Wednesday night at the Fawns Over Foxes Ladies Club...
Johnny B Good2night stepped through the curtain to the small backstage “launch pad”. Breathing as if he had just ran a mile, he fanned himself with his call sheet, his shirt beneath his glittery velvet vest drenched in an uncomely layer of sweat. His ears were ringing, the screeches and screams of the crowd on the other side of the curtain sounding like a klaxon in his skull.
“Amateur Night,” he grumbled. The ladies were always voracious on Amateur Night.
Johnny sucked on a bottle of water then patted his large, shiny forehead with a kerchief. He looked up at the next slab of meat: a tall, rugged fellow that the ladies were sure to flay and rend apart with their eyes and lusty catcalls. He nodded and asked, “Hey, you ready?”
Looking through a flimsy mask covering his blue eyes, Vasily tried to peer between the curtains. Only a sliver of harsh light slipped through, though.
He said flatly, “Those women… they are like wild boars.”
Johnny smirked. “Yeah? Well trust me, pal, if they hate you, they’re gonna trample you under their hooves,” he remarked. He thought for a moment, grinned sheepishly and continued, “Come to think of it, that’s what they’d do if they love you as well!”
Vasily frowned and heaved a long sigh. He shifted on his feet and pulled at his costume. “This is very tight. It clings,” he said.
Johnny eyed him and shrugged. “You have about twenty pounds and four inches on the guy who originally wore it… and I’m not just talking about your dick. Hey-yo !” he replied. He nodded and added, “Don’t worry about it, though. It looks good on you stretched out and with the chest popping through the collar and all that. Gives a nice preview of your package, too.”
Vasily wasn’t sure if he enjoyed hearing another man remark with admiration about his package. He grimaced and continued to shift uneasily like an athlete before a big game.
Johnny checked his notes. “So, is it okay if I say you’re from Moscow?”
“I am not Russian,” Vasily grunted, “I am from Zaporizhia.”
Johnny winced. “Zapo-wha-hah? Sounds like a cough lozenge!” He shook his head. “Look, friend, no one knows where Zapo-whatever or Zippy-dee-doo-da is. No one out there has heard of it and I sure as hell can’t pronounce it.”
Vasily grimaced like a fly had landed on his nose.
“Let’s just keep it simple, okay?” Johnny coached, “I go out and introduce you from wherever… it doesn’t really matter where, to be honest. They ain’t gonna get on their phones to Google it. You come out, you strip, you grind your loins in their faces, you get some wet panties thrown at you, then exit with most of your pride intact if possible. Boom-boom-boom... Yeah?”
Staring over Johnny's gel-slathered hairline, Vasily, for all intents and purposes, was a statue. He didn’t like the guy, the way he talked faster than his flubbery lips and cheeks seemed capable of doing, but that was not his concern at the moment. He was more concerned with the thong he wore wedged between his crack, organically wiedling its way into his orifice. Any deeper and a proctologist would have to be called for extraction.
The M.C. slapped him on his stomach. “Hey easy, right? Oh, before I forget. You willing to free the cobra tonight?”
Vasily pinched his eye towards Johnny,
“Full Monty,” Johnny elaborated, “You know, show off the goods? Flick your dick? If you’re gonna do it, just give me a signal. Tip your cap or something.”
That wasn’t happening, Vasily determined.
“Well, it’s up to you. Just don’t slip and fall into the crowd,” Johnny said, elbowing him lightly in the gut. “Remember… wild boars.”
Vasily nodded once. That he understood.
“Good,” Johnny replied. “Here’s your bat.”
Taking the rubber prop --a purple bat molded at the end like a giant penis tip-- Vasily watched as Johnny slipped through the curtains. He pulled the lid of his baseball cap low over his eyes, shading them, then gripped the bat tightly in his fists as he listened to the scuzzy M.C. work the crowd on the other side of the curtains.
“Hey, hey, ladies and ladies! My, oh my, what a shark tank we have going on tonight, eh?”
There was a crescendo of yells and screams. Some deep-voiced woman bellowed, “Get the next piece of ass out here!”
Vasily suddenly felt very thirsty.
“Next on the menu, hailing all the way from the streets of Moscow… ”
Vasily grimaced and sighed as he listened to some mock booing amidst the cheers.
“He’s brought his big, red, Rooskie rocket to declare World War III on all your sweet asses,” Johnny declared, whipping the throngs into a higher frenzy. “Not only can he ‘Putin’ but he can definitely ‘Put-out’ ALL… NIGHT… LONG!”
More screaming.
“He may speak softly, but he carries a big, long, thick, swinging stick!”
The screams blended together into one shrill, chaotic crescendo. It nearly blew the curtain back.
“Get ready for some meaty ground balls to be shanked into your faces!” Johnny announced, “Give it up for… Borrr-ris Bat-enough !”
The curtain drew apart and suddenly a bright white light splashed against Vasily. Not only was he already deaf from the screeching and whistles, now he was momentarily blind as well. He stood frozen on the launch pad, but flinched when pipe-organ music suddenly bellowed a swanky version of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” through the overhead speakers.
Vasily inhaled, the buttons on his undersized jersey ready to burst against the pressure of his puffed-up chest. For a half-second, he was able to shut everything out, the noise, the lights. In that moment, one existential question transcended all.
“Why am I here?”
He squinted through the small holes of his mask, past the spotlights, through the discombobulating crowd of crazed females, and focused on the silhouetted image of one particular audience member seated on the second level, sipping what was probably a Long Island iced tea through a straw. In his mind's eye he could see her there, that sharp left brow of hers popped up, a diving, toothy smile clenched upon her straw. His mind’s eye saw that shattered glass smile that must have been wedged upon her lips.
Oh yes… because of her.
*****
The previous Saturday afternoon…
Carie always had a way with balls. Ever since she was a child playing her very first game of jacks, to setting the class record for the number of knock-outs during dodgeball at school, to leading her field hockey team in high school and college, she had a knack for the spheres. No matter the size, she always handled them with confidence.
It was to no one’s surprise then that, despite her somewhat lithe and petite figure, she was an ace pitcher when it came to softball. Starting with a firm, yet almost flirtatious, stare toward the plate, then bending forward and cocking her arm straight back, to propelling herself forward a step, whirling the her arm, and launching the ball from her hip, she always managed to fire it in with surprising power and precision.
The immediate sound that typically followed of a bat whiffing through the air and the orb slapping into the catcher’s glove with a crisp, leathery “pop”, always sent a delicious ping of satisfaction that coursed through her skull like a drug. If she could loop that sensation in her head before she slept at night, she was sure she would have many pleasant dreams.
Today, she was doing particularly well on the field. This mixed-gender house league had done wonders to inspire her game. The satisfaction she got from striking out guys as well as women could almost be described as… well, a little orgasmic.
She tugged the lid of her cap down over her eyes as she peered at the next victim standing in front of her at the plate: a burly guy with a slight gut and puffy cheeks that made him look a bit like Popeye in Oakley's. With a fluid sweeping motion, she stepped back, leaned down, sprung forward and rotated her arm like a whirlwind.
Woosh!
Thup!
“Strike one!”
Her tidy lips slanted to the side. The smirk remained there as she repeated the drill two more times.
“Strike three! Yer out!”
Carie sprung up on her toes and slapped her glove. “Yes!” she whooped. “Sit your ass down, bitch!”
‘Popeye’ glared at her as he dragged his bat back to the bench. She was damn competitive, as well. The big guy gave her a what-the-hell sort of glare. Like she gave a fuck.
Her team clapped and cheered her on. Only one more out to go and the game was over.
Carie wasn’t really thinking about the score, not the one scrawled in chalk on the scoreboard anyway. Her thoughts were focused solely on the next batter. Now she cracked a sharp, toothy smile as she watched him come off the bench and approach the plate.
Vasily walked towards the batter’s box holding and looking at his bat as if it were the Singing Sword. Five games into the season and he was still not sold on the sport. Hockey, that was his thing. Fast, non-stop action, constant banging and checking, and slapping frozen slabs of rubber at other human beings, that’s what he liked. "Softball"... what kind of feeble name for a sport was that?
Fielding was awkward for him, standing out there in centerfield, waiting for a ball to come near him maybe three or four times per game. He usually did his business accounts in his head for most of the time. Batting was significantly more interesting and he was good at it --he had been dubbed “The Ball Buster” by game three-- but it happened too infrequently during a game.
It was a slow sport, period. If he had his way, the pitchers would just have a tub of balls beside them and they would simply lob them in non-stop with batters standing in a line taking swings in succession. They would also get to keep their bats with them when they ran the bases. That wouldn’t be a problem for the fielders, though; they would also have bats. The field would be replaced with ice and home plate would be a net. Full-contact softball. It would sweep the country.
“Hey, Boris ,” Carie shouted at him, “stop day-dreaming and get your butt up to the plate already! Don’t worry, you’ll be sitting back down in a couple of seconds, anyway!”
Vasily grimaced as he stepped into the box and planted his feet. It was because of that woman that he even joined the league, yet she had insisted he be on another team. Perhaps it was because her team was comprised of all her Chinese and Asian friends. More likely, it was because she got off by facing him on the field.
Carie took off her cap and dropped it in her glove, allowing the sunlight to brighten up her shiny, smooth face accented by a teasing grin. Tucking her glove under her arm, she reached back and undid her ponytail, shaking out her hair which, in spite of the dust and dampness, still looked enticingly dark and shiny. As she took her time to tie it back up, she stretched her back, flattening her tummy forward and exposing her belly button sneaking out from under her cut-off jersey. At the same time, she stretched out her long, toned leg, toeing the grass in front of her nonchalantly.
Not only did softball bring out her competitive side, it drew out her flirtatious, teasing nymph tendencies as well.
“Throw ball,” Vasily grunted impatiently as she went through her extended preening ritual.
“Say please!” She beamed him a smile. She could see the little puffs of smoke come out of his ears.
“Throw ball!”
“Ooh, I love it when you’re grammatically incorrect!”
“Will the pitcher throw the damn ball already?” the ump called to her, exasperated. “Please?”
Carie giggled, winded up, then threw the ball.
Woosh! Thwup!
“Strike one!”
Woosh! Thwup!
“Strike two!”
TUNG!
“Ooh,” the players chimed.
“Foul ball!”
“Ohh…”
Woosh! Thwup!
“Strike three! Yer out!”
The ump called the game. “Final score: The Dim Sum Warriors 4 and The Vodka Violators 1. Game over. Thank God.” He shook his head and sighed. Why the organizers of the league had not only allowed the teams to form along ethnic lines, but also allowed them to choose their own names, was way beyond him. Between these two jokers and other teams like Los Puerco Hermanos, The Spaghetti Westerners and Chocolate Reign, he wasn’t sure if he was umping softball games or managing a politically incorrect kitchen.
Though the score was 4-1, for all intents and purposes, the only score that mattered was the one Carie and Vasily kept in their heads which was 2-1, still in her favour.
After celebrating with her team on the field, Carie pranced over to Vasily who was still standing at home plate. Skipping around the heavy hitter, she proclaimed, “Just another victim.”
He was too preoccupied to notice her at the moment. He was contemplating a way to lay blame on the inanimate length of pipe he wielded in his hands for this impotent plate appearance. There must have been a magic hole in it somewhere.
“Hey!” Carie jumped up and slapped him on the back of his head with her glove. “Give a girl the satisfaction of gloating, would you?”
Vasily eyed her as she hopped away from him backwards. She was sweet, sexy and annoying as all hell all at once. He felt the urge to either carry her to the bleachers to engage in some serious, post-competitive coital relations, or to dump a bucket of water over her chirpy, taunting head.
"We settle up at the pub," she said, winking and pointing her finger at him like a pistol. "Your ass is mine, Boris!" She turned and skipped away, her tight little butt wiggling to and fro.
The bucket of water and then the bleachers, Vasily decided.
