“Why would a woman do this?” Paul growled as he flung himself onto the center sofa cushion, making its springs eek. “She said the filthiest things! And then she leaves no way to get a hold of her? That’s torture! It’s insane.”
“Then maybe you don’t want to find her—if she’s insane, that is,” Ricky said, holding a banana, while his friend, ten feet away, wailed about a woman.
“Any woman who’s willing to say those things is a woman I definitely want to meet. I will decide afterward about her mental state.”
Paul sat forward and rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead. With his other hand, he picked up his phone from the coffee table. He stared at the blank, black screen.
Unbeknownst to him, the night before, a woman had spoken, off screen, into his video recording. She left a tantalizing message, and he was still shocked by her message.
“I just had this phone recording me doing my karaoke bit. You know the one,” Paul said.
Ricky sat on a high stool, leaning his back against the kitchen counter. He slowly pulled down each of the banana’s peels, with a wry smile on his face.
“Unfortunately, I do know the karaoke bit. I am trying to forget it.”
Paul made a sarcastic face. “So, I play back the video and I hear her.”
Ricky took a bite off the tip of the banana. Through his gooey chewing, he mumbled, “So you have no name, no telephone number, no picture, nothing but a voice—a sexy voice—from her.”
“Yeah, a sexy voice, and—” He raised a finger to emphasize his point. “—a filthy mind. A very important feature.” Paul looked at Ricky. “A sexy voice reading a McDonald’s menu can be hot but add the dirtiness and it shoots everything to a new stratum that only a woman can reach.”
“‘Shoots’. It seems to be the appropriate term.” Ricky shrugged as he chomped on the banana.
Not hearing the comment or caring about it, Paul touched the phone’s screen. It brightened, and the woman’s voice began.
“Paul, you are so hot. A damn-fine man. I’m ready to invite you into my bedroom. I’m imagining you playing the guitar and me playing too. I’m on the bed rubbing on my pillow. Can you hear me?” Then the woman unleashed a gravelly moan.
Paul paused the recording.
The voice had a slippery sexiness. A deep luscious tone.
He touched play again.
“Got me so horny the second I saw you. No need to talk to me, not paying any special attention. Just looking at you, I’m all hot and ready to do you.” And she moaned again very close to the phone. Paul almost felt her warm breath on his neck.
Paul paused it there to catch his breath. He looked toward Ricky. His friend had stopped chewing. He was frozen in place, his mouth agape, the yellow banana barely in his grip.
Paul touched the Play arrow once more.
“I want to nibble on your bottom lip and then go lower.” There was a light throaty giggle. “A secret: I’m a great cocksucker. I love good cock. Nothing better than your dick in my mouth.”
Paul stopped the recording. He took in a chest full of oxygen, because the voice had shut down his breathing.
He set the phone on the table.
“Yeah, see what I mean?” Paul whined. “Do you understand why I need to find her?”
“And why to decide if she’s stable after meeting her, not before. I completely understand.”
Ricky tugged the collar of his shirt and twisted his neck.
“Nothing … nothing identifiable?” Ricky struggled to say as he still reeled from the aftereffects of the woman’s words.
“Only her hand came into view of the camera for about half a second and a curl of hair,” Paul said. “She knew what she was doing. She’s torturing me.”
“Has probably done it tons of times. Kind of her M.O.,” Ricky offered.
“Don’t say that,” Paul retorted. “She really did think I was good-looking up there on stage.”
“Anyway. Was there a unique feature on the woman’s hand? What color hair did she have?” Ricky asked. “Let me hear her again. The voice may tell us something.”
“You just want to hear her filthy—” Paul stopped. “Look at you! You’re behind the counter. You’re…”
Ricky threw up his hands, as if he needed to prove his innocence in some wrongdoing. “Hey, hey, hey. Things happen. It moved. I can’t control what it does when a woman says those things.”
Paul returned to the topic at hand: This woman. He ignored Ricky.
“I’ve listened to this over and over. I’m glad it’s digital. It won’t wear out like a cassette tape.”
“A what?”
“Never mind.”
Instead of playing more, Paul paced from the defunct radiator under the window across the apartment to the door. He scratched his head as he thought. Soon, Ricky returned to the barstool.
