Breakfast with Dimples

Johnny Christo ran, his old army boots pounding the concrete path along the edge of Wharf Four, the sweat coming good under his rubber jacket. As he ran, he watched the sun rise above the horizon beyond Manaha Bay, its golden disk a promise of another hot day as it began to climb into a clear blue sky. With years of workouts behind him, he knew when it was going to be a fine training day. He felt taut, big lungs blowing easy, his energy level high. He had recently begun to actually enjoy hard physical exertion and understood that was due to his great condition. He felt good, okay, except for the cursed "problem".

His hands balled into fists as he moved past the steel derricks, cranes, containers, and forklifts parked along the docks. He was thinking about the upcoming fight against the Japanese bastard. The pug he would enter the ring with twenty-nine days hence was just "the Japanese bastard" in Johnny's mind. As he ran, he pumped his fists in front of his chest, uppercuts, jabs, left and right crosses, grunting with the effort, imagining the bastard in front of him as he rained blows on his opponent's head and torso. But still, in the inner recesses of his mind, he couldn't escape the nagging reverie, the disturbing mental images of the problem.

Pulling a face towel from the back pocket of his heavy jeans, he paused at an iron bollard, and wiped tears of perspiration from his eyes before falling stiff-armed onto the bollard to begin a series of eighty push-ups. As he pumped up and down, he felt the power in his shoulders, arms and wrists. By the time he hit the eighty count, the bollard was slippery with his sweat. He continued at a fast pace, crossing through the next two wharves until he arrived at the Wet Dream moored alongside her habitual berth under the high timber pier of Wharf Seven. He slowed his pace, glanced down and spotted Pedro, Captain Max Krueger's chief mate, hosing down the aft deck of the wide-beamed tugboat He waved at the fellow. Pedro, looking up, returned the gesture with a smile and a salute. Pedro was Johnny's favorite Verubian. They had become pals on the journey over to Ujung Kupang to do battle with pirates months earlier. Pedro was close to Johnny's age and had a burly physique that matched the Filipino's in bulk, if not in fitness. Johnny had once suggested to Pedro that the seaman take up professional boxing, but the chief mate had chuckled and said he was way too handsome to be messing up his looks in the ring. Pedro had worked for Krueger for several years and was a contented dude.

Johnny thought about Max Krueger. Now there was a man he could trust. He and the captain weren't exactly buddies. He couldn't say that the skipper was his pare, but there was something about the rugged European that calmed Johnny, gave him confidence in himself. It was Krueger who had arranged for the fight against the Japanese bastard, despite doubts on the part of Vic, Johnny's new trainer in Verubia, that Johnny was ready yet, or would ever be ready for such an important bout. Well, if Krueger reckoned he was ready, then he was, and the money would sure come in handy. Johnny's relationship with the skipper was influenced by the fact that Krueger was a generation older than him, and was his boss, no matter which way you looked at it.

Johnny got on well with the Verubian boxers who trained under Vic at the gym. They were similar to Filipinos in appearance and character, possessing the same insecurities as fighters anywhere. Most of them could speak enough English to communicate with him, and he was trying to learn their language. Things, in fact, were going well. Except, of course, for the problem. He shied away mentally from that taboo subject with some desperation, and concentrated on his memories... of the late Jun Dagdag, the closest friend he ever had, his fellow seaman on the Komun Hangoo, and Captain Park, the Korean master of that ill-fated bucket of rust, whom he had respected so much, and the cold hearted radio officer Fong, who had betrayed his shipmates. And he briefly remembered his fear of sharks, one of the reasons he'd been so reluctant to go to sea again, but all of it did no good.

He stopped running and leaned the palms of his hands on a low brick wall at the end of the docks near the road that led to the municipal pool and clubhouse. His head slumped forward and he gazed down between his outstretched arms, watching beads of sweat drop from his stubbled face onto his scuffed boots, the same boots he had trained in for all those years he'd been a fighter back in the Philippines. The sound of his breathing was harsh in his ears. He was suddenly short of breath. There was an ugly knot in his belly and abdomen, and his cock was stiff; trapped and crushed in his sodden jockstrap. He couldn't have continued running with this solid erection even if he'd wanted to. There was no denying it... the problem had caught up with him. It had sprinted behind him like a malignant shadow that couldn't be shaken off, a shadow that only waited for him to slow down and let his fevered imagination falter for one moment of weakness, and then the shadow pounced and he couldn't fight it off anymore.

