Al, Art, Ralph, Part 4

It was a Monday morning, the ringing of my cell phone jolted me out of some badly needed sleep. It was Maureen. Jolene had another date for me and I should come by the office that afternoon to get briefed. I wondered when the time would come that they would just give me an address and a name. Instead I always got a briefing -- like I was James Bond going on a special mission. By then I was starting to wonder how they handled the assignation of dates with the other 'contractors' -- male and female.

When I walked into the reception at J&B, Maureen told me my hair looked great and gave me a special look. I leaned close so she'd be able to whisper to me and she did. "I don't know yet when she'll be gone this week. Be patient." Then aloud: "Jolene's on the phone. Have a seat Art. How about a cup of coffee?" Coming back from the break/copy room, she bent over to give me the coffee and I noticed that she'd undone another button on her blouse, thus showing me even more cleavage than before.

"You like what you see?" she asked.

I told her I'd probably like even more the stuff that I couldn't see. We exchanged a few more sexually suggestive innuendos before Maureen noticed Jolene was off the phone and sent me in.

Jolene's compliment was even more gushy than Maureen's. Then typical of her, without catching a breath, she got down to business. "Tonight you're entertaining Effy. From the name and accent she's from Mide. This time, Art, I have no idea what she wants to do. I tried to get some idea but I had trouble understanding her. In the end the only thing that was clear is that you need to meet her in the lobby of the Four Seasons around 8 PM. Wear your khaki slacks and the blue blazer - and naturally shirt and tie. Midens, at least the men, tend to be conservative and formal -- right up to the time that they debase themselves with the lowest forms of debauchery."

I thought it was pretty weird that I might end up on a date with a Mide woman and I let Jolene know I was skeptical. After all, the men in that part of the world tend to keep their women pretty well locked up -- at home and when they're travelling. I also wondered how I'd bring a woman with poor English around to asking for the extra time that brings me the big tips. "And if I make the indecent proposal, what then? Hell you never know, Effy might turn out to be a female vice cop."

Jolene somehow convinced me it'd all work out and pooh-poohed the danger: "Art, you need to stop being so mistrustful. A female vice cop masquerading as an Miden woman? Really now! You need to come back down to earth. The cops here in Baltimore have trouble pretending to be cops."

After the adventures with Audrey during my last date at the Four Seasons, I had to agree with her judgment of the city's finest. In the end I committed to the date just like Jolene knew I would - right from the beginning. My final words of surrender were: "And how do I recognize Effy? I mean there might be more than one of them in a Miden dress."

Jolene gave me the same hard schoolteacher look that she always gave me whenever I got cynical. "Effy has black hair, 5-4, glittery silver necklace and bracelets, rings, blue dress and alligator handbag. She'll look like money is no object and it won't be."

I still had lots of misgivings about this. Hell, depending on where you are in her part of the world, men go to all sorts of extremes to keep their women pure -- cover the hair, cover the face, don't let women use seat belts because the female form is too obvious, don't let them drive, don't let them go shopping alone, etc., etc. And now this Effy, obviously from the Mide or near by, and whose English is pretty shaky, is free enough to engage an escort. Question was, who was scheming and what were they scheming to do?

Only when I walked into the lobby of the Four Seasons did my skepticism vanish. Maybe it was the memory of the afternoon in the Hyatt Regency with Marilyn. Maybe the luxury and energy-laden atmosphere of these luxury hotels somehow makes all the crap in the world go away?

As always Jolene's description was accurate, or at least good enough so that I didn't have any trouble finding Effy. She invited me to have a drink with her in the Wit & Wisdom (a bar/restaurant inside the hotel). Over whiskey's, she first explained that I shouldn't be surprised that she used alcohol. After all what did I think the upper class drank when they partied -- even in her prudish homeland.

It was pretty obvious that she wanted to talk so I let her do just that, interrupting with polite questions to give myself a rest from the effort of paying such close attention. It didn't take me too long to get used to her accent, but the real problem was her syntax. Effy knew lots of English words but she had never lived in an English speaking country before and it seemed that her sentence structure came more or less in a direct translation from her native language -- so yeah, it was tedious and I wondered if we'd ever get around to talking about extra services and the tip it'd take for her to get them.