“So what are we going to do?” Ricky asked after the period of silence. “We can’t sit here on our asses and listen.”
Paul stroked his narrow chin. “I can talk to the bar owner. But really what would he know?”
“He may have records of who attended. If she was hot then he might remember her. The joys of being a hot woman—you’re always remembered.”
“An option, sure. Here’s what I did. I paused the video when her hand was in view. She had a simple tattoo. I think it was a tattoo. It was blurred because it was on there so quickly. Might have been a queen’s crown between her thumb and index finger. You know that little bit of skin.”
“The skin is called the purlicue,” Ricky said. “The skin between the thumb and index finger, when opened and stretched, is medically known as thenar web space.”
Paul waved off the arrogant answer. “Well, whatever it’s called. She’s got a crown on her ‘web space.’ And nice fingernails too. Painted rattle-can red, sharp, done well—as far as I could see.”
“And her hair? You said some it came into view.”
“Brown.”
“Like golden brown, dark-chocolate brown, auburn, black-brown?”
“Dude! What are you talking about? It was brown. Her hair was brown. And how can there be black-brown?”
“We’re investigating here, Paul.” He added the name sharply. “Brown isn’t just brown. We need details. One detail may unveil the key to all of this. I mean, like, what kind of crown was the tattoo? Like the queen from a chess set or a Rolex crown or Princess Peach’s crown?”
“It was one of those monocolored tattoos, and the crown was like… like… a crown. It reminded me of a regular-old tattoo someone would get when they were drunk and passing by a tattoo parlor with a few dollars. Does that help?”
“Help me? No.” Ricky tossed the banana peel into the trashcan by the refrigerator. “It may help the bar owner though. Go talk to him.”
The next afternoon, when the bar first opened, Paul walked into the dim parlor and called out for the bar owner.
“Hey, Joe! Joe! Are you here?”
The saloon doors to the kitchen swung open and banged on the walls before flapping back and forth.
“I’m here, I’m here, ya numskull,” Joe grouched with a snarl in his scratchy voice.
“I have a question,” Paul said.
Joe, the bald owner who looked exhausted ten minutes after his bar opened and had ten hours till close, put his hand on the well-worn, oak bar. He held a white dish towel in his hand that he pushed against his hip.
“I have the schedule for your karaoke shit on the bulletin board. Don’t bother me about it or ask to change it.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about a woman.”
“The hell! A woman! Why are you coming to me?” He shook his head and flapped the white dish towel on the bar.
“Let me just ask before you get mad.”
“Well, I’m already mad, so ask before I do get madder.”
Paul took a deep breath as this guy was always a hassle to deal with. He tapped his fingers on the bar top.
“Do you know if any of your waitresses who worked last Friday have a tattoo on her hand?”
“What kind of dumbass question is that? And when are they ‘my’ waitresses? They are hard workers, dammit.” Joe turned and walked toward the saloon doors.
Paul huffed at the crotchety old man. “You sure you weren’t a pirate in a past life?”
“If I was, I never found a treasure chest and I bought a crummy bar.” He stormed to the kitchen, grumbling, “Whatever life I had, I never worked this hard or answered a kid’s stupid questions.” He banged his way through the saloon doors.
Paul followed him into the kitchen.
“So do you know? Do you, Joe?”
“Know what?”
“If any of your ‘workers’ have a small tattoo on their hands.” Waiting for an answer, he grabbed a spoon handle and slowly stirred the cold pizza sauce in a plastic container.
“Listen, I don’t check hands before I hire a girl—or guy or whatever they are nowadays. Get over it and get out.” He didn’t look at Paul but tried to shoo him out of the kitchen.
Paul just leaned against the metal table in the aged, industrial kitchen. He grabbed a hand-sized red tomato and tossed it up to catch it. Joe eyed him playing with his merchandise.
“Drop that, and, I swear, I’ll kick your ass. And then charge you for it and the tomato.”
Paul held onto the tomato to taunt.
Joe pulled out a long boning knife, the blade making a high-pitched shing when it was unsheathed from its holder.
Paul pushed Joe for information. “So you have no idea? I thought you had good taste in women and would notice that stuff.”
Joe didn’t look up. He only huffed as he cut smoothly into a thick cut of raw beef.