*****
It had all started that night in Number Seven, on the floor of Vasily’s apartment, when Carie, her short kimono robe, and a bottle of tequila had managed to rope him into joining her softball league. Even though he had lost track of how many shots he had knocked back, he was still aware enough to know that he would regret his decision. Yet, the heady combination of Mexican alcohol pumping through his veins and the vision of Carie’s silky skirt hiking further and further up her smooth, white thighs managed to subvert his better judgement.
Carie, of course, was ecstatic that he had yielded to her insistence and endless jabs of her finger. And once she got her way, Carie, of course, wanted more.
“Bet?” Vasily grumbled.
“Yes,” Carie said, wobbling as she sat on the floor, “Let’s spice up the stakes, shall we?”
He swatted his hand dismissively. “I am not hungry,” he mumbled. Just the thought of eating almost made him want to puke.
Carie paused and eyed him --or perhaps her lid was just droopy from the alcohol-- then laughed, “Stakes! Not steaks, you… you Bolshevik! Stakes! Stakes!”
Vasily frowned. What the hell was she talking about? He attempted to grab the bottle of tequila from her clutches and earned a slap on his wrist for it.
Carie, her cheeks in full bloom, wagged a finger at him. “Listen, listen. Shut up and listen,” she slurred, “I’ll put my pitching hand up against your bat.”
Her hand? His bat? Was she talking about jerking him off?
“Outs versus hits,” she continued, “That’ll be how we keep score against each other. Fuck the game. Every time I get you out against every time you get a hit off of me, okay?”
Vasily didn’t know if that was okay. He still wasn’t sure what she was talking about, to be honest. He just wished she would simply stop talking, period. He nodded his head like it was a kettlebell tethered to his shoulders. “Okay,” he burped.
Carie smiled. The smile stayed frozen on her face as she turned and crawled-dragged herself across the floor to the table. She grabbed a pen and a pad of post-it notes and then crawled-dragged herself back to Vasily.
He watched her as she took a moment to scrawl something down, her little pink tongue sticking out of her mouth off to the side. Finally, she handed it to him like a parking ticket.
“There!” she declared. “Read that.”
Vasily’s blue eyes squinted, then widened, then squinted again upon the yellow slip of paper. He read aloud, “Apartment Seven hereby accepts Apartment Eight’s Golden Softball Challenge.”
“Soft- bull Chill -enge,” Carie mimicked his thick, Euro-dude accent and chuckled.
Vasily continued, “If Carie puts Vasily out more times than he gets hits, she wins…"
“Go on,” she insisted.
“... she wins and he agrees to be…” he paused and sighed heavily, “... her bitch for a night.”
Carie nodded, proud of her penmanship.
Vasily flipped the paper over and back. He looked at her and asked, “If I win?”
She fluttered her lips, sputtering spit while doing so. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”
Vasily’s brick jaw locked into place.
Carie rolled her eyes and sighed, “Look, there’s not enough room to write all that down. Let’s just presume that it says either of us can win the bet, okay?”
He frowned as if he were solving a calculus problem.
Carie took that as acceptance. She poured a couple more shots of tequila and thrust the glass into his fingers. She clinked her glass against his, then held it up and announced, “Let’s seal the deal in blood, baby!”
They tossed the fiery liquid back down their throats.
The two of them stared at one another for a long, silent moment. A playful smile stretched leisurely across Carie’s red, glossy lips. Despite her sometimes aggravating ways, Vasily felt the sudden urge to kiss her. He leaned forward towards her… then watched as her eyes rolled into her head and she slumped down onto the floor like a buckwheat pillow. She passed out with a smile plastered on her lips and a grizzled snore emanating from her nose.
Vasily gazed at her for a few seconds, grumbling softly. Finally, he pulled the blanket off the sofa and covered her with it. He then stood as if rising from a tub of molasses, stepped over her prone body, and then staggered to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
*****
“Two to one,” Carie declared as she sat perched on her bar stool after the game. She held up two fingers, pointed them at her eyes, then turned one finger towards Vasily. “Two outs to one hit.”
Vasily appeared a little cross-eyed, glaring at her finger pointing so close to his nose, yet he remained passive otherwise. He gave her a “yes, get on with it” look.
Carie absorbed a hard chug from her bottle of beer and then reached into her purse. She pulled out the post-it note, the contract for their little side-bet, and slapped it down on the hardwood bar. She sat back with a smug look on her face and took another swig from her beer, her second bottle.
Arms crossed, Vasily remained numb to her theatrics. His lips barely parted as he nodded curtly and said, “I lost bet. I am your bitch.”
Carie’s sharp, black eyebrows twitched and then she burst into laughter. Oh lord, he was adorable. Her towering, stoned-face, brooding neighbour was so… fucking… adorable.
She took a deep breath and sighed languidly. She called to the bartender, “Miss? Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”
Behind the counter, a young woman with frizzy peach-coloured hair smiled and walked over to where they were seated. She pulled a pad of paper and pen from the back pocket of her cut-off shorts. As she handed them to Carie, she shifted her eyes none too discretely over towards Vasily. The smile on her ruby lips edged much sharper, her green eyes fluttering at the man.
“I like your ink,” the bartender said, nodding at Vasily’s tattoos. She turned around a little and pulled at the sleeve of her top, exposing a large dragonfly etched around the back of her shoulder. “This is my little piece of art.”
Vasily tilted his head. It was hard to tell, but he looked appreciative.
“You can take a closer look if you’d like,” the bartender said. She leaned over the counter, her ample cleavage hoisted on the hardwood.
“This is my bitch,” Carie chimed in, grinning. She reached up and patted Vasily on the shoulder. She was giggling, but there was an underlying territorial tone in her voice.
“Lucky girl.” The bartender cocked her brow towards her then stole one more admiring glance towards Vasily before strolling away, accentuating her butt with a spicy wiggle.
Carie ignored the woman and grinned at Vasily then started to write.
Vasily frowned slightly, scratching the scruff on his chin as he watched her. He realized too late that he probably should have told her to decide what his punishment would be before she started imbibing. While he was often impressed by how her petite frame managed to handle a good quantity of liquor --apart from her immediate “Asian glow”-- Carie always came up with her more wild ideas after tanking up a bit. It was enough to put a wrinkle of concern in his mind.
Carie wrote quickly. She knew way before her first beer what would be his penalty for losing their bet. She pushed the paper over to him on the bar counter.
Vasily leaned on the rail, tilting his aside to look at what she had written. He was hesitant to actually pick it up. He read aloud, “‘Fawns Over Foxes. Wednesday night. 7:00 p.m.’”
“You be there at 7:00. I’ll be there at 8:00,” Carie noted.
Vasily shook his head, not understanding. “What is Fawns Over Foxes?” he asked.
Carie squinted at him and smiled. “You’re a computer engineer,” she said, “I’m sure you can triangulate it or whatever. Just be there.”
A little engine sound gurgled in Vasily’s throat.
She picked up the post-it note from the bar counter and held it up. “Remember,” she said, “we have a contract… bitch.”
******
When Vasily was a young teenager, he and his friends used to hang out at an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. Forget Disneyland, what could be more fun than running around in a cavernous, feral cat infested, building of crumbling brick and iron, smashing windows, leaping off rusted hunks of machinery, and banging angrily on pipes and chains?
Well, Vasily’s friends loved causing a commotion more than he did, actually. While they scrambled around amongst the factory ruins, hooting and hollering like a bunch of Lost Boys, he preferred to focus and find a rhythm drumming on the various pipes and sheets of metal scattered around. It didn’t take him too long to shut out the noise and discord created by his peers. He just concentrated, listened to the rhythm and music he heard between the cacophony, and lost himself in his own calm, his own pleasure.
Many years later, he found himself doused in chaos once more, at the center of it, in fact. The audience at Fawns Over Foxes erupted the moment he stepped onto the stage. A wall of white light slammed him in the face, while the women’s whistles, screeches and cat calls nearly blew him over. He clutched his prop bat a little tighter, grinding his teeth slightly as he fought through this momentary sense of loss he was feeling. His brain had to reboot.
Behind the main scrum of women crammed on the floor around the runway, on the upper tier of the club by the bar, Carie sat on a stool facing the stage. She mindlessly chewed on the straw sticking up from her tall glass of Long Island Iced tea as she watched the action, or lack thereof. Vasily hadn’t moved from the launch pad.
At first when she had sat down twenty minutes ago, she sported an immovable smile and the giddiness of anticipation made her feel like she had just won a trip to Bermuda. She was ready to see Vasily “shake it” and put on a show. Now, with the seconds ticking by since the curtain pulled back and he stood there on stage, showcasing his peculiar talent of impersonating a rock at the most inopportune time, she started to worry.
“Move,” she mumbled, thinking the word might find its way through the swath of lustful humanity surrounding the stage. She continued to grind the plastic straw between her molars.
Vasily was still stuck.
“Please move, Vasily,” she urged again. She bounced her leg over her bended knee anxiously. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
Truthfully, the crowd seemed so hot for him right now that it bought him a bit of time. Vasily could have pulled out a newspaper and started reading and that still would have managed to get a few of the patrons wet. However, at his periphery, he could see Johnny standing just off stage looking like he was getting a bit antsy and thinking to give him, his bat, and his “package” the hook.
“Move, you idiot!” Carie shouted over the clamor, standing up from her stool.
Suddenly, Vasily stepped his left foot forward.
The audience noticeably and unexpectedly quieted a few notches.
Planting the ball of his foot on the floor, he gyrated his hips a little... just a little bit.
Explosions. The women screamed and waved their hands in the air, whistling, clapping.
The applause and cheers swept around Vasily, through him, behind him, and pulled him forward. He put his right foot out and wiggled his butt. Screams. He put his left foot out again and grinded his crotch. More screams. The energy of the club was through the roof.
Holy shit, Vasily thought.
“Holy shit!” Carie mumbled to herself, her face blank.
The noise was like breaking glass and rattling chains. The crowd was just a flurry blur of hyper, over-stimulated and intoxicated women. Vasily moved through the pandemonium, focusing on the steady lights and listening to the music. He found his rhythm, his calm, his pleasure.
He swung his bat over his head like he was warming up for a plate appearance, putting some extra “oomph” in the sway of his hips. That went over like gangbusters, especially since the buttons on his stretched jersey started popping open as he did so. He knelt down and leaned back towards a group of women. They “helped” him by stripping his shirt off his oiled-up body like wax paper from a stick of butter. He barely managed to stand upright again before they were able to claw him into their quagmire of lustful exuberance.
Vasily crunched his abs and flexed his arms, showing off his tattoos and highlighting every line etched deeply amongst his muscular frame. He planted the bat at his crotch, jutting it out into the women’s faces and then hopped around the catwalk as if he were busting a bronco.
An appreciative murmur of “Oh my God” bristled through the crowd.
The velcro on his pants was barely hanging on at this point and Vasily decided to give the people what they wanted. With a deft tug of his fist, he yanked them off and flung them into the crowd, right into the flush face of a red headed patron. She didn’t seem to mind and firmly shoved away a couple of other ladies who rudely grabbed at the souvenir.
With his cock barely strapped in behind the limited confines of a black, mini-hammock, Vasily pounded his crotch towards the women as if he were trying to drive a nail into a wall. Fingertips and nails were just barely within reach, brushing at his glazed pink flesh. Still he managed to find a path through them to strut and swivel.
It was getting easier as the seconds passed, as he got a better understanding of the women surrounding him. He was used to dealing with clients everyday for work. He knew that, sometimes, he had to concede to their needs.
And sometimes it was Vasily who decided what was best for them and he made them accept it.
He locked the bat behind his neck and cranked his abs like a pornstar.
Johnny B Good2night stepped through the curtain to the small backstage “launch pad”. Breathing as if he had just ran a mile, he fanned himself with his call sheet, his shirt beneath his glittery velvet vest drenched in an uncomely layer of sweat. His ears were ringing, the screeches and screams of the crowd on the other side of the curtain sounding like a klaxon in his skull.
“Amateur Night,” he grumbled. The ladies were always voracious on Amateur Night.
