Virgin on Bourbon Street

"Get him wet, Bobbi," Charita said, and the chubby girl suddenly deep-throated him, taking his whole cock into her mouth over and over, her curly blonde head corkscrewing as she blew him. Her wet mouth made loud slurping noises as she sucked him and he could feel rivulets of saliva dripping down his shaft.

Brian was shivering all over, overwhelmed by the sensation, knowing that he was going to come soon. Charita tapped Bobbi on the shoulder and said, "Step back," and the chubby blonde pulled her lips away with a loud "Pop!". She stepped aside and Charita seized Brian's saliva-lubricated cock and stuffed it between her enormous globes. Brian could barely believe his eyes, his pink cock wedged between her dark brown breasts. Charita squeezed her tits shut and the soft flesh felt hot and velvety smooth around him.

He flexed his asscheeks, driving his cock deeper inside her cleavage. "Thass it, baby. Fuck those titties." Brian had never even imagined doing something like this, but as his pink cock slid in and out of her valley it felt so good he could barely stand it. He pulled back and thrust, pulled back and thrust, pulled back and THRUST, and thrusting felt like the most natural motion in the world. Thrusting meant pleasure, ecstasy beyond words. He put his hands on Charita's shoulders to get more leverage and started fucking her tits with more speed, going faster and faster, waiting for that moment when he finally couldn't stand it anymore and would come.

He hoped that moment wouldn't arrive too soon, that he could endure that terrible pressure at the point of his cock. When he masturbated he tried to make himself come as soon as possible, to minimize the amount of time he was at risk of discovery at the hands of his mother. Now he wanted to have this go on forever.

Charita's eyes bored into his, daring him to look away. He couldn't break her gaze. "You got a nice dick for tit-fucking," she said.

"I'm going to come soon," he whispered.

Her face hardened. "You ready, girl?" Brian turned to see the redhead nod without much enthusiasm.

"I'll do it," the chubby blonde said. It sounded like she was trying to impress Vanessa, show how enthusiastic she was compare to Janine.

Brian didn't know what they were talking about and didn't care. He didn't care about anything now except coming. He kept fucking Charita's tits and saw Vanessa hand something to Charita, he couldn't see what it was. Charita put a hand on each of her breasts and pulled them apart, releasing him from her tit-sandwich, her cleavage smeared with his pre-come, whipped into a white froth by his piston.

Charita's head lowered and slid his cock between her lips. Her mouth moved all the way down his cock to the root. She did it again, and again, sucking him back into a fever pitch of excitement, and then she said, "Get on."

The redhead stood there frozen in place, not out of fear, but out of lethargy, or inattention. The chubby blonde took the cigarette from her and took a quick drag, blowing out a cloud as she offered a steadying hand to the redhead stepping out of her white panties.

"No, please, please, please," Brian said. He could see what was coming and he wanted them to stop. But another part of him, the part that throbbed between his legs, did want it, wanted it badly. He wanted to fuck, he wanted to come. He wanted to lose his virginity right now and he wanted the pretty redhead climbing into his lap to be the one he lost it with.

He looked at his penis as she settled herself over him and he saw that it was oddly shiny, oddly discolored, and he realized he was wearing a condom. Charita must have unfurled one over his penis when she went down on him. He wondered how she was able to do that, but he couldn't waste much time on that particular problem. The redhead settled herself over his lap, her clean-shaven pussy coming closer, closer, until his fat knob rested in her soft pink folds.

Fingers with long-red nails closed around his shaft, Vanessa guiding him inside. "Please, don't, I've never done this. I have to go..."

"You're mommy isn't here right now," Vanessa said. "Just enjoy yourself."

His dick slipped down her cleft, he pressed against her opening, and then he suddenly slipped inside her body. Her eyes showed nothing, no pleasure, pain, surprise, disappointment. Brian's reactions were enough for them both. He groaned, arched his back, put his hands on her hips and pulled her down so he was buried inside her.

"Oh, God," he whimpered, a real prayer, not just an empty phrase. It was beyond comprehension, the pleasure of it. To couple with a woman, to penetrate her, to feel her warm and lubricate because of his hardness. He was losing his virginity, right now. He wanted to escape but he couldn't, he was joined with this girl and she had him under her thumb. Or, more to the point, Charita and Vanessa had him under their well-manicured thumbs. They controlled the redhead who slowly gyrated over him. There wasn't enough in her eyes to show that she was enjoying or hating this. She just moved, moved over him, and Brian cried out again, getting so close now.