He groaned, lifted his face and stared at the wall in front of him. Putang-ina he muttered, shaking his head. He was so horny he could shit. He was so malibog he could pop a blood vessel. He glanced down at the front of his jeans and saw the bulge of big tumescence. Good god, would he never get laid again? Would he never feel the hot juicy passion of a woman? He was twenty-eight years old, had been in Manaha about four months now, and he hadn't felt the sweet soft warmth of a female's skin since his arrival. Those months had been so full of activity... training, eating right, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, helping Vic outfit the gym, fixing his papers with Immigration, calling his mom back home, exploring the new city... but no goddam sex. He couldn't stand it anymore. If he didn't get hold of a chick soon, he'd explode.

* * *

"Hello."

Startled, Johnny looked round quickly at the sound of the voice, convinced his sexual fantasies were on guilty display. For a second he saw no one, then noticed a pair of smooth brown legs swinging in his field of vision. He raised his eyes and there was a girl the likes of whom he had never seen before, perched on the brick wall like Humpty Dumpty, smiling down at him. He stared at her, open-mouthed, then twisted sideways in case she was catching a glimpse of the boner under the rough material of his pants. He was speechless.

"You're Johnny Christo, right?'' He nodded, still confused.

She laughed. "I've read about you in the papers. My dad showed me an article about you in the sports pages, together with your photo. You know, all about the fight later this month? Didn't you know you've got a fan club?''

He shook his head, bewildered. "A fan club? Me?''

"Sure. You're a star here in Manaha. And why not, you're pretty cute."

Johnny scratched his damp crew cut, which is what he did when he was embarrassed. He looked at the girl carefully. She was about nineteen or twenty, with a helmet of short black hair glistening in the morning sun. Her eyes were big and round, and she had real prominent dimples in both her cheeks.

Talk about cute, he thought.

"Here, help me down," she ordered.

He raised his hand. She took hold of it and jumped down. For a moment, her skirt got hitched under her on the bricks, so that her legs, clear up to her panties, were briefly exposed, and Johnny almost orgasmed on the spot, he was that ready to fire with both barrels. Her legs were gorgeous, her panties black and wispy.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, concerned by the look of pain on his face.

"Yeah," he muttered. "What's your name?''

"Dana, but people call me Dimples."

"Cute," he smiled, recovering his equilibrium. "So why are you sitting here so early in the morning?"

"I'm looking for a job, and the early bird catches the worm."

"Your English is real good, Dana."

"So is yours, Johnny."

He wished he'd worn just his thin cotton T-shirt, instead of the rubber sweat jacket, so she could see his muscles. Like all athletes, he was unashamedly proud of his impressive physique. He didn't have much else to offer women. She was dazzlingly pretty, and seemed very friendly. His heart thumped with hope; his soul yearned for her to like him; his prick throbbed with anticipation.

"Do you wanna get some breakfast?" she asked.

He knew he should jog back to the gym. He had a sparring session lined up with Dommy Hernan, a top local fighter who had just signed on with Vic's outfit for the month. Hernan had been chosen as a sparring partner for Johnny because he had the same fighting style as the Japanese bastard... fast and clever, with good defensive footwork. On the other hand, this beautiful girl was inviting him to eat with her, which was sort of a compliment in Filipino culture, and he'd been on a tight leash way too long.

"I guess I'm pretty hungry," he said, which was a major understatement.

"Let's go to my apartment and I'll cook for you," suggested Dimples. "Don't look so nervous, I'm a good cook."

"Your... apartment?"

"Sure, I live near here."

"What about your dad?"

"I live alone. How old do you think I am?"

"Nineteen?''

''Twenty-three! That's why I've got to find a job!"

"Well, okay," Johnny said What was going on here? How lucky could a guy suddenly get?

