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Bimbo Ch. 01

By: Svenskaflicka



He's not coming back. Either he has drowned inside the toilet, or he has hooked up with someone prettier and more interesting, and gone home with her instead.

Ellenor is disappointed. This one had seemed really nice. He had intelligent eyes, and a really cute smile. Tall and handsome. A nice boy, yet with that mischievous side to him... Ah! Who is she trying to fool? She doesn't know anything about him except for his name - if it really WAS Tom, he might have made that up. He was good-looking, yes, but she mustn't read in any character traits that she WISHES that he had had. The guy was a sleazeball, out looking for pussy, that was all. He didn't find her interesting enough, so he gave her the old I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom-
I'll-be-right-back-wait-for-me-here-all-right? - routine. By now, he's probably on his way home with some drunk slut in a short skirt.

Ellenor finishes her water and puts the glass on the counter. That's the good thing about not drinking alcohol, you can save a fortune by drinking nothing but water all night. Plus you don't get a hangover. She hopes from the bottom of her evil heart that Mr Sleazeball and his slut wake up with really bad headaches tomorrow! 

She straightens her handbag and leaves the bar, moving in zig-zag between the dancing people on the dancefloor, trying to reach the exit. Someone blows smoke right in her face, and she coughs. She shouldn't even be here, with her allergy for tobacco smoke and all. But where else to find a man? At least this will be the last clubbing she'll do for a long time! Even without paying for drinks, the entrance fee is $7, and she always ends up going home alone. 

It's not that she's not attractive, she ponders, as she walks downtown to take the night bus home, and steals a glance at her reflection in a shop window. Without bragging, she considers herself to be rather pretty. She's tall and slender, has long, dark blonde hair, and big blue eyes. She's not the busty type, but she has nice legs, and she's been blessed with a metabolism that evaporates calories as fast as she can eat them. 

The problem is her personality, she concludes, as she gets on the bus and pays for her ticket. She's just not interesting enough. She's a secretary at a law firm, who likes to read and surf on the internet in her spare time. She has a little cat, Mrs Case, and they live in a small but charming 2-room apartment with a view overlooking the park. She's nice and caring and generous, and she hasn't had a boyfriend for two years. Last time she had a one-night-stand was four months ago. She's about as exciting as a water-color landscape painting. And she gets about as much action and attention as one, too.

Ellenor gets off the bus and crosses the street. It's a good thing that the bus stops so close to her apartment building, it's pretty dark outside, and she's a little afraid of the dark. Not just because of the risk of getting mugged or raped, but also out of a primitive fear of danger hiding in the dark.

She enters the building and takes the elevator up to the 5th floor. She's just about to unlock the door to her apartment when a door opens across the hallway, and Sam, her neighbor, comes out with a garbage bag in his hand.

"Helloooooo, Ellenor!" he says, and deposits the bag in the garbage chute.

"Hello, Sam," she says, smiling. "You're up late."

"I've got a deadline for an article," he explains. "I just finished it. Want to step in for a cup of tea and celebrate with me?"

"Gladly," says Ellenor, and follows him inside. 

Sam's an old friend. He works as a freelance writer for the local newspaper, and spends his free time in the gym. He's a regular health freak; doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't drink coffee, is a vegetarian, and he's drop-dead gorgeous with big, brown eyes, dark, perfect skin like polished walnut, and a tall, slim, toned body. If it weren't for the fact that he's gay, Ellenor would have jumped him years ago. Instead, he's her best friend and confidant. Some girls have girlfriends Ellenor has Sam. 

"Persian or Russian?" he asks, holding up two tin boxes of tea.

"Persian," says Ellenor.

Sam makes the tea, and Ellenor carefully moves the stacks of papers that are covering the entire table, in order to make room for them. The table is the only thing that is messy in Sam's place. He's extremely organized and tidy, and everything in his home hints of quality and an expensive price tag.

"No luck tonight?" says Sam, and pours the steaming tea in her cup. "Or dry-out?"

Dry-out is their mutual term for when you go out and there are no cute, interesting guys anywhere. 

"There was one, but he ran away," Ellenor sighs. "Bet he's pumping some bimbo right now. Ooooh! Oh, Tom! Ooooh!"

Sam laughs at her imitation of a high-pitched moan.

"He left with some panty-less Baywatch-wannabe?" he says.

"I don't know," she says. "He left me at the bar to go to the bathroom, and he never came back. Maybe we'll read about it in the newspaper tomorrow: MAN SLIPPED IN PUBLIC RESTROOM, FELL INTO TOILET AND DROWNED."

They drink their tea.

"Men are so shallow!" Ellenor complains.

"Tell me about it!" Sam rolls his eyes. "Did I tell you about the guy who refused to go on a second date with anyone who snored?"

Ellenor smiles.

"So what's your article about?" she says.

"It's about a woman who was so desperate to get married, that she took a bank loan and had plastic surgery to make herself look about 10 years younger," says Sam. "She filled her tits with silicone, did a tummy-tuck - the works!"

"No!"

"Yes! She traded in her whole self, and re-made herself to what she thought men would like, spent a fortune on it - and now she's broke, and didn't manage to land herself a husband anyway!"

"Why would anyone do something like that?" Ellenor shakes her head.

"Society norms, sweety," says Sam. "If you don't get married and have 2,2 children, a nice house, a nice car, and a well-paid job, you're a loser."

"Damn," Ellenor frowns. "I have to buy a car."

Sam grins at her.

"Or a lobotomy," he says. "Guys are scared of intelligent women."

"Surely they can't all be that bad?" Ellenor hates herself for the begging tone of her voice. 

Sam leans over the table; the serious expression of his face and the grave tone in his voice is contradicted by the glittering humour in his eyes.

"They SAY... that there are men out there; men with intelligence and sensitivity and honesty," he says. 

"Where?" Ellenor plays his game, pretending to be all serious and questioning.

"The legend says, that they are walking among us, disguised as regular Joes," says Sam. "And if you manage to find one - he'll be yours forever!"

Ellenor gasps in mock astonishment.

"Forever?" she says. "Not just for a night? Not just for a month? For EVER?"

"And ever!" says Sam. "They'll cuddle with you after sex, they'll hold you while you sleep, they will listen to you and respect your opinion - and they will even put the lid back on the toothpaste-tube after brushing their teeth!"

"OK," Ellenor says, in her usual tone. "You had me falling for it up to the toothpaste part." 

Sam laughs. He pours himself another cup of tea.

"I know that I'm no model, " says Ellenor. "But I'm no dog either."

"You look fine," Sam assures her.

"And I dress OK," she goes on. "I mean, I don't go out looking like a $2-hooker, but I dress sexy when I go out."

Sam eyes her knee-length black dress and makes a gesture with his hand to indicate that he only agrees with her so-so.

"Hey, I've seen girls in baggy sweatpants and army boots pick up guys!" she says. "It's not my looks that's the problem, it's my personality. Guys come up to me and start talking to me - and then they run away after five minutes. Am I really that fucking boring?"

"What do you talk to them about?" 

"Well, you know... they ask me what I do, and I tell them about my job. They say that it sounds interesting, so I tell them a little more about what I do, and stuff..."

"OK, that's your problem, right there," Sam holds up his hands to stop her. "When a guy asks you what you do, he doesn't really care, he's just making conversation. If the conversation isn't interesting, he'll leave."

"So what do you suggest that I do? Lie?"

"Yes," says Sam. "Tell him you're a stewardess. That's a classic. Or a masseuse. Or a teacher."

"A teacher?"

"Every boy has been in love with his teacher at least once."

"Even you?"

"I had a crush on ALL my teachers," Sam grins wickedly. "But Mr Stevens was my favourite..."

"There's just one little problem. I don't know squat about teaching or stewardessing - and what if he asks me to give him a back rub?"

"Anyone can give someone a backrub! As for the other stuff, that's where you turn the question over to him. What does he do? That sounds interesting. Does he like his job? Guys love to talk about themselves." 

"You're saying that I should lie to make myself more interesting to the guys?" says Ellenor. "Just like the woman in your article?"

"Heavens, no!" Sam looks shocked. "She went too far. She changed herself. You're just going to change what guys think about you."

"You mean by hiding my intelligence and true personality?" says Ellenor. "By pretending to be one of those bimbos that we despise?"

"Do you wanna get laid or not?"

Ellenor looks at him, then helps herself to another cup of tea.

"Gimme details," she says. "What more do guys like?" 

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

She spends most of her lunchbreak shopping. She may have a whole closet full of great dresses and skirts, but when she and Sam went through it on Sunday afternoon; he told her that all of her clothes were great for more formal office parties. If she wants to pick up guys, she needs something that will "grab them by the balls and shake 'em up". She made him write her a list of what type of clothes men find sexy, and where to find these types of clothes. Armed with this list, she's now working her way through the shops Sam has listed, ticking the items off as she buys them. It's a good thing that most of these places are cheap, she would never be able to afford buying so many clothes in her regular shops, where a simple turtleneck sweater costs $80. 

Black lace basque... check. Moving on to underwear. She argued that she already had underwear, and besides, guys wouldn't see her underwear until they got into the bedroom, and by then she had already gotten them where she wanted, and they weren't likely to back out then. But Sam pointed out that in order for her to get into character, she would have to dress the part to the skin. She had to give him right. She would probably not be able to act like a silly sex kitten with a pair of white cotton panties on. Sam has recommended a place called Timewarp, on Beech Street. She asked him how come he knows so much on where to find women's underwear, but he didn't answer her, just blinked and grinned. 

As she finds Beech Street and Timewarp, she understands why Sam looked so amused. The shop isn't your regular lingerie store. All the items in the shop window are made out of leather and lace, and the shop lies right between Harold's Basement and The Booty Theatre. Ellenor hesitates a little, but draws a deep breath and enters the shop. If Sam can go there, so can she. 

Much to her surprise, the shop isn't as tacky as she had expected it to be. The walls are covered with oil paintings and photos with erotic motives, there's a section in the back with books and video films, and the rest of the place looks like an ordinary clothes shop, with rotating hangers and a cabinet full of boxes containing pantyhose and stockings. That was on her list, she remembers, she moves over there and starts browsing. 

"May I help you, darling?"

