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Page 23.
Chapter 10. The Story of J
 The Gothic one was J.
I was in a bookstore one day. The weather outside was balmy, a fine spring day. I wore jeans, tennies, a white dress shirt with fine green stripes, and a dark blue beret. I had sunglasses planted high on top of the beret as I skimmed through the magazines. I became aware, gradually, of a faint patchouli essence. Glancing over to my right, I saw a spiky head of black hair tinged with green and purple, a woman in her late twenties with multiply pierced ears, and under her large black coat lapels, a valley of cleavage between a pair of ripe, freckled breasts. "You are a natural redhead," I blurted.
She laughed. "What?" I was afraid some bruiser would come to thump on me, but she seemed unconcerned. She seemed pleasantly engaged. "What did you say?"
"Sorry, it's a guessing game. I looked at you, and guessed that you are a natural redhead."
"How would you know that?"
"Sixth sense." Actually, I noticed that she had a sprawl of orange freckles over her pale skin. "And I like redheads."
"Why is that?" she said with the same surprised, bantering air. "They're special. I don't think they are temperamental as people make them out to be."
"Thank you. Society has oppressed me all my life. You are a liberator."
"Well, at least a kind soul, I hope."
"You made me lose my train of thought." She glanced at the magazines in puzzlement. "I was just about to pick up a thing on architecture."
"What kind of thing?"
"It had these cool pillars you can put in your garden."
"This?" I held up a thick, expensive magazine with more advertising than content, and an image of a garden with a pool and a pair of white columns.
"Yes! Thanks!"
"Have you seen the Art and Architecture section? It's got more like this."
"Really? Where?" It was a kind, easy day. She was imposing at first, but there was sunshine behind that Gothic façade; and then a darker side, as I would find. But what would one expect from a woman with tricolored hair?
From the A&A section it was a short walk to the coffee bar for espressos, and from there a natural succession to her dark green British sports car (top down) and a pleasant cruise to a white condo complex choked in blue dogwood and pink cherry blossoms. "It's a day for letting go," she said as she turned the key in her apartment. She was a secretary by day, an architecture graduate student in the evenings, and a Gothic club jetter by night when she wasn't passed out from exhaustion.
"Three day weekends," she said. "I love them." Her place was small but spotless, and well laid out. Chrome chairs, leather couch and love seat, a few black and white vampire posters on the walls. The main color was red. The rest was mostly black and white. She kept the appropriate dark rock music growling on low as background music. The place was really sunny and cheery. She brought two low, wide glasses full of something red. "Campari and soda. Hope you like it. I'm out of cola."
I thanked her and sat rather stiffly on the white leather couch. "Put up your feet," she said. "Make yourself at home." I relaxed. "Would you like to go for a swim? The pool is heated."
"Oh sure, that would be great. I don't have a swim suit."
"I think I can find you something from my ex." She laughed as she left the room. A few minutes later, the spiky hair leaned from a doorway, and a pair of light blue trunks came sailing toward me. I snatched them from the air. I changed into them—with a little belt tightening, they fit reasonably well, enough not to come off under water on the first dive. A long ten minutes later, a very different looking J appeared. Gone was the spiky hair, now down to very short carrot-red hair. "I was right!"
"You were, which is why I like you," she said brightly as she strode past me. She carried a pair of towels on one arm, and wore a black bikini. She was smallish, trim, shapely. "Come on. Let's go swimming." We carried our drinks outside to a small patio. Leaving the drinks there, we walked down to a medium-sized pool shared by a dozen or so condos in a common courtyard.
We were alone in the pool area, except for an older couple finishing a session in the bubbling, steaming Jacuzzi nearby. J and I left our towels on the warm concrete and slipped into the water. As we warmed up, we played together—splashing, ducking, jumping, gradually touching each other more and more. Pretty soon, we were locked into a deep French kiss that just seemed to go on and on. She was not a complicated woman—yet.
We migrated to the Jacuzzi, which was sheltered from view by a high circular concrete wall. It was a twelve seater, controlled by a ten minute switch. We sat in our separate seats in the hot, chlorinated water. I felt a strong pulse of forced water coming out of a nozzle at my back. We leaned close and continued kissing. She laughed and said: "Want to see something cool?" I nodded, and she turned to kneel before the pulsing jet at her seat.
She pulled the crotch of her bikini bottom aside, and maneuvered so that the stream went directly against her vulva. I looked closer in fascination. Her labia were remarkable—large, brown, like underwater things with a life of their own. They were easily two fingers across at their widest. She motioned for me to help. I held her bikini crotch away from her vulva, while she pinched her labia in her fingers and held herself open. She closed her eyes and moaned as the hot stream squirted against her little bud. "Kiss me," she wailed faintly. I leaned close and tongued her. Her mouth vacuumed on mine, so that my tongue threatened to come out by the roots. Turned on, I reached down with my free hand and stuck my finger in her vagina. She pushed my hand away, because it interrupted the stream of water. "It's on my pee hole," she said, "and up and down my clit. There's nothing like it anywhere."
"Want to bet?"
She laughed a little throaty laugh. "You have something better?"
"When you are ready."
She moaned lightly. "I want to come." "Go on."
"I'm a little embarrassed."
"Why?"
"Because we don't know each other very well."
I kissed her mouth, and we each breathed raggedly with raw sexual energy. "We're getting to know each other quite well."
"Will you be nice to me?"
I slipped my hand down her back, along the crack of her ass, and got a finger into her vagina from below. "I'll be very nice."
"Yes, you are very nice." Her eyes were closed. "I hope nobody is coming."
"Only you, honey, and me soon after."
She uttered what can only be described as a mixture of a laugh, a bark, a hiccup, and a cry of orgasm. She shuddered, bowing, bowing, bowing, lower, as the spasms traveled through her. She gripped my hand and pressed that finger deep inside of her in a clumsy move. "Oh my God," she choked. "Oh, that's good." A moment later, we both sat innocently in our seats as a family with several small children came chattering and laughing into the Jacuzzi area. They regarded us with mild curiosity, and it was clear they had just by seconds missed the show of their lives.
I went with J to her patio, where we picked up those drinks and hurried into the house. We left them on a counter as she took my hand and hurried me up the stairs. Her bedroom was an octagonal room with a round bed in the middle. On the walls all around were posters of the dark life. She pulled down the drapes and turned on dim red lights. "I like to be looked at," she said. The soft Goth rock rumbled in the background. "I like to look," I said.
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