“I mean details, Joe. At the end of the night, you can tell if a bartender poured too much bourbon. And you can pick out big tomatoes. But I guess you’re not the man I thought you were.” Paul shrugged his shoulders in false disappointment. “Thanks anyway.”
He left quietly through the saloon doors.
“Eldora does.”
Paul stopped, knowing he had just weaseled good information from old Pirate Joe.
“Eldora has tattoos on her fingers.” The scratchy voice came from the kitchen.
“Thanks, Joe.”
“Now get the hell out of here!”
“Talk to you later,” he shouted to the kitchen.
There was an undiscernible mumbling and grumbling. It was Joe saying goodbye or good riddance. Paul was never sure. The bells jingled when Paul left through the front door.
Late that evening, Paul returned to Joe’s bar. It smelled like a convergence of pepperoni pizza and seared steak with a side of overdone steak fries.
Eldora was behind the bar. The night was slow, so she had time to lean on the bar and talk.
She slid Paul a frosty mug of dark beer with a wink.
“So what’s this I’m hearing about tattooed women?” she asked.
“You’ve heard already, eh? That Joe cant keep his mouth closed.” Paul shook his head with a grin. “I’m trying to find a woman who has a small tattoo right here on her hand.”
He pointed to the spot where he had seen the crown.
“And why?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“First, show me your hands. The top of your hands, not your palms.”
He touched her hands that had worked years behind a bar throughout a blue-collar life. She had a small, diamond-shaped tattoo around her ring finger on her right hand, and her Zodiac sign on her forefinger. He decided Eldora was not the woman. She had no crown. Further, the hand caught by video seemed smooth and youthful. Eldora was in her late forties or early fifties, depending on the outfit, but she knew who came to the bar. He let go of her hands.
“I was playing here the other night, and a woman spoke into my phone that I was recording with.”
Paul dragged his fingers through his blond hair because the voice and the filthiness had struck his mind again.
Eldora leaned her hip, coolly, against the bar. “Said something interesting, I assume.”
“She has a mind—whoever she is. Filthy and telling me what she likes and what she would … Never mind.” He waved his hand as if he could whoosh away what he had just said.
Eldora laughed. “She has you wound up crazy-like.” She set before him a tall glass of water and a shot glass of bourbon.
Paul’s first reaction was to look toward the kitchen.
She whispered, “Joe will never see the bourbon. He’s getting old.”
Paul thanked her. He downed the bourbon, feeling the burn on his throat. He set the shot glass on a coaster to deaden the sound against the bar.
“Tell me more.”
“She didn’t leave me any way to get a hold of her. Didn’t give her name or anything. I only noticed the tattoo from the briefest second it was on the video.”
He took a long drink of his beer.
“She roped you in, huh.” Eldora straightened up as if humorous to find a young guy so worked up.
“So the question is,” Paul said, “do you know of a woman, a female, with a tattoo—crown-shaped—on her hand. A small tattoo, a pretty simple one.”
Eldora paused for a moment and leaned against the back bar. She looked enshrined by the lights that were brightening the browns and dark colors of liquors as well as the blue and green and clear bottles, all reflecting on the large mirror. Her arms were crossed.
She then seemed to wake up.
“Let me hear a little of this recording. The voice may help.”
“Better come close because I’m not, I cannot, play it loud. Understand?”
Eldora leaned on the counter. While looking down to open his smartphone and the video app, Paul quickly noticed Eldora’s long valley of cleavage through the few buttons undone on her casual, floral shine blouse. Her chest was speckled with light freckles. In his assessment, he guessed her breasts were full-sized and likely perfectly sagging. Nevertheless, her bra was handling the lovely breasts well.
Paul coughed as he drew his eyes away from Eldora. “Listen to this.”
The sexy voice began: “I want to slide my tongue all over your—”
“What the hell is that out there?” Joe stormed through the saloon doors. His white apron was dirtied with prep work and cooking for the few customers.
Paul stopped the recording.
“I didn’t just hear that, did I?”
“No,” Eldora retorted as harshly as Joe’s interruption had been. “You’re getting old, losing your hearing, you old bastard.”
Paul and Eldora laughed. Joe quieted. He left.
“You always are able to kick him out. You’ve got something special.” Paul nodded, acknowledging her prowess.
She tugged the collar of her blouse, playfully accepting Paul’s compliment with humor. The tugs, though, shifted the buttons down her chest.
