The Hunt
The young Saqui was once again hungry for the heavy feel of a man’s arms around her. She was hunting again. It was a Tuesday night which meant the ritualistic visit to the meat market knows as “Sloans”. The local dive bar/pick up joint on Melrose which was popular with the young Hollywood crowd during the early 7-‘s. This was life before Melrose was “Melrose”. When there was no counter culture scene. The dive bar of the day, that featured Tuesday night specials: $.75 shots.
The routine was simple: put on a mask (make up), don a costume (sexy outfit), march in a parade (walk around the packed noisy bar where men would leer and lurk at the display from their bar stools) and participate in the game of “cat and mouse” (first you show a bit of interest with eye contact, a smile or simply “hello”) then you check the response – if it does not meet or exceed expectations the scene is replayed until a “magical” spark is felt between the hunted and the hunter. It matters not who sends or who receives and most often no one cares or even knows.
This night was like any other night for Saqui, or so she thought. Saqui found the lucky man for that night. A nameless form to satisfy her need to be held. Little did she know what was to occur. Saqui loved the hunting game, it gave her the illusion of power. Something that she never really had explored previously. This excited her in ways beyond the thought process – beyond the emotional aspect – it awakened the beastly goddess within.
A few of the cheap shots of low grade booze (Tequila was her chosen poison this night) and she was ready for the game. The warmth of the liquor burned inside, not unlike seemingly dormant kindling wood about the hit the flashpoint and burn beyond containment. Caught up in the heat of the hunt, her excitement and anticipation were near to matching the intensity of the drink which coursed through her veins. Saqui could feel the moistness increasing in the palce where her jeans were forced to creep up. Those jeans were snug to the point of revealing her peace shaped mound, just below where the zipper ended. The true mound of venus. This tightness only heightened her excitement.
Within the firm pressure just enough, Saqui found that she could shift her weight on a barstool… just the right way, just slightly and the mound would swell, making the jeans even tighter.
This made the game all the more interesting. The more she drank, the more the flames burned. The less she cared, the more open she became. Maybe this time she would find the right one.. the one that could make her feel something in bed.
Saqui left Sloan’s with a nameless man to parts unknown to perform unspoken acts.
They drove about 20 minutes (she could not remember who drove that night) heading west towards the beach. Saqui and her mating partner arrived at his apartment soon afterwards. They climbed the brick steps of the building which looked more like a European shopping center than an apartment building.
The Pacific ocean could be heard crashing behind them as they moved to the back of the building through the courtyard. The slight ocean breeze refreshed her and for a moment, she stood back and wondered if she dare follow through on this adventure.
A part of her knew this all could turn out bad. Saqui was not a stranger to trauma. She ignored the feeling in her stomach and extinguished the doubt as she followed him through the white framed door to apartment number 7. She hoped it would be a lucky number for her.
Once Saqui walked through the door she knew there was no turning back. The apartment was very small and she could feel the walls closing in. She turned back and looked at the paned glass front door and notice the illusion of splendor. However, the studio inside was devoid of all but the most practical necessities. A bed, a dresser, and in the corner a few items served as a kitchen: tiny stove sink and fridge.
Saqui was pulled from her thoughts, as the lover pulled her do the bed in the darkness.
It was her lucky night after all… to be continued
