Leaving Madeleine - part 21
"IS IT TOO MUCH?" BRIGITTE ASKED. She modelled a
pink strapless dress cut high above the knee.
"I don't think so," I told her.
"What are you going to buy?"
"Something so I don't look like a bum next to you."
"It's too much."
"No. You have to buy it."
"Really?"
"Now that I've seen you in it, absolutely."
"I'll have to get shoes too."
"Shit, me too."
I tried to pay for the dress, but Brigitte wasn't having it. I'd already snuck onto Expedia and booked a room at the Hotel Victoria, so I decided to surrender this battle. We shopped for another hour. I bought a light blue Yves Saint Laurent button up shirt, slim Ted Baker Khaki pants, and blue espadrilles. Brigitte bought a pair of white high heel sandals to go with her dress, the straps wrapping around her calves like a roman soldier. We walked about town for a little while, admiring the Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and other super cars, the yachts in the bay, and the architecture of the city. I started to imagine what I'd have to do to join the ranks of the affluent and quickly became dismayed. I hailed a cab to whisk us to our hotel. We intended to take a nap before returning to gamble. Once in our room, we couldn't help peeling off our clothes however and making love. I was lazy so I pleasured her orally. After she climaxed she lied flat on her stomach and I went into her from behind. The exercise rekindled our appetite. We ordered room service and ate it on the balcony looking out at the sea. Finally we lied down to grab a few hours rest. I set my phone alarm to interrupt our sleep and avoid wasting the night in a dream.
The times I had visited the Monte Carlo Casino, it was never very busy. This time it was bustling. Patrons filled almost every table. Even the high stakes room had a fair share of gamblers trying their luck. A tall Italian woman caught my eye, her impressive, ungilded breasts struggling to stay within the confines of the deep v cut across the center of her dress. She met my eye as I passed with Brigitte.
"I don't know how to play," Brigitte confided as we arrived at the craps table.
I explained the rules in hush tones, careful to refer to seven as "the number after six". Brigitte asked me a few questions. I assured her it would make more sense once we played a few rounds. "You have to play soccer to learn how to play soccer," I said. Brigitte agreed. An older Spanish man made room for us at the table. I exchanged three hundred euros with the boxman for twenty-five dollar chips. I waited for the dice to change hands, for the point, and bet a chip each on six and eight. The dice came up nine.
"What does that mean?" Brigitte whispered.
"Nothing for us," I whispered back. "Ten dollars on the hard ten!" I tossed a chip to one of the base dealers. He called my bet and placed the chips. I accepted three five dollar chips in change. The dice came up eight.
"Eight!" Brigitte squealed and squeezed my arm.
I smiled and collected my modest winnings. A few more rolls and the hard ten came up. I gathered my chips and took down my bets, explaining every move to Brigitte along the way. After the dice changed hands a few times, the Italian woman joined our table. A handsome, well dressed man was with her, along with a second, equally dashing couple. Both the men and women were about my age. Despite a valiant effort to remain inconspicuous, I noticed the Italian woman calculate the value of my stake. I glanced at Brigitte to assess her level of awareness. The breasts were unavoidable, but the specific attention to our presence remained concealed. We kept betting. I was up almost five hundred euros. I would normally quit at this point, but the dice were coming our way.
"Madame," the stickman addressed Brigitte.
"Your turn to roll," I whispered.
"Oh no, I don't want to," Brigitte said to me. "I don't want to," she said to the stickman.
I put a chip on the pass line. "You have to. Beginners luck."
"No..." Brigitte protested.
"Yes, you must," the Italian woman chimed.
The entire table joined in encouraging Brigitte to play. She was forced to concede. The Italians began sprinkling the table with hundred dollar chips. Brigitte rolled a seven. The table cheered. Winners collected their chips or increased their wager. Brigitte rolled a five. More bets colored the felt. Brigitte rolled an eight. Smiles all around. Brigitte rolled three more times and hit the point. She kept the dice alive for over forty five minutes. The table reached apoplectic proportions of jubilee, an elation few things other than won money can invoke. High-fives, kisses, and amorous expressions abounded. I was up twelve hundred. Brigitte had converted the twenty-five I'd bet for her into two hundred and seventy-five euros, despite having placed hardly any other bets. It was my turn to roll, but I declined.
"Let's go play a little Black Jack," I said to Brigitte.
"You're not going to throw the dice?" she asked.
"Quit while you're ahead," I instructed.
"But we're going to play black jack."
"Don't be superstitious."
I tipped the dealers and placed a ten dollar hard eight bet on their behalf. The table clapped and commended Brigitte as we stepped away. We found an open seat at a Black Jack table. I had a sneaking suspicion we'd soon have familiar fellow travellers. I was right.
"Hey!" the Italians called out as they sat down.
"Bellisima," one of the men said to Brigitte. "You made me very much money tonight."
"My first time," Brigitte replied.
"Very good!" the Italian woman smiled.
"Pardon?" the Italian man called to a hostess. "Two apple martinis..." He leaned over to Brigitte. "You want?"
"Why not?" Brigitte answered.
"Three apple martinis," the Italian man continued. "And three cognac." The server nodded and left to fetch the beverages. "You drink cognac, American?" He was talking to me. I answered yes. "Good, I order you a cognac. I am sorry if I am being..."
