His eyes. His eyes. They are impossible to read. ‘No one. It’s all a game, Billie. Just a game. I’m no one. I just want you. Be mine tonight.’
‘And the apartment you took me to the first night?’
He shrugs. ‘Mine too.’
‘That’s where you shag strangers?’
‘Something like that.’
‘And this place?’
‘This is where I shag people I like.’
I lick my lips.
He takes a little device from his pocket and presses it. The lights go down and music fills the place. The sound of the music is seductive. A man starts singing.
I was dreaming of the past. And my heart was beating fast. I began to lose control…
I bite my lip. ‘What’s the name of this song?’
‘Jealous Guy.’
I frown. ‘And the artiste?’
‘Bryan Ferry.’
‘I’ve never heard of him.’
‘That’s because it’s before your time.’
‘Jaron?’
‘Don’t, Billie.’
‘Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you call me?’
He bends his head. ‘What does it matter? We’re just having…fun.’
‘We’re just ships passing in the night. So no taboos, right?’
His eyes change, something flickers in them momentarily. His mood perfectly matches the music. ‘Because I knew this would happen.’
I don’t have time to think or process his words, because he starts walking toward me. His eyes are unrecognizable. God! this guy really, really wants me. I swear no one has ever looked at me or wanted me like this. The realization is heady. The blood pumps in my ears. I feel almost deaf.
I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry that I made you cry. I didn’t mean to hurt you... I was trying to catch your eyes.
I shrug out of my coat and let it slip down to the floor. Deliberately, I kick it away. I slip my fingers into my top and slowly, slowly pull it over my head. My big and beautiful fake boobs pop into view. I chuck the top away.
I was feeling insecure. You might not love anymore. I was shivering inside. I’m just a jealous guy.
In my white hot pants and black boots I pose seductively for a moment.
And then I do a little shimmy, which makes my breasts swing and jiggle flamboyantly. I get down on the floor and slowly unzipping my black boot slip it off. Then: the other. I lie back down, unzip my shorts and wriggle out of them, sexy as an eel on fire. Underneath, obviously, I am wearing no knickers. I sit up and in time to the music put my boots back on.
I was shivering inside.
I lie back down on the cold marble and rising to my elbows and keeping my knees straight scissor my legs. I probably look really silly with my sex all swollen and red, but I don’t care. I just like the way he is staring at me. As if there is only him and me and this stupendous hallway and the rest of the world has fallen off a cliff.
I look up at him through my eyelashes, putting as much sauce as I can into it. ‘What are you waiting for, big boy?’
He discards his beautifully cut single-breasted jacket as he walks toward me. His eyes hot, hungry, a stranger’s eyes. They never leave me.
He reaches me and stands over me as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and pulls his shirt tails out of his trousers. His eyes are already eating me. Shrugging out of it he flings it to the ground. It falls on top of my coat. He uses the tip of one shoe on the heel of the other to unloosen it. The socks follow. Finally his eyes leave mine and latch onto my exposed sex. I widen the V of my legs. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He steps out of them and kicks them out of the way. Another song I don’t recognize comes on. I guess it’s old too. A man sings, Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.
I make a small sound when his briefs drop to the ground.
‘Oh my, Mr. Rose,’ I tease in a put-on posh accent. ‘I’ve never quite seen you from this angle, and I have to say it’s terribly provoking.’
‘Not half as much as the view from this angle,’ he says, not even a ghost of a smile on his lips. Dropping to his knees he grabs my thighs and buries his mouth between my legs. I grip the big hard muscles of his shoulders helplessly as a cry rises in my throat and dies there. Ridiculous how good he is at eating pussy.