“Women have a way, especially with ornery old dogs. The ornery ones can never get enough. They want to be put in the corner,” she said.
“I heard you!” Joe grouched from the kitchen.
“Plug your ears and button your lip, Joe!” Eldora yelled back.
Eldora then again attended to Paul and his issue. “This woman, now, what color of hair does she have?”
“Brown but I only got a snapshot of it. Went on and off the screen so fast.”
“Like golden brown, dark-chocolate brown…”
“You too?” Paul interrupted. He shook his head in frustration. “My friend had the exact same question when I said her hair was brown. Anyway, it was too fast for me to tell.”
Eldora raised up. “No need to get ornery.”
Paul apologized.
Eldora nodded to accept Paul’s apology. “Since you can’t decide on her hair, I want a glance at her hand with the tattoo. Find it for me.”
Paul pushed the video to where he thought the tattooed hand would appear or appear soon. Because it would be here and gone so fast, he let the video play—audio and all.
“I have my finger rubbing my pussy. I am trying to be calm so everyone here won’t notice.” She murmured softly into the phone. “Let me slide my finger under my panties for a little more fun.” She hiccupped at the touch. “I have to stop. I’m flushing red. My goodness! An orgasm has never rushed up on me like that. When you hear this, know that I am at my place, fucking myself and wishing it was you.”
And then the hand flashed into view and was gone. Paul didn’t pause it in time.
Eldora ruffled her collar to let heat escape.
“She is good. Very good.” Eldora puffed out her cheeks. “Where’s that Elijah Craig?”
She turned to the shelves of bottles along the mirror. Paul smiled, seeing her butt packed into a tight pair of Wrangler blue jeans. The W was stitched into each back pocket.
She grabbed a bottle from the top shelf and trickled some into the tiny glass.
Joe stormed through the saloon doors. “Don’t go wasting my liquor like you do. That’s Elijah Craig there! Better pay for it.”
“Old man, you know I always settle up right with you.” She poured another and drank it while staring definitely at Joe.
He looked to be sizzling while watching his dollars go down her throat. Eldora wiped her lips with the back of her left hand. The pair held their staredown from across the dim bar.
Joe broke first. He banged through the saloon doors.
“Bastard,” Eldora said quietly. “Never stops, does he?”
“You can put the shot on my tab.”
“No.” She wagged her finger. “I consider shots as some sort of healthcare plan.”
“You’re a smart, wily woman.”
Paul put his fist forward and Eldora bumped his.
“I got skills and know-how. All kinds when it comes to men.” She shined her fingernails on her blouse facetiously.
Paul saw they were rattle-can red. A thought shot across his mind: Did she… Was she…
Over the past months, he had heard what had come out of her mouth. She could hang with the grittiness of the heavy drinkers in the bar when they were loaded. She could banter with their fun and then burn them, forcing them into silence.
Another customer sat at the other end of the bar closer to the television. Eldora went to get his order and drinks.
Paul watched the sports talk commentators debating useless topics, while also glancing at her, hoping he wouldn’t be obvious.
Her hair was reddish—more strawberry than auburn—and curled in a classic spiral perm as a reemergence from the 1970s hairstyles.
But the tattoo? Paul remembered Joe saying she had one, but, when she showed her hands, he didn’t see one that matched. It couldn’t be her.
As she talked to the patron, Paul outlined her round lips with his eyes. She chatted and laughed pleasantly. She knew all the aspects of bartending.
The comment from the video came to mind: “A secret: I’m a great cocksucker. I love good cock.”
Does Eldora love dicks? Does she assess each drinker on the ‘manness’ he had?
Does Eldora think I’m hot? The thought made Paul have to stretch his neck.
Eldora was making his body react. A nice ass, big tits and divine lips. Her Wrangler jeans and her floral blouse gave her just the right contours.
But the tattoo. It confounded him. How was it her but not her? Yes but she couldn’t. All the questions ran through his mind. He was confused.
He paced along the bar, away from the other customer. He would glance at the woman who was mixing a drink. She filled jiggers, dumping each one into the shaker.