"Presumptuous?" I suggested and regretted it immediately afterwards.
"I don't think I know this word." The Italian woman spoke to him in Italian. "Yes, I am sorry if I am being like this."
"Not at all. A cognac is perfect." I wasn't sure what I was saying but it seemed to quell whatever apprehension may have been brewing.
"Good. I am happy," the Italian man said clasping his hands in a pranam.
"Now you are American, I know," interjected the Italian woman. "But you," she said to Brigitte, "I don't know. You look Chinese but you sound like an English."
"I'm lots of different things," Brigitte answered. "But not English. The Brits taught us the language. I live in Hong Kong."
"Ah yes, I understand. I am Italian. We are all Italian."
"I gathered," Brigitte said.
"I am Isabella. This is Dante, Giancarlo, and Sophia."
"I'm Brigitte and this is Evan."
Sophia entered the conversation with a question directed at me. "So you live in Hong Kong as well?"
"No," I answered. "I live in Paris."
"But you are not French," Isabella insisted.
"No," I confirmed.
"So how do you meet?" Sophia asked.
Brigitte told the whole story, from the opera until this very moment. Our drinks came. We drank them and ordered more. Dante and Giancarlo joined the conversation. I won a few hundred more playing cards. It was the second best night I'd ever had at a casino. We agreed to go dancing with the Italians. Dante insisted on paying for everything. I learned he owned one of the yachts in the harbour. I briefly imagined beating him to a pulp, but silently chastised myself for the thought. Neanderthal I said to myself. We were having a wonderful time and he was being generous.
Giancarlo was a little less enthusiastic. He eventually talked his way out of going to the club. He insisted Sophia go without him, but perhaps sensing a trap, she would not let him leave alone. We spent twenty minutes trying to change his mind, but failed. We parted ways, getting into separate taxis, Dante, Isabella, Brigitte and I going to Jimmy'z, Giancarlo and Sophia going back to their hotel.
Dante spoke to the doorman at Jimmy'z for all of thirty seconds. We were soon ushered inside to a table. A hostess brought a bottle of Cristal and Cîroc, some cranberry juice and San Pellegrino. I produced my wallet but Dante just laughed and assured me it was taken care of. Isabella poured everyone a glass of champagne and pulled a submissive Brigitte to the dance floor. Both women proved to be quite seductive.
"She likes her," Dante yelled into my ear.
I had to agree. Isabella showered Brigitte with attention. They moved together like lovers, gripping one another's curves, unfettered by the attention and lascivious stares from the other men and women in their vicinity. I began to feel abandoned. But as if sensing the seed of my displeasure, Isabella came and took my hand, leading me to the unoccupied space she created between her and my Brigitte. Brigitte wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply. I felt Isabella's hands on my thighs and her breath on my neck. I stared into Brigitte's eyes. She leaned back and swayed from side to side, giving herself to the electronic pulse of the music. She was granting permission. I accepted. The three of us stayed sandwiched together in an unofficial foreplay.
"It's my birthday," Isabella said into my ear loud enough for Brigitte to hear.
"Happy birthday," I responded. I felt her hand move up the inside of my quadricep. "Should we get Dante?" I asked half-heartedly.
"He doesn't mind," Isabella assured me. She moved her hand inside my pocket and caressed my shaft through the material. She leaned over my shoulder and kissed Brigitte on the lips.
"I have to go to the washroom," Brigitte said abruptly.
"We go together," said Isabella. The girls left holding hands. I wandered back to Dante. I was not in control. I wanted to put an end to the encounter, but a hidden force guided me to paralysis. "You are having fun, American?" Dante asked.
I didn't know what I was having. I filled a glass halfway with the eau-de-vie and gulped it back. Dante grinned from ear to ear. "Yes!" he exclaimed. I refilled my glass to the same level and poured him one. I couldn't out spend him, but I maybe I could out drink him. "To women!" I toasted. We clinked glasses and slammed back the alcohol. I refilled. This time I topped each glass off with soda water.
"To Italy!" I shouted.
"To America!" Dante shouted back.
We threw back our drinks. I repeated until the women returned. We were three quarters through the Cîroc. A few more drinks and I would be drunk. Dante was already there. "What happened?" Isabella laughed. Dante wrapped an arm around her neck. "We are celebrating everything, my love!" "We want to celebrate too!" Isabella said, taking hold of the bottle. She poured equal amounts in four glasses, topping two with cranberry and two with San Pellegrino. "Saluti!"
"Saluti!" the rest of us responded in unison.
We danced at our table and kept drinking. We finished both bottles and half a second bottle of vodka. When Brigitte was still sober she asked if I was okay. I told her I was Irish and I was fine. At 3:00 am we left Jimmy'z. Isabella was tripping over Brigitte. Walking was a small triumph for Dante. I had sacrificed some sobriety, for a slight advantage in dominance.
"We go to our hotel now," said Isabella.
"We should exchange information first," I mentioned.
"No, no! We all go back to the hotel. We have Jacuzzi in the room!"
I checked with Brigitte. She shrugged in the affirmative. We hopped in a cab and told the driver Le Hermitage. Dante fell asleep in the backseat. I snuck my wallet from my back pocket in anticipation of another lilliputian victory. I am a petty man.
