Message-ID: <13064eli$9807151644@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Past His Prime Subject: THE RAFFLE (No explicit sex, humor) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19980715042506.21353.rocketmail@send1d.yahoomail.com> THE RAFFLE By P.H. Prime Candee Cane, the Sultry Siren, toyed coyily with the zipper of her flaming red dress on the stage of the Roxy Burlesque, smiling seductively at the hoarse cries of "Take it off!" echoing from the dark, misshapen forms in the theatre audience. Her body seemed tuned to the eager desires of the faceless strangers but her mind was somewhere else. The crystal blue eyes flicked from under the bangs of hair that matched the color of her dress and settled on Bubs O'Neill, the watery-eyed backstage manager, who was talking on the phone, the ever-present cigarette danging from his mouth, and the smoke swirling above his head. If that is Mr. Mulhern calling about my audition, I hope the old bum gets the message right or I'll murder him, Candee thought as her hand pulled the zipper ever so slowly down the front, revealing silky white skin. Hoarse moans from the patrons mixed with the music as Candee seductively offered first one hip and then another, her fingers toying with the thin satin material of her dress as she pulled it up her slender body. it made Bubs O'Neill's job more difficult because he was trying to listen to Mr. Mulhern's personal secretary while he kept his eyes on Gandee's exquisite form. The red material of her dress rode higher and higher revealing more and more of her creamy, smooth skin. Bub wished the phone caller would leave him be. He was thinking of how nice it would be to be able to reach out and touch the firm, unblemished breasts, to smell the toussled red hair and feel the flat smoothness of her stomach against his. As always, the thoughts made him draw more heavily on his cigarette, and that increased the smoke, which in turn, irritated his eyes, making them water more than ever, blurring his vision and forcing him to concentrate to see as much of the dream on stage as possible. Candee, the red dress in a crumpled heap at her feet, was teasingly running her fingers over her full breasts, and flicking the tassles that hid the coral tips from the audience. She ignored the wild yells and watched Bubs. He was concentrating. That was good. It meant he would get the telephone message right. Bubs, on the other hand, was less certain. The faraway voice kept repeating some message about the audition. But the harder he squinted to see Candee's final movements, the less of the message he was able to hear. "Tell Miss Cane that Mr. Mulhern will interview her tomorrow night in room 821 in the Regal Towers. Got that?" "Eh?" Bubs said, almost in a whisper. Candee had just exposed one perfect coral nipple. "Tell Miss Cane the audition is in room 821, Regal Towers." The voice at the other end of the phone became strident. "You say 21?" Bubs repeated, watching Candee take off the other tassle. He wrote it down, just like Candee had told him to. She would be proud of him. "Eight. Eight-twenty-one. Got that." The voice shrieked. "Yeah right. Eight," Bubs said, adding the number so that it looked like this: 218. "The Regal Towers," the voice screamed. "You got that?" "Sure have. Got it all. Twenty-one-eight, Regal Towers. You said you were Mr. Mudhen." "Mulhern. His secretary. And it's 821 Regal Towers at seven sharp." "Yeah sure," said Bubs. He no longer cared about the phone call. Candee had just whipped off her G-string, and for the briefest of moments, he though he had seen the velvety mound between her thighs. "Damned if she isn't a real redhead," he thought. The spotlight went out, plunging the theatre in darkness. An angry Candee Cane glared at the watery-eyed old manager. The smouldering desire the spotlight had caught was gone. The eyes were as cold as an Alaskan dawn, her luscious red lips drawn straight in a line. "Is this all they said. This ... this number you've written down?" Bubs drew on his cigarette, blinked his eyes, and meekly replied: "Yes'm. Except the place. I didn't write that. They said something about a tower. But I got the time right. Seven, they said. Meet Mr. Mudhen at seven." Bubs remained proud he'd remembered such important information. "Oh, for heaven's sake. I should have taken the call myself. I can't make head nor tails of this. I'll have to phone back. Where can I reach him?" Bubs blinked. "M'am?" "Where did he call from?" Candee's voice was as cutting as a whip, and the old man shuttered. "Weren't a he, ma'am. Were a lady. And she didn't say." Candee flashed her icy blue eyes helplessly at the ceiling. Why they gave jobs to these