Johnny sucked on a bottle of water then patted his large, shiny forehead with a kerchief. He looked up at the next slab of meat: a tall, rugged fellow that the ladies were sure to flay and rend apart with their eyes and lusty catcalls. He nodded and asked, “Hey, you ready?”
Looking through a flimsy mask covering his blue eyes, Vasily tried to peer between the curtains. Only a sliver of harsh light slipped through, though.
He said flatly, “Those women… they are like wild boars.”
Johnny smirked. “Yeah? Well trust me, pal, if they hate you, they’re gonna trample you under their hooves,” he remarked. He thought for a moment, grinned sheepishly and continued, “Come to think of it, that’s what they’d do if they love you as well!”
Vasily frowned and heaved a long sigh. He shifted on his feet and pulled at his costume. “This is very tight. It clings,” he said.
Johnny eyed him and shrugged. “You have about twenty pounds and four inches on the guy who originally wore it… and I’m not just talking about your dick. Hey-yo !” he replied. He nodded and added, “Don’t worry about it, though. It looks good on you stretched out and with the chest popping through the collar and all that. Gives a nice preview of your package, too.”
Vasily wasn’t sure if he enjoyed hearing another man remark with admiration about his package. He grimaced and continued to shift uneasily like an athlete before a big game.
Johnny checked his notes. “So, is it okay if I say you’re from Moscow?”
“I am not Russian,” Vasily grunted, “I am from Zaporizhia.”
Johnny winced. “Zapo-wha-hah? Sounds like a cough lozenge!” He shook his head. “Look, friend, no one knows where Zapo-whatever or Zippy-dee-doo-da is. No one out there has heard of it and I sure as hell can’t pronounce it.”
Vasily grimaced like a fly had landed on his nose.
“Let’s just keep it simple, okay?” Johnny coached, “I go out and introduce you from wherever… it doesn’t really matter where, to be honest. They ain’t gonna get on their phones to Google it. You come out, you strip, you grind your loins in their faces, you get some wet panties thrown at you, then exit with most of your pride intact if possible. Boom-boom-boom... Yeah?”
Staring over Johnny's gel-slathered hairline, Vasily, for all intents and purposes, was a statue. He didn’t like the guy, the way he talked faster than his flubbery lips and cheeks seemed capable of doing, but that was not his concern at the moment. He was more concerned with the thong he wore wedged between his crack, organically wiedling its way into his orifice. Any deeper and a proctologist would have to be called for extraction.
The M.C. slapped him on his stomach. “Hey easy, right? Oh, before I forget. You willing to free the cobra tonight?”
Vasily pinched his eye towards Johnny,
“Full Monty,” Johnny elaborated, “You know, show off the goods? Flick your dick? If you’re gonna do it, just give me a signal. Tip your cap or something.”
That wasn’t happening, Vasily determined.
“Well, it’s up to you. Just don’t slip and fall into the crowd,” Johnny said, elbowing him lightly in the gut. “Remember… wild boars.”
Vasily nodded once. That he understood.
“Good,” Johnny replied. “Here’s your bat.”
Taking the rubber prop --a purple bat molded at the end like a giant penis tip-- Vasily watched as Johnny slipped through the curtains. He pulled the lid of his baseball cap low over his eyes, shading them, then gripped the bat tightly in his fists as he listened to the scuzzy M.C. work the crowd on the other side of the curtains.
“Hey, hey, ladies and ladies! My, oh my, what a shark tank we have going on tonight, eh?”
There was a crescendo of yells and screams. Some deep-voiced woman bellowed, “Get the next piece of ass out here!”
Vasily suddenly felt very thirsty.
“Next on the menu, hailing all the way from the streets of Moscow… ”
Vasily grimaced and sighed as he listened to some mock booing amidst the cheers.
“He’s brought his big, red, Rooskie rocket to declare World War III on all your sweet asses,” Johnny declared, whipping the throngs into a higher frenzy. “Not only can he ‘Putin’ but he can definitely ‘Put-out’ ALL… NIGHT… LONG!”
More screaming.
“He may speak softly, but he carries a big, long, thick, swinging stick!”
The screams blended together into one shrill, chaotic crescendo. It nearly blew the curtain back.
“Get ready for some meaty ground balls to be shanked into your faces!” Johnny announced, “Give it up for… Borrr-ris Bat-enough !”
The curtain drew apart and suddenly a bright white light splashed against Vasily. Not only was he already deaf from the screeching and whistles, now he was momentarily blind as well. He stood frozen on the launch pad, but flinched when pipe-organ music suddenly bellowed a swanky version of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” through the overhead speakers.
Vasily inhaled, the buttons on his undersized jersey ready to burst against the pressure of his puffed-up chest. For a half-second, he was able to shut everything out, the noise, the lights. In that moment, one existential question transcended all.
“Why am I here?”
He squinted through the small holes of his mask, past the spotlights, through the discombobulating crowd of crazed females, and focused on the silhouetted image of one particular audience member seated on the second level, sipping what was probably a Long Island iced tea through a straw. In his mind's eye he could see her there, that sharp left brow of hers popped up, a diving, toothy smile clenched upon her straw. His mind’s eye saw that shattered glass smile that must have been wedged upon her lips.
Oh yes… because of her.
*****
The previous Saturday afternoon…
Carie always had a way with balls. Ever since she was a child playing her very first game of jacks, to setting the class record for the number of knock-outs during dodgeball at school, to leading her field hockey team in high school and college, she had a knack for the spheres. No matter the size, she always handled them with confidence.
It was to no one’s surprise then that, despite her somewhat lithe and petite figure, she was an ace pitcher when it came to softball. Starting with a firm, yet almost flirtatious, stare toward the plate, then bending forward and cocking her arm straight back, to propelling herself forward a step, whirling the her arm, and launching the ball from her hip, she always managed to fire it in with surprising power and precision.
The immediate sound that typically followed of a bat whiffing through the air and the orb slapping into the catcher’s glove with a crisp, leathery “pop”, always sent a delicious ping of satisfaction that coursed through her skull like a drug. If she could loop that sensation in her head before she slept at night, she was sure she would have many pleasant dreams.
Today, she was doing particularly well on the field. This mixed-gender house league had done wonders to inspire her game. The satisfaction she got from striking out guys as well as women could almost be described as… well, a little orgasmic.
She tugged the lid of her cap down over her eyes as she peered at the next victim standing in front of her at the plate: a burly guy with a slight gut and puffy cheeks that made him look a bit like Popeye in Oakley's. With a fluid sweeping motion, she stepped back, leaned down, sprung forward and rotated her arm like a whirlwind.
Woosh!
Thup!
“Strike one!”
Her tidy lips slanted to the side. The smirk remained there as she repeated the drill two more times.
“Strike three! Yer out!”
Carie sprung up on her toes and slapped her glove. “Yes!” she whooped. “Sit your ass down, bitch!”
‘Popeye’ glared at her as he dragged his bat back to the bench. She was damn competitive, as well. The big guy gave her a what-the-hell sort of glare. Like she gave a fuck.
Her team clapped and cheered her on. Only one more out to go and the game was over.
Carie wasn’t really thinking about the score, not the one scrawled in chalk on the scoreboard anyway. Her thoughts were focused solely on the next batter. Now she cracked a sharp, toothy smile as she watched him come off the bench and approach the plate.
Vasily walked towards the batter’s box holding and looking at his bat as if it were the Singing Sword. Five games into the season and he was still not sold on the sport. Hockey, that was his thing. Fast, non-stop action, constant banging and checking, and slapping frozen slabs of rubber at other human beings, that’s what he liked. "Softball"... what kind of feeble name for a sport was that?
Fielding was awkward for him, standing out there in centerfield, waiting for a ball to come near him maybe three or four times per game. He usually did his business accounts in his head for most of the time. Batting was significantly more interesting and he was good at it --he had been dubbed “The Ball Buster” by game three-- but it happened too infrequently during a game.
It was a slow sport, period. If he had his way, the pitchers would just have a tub of balls beside them and they would simply lob them in non-stop with batters standing in a line taking swings in succession. They would also get to keep their bats with them when they ran the bases. That wouldn’t be a problem for the fielders, though; they would also have bats. The field would be replaced with ice and home plate would be a net. Full-contact softball. It would sweep the country.
“Hey, Boris ,” Carie shouted at him, “stop day-dreaming and get your butt up to the plate already! Don’t worry, you’ll be sitting back down in a couple of seconds, anyway!”
Vasily grimaced as he stepped into the box and planted his feet. It was because of that woman that he even joined the league, yet she had insisted he be on another team. Perhaps it was because her team was comprised of all her Chinese and Asian friends. More likely, it was because she got off by facing him on the field.
Carie took off her cap and dropped it in her glove, allowing the sunlight to brighten up her shiny, smooth face accented by a teasing grin. Tucking her glove under her arm, she reached back and undid her ponytail, shaking out her hair which, in spite of the dust and dampness, still looked enticingly dark and shiny. As she took her time to tie it back up, she stretched her back, flattening her tummy forward and exposing her belly button sneaking out from under her cut-off jersey. At the same time, she stretched out her long, toned leg, toeing the grass in front of her nonchalantly.
Not only did softball bring out her competitive side, it drew out her flirtatious, teasing nymph tendencies as well.
“Throw ball,” Vasily grunted impatiently as she went through her extended preening ritual.
“Say please!” She beamed him a smile. She could see the little puffs of smoke come out of his ears.
“Throw ball!”
“Ooh, I love it when you’re grammatically incorrect!”
“Will the pitcher throw the damn ball already?” the ump called to her, exasperated. “Please?”
Carie giggled, winded up, then threw the ball.
Woosh! Thwup!
“Strike one!”
Woosh! Thwup!
“Strike two!”
TUNG!
“Ooh,” the players chimed.
“Foul ball!”
“Ohh…”
Woosh! Thwup!
“Strike three! Yer out!”
The ump called the game. “Final score: The Dim Sum Warriors 4 and The Vodka Violators 1. Game over. Thank God.” He shook his head and sighed. Why the organizers of the league had not only allowed the teams to form along ethnic lines, but also allowed them to choose their own names, was way beyond him. Between these two jokers and other teams like Los Puerco Hermanos, The Spaghetti Westerners and Chocolate Reign, he wasn’t sure if he was umping softball games or managing a politically incorrect kitchen.
Though the score was 4-1, for all intents and purposes, the only score that mattered was the one Carie and Vasily kept in their heads which was 2-1, still in her favour.
After celebrating with her team on the field, Carie pranced over to Vasily who was still standing at home plate. Skipping around the heavy hitter, she proclaimed, “Just another victim.”
He was too preoccupied to notice her at the moment. He was contemplating a way to lay blame on the inanimate length of pipe he wielded in his hands for this impotent plate appearance. There must have been a magic hole in it somewhere.
“Hey!” Carie jumped up and slapped him on the back of his head with her glove. “Give a girl the satisfaction of gloating, would you?”
Vasily eyed her as she hopped away from him backwards. She was sweet, sexy and annoying as all hell all at once. He felt the urge to either carry her to the bleachers to engage in some serious, post-competitive coital relations, or to dump a bucket of water over her chirpy, taunting head.
"We settle up at the pub," she said, winking and pointing her finger at him like a pistol. "Your ass is mine, Boris!" She turned and skipped away, her tight little butt wiggling to and fro.
The bucket of water and then the bleachers, Vasily decided.
*****
It had all started that night in Number Seven, on the floor of Vasily’s apartment, when Carie, her short kimono robe, and a bottle of tequila had managed to rope him into joining her softball league. Even though he had lost track of how many shots he had knocked back, he was still aware enough to know that he would regret his decision. Yet, the heady combination of Mexican alcohol pumping through his veins and the vision of Carie’s silky skirt hiking further and further up her smooth, white thighs managed to subvert his better judgement.
Carie, of course, was ecstatic that he had yielded to her insistence and endless jabs of her finger. And once she got her way, Carie, of course, wanted more.
“Bet?” Vasily grumbled.
