Symbiosis

It was about a ten o'clock when Cavanaugh came through the front door of the hostel, stomping his feet and brushing snow from his jacket. Snow! In Albuquerque, New Mexico of all places! He'd thumbed a ride in from a jovial enough real estate agent named Dave near Santa Fe. Twenty minutes later the snow was falling so hard Cav thought he was back in Chicago. Dave rode the brake of his 2001 Altima; slipping, sliding and cursing all the way to the front door of the Route 66 Hostel where he let Cav out.

"Thanks for the ride."

"No problem, youngster." Dave inched away from the curb and slowly drove into the night, off to his wife, kids, mistress or whatever occupied his life. Since thumbing from Chicago, Cav had met all types and, generally, the people were nice; a positive reminder of the good aspects of living in America.

His favorite ride had come while he was still in Illinois. A couple of college girls on their way to Carbondale had picked him up at a gas station, giggling and flirting with him the whole time between Joliet and Urbana. Karen, the driver, had stared at him through the rearview, running her hand through her shoulder-length red hair while her friend Jen spent the majority of the time turned around in her seat, facing him and asking a lot of sexually charged questions, laughing loudly and slapping his knee every time he said anything even remotely funny.

They'd invited him to come along to Carbondale with them and do some partying but he politely declined, promising to call them and visit if he was ever in the area again. He didn't doubt that hanging with Karen and Jen would have been rewarding but he'd done the college girl thing plenty of times and didn't want to get sidetracked so early in his trip.

Cavanaugh wiped his boots on the mat in front of the hostel's door and made his way to the front desk. Behind it sat a man so old he looked like he might have witnessed the last stand at the Alamo. His head was buried in an old Robert Ludlum hardcover. Cav dropped his backpack on the floor and waited for the oldster to notice him. Several moments went by with no reaction from the man. Cav cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Sir?"

"Yuh." Cav was a bit startled when only one of the oldster's eyes rolled to look at him. The other stayed glued to the book.

"I'd like a room for the night."

The old man shifted in his chair, bones creaking. "Lucky," he said, reaching for some kind of leather-bound ledger. "Storm. Lotta vacancies tonight."

"Great."

"Strange weather patterns. All year. Strange patterns." The old man ran his finger up and down the entries in the book, one eye on the page, the other seeming to stare at a spot just over Cav's shoulder. He realized the eye must be glass. Unnerved, he looked around. The hostel looked like it might have previously been some sort of large ranch style home. The walls actually seemed to be made from adobe, and all the doorways had high arches. The front room had been converted into a library with two broken down couches and a coffee table. On one of the couches was a sleeping man with a newspaper in his lap, feet propped up on one of the cushions. The entire place was decorated in a Native American motif that Cav found to be particularly cheesy since he himself was half Cherokee.

The oldster picked up a pen. "Name."

"Cavanaugh Butler."

"Stayin' how long?"

"Just one night."

"On the run or chasin' somebody?"

Cav thought this was a rather intrusive question, especially since he actually was on the run. On the run from debts, relationships, and a life that had made him miserable for the past few years. After losing his parents to a retirement village in Florida, getting fired from his job at a hot shot ad agency and getting dumped by his girlfriend, Cav had decided that Chicago had little left to offer him. Depressed and frustrated, Cav had bought a map of the United States, tacked it to the wall, closed his eyes and threw a dart at it. Two days later, he'd vacated his apartment and was on his way to southern California.

"On the run, I guess you'd say. Running from the old life."

The oldster nodded as if this was all the information he needed. "Startin' new is always good. Go somewhere nobody knows your name or your face. Good as long as you ain't got folks that'll miss ya."

Cav snorted. "Not really. Unless you count a landlord looking for the last month's rent as 'missing' me."

"Well it costs money to rent rooms here. I don't want to be 'missing' you come mornin'." Cav laughed then quieted down when he saw the stern look on the old man's face.

"Got a couple of choices," he went on. "Large rooms. Eight beds each. Sixteen bucks a night. Got some smaller rooms though. Four beds each. Those go for twenty. Little cozier."

Cav thought about it. An extra four dollars for less roommates. Less chances of having to sleep with a snorer. Hell, he could afford it. "Sounds great. I'll take it."