Ellenor turns around, and faces a very large transvestite. He's dressed in a baby pink corset, black stockings held up by a lacy garter belt, and high heeled shoes with little pink fluffy puffs on top of them. The make-up doesn't help very much; he's got one of those masculine faces with a broad chin and square jaws. The arched eyebrows and the tiny red mouth gives him a rather astonished expression.

"Eh, well, I... My friend recommended this place... I'm looking for underwear..."

"Spicing up your love-life, dear?" he smiles. 

"Sort of..."

What kind of question is that?

"I want something sexy."

"That's what we got, sweety! What did you have in mind?"

She looks at Sam's note.

"Stockings, garter belt, cro..."

She coughs. Damned you, Sam! she thinks. I can't ask for THIS!

"Crotchless panties, dear? That should light his fire!"

The large he-woman starts picking out several sorts of garter belts and holds them up to Ellenor. 

"We've got lace, satin, leather; red, black, white, baby blue, baby pink... Do you want to look innocent or sinful, honey?"'

"Sinful," says Ellenor. "I want something that grabs them by the balls and shake 'em up!"

His eyebrows almost touch his bleach blond wig when he stares at her.

"Wow, you've got ATTITUDE, girl!" he says. "One would never guess... you look so sweet and proper on the outside!"

"I'm doing a little experiment," Ellenor explains. "Guys aren't interested in fucking strong, intelligent women. I want to make guys think that I'm a sex kitten." 

He laughs like a man. A deep, roaring laugh, that comes from the bottom of his belly. For a moment, she's actually worried that the corset's gonna burst.

"You are CRAZY!" he bellows. "I like that"

She's not sure if she's just been given an insult or a compliment.

"You don't wanna look at those, then, dear," he says, getting back into his girlish routine, and takes the packages of pantyhose out of her hand. "They're boring. You want something like THIS!"

He pulls down a few boxes from the shelves, and Ellenor finds herself staring at pictures of women in fishnet stockings, black lace stockings, sheer black nylon stockings, and even a pair of crotchless pantyhose.

"No fishnet," she protests. "My friend says that they'll make any woman look like a ham!"

He laughs again, and puts the fishnets back. Instead, he puts a fat arm around her shoulders, and leads her over to the Panty-section. 

"We've got thongs, crotchless panties, G-strings, boxer shorts," he tells her, and holds up one garment after the other. "Velvet, latex, lace, satin, silk, cotton... And I simply WON'T let you leave without this!"

He trots behind the counter in his high heels, and picks up a box. Out of layers of wrapping paper, he lifts what looks like a black leather girdle. Ellenor walks closer.

"This might be a little pricey, but it's NAUGH-TEE," the transvestite explains to her. "I have a friend who imports these from Germany. They're hand-made."

"What is it?" says Ellenor, examining the weird garment. 

It looks like a girdle with a tail at the back, and a little lock in the front.

"It's a chastity belt!" the shopkeeper beams. 

When she walks out of the shop, she has spent more than $250, but she's really excited about the coming weekend. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

"Nice," says Sam, when she shows him her purchases later that night. "I like this one."

He holds up a long, tight, red tube top.

"I made a real fool of myself when I bought that one," says Ellenor. "I asked the girl in the shop if it was a skirt or a top, and she told me that it's a dress!"

"You're kidding!" says Sam. "A dress this short? You're gonna have to get a Brazilian waxing before you put this on!"

"How do you know what a Brazilian waxing is, anyway?" she says, blushing wildly. 

"Oh, please!" he says, and starts rummaging through her other bags. "I watch Sex And The City religiously!"

He picks up the box from Timewarp, and opens it.

"I don't believe it!" he says. "Alicia got you to buy the chastity belt?"

"Alicia?"

"Old friend of mine. He's always trying to sell these to people. I think he's getting a commission fee."

"How come you know about places like Timewarp and people like Alicia? Is he, like, an ex?"

"Ellenor, PLEASE!" Sam looks shocked. "He is SO not my type!"

"But you know him," she says. "Do you ever shop there yourself?"

"It has happened," Sam says shortly. "Now, come on, let me see you in one of these little things!"

"Why?"

"Humour an old man, will you?

Ellenor picks out an ensemble of black underwear, a short black skirt, and a stretchy tube top – also black.

"Nice, but you need something extra, says Sam. "Go on, get dressed! I’ll be right back!"

Ellenor has just gotten decent when he returns with one of his own shirts; white, elegant, and freshly ironed.

"Combine those two, and you got a killer look!" says Sam.

"A man’s shirt?" says Ellenor. "Doesn’t that send out the wrong signals?"

"Au contraire," says Sam, and gives it to her. "The combination of a sexy, short skirt and a basic white man’s shirt makes you look hot yet accessible. Put it on!"

Looking in the mirror, she has to give him right. She looks flirty, sassy – and she feels naughty.

"A little make-up, and I’m ready for battle!" she says.

"I’d let the hair out if I were you, though," says Sam.

"I can’t dance with my hair down," she protests. It keeps getting stuck in my lipstick!"

"That’s why you should go to the bathroom at least once per hour, to freshen up!" he says.

She takes out the needles that are holding her hair up in a bun, and Sam combs it with his fingers.

"I considered becoming a hair stylist when I was younger," he tells her. "But it turned out I got rashes from all the chemicals. How are you at dancing?"

"Pretty good," she says.

Sam flips through his huge collection of CD’s, puts one in his expensive CD player, that looks mostly like a space ship. LL Cool J’s Something Like A Phenomenon blurs through the speakers, and Sam starts grinding his hips to the beat. He’s a great dancer. She’d like to just stand and watch him, but he gestures to her to join him, so she starts dancing, a little stiff and timid. Sam moves up to her, grabs her by the waist and pulls her into his own rhythm. Her body is insecure at first with the strange movements, but Sam’s a good teacher, and pretty soon she’s bumping and grinding and swaying her hips and doing the hootchie-cootchie. Sam turns her around and presses himself against her, and she slides down his slim body like an exotic dancer at a vertical steel bar.

When the music stops, she collapses in the white sofa, giggling madly. Sam turns off the stereo.

"I’d say you’re ready for your first try," he says. "Can you dance like that in high heels, too?"

"Not without tripping," says Ellenor, trying to calm down, but the image appearing inside her head of herself staggering around in high heels and tripping over, makes her burst into a fit of giggles again.

"Good," says Sam. "That’s exactly how you should act. As if everything you see and hear is funny. And don’t worry about tripping – looking like that, someone’s BOUND to save you from falling!"

He follows her to the door, helps her to carry all her stuff over to her own place.

"By the way," he says, as he’s going back across the hall to his own home, "you’re gonna need another name."

"What’s wrong with Ellenor?" she says.

"Too serious. You need something that even a drunk guy can pronounce. Ellie… Elly… something like that. Unless you want to get yourself a complete alias and go with Trixie, Candy, Sherry...

"How about Alicia?" she teases him, and closes the door. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Friday night, the Chamber. Ellenor checks her coat in and walks over to the bar. She can feel their eyes following her, and she makes sure to adjust the shirt so that it doesn’t cover too much. The bartender takes her order, and within one minute, she’s sipping on a Diet Coke, eyeing the crowd. She’s chosen this club on purpose, because she normally never goes here. She wants a totally fresh audience for tonight, so it won’t matter if she makes a fool of herself.


Bimbo Ch. 01



The Chamber is a small club, mostly frequented by teenagers, she concludes. All the better. Teenagers are horny and shallow. She stands a really good chance of scoring tonight.

A tall blond guy in an Iron Maiden T-shirt walks towards her, and she hurries away from the bar and out on the dance floor. She’s not going to just settle for the first guy, who comes along, she wants to check all the options before she accepts any come-ons.

The dance floor’s already packed, but she manages to wiggle her way in between a group of girls, without spilling her Coke. The speakers are trembling with the high volume of some rap she doesn’t recognize. The DJ lets out clouds of smoke near the floor, it rises and evaporates, and makes her lungs itch. When the smoke clears, she sees the blond guy pushing his way between the dancers, approaching her! He’s persistent; she has to give him that. Persistent – or pushy! She dances away, hoping to lose him in the crowd, but no, there he is again! What the… is his problem? Can’t he take a hint? She ducks under the arms of a gang of immigrant boys, and hides behind them. But he’s tall, he can see her over the boys’ heads, he’s coming closer, her heart beats painfully in her chest, this isn’t funny, what’s the matter with that guy? He’s getting creepy!

Just as he’s stepping up to her, a strong arm grabs her from behind, and a stranger starts dancing with her. For a brief second, she wonders if she has jumped out of the figurative frying pan, but then she sees her stalker back away with a look of fear and disappointment on his face. Anyone who saves her from a stalker has to be a friend. The arm lets go of her, and she turns around to see who has saved her.

He’s very tall, and very, very muscular. He looks like a body builder. He’s got bleached blond hair, cut short. A bit of a military type. He bends over and shouts in her ear:

"You looked like you needed some help!"

"Thanks!" she shouts back, smiling and nodding in case her voice isn’t strong enough.

"Dance?"

The volume of the music effectively stops any longer conversations, one word at a time works best. She nods, and they dance.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

He escorts her to a booth, refills her Coke, and gets himself a beer. The high walls that separate the booths from each other have a dampening effect on the noise. They can talk without having to shout.

"I’m Alan," he says. What’s your name?"

"Ellie."

She’s not comfortable to call herself Trixie or Candy, but she does put on a somewhat lighter, more high-pitched voice than her real one.

"Nice to meet you, Ellie. Do you come here often? I’ve never seen you before?"

"Nah, I’ve never been here before. I’m out club hopping tonight. You know – checking out new places."

"I see. So, what do you do when you’re not club-hopping, Ellie?"

"Oh, you know… I’m a… a waitress!"

"A waitress? How nice…"

"What about you? You look like a gym instructor or something!"

That’s all the encouragement Alan needs to start talking about himself. Ellenor doesn’t have to do anything but nod or widen her eyes or utter meaningless sounds like "Oh!" and "Uh-huh?" for a whole hour. The whole time, she’s scanning him. He may be a bore, but he seems nice, and he’s got a body worth fighting for. He’s good at dancing, and he’s strong. Oh, yes, she most definitely wants to go to bed with this guy!

