MISS X (Don't even ask...I'll never tell)

MISS X

I guess I drank too much beer because if I didn't piss and quick, I was going to bust a kidney. It was Lundy Gras, the Monday before Fat Tuesday, and the French Quarter was packed with soused locals and tourists alike. And, I'd venture a guess, more than half of them had to pee, as bad as I did. That is, if they hadn't already wet themselves. Carnival in New Orleans always brought out the worst in people or in this regard, a bladder full of urine.

There was no way I'd last standing in another bar's bathroom line. A toilet so near and yet, so far away. So, I figured drastic times called for drastic measures.

Compared to Bourbon Street, Pirates' Alley was all but deserted. Perhaps, I'd found a solution to my dilemma. How fitting? The answer to my prayers would be at St. Louis Cathedral. Or should I say over the low concrete wall separating the church from where I stood.

I, hurriedly, jumped the fence. I dropped my pants and squatted. Looking down at the yellow puddle at my feet, I sighed in relief.

"Oh my God, you just about scared me half to death!" the blond haired girl gasped, "What the hell are you doing there?" "Would you believe searching for my rosary?" I retorted sarcastically, trying to mask my embarrassment. "Sure, and that's holy water you're standing in," she retorted.

Two men in blue were coming slowly in our direction. "It's the cops. Oh shit," I whispered with panic in my voice, "I'm busted." "Not to worry," she told me and winked, "Get decent. I'll run interference and you hop back over here." She didn't have to tell me twice. In a flash, I was zipped and safe on the other side of the impromptu urinal.

"Hey, thanks a lot. I owe you big time. You covered my ass," I said to my guitar-toting savior upon her return. "No thanks necessary," she grinned, "It's my good deed for the day." "Then, at least, let me buy you a drink," I suggested. "Can't turn down that offer," she smiled, "Lead the way." By the way, I'm Cherie. And you are?" She introduced herself. "Well, come on Honey. For some reason, it's starting to smell like a latrine around here." And with that, off we went.

The gay lounge, surprisingly, wasn't packed. The queens were, probably, tending to last minute details. Beaded gowns and coiffed wigs had to be readied before the big day tomorrow.

We ordered a pitcher of beer, found a table near the window, and sat down. You'd have thought we were old friends and not two strangers, who met less than a half hour earlier by happenstance. We were laughing and carrying on and having a grand old time.

Miss X was beautiful, funny, and delightful company. She had the most extraordinary blue eyes. I was smitten. We spent the rest of the afternoon sharing stories, suds, and sexy side-glances. Now, I knew the young woman sitting across the table from me was, most likely, not a lesbian as I was. But, it was the sixties, Mardi Gras, and she was quickly getting loaded. If anything developed and my lewd fantasies were fulfilled, she could always blow away any feelings of remorse with the excuse of being high, caught up in the madness of Carnival, or free love's "try anything once" mantra.

Arm in arm, we staggered from the bar. It was dark outside and we were exhausted. Swigging back mugs of beer was a tiresome task and we had worked overtime. A quiet place to kick it and recoup was all that was needed now. I suggested the crash pad I used over Papa Joe's. And, she gratefully agreed.

Weaving our way through the loud and obnoxious revelers was a feat in itself. It took us nearly forty-five minutes to travel two blocks. Finally reaching our destination was becoming all the more enticing to the woman at my side. I sensed she was overwhelmed and frightened.

I closed the door. The sounds from the street were lowered a decibel or two. I lit candles and a joint and we fell back on the mattress savoring the muted darkness and intoxicating smoke.

Her whisper broke the silence. "I never thought I'd make it out alive," she said softly, "The crowds were closing in and I was really getting scared. It feels so good to just, peacefully, lie here with you." She took a toke and closed her eyes. "You're welcome to stay the night," I gently told her, " I've got a bag of grass, a bottle of Chianti, and can put on some mellow music. We've got everything to veg out. You have to get some rest anyway, if you even hope to be up for Mardi Gras tomorrow. And besides, you haven't played me one tune yet." I turned my head, anticipating a response, but she was already sleeping.

We dozed for a couple hours only to awaken to the sound of loud screaming, glass shattering, and then, an approaching siren. "Now aren't you glad you are up here, Babe?" "Sure am," my guest replied with appreciation, "This small town girl isn't used to all these goings-on." I rose and grabbed the bottle of wine and my hookah. I put a record on the turntable and rejoined my company.

"It's so fucking wild how you showed up in my life today. Had you not come along and saved me, I'd probably be just another one of those crazy assholes down there getting into trouble. At the very least, I'd be shit-faced and on the prowl for some nookie," I chuckled. "Glad to be of service to a sister," she laughed, "We do have to stick together, you know."

She took the jug of Chianti from me, raised it to her lips, and swallowed a large gulp. A tiny tear of the red liquid trickled from the corner of her mouth and fell upon her shirt. "Far fucking out," I thought, "Now to pounce." I hurried to the john and came back in seconds with a warm washcloth. "Let me get that for you," I offered. Before she could protest, I began tenderly dabbing at the crimson spot on her breast. I caught her watching my efforts with a strange curiosity. That only caused me to linger all the longer. I felt her heart beating beneath my hand. I raised my eyes and gazed into hers. "Are you seducing me?" she ventured. I answered the inquiry with a gentle kiss.

