Tangerine

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Celebrity

Copyright December 2012

Author’s Note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

*

The café had a low ceiling and a small cinema near the front. The bar was on the left as you walked in on which stood a variety of imported beer bottles. Two men with beards sat at a table near the bar, cross-legged, smoking. Soft jazz music played while two young girls, both with long black hair and tanned bodies, danced topless in the corner. They caressed each other’s backs, and one of the girls drew lines on the other’s chest with her finger. A man and a young woman were about to play pool in the back room where a girl with a nose ring sat reading Nietzsche.

The man put coins in the slot on the side of the table then slammed the slot in and out. Balls dropped at the end of the table. The man racked. The young woman broke.

“Still open?” The girl asked.

“Yes it is,” the man said, eyes quickly scanning the green felt.

“One ball in the corner,” the man said.

“Nice shot.”

The man chalked his cue. The girl, very seriously, examined the table and planned her next shot.

“Six in the side,” she said. She missed.

The man went on to sink four striped balls in a row, coming close to accidentally sinking the eight.

“My shot?” The girl asked.

“Yes it is.”

The girl bent over the table and took aim. She wore tight black jeans, a white t-shirt, and clunky Doc Martin’s, and her hair was in a pony tail beneath a Chicago White Sox baseball cap, pulled low over her eyes. You could really only see her perfectly painted deep red lips, beneath the shadow of her hat in the dim café lighting.

She looked beautiful to the man beneath the brass table light, her slim body stretched across the table, hips moving slightly, in rhythm to soft trumpets and saxophones.

“What are you going to do now?” The man asked, smiling.

She had sunk the four but had left the white ball on the edge of the right corner pocket. She shot, and hid the white ball between two stripes at the far end of the table.

“You dirty wench,” said the man.

The girl smiled.

“What are you going to do now?” She said, pulling her hat down lower over her eyes.

The man had only the black left to sink but it was hidden between the rail and a solid.

“Just a shot.”

He bent behind the white, banked, missed the eight, and sank the white ball.

“Nice try,” said the girl, grinning.

“Whatever,” grumbled the canlı bahis man, smiling. “Would you like a drink?”

“Please. A Smithwicks if they have it. If not, a Caesar. “I’ll rack.”

The man went to the bar, ordered two pints of Smithwicks, and then came back to the table. The girl had broken and sunk two solids.

“My shot?” Asked the man, handing the girl her large beer glass.

“Thank you. Yes it is.”

The man took a sip of beer, lit a cigarette, placed it in the ashtray and then cleared the table.

“Your supposed to let me win,” the girl said, pouting, standing innocently with the pool cue between her legs.

“I don’t let girls win. Sorry.”

The girl’s expression became dead serious. “You’re dead. Rack them.”

They played three more games, with the girl winning two, drank a few more beer and then walked out into the warm night feeling the freedom and carelessness you would only feel in your twenties. No pressures, no commitments, just the silliness of being drunk on a Tuesday night, and the limitless opportunities that life presented before you. The sidewalk was empty. A few cars were parked on the street.

“Nice night,” said the girl.

“Sure is. I love spring nights. The anticipation of summer,” the man replied.

“Dead town though.”

“You’re right about that,” said the man. “It looks like it might rain.”

“It does,” the girl said, looking at the sky. “We’d better hurry back to my place.”

A heavy rain began to fall, clacking on the street and concrete sidewalk, and on the leaves of the trees that lined the street. The girl pulled her jacket over her head then broke into a sprint. The man followed. They ran until they came to a black iron door that opened to an old staircase with crackled paint and squeaky footboards. The girl grabbed the mans arm and steered him into the doorway.

“I’m up here,” she said, searching for her keys.

She fiddled with the lock until hearing it click and she and the man went up the stairs to her apartment door.

They could hear a woman yelling in the apartment next door.

“Don’t mind her. She yells at her TV apparently for pleasure. Nutty old bat.”

Again, the girl had trouble with the lock, and after several attempts, it finally opened and they stepped inside.

“Lights would be good,” the girl said as she flicked the light switch.

The apartment was small but well kept with old fading hardwood floors. Several plants sat on the counters and tables and on the walls hung bahis siteleri pictures of dolphins and colorful African scenery.

“Nice place,” the man said as he took off his shoes.