He starts getting flirty. She knows this game. She’s been playing it longer than he has. She can almost foretell what he’s going to say or do before he does it, and she plays along, tossing her hair, giving him flirty looks And mischievous smiles, to speed things along. This is an exciting game, and she knows she’s going to win. When he puts a hand on her knee under the table, she smiles, leans in closer, and whispers:

"Perhaps we should go somewhere more private?"

"I’ll hail us a cab," he says.

He holds his arm around her waist as they walk out of the bar. He doesn’t help her with her coat, which makes him lose a few points, but he makes up for it outside the bar, where he opens the cab door for her. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but Ellenor likes a little politeness in a man. They get into the backseat, Ellenor gives out her address, and off they go. 

He grabs her and kisses her. He’s strong, his lips are hard and demanding, and his tongue probes her mouth. OK, so he’s not a very good kisser. Never mind, he might be better at other things.

They get out of the taxi, he pays for it, like a good boy, and they take the elevator up to her apartment. He’s really eager, he’s slobbering against her neck and groping her, pressing her up against the wall. The intense type, huh? She thinks, as the doors open and let them out on the 5th floor. He fondles her from behind while she unlocks the door; his eagerness makes her giggle. They get inside and close the front door, and without warning he scoops her up into his arms, as if she didn’t weigh anything.


"Where’s the bedroom?" he asks.

"Over there," she points, and he carries her into the bedroom.

She gets a vision of a knight in shining armor, but it turns into a vision of a caveman carrying his prey, as he drops her on the bed and starts tearing off her clothes. When she’s all-naked, he strips out of his own clothes, and Ellenor’s eyes grow big when she sees why he’s so macho and aggressive. She’s beginning to understand why he’s into bodybuilding…

With that, he jumps her and attacks her breasts with his tongue, while his fingers travel further south. Is he aware that her clit is located about "1 from where he thinks it is? Should she bother telling him? Nah. It’s only for this one night. She’s never gonna see him again. Just one good, quick fuck, and then throw him out. 

"I want you inside me," she whispers.

He’s happy to oblige. OK, finally something that he’s good at! Well, perhaps "good" isn’t the right word… "forceful" suits him better. He’s pumping her violently, and she moans partly out of excitement, partly out of pain.

"Slow down, baby!" she pants. "Not so hard! You’re so strong! Be gentle with me, big boy!"

He’s forceful, but considerate. He adjusts his speed and force to her liking, and with a little help of her own hand, she manages to come. She moans loudly in his ear, and this drives him over the edge as well. He grunts and groans and she gets another vision of a caveman.

They stretch out on her bed afterwards, catching their breath. She’s glad that he’s too tired to speak; she has no idea what she would say to him. Most of all, she’d like to roll over and fall asleep. It WOULD be a nice change to sleep in such strong arms, but then she’d have to wake up next to him, and make him breakfast, and…

"I gotta go home now, baby."

He solves the problem for her. She smiles, pretends to be even more tired than she really is, and hums something in approval. She puts her robe and slippers on while he gets dressed, and walks him to the door. A last clumsy kiss, a promise to call – how, when neither of them has exchanged their phone numbers? - and he gets eaten up by the elevator. The door has just closed behind him when another door opens, and Sam steps out in the hallway.

"You slut!" he beams. "I knew you could do it! Now, get that sex-stinking body of yours in here! I’m gonna dream about that hunk all night, and I want DETAILS!"



Bimbo Ch. 02



"I don’t believe it!"

They’re sitting in Sam’s tiny kitchen, drinking tea.

"Believe it," says Ellenor dryly. "It’s the sad, sad truth."

"THREE INCHES???"

"Yep, 3 inches," she says, "I could hardly believe my eyes! Tall, muscular, a real beef – and with a teeny, tiny little pecker! I almost asks him where he kept the rest of it!"

Sam laughs.

"Was it thin, too?" he asks.

"Nope," says Ellenor. "Short and fat, like a freakin’ bulldog!"

Sam’s laughing so hard, he gets tears in his eyes.

"It reminded me of this dirty cartoon I read once," Ellenor continues. "A girl takes a body-builder type of guy home, and he shows off his body, how muscular he is, and then he takes off his briefs, and the girl says Gee, all that dynamite, and such a short fuse!"

"Stop, you’re killing me!"

Sam’s lying over the table, beating it with his fist. He can hardly breathe. His laughter is contagious; Ellenor starts to laugh too, and doesn’t care about the running mascara. She rubs her eyes.

"You look like a raccoon," Sam giggles, and gets her a paper napkin out of a box.

The word "raccoon" sends them both into another giggling frenzy. They’re overtired, and they laugh at anything right now.

OK, so her first try wasn’t as great a success as she had hoped for. That can happen to anyone. Ellenor’s not gonna give up on the bimbo-experiment. The very next weekend, she’s out again; this time dressed in a red mini-dress and red go-go boots. She doesn’t want to risk running into Alan or the Stalker, so she goes to a different place, The Golden Ring. The crowd is more her age, and the clientele a mix of every ethnicity known to man. She starts at the bar, gets herself a Diet Pepsi, as they don’t have Coke. She moves through the crowds, scanning the room for potential candidates. That black guy with the glasses… no, he has a girlfriend; they’re kissing each other tenderly. She walks upstairs, where the dance floor is. It’s packed with people, so she settles for standing against the wall o watch.

There’s a group of guys over at the big table in the corner. A gang. They’re all dressed the same. Oh, no, she’s not going there! She’s heard enough horror stories about gang activity to get herself mixed up with such people!

However that skinny guy at the end of the table… He looks sweet and innocent, as if the gang mentality hasn’t really gotten to him yet. He catches her eyes and smiles at her, and she gives him a quick smile before she walks away. She goes back down to the lobby, and even further down, to see what sort of entertainment they have there.

Oh, a pool hall! Ellenor likes shooting pool; she instantly remembers all those afternoons in Peter Nelson’s basement when she was 14. Peter Nelson taught her all there was to know about French kisses, and in between making out, they played pool.

The room isn’t all that big, there are only 6 pool tables in it. All of them are busy. She walks up to a fat, grumpy guy behind a counter.

"Hi," she says.

No reaction.

"So, do I… sign up for a table, or just wait in line?"

"Wait in line."

Ah, the talkative type! Ellenor gives him a pretty smile and walks over to one of the tables. She stands and watches the game, like all the others, waiting for them to finish playing. The guys around the table are eyeing her, giving her flirty smiles and winks, but she pretends to be too stupid to understand what they mean.

When the guys are done, they leave their sticks on the table, and Ellenor picks one up.

"Hey! Give me the queue, we’re playing now!"

She looks up. These guys were NOT standing around the table earlier, she’s sure of it.

"I believe I was here first!" she says.

"Hey, if you wanna practice your routine, do it elsewhere! We’re gonna play for real here!"

Oh, so just because she’s a woman – albeit a bimbo-looking woman – she doesn’t know how to play pool, is that it? "Step aside, little girl, and let the big boys play their serious macho-game!" Ha!

"I was here first," she says. "It’s my turn."

"Get out of here! You don’t even have anyone to play with!"

"Yes, she does. I’m playing against her."

The skinny guy with the sensitive face takes a stick out of the macho-guy’s hand. That guy and his friends stare at him, and for a second, Ellenor’s afraid they’re gonna start fighting. Then one of the macho-guys whispers something in his friend’s ear, the friend looks shocked, and then they back off, although reluctantly, and leave the pool hall.

"Wanna play?" says the skinny guy, and gives Ellenor another breathtaking smile. "I promise I’ll be nice."

She smiles. Well, the others were rude, he’s just a little patronizing, but they’re still cut from the same block! Isn’t he in for a little surprise...!

"OK," she says, in her faked, high-pitched bimbo-voice. "Can I have the two-colored balls? I like them the best!"

"Sure you can, babe," he says. "Wanna break?"

"Break? Why would I want a break? We haven’t even started playing yet?"

So he puts the balls in the rack, and explains to her how to open the game by "breaking" their triangle formation. He takes his time to show her how to hold the stick properly, and she coos and enjoys having him holding his strong arms around her, and his warm body next to hers, as he shows her how to shoot. He even pats her on the head and tells her that she’s a natural. Ellenor smiles sweetly, and can’t remember last time she had this much fun.

"OK, I think I know how to do it now," she says. "Let’s play!"

"You break," he says.

She leans over the table, pouts her lip as if she’s concentrating really hard – and she shoots. It’s a nice break. The balls spread out, and she gets a great position for her first ball.

"Does that count as one turn, or is it my turn again?" she asks.

People are watching them; some are even coming up to their table to watch. Ellenor wonders if they’re interested in watching the game or watching her tits. She has to pull on her dress after every shot, to make sure they won’t full out, nor that the skirt rides up too high over her ass.

The skinny guy is really good at this game. He does play nicely at first, but then he totally takes over, and sinks one ball after another, until he only has one ball left – number 8, the black ball, the one that finishes the whole game.

"Sorry, babe!" he says, grinning.

"Oh, no fair!" Ellenor pouts like a grumpy kid. "You SAID you were going to play nice!"

She leans over the table, her arms crossed under her breasts, pressing them together, making the cleavage even deeper. She can feel the fabric slipping over her skin, one more inch and she’ll be exposing herself to everyone in this room! He catches a glimpse of her, looks away, tries to focus – but her little trick has made him think of a whole different set of balls, and he misses. The black 8-ball stops right next to the hole, but doesn’t go in.

"Yes!" she cries out, jumping up and down, after quickly fixing her dress. "You missed! My turn!"

Her last chance. She concentrates. Oh, she’s good at this! Peter Nelson even tried to strip in front of her to make her lose her balance, she knows how to block her mind from anything but the ball. Which is good, because Mr. Sensitive has obviously realized that she’s tricked him, and is now trying to get back at her, by running his hand up and down the stick he’s holding. Nice try, she thinks, then focuses on the game. 4 goes down. Around the table for a better angle… 5 goes down. She has to really focus for number 6, it’s tricky, but down it goes, is he getting nervous now? She doesn’t allow herself to look, she has to stay focused… 7 is down, and all that’s left is the black 8-ball. Careful, now… She calculates angles, bends down, aims – and she’s won. She stands up straight, with a little smile.

"Sorry, babe!" she says.

He puts the stick down, grinning. He’s obviously not the type who gets embarrassed by losing a game to a woman.

"Good show," he says.

She puts her stick down, smiles again, and walks away. Some people clap their hands. Ellenor walks out of the pool hall, looking for the ladies’ room. She only gets as far as to the corridor, when he catches up with her.