They strolled up the road past the municipal pool, walked behind a shopping center, turned left and right down some narrow side streets and came to a modest apartment complex. They passed through the lobby and rode an elevator to the fourth floor, Dana chatting away cheerfully, which was good because Johnny was trying to act nonchalant and cool. He was only required to nod and smile, although his mind was racing with torrid fantasies. Ay naku, he hadn't shaved for three days, and needed a shower badly. He was accustomed to living in a man's world, without females. This was just so weird. Great, but weird.

Dana unlocked her front door and waved him in. "I got some chorizo sausages in the fridge," she announced. "Filipinos like chorizo, yes?"

Vic would bust a gut if he found out Johnny was about to eat the fatty, greasy, high cholesterol Spanish sausages that were considered a delicacy in the Philippines.

"I love chorizo, Dimples. Thanks."

Vic could go fly a kite. He'd never know, anyway.

"Sit down and watch some TV while I get breakfast ready," she said. "If you want to shower, the bathroom is through that door." She disappeared into the kitchen.

He looked around, impressed. It wasn't a big pad, but was well furnished and cozy. He ducked into the bathroom and stripped off the rubber jacket and the wet singlet beneath, then washed his face and torso as best he could. There was no razor blade, or he would have had a quick shave. There was no sign of any male accouterments in the bathroom cabinet. Maybe she really did live alone. His pulse quickened. He studied his reflection in the mirror over the basin. He would have liked to take a bath in the ceramic tub behind him, but that was out of the question. What the hell was he doing here? Was she a nympho? Did she make a habit of going out and picking up guys? Or was she what she appeared to be, a kind, friendly girl who was impressed at meeting somebody she'd read about in the papers? He recalled the newspaper article she had referred to, a publicity blurb in the Manaha Gazette, paid for by Max Kruger as part of the promotional campaign for the May 30th fight.

Johnny was no virgin, and knew that fighters turned certain ladies on. He'd had a few one-night stands in the Philippines back in his early fighting days, and had screwed the usual quota of hookers in the ports of call the Komun Hangoo had visited, but he wasn't that experienced with the fairer sex because the majority of his adult years had been spent in the almost exclusively masculine worlds of the boxing ring and merchant marine. Then again, why was he even thinking along these lines? Maybe all he was going to get was a plate of sausages.

He put his face near the mirror, close enough to fog the glass with his breath, and stared into his own eyes. You idiot, he said to himself. You cabron, just get hold of yourself, eat your breakfast and get back to the gym where Dommy Hernan is waiting to put you to the test in front of his Verubian buddies, and maybe show Johnny Christo up for the clumsy bum he might really be.

"Food's ready!"

He heard the dulcet tones of the little beauty calling him, and out he went to investigate just how lucky this morning was going to be, and he found out really, really quickly. There was Dana Dimples, naked as a jaybird if you didn't count the gold chain around her waist and the equally gold high-heeled shoes she was teetering on seductively as she bent over the table and spooned fried sausages onto a small mountain of garlic rice, the rounded curves of her bare bottom sticking out at a charming angle. Johnny moaned and stumbled, then sat down.

"Eat," she said sweetly. "Then we'll fuck. Is that okay with you, Johnny?"

He gazed at her pert breasts and narrow waist and tiny puff of pubic hair, and her lips and dark eyes. He drank her in with his glazed eyes. He was unable to speak.

"In fact, why don't I give you a blowjob while you're eating, and then we'll go to the bedroom."

"Uh..." he croaked, his eyes lingering on her golden naked flesh. He cleared his throat. "Why are you doing this? You don't even know me."

'Yes, I do. I've watched you jogging up the docks many times. You've been too busy to see poor little me. Why do you think I was on that wall just now? Because I knew you'd be coming by, and I wanted to meet you. I'm crazy about you. Now eat your breakfast."