“Thanks,” said the girl. “Fuck?”

“I’m sorry?” said the man.

The girl covered her face with her hand. “I’m sorry. Would you like a drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Beer, juice, ice water.”

“Water sounds good.”

“Have a seat. I’ll be a second.”

The girl went into the kitchen. The man sat on a black and green couch that looked like leather and watched the rain drops roll down the window.

“Do you live here alone?”

“Yes. I had a room mate but she partied too much. That, and she was incredibly promiscuous.”

“Really.”

“Oh yes. As in a different guy every weekend. Sometimes two. And she wasn’t shy about it either.”

The girl came out of the kitchen with two large glasses of ice water and an ashtray. She placed two felt pads on the table, then put the glasses of ice water on the pads. She took off her baseball hat and set it down on the table, turned on the stereo and then sat next to the man.

“So.”

“So what,” said the man smiling.

“You’re not wet are you? I could get you a towel.”

“Oh no. I’m fine.”

The man could see the girl’s nipples through her t-shirt. The girl was feeling free and delectable and hoped that he could. Bob Marley played on the stereo.

“Good music,” the man said.

“Yes it is. reminds me of Cuba.”

“You were in Cuba?” “Yup. Nice beaches, but it always smelled of sulpher, and no one spoke english.”

The man lit a cigarette.

“Have you traveled?” The girl asked.

“Yes. I’ve been to a few places. Let’s see. Jamaica, Mexico, Dominican Republic. I saw the Blue Jays win the World Series in Toronto!”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I could not believe Joe Carter homered in the ninth. What a way to win it.”

“It was amazing. Yonge St. was insane.”

“I bet it was.”

The girl took a sip of her water, and looked at the man.

“Would you like a tour of the place?” She asked.

“Sure,” the man said.”

“Ok. Come on then.”

She took him by the hand and led him into the kitchen.

“I love to cook,” she said “You’ll have to try my chicken diavlo. It is spectacular.”

The man smiled and let her lead him to another part of the apartment. They passed a small cast-iron lunch table with a glass table top, and walked into a long dark hallway. They stopped at a closed bahis şirketleri door on the right.

“My room,” she said in the darkness. “It’s a bit messy, but it’s cozy.”

She opened the door and turned on the light.

The man saw jeans and a blouse in a pile on a mattress that was directly on the floor. An Egyptian papyrus framed in gold bamboo hung on the wall above the bed and several books were piled on the night table next to her bed.

“May I use the bathroom?” The man asked.

“Of course. It’s just around the corner.”

The man left the bedroom and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He could not find the light so he went in the dark. After washing his hands he opened the door. The girl was standing in the hall, against the wall across from him.

“Hi.”

“Hello there.”

“I have a thing for bathrooms,” said the girl, smiling as she took a step closer.

“I see.”

The man put his hand on her hip. The girl kissed the man’s neck, untucked her shirt and placed his hand on her breast. Together they stepped back into the bathroom where the man leaned the girl onto the edge of the sink.

She took a deep breath.

They kissed heavily, bodies pressing. She stroked him through his pants, while he softly sucked and licked her neck.

“One moment,” the man said. “Take off your clothes and keep your eyes closed.”

The man left the bathroom. The girl giggled then undressed for the man, leaving on her bra and panties. When the man returned the girl could smell oranges.

“What are you doing?

The man shushed her.

The girl could hear fruit being torn and then could feel juice dribbling on her lips and chest.

The man outlined the girls mouth with a piece of tangerine. Down her neck, across her collarbone, to the top of her bra. With his other hand he removed the girls bra and let it drop to the floor. He squeezed the fruit pieces with his fingers then moved them around her nipples and beneath her breasts.

“I love fruit,” the girl said, smiling in the dark.

The man squeezed another fruit piece and let the juice drip on the girls hip and thigh. He then fed her the fruit piece, moistening her dry mouth.

She made a quiet whimpering sound and took another deep breath.

“Between my legs,” she whispered. “Put it between my legs.”

The man smiled, and while she breathed heavily into his ear, he tore off another piece of tangerine. He placed it between her legs, squeezing the juice, and slipped it in and out of her, while licking her breasts. And after he was certain she had cum, and that her juices had permeated the fruit slice, he put the fruit piece into his mouth, and savored the flavor of the girl and the tangerine on his tongue.

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