dregs of humanity she would never know. Now she would have to take a chance. There was only one hotel with the word "tower" in it: the Regal Towers. The number 218 probably meant the room. "Is it the Regal Towers, room 218? Is that what this message is?" she asked. Bubs jumped nervously, his watery eyes anxious to please. "Yes'm. That's it exactly." Candee' s eyes narrowed to a slit. The dumb old fart had better hope it was right. If she didn't find Mr. Mulhern there, she'd come back and wring his scrawny old neck. Lester Krebs was also thinking of wringing somebody's neck. Only Jackie Smith was not an old man, nor was his neck scrawny. But, Lester would just as happily wrap his slender fingers around that fat expanse, and joyfully strangle the jolly laughter. "Cheer up, lad. It's your lucky day. Just think of it, a night in the Regal Towers with one of the loveliest women in this town." Lester nervously twisted his wire glasses. He knew he was the butt of most of the office jokes and that Smith, in particular, thought he was a patsy. All because Lester didn't go drinking as one of the boys and because Lester looked after his mama. "Is that for tonight?" Lester could hardly get the words out of his dry mouth. His thick glasses caught a glimpse of his mother's photograph on his desk, magnifying the picture of the matronly lady, and he squirmed in discomfort. "Yes, yes! Tonight. But you can't go, right?" Jackie Smith was leering down at him, his thick jowls flapping like a hound-dog's in the wind. Smith was right. Tonight was the meeting of his mother's church group with Bishop Mahoney and he had promised Mama that he would drive the bishop around. "Well," he said, trying to clear his nervous throat enough so that he could talk, "I have made arrangements -" But he stopped. He saw the expression on Jackie Smith's face and he knew if he didn't take the prize, he would have to put up with all Smith's sly innuendoes about his masculinity for months. Besides, there was something else pulling at his mind. Something that he had always tried to suppress, but which kept growing: a desire to know a woman carnally. He had promised himself that he would go out with the girl if he had won the pool. In fact, that had been the only reason he had entered it. He drew a breath, and continued: "I have made arrangements but I think they can be altered because of this special situation." Jackie Smith's face crumpled like a balloon suddenly leaking air. It made Lester's heart jump for joy. "Okay, here's the arrangement. The room has already been reserved for you. At the Regal Towers. Write it down, 812, Regal Towers. Got it?" Smith spit out the words like a jammed machine-gun. Lester's mind was suddenly filled with guilt. What had he done to his mother? And to the bishop? They had been depending on him. And he was going to let them down. To commit a sin! He hardly paid attention as his fingers wrote down 182, Regal Towers. "Dummy, that's 812 not 182," Jackie Smith's eyes glittered like hard diamonds. "Right," Lester said, making the adjustment. "I always do that when I get excited." "Well, make sure you get the right room. It's ~gistered in the name of Mr. Brown. Mr. Harold Brown. You tell the desk clerk you're Brown and that you want the key to your room, 812. It's that simple. The room's been paid for." Lester watched the broad back of Jackie Smith waddle away. Then he looked down at the winning raffle ticket, offering him a "night to remember" with his nervous scribble of the hotel number. He was trapped now. There was no way out of it but to call his mother and lie. His mother accepted the bad news cheerfully. "There's also been a change in our plans," she said into the phone. Lester wasn't listening, his conscience once again tackling the sinful decision he had made. If he had been, he would have worried more. "The bishop has reserved a conference room on the second floor of the Regal Towers and we're there at 7:30 for a get-together." Lester hung up the phone and tried to get his mind back on his work. But the afternoon was full of torment as the thought of enjoying his first real woman was constantly contrasted with the reminder of his duty as a Christian to his mother and his church. A man should not sin By six o'clock when he headed for supper, he was so nervous that he drank four rum-and-cokes before they brought his meal. He needed them for moral courage, he told himself. Candee's nervousness caused her to down four dry Manhattans. She had butterflies in her stomach. This was an important audition. Mr. Mulhern held the key to getting out of the dump they called the Roxy Burlesque and into the high life of Las Vegas. She had a chance to be discovered and