"That was a nasty little stunt you pulled there," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"Flashing me these," he says, and put his hands on her breasts, kneading them.

She smiles, and takes his hands away. Not so fast, buddy! He entwines her fingers with his own, leans in, and kisses her. He’s much better at kissing than Alan. His lips are soft, and when he closes his eyes, she can see that he has long, thick eyelashes. A delicate face. Good enough to eat.

"Wanna go into one of the stalls?" he says, nodding towards the ladies’ room. "More private there."

"One of the stalls?"

Is he kidding? Does he really think that she wants to have sex on top of a toilet?

"Come on," he says. "Just a quick blow-job! No-one will see us!"

"A blow-job?" she says. "What about me? Don’t I get anything?"

"You get to blow me," he says.

What an honor...!

"I’m not giving you a blow-job," she says.

"Then why the hell have you been flirting with me all night?" 

He’s getting angry.

"Look, I’m just out to have a little fun," she says. "If I see a guy I like, I’ll flirt with him! If he’s any interesting up close, I’ll fuck him!"

"I can’t do that," he says. "I’m engaged!"

She stares at him, dumbstruck. Then she starts to giggle like crazy, and runs out of there. She gets her coat, glancing over her shoulder the whole time, but he’s not coming after her. She gets out in the street, hails a cab, and goes, no, flees, home.



Bimbo Ch. 03



"What’s wrong? Why am I only meeting weirdos?"

"You just had bad luck, that’s all," Sam comforts her. "Everyone knows you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince."

"What if all you’re kissing are a bunch of pigs?" Ellenor moans.

"Oh, that’s not fair! That hunk wasn’t a pig, he just had a very small dick!"

"AND he was a bad kisser," she points out.

"What do you care, if it’s only a One Night Stand?"

She looks at him sternly.

"I deserve good quality fucking EVERY time," she says.

"So we’re not talking about merely getting laid here, we’re talking about great sex? Someone’s improved her standards! Not only does she wants a sex life, now she wants it to be good, too!"

"Damned right!" she says, hitting her fist against the table. "I want a nice, normal guy, unattached, with a big dick, who wants to have sex in bed – preferably one who is good with his tongue, too!"

"Be careful what you wish for," Sam warns her. "You just might get what you ask for…"

"Fastlane" is a hip new club downtown. Ellenor sees quite a few local celebrities in the crowd. It’s opening night, and the place is full of people. It’s clear that it’s going to be the most popular club in town this season. It’s a big place, originally it used to be a storage facility for the local shipping agency; now it’s been transformed into a hypermodern world of glass and iron, all in black and white. Bright neon lights flicker over the walls and the ceiling, and through the thick glass floor shines hundreds of electric blue lights. It’s a little bit overwhelming. She hides out in the bar, and watches the dancing crowd.

"Do you love it or hate it?"

He’s got a British accent, has big, gray eyes, curly red hair, and looks like a singer she had a crush on as a teenager.

"Do I love or hate what?" she says.

"It. This. The whole club."

She looks around.

"It’s very elegant," she says. "But it’s not my taste."

"How come?"

"All this glass," she says. "I don’t trust it. What if you’d trip and fall right through it?"

"May I buy a beer?"

"No thanks. But a Diet Coke would be nice."

"You don’t drink?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don’t like the taste of alcohol. Because I like to keep my head clear. Because I don’t like the way people behave after they’ve been drinking."

"Oi! A Diet Coke for the lady! On me!"

"Yes, Mr. Ollerton," the bartender replies, and fixes a Diet Coke with ice and a slice of lemon for Ellenor.

"The place has only just opened, and the bartender already knows your name?" she says.

"Mark Ollerton," he says, and shakes her hand. "I’m an architect. The architect of this whole place, actually. I’ve spent more time in here than the owners, even!"

Oh," she says. "Have I offended your work, then?"

"Not at all. It’s very refreshing to hear at least one voice agreeing with me."

"You don’t like this?" she says. "But… you made it? You’ve created it just the way you wanted it, haven’t you?"

"No," he sighs. "I had a whole stack of drawings, this one had gotten into the stack by mistake, and wouldn’t you know, they rejected all my good ideas, and chose this one!"

"You poor thing," she smiles.

"I cry all the way to the bank," he says dryly.

"Still, it must be great to make a living on creating something," she says.

"You think we’re free to create whatever we want? Hell, no! We must adjust our choices of colors, of lines, of materials, or we won’t be able to sell our ideas. We sell our ideas, our talent, and our skills! When it all comes down to it, we’re all a group of tarts! I ask you, isn’t it worse to sell your soul than to sell your body? Isn’t that more perverted?"

"I don’t know," she says. "I could never sell my body, sex is sacred for me. I never fuck for any other reason than that I’m horny."

He laughs out loud. He’s actually quite cute when he laughs. It suits him better than bitterness.

"Do you want to see the VIP-room?" he asks.

Ooh, the VIP-room! She’s almost childishly impressed with such things.

"Yeah," she says. "I’d love to see the VIP-room."

The VIP-room is rather small, very beautiful, and completely void of personality. There’s a huge table out of glass, resting on a frame of black iron. Each chair is made out the same black iron, and looks very uncomfortable. At one end of the room, there’s a bar cabinet made out of glass, illuminated from within, containing a variety of liquors. The whole room looks like a palace made out of ice. Ellenor walks through the room, her high heels click loudly against the black floor. She walks up to the opposite wall that is made entirely out of smoke-colored glass. She can see the club through it. She looks at people dancing below her. She feels as if she’s peeking on them when they don’t suspect it. That thought brings a grin to her lips.

"What do you think?"

She turns her back at the window, and looks at him.

"I’m sorry, but I don’t like it," she says.

"Why not?"

"It’s so cold and sterile. You can’t relax in here. No natural material, no warmth, no comfort! Just glass and metal."

"The type of people who will be invited up here, will probably be using drugs to feel relaxed, anyway."

He shrugs.

"This window is made from the same material cops use, he goes on. It’s a see-through mirror. We can see them, but they can’t see us."

"What do they see, then?"

"A mirror. There are mirrors all over the club, to make the place look bigger."

"That’s cool," she says. "To stand in front of a window and see all those people down there, and they can’t see us!"

She giggles.

"You have a nice laugh," he says.

She smiles.

"And a beautiful smile."

He moves closer.

"You’re beautiful."

He kisses her. She responds. Heck, he’s cute, and his British accent is sending shivers down between her legs. He takes her hands, and holds them against the glass. He presses his body against hers, and continue kissing her. He’s got quite a boner; she can feel it through his chinos. He lets go of one of her hands to pull her tube top down. He licks her left nipple, makes it harden, nibbles on it, and slides his hand up under her short skirt. He moves her thong to the side and carefully spreads her lips. Ellenor puts her free hand around his neck, holds him there, and runs her fingers through his thick ginger hair. His fingers play with her clit, her knees shake, and she leans back against the glass wall for support. He puts one finger inside her pussy, moves it in and out a couple of times, then inserts two fingers into her wet opening, and Ellenor squirms and moans. She’s surprised when he pulls his fingers out and kneels in front of her, but then he pushes her skirt up, so it’s like a belt around her waist, pulls her thong down her thighs, and buries his face in her pussy. If it weren’t for the glass wall supporting her, she’d have a problem standing up! His tongue is magical, it moves and bends and circles around her clit. He matches every lick with pushing his fingers inside of her, each time bending his fingers before pulling them out, tickling her; the double stimulation is making her pelvis shake and tremble, she tosses her head back against the glass and cries out, partly from the pleasure, partly from the pain from hitting her head against the glass, and then she slides down to the floor, her legs just won’t support her anymore.

"You alright?"

He sounds amused.

"Uh-huh?" she squeaks, she can’t speak, she can’t move, her pussy’s still pulsating, she’s all weak.

She reaches for his zipper, and he supports himself against the glass as she frees his hard dick out of his trousers. Oh, it’s a beauty! Thick and long and decorated with thin, pulsating veins. She pulls the foreskin down, and the pink head glisters with pre-cum. She smears it over the head with one finger. He moans when she does this. She slowly pulls the skin down tight, and holds it there while she lets her other hand slide over the shaft. He whines, his dick shakes, and suddenly he shoots his load over her chest.

"Oh, bloody hell! I’m sorry, I don’t know why that happened! I usually don’t come THIS quick!"

"Do you have a handkerchief or something?"

He does. He helps clean her up with a plaid cotton handkerchief, which he throws in the garbage afterwards.

"I’m sorry," he says, helping her get to her feet. "You’re just TOO good, you know?"

She doesn’t believe that for a second, but it’s still nice to hear it. 

"Wanna give me another chance?"

He sounds pleading, and the way he plays with her nipple while he’s talking is clouding her judgement a little. 

"Sure," she says. "But not in here."

"I have a room over at Unitend," he says.

"Are you allowed to bring ladies up to your room?" she teases him, straightening her clothes.

"Considering their prices, I think I’d be allowed to bring a whole ladies’ football team up to my room!" he says.

She giggles. He’s polite and funny. He escorts her out of the room, holds up the door for her, gets their coats, and hails a cab for them. He even opens the car door. He’s well behaved all the way to the hotel, and unlike her other "date", he doesn’t attack her in the elevator. Must be because he’s Englishman, she figures. His room is big and comfortable; the bedspread a deep green linen, the TV is hidden inside a big cupboard, he’s got a large desk and lots of green plants, the furniture is made of dark wood, wenge, she believes, and the whole room has a touch of Asian minimalism over it, but unlike the sterile club, this clean room is still warm and restful, due to the warm colors and the plants. She kicks off her shoes and stretches out on the bed.

"I like this room!" she says.

"Home, sweet home," he says, and takes off his shirt. 

He’s got lots of red, curly hair on his chest. She gets up on one elbow to watch him strip. She likes what she sees. He’s got muscular thighs and calves.

"Do you run a lot?" she asks.

"I play in a local football team," he says. "We stink!"

