Joe was sitting at a Starbucks coffee shop. He put the wooden bird cage on the next chair to the right and placed his black leather attach; briefcase under the chair. He sighed. The yellow island of the counter with coffee equipment and cashbox frontend seemed to him like a bathyscaphe gondola that is slowly falling in the abyss of the deep-sea world, where strange unearthly creatures silently cruise around.
“Wow, is it really a parrot?!” a girl shouted at the next table, tearing the viscous environment of timelessness. She was a vigorous brunette in jeans and a “I love lollipops” T-shirt, with a backpack on her back.
“Wow, that’s right, a parrot,” Joe answered in her manner, feeling annoyance.
After all, he deliberately set the cage like that, but this devil, as if on purpose, jumped onto the upper perch of the cage and now was probably impudently side-glancing at the brunette. It was also irritating that he was called to a loud conversation in this, as it turned out, crowded place.
She shouted again, “Can I sit down closer? I love animals!”
“Why not,” Joe snapped angrily. (A vulgar slut... lollipops… animals... But the contents of the testicles, you know, are putting an incredible pressure on the brain).
The girl, confused, got frozen just above her chair. Joe unwittingly took a lustful look at her. She was above average height with small breasts, narrow waist and beautifully outlined hips and buttocks. What can I say, from the tip of the nose to the tip of the tail, she looked absolutely fabulous. He felt a treacherous response in his loins.
Sensing his glance, the charming creature shook herself and smiled. Sitting down next to Joe, she has burst into jovial chatting. — What a cute one. I love parrots. What’s his name?
— Crock Gator, Joe said apathetically.
— Crocodile Crocodileson? That’s a lot of fun, she laughed passionately, her boobs jiggling, and she asked, - Why is that name?
— Why, why, the terrible slob eats a lot, Joe said, fidgeting in the chair and groping the briefcase with his right foot.
— Are you strolling him? Are you walking crocodiles? Is he going to litter here for free? she said and leaned forward, smiling.
(No, the tits are pretty decent! Not big, but very active. We definitely have to do something about it).
Painfully sipping and trying hard to finish his coffee, he briefly said,
— Two hundred.
— What? she asked, as if not understanding, and at the same time lovely clicking her tongue for the parrot.
— Two hundred for a couple of hours or for a night, we’ll see, and that’s it, Joe stated.
— Does Croc make two hundred a night? Is he a circus performer, kind of a talk show guy? the girl inquired.
(Is she kidding me, bitch?)
— Two hundred and not a penny more. If no deal, I walk away. You may eat this donut, it’s delicious, I’m just sick of them, Joe said as he rose and tilted to pick up the cage and the briefcase. (Cage goes into the left hand, case into the right one. Coffee is left just a bit, not a pity. The brunette will eat the donut if she’s not a blonde). And he turned to the exit.
— And where are we running to? the girl chattered, barely keeping up with his pace. — I love parrots, love a lot, truly, especially those that talk.
— He speaks the simplest phrases, Joe snapped. (I should whistle some tune, right now. Otherwise, I can’t control myself and will just fuck her on the street, so attractive she is).
— And what are those phrases?
— The simplest, the most dumb and stupid: ‘Hello, world. I’m hungry like a dog. Thanks a lot. Good night.’
— He-he, he’s so funny. Is he two hundred years old? she asked.
Joe came to a halt. (No, if she continues in the same spirit, I will not stand it. I’ll drag her into some hideaway and bang all her love channels).
And, looking into her eyes, he started speaking angrily, with a business challenge, “I pay two hundred. Make it beautiful. Undress romantically. Fold clothes neatly. Dance or, at least, gracefully move around, music is mine…”
He was about to state the key moments of the program further, but suddenly closed his eyes as if in pain, cut off the speech, then waved his hand in despair and went in the other direction. (Later I should turn back towards the hotel so that not to go around the globe).
While moving away, he heard her laughing.
She shouted, “Stop! Where are you going from me!”
Surprised, he turned his whole body. The girl, running up and, as if in a slow motion, took off the ground, smoothly flew up into the air, hugging him first with her arms, and then with her legs. Joe dropped both the briefcase and the cage.
Croc Gator indignantly shouted, “Fool!”
(She’s not heavy, not at all. Firm body and chest).
Kissing him with her spicy lips, she quickly whispered, “And what did I like so much about you? You are not my type at all. Oh, I’m crazy. But two hundred bucks will come in handy for a poor girl. You’re going to leave me later anyway, vile hottie, aren’t you?!”
(No, I’m not super handsome, though not a freak either. Why lie? Is it professional? But prostitutes, they say, don’t kiss. What about sluts? Anyway, she is something, damn it. Sultry like summer. Those lips...)
This breathtaking insanity lasted some five minutes. Or, maybe, ten?
(The interval between the buses there, on the street, is five or ten minutes? Hell, let this last forever!)
Joe was slowly spinning around with his burden, slightly pushing aside the attach; case and the cage of infuriated Croc.
“I’m hungry like a dog!” Mr. Gator raved.
Joe returned the girl to the ground. Her legs were weak and were betraying her.
“Hello, world!” Croc croaked fiercely.
And then another bus squawked at the bus stop.
Coming to her senses, she asked voluptuously, “And what is your name?”
“Joe. And what’s yours?”
“Ashley.”
“Ashley?” he snorted disbelievingly. (She looks a bit like latino. Mother or father? Granny or grandpa?)
“...Though mom calls me Punitayalini,” said she slyly.
“Phu-nee-tha... ya-lee-nee?” muttered he, faltering while trying to reproduce that long, snake-like name.