"You make him drink too much!" Isabella yelled at me with false petulance.
"We still had half a bottle left," I protested.
"You have to do as I say. It is my birthday," ordered Isabella.
"Yes, Evan darling. Isabella is the boss," affirmed Brigitte.
"Isabella is the boss," I accepted.
"Too much is not good for the, the..." Isabella waved her hand above her genitalia.
"The libido," I suggested.
"What is this word?" asked Isabella.
"He won't be able to get it up," elaborated Brigitte.
"Yes! Yes, he will be too soft," Isabella concluded.
"Not on your birthday!" I jeered.
"Yes! It is my birthday!" She screamed back at me and punched me in the arm. I was taking abuse from all sides. The taxi arrived at the hotel. A valet opened the back door. I paid the driver and got out on my own. Isabella tried to wake Dante. He moaned, but wouldn't budge. I went to his side to help extricate him from the car.
"Come on, buddy." I was in frat boy mode now. I pulled him by the arm and out of the cab.
"I am okay," Dante insisted.
"You're better than okay," I said patting him on the back.
Dante put his arm around my neck. Isabella took his left side. The valet got the door. I tipped him as we went inside. Isabelle rubbed her palm against Dante's crotch, I imagined in an attempt to diagnose his ability to perform. "Don't, my love. I have to piss," objected Dante. Isabella pouted. Brigitte pressed the up button on the elevator. The doors opened immediately. We boarded. Isabella pressed a button for one of the top floors. The doors closed and we rose to the diamond level where they had a suite with a jacuzzi on the balcony overlooking the sea.
Dante staggered to the bathroom. Isabella dialled room service and ordered strawberries and cake and other food and beverages. Brigitte and I stood in the center of the suite like children waiting to be told what to do.
"I feel like I'm in the Garden of Eden," I whispered to Brigitte.
"Really?"
"The Hemingway book. Not the bible," I clarified.
"I haven't read it."
Isabella opened the doors to the balcony and switched on the jets to the jacuzzi. She came back inside and slipped her dress off her shoulders, letting the garment fall to floor. She wasn't wearing anything else. "Come," she instructed us. She took our hands and led us to the water. Dante staggered out of the bathroom behind us and flopped onto the bed inside. "What are you waiting for?"
Brigitte peaked behind her. "I'm shy, darling!"
"Don't be shy! He is not looking. Come! I am lonely by myself."
I'd never felt more profoundly un-European. Brigitte stripped out of her pink dress and shimmied out of her thong. She tip toed into the jacuzzi next to Isabella, her Asian breasts glistening next to the Italian variety. I felt the blood flowing to my prick and a tumescence rise like the steam. Better now while it looks a little more impressive you pathetic beast. I undid the buttons on my shirt, let my new khakis fall to the planks, and stood in full my glory. I could feel my confidence retreating. I quickly immersed my lower body into the water. Isabella shifted to make space between herself and Brigitte. "Come here," she said to me. "It's my birthday."
I obeyed. I put my hand on Brigitte's thigh and kissed her. She had a brave face on, but it was clear she no longer derived pleasure from the present circumstances. I started devising an escape plan.
Dante appeared utterly naked, a bottle of Grey Goose under his arm and two glasses and a can of coke in his hands. "Make room for me!" Nobody moved. But Dante half lurched toward us anyway, his flaccid penis slapping against his thigh until he dipped into the water. He place the bottle and glasses outside of the hot tub, but held onto the can. He took up the real estate beside Isabella and spoke to her in Italian.
"Yes. Fruits, wine, and desserts," Isabella replied.
"Cafe?" Dante asked.
"No, you want?"
"No, it's okay." He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. And then on the nipple of her left breast.
"If we're drinking vodka, I'd rather do it straight," I said.
"We play a game," Isabella informed us. We kept listening. "We pass the can to each other, but we have to use different parts of the body. If I pass with my mouth, you take with your shoulders. Like this. If you drop you have a drink, or, you take dare. Easy, yes?" We nodded. It was easy. Except we were naked. "Dante will start," finished Isabella.
Dante took the can between his bicep and forearm. Isabella accepted it under her chin. She turned expertly to Brigitte, who took the can from her under her armpit. I imagined my cock had shrunk to the size of a cashew. I lowered to take the can between my neck and shoulder, staring Brigitte's tit in the areola as I did.
"Now comes the hard part," said Dante. Everyone laughed.
"I hope not," I muttered. Everyone laughed harder.
Dante stood out of the water and sat on the edge. "Here," he said tapping the back of his knee. I crossed the water and placed the can against his skin, holding it there as he lifted his leg back and squeezed. "I have," he assured me. "Hurry!" he gasped.
Isabella sprang out of the tub and swung around on her behind. She clasped the can between her two feet. "Let go!" she cried. Dante obliged. Isabella spun and pointed the can at Brigitte like a gun.
"I don't know! I don't know!" Brigitte said excitedly.
"You guys are really good!" I complimented.
"Between the legs," Isabella suggested.
"You're very naughty," Brigitte admonished.
She worked her way to Isabella, covering her important parts. She closed her legs on the can and squeezed it between her thighs. Isabella let go. Brigitte carefully turned her body one hundred and eighty degrees to face me. I did the math. I was in trouble.