She laughs. He sure knows how to laugh at himself! He gets into bed with her, and kisses her. She melts away under that incredible mouth. He undresses her and kisses her everywhere. She moans with delight, and parts her legs for him, giving him access to kiss her intimate parts, which he does with an almost religious reverence. If she thought that what he did to her in the club was good, it’s nothing compared to what he’s doing now, when he’s taking his time to do everything slow and thorough. He plays with her, experiments with his fingers, his lips, his tongue, trying different things, to see what will turn her on the most. She comes, but he won’t stop to let her catch her breath; he wants to see how she’ll react if she gets teased again right after one orgasm; will she be sensitive or numb? Will the next orgasm be even stronger or merely just as strong? She’s completely without a will of her own by her 6th orgasm. She’s reduced to a slave for his touch, begging incoherently for more.

"Please!" she cries. "Oh, please, please, fuck me!"

He gets a pack of condoms out of a desk drawer, he put on two, to "desensitize" himself, as he explains it, and enters her. Oh, he’s wonderful, he’s big, he’s strong, and he’s… lying all still?

"What’s wrong?" she says.

"Be still!" he says. "I can’t… oh, bloody HELL!"

He thrusts into her, his face is twisted, and then he pulls himself out of her, takes off the dirty condoms and throws them in the garbage. He sits down at the foot of the bed, hiding his face in his hands. Ellenor sits up.

"Do you want me to go?" she says. "Or do you want to… give it one more try?"

"I don’t know if I can do it again," he says.

She pulls him backward on the bed, makes him lie down, and then she takes his large dick in her mouth and sucks on it. For a minute or two, nothing happens. Then he starts caressing her butt, moving his hand down to the wetness between her legs, and then he fingerfucks her from behind. Touching her stirs up some life in his dick. She moves down to his balls, licks them, takes one of them, then both of them, in her mouth. His dick is now standing in attention, and she moves back up, nibbling the shaft like it’s a corncob. She finds the frenulum and takes it in between her lips, licks it – and he comes, shooting sperm all over the bedspread. She gets up, slowly. He has put a pillow over his face, as if he’s trying to smother himself.

"Maybe I better leave…" she says. 

"Yes," she hears his coarse voice from under the pillow.

She gets dressed.

"It was nice meeting you," she says. "And, eh… you’re really good at cunnilingus!"

"Thank you."

He still hasn’t removed the pillow. 

She leaves the room.



Bimbo Ch. 04



"At least he made you come," says Sam.

"Yes. Several times, too."

"So what's the problem, then?"

Sam takes the pasta of the stove and pours the water out into the sink. He has invited Ellenor over for dinner, and he has made his specialty, 'tagliatelle con funghi e spinacchi'.

"I guess there IS no problem," says Ellenor. "I got what I wanted. So why am I disappointed?"

Sam ponders the question while he fills two plates with sauce and pasta.

"What where you looking for when you went out?" he asks.

"To meet a nice, good-looking guy and fuck with him."

"Which is what you got. Well, sort of. You got orgasms, but no fucking. But is that REALLY what you wanted? Remember you told me that you wanted a nice, normal guy with a big dick, who wanted to have sex in a bed, preferably one who was good with his tongue? You forgot to say that you wanted him to actually be able to fuck you, too!"

Ellenor laughs.

"And if I had remembered to specify that, I might have met someone like that, except he wouldn't have wanted to fuck me, because I forgot to add that he must also WANT to fuck me," she says. "I get it. You never get exactly what you want, only what you ask for."

"Exactly," says Sam. "Be careful what you wish for – you just might get it!"

They leave the subject of men while they're eating, and instead they discuss Sam's excellent cooking, his last trip top Italy, and the food in Toscana. Not until Sam serves them both tea, does he bring up the topic of men again.

"Perhaps you're going to the wrong places," he says. "I mean, Chamber, The Golden Ring, Fastlane... they're for teenagers – and for men in their 40s – perhaps you should try some place more sophisticated?"

"I'm not very sophisticated, myself," she protests.

"Oh, yes, you are! You may not be Jackie O, but you're classy and stylish, and you know how to use a knife and fork – trust me, honey, that's all there is to it, really!"

"And you think I wouldn't risk finding a man with a small dick or a man who comes too soon in a sophisticated place?"

"Of course you might. But honestly, dear – is that REALLY what's bothering you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you're just looking for sex, why do you get so disappointed when the guy turns out to have a flaw?"

"Are you playing Freud on me?"

"You're not looking for a lover, you're looking for a boyfriend."

She pours herself another cup of tea, and tries to give her feelings an honest evaluation.

"I wouldn't say that I'm LOOKING FOR a boyfriend," she says. "But I wouldn't mind having one. You know... if the chemistry was right."

"I knew it," says Sam, and curls up in a corner of the sofa, folding his long legs to the side. "You're just not the type of woman who flutters through life, going from one man to the other. You're the type who gets married!"

She threatens to throw a pillow on him.

"So, if you're gonna find anyone who'll last a little longer than merely one night, I suggest you abandon the kiddy clubs, and try something a bit more... adult."

That makes Ellenor think of 'Timewarp' and the clubs around that neighborhood. She doubts that she would find any suitable man around there. Interesting men in abundance, absolutely, but not interesting as in potential lovers for herself! 

"What do you suggest?" she says.

Deciding to upscale her choice of men, she decides to go to a club in the more expensive parts of town. With a little help from Sam, she has also updated her wardrobe to include a simple black linen dress that costs almost half her paycheck, even though it looks so simple.

"It's featured in Vogue," says Sam. "Trust me, darling, the rich kids will know what it is. This little thing is your ticket into the Big Boys' Party!"

And, as usual, Sam is right, He's a guru of style, and Vogue is his bible. The doorman throws one glance at her, and lets her pass the crowd of wannabes outside the club. This club is obviously decorated by an interior architect, but she doubts that Mark has had anything to do with this. The whole place is a tribute to money. Not in the flashing of money, but in the things that money can – and can't buy. The furniture and the walls are functional and basic, almost primitively so, but they breathe craftsmanship and quality, of tranquility and serenity. A longing for some peace and quiet in a busy world, perhaps? She orders an overpriced glass of mineral water, and starts to mingle. The music's different as well. No rap or hip-hop, no hit list songs. There are two dance floors, one with a live jazzband on stage, one with a DJ playing classic rock n' roll from the 80'ies, which makes the crowd of people ages 25-35 go "awwww – THIS one!" every 3 minutes. Ellenor sticks to the latter. Jazz really isn't her thing. She dances alone in a corner, enjoying the beat of yesteryears, trying not to think of how long it has really been since these songs were brand new. She's only 27; it's way too soon to think of the rushing of time. She's out to have fun, damned it! And fun she has. She has serious trouble ever getting off the dance floor, as the DJ keep playing all her favorite tunes. She just has to dwell on the memory of her first kiss, by Robbie Hayes, in the 7th grade, who let her listen to "Heaven Is A Place On Earth" on his walkman. She has to sink down in bittersweet memory about her first real boyfriend, Garrett, who danced with her at every school dance in Senior High, humming "Time, Love & Tenderness" by Michael Bolton. The music changes into "Eternal Flame," and people pair up to slow-dance. Finally, a chance to get something to drink! She's about to leave the floor when someone puts a hand on her arm and asks her to dance. She gladly accepts. He's really handsome; tall and strong, wide shoulders, and a well-groomed goatee. He doesn't talk while they're dancing, he doesn't sing along or hum or try to cup a feel; he just holds her in his strong arms and they float over the floor. He's a good dancer, and she's rather disappointed when the nice tune is replaced by the theme from 'Ghostbusters'.

"Care for a drink?" says her dance partner.

"A glass of water would be nice," she says.

He escorts her to the bar, and orders a martini for himself and another glass of mineral water for her.

"You don't drink?" he asks. "Not at all?"

"Nothing stronger than this," she smiles.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asks, and pulls out a cigar and a lighter.

"Yes," she says. "I DO mind. I'm allergic to smoke."

His hands stop just as he's about to light his cigar. He raises his eyebrows at her, but puts the lighter and the cigar away like a good boy.

"You don't drink, you don't smoke... don't you have any vices at all?" he says.

She gives him a dirty smile.

"Only two," she says. "The second is chocolate."

He licks his lips, looks at her, grinning back at her.

"And the first...?"

"You figure it out."

He moves a little closer, bites off his martini.

"Hmmm..." he says, pretending to think hard. "You're a shopaholic?"

"No more than other women," she laughs.

He places his hand on her knee.

"You're a shoe fetishist?"

"Nope."

His hand moves up to her thigh.

"You're a cyber-freak?"

"Would I be here if I was addicted to computers?" 

His hand is under her skirt; it passes her stay-up stocking and caresses warm skin. His nails scrape against the sensitive skin on her inner thigh, making her twitch. The muscles in her thigh tighten.

"I'm out of guesses," he says. "I think you better tell me."

She covers his hand with her own.

"I'm a sucker for long, hot sex with anonymous men," she whispers.

He grips her thigh.

"Just like that?" he says. "You're not even gonna tell me your name? Miss X, I believe you're trying to seduce me!"

She smiles, picks a green grape out of a fruit bowl, and crushes it between her front teeth.

"Do you have honest intentions?" he teases her. "Or are you gonna take advantage of my body and leave me with a broken heart?"

The way I do it, nothing gets broken," Ellenor assures him. "It just gets a little sore..."

He gulps down the last of his martini, and offers her his arm.

"Shall we?"

As gracious as she knows how to be, she places her hand on his arm, and he walks her to the wardrobe, where they get their coats. She's glad that they're taking a cab, her coat os well tailored but thin, and it's a little chilly outside. He puts an arm around her while he waves to a passing taxi. It pulls over, and he opens the door for her. He's caressing her leg all the way back to her place. She's beginning to worry that her stockings are gonna be around her ankles by the time she gets home. He pays for the cab while she hurriedly checks that her legs look decent, then they walk into the house and into the elevator. The doors haven't closed behind them before he's kissing her, impatiently unbuttoning her coat. What is it with men and elevators? She wonders. Why do they always get so horny inside elevators? Is it perhaps the naughtiness of being in semi-public? Like kids hiding in a secret hideout, peeking out at the world? He fondles her butt while she unlocks the door; he follows her into the dark hallway, closes the door behind him, turn her around, and kisses her again. They leave a trail of clothes through the hallway, into the bedroom. They fall down on the bed together, naked. He takes his time to caress her body slowly, and he lets each touch of his strong hands be followed by another caress of his tongue. He's not just handsome and sensual; he's also well endowed, circumcised, and clean-shaven. She plays with his balls with one hand, and sucks his beautiful cock into her mouth. He's so long that she can't get all of it in her mouth without gagging.