“Yes,” Carie said, wobbling as she sat on the floor, “Let’s spice up the stakes, shall we?”
He swatted his hand dismissively. “I am not hungry,” he mumbled. Just the thought of eating almost made him want to puke.
Carie paused and eyed him --or perhaps her lid was just droopy from the alcohol-- then laughed, “Stakes! Not steaks, you… you Bolshevik! Stakes! Stakes!”
Vasily frowned. What the hell was she talking about? He attempted to grab the bottle of tequila from her clutches and earned a slap on his wrist for it.
Carie, her cheeks in full bloom, wagged a finger at him. “Listen, listen. Shut up and listen,” she slurred, “I’ll put my pitching hand up against your bat.”
Her hand? His bat? Was she talking about jerking him off?
“Outs versus hits,” she continued, “That’ll be how we keep score against each other. Fuck the game. Every time I get you out against every time you get a hit off of me, okay?”
Vasily didn’t know if that was okay. He still wasn’t sure what she was talking about, to be honest. He just wished she would simply stop talking, period. He nodded his head like it was a kettlebell tethered to his shoulders. “Okay,” he burped.
Carie smiled. The smile stayed frozen on her face as she turned and crawled-dragged herself across the floor to the table. She grabbed a pen and a pad of post-it notes and then crawled-dragged herself back to Vasily.
He watched her as she took a moment to scrawl something down, her little pink tongue sticking out of her mouth off to the side. Finally, she handed it to him like a parking ticket.
“There!” she declared. “Read that.”
Vasily’s blue eyes squinted, then widened, then squinted again upon the yellow slip of paper. He read aloud, “Apartment Seven hereby accepts Apartment Eight’s Golden Softball Challenge.”
“Soft- bull Chill -enge,” Carie mimicked his thick, Euro-dude accent and chuckled.
Vasily continued, “If Carie puts Vasily out more times than he gets hits, she wins…"
“Go on,” she insisted.
“... she wins and he agrees to be…” he paused and sighed heavily, “... her bitch for a night.”
Carie nodded, proud of her penmanship.
Vasily flipped the paper over and back. He looked at her and asked, “If I win?”
She fluttered her lips, sputtering spit while doing so. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”
Vasily’s brick jaw locked into place.
Carie rolled her eyes and sighed, “Look, there’s not enough room to write all that down. Let’s just presume that it says either of us can win the bet, okay?”
He frowned as if he were solving a calculus problem.
Carie took that as acceptance. She poured a couple more shots of tequila and thrust the glass into his fingers. She clinked her glass against his, then held it up and announced, “Let’s seal the deal in blood, baby!”
They tossed the fiery liquid back down their throats.
The two of them stared at one another for a long, silent moment. A playful smile stretched leisurely across Carie’s red, glossy lips. Despite her sometimes aggravating ways, Vasily felt the sudden urge to kiss her. He leaned forward towards her… then watched as her eyes rolled into her head and she slumped down onto the floor like a buckwheat pillow. She passed out with a smile plastered on her lips and a grizzled snore emanating from her nose.
Vasily gazed at her for a few seconds, grumbling softly. Finally, he pulled the blanket off the sofa and covered her with it. He then stood as if rising from a tub of molasses, stepped over her prone body, and then staggered to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
*****
“Two to one,” Carie declared as she sat perched on her bar stool after the game. She held up two fingers, pointed them at her eyes, then turned one finger towards Vasily. “Two outs to one hit.”
Vasily appeared a little cross-eyed, glaring at her finger pointing so close to his nose, yet he remained passive otherwise. He gave her a “yes, get on with it” look.
Carie absorbed a hard chug from her bottle of beer and then reached into her purse. She pulled out the post-it note, the contract for their little side-bet, and slapped it down on the hardwood bar. She sat back with a smug look on her face and took another swig from her beer, her second bottle.
Arms crossed, Vasily remained numb to her theatrics. His lips barely parted as he nodded curtly and said, “I lost bet. I am your bitch.”
Carie’s sharp, black eyebrows twitched and then she burst into laughter. Oh lord, he was adorable. Her towering, stoned-face, brooding neighbour was so… fucking… adorable.
She took a deep breath and sighed languidly. She called to the bartender, “Miss? Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”
Behind the counter, a young woman with frizzy peach-coloured hair smiled and walked over to where they were seated. She pulled a pad of paper and pen from the back pocket of her cut-off shorts. As she handed them to Carie, she shifted her eyes none too discretely over towards Vasily. The smile on her ruby lips edged much sharper, her green eyes fluttering at the man.
“I like your ink,” the bartender said, nodding at Vasily’s tattoos. She turned around a little and pulled at the sleeve of her top, exposing a large dragonfly etched around the back of her shoulder. “This is my little piece of art.”
Vasily tilted his head. It was hard to tell, but he looked appreciative.
“You can take a closer look if you’d like,” the bartender said. She leaned over the counter, her ample cleavage hoisted on the hardwood.
“This is my bitch,” Carie chimed in, grinning. She reached up and patted Vasily on the shoulder. She was giggling, but there was an underlying territorial tone in her voice.
“Lucky girl.” The bartender cocked her brow towards her then stole one more admiring glance towards Vasily before strolling away, accentuating her butt with a spicy wiggle.
Carie ignored the woman and grinned at Vasily then started to write.
Vasily frowned slightly, scratching the scruff on his chin as he watched her. He realized too late that he probably should have told her to decide what his punishment would be before she started imbibing. While he was often impressed by how her petite frame managed to handle a good quantity of liquor --apart from her immediate “Asian glow”-- Carie always came up with her more wild ideas after tanking up a bit. It was enough to put a wrinkle of concern in his mind.
Carie wrote quickly. She knew way before her first beer what would be his penalty for losing their bet. She pushed the paper over to him on the bar counter.
Vasily leaned on the rail, tilting his aside to look at what she had written. He was hesitant to actually pick it up. He read aloud, “‘Fawns Over Foxes. Wednesday night. 7:00 p.m.’”
“You be there at 7:00. I’ll be there at 8:00,” Carie noted.
Vasily shook his head, not understanding. “What is Fawns Over Foxes?” he asked.
Carie squinted at him and smiled. “You’re a computer engineer,” she said, “I’m sure you can triangulate it or whatever. Just be there.”
A little engine sound gurgled in Vasily’s throat.
She picked up the post-it note from the bar counter and held it up. “Remember,” she said, “we have a contract… bitch.”
******
When Vasily was a young teenager, he and his friends used to hang out at an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. Forget Disneyland, what could be more fun than running around in a cavernous, feral cat infested, building of crumbling brick and iron, smashing windows, leaping off rusted hunks of machinery, and banging angrily on pipes and chains?
Well, Vasily’s friends loved causing a commotion more than he did, actually. While they scrambled around amongst the factory ruins, hooting and hollering like a bunch of Lost Boys, he preferred to focus and find a rhythm drumming on the various pipes and sheets of metal scattered around. It didn’t take him too long to shut out the noise and discord created by his peers. He just concentrated, listened to the rhythm and music he heard between the cacophony, and lost himself in his own calm, his own pleasure.
Many years later, he found himself doused in chaos once more, at the center of it, in fact. The audience at Fawns Over Foxes erupted the moment he stepped onto the stage. A wall of white light slammed him in the face, while the women’s whistles, screeches and cat calls nearly blew him over. He clutched his prop bat a little tighter, grinding his teeth slightly as he fought through this momentary sense of loss he was feeling. His brain had to reboot.
Behind the main scrum of women crammed on the floor around the runway, on the upper tier of the club by the bar, Carie sat on a stool facing the stage. She mindlessly chewed on the straw sticking up from her tall glass of Long Island Iced tea as she watched the action, or lack thereof. Vasily hadn’t moved from the launch pad.
At first when she had sat down twenty minutes ago, she sported an immovable smile and the giddiness of anticipation made her feel like she had just won a trip to Bermuda. She was ready to see Vasily “shake it” and put on a show. Now, with the seconds ticking by since the curtain pulled back and he stood there on stage, showcasing his peculiar talent of impersonating a rock at the most inopportune time, she started to worry.
“Move,” she mumbled, thinking the word might find its way through the swath of lustful humanity surrounding the stage. She continued to grind the plastic straw between her molars.
Vasily was still stuck.
“Please move, Vasily,” she urged again. She bounced her leg over her bended knee anxiously. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
Truthfully, the crowd seemed so hot for him right now that it bought him a bit of time. Vasily could have pulled out a newspaper and started reading and that still would have managed to get a few of the patrons wet. However, at his periphery, he could see Johnny standing just off stage looking like he was getting a bit antsy and thinking to give him, his bat, and his “package” the hook.
“Move, you idiot!” Carie shouted over the clamor, standing up from her stool.
Suddenly, Vasily stepped his left foot forward.
The audience noticeably and unexpectedly quieted a few notches.
Planting the ball of his foot on the floor, he gyrated his hips a little... just a little bit.
Explosions. The women screamed and waved their hands in the air, whistling, clapping.
The applause and cheers swept around Vasily, through him, behind him, and pulled him forward. He put his right foot out and wiggled his butt. Screams. He put his left foot out again and grinded his crotch. More screams. The energy of the club was through the roof.
Holy shit, Vasily thought.
“Holy shit!” Carie mumbled to herself, her face blank.
The noise was like breaking glass and rattling chains. The crowd was just a flurry blur of hyper, over-stimulated and intoxicated women. Vasily moved through the pandemonium, focusing on the steady lights and listening to the music. He found his rhythm, his calm, his pleasure.
He swung his bat over his head like he was warming up for a plate appearance, putting some extra “oomph” in the sway of his hips. That went over like gangbusters, especially since the buttons on his stretched jersey started popping open as he did so. He knelt down and leaned back towards a group of women. They “helped” him by stripping his shirt off his oiled-up body like wax paper from a stick of butter. He barely managed to stand upright again before they were able to claw him into their quagmire of lustful exuberance.
Vasily crunched his abs and flexed his arms, showing off his tattoos and highlighting every line etched deeply amongst his muscular frame. He planted the bat at his crotch, jutting it out into the women’s faces and then hopped around the catwalk as if he were busting a bronco.
An appreciative murmur of “Oh my God” bristled through the crowd.
The velcro on his pants was barely hanging on at this point and Vasily decided to give the people what they wanted. With a deft tug of his fist, he yanked them off and flung them into the crowd, right into the flush face of a red headed patron. She didn’t seem to mind and firmly shoved away a couple of other ladies who rudely grabbed at the souvenir.
With his cock barely strapped in behind the limited confines of a black, mini-hammock, Vasily pounded his crotch towards the women as if he were trying to drive a nail into a wall. Fingertips and nails were just barely within reach, brushing at his glazed pink flesh. Still he managed to find a path through them to strut and swivel.
It was getting easier as the seconds passed, as he got a better understanding of the women surrounding him. He was used to dealing with clients everyday for work. He knew that, sometimes, he had to concede to their needs.
And sometimes it was Vasily who decided what was best for them and he made them accept it.
He locked the bat behind his neck and cranked his abs like a pornstar.
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The ladies swooned. This was best for them. Vasily made them take it.
Carie stood dumbfounded by the bar, almost alone as everyone else had rushed the stage. She grimaced, her chin drifting off to the side, chewing on the edge of her bottom lip. Seeing him up there glistening, grinding and firing his pelvis like Elvis on steroids, just totally going for it, sent a surge of conflicting thoughts and feelings through in her stunned skull. He was hot and sexy. Like every other woman in the room, her loins were stirring. She shimmied and pulled at the hem of her short, black, evening dress pretending to tug it down, when really she was just shifting the thin film of moisture building up between her thighs.
The knot in her tummy alternately tightened and loosened. She was turned on one moment, apprehensive the next. That was Vasily up there, her neighbour across the hallway of her apartment. He was on the stage because of her. He was almost naked, dancing and oozing masculine sexuality in front of a room full of carnal-minded banshees because of her. They all desired him. They all wanted a taste... a taste she was intimately familiar with.