Janine put her hands on his shoulders and moved a bit faster. "He's big," she said.

"There are ones a lot bigger," Charita said.

The chubby blonde said, "He looks plenty big enough." She took another puff of her cigarette and said, "Let me have a turn."

Vanessa shook her head and smiled. "It's too late. Isn't it, Brian?"

"Yes!" he said, the world around him turning inside out as his penis swelled, swelled, then split open deep inside the redhead's pussy. He came and it was a pleasure more intense than he thought his body could experience. He tried to scream and he couldn't, he gagged as he hyperventilated and quivered and emptied himself inside the vagina of the pretty girl straddling him.

He needed air. He needed time to get over the shock. But the women didn't give him even a second to process what had just happened, how his life had just changed. Janine dismounted and Charita pulled the condom off his softening cock. Vanessa thrust a wet towel into his crotch. She washed his groin and his armpits. "Can't have you going back to Mommy smelling of perfume and pussy." When she finished he saw that his clothes were neatly folded and sitting on the couch. "Go ahead, get dressed," Vanessa said, and he was too befuddled to object. She handed him his camera case and he mumbled, "Thank you." He started to cry, he couldn't help himself, and Vanessa put her arms around his neck. "Oh, baby, don't cry. You've had a busy day, haven't you?"

He nodded. She kept her arms around his neck and steered him toward the door. He saw the contempt in Charita's eyes, the emptiness in Janine's, the boredom in Ashley's, the hunger in Bobbi's. Vanessa took his hand and led him down the corridor, the four girls coming along as an escort.

They hustled him down the stairs, fast. Charita took one arm, Vanessa the other, and the three other girls formed a loose circle around him. They were more animated now, laughing at some private joke that he didn't get. The bartender was still there, and he scowled at Brian as they sped across the floor. They stopped before the plastic slats and Vanessa said, "Now, you come back soon, hear?" And they gently pushed him through the slats onto Bourbon Street, into the wet, oppressive heat.

Brian stood there, confused. He didn't understand what was going on. He stood there and heard the women laughing uproariously. Vanessa said, "Now, ladies, that's what I call drumming up business." They laughed even more. Brian didn't get it. He couldn't see through the slats, but he heard Vanessa voice say, faintly, "We each get one, and Charita and Janine get the extra. They did most of the work. Not bad for fifteen minutes work!"

"I would've fucked him!" he heard Bobbi pout.

What were they talking about? He checked his watch and found that Vanessa had been right. Fifteen minutes before he'd been walking down the street innocent as a lamb. And in those last fifteen minutes his life had changed. He needed answers. He went to push the slats away and ask Vanessa why they'd done this, given their bodies so willingly and then sent him on his way. But before he even got to the door the bartender was there, looming over him.

"The fuck you want, motherfucker?" His eyes were hard and merciless. Brian was an inch taller than him but 40 pounds lighter, and the bartender looked like a man who liked beating on people smaller than him. Brian turned tail and walked double-time up Bourbon Street, looking over his shoulder and seeing the bartender's angry eyes locked on his. He turned the next corner to escape his pitiless stare.

He walked for three blocks, trying to puzzle it out. He wasn't so naïve that he didn't know that some strippers augmented their earnings by performing sexual acts. But he hadn't paid Vanessa for arranging his defloration. Had she simply wanted to show the other girls that they shouldn't just wait for customers to proposition, that they had to be aggressive?

He kept walking and cut up toward the French Market, heading for the Café du Mond. Maybe some food would help him think, help him make sense of what had just happened. The outdoor café wasn't crowded, and he took at table near the road so he could watch the horse-drawn carriages clop past.

An Indian woman with powdered sugar up to her elbows took his order, 3 beignets and a glass of milk. She left to fill his order and he fished around in his pocket to get out his hard-earned cash. He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and got the second huge shock of the day.

It was empty.