Fitting the top of the shaker, Eldora peered at Paul. She gave a quick grin and then began to shake up and down, fast and hard. Paul watched her body move and her hair bounce. Although he could not exactly see it happening, he got turned on by knowing what was being shaken along with the mixed drink. He could imagine her tits bounce and her hands gripping a dick, instead of a shaker. She glanced at Paul and winked. She turned away and shook harder. He knew it was for him.
She poured out the drink into the customer’s glass and set it before him.
She then slid her white towel down the bar to Paul.
“So…” Eldora said.
“I didn’t know you had…” Paul’s mind stalled. He couldn’t finish.
“You looked good up there. I wanted to, you know, have a little fun. I just got an impulse.” She grinned.
“But all you said… was it, um, real?”
She laughed and stepped back. She could not stop grinning. However she didn’t answer him.
“You know what you did to me.” Paul shook his head. “You… I’ve been racking my brain.”
She leaned close. “I shouldn’t ask this, but have you ‘racked’ anything else while listening?”
Paul flushed red. A line of perspiration ran along his hairline and down to the back of his neck. He twisted like a little boy.
“How many times? What part did you like most?”
“I can’t believe it was you. You… your mind.”
“Oh, that was nothing, Paul.” She waved off the comment.
“More filth?”
She leaned on the bar. Paul saw that she was making her breasts more obvious.
“What got you most?”
He didn’t answer.
“I bet it was—” She pooched out her lips.
“I am…”
“Tell me how many times you you-know to me.”
“I, um.” Paul was still processing that Eldora, this cool bartender that he had chatted with for months now, was the woman on the recording.
“Want to bring your guitar to my place? I get off at one.”
“Will I play while you…”
Paul gulped.
“…if I’m in the mood.”
Joe banged through the saloon doors. “Eldora, you got other customers. That boy ain’t even paid for anything. Leave him unless he gets something!”
“Hey, you old bastard, he’s getting something. So get in the kitchen yourself and leave me the hell alone.”
She winked. “Crotchety old men want to be put in their place.”
“What about young, um, young guys?”
“I’m trying to find out if young guys want to be put in the corner too. Maybe I will find out.”
An hour after Eldora’s shift, she and Paul were on the couch at her place. Her shirt and bra were already off. He lifted her low-hanging, squishy tits to his mouth. He held them and sucked her hard, pink nipples.
She cooed and stroked his soft, blond hair. She was pleased by the attention. She wrapped her arms around his head, like she was hugging a cute puppy.
But her hands could not stop from exploring his body. Her right hand traveled over his shoulders, down his arms and to his waist. She made sure he was enjoying this.
In a throaty voice, she asked, “How many times did you jerk off to me? Tell me.”
Paul pulled his mouth off her breast. “I don’t remember. A lot. Like everyday, more than twice, probably.”
She grinned.
“Stand up.”
He did.
She undid his jeans and peeled them down to his knees.
“Are you great at sucking dick?” he asked.
She locked her eyes with his and pooched her lips. She then brought his cock into her mouth. Her tongue swirled and licked and suctioned. She then pulled back. She kissed the tip and licked around its head.
Paul groaned and grabbed her curly hair that now was frizzy. He rocked into her mouth. She fought against him, breaking free. “I need a fuck.”
They shed the rest of their clothes in her bedroom.
She had a nice thatch of dark auburn hair and bright, pink pussy lips. He shoved his dick into her. She arched her back and gripped the bed sheets.
“Oh, god. My goodness. Yes, this is what I needed. Hard. Work hard.”
Paul answered with thrusts. Their bodies slapped and smacked. Her breasts swung in all directions as if they had gone insane.
Eldora shut her eyes and winced. She released a shout, followed by a series of hoots. Paul felt her pussy squeeze and hold his dick.
He drove deeper and soon shot his cum into her. He remained over her for a moment, enjoying the waning pleasure. He then fell flat next to her. They laid there for a long time.
When they regained their senses, Paul asked about the tattoo.
“The phone nearly fell and a girl grabbed it.”
“So she heard you?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.”
“Then, yes, she did. She encouraged me to do more.”
“I don’t think you needed encouraging.”
“I know my filthy mind. I’ve bartended around men for years.”
“I have a filthy mind too.”
“Oh?” She sat up on her elbow.
“Except I like to do more than talk. It’s a skill we young guys have. Plus more energy.”
“What about going to the corner?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Try me.”
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