“It’s OK to call me Yalini,” she said and sparkled her eyes.
Joe smiled and sang,
“Her name was Magill, and she called herself Lil,
But everyone knew her as Nancy*.”
“He-he,” Yalini giggled.
“Is it good if I will call you signorina Punita?”
“Yes, rabbit, you can call me Punita if you want to, but my mom is from India, just in case.”
“So, was it your father that named you Ashley?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” she nodded and protruded her lower lip.
This juicy lip, drooping, in the brief, apparently minutes of sadness, was giving her whole image the impression of some childish insecurity, even vulnerability.
When Joe entered the room, he intentionally did not turn the lights on. He placed the briefcase and the cage under the table. It was getting dark already and he had to hurry.
“I will quickly take shower, OK?” he said.
“Of course, John*. I’ll take a shower right after you, if you don’t mind.”
He washed himself quickly, then went out and positioned the cage by the window. Ashley - Yalini slipped into the bathroom.
“Take a shower quickly,” Joe ordered when she was departing.
Then he reconsidered something and placed the case under the bed.
“But come out dressed,” Joe shouted to her through the door.
He put the money on the table, the agreed amount. And he checked up the music. (Well, where is she there? It will get dark soon. What a funny backpack she has. Purely womanish).
She went out, smiling, and Joe nearly screamed of surprise: her T-shirt in the chest section was now reading ‘I love you’.
“Did you flip that T-shirt? What about Chupa Chups?” he asked, recovering.
“Yeah, all in one. Everything will be all right. Just don’t embarrass me. Turn on the music as you promised.”
Ashley started slowly dancing and stripping. Coquettishly and mincingly sighing, she was placing a removed item on the armchair. Her movements were smooth and beautiful. The picturesque — like a small elongated mound — abdomen with a lovely belly button was floating in the rays of the outgoing sun like a golden medallion. So, now the charmer was only wearing her bra and panties. Joe stared as bewitched - what will she remove next? Punita turned around and faced him with a triumphant smile. She slightly lowered the panties on her hips, staring slyly at the man. (Oh, really. We’ll see, let’s watch). But she pulled the panties up, laughing. Then she turned around again, and in the course of the movement she took off her bra at lightning speed. Her liberated breast swayed towards him. (She like splashed water on me. Here it is, the power of art!) Joe didn’t even notice the bra thrown on his lap. All attention is riveted to her chest — she is white, or rather, whiter than the rest of her body. (Oh, taking some sun. And what about the pubes? Oh... And why do woman’s breasts under her clothes always seem smaller than they really are? The mystery of nature). Her nipples were getting erected under the weight of the male gaze.
Finally, he noticed the bra and stood up; without taking his eyes off Ashley, he threw it on the chair. “The Beatles” were now singing “Rocky Raccoon” — “And Rocky Raccoon checked into his room Only to find Gideon’s Bible.*” (Yeah. Then he went to Starbucks and came back with a stunning girl).
“Now you unzip the zipper,” Ashley – Punita – Yalini whispered and shaked her head demandingly.
“Unzip what?” Joe echoed thoughtlessly, but having understood, he got immediately embarrassed. “No! We have no agreement on that. Go on with your show.”
“Then I get dressed and leave. Your bucks are left on the table waiting for the nearby putana.”
Have you ever, in our age of rabid feminism, seen a man that is not concerned with the size of his ‘most intimate friend’? Here even the wisest turns into an utter idiot. Except, of course, the last moron who has the penis as large as the baseball bat. Joe had a problem around the bat, his member was quite average but very nimble.
“Will you leave me and Croc in condition like this?” Joe screamed.
“In what condition? I don’t see any condition. Maybe you are completely indifferent towards me?” she said and pouted her glossy lips and chastely covered her breasts with spread fingers.
And she started fiercely clapping her eyelashes, manufacturing tears.
Sparkling finally with some moisture there, she shouted, “Come on, unzip that thing, or I will go.”
And she stared at Joe with a silent supplication, temptingly biting her lip. How beautiful she was at that moment!
(If she takes her hands off those boobs now, I can’t stand it. And what will I do then? Will I pounce on her to nail, I mean, to rape her?!)
Ashley, as if she had guessed that, flew to him, proudly flashing her chest and wet eyes; the hands of the naughty girl slid over the man’s torso. Then, with a brief sob, she instantly unzipped his pants, and purring, squeezed his member over the underpants’ fabric with her cool fingers.
She poured out revelations, “Grrr, I need this to totally get aroused.”
Then she pulled back and pushed Joe onto the bed. Looking intently, she started lowering her panties more and more, until they suddenly fell to her knee level. The grateful viewer almost groaned. And it’s understandable — that pubis was magnificent — long, slightly shaded with a delicate tan around the edges. A slender line of blue and black hair ran high, high up the white skin. It was a divine, delightful pubis of rare beauty.
She looked at Joe, enjoying his admiration. And he, as if drunk, as if in oblivion, raised his right palm, depicted a wavy movement. Phu-nee-tha-ya-lee-nee slowly, like a mermaid, wobbled her body and then — it seemed that the smile itself, like a wave, fluctuated on her face — fluttered her legs to get out of her panties and suddenly laughed out and jerked her leg sharply, throwing the panties back over her head; surprisingly, they fell into a chair next to the rest of the clothes.
---
* - Here she, apparently by mistake, calls him John, which, however, is a euphemism for a lover of prostitutes.
*, * - “Rocky Raccoon” by the Beatles: Lennon / McCartney.