Cav reached into his pocket, counted out twenty dollars and slapped it on the desktop. The old man took the money, wrote out a barely legible reciept, and handed Cav a key.

"Room 2. Upstairs."

"Thanks." Cav bent down to grab his bag.

"Rules." The old man said this sharply and Cav looked up. The one glass eye continued to stare dully over his shoulder while the other fixed him with a severe gaze. "No drinking in the rooms or in the library, only in the kitchen. Dishes. You use 'em you wash 'em. Food with a name on it: don't touch. No name: free for all. Check out at noon."

"Got it. Thanks."

"Yup."

Cav hurried through the library and up the stairs to get away from the creepy oldster with the wandering eye. He found his room and let himself in. Four bunks sat on opposite sides of a rather large room. All the beds were made and there were no signs of any other occupants and Cav wondered if he had the room to himself. He chose the bottom bunk closest to the window and sat down. The mattress felt like it had been stuffed with old beer bottles and doorknobs. It was covered by a natty orange blanket that smelled faintly of fabric softener. He placed his backpack at the foot of the bed and went down the hall to use the bathroom. He was dismayed to see that there was no shower, just an old, rust-stained claw-foot bathtub with no stopper. Oh well. . . He'd only be here for a night.

He went back to the room, kicked off his boots, turned off the light and flopped down on the bed. A streetlight from outside shown through the thin, yellowing curtains at the window, casting a dim glow over the room. Cav listened to the howling wind and closed his eyes, not ever bothering to take his clothes off and get under the covers.

He was exhausted from traveling and was thinking that maybe he should have taken Karen and Jen up on their offer to go partying in Carbondale. The way they'd been flirting with him he might have gotten good for a threesome. He hadn't had that kind of fun since his college days.

He thought of Karen, with her long red hair and full lips; then Jen: shorter, chubbier, yet prettier. Slowly, his hand crept into his pants as his imagination conjured up a scenario that would have found them pulled over at a rest stop on I-57 with both girls in the back seat giving him head. Cav shifted on the uncomfortable mattress, thinking that maybe he should undo his belt and, after a moment, he dozed off completely.

* * * * *

Cavanaugh was startled awake by the feeling that someone was in the room watching him. At first he had no idea where he was at and looked around the dim room confusedly until it registered that he was at a hostel in Albuquerque. Then he looked over at the woman who was sitting by the window staring at him. The diffuse light from outside struck her in profile and showed that she was young and slim with long wavy hair. He couldn't make out her facial features. He realized that he still had his hand stuck down his pants like Al Bundy. Embarrassed, he pulled his hand away, glad he hadn't undone his belt and really started stroking his knot like earlier. He sat up on his elbows and squinted at the woman in the dim light.

"Hello," he said, awkwardly.

"Hello," she replied. "I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's okay." How long had he been asleep? How long had she been sitting there staring at him? He hadn't even heard her come in. "I. . . I'm not in your bed or anything am I? None of them seemed to be taken so I just picked one."

"No, it's not my bed."

"Oh. Okay." Now what? He wasn't in her bed so why was she just sitting there in the dark?

"You must be tired from traveling. You didn't even take off your clothes." She spoke softly and had a trace of a foreign accent but damned if Cav could place it.

"Yeah. It was a rough day. I started thumbing it from Oklahoma City this morning."

"Hitchhiking is dangerous," she said, matter-of-factly.

"I guess I like the thrill. What's you name?"

Instead of answering, she looked out the window and Cav saw that her features were Arabic or perhaps Indian. She wore a dark knit sweater with several buttons undone and Cav found himself staring at the swells of her breasts. She wore no bra and Cav thought he saw what could be the beginning of an aureole but, then again, it could have been a shadow. Her denim dress was long and split up the middle revealing the thigh of her crossed leg almost up to the crotch. The toenails of her bare feet were painted red. "My sisters will be back soon."

It took a moment for him to realize what she'd said. "Your sisters?"

"We live here. This is our room."

"Oh. Are you sure I'm not in someone's bed?" If this woman shared this room with her sisters on some sort of semi-permanent basis, why hadn't that weird old guy at the counter put him somewhere else?

She turned to look at him again. "You're handsome. My sisters will like you."