After telling me a whole lot about life back home, Effy got into how much she liked living in Washington. She claimed that her husband was a big shot in their embassy and that gave her lots of pull to keep servants in line. More important though, as Jolene had predicted, money was definitely no problem.

At one point I interrupted with something like: "So you really like it in D.C.? And how do you like Baltimore?"

That's when she told me that her husband, Wally, was on an official trip to various cities around the country. What followed came in smatters and she sometimes seemed to contradict herself so I had to interrupt pretty often just to get things straight. Her husband, Wally, was in his mid-sixties - around 20 years older than she. From her tone of voice when she talked about Wally and from his age, I gathered that their marriage bed wasn't a very lively place.

I was having a hard time getting the names straight and the relationships. She began talking about her sisters Katy, Amy and Gwen and I asked if they all had the same father or same mother or both. The answer turned out to be both yes and no. Amy and Katy had the same father and mother. Effy and Gwen had the same father but different mothers. The confusion came because in English we don't have different words for sibling sisters and sister wives. Sister wives being women married to the same man. (Just like with any polygamous society, I pity the poor sap who has to draw up a family tree.)

Then she told me something that really blew me away. Amy and Katy were her daughters! After her first husband, a friend of Wally's father, had been killed in a car wreck, Wally's father had ordered him to marry her and adopt the two young daughters, Amy and Katy. His first wife, Gwen, hadn't born him children and since she, Effy, had two daughters, Wally figured she must be fertile so he was pretty receptive to the marriage order -- not that his father had given him much choice.

When she, like Gwen, didn't get pregnant from him, he accused her of holding back her eggs. Effy and Gwen were convinced that the problem was that Wally's semen didn't have enough sperm cells, but of course, a woman in their culture doesn't tell her husband that he's only capable of shooting blanks. After some years of fucking Effy as often as he could get his pecker up and servicing Gwen only when he couldn't avoid it, Wally had given up and began to service his two wives only at the maximum intervals allowed.

Effy's openness about these intimacies surprised me because popular knowledge has it that the laws and customs in her country are really prudish when it comes to the sexes and sex. On the other hand though, it turns out that the people aren't necessarily all that prudish when it comes down to practical discussions. Maybe that comes from all the detailed instructions and prohibitions.

I wanted to know how long that maximum interval for servicing a wife was. That set Effy off on a long discourse, which I had trouble following. The best I could figure out was that the maximum allowable interval depends on the imam whom one asks and on whatever the husband thinks is right or what he can manage or wants to manage.

I'd always read that her country a man with more than one wife is required to treat all equally -- sexually and otherwise. How could Wally, have favored Effy with sex and ignored Gwen? Maybe that requirement, like lots of stuff in many countries, is taken by the practitioners however works best for them. Or maybe Wally found an exception to the rule? My skepticism about this date was starting to build up again.

I wondered how they ever kept track of the relationships -- again it went through my mind that drawing up the family tree would be a great big nightmare. But my real curiosity was how they managed the marital sex. Did the wives make up a schedule? Or did Wally arbitrarily say whom he wanted to bed with on any given night?

Effy suddenly seemed tired of the discussion and got right down to business. "Talk long enough. Now you and me do." Then she stuck her extended middle finger into a tube formed by curling the fingers of her other hand and worked it back and forth. "How much?"

Although Jolene had insisted that now with my Mitt Romney look, I could demand a higher 'tip', I told Effy $600 and used my watch to indicate all night.

She hesitated as if thinking about it and surprised me with "We look too, okay?"

I couldn't figure out what she meant and she must have picked up on the look (dumbfounded) on my face because she went on. "You know, look!" And then she looked down at my crotch and then hers.

Then it came to me - somewhere I'd read that rules or even laws in her country forbids copulating couples from looking at each other's genitals. Maybe that was true or at least practiced by some -- like maybe Effy's husband, Wally, didn't look at her pussy and shielded his dick from her. In any case, it was clear that Effy's special night would include the two of us playing you-can-see-mine-if-I-can-see-yours. I said "No problem."