reach her full potential as a dancer. She didn't intend to blow it. She decided against wearing a g-string, or any underwear, putting on her very best red satin dress, the one with the low-cut front that showed the creamy richness of her breasts and teased the hair that matched the fire of her temper. She looked at herself in the mirror: She was beautiful enough to melt any man's heart. She knew she could light Mr. Mulhern's fire with her look. She could heat any man's desire. The very thought of the creeps, looking at her like thirsty puppies in front of a water dish, made her shudder. She hated them all. Not one was a real man. Not one. She got out her mink, checked to see she had the information and left in her MG convertible. It was 10 minutes of seven. Lester Smith's watch said 6:51 and seven seconds. Like him it was very precise - or, more accurately, at that very moment, it was very unlike him. He couldn't remember what he had ordered, or whether he even eaten. But he felt warm, the rum coursing through his veins. And a glimpse of Jackie Smith, skulking outside the building made him determined to go ahead with it. He was excited. This was going to be his first night with a woman. The clock on the bishop's mantel chimed seven when he decided he should get to the hotel early to make sure the preparations were well under way. The hotel was only a two-minute drive, and his secretary said he would be arriving awfully early. The mantel clock had an unsettling penchant for gaining time. "But I like to be there to greet all the guests - even the early birds," the bishop said. So his chauffeur pulled out of the driveway at five minutes of seven and headed for the hotel. Lester had entered the Regal Towers at 6:57 exactly, according to his precise watch, and was building up nerve to go to the desk. It was an old, but elegant hotel, with one serious drawback that Lester had not considered: It only had one way to the street from the lobby, a fairly small room. There was a registration desk, near the front door, manned by a balding clerk who was watching Lester casually. Across from the desk was a bank of elevators leading upstairs, and between the two, on the west wall, was a door leading to the hotel's restaurant and beverage rooms. Behind the clerk was a large window that opened onto the street. Lester looked out to see if Jackie Smith's hulking presence was still nearby. His heart froze. He couldn't see Smith, but he did see the bishop's car pulling up outside. He had to get out of the lobby fast. If someone at that moment had asked Lester how Adolf Hitler felt when he was told the Russians were only blocks away from his bunker in Berlin, Lester could have told them. He had the same lump of lead in his stomach. His brain seemed scrambled, and the only thing he could think of doing was getting to his room. "My key, please," he said to the clerk, his brain frantically trying to think of the name and room number he was to ask for. "My name's Brown," he said in a sudden sigh of relief. "Ah yes, Mr. Brown, we've been expecting you," the balding clerk smiled knowingly. Outside the window behind him, the car door opened and the familiar purple shirt with the white collar was visible. "Give me the key to Room 218," he spit the words out, hoping he'd recalled the right number. "But I thought you wanted -" the clerk's eyebrows shot up just as Lester's eyes locked with the bishop's. "Give me the god-damned key," Lester was in a real panic. "Yes sir," the balding man said, shaken by the savageness in Lester's voice. Lester just made it inside the elevator as the bishop was ushered in the front door. Pulling up behind the bishop and following him into the hotel was Candee Cane, dressed in her best outfit. The bishop was met by a group of people and they milled in front of the desk. Candee wanted to check to make sure Mr. Mulhern was indeed in the hotel. She didn't trust that weasel, Bubs O'Neill, one iota. She started towards the desk, but then the bishop turned and saw her. A momentary frown flickered across his smiling face. Candee stopped. She knew exactly what type of people he was and if she asked about the burlesque impressario, she would draw all sorts of critical looks. His type thought they were more righteous than her. Well, she didn't need any of that. She turned on her heel and went straight to the elevators. The cigarette package said 218. She would try there. The second floor held a worse surprise for Lester. A big sign proclaimed "Welcome to Bishop Mahoney's Annual Get-together." Lester had seen the banner before. In the church hall, and he wished it was there right now. He knew he couldn't stay where he was standing. He could hear the