If there was any resistance on her part to my advances, it faded in a moment. I stroked her golden hair and traced the lovely features of her face with my fingertips. She granted me another kiss, then another, and still another. Our tongues danced. They darted and teasingly probed.

Slowly, we undresssed and took in the sight of each other's nakedness. Passions were mounting. I leaned over and pressed my warm body against hers. "I want you so much," I whispered into her ear, "But, I don't want you to do anything you don't want to, Sweetheart." "I want you too," she replied, "But, this is all new to me. Please can we take it slow, Cherie?" "That's what I had in mind," I assured her, "We have all night to learn about each other." "We have all night to make love," she corrected and pulled me closer.

Our hands and mouths explored each other from head to foot. Ecstasy was the reward for these sensuous efforts. Screams of satiation and smiles of satisfaction were shared over and over by us that night. And when we thought we couldn't bear any more pleasure, our passions proved us wrong.

I rose up on my elbow and gazed at the lovely woman sitting beside me. She strummed her guitar and sang softly. "That's beautiful and so are you," I cooed. She continued playing and filling the room with her angelic voice. "You have a gift, Darling," I told her when she finished the serenade, "That was groovy." She blushed; lay down her instrument on the floor and her body next to me. "Tonight, Cherie, you're the only gift I care about." We made sweet love for hours more. Then, exhaused, our bodies entwined in rapture's embrace, we contentedly fell asleep.

The sunlight drenched the bed. Its cruel rays pried our, reluctant, lids open to tiny slits. We moaned in unison. "Is it morning already?" we asked each other. "I sure as hell hope not. Maybe, if we close our eyes tight, we can pretend it's still a few hours off," I suggested. "That would be nice," my lover yawned, "But we have to face the inevitable sometime and start getting up."

Suddenly, a wave of despair enveloped me. Time was my enemy now. Soon the blond woman with azure eyes would leave. I'd never touch her velvet skin and taste her lips, her breasts, her thighs, and her silky wetness again. The sound of her voice, her laughter, and the melodies she sang would be forever silenced. She'd be gone.

The conversation was stilted and strained as we sipped our coffee and shared a cigarette. "I'll keep in touch," she assured me, "You'll be bombarded with letters." "Well, you better," I said smiling weakly, "Because I'll always cherish what little time we've been together and won't ever forget you."

We hugged each other tightly and shared one last kiss. "We'll meet again," she promised and descended down the stairs. I ran to the window and watched as she and her guitar disappeared into the masked crowd below. I knew we would never see each other again, despite her sincere and heart-felt promises. What we shared was a precious time in space always to be remembered, but never revisited.

The sixties were such a wonderful and exciting time. This hippie lived those years to the fullest and still enjoy reminiscing about all the far-out people I met and groovy times I had, during that tumultuous era. To my surprise, the lovely lady did keep her word, after-all, and I received a couple letters from her, following our brief interlude. But, it had been many, many years since our last correspondence and, as fate would have it, we lost track of one another.

I stood in the kitchen preoccupied with preparing the evening's dinner. All of a sudden, my attention was diverted to the television in the next room and the vocalist I was hearing. I knew that melody; I recognized that voice. "It couldn't be," I thought as I ran over to the set. But, to my amazement, it was. She was there on the TV screen. She was singing and playing the ballad she once sang and played for me. I was mesmerized as I watched her performance. She captivated and enthralled me as she had so many Mardi Gras's ago, when I was her audience and her stage was a mattress on the floor of my French Quarter pad. The song ended too quickly, just as our time together had. And in an instant she was gone again from me.

I followed her career and was so proud of her many achievements in the music industry. As soon as her latest album reached the stores, I was first in line to buy it. I had no doubt I was her biggest fan. I attended her concerts whenever she appeared in town, but always sat there with mixed emotions. Whereas, it was wonderful being so near to her, it saddened me that now, in her celebrity, she was beyond my reach. Of course, I entertained the thought of going backstage and saying hello. But, when it came down to it, I didn't want to, possibly, risk making her uncomfortable in any way or putting her on the spot. I looked back on our night of lovemaking with the fondest of memories. But, in the chance, she might not share my feelings; it was better that, with respect to her, I stayed away.

It was a beautiful New York afternoon. I needed to pick Ralph up for his daily walk. The other dogs, at my side, were extremely rambunctious that day. And if, their behavior persisted, I'd have more gray hairs than I already had on my head. I was too old for this nonsense.

The elevator door slid open. Suddenly, the mutts lunged forward colliding with the exiting passenger. In the commotion, I dropped a leash. I dove to retrieve it and was grateful to see a high-heeled foot pinning the leash to the floor.

"I'm so sorry," I breathlessly apologized taking hold of my charge. "Thanks," I continued turning my attention upward, "You saved my ass." "Not to worry," she assured, "Glad to run interference. It's my good deed for the day." Our eyes met. So much passed between us in that instant. Memories flooded the elevator and knowing smiles quickly crossed our faces. But, not another word was spoken. Then, she was gone. Some celebrity secrets deserve to be kept.