"Only one place!" Dante shouted.
"I can't fit that in my mouth," I protested.
"You have to try," Isabella insisted.
I moved to Brigitte. We laughed uncomfortably. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and closed the gap between my lips and her extremities. Brigitte's legs began to shake. I place my mouth on the can, my forehead nearly touching her dripping labia.
"Have it?" Asked Brigitte.
"No," I told her. "It's not possible."
"It's bloody cold!"
I came upon a revelation. "My elbows," I said out loud.
"Yes!" Brigitte nearly jumped.
"Yes, good Americano!" Dante commented.
I pinched the can between my elbows, using them like forceps. It was more difficult than I had imagined. I wondered if Dante's mouth was big enough. Maybe he'd have to shove it up his ass and Isabella would get it with her mouth. I pulled. But the coke slipped and fell in the water.
"Bullocks!" Brigitte screamed. She descended back into the jacuzzi.
I shook my head in defeat. "I'll drink."
"No, no. Brigitte dropped it," ruled Isabella.
"No, it was me," I objected.
"No, it was still in her legs. It is my birthday, remember? I am the boss," Isabella insisted.
"What would the dare be?" questioned Brigitte.
"You choose dare?" asked Dante.
"What would it be? Brigitte repeated.
"No," Isabella said. "You have to decide first."
"Very well," Brigitte said resolutely. "Dare."
"It is mine," Isabella claimed, a devilish smile spreading across her lips. "You have to kiss me."
"Where?" inquired Dante. Isabella swatted him.
"On the lips. But it has to be a real kiss."
"You're dirty," Brigitte accused, shaking her head in jest.
Isabella moved in closer, her demeanour growing seductive. Brigitte leaned in. The women began to kiss. Dante looked at me and smiled, beseeching me to return the gesture. But I wasn't happy. This gave me no pleasure. I felt diminished. Powerless. I turned to see if it was over. Isabella had her hand on Brigitte's breast. Glimpses of their tongues could be caught slithering into one another's mouths. Then, abruptly, Brigitte pulled away. She popped out of the water.
"Let's go," Brigitte said to me.
I rose out of the tub. "Where?" Isabella stood up too.
"No, we're going to go now. Thank you for a wonderful evening."
"Why? Let's just go inside," Isabella protested.
"No, I'm sorry. We have to go."
Brigitte took the towel Dante had dropped and dried herself, seemingly without a care in the world. She handed the towel to me and shimmied into her dress and panties. I tamped myself quickly and threw on my trousers.
"What is wrong, my sweet?" Isabella asked Brigitte.
"Nothing darling. I'm tired, that's all."
"We have food coming," Dante interjected.
"Yes. Stay to eat before you go," pleaded Isabella.
"No, I'm sorry. We really can't," Brigitte declined. I had my shirt on and had fastened the first two buttons. "Thank you for a lovely evening."
"Yes, it was nice meeting you," I added.
We stepped into the diamond suite and slipped on our shoes. Brigitte took her time wrapping the straps up her leg. Our hosts spoke in Italian outside. Isabella climbed out of the hot tub and made her way to us just as we opened the door. The water dripped off every curve of her exposed olive skin. I had momentary pangs of regret in regards to eminent departure.
"I want one more thing for my birthday," Isabella declared.
"You're birthday ended at midnight, darling," Brigitte said wickedly. She took my hand and we exited. In the hallway, room service was pushing a cart toward us. We passed him smiling and wished him bon soir. He returned our smiles, but not our words. I asked Brigitte what happened. She launched into a story about her adolescent years where she found herself attracted to a friend of the same sex. She had always imagined how it would feel to kiss this girl but, not knowing if the desire was mutual, never quite mustered the courage. Tonight seemed like an opportunity. But when the moment came, and the experience presented itself, instead of elation or requite, the result was a kind of loneliness. Her intuition was wrong. She felt outside herself and altogether foolish. Not immediately, but shortly in the midst of the act. In addition, she somehow sensed my growing hostility, and was somewhat relieved. Seeing no reason to remain with the Italians, she resolved to abscond has hastily as we could.
I was processing all this information when the elevator came. My reaction must of resembled confusion because Brigitte adopted a worried expression. She asked me if I wanted to stay. To her relief, I assured her I didn't. We reached the lobby and basked in its elegance for a few moments before asking the valet to fetch us a cab.
Despite previously spending less than a few hours in our Hotel Victoria room, the confines felt familiar enough to impart the comforts of home, and the semblance of returning to safety. Whatever negative effects lingered from Brigitte's lesbian experiment, they seemed to charge her hormonally. She drew me to the edge of the bed where she sat and removed my clothes. She put me in her mouth and worked there until I was nearly coming out of my skin. She pulled off her dress and panties and pulled me onto of her, she was exceedingly wet. I lifted her legs and penetrated deeply. Our eyes locked. She moaned and grimaced and when she came she dug her nails into my back and broke some of the flesh. I ejaculated soon after and flopped beside her on my back. We were both sweating profusely. The cold air from the air conditioning wafted over our naked bodies, behooving us to take shelter under the duvet.
Brigitte turned to me in a sleepy, post-coital daze. "Fabulous chest, though."