"Easy there, baby!" he mumbles. "This isn't a porn-flick – just suck the head... yeah... just like that... and stroke me while you're sucking!"

She does her best to imitate the real thing, moving her hand and mouth in sync, with slow, flowing movements.

"Do you have any protection?" he asks, making a face as he tries to stay calm.

She gets a condom out of her desk drawer, and tears it up with her teeth, growling playfully. He laughs. She rolls it down over his cock, and climbs up on him, sinks down over his cock, and he grabs on to the headboard and arches his back to meet her movements.

"Yes, baby!" he pants. "Ride me, baby! Ride your pony, cowgirl!"

Cowgirl? She giggles, she can't help it. Cowgirl???

"I love your laugh!" he says. "Come on, girl! Work on it! Ride me, baby!"

The only way to shut him up is to kiss him, and the only way to stop him from making her lose her excitement is to stop him from talking. She bends down and covers his mouth with her own, sucks on his tongue and holds it captive in her mouth. He takes hold of her, rolls over and lifts her legs up in the air, burying himself inside her. His face is free, and he starts talking again.

"Do you like this, baby?" he asks.

"Yes!" she says.

"You like my big cock?"

"Yes!"

"Is it all big and hard?"

"Yes!"

"Is it filling up your cunt?"

"Yes!"

"Say it!"

"I like this, baby, I like your cock, it's all big and hard, it fills up my cunt!"

"God, baby! You're so nasty! Nasty and goooooooood!

She starts giggling again.

"You're so fun and so glad," he pants. "It feels so good fucking you!"

OK, she's now forced to bring out her secret weapon. She blocks his babbling out, and starts imagining. His features change, and all of a sudden she's staring at the face of Russell Crowe, a tender, loving, horny Russell Crowe.

"Oh, yes, baby!" she cries out. "Yes! YES!"

"Are you coming?"

"Yes! Fuck me, baby! Ram it into me! Yes!"

Russell Crowe is fucking her, nibbling her neck, making her come, just like he has done so many times before, on lonely nights when all she had to do, the only one she had to do, was her faithful toy, Mr. Rabbit. After he has come, he curls up next to her, kissing her. She's tired but happy. He's too tired to talk. She snuggles up in his arms, and they fall asleep.

The next morning, he's up early. When she wakes up, he's already dressing, talking into his cellular phone.

"Uh-huh? I see. And what about Biocomp? 2 up? Wide Calc? Shit!"

So he's a stockbroker? She gets out of bed, yawning. He throws her a glance, smiles, and goes back to his important phone call.

"What about Okapi? Yes, I know it's not out yet, but you have to have an idea of where it's heading? Uh-huh...? Yes. Yes. Of course not!"

She pulls a hand through her hair, messing it up.

"Coffee?" she mimes to him, and he nods, smiling gratefully.

"What? Are you sure? That much? Put me up for 150! No, I won't!"

He doesn't even bother to lower his voice. He obviously doesn't think that she understands what he's talking about. She's just a sleepy, airheaded sex kitten, right? She listens shamelessly to the rest of his conversation while she makes coffee. She takes out two cups and fills them up, then carries them out to him. He's putting on his shoes, still talking.

"No. No! Drop Romata, they're going down. Niles Luxy... Yes. That's right. What? Natoura? How do you spell it? N-A-T-O-R-A? Japanese? That much? OK, 200, then. Yes."

She hands him his cup, and brings her own back to bed with her. She drinks a little, stretches her body, and pretends to do her morning exercise. He finishes his call.

"Thanks for the coffee, baby!" he says, swallowing the last of the coffee. "I gotta go to work!"

"On a Saturday?" she says, opening her eyes wide. "You poor thing!"

"I cry all the way to the bank!" he jokes, just like Mark. "Besides, this was an... invigorating experience!"

She walks him to the door, and kisses him goodbye.

"Nice meeting you, Miss X!" he says, and pinches her ass before he leaves.

She locks the door and jumps into the shower. It's early, but her head feels wide-awake. She's full of ideas. She has to talk to Sam. Her bimbo-experiment has just opened up a whole new field of possibilities! 



Bimbo Ch. 05



Wednesday evening. She’s sitting next to Sam in his big white sofa, watching the news, waiting for the latest update on the economy news. The table in front of them are covered in newspapers, notes, and, on top of it all, Sam’s laptop. They are eagerly waiting to see if their stock has gone up over the weekend. After Ellenor’s stockbroker / one night stand had left, she told Sam about what she had heard. At first, he was hesitating a little.

“It’s risky, Ellenor,” he told her. “Okapi hasn’t even been let out on the market yet. This is inside information, it’s illegal. I’d hate to end up like Martha Stewart, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s nothing illegal about it!” Ellenor assured him. “Okapi’s going to be on the market on Thursday. It will be free for anyone who’s willing to take a risk. And the fact that I happened to overhear someone guessing that it’s going to be successful… I could just as easily have overheard it passing the guy in the street, couldn’t I? It’s not like I went to bed with him IN ORDER TO get this information!”

“If Okapi’s going to be as successful as you say it will, those stocks are gonna be very expensive,” Sam whined. “I don’t have very much money to spend these days.”

“Neither do I, but that’s the thing – Okapi’s not gonna be all that expensive at first, not until they’ve proven to be solid. All we need is a small sum, and then invest that in a little stack, and then we’ll get our money back as soon as the stocks go up!”

“Just how much is `a small sum´?”

“$10,000.”

“Forget it!”

“Sam, please! Listen to me! For $10,000, we should be able to get at least??? Okapi-shares, and if they äll go up with as little as 2%, they’ll be worth??? in just one week!”

Sam had paced in front of the window, pulled his hand through his hair, and bit his lip.

“I don’t have more than $4,000,” he said. 

“I’ve got $3,000,” said Ellenor, her heart beating hard. “I’ll make you a deal, Sam: we go together over this, and get as much shares of Natora as we can. If those stocks haven’t gone up – no, even better – if we’ve lost ANYTHING by Wednesday, we forget about Okapi, and I’ll pay you back your $4,000. But if we’ve got $10,000 by Wednesday night, we invest all of it in Okapi. Deal?”

“You’re really sure about this, aren’t you?” Sam looked at her as if he had never seen her before.

“Dead sure, Sam!”

He sighed, as if he still wasn’t convinced.

“OK,” he said, finally. “I trust you.”

And that was why they were now watching the financial news, waiting for the official declaration that Okapi would go on the market, at the same time as Sam was logging in to check the results on the stock market.

“Over to our financial section…”

“Here it is!” Ellenor grabbed hold of Sam’s arm.

“Two corporations declared today that they’re going on the common market; Visual Support Ltd., and last year’s new-comer, Okapi Inc. Shares will be available from tomorrow. Visual Support’s vice president, Desmond Bell, stated in a press conference yesterday…”

“Oh, my god…”

“What?”

“Natora… The stocks have gone up by 12%.”

Ellenor grabs a pen and pencil, and starts to count.

“Fuck!” she says, throwing the pad away. “It’s not enough!”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not $10,000.”

“Close enough,” says Sam. “I’m sorry, Ellenor. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Must be that Bimbo Experiment that’s getting to my head. You, my dear, are a financial genius!”

“You mean… you want to buy Okapi shares?”

Sam pulls her close and kisses her cheek.

“Damned right I want!” he says. “First thing tomorrow, I’m selling all our stocks in Natora, and buying Okapi shares for the money! Hell, I’ll even throw in my advance for next week’s article!”

Okapi’s a big success. Within two weeks, the price on the stocks have skyrocketed, making small fortunes for both Ellenor and Sam. And that, Sam explains, when he shows up at her door one Wednesday night with a bottle of apple cider; is why they need to celebrate. Ellenor gets her finest glasses out, and they toast in apple cider, toast for their success, and for similar success stories in the future.

“You should do this for a living,” Sam says.

“What?” Ellenor chuckles. “Pick up and fuck stock brokers for investment tips?”

“Don’t be silly! He may have put you up to the idea, but it was you alone who trusted your instinct and made me buy shares as well. Don’t sell your talent short, girl, that’ll never do you any good!”

“But I’m not sure if I could do it on my own! When I heard that guy talk about it over the phone, I just KNEW they were going to go up – but how do I know what other stocks are good or bad? It was just intuition with these.”

“So use that intuition with all shares you see! Playing the stock market really isn’t that hard. You just have to tune in to what people want, and then buy shares in the company that will give it to them. And if there are more than one company in the field, then that’s where your wonderful intuition comes in!”

Ellenor refills her glass, smiling. The idea is tempting…

“You know, Ellenor… I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

“What is it?”

“You speak Spanish, right?”

“French, Spanish, German… why do you ask?”

“I’ve been offered a new job,” Sam explains. “A full-time job for a Spanish magazine, `¡Dígame!´. They want me to work for them and write my articles in English, and then they’ll have them translated before printing.”

“That’s great!”

Sam makes a face.

“It’s not as independent as working as a freelance reporter, like I’m doing now,” he says. “As it is today, if I don’t like an assignment, I just take my business elsewhere. But working for this magazine… the pay is higher. Much higher. I’m meeting them for dinner on Friday night, to discuss the details. I’d like your help.”

“With what?”

“I don’t speak a word of Spanish, but you do. You can listen to what they’re saying, and then tell me, so I’ll know what their plans are.”

“You want me to SPY on them for you?”

“Definitely.”

She giggles. The idea is crazy. Crazy – and funny.

“Don’t you think they’re gonna wonder if you show up with me on your shoulder?”

“Not if you giggle like that. They’ll just think I’ve brought a date who’s a real bimbo.”

“And they won’t be suspicious when you bring a WOMAN as your date?”

“Of course they will. But they will think that I’m trying to distract them with your beauty in order to get a better deal. They won’t expect a bimbo to be a linguistic genius. We’re talking double-cross and triple-cross, honey!”

“What do you want me to wear?”

Ellenor has already accepted his proposal.

“Something strict yet sexy. A short skirt. A buttoned-up blouse. And… yes! BRAIDS!”

Sam’s eyes have a mock-mad glimpse in them, and his voice is a deep base that sends chills down Ellenor’s spine. She laughs. Now, THIS will be a challenge!