"Huh?" She shifted in her chair causing her sweater to pull tight against her breasts. Cav stared wide-eyed as the fabric seemed to slip away from her left breast only to be replaced by a cascade of her dark hair. He blinked and the sweater was back the way it had been, as if it had all been a trick of the light.

"What is your name?"

"Cav. . . Cavanaugh."

"My sister's will like you, Cavanaugh. One probably more than the other but in the end it will be the same."

"In the end of what?" Cav was thoroughly confused now and felt strangely intoxicated as if he'd been drinking wine or smoking herb. And he noticed a very faint smell in the air. After a few seconds he realized it was the scent he associated with sex. His dick had become rock hard and was bulging in his pants. He made no attempt to hide it from the woman.

She blinked at him several times before asking, "You would like to meet my sisters, yes?"

"Yeah," he said, stupidly.

Her eyes fell to the tent he was pitching in his pants and he thought he saw her bite her lip but, once again, he wasn't sure. Fuck this. He got up and started to cross the room to turn on the light. His eyes were playing tricks on him and this woman was starting to wig him out. He flipped the switch once. Twice. Nothing.

"Is something wrong?"

"Goddamned light's not working," he muttered. He reached for the door handle intending to step into the hallway and get some fresh air when he felt her moving behind him. He turned and there she was, not three feet away from him. Jesus! He hadn't even heard her walk across the room!

He shrank back against the door like an actor in a suspense movie. The woman was tall. Almost as tall as him. He still couldn't get a clear look at her features but his original idea that she was Arabic still seemed correct. Her eyes were dark, almost black, her skin dusky.

Her left hand reached for the bulge in his pants, pausing just centimeters from making contact. She exhaled softly. Her breath smelled like cinnamon. Her hand hovered in front of his crotch, moving as if it were caressing but not touching. Cav reached to take hold of her shoulders but she skirted away and was across the room in an instant. Cav started to follow, suddenly overcome with desire for this strange woman and barely able to think. Underneath the foggy cloud that had descended on his brain, Cav's rational mind screamed at him that something very wrong was happening to him right now.

"What's . . . going on?" he croaked.

"You want me," she said, flatly.

"What . . .?"

"You want me, Cavanaugh."

"Yes," he replied, though she hadn't phrased it as a question.

"Tell me."

"I . . . want you."

She began to take off her sweater. "You want to touch me."

She ran her hands over her moderately sized breasts. Her nipples were hard. Cav continued to move slowly towards the woman but was suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness, lost his balance and fell to the floor. A small part of him continued to insist that nothing good was going to come of this; that he should get up and run like hell, forget his bag and shoes and just get as far away as possible. Instead, he reached up to the woman with a trembling hand, determined to feel her skin against his.

She stared down at him with a vacant look and moved away before his fingers found her leg. "I am sorry, Cavanaugh. You may not."

Defeated, Cav curled onto his side and let his hand fall to the floor, his knuckles rapping painfully on the hardwood. He was panting now and his boxers were soaked with precum. The dizziness returned and in a few seconds Cav lost consciousness, the last thing he saw being the woman returning to her seat by the window, her sweater back on as if she'd never shed it.

* * * * *

The first thing Cav noticed when he came to was a spring from one of the room's broken-down mattresses jabbing him uncomfortably in the back. The second thing was that he was naked and someone was rubbing a hand up and down his left thigh. The bizarre events of the evening came rushing back to him and he opened his eyes groggily, fully expecting to see the strange Arab-looking woman standing over him. Instead, he saw a strikingly beautiful black woman who was also naked except for a hand-crafted beaded necklace. One hand caressed his thigh while the other played in her thick wavy hair.

"He's pretty," she said. "And I like his dick. Not too big, not too small." Cav jerked as she ran her hand across his testicles and over his shaft.

"You should have fun with this one. I believe he has a lot of passion." Cav recognized the voice of the Arab woman. She seemed to still be sitting by the window.

"He looks like he could be a movie star. Or a rock musician." The black woman lightly brushed her fingers over Cav's chest sending shivers through his body. His dick oozed a couple of drops of clear liquid.

"You like the bad boys don't you, Ifa?" This voice was new. Deeper, and with a more sardonic edge. Cav couldn't see her but it sounded like she was sitting on one of the other beds.