I chuckled. "Really? I didn't notice."
Sleep came soon after.
"I don't think so," I told her.
"What are you going to buy?"
"Something so I don't look like a bum next to you."
"It's too much."
"No. You have to buy it."
"Really?"
"Now that I've seen you in it, absolutely."
"I'll have to get shoes too."
"Shit, me too."
I tried to pay for the dress, but Brigitte wasn't having it. I'd already snuck onto Expedia and booked a room at the Hotel Victoria, so I decided to surrender this battle. We shopped for another hour. I bought a light blue Yves Saint Laurent button up shirt, slim Ted Baker Khaki pants, and blue espadrilles. Brigitte bought a pair of white high heel sandals to go with her dress, the straps wrapping around her calves like a roman soldier. We walked about town for a little while, admiring the Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and other super cars, the yachts in the bay, and the architecture of the city. I started to imagine what I'd have to do to join the ranks of the affluent and quickly became dismayed. I hailed a cab to whisk us to our hotel. We intended to take a nap before returning to gamble. Once in our room, we couldn't help peeling off our clothes however and making love. I was lazy so I pleasured her orally. After she climaxed she lied flat on her stomach and I went into her from behind. The exercise rekindled our appetite. We ordered room service and ate it on the balcony looking out at the sea. Finally we lied down to grab a few hours rest. I set my phone alarm to interrupt our sleep and avoid wasting the night in a dream.
The times I had visited the Monte Carlo Casino, it was never very busy. This time it was bustling. Patrons filled almost every table. Even the high stakes room had a fair share of gamblers trying their luck. A tall Italian woman caught my eye, her impressive, ungilded breasts struggling to stay within the confines of the deep v cut across the center of her dress. She met my eye as I passed with Brigitte.
"I don't know how to play," Brigitte confided as we arrived at the craps table.
I explained the rules in hush tones, careful to refer to seven as "the number after six". Brigitte asked me a few questions. I assured her it would make more sense once we played a few rounds. "You have to play soccer to learn how to play soccer," I said. Brigitte agreed. An older Spanish man made room for us at the table. I exchanged three hundred euros with the boxman for twenty-five dollar chips. I waited for the dice to change hands, for the point, and bet a chip each on six and eight. The dice came up nine.
"What does that mean?" Brigitte whispered.
"Nothing for us," I whispered back. "Ten dollars on the hard ten!" I tossed a chip to one of the base dealers. He called my bet and placed the chips. I accepted three five dollar chips in change. The dice came up eight.
"Eight!" Brigitte squealed and squeezed my arm.
I smiled and collected my modest winnings. A few more rolls and the hard ten came up. I gathered my chips and took down my bets, explaining every move to Brigitte along the way. After the dice changed hands a few times, the Italian woman joined our table. A handsome, well dressed man was with her, along with a second, equally dashing couple. Both the men and women were about my age. Despite a valiant effort to remain inconspicuous, I noticed the Italian woman calculate the value of my stake. I glanced at Brigitte to assess her level of awareness. The breasts were unavoidable, but the specific attention to our presence remained concealed. We kept betting. I was up almost five hundred euros. I would normally quit at this point, but the dice were coming our way.
"Madame," the stickman addressed Brigitte.
"Your turn to roll," I whispered.
"Oh no, I don't want to," Brigitte said to me. "I don't want to," she said to the stickman.
I put a chip on the pass line. "You have to. Beginners luck."
"No..." Brigitte protested.
"Yes, you must," the Italian woman chimed.
The entire table joined in encouraging Brigitte to play. She was forced to concede. The Italians began sprinkling the table with hundred dollar chips. Brigitte rolled a seven. The table cheered. Winners collected their chips or increased their wager. Brigitte rolled a five. More bets colored the felt. Brigitte rolled an eight. Smiles all around. Brigitte rolled three more times and hit the point. She kept the dice alive for over forty five minutes. The table reached apoplectic proportions of jubilee, an elation few things other than won money can invoke. High-fives, kisses, and amorous expressions abounded. I was up twelve hundred. Brigitte had converted the twenty-five I'd bet for her into two hundred and seventy-five euros, despite having placed hardly any other bets. It was my turn to roll, but I declined.
"Let's go play a little Black Jack," I said to Brigitte.
"You're not going to throw the dice?" she asked.
"Quit while you're ahead," I instructed.
"But we're going to play black jack."
"Don't be superstitious."
I tipped the dealers and placed a ten dollar hard eight bet on their behalf. The table clapped and commended Brigitte as we stepped away. We found an open seat at a Black Jack table. I had a sneaking suspicion we'd soon have familiar fellow travellers. I was right.
"Hey!" the Italians called out as they sat down.
"Bellisima," one of the men said to Brigitte. "You made me very much money tonight."
"My first time," Brigitte replied.
"Very good!" the Italian woman smiled.
"Pardon?" the Italian man called to a hostess. "Two apple martinis..." He leaned over to Brigitte. "You want?"
"Why not?" Brigitte answered.
"Three apple martinis," the Italian man continued. "And three cognac." The server nodded and left to fetch the beverages. "You drink cognac, American?" He was talking to me. I answered yes. "Good, I order you a cognac. I am sorry if I am being..."