She was sharing him with others. She didn’t like it.
“Go, Boris! Go, Boris! Go! Go! Go, Boris!” the women chanted, using their hot passion to make their Adonis dance and grind for them.
Somewhere in Vasily’s head, a tiny little version of himself sat stone-faced in a corner, arms crossed thinking this was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen. “You are a rock. You are a statue,” the tiny man in his head said, “you are not a prancing pony.”
“Take it off! Take it off!” the crowd beckoned.
Vasily cracked a smile. He was not a prancing pony. He was a stud… a stud galloping across an open, fertile range.
Carie’s jaw dropped as she slowly shook her head in disbelief. “No… way,” she droned.
Vasily tilted his chin towards Johnny, catching the M.C.’s eye. He touched the lid of his cap.
Johnny winked and got on the mic, “Oh! What do we hear? ‘Take it off’? Take Boris off the stage? Is that what you want?”
There was a chorus of boos.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny teased, “we can’t hear from all the ‘rain’ in the room!”
The savvy crowd knew what that meant. Dollar bills were flung onto the catwalk from every corner.
Vasily doffed his sweaty baseball cap, exposing his short-shaven head, then tossed it into the scrum. There was another round of boos for this tease.
Johnny shook his head and waved his hand. “Nope. I guess we’re calling for a downpour tonight!”
A torrent of bills showered onto the stage. Vasily stepped on money in his barefeet for the first time in his life. It felt amazing. It shut up the tiny man in his head for good.
Carie edged closer to the brass railing lining the bar level. She chewed on her lower lip and bounced quickly on the toes of her high heel shoes.
She wanted to see this. She didn’t want to see this.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit… ”
Vasily planted his feet on the stage, shoulder width apart. He touched a clasp on the band of his thong and stood still, turning only his head to survey the throng of women, like a lord over his disciples. Then with a deliberate ease, he stopped, raised his arm and extended his finger, like Babe Ruth pointing towards the bleachers.
His index finger fired an invisible laser straight through the crowd and the lights and shadows and burned itself into Carie’s pounding heart. She gripped the rail, suddenly feeling a scorching fire up her spine and a tingle in her gut strong enough to buckle her knees.
Carie blinked, and as her eyelids raised, a wild cheer blew up in the room.
Vasily’s package was unwrapped. Somewhere in the morass of women, his humble thong had set off a catfight, but it was really hard to tell who the combatants were. Everyone was going nuts. He chucked aside his prop bat and swaggered up and down the catwalk, swishing his lengthy shaft side-to-side to the delight of the ladies. It was like a King Cobra, their cheers and whistles swaying it with a hypnotic tune. At the end of the walk, he spun around and clenched and relaxed his buttocks at will. The man had absolute command over his buff body and he wielded it to control the will of his frenzied fans.
Even Johnny had a look of impressed amazement on his radish-red face. He almost forgot that his mike was still live as he muttered, “Jesus on a stick.”
Carie covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed back her heart. Good God, Vasily looked delicious up there, like a magnificent Grade AAA bull up for auction. It made even her teeth tingle. Even though her dress was but a thin layer of cloth, she was still shining with perspiration. The heat around her, within her, was swelling.
Johnny dabbed himself with his kerchief again. Might as well go all in tonight, he thought. Stepping up, he announced to the crowd, “Well! Well! Well! It seems all Boris has left on is his pride and his anonymity! Do we have anyone willing to claim one or the other… or both? Who will unmask our Commie Conquerer?”
They no longer sounded human to Vasily’s ears. Women were jumping up and down with their hands in the air, pumping up dollar bills in their fists. It was as if he were at a rock concert.
Johnny made a calculated guess as to which of the women around the stage had the most money gripped in her fingers. He held out a hand and pulled her out, helping her climb onto the catwalk.
Carie frowned, one brow slicing downward, the other cocked towards the ceiling. She eyed the patron who had been plucked out from the crowd and now stood in the spotlight just a couple of feet away from Vasily who was dressed only in a mask and a layer of oil and sweat. What stood out on this woman was her frizzy peach-coloured hair and what appeared to be a large tattoo of a dragonfly perched on her back shoulder, exposed above her tight-fitting tube top.
“Son of a… ” Carie mouthed.
Vasily struck a Superman pose, trying to stay calm and focused. Yet, he was suddenly aware of just how hard he was breathing and how energy-sapping those spotlights were. The oil on his body felt really uncomfortable and he was consciously trying to dig his toes into the stage worried that he may slip, and worse, fall among the “wild boars”. He wasn’t even really paying much attention to the woman on the stage with him. He just scanned the area at the back by the bar.
Where did she go?
“Hey, stranger,” the woman on the stage said, leaning in. “I like your ink. Want a second chance to check out mine a lot more closely afterwards?”
Vasily squinted at her through his mask. He didn’t know if he was supposed to have remembered her from somewhere the way she was looking at him. He definitely couldn’t hear what she was saying and didn’t read lips very well. Was she asking him if he wanted to look at the taps in her kitchen?
With a lurid little smile, the woman stepped close to him, almost touching the top of her leather skirt against his exposed cock, and reached up to his face to pull off his mask.
Just then, Carie appeared out of nowhere on the launch pad at the back of the stage, barefoot and teeth clenched. Clutching her high-heels, she charged across the catwalk and body checked the woman off and into the crowd. For a moment, the woman body-surfed across the dense mass of ladies, flailing and squirming, before unceremoniously settling into the crowd as if it were quicksand.
Pandemonium erupted. Some women were screaming, others were still cheering -- it sounded like an airport hangar. Johnny grabbed at Carie but she brushed him away, sending him careening off the catwalk. The ladies in the crowd were none too happy about his slimy carcass falling into their midst and rained slaps and drinks upon him.
A couple of bouncers had their hands full trying to make their way to the stage. They actually seemed to be carried away further as if caught in an undertow.
“Let’s get out of here!” Carie shouted at Vasily, still masked. However, as she tugged at his arm, his oily skin slipped through her fingers and he tumbled down onto the catwalk.
Vasily managed to stay on the stage, barely. Still, female hands quickly descended upon him, clawing and groping wildly at his flesh. He tried to stand, but his lathered up body kept slipping on the surface, and he flopped about like he were a fish on a skillet.
“Get up!” Carie wrapped both her arms around his bicep and heaved upward. Miraculously, she managed to wrestle him up to his feet, despite her comparatively diminutive size.
She had heard about people exhibiting super-human strength during a crisis. She would have to Google it when she got back home.
Dollar bills stuck to his body, Vasily leaned on Carie as they shuffled carefully, but quickly, off the stage and to the back. A hail of debris was tossed around the room, signalling their departure.
Fawns Over Foxes was closed for the rest of the evening… due to “wild boars”.
*****
Both Carie and Vasily strode barefoot on the sidewalk pavement. She had lost her shoes in the commotion back at the club and he had barely anytime to dress. He had managed to pull on his jeans and his long duster coat, but couldn’t find his shirt. He was also still wearing the mask.
They were quite the sight, like some tall, masked, homeless cowboy being led by the wrist by his sexy, mini-dress wearing, Chinese nanny in the middle of the night.
“Where’s your van?” she muttered.
“In alley...” Vasily replied, pointing over his shoulder in the opposite direction they were headed, “...that way.”
“Oh, for the love of… ” Carie fumed as she rolled her eyes. She spun on her heels and walked back the other way, still tugging Vasily along with her. “Why would you park in an alley? Are you Batman or something?”
Vasily peered at the back of her head through the narrow holes of his mask. Was she mad at him? Hold on. She … was mad... at him ?
Carie was mad. She was mad at herself for coming up with the stupid idea for tonight. And, yes, she was mad at Vasily for seemingly enjoying himself so much on stage... and for looking so freaking hot. “I can’t believe you did that!”
Vasily seemed to recall that someone had made him get up on that stage.
“Where did you learn to strip like that?” she asked pointedly. “Wait. Don’t tell me… Youtube. right?”
“No,” he said, his voice a blunt instrument.
“Great. I’ve got a natural born male stripper living across the hall from me,” Carie grumbled.
“What is ‘natural born’?”
“It means you’ve got a real talent for shaking your bare booty ass in front of people,” she replied. “Congratulations.”
“I was good?” Vasily asked. “Shaking booty?”
Carie smirked as they turned down the alley. The words “shaking booty” sounded so ridiculous coming from a six-foot-three, two hundred pound oak tree like Vasily. “Several dozen horny women back at the club would concur, I’m sure.”
“Do you enjoy how I strip?”
Carie pursed her lips,keeping them in check as they made their way to the end of the alley. Honestly, the tingling sensation in her belly and between her thighs hadn’t stopped.
They approached Vasily’s minivan when he suddenly put on the brakes. Carie lurched forward then looked back at him. “What?” she asked, exasperated.
“Did you enjoy how I strip?” he repeated.
Carie dropped his hand and crossed her arms. She regarded him for a second, fought against her urges and scoffed, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“No?”
Carie sucked in her lips. A twitchy lamp on the side of one of the buildings flickered weakly overhead casting the two of them in partial shadow. Vasily standing there with his bare chest exposed between the part in his coat, and the mask on his face, suddenly resembled a fantasy she must have had maybe a couple dozen times since she hit puberty.
Cripes, her teeth started to tingle again, along with numerous other parts of her body.
“Maybe like a dancing monkey at a circus.” She sneered, trying to look more convincing than she sounded. She sniffed, “You were entertaining to the common folk.”
Vasily pursed his lips and looked aside, nodding.
“You’re a long way from the Bolshoi,” she added.
He nodded his way back to her and then clapped his beefy hands and said, “Good. Then you tell me how to strip.”
“What?” Carie’s voice dropped an octave.
Vasily took a step back. He held out his hands to his sides and said, “I am still your bitch. You make me dance the way you want.”
“Here?” Carie titled her head. He was crazy. The night had somehow broken Vasily, she thought. She should have felt guilty how badly she had damaged her neighbour.
Yet, should would have been crazy herself to pass up this golden opportunity.
His face looking as if he were reading the menu board at McDonald’s, Vasily slowly started to circle his hips, his hands still at his sides. “Like this?” he asked.
Carie pinched her bottom lip with her teeth, catching a chuckle. Her arms still crossed, she leaned back against the rear of the minivan. He was really going to do this. She sighed and said, “Go on.”
“How about this?” Vasily raised his hands and clasped them behind his head. He crunched his stomach and traced a figure-eight with his pelvis, his oiled up abs snaring the light from above.
Oh, Christ, Carie thought, feeling a patter in her heart and a flush on her cheeks and neck. “Very good,” she said with a perfunctory nod.
In the dim alleyway, with only the muffled sounds of the city at night filtering in around them, Vasily found a rhythm. He rolled his crotch as if he were churning butter with it. He shimmied and shook his way around the gritty pavement, snapping his fingers and popping poses like he were on the dance floor of the club.
Carie shifted her feet on the ground slowly, alternating the weight on her knees. She swallowed and moistened her lips. In her head, she knew that this was ridiculous. Vasily was about as graceful as a bear before hibernation. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. No, laughing was the furthest thing from her mind.
Vasily dropped his coat off his shoulders as he continued to move, exposing his broad chest and svelte torso which funneled neatly into his tight jeans. He continued to grind his hips as he slowly stepped and danced towards Carie.
Carie pressed her back against the minivan as he loomed over her, inches apart. The back of her head touched the rear window as she looked up and searched behind the dark mask for Vasily’s lovely, deep blue eyes.
“You like?” he asked, slowly gyrating before her. “Is good?”
“Is not bad,” she said meekly with a shrug, nearly choking back her words. She felt her breath tremble.
“You like personal dance?”
Carie offered a coy grin. She reached into her purse and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. Cocking her thin, black brow, she asked, “What does this get me?”
A grin finally splintered Vasily’s tight, pink lips. He snatched the bill from her fingers and stuffed it into the pocket. “You may open package.”