As he tucked in, shoveling the rich, spicy sausages into his mouth and chewing as fast as he could, Dimples slipped under the table, slid the zipper of his pants down, and pulled his reddened whanger from the confines of his jock strap, the same little beast that had been begging for attention for weeks now. He couldn't see Dimples under the table because she was hidden by the tablecloth, but he felt her damp lips close over his pecker and she begin to suck it gently, basting the maddened brute with a tongue that tickled and teased him with incredible skill, and he closed his eyes tight. A trickle of pork fat slid from the comer of his mouth and he shuddered and started to explode into her mouth, and all he saw was red, a pounding scarlet field of delirium as his clawed fingers caught the checkered tablecloth and yanked it towards him in a spasm of lust and the plate of meat and rice crashed to the floor as he jerked his head back until his gas tank was emptied, whereupon she crawled on hands and knees from under the table, wiped her mouth demurely on a comer of the tablecloth, rose lithely to her feet, took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

They made love twice in the next hour. Dimples was voracious. She did things to him he had only ever heard other men brag about. At the time he had presumed those men were liars, but now he knew differently. They were two healthy young animals in the prime of life, and anytime he threatened to falter in his performance, bis great need spurred him on. Dana was the wettest woman he had ever tasted, constantly ready and more than willing to be flung around her bed, and sometimes off it too. They made whoopee until she cried out with an orgasm of great intensity, shouting his name over and over in her small apartment down near the docks of Manaha, and she knew she was his dream come true, her lithe tanned body writhing and contorting in a frenzy to match his own.

Around mid-morning she called time out, gave Johnny breakfast to make up for the one he'd been unable to finish earlier, and booted him out of her apartment with a fond kiss, during which she rammed her tongue down his throat so he wouldn't forget her. She reminded him that she had that job to hunt for, and he didn't argue. He was beat. He'd come three times in as many hours, so he limped back to the gym to face an irritated Vic, who wanted to know why he bad no intention of sparring with Dommy. Johnny told Vic he was running a small fever and wouldn't train until the next day, and Vic reluctantly agreed to that.

* * *

As soon as the Filipino stud left her apartment, Dana picked up her mobile and called the number she knew by heart. She was answered by a cool, feminine voice.

"I met the boxer, ma'am."

"Oh? And what happened, Dimples?"

"Everything went fine."

"Meaning?"

"We have begun a relationship, ma'am. I think he's hooked."

"Was he good?"

"Better than good."

''Well done, Dimples. You have an interesting talent when it comes to members of the opposite sex. When will you meet him again?"

"Anytime I want to, I guess."

"Do it again tomorrow. Did you enjoy it?"

"He's a handsome and energetic young man, Mrs Magritt."

"Keep me informed as you work your magic. I shall pass this information on to my husband. He will be pleased. Goodbye."

The black swan cut the connection, and the petal took a long hot bath, slightly dazed and sore. As she lay in the tub, idly touching her bruised nipples, she felt happy to have scored points with her benefactor, her conscience untroubled by what she was about to do to the good-looking Filipino fighter. The task assigned to her was relatively simple. She was to make sure that Johnny Christo spent the next twenty-eight days totally distracted from his training schedule. She had to slow him down to the point where he would enter the ring at the Manaha Sports Complex in a physical, and perhaps more importantly, a mental condition that would guarantee his loss at the hands of his Japanese opponent, thereby earning Rose's powerful husband a small fortune. Mr Magritt loved a good wager, especially when the odds were stacked in his favor.

Had Dana been aware of the recent death of her fellow petal, Felicia, out at Camp Kurati, she might have paused a moment in her blind obedience to the wishes and whims of the Magritt couple. She had met Felicia at the Twilight Blush Beauty Parlor on Avenue de la Paz, and had liked her. They were fellow petals, and like most of the other petals who were in thrall of Mama Rose, Dana was an ambitious little lady from the wrong side of the railroad tracks, who was blessed with a lovely appearance but was unburdened by any great sense of what was right or wrong in Verubian society.

She smiled lazily, wallowing in the warm, soapy water, and casually hitched both her heels over the ceramic sides of her bathtub. She smiled because she had lied to Johnny. She wasn't going out job hunting. She already had a job. Johnny was her new job, and she'd bring him down like Delilah brought down Samson. She giggled, her dimples dimpling prettily, glanced down at her widely spread legs and tenderly fondled her well-fed honey pot with one of her fingers. Yes, Johnny would be her labor of love for the month of May. That is, if he didn't fuck her to death first.