First music: muted throbbing even before the goons in dark suits opened the door; then pounding reverberations ricocheting off the walls, sources obscured in the mixture of amplifying and canceling waves.
It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Blue-gray streaks of smoke hung layered in the stagnant gloom, a miasmic, drifting haze. At first all I saw was a bunch of red and green lights wavering in the distance. Tables emerged in the twilit warehouse of a room and then women, mostly brunette, some dyed blonde and an occasional honest-to-god blonde, wearing short skirts or jeans or shorts, halter tops or crop tops or tank tops, showing leg, cleavage, tail, whatever they had. They clustered around the room mostly unattached, talking, their hungry eyes probing the occasional man who sauntered by.
On stage at the end of the room a tall, lean brunette naked except for black stiletto heels and a black leather biker's cap pranced around a center pole, thrusting her pelvis, throwing back her head, presenting her round ass in slow rolls against the beat. Small tits like upturned pears with long, pointed, luminescent purple nipples pierced the dingy curtain of bad air, daggers tracing infinitesimal arcs in the gloom with the rhythm of her dance. Sleek black hair hung to her waist, the cap stationary except the bobbing of gold chain across the bill. Her shaved bird boasted puffy, naked lips, a carefully trimmed dark strip like velvet hanging on the mons.
A handful of men and women sat on stools along the stage watching the dancer strut the apron. She'd stop at each one, squatting to show her cunt up close. One tossed a kind of chit at her at feet and then turned with back to the stage, leaning against it propped with elbows on the edge, looking up at her from below. She slid down the reclining body, lingering for a brief but dramatic interlude with both of them face to crotch as if bird-washing in a solemn, sham sixty-nine.
I sat in a booth on a hard bench in cracked, splitting red leather dotted with cigarette burns. Women strolled past giving me the hopeful once-over. I didn't encourage them. A waiter showed up and I ordered a beer.
A woman sat down on the end of my bench. Her painted red smile loomed across the narrow zone between us, hesitant. I shrugged and nodded at her, then turned back to the dancer. The woman moved closer, not quite touching but gobbling up the remaining space. When I didn't protest she stayed. It wasn't long before she ran warm fingertips over my crotch.
I looked her over. Dark eyes stared into mine without flinching. She had a hook nose and a mouth that turned down. Her face was long and straight and her chin squared off, the whole symmetric but for the hook that turned just to the right.
I thought I read hope in her eyes.
I pushed her hand away and when the waiter returned with my beer I asked her if she wanted a drink. She turned her head and said something to the man. I stole a look at her profile. Her nose was a bit generous but appealing from the side, the hook prominent and up high, not like from breakage but more a genetic aberration some would have modified. I would have respected her for wearing it, except I knew it was a preferred type. One of the types I found sexy. I imagined her lips with their pouting downturn around my dick.
The waiter made a note and left.
When he returned with her drink she was sucking my fingers. She started with one finger, but I inserted two more and she took my cue, demonstrating technique with a hint of mania. She moved closer and I asked if she sucked cock without protection. She smiled and nodded yes, and I asked if she went to the end and she nodded yes again. She said she liked eating sperm. She stroked my cock. This time I let her continue until I began to ooze. I pushed her hand away and nodded my head no, mouthing the word "careful."
She went back to sucking my fingers and after a while I decided to give her my pitch. I told her I was looking for a woman who had worked here in the past. An old friend had sent me to ask about her.
She stopped sucking and looked at me with sad eyes. "You don't like me?"
"I like you. Otherwise I'd ask you to leave. This woman I'm asking about's not for me. Not my type. My friend remembers her cause she's not like other women."
I described her as the Orgulhian had repeatedly described her to me: luxuriant mahogany hair, short face half of which was forehead, chestnut teardrop eyes set in the middle of the face, the teardrops drooping all the way to the far sides of the face. Her straight nose began far up, almost above the level of the eyes. Long dimples pointed toward the nose when she smiled, forming fat cheeks outside the short space between nose and the wide mouth perched just above a round chin. The Orgulhian had smiled when he said her two front teeth were visible when she smiled. From his description I pictured a squashed face, equally divided between forehead and eyes, nose, and mouth, as if the features had melted down to the bottom half and congealed there.
My companion sat staring, disbelief the only expression I could read. "It's not possible," she said. "No one looks like that."
I shrugged. "Maybe not now, but once they did."
"Such people are all gone," she said. "Cleaned out."
"My friend insisted she was here six months ago." I didn't want to tell her it was all rumor, maybe even legend. But the Orgulhian had assured me it was based on actual sightings by reliable Orgulhian and human sources. He had been convincing in his regal splendor and quiet assurance. Of course, they were always like that. Their breeding.
"Maybe someone knows her. I've only worked here a month, but I can try to help you find her. If you want me to. Was she tall? Her body?"
"She was not tall, maybe only five two, and a little pudgy with small breasts."
"Did she have a round ass? It's hard to imagine someone looking like that working here if she didn't have an ass."
"He didn't go on about it, but it's hard to imagine an Orgulhian getting excited about a woman who didn't have a good ass."
She stared. "Not a dancer?"
"No, working the floor. Are you a dancer?"
"No."
"You get many Orgulhians in here?"
"Some. They aren't common. We aren't near one of the centers. Out of the way pleasure packets mostly." She smiled at me and said, "I know you're no Orgulhian."
I didn't answer.
"Nothing personal," she said, "but Orgulhians don't get hard so fast. They're slower. And wetter."
"I hear they're big."
"It comes from inside, they say, but it grows slow like, you know? Inside you, it grows slow. They take an hour or more to get full up and then they just burst. Like a dam, all green and wet. Slick."
"You've had experience."
"Plenty, before I came here. They had a station in the north, but shut it down. But a big pleasure center. Had to be above three star to work it. Nothing left after they shut it down. So I came here. Couldn't leave the province without a Orgulhian sponsor."
"You want to go?" I dropped the question on her out of the blue.
"You need to pay to take me out. We can do it here it if you want. They got places upstairs. Not rooms, but sofas and beds." She looked up at the railing surrounding us, a balcony on a second floor. It was too dark to see beyond it.
"I'd rather my hotel. I can pay five star rate for the night. I work for an important Orgulhian and he pays me well, so I have credits."
"But you need to pay the house to take me out."
"I know. I have the credits. But if I take you out, you need to help me find the girl. Talk to people for me. Someone will remember."
"She must be very important to someone, this ugly woman."
I shrugged. "I guess. I'm paid to find her, that's all. I don't know why anyone would want this ugly woman."