Carie licked her lips then looked down. As Vasily leisurely swayed his crotch back and forth, beckoning to her, she reached down, undid the button of his jeans and daintily pulled down the zipper. He wiggled his hips a little to help her tug the jeans down past his butt, but the lingering oil on his body made the task much easier. She reached for his handsome cock.
“No touching,” Vasily commanded softly, “hands against car.”
Carie looked up, curious.
Vasily nodded his chin once. It was his turn to tell her what she wanted.
Grinning anxiously, she lowered her hands to her sides, flattening them against the minivan.
Vasily swayed in closer towards her, locking his hands against the minivan to the sides of Carie’s face. He wanted her to smell the oil and sweat on his naked flesh as he moved his body, brushing it against her with deliberate grinds of his crotch.
Carie shuddered, rattled to her bones. She felt his cock drift against her dress, brushing at her abdomen.
“Good?” he asked.
She offered a swift nod and a soft, gulping gasp in reply.
He pressed in closer, swirling his crotch, then easing it up and down. He felt his length begin to stiffen as it touched her and felt the tremble in her belly. He stuck his foot between her bare feet and nudged them apart.
Carie felt the hem of her short, tight dress hiking up her thighs as he shifted her legs apart. No sooner had she adjusted her position against the back of the minivan did he move forward and against her, splaying her legs even further. She felt his shaft sliding against her body becoming more rigid and desirable with every twist of his pelvis. It pushed against her dress, sliding it up more and more until the crotch of her black panties was exposed to the night air and her round, smooth bottom rubbed against the minivan.
Fuck! her mind screamed. She was like Vasily’s little toy, switched on with a push of a secret button only he knew where to find on her. She looked at him, up and down his chiseled body, from his rippling cock to his the stern, handsome lines on his face. Each fleeting stroke of his skin against her sent a wave of pleasure through her. His control over his powerful body was so provocative. Her nails scratched against the minivan.
“Watch my eyes,” Vasily said, and Carie obediently locked her slender, dark eyes upon him.
Vasily breathed deeply. His cock tingled, surging to life as it teased against her panties. Hardened and upright, he dipped his body down, low enough to rub along her velvet thighs. His tip nudged against her panties, digging into the line of her crotch, drawing a quivering gasp from the young woman. He felt her sway her hips, nuzzling herself against his tip, provoking more heated. soft groans from her lips.
He raised himself further until his throbbing shaft hooked beneath her dress and slid under. He moved his hands to her hips and held her tight as he shifted his crotch slowly, side-to-side, up and down, his hot cock rubbing against her smooth belly.
Carie gnawed on her lower lip. She held fast onto Vasily’s insistent gaze as long as she could as she felt his throbbing cock tickle and slide across her belly, pulling at her dress. She surrendered, turning her sights downward. It was a mesmerizing sight, his long, hard shaft shifting beneath her dress, snaking against her flesh, tempting her, daring her. She felt a dampness cover the crotch of her panties.
“You like how I handle my bat?” Vasily asked, completely deadpan.
Carie had very little patience for Vasily’s droll humour. She took a moment to try to think of some sort of comeback --something about her “pitching hand”, or some stupid shit-- but instead she muttered, “Fuck it.” She grabbed Vasily by the wrist again and tugged him around to the side of the minivan.
She tried to tear the handle off the rear door. No good. “The keys!” she demanded.
Vasily pointed to his coat on the ground.
“God!” Carie spat. She stomped over to the coat, rifled the pockets, and finally found the keys. She flung his coat aside.
“My coat… ” Vasily mumbled.
“Fuck your coat!”
No sooner had the large minivan sounded its feeble “beep-beep” noise did Carie fling open the door and shove Vasily into the back seat.
Vasily looked at Carie as he slid back along the length of the seat and against the door on the other side. There was a wild, determined expression painted on her pink-flushed face as she pulled the door shut behind her and pounced on him. He guessed he was pretty decent at “shaking booty”.
As it was earlier at the Fawns Over Foxes, it was a messy and raucous affair in the confines of the minivan. It was fortunate that Vasily had splurged on a large car, but even then it was a tight fit. Not that it mattered to Carie. Now she could finally put those stupid yoga classes to good use.
Within a matter of moments of crawling up his slippery, oiled-up body, Carie went from lashing her tongue inside of his mouth, working her way down to nibbling at his coin sized nipples, to biting and licking his abs and belly button, to finally inhaling his hard cock into her mouth. She panted and gasped each time she lifted her lips from him, hungry and voracious, before taking him in once more. She skimmed her tongue around it like a peppermint stick, humming with delight and fervour.
Vasily reached his long arm down to her butt. He gave her dress a harsh tug, pulling it up higher before sliding his fingers back down and curling down the crevice of her ass. He felt her buttocks clench, trapping his wiggling finger between her crack. He rolled his hips slowly, still caught up in the rhythms he had found while dancing, gliding his cock in and out of Carie’s wet, warm mouth.
Carie pulled off with him with a “pop” of her lips. The urgency just seemed to ramp up. Both fumbled at her dress.
“Where is zipper?” Vasily grunted.
“No zipper! Clasps! Clasps!” Carie urged. “Nevermind!”
The dress was unceremoniously pulled down her chest and bunched up like a scarf around her waist. Immediately, Vasily pulled her forward and clamped his mouth around her small, round breast, sucking hard upon it. Carie swept her long hair around and gasped. He was like a Hoover vacuum against her pert nipple. All the while, she felt his cock nudge and rub against her flesh, taunting her.
“Fuck,” Carie grunted. She sneered at him, looking at his blue eyes through the holes of the mask. “Get in me right now, bitch,” she ordered, “Keep the mask on.”
Honestly, Vasily had forgotten about the mask. Hell, nothing above his waist had a brain at the moment.
With urgency being the defining factor, Carie’s tiny, damp panties were tugged to the side to make way for an explosive thrust of Vasily’s cock. Carie drove her hips downward and their crotches met in the middle with a resounding clash.
“Ohh… fuck !” Carie burst like a high-pressured balloon, her voice rattling Vasily’s ears and the interior of the minivan.
Hearing her scream like that, Vasily had to consciously pause. It was almost enough for him to make pop right then. Carie would have killed him if he had. He gritted his teeth and worked through the impulse. Quickly, with a firm hold around her back, he cranked his hips, pumping rapid strokes into her.
Carie groaned and gasped as she bucked and rode him hard. The fingers of one hand dug into his broad shoulder while the other hand braced against the front seat. Her tummy rolled like a belly-dancer’s as she drifted up and down his shaft. She felt him massage her deep within, throbbing against her inner flesh. She clamped down on his cock absorbing his warmth and desire.
The minivan rocked and shook in the alley as if some wild beast were trying to break out from it. Inside, the temperature spiked covering the heated couple in a sheen of sweat. Dampened, foggy windows were streaked with finger, hand, and foot marks as they jockeyed for position.
Neither of them remembered how they got that way, but soon they found themselves with Carie bent over, the side of her face pressed against the leather seat, and Vasily behind her, hunched over. With the back of his head and neck scraping against the ceiling, he filled her with broad, rough strokes, slapping her ass with his crotch.
Carie reached around, pulling at her cheeks, spreading herself further as she took the hard thrusts of Vasily’s thick cock. She challenged him for more.
“Oh! Oh, fuck!” Carie gasped.
That was more than enough incentive for Vasily. The minivan lurched with every stiff drive of his hips. He tangled his fingers through her long, black hair and pulled her head back, drawing even more sharp gasps and rewarding him another loud “fuck” to slip from her tongue.
Carie’s sultry bare skin glistened, perspiration mingling with the sweat and oil that glossed Vasily’s hard muscles. Her lithe body easily slipped and slid into a new position. The back of one calf perched upon Vasily’s round shoulder, the other foot dropping off the seat, she looked up and stared deeply into the eyes of her masked-man. Her red lips rounded open, gasping, moaning, as she invited more of his hard thrusts to fill her.
Vasily’s teeth locked behind the tight line of his lips. He frowned behind his mask, concentrating on the woman below and the feel of her around his increasingly throbbing cock. He flexed his butt, surging into her. He knew how well Carie could take his stiff strokes. He wasn’t going to hold back.
Carie etched long, red lines on his arm with her fingernails. Her whole body was quivering, trembling. She felt her toes curl then spread. She heard the sounds of her own voice moaning and cursing throughout the minivan. Drops of Vasily’s sweat fell onto her cheeks, her chin, and into her mouth. It ran along her neck and pooled between her shimmering breasts. He was so fucking good.
Vasily didn’t blink, and never slowed his thrusting motions, as she reached up and pulled the mask off his face, finally.
Carie needed to see his eyes clearly. His blue eyes were like a refreshing splash of water down her throat. She locked her gaze upon them as she gripped his arm again. She felt the swell in her stomach and crotch, and the exquisite tingling sensation coursing through every fibre within her. Her teeth pinched her lower lip as she squeezed her eyes shut. She held her breath for a second then burst out with a explosive groan chasing a sweet rush of soaking release from within. She flowed freely over Vasily’s probing cock, spilling onto her ass and onto the seat. She hitched and groaned again, “Ohh… fuck!”
Like a tip of the hat, that was Vasily’s cue. One last rigid spike of his cock and his whole body locked. Throbbing deep within Carie, he unloaded a slick shot of creamy fire. Pulse after pulse of cum spat from him, filling her. He heaved and grunted, sucking in the hot, humid air inside the stuffy minivan through his flaring nostrils and gaping mouth. She felt so amazing around him, every twitch from her inner flesh drew more, smaller spurts from his aching shaft.
The two froze momentarily, like some erotic statue, only the rise and fall of their chests and bellies betraying them. They’re eyes lingered on each other with swollen satisfaction. Carie curled her body to the side slightly, feeling his cock twitch within her. Slowly, Vasily collapsed into her waiting arms and they held each other close, daring the heat of the minivan to come between.
“I shake booty pretty good, I think,” Vasily said after they both caught their breaths.
Carie smirked as she patted the soft, short hairs on his head. She thought of something sarcastic to say, but held back. Instead, she smiled gently and said, “Only private dances for me, okay?”
*****
The game went pretty well for the Dim Sum Warriors a couple of weeks later. They beat the Violators by a score of 5-4 on a game winning hit.
While her teammates jumped and high-fived each other in the dugout, Carie skipped to the outfield where Vasily stood alone, holding his glove and waiting as if they were still in the middle innings. The game was over? The silly white ball never came near him once during the final inning. This was such a worthless game.
“Yo! Mickey Mantle!” Carie chirped as she approached him, “Game’s over. Hit the showers. Your team lost.”
“I do not lose,” Vasily rumbled.
“Uh, yeah, you did,” she said, waving at the scoreboard. “Do the math. You have enough fingers.”
“2 to 1,” he said, reaching into his pocket.
“What?”
“I had three hits. You got me out one time only,” he elaborated.
“Yeah, so?”
Vasily produced a small, crumpled up post-it note. He read aloud, droning, “‘Apartment Seven hereby accepts Apartment Eight’s Golden Softball Challenge…’”
“Wait.” Carie held up her hand and cocked her brow. “You still have that?”
“I still have. Yes,” Vasily said as if answering if he were still a man.
She shook her head. “We settled that two weeks ago.”
He held it in front of her face. “No expiration date,” he pointed out.
Carie’s jaw slid to the side as she stared at her handwriting. “Oh… yeah.”
Vasily quietly pocketed the post-it and began walking to the dugout. As he passed Carie, who was still facing the outfield wall, he said, “Tonight, you are Vasily’s bitch.”
Carie just hoped that she wouldn’t have to wear a mask.
Carie stood dumbfounded by the bar, almost alone as everyone else had rushed the stage. She grimaced, her chin drifting off to the side, chewing on the edge of her bottom lip. Seeing him up there glistening, grinding and firing his pelvis like Elvis on steroids, just totally going for it, sent a surge of conflicting thoughts and feelings through in her stunned skull. He was hot and sexy. Like every other woman in the room, her loins were stirring. She shimmied and pulled at the hem of her short, black, evening dress pretending to tug it down, when really she was just shifting the thin film of moisture building up between her thighs.