He stared at the empty silk lining for a second, then another, and then the nausea hit him, a hot acid wave rising from his stomach into his throat. He leapt to his feet and staggered back, knocking over his chair. He stuck his fingers inside the empty sleeve as though the thin stack of twenties could be hiding in some unseen cranny. His waitress was about to return with his order and he had no money to pay for it. He felt like a criminal. He ran.

He ran until the tears started, and then couldn't run any more. Slowing his body helped get his emotions under control. So that's why the women had laughed at him, why Vanessa had said deflowering him was "not bad for fifteen minutes work". A hundred and forty dollars for a quarter-hour's debauchery. He got her other comment now as well. They each got $20, and Charita and the redhead got the extra money because they had fucked Brian, Charita with her expensive breasts, Janine with the magical cavity between her legs.

Vanessa had used him to teach her new girls a sick, twisted lesson, and then robbed him in the bargain. His hands compressed into fists of rage. He wanted to charge right back there and grab Vanessa by the throat and shake her until she gave his money back.

Of course that was impossible-the bartender would break him in half. Calling the police would be worse than losing the money. How could he explain how she'd come to get his money? His parents would absolutely kill him.

His parents. That was the real problem. Losing the money hurt, but it was just money. But how could he explain this to his parents? Lie and say he "lost" the money? Say he was robbed at gunpoint? No matter how he tried to explain it, his parents would come to the same conclusion-he wasn't ready to go out by himself into the cold, harsh world. Instead of going to Penn State he'd be stuck living at home and commuting to Pitt. Instead of going away to school and making new friends and having the time of his life he'd remain under the thumb of his parents, with an eleven o'clock curfew, constant pestering about having his homework done, Saturday nights having dinner at Grandma's.

He wandered aimlessly, not seeing anything except his own dismal future before his eyes. It was perhaps fifteen minutes before he gathered himself enough to take a look around. He was standing in front of a Catholic church, St. Mary's. It caught his eye, his church back home was also called St. Mary's. This one was a small church with a black wrought-iron fence around its tiny grounds. Brian walked up the wet stone pathway to the big wooden door. He wanted someplace quiet to try to think up a story his parents would believe. Maybe in the church he would receive some divine inspiration.

He sat and looked around. The church was old, the pews made of dark wood, the dirty gray brick walls covered with a slime of condensation. The stations of the cross were large woodcuts showing Christ undergoing his indignities in frightening detail. The crucifix hanging over the altar was a nearly-life size recreation, two immense beams lashed together with the suffering Jesus transfixed with horrible spikes. It was a church that inspired fear, not love or devotion. Brian sat there and the weight of his sin bore down on him like a huge palm flattening him against the wooden bench.

The enormity of what had happened dawned on him. He could have walked away from Vanessa, on several occasions, but he hadn't the fortitude to do it. He'd allowed his body to govern his actions, let his penis steer him into disaster. Now, for the rest of his life, he would think back to the day he lost his virginity as the worst day of his life. He would never again be able to make love without remembering that first time, remembering Vanessa's perfume, Charita's fake tits, Janine's disconnected eyes. He would spend the next four years under his parents' thumb, since he didn't have the guts to cut the apron strings and go his own way. He was a pathetic, reprehensible coward.

He cradled his face in his eyes and started to cry. He hated himself, hated his weakness. His parents were right, he wasn't smart enough or good enough to survive in the world.

"What's the matter?" a voice said. Brian's head jerked up and a priest was standing there, looking down with concern. He was young, maybe 35 years old, with hair and eyes as dark as his suit.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Brian said. He started to get up to leave, but the priest blocked him by sitting down. "Sure, it's nothing, we get lots of people who come in here during the day and start crying about nothing." He grinned.

Brian said, "No, really, it's nothing. I did something stupid and I'm going to get in trouble for it. I'm just an idiot."

The priest shrugged. "We're all fallible. We all make mistakes. Mine was wearing black on a hot day like today. Then again, I don't have many options in my wardrobe."

Brian managed a weak laugh. "Yup, it's hot out."

"You're from out of town, I take it?"

Brian nodded. "Pittsburgh."

The priest offered his hand. "My name is Father Javier Saviola."

Brian shook his hand. "Brian."

"So, Brian from Pittsburgh, you want to tell me how you came to be crying in a church in New Orleans at 11 in the morning?"

Brian looked at his feet. "I can't."