Friday night, they meet up with Eduardo Lobito, owner of `¡Dígame!´, and possibly Sam’s future boss. Lobito has brought with him his chief editor, Enrico Navarra. They are having dinner at a Mexican restaurant called `El Gordo´, The Fat Guy, a name that must originate from the owner himself, Ellenor concludes, as the fat man greets them heartily before waddling out into the kitchen. She can only hope that his food won’t have the same effect on his customers as it has had on him. Lobito and Navarra are two handsome Latin men in their late 40’s. They are polite to Ellenor, but it’s also clear that they don’t understand why Sam has brought her along as his date. Especially Navarra, whose voice and manners are even more feminine than Sam’s, seem confused. Has he been dragged along to be a temptation for Sam? She wonders. `¡Dígame!´ must be really desperate to get him. But is that the best they could do? A 40+ man in a buttoned-up silk shirt, with his curly hair glittering of gel, and a thick gold chain hanging around his neck, disappearing in the fur on his chest. Who does he think he is, Julio Iglesisas? She throws a glance at Sam, and finds to her surprise that Sam’s paying very close attention to Navarra, who’s trying to persuade him to try out a plate of Ropa Vieja, which is `El Gordo´’s specialty. Seriously, Sam can’t be attracted to that man, can he? It occurs to her that she really doesn’t know what type of men Sam prefers. But she just can’t imagine that he would actually fall for a sleazeball like Navarra...!

“Señorita, may I recommend the bean casserole?”

Lobito is focusing as much attention on her as Navarra is on Sam. Like they were on a double date, she thinks to herself.

“It’s not too spicy, is it?” she asks, putting on her squeaky voice.” My tummy doesn’t like spicy food!”

“Well, let’s see what we can find for a sensitive tummy, then,” he says, and turns the page over to the children’s menu. “What do you think of paella?” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought of that,” says Ellenor.

Hey, if she’s going to play the part, she might as well do it well! Lobito gives her a weak smile.

“It’s rice and chicken and vegetables,” he explains. “Not too spicy.”

“OK,” says Ellenor. “That sounds yummy!”

The waiter takes their orders and disappears out into the kitchen.

“Well…” says Lobito, and manages to take his eyes off Ellenor’s deep cleavage. “Business…”

That wonderbra is every bit as good as Alicia told her. Sam discusses salary figures and benefits with Lobito, while Navarra tries to keep up a conversation with Ellenor. She’s rather interested in hearing what Lobito has to say, but Navarra’s constant yapping is drowning out most of the other men’s conversation. She listens with only one ear to Navarra, and her little squeaks of “oh?”, “uh-huh?”, and “no way!” are even more lofty than usual. There’s an alarm bell ringing in the back of her head. There’s something fishy going on with this deal, she can feel it. Lobito’s hiding something, she’s sure of it. They get through dinner, and the waiter asks if they want some coffee and dessert.

“Not for me, thanks!” she says. “I gotta watch my weight!”

An utter lie, as her metabolism can digest a freight train, but she wants to get out of there. She can only hope that Sam will pick up on her little hint. He knows that she’s crazy about desserts.

“Surely you don’t have to worry, señorita,” says Navarra. “You’re very beautiful.”

“You think it’s easy to stay slim?” she says. “I do a LOT of exercise, and I never eat white bread, and I usually don’t eat anything after 6pm, I just made an exception tonight, because Sam invited me to this dinner…”

“I like women with a little… volume,” Lobito interrupts her babbling, and looks at her cleavage. “I assure you, you’d be beautiful even with a little more weight!”

“You’re CRAZY!”

Ellenor laughs, loud and shrilling.

“I’ll have a caffe latte, please,” says Sam. “Ellie, señores… if you’ll just excuse me, I need to visit the little boys’ room…”

He gives Ellenor a piercing look before he leaves, a look which could be interpreted as “get a grip on yourself”, but she understands that what Sam’s really trying to say is “stay alert”. The real spying is about to begin!

“If you’ll excuse me, señorita, I’ll just have a quick word with my editor…” says Lobito, and turns to Navarra. “Qué piensas de lo?”

”¡El tiene un culo que me gustaría comer...!”

Ellenor quickly takes a mouthful of her soda to hide her grin, when Navarra tells his friend that he finds Sam’s ass sexy enough to eat. She can’t wait to tell Sam about that! Or should she? She would certainly hate to see Sam together with that old egomaniac! Lobito and Navarra discuss Sam’s demands, quickly and quietly. The fact that they’re talking Spanish in order to shut her out only strengthens Ellenor’s suspicions that there’s something wrong. She memorizes everything they say, while looking around the restaurant, pretending to admire the decorations.

“Well,” says Lobito, as he and Navarra has come to a mutual agreement. “I think we’ve been neglecting the young lady long enough.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” she says. “I’ve been looking at all the pretty leaves in the ceiling. But you know, I think I have to do the same thing as Sam…”

“Go to the little boys’ room?” Lobito grins, showing that one of his front teeth is made out of gold. “I think that would cause quite a scandal, señorita!”

“Oh, you’re so BAD, Mr. Lobito!” Ellenor shrieks, and slaps his arm.

She leaves the table giggling, and walks around the corner to the restrooms. Sam waits for her there.

“Finally!” he says. “I though you’d never show up! Did they say anything?”

“They are VERY keen on hiring you,” she says. “Lobito was prepared to pay a lot more to get you.”

“What else?”

“They said something about the contract binding you to them. I can’t be sure without actually looking at the contract, but I think it means that you’d agree to give them the ownership of everything you write – and I mean EVERYTHING!”

“Those little snakes! Are you sure about this?”

“Pretty much. But if you want to be on the safe side, I think you should bring the subject up and see how they react.”

“I will. Thanks, Ellenor!”

He goes back to the table. Ellenor freshens up her make-up before she joins them.

“Señor Lobito, there is ONE detail we haven’t discussed,” Sam says, as she sits down.

She’s grateful that he has waited for her, she doesn’t want to miss this.

“What do you mean, Sam?”

Lobito puts on a mask of politeness.

“If I were to sign up for `¡Dígame!´, I’d also like my freedom to continue freelancing for other newspapers and magazines,” says Sam.

“That’s not how we do things, Sam.”

Lobito’s voice is still polite, but his face is darkening.

“I’ve studied `¡Dígame!´, senor Lobito,” says Sam, tasting his caffe latte. “Your magazine directs itself mainly to the Hispanic audience. My work is more general. If I come up with an article that doesn’t fit with your readers, I want the freedom to sell that article to a paper with a broader audience.”

“Now look here, Sam! If you work for us, we don’t want to pay for the hours that you spend working on a story for another paper! If you work for us, you write for us only!”

“That’s not how I do things.”

Sam finishes his coffee.

“Is this a money issue?” Lobito’s sweating. “We could… increase our offer.”

“It’s not a money issue,” says Sam. “It’s a freedom issue. An independency issue.”

He stands up.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Lobito,” he says. “But I can see that I wouldn’t fit in with your policy. Independence is very important to me. Ellie..!”

She gets up, and straightens her clothes, smiling sweetly at the two older men.

“Buenas noches, señores. Y muchas gracias para una comida muy agreable y interesante.“

They leave Lobito and Navarra sitting like frozen in their chairs. Sam helps Ellenor with her coat, and they walk out into the night. It’s a little chilly.

“Sorry about the job,” she says.

“No problem,” says Sam, and waves at a cab. “I didn’t really like them, anyway. They’re too narrow-minded.”

The taxi takes them home safely. Sam pays the fare, and escorts her up.

“You did a great job,” he says. “I just LOVED your little speech at the end. They looked like you had hit them or something!”

“I just thanked them for a nice dinner,” Ellenor smiles.

“Thank you, Ellenor.”

Sam takes her hand and kisses it.

“My pleasure,” she smiles. “I had fun.”

“What are you doing next weekend?” Sam asks. “I was thinking I could thank you properly by taking you to see that new romantic comedy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sam!” says Ellenor, and makes a face. “The company I’m working for is having a party. I don’t really feel like going, it’s usually very strict and boring, but I have to go, if I want to get that raise. I need to show them that I’m a team-player.”

Sam giggles.

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter!” she scolds him.

“No thanks,” he answers. “It’s very comfortable down here.”

“Sorry,” says Ellenor. “I’d rather go out with you, but…”

“No problem,” says Sam. “I’ll give you a rain check on that! Goodnight, Ellenor!”

“Night, Sam!”

She watches him go into his own apartment. Navarra’s right. Sam DOES have a cute butt.



Bimbo Ch. 06



It’s Friday night, and she’s getting out of the taxi. She’s very tired, and longs for a hot bath and her bed. The bath will have to wait. She can’t pour a tub in the middle of the night, the neighbors will complain if she wakes them up. She’s gonna straight to bed. Someone’s using the elevator. Oh, good, here it comes! She checks her reflection in the mirror as she’s going up, and makes a face. She’s tired, and she looks tired. Who knew office parties were so tiring? A lot of people getting drunk and shedding their inhibitions, doing and saying things they’ll regret on Monday morning. Maybe she’ll put on a mud mask tomorrow… The elevator doors open, and she stares at the scene in the hallway. A woman is standing on her hands and knees outside Sam’s door, scooping up things from the floor and putting them in a small, red purse. She stands up, sees Ellenor in the elevator, and her chin drops. Ellenor’s brain doesn’t want to work, it’s tired, she’s tired, she wants to go to sleep in her comfortable bed with the featherfilled bedthrows – but this annoying little voice at the back of her head is listing all the evidence; the strange woman’s cheekbones, her eyes, her adam’s apple…

“Sam?”

Ellenor steps out of the elevator.

“Hello, Ellenor.”

His voice is tense; his body’s stiff, as if he expects her to hit him.

“Wow,” she says, eyeing him. “You look good!”

“Thanks.

He’s still not sure of her reaction, she can tell.

“How about a cup of tea?” she suggests. “My place?”

“That would be nice.”

He walks with her into her apartment. Ellenor kicks off her shoes.

“What a relief!” she says. “One more minute in these and I would have had to amputate my feet!”

“Mind if I take off mine?” says Sam, and puts his red purse on the little table in her hall.

“Sure, make yourself comfortable,” she says, and walks into the kitchen.

Sam sits down at the kitchen table, is unusually quiet while she tells him about her night. Ellenor fixes tea for them. Not until they’re sitting there with their cups, does he speak.