Effy discreetly slid 6 hundred-dollar bills over to me and we left without finishing our whiskeys.

Walking to the lift, we held hands like a couple in love and I could feel jealous eyes on us. Effy was one striking woman and my new hairstyle completed the look of a couple with lots going for them.

We made out in the lift and after it landed on the 8th floor, we hurried to her room to get on with the fun. Inside we were immediately locked in a nearly violent embrace. Exchanging tongues as we kissed, the coppery taste told me she was nearly ready. She'd rub her belly against my erection, back off from the kiss, look at me and then give me a cute shy but knowing smile. Her left leg went up against my hip. I reached around to her back, ran my hand up under her blue dress and then inside her panties. My hand on her bare butt inflamed her more and she grabbed my shoulders and hopped up so her legs were around my waist. We were groin to groin and Effy was really grinding away. Then she broke off the kiss and slid off my hips to a standing position. With no hesitation she lifted her dress and took off her panties. I got a glimpse of the dark pubic triangle before Effy turned around and indicated I should unzip her dress. This I did, unclasping her bra at the same time. When she turned around I was facing a very good looking naked woman with dark hair, luscious red lips, olive skin, moderate size but firm tits and below, a beautiful patch of black pubic hair.

"Now you!" Meaning I should not remain dressed. She helped me off with my jacket, shirt and T-shirt and then my trousers. Hesitating, she backed off and looked at me standing in my boxer shorts, massive bulge in front. "Now I can look?" I nodded and she instantly had my shorts down. Again backing away she looked at my groin closely, like she'd never seen an erect penis before. I beckoned her closer and placed her hand on my dick. At first she just held it loosely in her hand and looked at it like she were studying it in some college physiology lab. Getting more adventurous, she took to stroking lightly. I could see her chest was heaving with excitement and her breath came in rushes. Again we kissed, our tongues intermingling. My hand went to her crotch and found the warm and moist slit. Massaging the labia made her even wetter. I started for the top of her slit to massage her clitoris but she stopped me and whispered "Not there." That was a new one on me. What woman didn't want her clitoris massaged?

Effy leaned over a little and we flopped onto the bed. Her parted legs and raised knees told me that she wanted one thing and she wanted it without delay. There was sharp intake of her breath as the head of my penis went in between her labia. Entering her vagina brought forth a light squeal that she followed with an encouraging moan. She matched my slow measured strokes with her own thrusts and I was quickly in to the hilt, or more accurately to my newly trimmed groin. Predictably, things got more urgent in a hurry and we were both sweating as we seemed to be trying to see who could slam the other harder. Effy announced her release with a squeal and loud panting -- thank goodness before me. Afterwards we lay together, our sweat soaked bodies intertwined and Effy's rear end in the sticky pool formed by the product of our orgasms.

After we cooled down, Effy indicated she wanted us to bathe so I filled the tub, putting in some of the foaming bath soap, which of course was supplied with this luxury hotel room. Effy kneeled in the tub and I followed suit. (The client is always right unless, of course, they turn out to be unacceptably wrong.) Facing each other on our knees, her beautiful black pubic triangle was visible to me and my now slowly swelling dick to her. Effy initiated the tub action by diligently washing me and of course she was rewarded with more swelling. I rewarded her with a good washing and thought maybe now she'd want her clitoris to get some attention. But no! That wasn't the case at all, in fact she backed off whenever I got close to the top of her lovely slit. I thought "well, what the hell, different strokes for different folks", and let it go at that.

It became obvious that Effy wanted to give me a hand job in the tub and I had no objections to that. It was then also pretty obvious that she wasn't very experienced at giving hand jobs so I showed her how to use some bath gel as a lube and a few of the typical moves. She may have been inexperienced but even inexperienced hand jobbers have a natural instinct that makes them get worked up and speed up the pace as the male gets closer and closer to orgasm. Effy was no exception and she squealed and couldn't seem to catch her breath when I came, squirting all over her breasts and chin.

