Sex in a City

“This is it?” asked Charline.

“The map showed just beyond Fox Park,” replied Charlie.

“Are you sure?”

“Heard about it from a friend.”

Unnoticed and unobserved in the swirling snow, Charlie and Charline stepped around a pile of rubbish in front of a snow-capped warehouse in Old Soulard. The heavy iron door clanged open to a large glowing cavern. Condom on Your Tongue boomed from the walls. Nude models in body paint roamed the floor, stirring the pot for the grand opening of Naughty Gras.

Charlie gestured. "Now this is what I’ve been talking about.”

“Why don’t we just leave?”

“Yours?”

“Oooooh no. We can stay here, I suppose. I have a treat for you,” taking off her coat and gloves.

“Dang! I’m shocked by what you can fit in a Winslet!”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, you look sexy. Can you breathe?”

“Barely.”

Four hundred revelers had flocked to the bacchanal, away from the veil of everyday life: sexy art and sensual costumes, a urinal crafted from a female figure, an eye staring out from the female organ, a girl in a thong suspended by Japanese ropes, breasts for $5, hooters flashing a rainbow of colors from a metal dress form. A woman whose breasts stuck out straight was worth a stare.

For the sense of touch: smooth latex green on a gay cowboy. 

Charline had taken sudden interest in artist Sean Blake Lipé, dressed in a gold lamé gown, a standout in any society. 

“What’s down there?” Charline asked, peering down at an exquisite ten-inch metal cylinder resting on a small table.

“A reliquary.”

“A what?”

“In the simplest of terms, a reliquary is a container for a sacred relic, like a tooth of John the Baptist,” said Sean, to the gathering artsy types.

“It’s not real, is it?” asked Charline.

“It constitutes a reliquary for an exceptional penis,” boasted Sean. “The holes are for air, which I assume is your next question.”

Charline stared at him as if he had six heads.

“Would you prefer something in green?” he offered with a straight face.

“I’ll be at the bar.”

Sean ushered Charlie into a dark alcove where three greenish-glowing glass dildos rested on transparent pedestals, illuminated by tiny purple LEDs from below. “What’s going on with her?” Sean remarked. “She almost turned blue.”

“You should see when she really gets going.”

“She wouldn’t happen to have a friend, would she?”

When Charlie emerged, Charline was holding two shots. “Time to play catch-up.”

“I had a very interesting look around,” said Charlie.

“Look at my eyes. What did he say?”

“Say about what?”

“About me.”

“He said you were blue.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I just did.”

They drank the whiskies in one and another before diving pell-mell into the electric pianos, screaming saxophones, and swinging drums. Boom Boom Le Coeur was gearing up on stage. Michelle Minx and Katrina the Red were twirling and whirling around their poles, to laughter and cheers.

Charline took a glass of champagne from a waiter. “You don’t know me at all. Sean’s not a proper artist. Not with real stuff. The way he was looking at me...everything he said was an insult. He called me a prostitute.”

“That was the waiter, Charline. He said, ‘constitute’.”

Charline teetered on her heels, one heel out of her shoe. “Did you notice the labret?”

“I bet he eats a mean box.”

“You really ought to see someone.”

“C’mon, give me a kiss.”

“Oooooh, that was a fucking good one,” spilling her champagne and almost going down.

“Is someone going to be sick?” said Charlie, holding her up.

“Nobody’s sick. We’ve been running circles. We need to find something. Anything!”

“Nancy the Psychic is doing readings in the next room.”

“Yes. Yes. Why didn’t we do that?” she said, tugging at Charlie’s arm.

“We should get some fresh air first,” suggested Charlie.

“Whatever the shit,” muttered Charline.

They eventually made it to Charlie’s and shared a brandy. “I’ve got a meeting in the ladies room. You’ll be better than good when I’m done with you,” Charline giggled, slipping into the bathroom.

She returned, determined to come on to Charlie with her most sweet and delicious things. 

Charlie was slumped in an armchair.

“Are you awake?” she asked. “Can you hear me? Open your eyes. Do that. Let me see you open your eyes.”

She put her mouth close to his ear so her breath was warm on his cheek, and whispered, “C’mon look at me. Look at me. Move your head. Do something for God’s sake!”