The knot in her tummy alternately tightened and loosened. She was turned on one moment, apprehensive the next. That was Vasily up there, her neighbour across the hallway of her apartment. He was on the stage because of her. He was almost naked, dancing and oozing masculine sexuality in front of a room full of carnal-minded banshees because of her. They all desired him. They all wanted a taste... a taste she was intimately familiar with.
She was sharing him with others. She didn’t like it.
“Go, Boris! Go, Boris! Go! Go! Go, Boris!” the women chanted, using their hot passion to make their Adonis dance and grind for them.
Somewhere in Vasily’s head, a tiny little version of himself sat stone-faced in a corner, arms crossed thinking this was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen. “You are a rock. You are a statue,” the tiny man in his head said, “you are not a prancing pony.”
“Take it off! Take it off!” the crowd beckoned.
Vasily cracked a smile. He was not a prancing pony. He was a stud… a stud galloping across an open, fertile range.
Carie’s jaw dropped as she slowly shook her head in disbelief. “No… way,” she droned.
Vasily tilted his chin towards Johnny, catching the M.C.’s eye. He touched the lid of his cap.
Johnny winked and got on the mic, “Oh! What do we hear? ‘Take it off’? Take Boris off the stage? Is that what you want?”
There was a chorus of boos.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny teased, “we can’t hear from all the ‘rain’ in the room!”
The savvy crowd knew what that meant. Dollar bills were flung onto the catwalk from every corner.
Vasily doffed his sweaty baseball cap, exposing his short-shaven head, then tossed it into the scrum. There was another round of boos for this tease.
Johnny shook his head and waved his hand. “Nope. I guess we’re calling for a downpour tonight!”
A torrent of bills showered onto the stage. Vasily stepped on money in his barefeet for the first time in his life. It felt amazing. It shut up the tiny man in his head for good.
Carie edged closer to the brass railing lining the bar level. She chewed on her lower lip and bounced quickly on the toes of her high heel shoes.
She wanted to see this. She didn’t want to see this.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit… ”
Vasily planted his feet on the stage, shoulder width apart. He touched a clasp on the band of his thong and stood still, turning only his head to survey the throng of women, like a lord over his disciples. Then with a deliberate ease, he stopped, raised his arm and extended his finger, like Babe Ruth pointing towards the bleachers.
His index finger fired an invisible laser straight through the crowd and the lights and shadows and burned itself into Carie’s pounding heart. She gripped the rail, suddenly feeling a scorching fire up her spine and a tingle in her gut strong enough to buckle her knees.
Carie blinked, and as her eyelids raised, a wild cheer blew up in the room.
Vasily’s package was unwrapped. Somewhere in the morass of women, his humble thong had set off a catfight, but it was really hard to tell who the combatants were. Everyone was going nuts. He chucked aside his prop bat and swaggered up and down the catwalk, swishing his lengthy shaft side-to-side to the delight of the ladies. It was like a King Cobra, their cheers and whistles swaying it with a hypnotic tune. At the end of the walk, he spun around and clenched and relaxed his buttocks at will. The man had absolute command over his buff body and he wielded it to control the will of his frenzied fans.
Even Johnny had a look of impressed amazement on his radish-red face. He almost forgot that his mike was still live as he muttered, “Jesus on a stick.”
Carie covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed back her heart. Good God, Vasily looked delicious up there, like a magnificent Grade AAA bull up for auction. It made even her teeth tingle. Even though her dress was but a thin layer of cloth, she was still shining with perspiration. The heat around her, within her, was swelling.
Johnny dabbed himself with his kerchief again. Might as well go all in tonight, he thought. Stepping up, he announced to the crowd, “Well! Well! Well! It seems all Boris has left on is his pride and his anonymity! Do we have anyone willing to claim one or the other… or both? Who will unmask our Commie Conquerer?”
They no longer sounded human to Vasily’s ears. Women were jumping up and down with their hands in the air, pumping up dollar bills in their fists. It was as if he were at a rock concert.
Johnny made a calculated guess as to which of the women around the stage had the most money gripped in her fingers. He held out a hand and pulled her out, helping her climb onto the catwalk.
Carie frowned, one brow slicing downward, the other cocked towards the ceiling. She eyed the patron who had been plucked out from the crowd and now stood in the spotlight just a couple of feet away from Vasily who was dressed only in a mask and a layer of oil and sweat. What stood out on this woman was her frizzy peach-coloured hair and what appeared to be a large tattoo of a dragonfly perched on her back shoulder, exposed above her tight-fitting tube top.
“Son of a… ” Carie mouthed.
Vasily struck a Superman pose, trying to stay calm and focused. Yet, he was suddenly aware of just how hard he was breathing and how energy-sapping those spotlights were. The oil on his body felt really uncomfortable and he was consciously trying to dig his toes into the stage worried that he may slip, and worse, fall among the “wild boars”. He wasn’t even really paying much attention to the woman on the stage with him. He just scanned the area at the back by the bar.
Where did she go?
“Hey, stranger,” the woman on the stage said, leaning in. “I like your ink. Want a second chance to check out mine a lot more closely afterwards?”
Vasily squinted at her through his mask. He didn’t know if he was supposed to have remembered her from somewhere the way she was looking at him. He definitely couldn’t hear what she was saying and didn’t read lips very well. Was she asking him if he wanted to look at the taps in her kitchen?
With a lurid little smile, the woman stepped close to him, almost touching the top of her leather skirt against his exposed cock, and reached up to his face to pull off his mask.
Just then, Carie appeared out of nowhere on the launch pad at the back of the stage, barefoot and teeth clenched. Clutching her high-heels, she charged across the catwalk and body checked the woman off and into the crowd. For a moment, the woman body-surfed across the dense mass of ladies, flailing and squirming, before unceremoniously settling into the crowd as if it were quicksand.
Pandemonium erupted. Some women were screaming, others were still cheering -- it sounded like an airport hangar. Johnny grabbed at Carie but she brushed him away, sending him careening off the catwalk. The ladies in the crowd were none too happy about his slimy carcass falling into their midst and rained slaps and drinks upon him.
A couple of bouncers had their hands full trying to make their way to the stage. They actually seemed to be carried away further as if caught in an undertow.
“Let’s get out of here!” Carie shouted at Vasily, still masked. However, as she tugged at his arm, his oily skin slipped through her fingers and he tumbled down onto the catwalk.
Vasily managed to stay on the stage, barely. Still, female hands quickly descended upon him, clawing and groping wildly at his flesh. He tried to stand, but his lathered up body kept slipping on the surface, and he flopped about like he were a fish on a skillet.
“Get up!” Carie wrapped both her arms around his bicep and heaved upward. Miraculously, she managed to wrestle him up to his feet, despite her comparatively diminutive size.
She had heard about people exhibiting super-human strength during a crisis. She would have to Google it when she got back home.
Dollar bills stuck to his body, Vasily leaned on Carie as they shuffled carefully, but quickly, off the stage and to the back. A hail of debris was tossed around the room, signalling their departure.
Fawns Over Foxes was closed for the rest of the evening… due to “wild boars”.
*****
Both Carie and Vasily strode barefoot on the sidewalk pavement. She had lost her shoes in the commotion back at the club and he had barely anytime to dress. He had managed to pull on his jeans and his long duster coat, but couldn’t find his shirt. He was also still wearing the mask.
They were quite the sight, like some tall, masked, homeless cowboy being led by the wrist by his sexy, mini-dress wearing, Chinese nanny in the middle of the night.
“Where’s your van?” she muttered.
“In alley...” Vasily replied, pointing over his shoulder in the opposite direction they were headed, “...that way.”
“Oh, for the love of… ” Carie fumed as she rolled her eyes. She spun on her heels and walked back the other way, still tugging Vasily along with her. “Why would you park in an alley? Are you Batman or something?”
Vasily peered at the back of her head through the narrow holes of his mask. Was she mad at him? Hold on. She … was mad... at him ?
Carie was mad. She was mad at herself for coming up with the stupid idea for tonight. And, yes, she was mad at Vasily for seemingly enjoying himself so much on stage... and for looking so freaking hot. “I can’t believe you did that!”
Vasily seemed to recall that someone had made him get up on that stage.
“Where did you learn to strip like that?” she asked pointedly. “Wait. Don’t tell me… Youtube. right?”
“No,” he said, his voice a blunt instrument.
“Great. I’ve got a natural born male stripper living across the hall from me,” Carie grumbled.
“What is ‘natural born’?”
“It means you’ve got a real talent for shaking your bare booty ass in front of people,” she replied. “Congratulations.”
“I was good?” Vasily asked. “Shaking booty?”
Carie smirked as they turned down the alley. The words “shaking booty” sounded so ridiculous coming from a six-foot-three, two hundred pound oak tree like Vasily. “Several dozen horny women back at the club would concur, I’m sure.”
“Do you enjoy how I strip?”
Carie pursed her lips,keeping them in check as they made their way to the end of the alley. Honestly, the tingling sensation in her belly and between her thighs hadn’t stopped.
They approached Vasily’s minivan when he suddenly put on the brakes. Carie lurched forward then looked back at him. “What?” she asked, exasperated.
“Did you enjoy how I strip?” he repeated.
Carie dropped his hand and crossed her arms. She regarded him for a second, fought against her urges and scoffed, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“No?”
Carie sucked in her lips. A twitchy lamp on the side of one of the buildings flickered weakly overhead casting the two of them in partial shadow. Vasily standing there with his bare chest exposed between the part in his coat, and the mask on his face, suddenly resembled a fantasy she must have had maybe a couple dozen times since she hit puberty.
Cripes, her teeth started to tingle again, along with numerous other parts of her body.
“Maybe like a dancing monkey at a circus.” She sneered, trying to look more convincing than she sounded. She sniffed, “You were entertaining to the common folk.”
Vasily pursed his lips and looked aside, nodding.
“You’re a long way from the Bolshoi,” she added.
He nodded his way back to her and then clapped his beefy hands and said, “Good. Then you tell me how to strip.”
“What?” Carie’s voice dropped an octave.
Vasily took a step back. He held out his hands to his sides and said, “I am still your bitch. You make me dance the way you want.”
“Here?” Carie titled her head. He was crazy. The night had somehow broken Vasily, she thought. She should have felt guilty how badly she had damaged her neighbour.
Yet, should would have been crazy herself to pass up this golden opportunity.
His face looking as if he were reading the menu board at McDonald’s, Vasily slowly started to circle his hips, his hands still at his sides. “Like this?” he asked.
Carie pinched her bottom lip with her teeth, catching a chuckle. Her arms still crossed, she leaned back against the rear of the minivan. He was really going to do this. She sighed and said, “Go on.”
“How about this?” Vasily raised his hands and clasped them behind his head. He crunched his stomach and traced a figure-eight with his pelvis, his oiled up abs snaring the light from above.
Oh, Christ, Carie thought, feeling a patter in her heart and a flush on her cheeks and neck. “Very good,” she said with a perfunctory nod.
In the dim alleyway, with only the muffled sounds of the city at night filtering in around them, Vasily found a rhythm. He rolled his crotch as if he were churning butter with it. He shimmied and shook his way around the gritty pavement, snapping his fingers and popping poses like he were on the dance floor of the club.
Carie shifted her feet on the ground slowly, alternating the weight on her knees. She swallowed and moistened her lips. In her head, she knew that this was ridiculous. Vasily was about as graceful as a bear before hibernation. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. No, laughing was the furthest thing from her mind.
Vasily dropped his coat off his shoulders as he continued to move, exposing his broad chest and svelte torso which funneled neatly into his tight jeans. He continued to grind his hips as he slowly stepped and danced towards Carie.
Carie pressed her back against the minivan as he loomed over her, inches apart. The back of her head touched the rear window as she looked up and searched behind the dark mask for Vasily’s lovely, deep blue eyes.
“You like?” he asked, slowly gyrating before her. “Is good?”