“My name’s Samantha.”

Ellenor fidgets with her hair.

“I had no idea you liked this,” she says.

“It’s not a hobby,” says Sam. “It’s a way of life.”

“What’s the attraction?” she asks. “I mean, why do you do it?”

“I like to look pretty,” he says. “I go out with friends, we go to clubs… I want to be beautiful. I want men to look at me and think that I’m a princess! I want to feel good about myself!”

“Just like I do,” Ellenor says.

Sam nods.

“Yes,” he says. “You dress up to feel sexy, to look incredibly hot, to turn a few heads… upstairs and downstairs.”

“But why as a woman?” she asks. “You’re gorgeous as a man. Why do you want to look like a gorgeous WOMAN?”

“I like it,” he explains. “All of it. The preparations. Lotion, silk, perfume, make-up… I love it. It makes me feel beautiful, in a way that dressing up as a man doesn’t. I feel… sensual.”

Ellenor bites her lip.

“Why have you never told me about this?” she says. “We’ve been friends for 5 years, but I had no idea that you… liked this.”

“I wasn’t sure how you would react,” Sam says. “It’s happened to me before that friends have drawn away from me when they find out.”

“I’m not like that!”

Ellenor gets out of her chair, runs around the table, and hugs him.

“You’re my best friend,” she says. “What do I care if you wear pants or skirts?”

He hugs her back, hard. She sits down again, and gets herself a refill of her cup.

“I don’t know anything about this,” she says. “Do you and your friends go to, like… special clubs?”

“Sometimes,” he says. “If you want, you can come along next time and check it out.”

Yet another Friday night. Her life seems to revolve around these nights alone. Tonight, she’s accompanied Sam to his favorite club, QUIRK. She’s still not used to seeing him in drag, but she likes Samantha, she’s like a new great friend, a friend that has shared a secret with Ellenor, just like little girls do to prove that they’re indeed best friends. Apart from the dress and the hair and the make-up, it’s still Sam, though. She finds herself thinking, over and over again, “I gotta tell Sam that she said that”, and then she remembers. It’s strange. But she likes it. She likes to go out with Sam, no, Samantha! She likes it that guys are staring after them, the two pretty girls in their sexy dresses. She likes the comfort of having a girlfriend to talk to, especially a girlfriend who’s big and strong. OK, Sam’s no beef, but he’s still stronger than she is, thanks to all the workout, and that makes her feel good. They get out of the taxi in front of QUIRK, and Samantha waves at old friends while she escorts Ellenor into the club and up to the bar.

“That’s Ted, he’s an asshole, there’s Lisa and Jennifer, they got married in Denmark last year and are trying to have a baby with Fred and Ali over there. Over in the corner you have Danielle, oh my god, he’s finally got the breast implants done, good for him, he’s been waiting for that for years, oh, dear, here comes Ruby and Jake…”

Ruby’s a very tall, black, model-esque woman, or so Ellenor thinks, until Ruby opens her mouth and speaks with a deep, deep bass.

“Samantha, DARLING! It’s so good to see you!”

She bends down, and they exchange cheek kisses. Jake, a short, fat man, merely smiles and nods at them.

“And who’s this?” says Ruby, fastening her huge, hungry eyes on Ellenor. “Some fresh blood?”

She gives Ellenor a sudden vision of a vampire; a seductive, dangerous vampire.

“This is Ellie, my very good friend,” says Samantha. “She’s never been to this perverted part of town before.”

Ellenor smiles and shakes their hands. Ruby grins, showing all her teeth. They’re shining white, and rather big, but they’re not sharp and pointed, as one might have expected.

“You’re throwing this little lamb chop to the big bad wolves?” she says. “Samantha, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Don’t let her looks fool you,” says Samantha, and puts an arm around Ellenor’s shoulders. “She may look innocent and girly, but in reality, she’s a 4-time martial arts champion!”

Oh, is she, now? Ellenor smiles widely to hide her surprise. Ruby raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

“She doesn’t talk much, though,” she remarks. “You’re not mute, are you, dear?”

“No,” says Ellenor. “But I tend to keep my mouth shut when I don’t have anything worth saying.”

Samantha smiles, and Jake takes Ruby by the arm.

“Ruby, precious, I see Jimmy and Carla over by the door,” he says. “We simply HAVE TO say hello to them!”

He drags her away.

“Was I terribly rude?” Ellenor asks.

“Not at all, you were great,” says Samantha. “That Ruby’s a real hyena.”

She orders a glass of wine for herself and a glass of mineral water for Ellenor.

“Is Jake her boyfriend?” says Ellenor.

Samantha laughs.

“Try her sugardaddy,” she says. “Quite disgusting, really!”

They get themselves a table, and sit and watch the crowd. There are all types of sexual preferences in there. Transvestites in full outfits are flirting with the gay guys, or standing in their own little groups. The only thing that tells the S/M dominatrices and their slaves from the militant dykes and their girlfriends, are the suits and ties on the men. A group of gay men are standing next to the men’s room, looking like they’ve just stepped out of a Tom of Finland – artwork. And over by the speakers stand a handsome man all alone, looking uncomfortable.

“Straight guy, tricked into coming here by friends, and now he’s alone and terrified,” is Samantha’s theory.

“He’s cute,” says Ellenor.

“Go get him!” says Samantha.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t! I’m out with you!”

“And I’m not gonna fuck you, but he probably will,” says Samantha. “Now go get him before I do!”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?

“Not at all. I’ll buy Danielle a beer, and listen to all the gory details from his operation!”

She walks up to the handsome man. He looks at her, almost fearful.

“Hi,” she says. “Wanna dance?”

He leans over to talk in her ear.

“No offense… but I’ve seen `Crying Game´ like, 3 times!”

He thinks that she’s a man? She starts to laugh.

“Don’t worry,” she says, moves in closer, and puts her hands on her own breasts, squeezing them together to make the cleavage look deep and interesting. “These are for real!”

He’s still not convinced.

“So are those!” he says, and points at Danielle.

Samantha is apparently checking Danielle’s new body parts for cancer, as far as Ellenor can tell. She turns her attention back to him and smiles. He really is cute. He’s got thick blond hair and pouty lips. He looks good in a suit. Either she snatches him, or one of Tom of Finland’s fans are gonna take a shot at him. A cute, nervous guy, in his early 30’ies… She feels strong and powerful. She wants to play. And she wants to play with this cutie. She takes his hand and quickly places it under her skirt.

“Did the guy in `Crying Game´ have one of these?” she says.

He stares at her. He moves his hand a little. He can feel that she’s moist. He licks his lips and slides a finger inside her underwear. She shifts her weight so that his finger reaches just the right spot. She’s getting turned on, by his touch and by the incredible fact that she’s letting a guy finger her inside a nightclub. Thank goodness it’s so dark in here! He whispers in her ear:

“You’re not into any kinky shit, are ya?”

“Like what?”

“You know… S/M, toilet things – it’s not me, you know.”

“Me neither,” she reassures him.

They take a taxi home, as soon as she’s got Samantha’s blessings. He tells her a little about himself in the car. His name is John, he works with finances, and he only came to QUIRK to accompany a friend on his bachelor party. He got separated from his pals, and was just about to flee through the emergency exit when she walked up to him. He behaves like a good boy until they get into the elevator, then he kisses her and puts his hand back inside her panties. Not another one! What IS it about this elevator that turns every man she takes home into a drooling octopus? Maybe it’s the intimacy of a small space? She has to ask Sam about it one day. They get inside her apartment, and he takes her hand and puts it on his crotch. He’s hard and ready. And as far as she can make out, he’s even more well equipped than Mark. She leads him into her bedroom, he trips over the carpet, and they fall onto the bed, with him on top of her. He’s good. Way better than the others. She leans back and lets him undress her.

“Can you turn on the lights?” he asks. “I want to see how sexy you are!”

A man to her liking! She turns on her reading lamp, and watches with pleasure when he goes down on her. Oh, yes! He’s good, all right! She moans with delight.

“Do you have any protection?” he asks, and she gets a condom out of the drawer in the bedside table.

He’s naked in like no time, and she watches greedily as he puts the condom on. He’s MUCH more equipped than Mark! Yum, yum! She eagerly parts her legs for him. He comes to her, and for the next 10 minutes, everything’s just fine, then he suddenly pulls out.

“Turn around!” he says.

Oh, he wants to do it doggystyle? Sure, she likes that one! She gets on her hands and knees, he moves closer – and then she screams, and jumps out of bed.

”Jesus!” he says. “What’s the matter?”

“That was my ASS!” she says.

“I know.”

“I never said you could fuck my ass!”

“Hey, come on… I’m sorry. Will you gimme your ass now?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because it hurts, and I don’t like it!”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“No!”

“Come on… it can’t be that bad. Lemme have your ass!”

What’s his problem? What part of “no” doesn’t he understand? What man keeps begging after a woman has said “no”? What’s the fun in doing something that he knows that she doesn’t enjoy? Then she spots something in the open drawer, and gets an idea. She grins wickedly.

“Tell you what,” she says. I’ll let you fuck my ass – IF…”

She picks up her “9 pink jelly dildo out of the drawer.

“…IF you’ll let me shove this thing up your ass first!”

“No way!” he says. “I’m not GAY, for fuck’s sake!”

“It’s not gay,” she says. “It’s just so that you will understand how it feels like, what you’re asking me to do.”

“But that’s different!” he says. “Girls like that!”

“Says who?”

“I’ve seen it in every fucking porn flick I’ve ever watched!”

She stares at him. Is he mocking her, or is he really that stupid? She grabs her sweater from the chair in the corner of the room, and puts it on.

“What’s your problem?” he says.

“I want you to leave now,” she says.

“Oh, come on!”

“Out.”

“Hey, OK, you don’t want it anal, I get it. But could we do it the normal way? I haven’t come yet.”

“Get out!”

Grumpy, muttering, he takes his clothes and gets out into the hall.

“Could you at least give me a blowjob?” he says, getting his shirt on.

She opens the front door and pushes him out, and throws his clothes out after him. She quickly slams the door shut and locks it. She can hear him swearing loudly out there. What an asshole! She leans against the door, slides down on the floor, and sits there, crying, waiting for Sam to get home. Assholes are even worse than bimbos.