Back in bed after cleaning each other up for the second time that night, it was pretty obvious that my next erection wouldn't be to soon. Effy let me know that she wanted to talk so I made up my mind to be patient and try to understand at least some of what she wanted to say. After all, there's worse ways to earn a living than conversing in bed with a good looking naked woman -- even one with unusual pronunciation and strange syntax. Fortunately Effy, being rather intelligent, had caught on to my problems understanding her and had begun accompanying her sentences with sign language and actions.

First she spread her legs and using two fingers of one hand opened her slit. I'm not a gynecologist, but I could see right away that her pussy was not standard issue. Without waiting for my comment, she pointed at the top of her slit and then with two fingers made a snipping-like motion. I had just met my first circumcised woman! Indeed, the clitoris and clitoral hood were not there -- at least not enough that I could identify as such!

Effy used sign language to indicate that the area where these organs had been was tender to the touch, which was why she stopped me from massaging her there. I was surprised that it hadn't been painful when we were fucking groin to groin, but I didn't know how to phrase the question so she'd understand. I tried to look sad and I told her I was sorry. Surprisingly she answered "No, no sorry." And she didn't look sad -- I guess she just accepted it as normal.

After that bit of show-and-tell, she made my dick the center of attention. After getting clued in on her circumcision, I didn't have anything resembling a hard-on and my foreskin covered the head completely. She reached over with one hand and put it under my dick and allowed it to lie in the palm of her hand. After a bit of studying it and examining with her index finger, Effy got more adventurous. Now using her thumb and forefinger, she worked my foreskin partly back. Looking up at me, she questioned "No circumcise?" What could I say but "No, no circumcise."

I thought this might lead to some fun little sex game so I decided to stop being passive. Retracting my foreskin and holding it back, I asked "Is this how Wally looks?" Effy looked at me a little perplexed and I could almost hear the wheels in her brain turning and clicking as she tried to formulate and answer. Then finally she got it out "All men at home circumcised. Wally too. But Wally I never see."

So they somehow remained covered up when they fucked -- well actually that's not too hard. Nor even unusual -- some western sects promoted that custom as well. Not that it was too hard to promote, because if you happen to sleep in a cold bedroom, you probably want to keep shirts on and do it under the covers anyway. All the same, I was fascinated at her claim that she'd never ever seen her husband's dick!

Just to get back on the subject of anatomy, I offered "But you know Wally is circumcised?"

Looking at me a little perplexed, she said it a matter of fact voice, "All men in my country circumcised."

All the while she was cradling my dick with one hand and fondling it with the other. All this had the predictable result -- namely that I started swelling up. Again in the same matter-of-fact voice, "Wally not do like that."

So dear Wally not only shot blanks, he had trouble getting it up, or at least he had trouble keeping it up. All I could say was "Oh."

Still cradling my dick in one hand, she took the other hand away and used it to demonstrate. First a drooping finger represented Wally's soft dick. Then she slowly extended the finger to show Wally getting hard, but let it drop pretty quickly to show that Wally couldn't keep it up.

Then she took my hand to her lower slit and said ever so mournfully, "Long time, Wally no here."

I was thinking of a guy with four wives, none of whom he could service. That got me curious and almost knowing the answer, I asked how it was with Wally and Gwen.

Effy nearly jumped straight up as she took her hands away from my dick and exclaimed "Gwen, oh shit, I forget Gwen."

Effy went straight to the wardrobe and pulled out two robes. One she put on and the other she tossed to me. "Put on!" Both of us now robed, she led me to door that I hadn't noticed before. Opening it, she said "Now you meet Gwen."

It was only then that I started becoming aware of the layout of where we were. Where Effy and I had been was a bedroom in a large suite. Sitting on a great big couch in the living room was woman, perhaps a little older than Effy and somewhat heavier, wearing a green dress, silver necklace, bracelets, rings -- all complimenting her shiny black hair. So was this going to be a doubleheader for me or what?

Although Effy was the younger of the two sister wives, she was clearly going to be the master of ceremonies. She led me over and sat me down to Gwen's right and then sat next to my right so that I was framed by two very handsome dark-haired women, one fashionably (and expensively) dressed, the other in a hotel robe. Immediately it was clear why Effy was in charge, Gwen's English was limited to 'hello', 'good bye', 'thank you' and that sort of thing.