"Presumptuous?" I suggested and regretted it immediately afterwards.
"I don't think I know this word." The Italian woman spoke to him in Italian. "Yes, I am sorry if I am being like this."
"Not at all. A cognac is perfect." I wasn't sure what I was saying but it seemed to quell whatever apprehension may have been brewing.
"Good. I am happy," the Italian man said clasping his hands in a pranam.
"Now you are American, I know," interjected the Italian woman. "But you," she said to Brigitte, "I don't know. You look Chinese but you sound like an English."
"I'm lots of different things," Brigitte answered. "But not English. The Brits taught us the language. I live in Hong Kong."
"Ah yes, I understand. I am Italian. We are all Italian."
"I gathered," Brigitte said.
"I am Isabella. This is Dante, Giancarlo, and Sophia."
"I'm Brigitte and this is Evan."
Sophia entered the conversation with a question directed at me. "So you live in Hong Kong as well?"
"No," I answered. "I live in Paris."
"But you are not French," Isabella insisted.
"No," I confirmed.
"So how do you meet?" Sophia asked.
Brigitte told the whole story, from the opera until this very moment. Our drinks came. We drank them and ordered more. Dante and Giancarlo joined the conversation. I won a few hundred more playing cards. It was the second best night I'd ever had at a casino. We agreed to go dancing with the Italians. Dante insisted on paying for everything. I learned he owned one of the yachts in the harbour. I briefly imagined beating him to a pulp, but silently chastised myself for the thought. Neanderthal I said to myself. We were having a wonderful time and he was being generous.
Giancarlo was a little less enthusiastic. He eventually talked his way out of going to the club. He insisted Sophia go without him, but perhaps sensing a trap, she would not let him leave alone. We spent twenty minutes trying to change his mind, but failed. We parted ways, getting into separate taxis, Dante, Isabella, Brigitte and I going to Jimmy'z, Giancarlo and Sophia going back to their hotel.
Dante spoke to the doorman at Jimmy'z for all of thirty seconds. We were soon ushered inside to a table. A hostess brought a bottle of Cristal and Cîroc, some cranberry juice and San Pellegrino. I produced my wallet but Dante just laughed and assured me it was taken care of. Isabella poured everyone a glass of champagne and pulled a submissive Brigitte to the dance floor. Both women proved to be quite seductive.
"She likes her," Dante yelled into my ear.
I had to agree. Isabella showered Brigitte with attention. They moved together like lovers, gripping one another's curves, unfettered by the attention and lascivious stares from the other men and women in their vicinity. I began to feel abandoned. But as if sensing the seed of my displeasure, Isabella came and took my hand, leading me to the unoccupied space she created between her and my Brigitte. Brigitte wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply. I felt Isabella's hands on my thighs and her breath on my neck. I stared into Brigitte's eyes. She leaned back and swayed from side to side, giving herself to the electronic pulse of the music. She was granting permission. I accepted. The three of us stayed sandwiched together in an unofficial foreplay.
"It's my birthday," Isabella said into my ear loud enough for Brigitte to hear.
"Happy birthday," I responded. I felt her hand move up the inside of my quadricep. "Should we get Dante?" I asked half-heartedly.
"He doesn't mind," Isabella assured me. She moved her hand inside my pocket and caressed my shaft through the material. She leaned over my shoulder and kissed Brigitte on the lips.
"I have to go to the washroom," Brigitte said abruptly.
"We go together," said Isabella. The girls left holding hands. I wandered back to Dante. I was not in control. I wanted to put an end to the encounter, but a hidden force guided me to paralysis. "You are having fun, American?" Dante asked.
I didn't know what I was having. I filled a glass halfway with the eau-de-vie and gulped it back. Dante grinned from ear to ear. "Yes!" he exclaimed. I refilled my glass to the same level and poured him one. I couldn't out spend him, but I maybe I could out drink him. "To women!" I toasted. We clinked glasses and slammed back the alcohol. I refilled. This time I topped each glass off with soda water.
"To Italy!" I shouted.
"To America!" Dante shouted back.
We threw back our drinks. I repeated until the women returned. We were three quarters through the Cîroc. A few more drinks and I would be drunk. Dante was already there. "What happened?" Isabella laughed. Dante wrapped an arm around her neck. "We are celebrating everything, my love!" "We want to celebrate too!" Isabella said, taking hold of the bottle. She poured equal amounts in four glasses, topping two with cranberry and two with San Pellegrino. "Saluti!"
"Saluti!" the rest of us responded in unison.
We danced at our table and kept drinking. We finished both bottles and half a second bottle of vodka. When Brigitte was still sober she asked if I was okay. I told her I was Irish and I was fine. At 3:00 am we left Jimmy'z. Isabella was tripping over Brigitte. Walking was a small triumph for Dante. I had sacrificed some sobriety, for a slight advantage in dominance.
"We go to our hotel now," said Isabella.
"We should exchange information first," I mentioned.
"No, no! We all go back to the hotel. We have Jacuzzi in the room!"
I checked with Brigitte. She shrugged in the affirmative. We hopped in a cab and told the driver Le Hermitage. Dante fell asleep in the backseat. I snuck my wallet from my back pocket in anticipation of another lilliputian victory. I am a petty man.