elevator running, and he suspected it could be the bishop. He darted quickly down the hall, looking for a room with an eight in it, and found 218. Quickly he stepped inside and shut the door. He had made it. No one from his church had seen him come into the room. He stood against the door and breathed heavily. He had forgotten why he had come to the hotel. Right now, all he could think about was getting out. When Candee Cane got off on the second floor and saw the sign, she began calling Bubs O'Neill every foul name she could think of, because now she was sure he had gotten the message messed up. But, she told herself, she had come this far. She might as well find out who was in Room 218. By some lucky chance, it could be Mr. Mulhern. She wanted to get out of this one-horse burg so badly. If Bubs had destroyed her chance ... She fumed when she thought Mr. Mulhern could be somewhere else in the city waiting for her. The bishop had asked the desk clerk if he knew the name of the young man who had picked up his key before they came in. "A Mr. Brown, your reverence. A very impolite man, I must say. Demanded his key in a most uncivilized way." Oh, dear," said the bishop. "For just a moment, I thought he could be Lester Krebs." "Lester has to work late tonight at the office, bishop. He is most indispensable there," said Mrs. Krebs proudly. She luckily had caught a ride with the bishop. They headed for the elevator. Lester was still working on his escape when the knock came on the door. His heart froze. It was the bishop! His mother! The cops! But when he opened it, he found it was much worse. It was the girl. "Hello," said Candee Cane, fighting her temper to be civil, "Is this -" She didn't get the rest of the words out because Lester heard the elevator door opening, and he knew this time it had to be the bishop. He grabbed the girl by the arm and flung her in the room, shutting the door swiftly. "Hey! Listen here. I'm not that type of girl," Candee said, outraged. Lester was paying no attention, he had his ear pressed to the door, and his worse possible fears were being onfirmed outside. He could hear his mother's voice, talking merrily to the bishop. It stopped right outside his room. Lester's heart was beating as loud as the drum roll for a doomed man. He waited for the inevitable knock. Candee managed to get back up from the bed, on which she had tumbled to a stop, and looked around the room. It was some sort of a salesman's suite, because through an adjoining door, she could see the display tables. The room she was in was for sleeping, dominated by the big double bed, a dresser and a small television. "Look, Mr. Mulhern, if you are Mr. Mulhern, which I doubt, I want you to open the door and let me walk out of here. I know an audition when I see one, and this is no audition." She watched the thin stranger, with the wire glasses with the thick lenses emphasizing his terrified eyes. Migawd, she thought to herself, I've played into the hands of a weirdo. His adam's apple was bobbing up and down nervously, and he kept looking at the door. "I'm going out right now," Candee stepped towards him. It was the moment of truth for Lester. He didn't know how a prostitute was supposed to act, but he was sure it wasn't the way this one was carrying on. He couldn't let her walk out the door. Not with his mother on the other side. And he couldn't let her make a sound. He was going to have to keep her in the room. But how? "Look, Miss. Just sit on the bed there for a while, and then I'll open the door for you and you can go. Okay? I'm not going to touch you." Candee looked at the wild eyes staring at her, and she knew she was going to have to fight for her life. "I'll scream, I'll claw your eyes out. You bastard'" she said. "All you men are alike." She watched the magnified eyes dart about the room like a trapped animal's. She steeled herself for a tough scrap. She stepped forward, and the thin man tensed like a coiled spring. She stepped back. Candee knew how she could get out of this. With her body. She'd give him a little of her tease, and then when he relaxed his guard she'd zip out the door. Humming softly her favorite tune, she slipped the mink down, to show the full creaminess of her breasts. Lester was uncertain what to do. This girl was crazier than anything he had encountered before.First, she threatened to run over him for the door, and now she was taking off her clothes. He felt uncomfortably hot, and his crotch seemed tight. He had to do something to stop this girl, so that he could get thinking again to figure a way past his mother. "Listen, Miss. I know you - ah - had made an arrangement. But I can't go ahead with it right now. You just aren't