“Is not bad,” she said meekly with a shrug, nearly choking back her words. She felt her breath tremble.
“You like personal dance?”
Carie offered a coy grin. She reached into her purse and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. Cocking her thin, black brow, she asked, “What does this get me?”
A grin finally splintered Vasily’s tight, pink lips. He snatched the bill from her fingers and stuffed it into the pocket. “You may open package.”
Carie licked her lips then looked down. As Vasily leisurely swayed his crotch back and forth, beckoning to her, she reached down, undid the button of his jeans and daintily pulled down the zipper. He wiggled his hips a little to help her tug the jeans down past his butt, but the lingering oil on his body made the task much easier. She reached for his handsome cock.
“No touching,” Vasily commanded softly, “hands against car.”
Carie looked up, curious.
Vasily nodded his chin once. It was his turn to tell her what she wanted.
Grinning anxiously, she lowered her hands to her sides, flattening them against the minivan.
Vasily swayed in closer towards her, locking his hands against the minivan to the sides of Carie’s face. He wanted her to smell the oil and sweat on his naked flesh as he moved his body, brushing it against her with deliberate grinds of his crotch.
Carie shuddered, rattled to her bones. She felt his cock drift against her dress, brushing at her abdomen.
“Good?” he asked.
She offered a swift nod and a soft, gulping gasp in reply.
He pressed in closer, swirling his crotch, then easing it up and down. He felt his length begin to stiffen as it touched her and felt the tremble in her belly. He stuck his foot between her bare feet and nudged them apart.
Carie felt the hem of her short, tight dress hiking up her thighs as he shifted her legs apart. No sooner had she adjusted her position against the back of the minivan did he move forward and against her, splaying her legs even further. She felt his shaft sliding against her body becoming more rigid and desirable with every twist of his pelvis. It pushed against her dress, sliding it up more and more until the crotch of her black panties was exposed to the night air and her round, smooth bottom rubbed against the minivan.
Fuck! her mind screamed. She was like Vasily’s little toy, switched on with a push of a secret button only he knew where to find on her. She looked at him, up and down his chiseled body, from his rippling cock to his the stern, handsome lines on his face. Each fleeting stroke of his skin against her sent a wave of pleasure through her. His control over his powerful body was so provocative. Her nails scratched against the minivan.
“Watch my eyes,” Vasily said, and Carie obediently locked her slender, dark eyes upon him.
Vasily breathed deeply. His cock tingled, surging to life as it teased against her panties. Hardened and upright, he dipped his body down, low enough to rub along her velvet thighs. His tip nudged against her panties, digging into the line of her crotch, drawing a quivering gasp from the young woman. He felt her sway her hips, nuzzling herself against his tip, provoking more heated. soft groans from her lips.
He raised himself further until his throbbing shaft hooked beneath her dress and slid under. He moved his hands to her hips and held her tight as he shifted his crotch slowly, side-to-side, up and down, his hot cock rubbing against her smooth belly.
Carie gnawed on her lower lip. She held fast onto Vasily’s insistent gaze as long as she could as she felt his throbbing cock tickle and slide across her belly, pulling at her dress. She surrendered, turning her sights downward. It was a mesmerizing sight, his long, hard shaft shifting beneath her dress, snaking against her flesh, tempting her, daring her. She felt a dampness cover the crotch of her panties.
“You like how I handle my bat?” Vasily asked, completely deadpan.
Carie had very little patience for Vasily’s droll humour. She took a moment to try to think of some sort of comeback --something about her “pitching hand”, or some stupid shit-- but instead she muttered, “Fuck it.” She grabbed Vasily by the wrist again and tugged him around to the side of the minivan.
She tried to tear the handle off the rear door. No good. “The keys!” she demanded.
Vasily pointed to his coat on the ground.
“God!” Carie spat. She stomped over to the coat, rifled the pockets, and finally found the keys. She flung his coat aside.
“My coat… ” Vasily mumbled.
“Fuck your coat!”
No sooner had the large minivan sounded its feeble “beep-beep” noise did Carie fling open the door and shove Vasily into the back seat.
Vasily looked at Carie as he slid back along the length of the seat and against the door on the other side. There was a wild, determined expression painted on her pink-flushed face as she pulled the door shut behind her and pounced on him. He guessed he was pretty decent at “shaking booty”.
As it was earlier at the Fawns Over Foxes, it was a messy and raucous affair in the confines of the minivan. It was fortunate that Vasily had splurged on a large car, but even then it was a tight fit. Not that it mattered to Carie. Now she could finally put those stupid yoga classes to good use.
Within a matter of moments of crawling up his slippery, oiled-up body, Carie went from lashing her tongue inside of his mouth, working her way down to nibbling at his coin sized nipples, to biting and licking his abs and belly button, to finally inhaling his hard cock into her mouth. She panted and gasped each time she lifted her lips from him, hungry and voracious, before taking him in once more. She skimmed her tongue around it like a peppermint stick, humming with delight and fervour.
Vasily reached his long arm down to her butt. He gave her dress a harsh tug, pulling it up higher before sliding his fingers back down and curling down the crevice of her ass. He felt her buttocks clench, trapping his wiggling finger between her crack. He rolled his hips slowly, still caught up in the rhythms he had found while dancing, gliding his cock in and out of Carie’s wet, warm mouth.
Carie pulled off with him with a “pop” of her lips. The urgency just seemed to ramp up. Both fumbled at her dress.
“Where is zipper?” Vasily grunted.
“No zipper! Clasps! Clasps!” Carie urged. “Nevermind!”
The dress was unceremoniously pulled down her chest and bunched up like a scarf around her waist. Immediately, Vasily pulled her forward and clamped his mouth around her small, round breast, sucking hard upon it. Carie swept her long hair around and gasped. He was like a Hoover vacuum against her pert nipple. All the while, she felt his cock nudge and rub against her flesh, taunting her.
“Fuck,” Carie grunted. She sneered at him, looking at his blue eyes through the holes of the mask. “Get in me right now, bitch,” she ordered, “Keep the mask on.”
Honestly, Vasily had forgotten about the mask. Hell, nothing above his waist had a brain at the moment.
With urgency being the defining factor, Carie’s tiny, damp panties were tugged to the side to make way for an explosive thrust of Vasily’s cock. Carie drove her hips downward and their crotches met in the middle with a resounding clash.
“Ohh… fuck !” Carie burst like a high-pressured balloon, her voice rattling Vasily’s ears and the interior of the minivan.
Hearing her scream like that, Vasily had to consciously pause. It was almost enough for him to make pop right then. Carie would have killed him if he had. He gritted his teeth and worked through the impulse. Quickly, with a firm hold around her back, he cranked his hips, pumping rapid strokes into her.
Carie groaned and gasped as she bucked and rode him hard. The fingers of one hand dug into his broad shoulder while the other hand braced against the front seat. Her tummy rolled like a belly-dancer’s as she drifted up and down his shaft. She felt him massage her deep within, throbbing against her inner flesh. She clamped down on his cock absorbing his warmth and desire.
The minivan rocked and shook in the alley as if some wild beast were trying to break out from it. Inside, the temperature spiked covering the heated couple in a sheen of sweat. Dampened, foggy windows were streaked with finger, hand, and foot marks as they jockeyed for position.
Neither of them remembered how they got that way, but soon they found themselves with Carie bent over, the side of her face pressed against the leather seat, and Vasily behind her, hunched over. With the back of his head and neck scraping against the ceiling, he filled her with broad, rough strokes, slapping her ass with his crotch.
Carie reached around, pulling at her cheeks, spreading herself further as she took the hard thrusts of Vasily’s thick cock. She challenged him for more.
“Oh! Oh, fuck!” Carie gasped.
That was more than enough incentive for Vasily. The minivan lurched with every stiff drive of his hips. He tangled his fingers through her long, black hair and pulled her head back, drawing even more sharp gasps and rewarding him another loud “fuck” to slip from her tongue.
Carie’s sultry bare skin glistened, perspiration mingling with the sweat and oil that glossed Vasily’s hard muscles. Her lithe body easily slipped and slid into a new position. The back of one calf perched upon Vasily’s round shoulder, the other foot dropping off the seat, she looked up and stared deeply into the eyes of her masked-man. Her red lips rounded open, gasping, moaning, as she invited more of his hard thrusts to fill her.
Vasily’s teeth locked behind the tight line of his lips. He frowned behind his mask, concentrating on the woman below and the feel of her around his increasingly throbbing cock. He flexed his butt, surging into her. He knew how well Carie could take his stiff strokes. He wasn’t going to hold back.
Carie etched long, red lines on his arm with her fingernails. Her whole body was quivering, trembling. She felt her toes curl then spread. She heard the sounds of her own voice moaning and cursing throughout the minivan. Drops of Vasily’s sweat fell onto her cheeks, her chin, and into her mouth. It ran along her neck and pooled between her shimmering breasts. He was so fucking good.
Vasily didn’t blink, and never slowed his thrusting motions, as she reached up and pulled the mask off his face, finally.
Carie needed to see his eyes clearly. His blue eyes were like a refreshing splash of water down her throat. She locked her gaze upon them as she gripped his arm again. She felt the swell in her stomach and crotch, and the exquisite tingling sensation coursing through every fibre within her. Her teeth pinched her lower lip as she squeezed her eyes shut. She held her breath for a second then burst out with a explosive groan chasing a sweet rush of soaking release from within. She flowed freely over Vasily’s probing cock, spilling onto her ass and onto the seat. She hitched and groaned again, “Ohh… fuck!”
Like a tip of the hat, that was Vasily’s cue. One last rigid spike of his cock and his whole body locked. Throbbing deep within Carie, he unloaded a slick shot of creamy fire. Pulse after pulse of cum spat from him, filling her. He heaved and grunted, sucking in the hot, humid air inside the stuffy minivan through his flaring nostrils and gaping mouth. She felt so amazing around him, every twitch from her inner flesh drew more, smaller spurts from his aching shaft.
The two froze momentarily, like some erotic statue, only the rise and fall of their chests and bellies betraying them. They’re eyes lingered on each other with swollen satisfaction. Carie curled her body to the side slightly, feeling his cock twitch within her. Slowly, Vasily collapsed into her waiting arms and they held each other close, daring the heat of the minivan to come between.
“I shake booty pretty good, I think,” Vasily said after they both caught their breaths.
Carie smirked as she patted the soft, short hairs on his head. She thought of something sarcastic to say, but held back. Instead, she smiled gently and said, “Only private dances for me, okay?”
*****
The game went pretty well for the Dim Sum Warriors a couple of weeks later. They beat the Violators by a score of 5-4 on a game winning hit.
While her teammates jumped and high-fived each other in the dugout, Carie skipped to the outfield where Vasily stood alone, holding his glove and waiting as if they were still in the middle innings. The game was over? The silly white ball never came near him once during the final inning. This was such a worthless game.
“Yo! Mickey Mantle!” Carie chirped as she approached him, “Game’s over. Hit the showers. Your team lost.”
“I do not lose,” Vasily rumbled.
“Uh, yeah, you did,” she said, waving at the scoreboard. “Do the math. You have enough fingers.”
“2 to 1,” he said, reaching into his pocket.
“What?”
“I had three hits. You got me out one time only,” he elaborated.
“Yeah, so?”
Vasily produced a small, crumpled up post-it note. He read aloud, droning, “‘Apartment Seven hereby accepts Apartment Eight’s Golden Softball Challenge…’”
“Wait.” Carie held up her hand and cocked her brow. “You still have that?”
“I still have. Yes,” Vasily said as if answering if he were still a man.
She shook her head. “We settled that two weeks ago.”
He held it in front of her face. “No expiration date,” he pointed out.
Carie’s jaw slid to the side as she stared at her handwriting. “Oh… yeah.”
Vasily quietly pocketed the post-it and began walking to the dugout. As he passed Carie, who was still facing the outfield wall, he said, “Tonight, you are Vasily’s bitch.”
Carie just hoped that she wouldn’t have to wear a mask.