"You make him drink too much!" Isabella yelled at me with false petulance.
"We still had half a bottle left," I protested.
"You have to do as I say. It is my birthday," ordered Isabella.
"Yes, Evan darling. Isabella is the boss," affirmed Brigitte.
"Isabella is the boss," I accepted.
"Too much is not good for the, the..." Isabella waved her hand above her genitalia.
"The libido," I suggested.
"What is this word?" asked Isabella.
"He won't be able to get it up," elaborated Brigitte.
"Yes! Yes, he will be too soft," Isabella concluded.
"Not on your birthday!" I jeered.
"Yes! It is my birthday!" She screamed back at me and punched me in the arm. I was taking abuse from all sides. The taxi arrived at the hotel. A valet opened the back door. I paid the driver and got out on my own. Isabella tried to wake Dante. He moaned, but wouldn't budge. I went to his side to help extricate him from the car.
"Come on, buddy." I was in frat boy mode now. I pulled him by the arm and out of the cab.
"I am okay," Dante insisted.
"You're better than okay," I said patting him on the back.
Dante put his arm around my neck. Isabella took his left side. The valet got the door. I tipped him as we went inside. Isabelle rubbed her palm against Dante's crotch, I imagined in an attempt to diagnose his ability to perform. "Don't, my love. I have to piss," objected Dante. Isabella pouted. Brigitte pressed the up button on the elevator. The doors opened immediately. We boarded. Isabella pressed a button for one of the top floors. The doors closed and we rose to the diamond level where they had a suite with a jacuzzi on the balcony overlooking the sea.
Dante staggered to the bathroom. Isabella dialled room service and ordered strawberries and cake and other food and beverages. Brigitte and I stood in the center of the suite like children waiting to be told what to do.
"I feel like I'm in the Garden of Eden," I whispered to Brigitte.
"Really?"
"The Hemingway book. Not the bible," I clarified.
"I haven't read it."
Isabella opened the doors to the balcony and switched on the jets to the jacuzzi. She came back inside and slipped her dress off her shoulders, letting the garment fall to floor. She wasn't wearing anything else. "Come," she instructed us. She took our hands and led us to the water. Dante staggered out of the bathroom behind us and flopped onto the bed inside. "What are you waiting for?"
Brigitte peaked behind her. "I'm shy, darling!"
"Don't be shy! He is not looking. Come! I am lonely by myself."
I'd never felt more profoundly un-European. Brigitte stripped out of her pink dress and shimmied out of her thong. She tip toed into the jacuzzi next to Isabella, her Asian breasts glistening next to the Italian variety. I felt the blood flowing to my prick and a tumescence rise like the steam. Better now while it looks a little more impressive you pathetic beast. I undid the buttons on my shirt, let my new khakis fall to the planks, and stood in full my glory. I could feel my confidence retreating. I quickly immersed my lower body into the water. Isabella shifted to make space between herself and Brigitte. "Come here," she said to me. "It's my birthday."
I obeyed. I put my hand on Brigitte's thigh and kissed her. She had a brave face on, but it was clear she no longer derived pleasure from the present circumstances. I started devising an escape plan.
Dante appeared utterly naked, a bottle of Grey Goose under his arm and two glasses and a can of coke in his hands. "Make room for me!" Nobody moved. But Dante half lurched toward us anyway, his flaccid penis slapping against his thigh until he dipped into the water. He place the bottle and glasses outside of the hot tub, but held onto the can. He took up the real estate beside Isabella and spoke to her in Italian.
"Yes. Fruits, wine, and desserts," Isabella replied.
"Cafe?" Dante asked.
"No, you want?"
"No, it's okay." He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. And then on the nipple of her left breast.
"If we're drinking vodka, I'd rather do it straight," I said.
"We play a game," Isabella informed us. We kept listening. "We pass the can to each other, but we have to use different parts of the body. If I pass with my mouth, you take with your shoulders. Like this. If you drop you have a drink, or, you take dare. Easy, yes?" We nodded. It was easy. Except we were naked. "Dante will start," finished Isabella.
Dante took the can between his bicep and forearm. Isabella accepted it under her chin. She turned expertly to Brigitte, who took the can from her under her armpit. I imagined my cock had shrunk to the size of a cashew. I lowered to take the can between my neck and shoulder, staring Brigitte's tit in the areola as I did.
"Now comes the hard part," said Dante. Everyone laughed.
"I hope not," I muttered. Everyone laughed harder.
Dante stood out of the water and sat on the edge. "Here," he said tapping the back of his knee. I crossed the water and placed the can against his skin, holding it there as he lifted his leg back and squeezed. "I have," he assured me. "Hurry!" he gasped.
Isabella sprang out of the tub and swung around on her behind. She clasped the can between her two feet. "Let go!" she cried. Dante obliged. Isabella spun and pointed the can at Brigitte like a gun.
"I don't know! I don't know!" Brigitte said excitedly.
"You guys are really good!" I complimented.
"Between the legs," Isabella suggested.
"You're very naughty," Brigitte admonished.
She worked her way to Isabella, covering her important parts. She closed her legs on the can and squeezed it between her thighs. Isabella let go. Brigitte carefully turned her body one hundred and eighty degrees to face me. I did the math. I was in trouble.
