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“His kind is dangerous,” Margaret said. “Even when they are sincere. But they are especially so when they are fakes. We aren’t perverts or libertines, Selena. We’re for free, healthy expression and discussion of sex, and against any attempts by anyone to make it unnatural and nasty.”
“Those people—the bluenoses, the self-appointed censors, the anti-sex people—they are just trying to control everybody,” Ted said. “And what better way to control people than to dictate what they should do in private, behind closed doors, in their own bedrooms. Where would it all end? Why—”
“I’m a big girl and totally aware of what is at stake,” Selena said. “Say no more! I’ll help you!”
“Good!” Margaret said. “Bring him down! Neutralize him! Get him by the balls!” She made a squeezing motion. Ted involuntarily winced and clapped his knees together. Margaret put her hand back on his shoulder, then slid it lower and rubbed his chest. Ted’s knees opened again.
Yes, by the balls, Selena thought. She wondered about Gaddys’ balls. Was he packing cannonballs or sweet peas? She wondered what he would do when she had them in her hand, when her fingers closed around them, whether he liked them gripped soft and tender, or whether he liked ’em grabbed rough. She had a special trick—she could tickle and prick a man’s balls lightly, oh so lightly, with long red fingernails until he screamed with ecstasy.
Whatever. Soon she’d know what floated William G. Gaddys’ boat.
“Now the hard part,” Ted said. “You have only seven days. In seven days, Gaddys is supposed to address a Congressional Committee on Regulation of Adult Entertainment. He will make a most impressive witness.”
“He must not testify,” Margaret said.
“You can count on me,” she told them.
Selena wasn’t even out of the room good before her mojo kicked in. Margaret slid her hand down into Ted’s lap. She was giggling. Ted was already breathing hard. Selena tipped out of their office and closed the door behind her. She stood outside in the hall a minute, listening.
Shortly there came from within the sound of folders, files, and ledgers being swept off the desk onto the floor, and then jagged gasps and whispers as their clothes came off and were cast aside, and then the groans and bumping sounds of Ted and Margaret fucking and humping on the desk.
Selena smiled and strode away down the hall.
Part II
Later Selena took a long hot herbal bath, ate a light vegetarian meal, and meditated for an hour alone in her sanctum sanctorum, a spacious wood-paneled room bare of furniture and decorated in earth tones. The only light came from several aromatic candles placed here and there around it.
When she came out of her trance she mentally checked her mind, body, and soul. She ran her hands over her arms, her legs, she stroked her neck, and then she tenderly stroked herself between the legs, vulva, clitoris, assuring herself that all was well, well lubricated and in working order.
She also knew what she was going to do.
Selena was no ho or skeezer, oh no. She had studied the works of sexual researchers at the finest universities and traded information with hardened ancient putanas who had worked in the cathouses of Havana before Castro, with Japanese geishas who knew a thousand ways of pleasing a man, with sex professionals of Bangkok who knew of the secret sacred G-spots, and with phone sex magicians who could talk a person into orgasm—in short, with people and folk from all over who knew the secrets of sex.
Selena was a professor, a high priestess of sex. If she had known as much about karate as she did about sex she would have had a hundred degree black belt.
In her body, her mind, her hands was the power of the Big Bang, the first orgasm that conceived the Universe.
She was Venus, Erzuli, Foxy Lady, Da Bomb.
She was the devil with the blue dress on.
She was a ninja of sex, a countess of cum, an O.G. of orgasm, from the top of her head, to her cunt and cute wiggling ass, down to her succulent toes. She made Masters and Johnson look like shade tree jackleg mechanics.
She was strong, confident, healthy and ready, ready, ready to rock ’n’ roll a regiment, if need be; fuck them high and dry and make them beg her for more!
Let’s do this, she thought.
Part III
William G. Gaddys was a predator, crafty and cagey like the crabs that camouflage themselves as rocks or plants on the ocean floor and lie in wait for their unwary prey to swim along unknowingly so they can pounce on it.
His game was tight.
Selena’s game was tighter.
His bait was the Shalimar Club which wasn’t especially on the wild side; just your usual chrome-and-glass, dance, suck-up-watered-drinks-in-a-stylish-setting, buppie-pick-up kind of joint.
He was a silent partner in that club. He selected his prey from among the single, attractive, inexperienced young ladies who wandered in. He never set foot in the place himself. He had his partner, Rance States, the club manager, select promising “talent” for him.