"More than the types you enjoy, Alexia." Ifa said. "And Kanta only likes the dreamers. Both of you miss out on the fun stuff." She scratched at Cav's beard stubble, then put her index finger into his mouth. Cav sucked on her finger gently until she pulled it out and placed it in her own mouth, tasting his spit. She then took the same finger and put it between her legs.

Cav just stared. He no longer felt alarmed by what was happening. He was now overcome with a feeling of raw sexual hunger quite different from the desire he had for the Arab woman: Kanta he assumed her name was. The delirious confusion he'd suffered earlier was gone, replaced by a crystal clear feeling that he wanted, no, NEEDED to fuck this woman named Ifa. All other thoughts had been brushed from his mind.

Ifa took her finger from between her legs and put it back in Cav's mouth. He sucked it hard, tasting and swallowing the thin juice from her pussy. She took her finger away when he began to bite. Cav reached to touch her but she batted his hand away. "Be still," she said.

Cav heard bedsprings squeak as the third woman stood up and stepped into view. She was taller than Ifa by more than a foot. Long blonde hair hung almost to her waist and she wore a sheer black robe, open at the front revealing her ample breasts. Through the fabric of the robe Cav saw an intricate pattern of tribal tattoos running up her right arm, over her shoulder, across her breasts and down her left leg. The thing that struck him the most, though, were her eyes; blue, cold and cheerless. She gazed down at him with the detached interest of a scientist looking at a specimen about to be dissected.

Without a word, the woman grabbed Cav's dick and squeezed it. Her long, blood-red painted fingernails had been filed down to sharp points and she pressed them into Cav's shaft painfully. He gasped and sat up, trying to pry her hand away. She loosened the pressure a bit but did not let go. Another large droplet of precum had oozed out and sat glistening on the head of his dick.

"He's leaking, Ifa," Alexia said. "Better get it before it runs off."

Ifa bent forward and licked off the drop of fluid, swirling it around in her mouth for a second before swallowing it. Alexia released him and stepped back, leaving four indentations in his shaft. She'd stopped just before breaking the skin. The sharp pain had served to clear Cav's mind for the moment and he managed to find his voice and say, "What's goin' on? Who the hell are you?"

Ifa placed her hand on his chest again and pushed him back down. "Wait . . ." Cav made a feeble attempt to resist but the lust had risen up in him again and, once more he found himself unable to focus on anything but Ifa. Heat seemed to radiate from her palm and flood his whole body.

"Don't worry, Cavanaugh," she breathed as she began to mount him. "You'll enjoy this."

"But . . ." She silenced him by placing her mouth on his and sucking on his tongue. He ran his hands up and down her back, feeling the muscles as they flexed and undulated. Even though she seemed to be laying still, her body was in constant motion and Cav didn't even notice she was sliding her pussy onto his cock until the head was already in. She worked herself down until he was planted firmly inside her then sat up, her hands holding his shoulders tightly. She began to ride his dick, slowly.

Cav gasped as she contracted her muscles tightly around him. It felt as if a small fist were inside her pussy squeezing and milking his dick. He'd met of couple of females who could clench their vaginal muscles but never with this much skill, this much control. He reached up to grab her breasts and she caught his hands, smoothly placing them back by his sides. "I want to touch you," he said, weakly. She ignored him and continued her gyrations.

He realized vaguely that Kanta had sat down on the foot of the bed and Alexia was still hovering over them. Ifa put her hands on his abdomen and began to fuck him with even more vigor. She'd started sweating and was biting her bottom lip. Her butt cheeks clapped together loudly every time she brought her pussy down on him. He looked over at Alexia and saw that she had produced a small velvet bag with a drawstring on top. She undid the string and opened the top of the bag, revealing something that glinted silver in the low light.

Cav tried to make out what was in the bag but became distracted by Alexia's tattoos, which seemed to be moving; writhing up and down her arm and leg. They didn't look like tribal tattoos anymore, more like hundreds of tiny snakes. What the hell . . .? She shifted and, suddenly, Cav couldn't tell if he'd seen what he thought he had or not.

"Uhhhh!" Ifa groaned and started rolling her hips in a circular motion. Cav could feel her juices flowing over his scrotum. His pubic hair was soaked. Jesus, this was the best sex he'd ever had and she'd been on top the whole time, a position Cav usually didn't care for.