"Only one place!" Dante shouted.
"I can't fit that in my mouth," I protested.
"You have to try," Isabella insisted.
I moved to Brigitte. We laughed uncomfortably. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and closed the gap between my lips and her extremities. Brigitte's legs began to shake. I place my mouth on the can, my forehead nearly touching her dripping labia.
"Have it?" Asked Brigitte.
"No," I told her. "It's not possible."
"It's bloody cold!"
I came upon a revelation. "My elbows," I said out loud.
"Yes!" Brigitte nearly jumped.
"Yes, good Americano!" Dante commented.
I pinched the can between my elbows, using them like forceps. It was more difficult than I had imagined. I wondered if Dante's mouth was big enough. Maybe he'd have to shove it up his ass and Isabella would get it with her mouth. I pulled. But the coke slipped and fell in the water.
"Bullocks!" Brigitte screamed. She descended back into the jacuzzi.
I shook my head in defeat. "I'll drink."
"No, no. Brigitte dropped it," ruled Isabella.
"No, it was me," I objected.
"No, it was still in her legs. It is my birthday, remember? I am the boss," Isabella insisted.
"What would the dare be?" questioned Brigitte.
"You choose dare?" asked Dante.
"What would it be? Brigitte repeated.
"No," Isabella said. "You have to decide first."
"Very well," Brigitte said resolutely. "Dare."
"It is mine," Isabella claimed, a devilish smile spreading across her lips. "You have to kiss me."
"Where?" inquired Dante. Isabella swatted him.
"On the lips. But it has to be a real kiss."
"You're dirty," Brigitte accused, shaking her head in jest.
Isabella moved in closer, her demeanour growing seductive. Brigitte leaned in. The women began to kiss. Dante looked at me and smiled, beseeching me to return the gesture. But I wasn't happy. This gave me no pleasure. I felt diminished. Powerless. I turned to see if it was over. Isabella had her hand on Brigitte's breast. Glimpses of their tongues could be caught slithering into one another's mouths. Then, abruptly, Brigitte pulled away. She popped out of the water.
"Let's go," Brigitte said to me.
I rose out of the tub. "Where?" Isabella stood up too.
"No, we're going to go now. Thank you for a wonderful evening."
"Why? Let's just go inside," Isabella protested.
"No, I'm sorry. We have to go."
Brigitte took the towel Dante had dropped and dried herself, seemingly without a care in the world. She handed the towel to me and shimmied into her dress and panties. I tamped myself quickly and threw on my trousers.
"What is wrong, my sweet?" Isabella asked Brigitte.
"Nothing darling. I'm tired, that's all."
"We have food coming," Dante interjected.
"Yes. Stay to eat before you go," pleaded Isabella.
"No, I'm sorry. We really can't," Brigitte declined. I had my shirt on and had fastened the first two buttons. "Thank you for a lovely evening."
"Yes, it was nice meeting you," I added.
We stepped into the diamond suite and slipped on our shoes. Brigitte took her time wrapping the straps up her leg. Our hosts spoke in Italian outside. Isabella climbed out of the hot tub and made her way to us just as we opened the door. The water dripped off every curve of her exposed olive skin. I had momentary pangs of regret in regards to eminent departure.
"I want one more thing for my birthday," Isabella declared.
"You're birthday ended at midnight, darling," Brigitte said wickedly. She took my hand and we exited. In the hallway, room service was pushing a cart toward us. We passed him smiling and wished him bon soir. He returned our smiles, but not our words. I asked Brigitte what happened. She launched into a story about her adolescent years where she found herself attracted to a friend of the same sex. She had always imagined how it would feel to kiss this girl but, not knowing if the desire was mutual, never quite mustered the courage. Tonight seemed like an opportunity. But when the moment came, and the experience presented itself, instead of elation or requite, the result was a kind of loneliness. Her intuition was wrong. She felt outside herself and altogether foolish. Not immediately, but shortly in the midst of the act. In addition, she somehow sensed my growing hostility, and was somewhat relieved. Seeing no reason to remain with the Italians, she resolved to abscond has hastily as we could.
I was processing all this information when the elevator came. My reaction must of resembled confusion because Brigitte adopted a worried expression. She asked me if I wanted to stay. To her relief, I assured her I didn't. We reached the lobby and basked in its elegance for a few moments before asking the valet to fetch us a cab.
Despite previously spending less than a few hours in our Hotel Victoria room, the confines felt familiar enough to impart the comforts of home, and the semblance of returning to safety. Whatever negative effects lingered from Brigitte's lesbian experiment, they seemed to charge her hormonally. She drew me to the edge of the bed where she sat and removed my clothes. She put me in her mouth and worked there until I was nearly coming out of my skin. She pulled off her dress and panties and pulled me onto of her, she was exceedingly wet. I lifted her legs and penetrated deeply. Our eyes locked. She moaned and grimaced and when she came she dug her nails into my back and broke some of the flesh. I ejaculated soon after and flopped beside her on my back. We were both sweating profusely. The cold air from the air conditioning wafted over our naked bodies, behooving us to take shelter under the duvet.
Brigitte turned to me in a sleepy, post-coital daze. "Fabulous chest, though."
I chuckled. "Really? I didn't notice."
Sleep came soon after.
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