Father Javier said, "No, you just don't want to. But if you have a problem, two heads are usually better than one. Maybe I can help."

Brian kept his eyes on the floor. "I don't think so."

"Try me. I'm good at keeping secrets."

Brian didn't know why, but the idea of telling someone what happened calmed his churning stomach. So he did. He told Father Javier the whole story, about his carnal encounter at the club, about the theft, about the consequences he would suffer because of his weakness. The priest sat with a neutral expression on his face, listening intently, showing no horror or disgust at the tale.

When Brian finished, the first thing Father Javier said was, "Are you sure you were wearing a condom when you had intercourse with the girl?"

The question surprised him. "Um, yes, I'm sure. I saw the other girl take it off me."

The priest nodded. "We need to look at the problem in terms of how long-lasting the consequences will be. My biggest concern was you acquiring some sexually-transmitted disease. But that doesn't seem to be a problem."

Brian was surprised at the frankness of the priest's reply. "No, I guess not."

"Calling the police wouldn't help," Father Javier said. "It would get you in more trouble with your parents, and frankly the cops wouldn't be able to do anything. These women would just say they'd never seen you before, or that you'd voluntarily paid for their favors."

"It would only make things worse." Brian agreed.

"Now, the problem with your parents." Father Javier touched his lips with his index finger. "What parish do you belong to in Pittsburgh?"

"St. Mary's of the Assumption."

The priest smiled. "So we share that in common, we both worship in a house devoted to the Virgin." Father Javier caught himself and laughed. "I'm sorry, poor choice of words." He paused to think, then leapt to his feet. "Wait here a minute. I'll be right back." He walked quickly up the aisle, genuflected before the altar, and then disappeared through a doorway. Brian sat there for five long minutes before he returned, genuflecting again, and striding back carrying an envelope.

He sat down. "I checked on the Internet and there is a St. Mary's of the Assumption in Pittsburgh." He grinned again, Brian had never seen a priest so happy-go-lucky. "Just checking to see if you were pulling my leg. So," he handed Brian the envelope, "this should help solve the problem with your parents."

Brian took it. The envelope was addressed to Father Javier Saviola, St. Mary's Church, New Orleans. Brian opened it and inside were seven twenty-dollar bills.

"What's this?" he said, jerking his head up.

"That's the money you lost. You can go back to your parents, tell them you had a pleasant walk around town, and they need never be troubled about your little escapade. And then after you get home, you mail the money back to me in that envelope. Cash is fine, if you don't want to explain why you sent such a generous donation to our parish." The priest smiled, but his expression turned serious. "That money comes straight from our parishioner's donations, and these are not wealthy people. I'm trusting you to pay it back. I'm not making a mistake, am I?"

Brian shook his head so hard it rattled. "No, I swear! I'll pay you back as soon as I get home."

"Within the month will be fine." Father Javier said. "So that solves that problem. But then there's the issue of your sin." The priest's smile disappeared, and so did Brian's. "It can be difficult to ignore the demands of your body. That does not excuse you from giving in to those demands whenever you're confronted with them." He sighed. "I think you were in a little over your head with those people. Today you've learned a hard lesson. Make sure you learn it well."

Father Javier stood. "When you get home, go to confession. We don't have time right now. Go back to your parents, go back to Pittsburgh. Think about today. You've seen that people often do terrible things casually, without regard for how it hurts others. And you've seen that there are always people willing to help you, no matter how deep the hole you find yourself in. Remember that too."

He offered his hand, and Brian gratefully shook it. The priest sighed. "Now I have to go to confession, for helping you fool your parents." He genuflected, and headed up the aisle. "Take it easy, Brian from Pittsburgh."

Brian clutched the envelope in his hand like an owl winging home with a mouse. He put the money in his wallet and the envelope in his pocket. He managed to enjoy the walk back to the hotel. He smiled at everyone he passed, he didn't look at them as predators looking at him as their next victim. They were his fellow men, and he wanted to hug every single one of them.

But. He purposefully walked up a block, onto Toulouse Street, to avoid walking past the strip club again. He cut back to Bourbon a block past the club and paused to take a long look. He made three promises to himself. One, he would pay back Father Javier. Two, he would keep going to Church. And three, he would get back at Vanessa and her girls and that bartender. It would take a bit longer, but he would have his revenge.