right, okay?" Lester looked away. She had shown him a coral-tipped creamy breast and his heart was thudding so hard he was afraid its sound would travel through the door. Candee Cane stopped dead in her tracks. She was stunned. Nobody had ever reacted to her performance like that before. The man was even looking away. "You are dismissing me?" she finally gasped, her blue eyes wide. "Yes. I mean, I don't think we can have a - uh - contract." "Well, of all the nerve." The indignation that had been building in Candee for most of the day suddenly erupted. "If you think I got dressed and came all the way down here, just so that you could say kiss off, well, you got another think coming." Her voice rose with her anger. Lester summoned all his courage. He had to shut this woman up and, at that moment, there was only one thing he could think of doing. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her roughly to him, and kissed her hard and long on the mouth. When he let go, they were both breathing heavily. "I'm sorry I had to do that, Miss," Lester said. But the truth was that he wasn't sorry, not in the least. The redhead looked at him, her hair askew, her coral nipple exposed, and her dress ruffled. The icy blue anger still filled her eyes but there was a sign of something entirely new. Something that Lester could not fathom. "If you don't let me through that door, I am going to rip my clothes and scream rape!" She moved forward aggressively. Lester's mind was on hold. He couldn't think of what to do, but he knew he had to act. And he acted. He grabbed her firmly, planting his mouth on hers and pushing her onto the bed. Like a trapped tigress, she fought him. But the inner strength in Lester took over. At first, he thought it was his fear of his mother outside and the bishop. But it was something new, some chemistry which found its focus in his loins. He fought her to the point of exhaustion. Until both coral-tipped breasts were exposed, and the satin dress in rags. He tried not to look at the red tuft of hair between her white thighs. He drew back. "Don't make a sound." A stranger's voice seemed to come out of his mouth. A voice that was foreign to him. Candee Cane just looked at him. She was as pretty as an angel, her red hair framing her creamy face, the blue eyes wide and apprehensive, her soft breasts heaving with her breathing. "Don't hurt me," she whimpered. She had never been dominated before. Lester blinked. His eyes didn't seem so big now. His thick-lensed glasses having been knocked off during the struggle. "I don't want to harm you," he said softly. "It's just -" But he couldn't explain it. He pulled away. Candee looked at the frail man whose intensity had overwhelmed her. She had never been treated like this in her life. That man had ignored her looks, but had attacked her, kissing her hard, forcing her on the bed. Yet when it came time to take her - and suddenly she knew she wanted to be taken - he had backed off. She was puzzled. She looked at her dress. It was a mess and headed for the garbage can. She was naked, vulnerable - so what was wrong with him - or her? She sat up and looked at this strange man closely, as if for the first time. His face, though thin, held character. His body was wiry, and stronger than she had thought. In their tussle, she had ripped his pants, and she could see the fullness of the bulge. Their eyes met. She'd never seen a man's eyes like his before. They didn't lust at her, but they cherished her, as if she was something special. "Who are you?" she asked. "Lester," the man said nervously. "Look, I'm sorry about all this -" Candee cut him off. She climbed off the bed, and came over and kissed him full on the lips. Lester blamed it on his animal instincts. But that kiss destroyed the last vestige of his Christian resistance, and he began making love back, as passionately as it was given. Candee's hands ripped at his pants and his shirt, pulling them from him, and the hot desire of her skin sent electrifying particles rippling through his body. They fell back on the bed, this time naked, and discovered the joyousness that was the greatest gift mankind. They spent the whole night in the hotel bed, making and remaking love. In the morning, Lester knew he was in love. And Candee - well, for the first time in her life, she had suddenly found something far more important to her than a career on the stage. They decided to get married. An action to which his mother, his friends and even the bishop were, in time, to approve. Except for Jackie Smith. In fact, they say the day he developed his stammer was the day he met Lester Kreb's intended. end _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----