Five Whores for Denver

You can't trust anybody in the focsle. So, every sailor has something like that. Luckily, I'd stashed the gold from my last voyage there, before I'd learned about Faith. So, I had been carrying a relative fortune all the time I was in Adams's clutches.

That led me to a chilling thought. By now, Adams had no-doubt figured-out that I wasn't coming back. And he would probably guess that I was in New Orleans. Hence, it was likely that he would be combing the city looking for me. Therefore, it seemed advisable that I go to ground.

It was midafternoon and I was walking through a place with very distinctive architecture; all Frenchified balconies and wrought iron fantasies. It had narrow streets and back alleys. THOSE had the potential for good cover. Logically, it was called the "French Quarter," and it looked to be one of the older sections of the city.

I was dawdling my way down Dauphin Street, right on the edge of the Storyville district, when I saw a sign on a substantial clapboard and stone building up an alleyway. Men were coming and going through the front door. Naturally, I just assumed it was a hotel. I mean, it certainly looked like a hotel. I needed some sleep and a bath. So, I went in looking to book a room.

The instant I walked through the door I realized my error. There were beautiful women draped around on the plush furnishings, like alley cats. And they were ALL in some form of undress!!

My first instinct was to avert my eyes. That had been drummed into us at all those cotillions. Still, the infinite bounty of breasts and hips in bustiers and bare legs in net stockings was far too much for my twenty-year-old sensibilities. So, I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.

Now, you might think I was a naive fool, walking into a whorehouse looking for a bed and bath. But this place was like nothing I'd ever encountered. New England was still under the thumb of its Puritan ancestors and places like this were kept secret lest they offend the eyes of the godly.

A woman detached herself from the delectable array of female flesh and glided majestically over like a clipper ship entering harbor under full sail. She was older than the collection of kittens around her. But she must have been a stunning beauty in her day.

She was painted-up like the lead float in a Fourth of July parade. But she had a very pretty face under all the cosmetics. And her monumental tits were hoisted to inconceivable heights by a bustier that was an engineering marvel.

At six-two, I towered over her by a foot. Yet, I was intimidated by her worldly confidence. She stood there, appraising me like she was buying a horse. I almost expected her to thump my chest and pry open my mouth to count my teeth. She finally said, "What're y'all heah for sugahhh?" There was a glint in her eye.

I got enough rationality back to stutter, "I was just-just looking for a b-b-bed and a b-b-bath." She tittered merrily and purred, "That'll cost you twenty dollahs gold, sailor."

I said in amazement, "That's a lot of money for a room." She laughed, a throaty chuckle that dripped pure sex, and said, "We provide a little lagniappe along with the bed and hot water mon-cher."

I handed a liberty-head to her. She took it and actually bit it. Then she turned to a beautiful dark girl who had drifted up next to her and said, "Marie-Aimee, could you please show this Yankee to a room and draw him a bath?"

The new woman was willowy slim with long gorgeous legs and smooth raven hair. It hung down her back, all the way to her delectable hind-quarters. She had large, soft, perfectly shaped tear-drop breasts parked on top of her corset. But her face was the real wonder.

She was a rare, exotic beauty with huge dark eyes, perfectly proportioned features and a lush sensuality that hearkened to leaping fires, beating drums and wanton tropical nights. You would have to be made of stone to not respond to her. And one part of me was pure granite. as I inhaled her musky scent. She smelled like magnolias.

She moved with the lithe feline grace of a hunting jungle cat, natural and smooth, yet compellingly purposeful. She almost prowled. I followed the swaying globes of her ass up the richly carpeted stairs. They looked like two cannon balls moving up and down.

She opened the door to a room and ushered me in. There was a big galvanized tin tub placed right in the middle of it. I said nervously, "So, do you work here?" I still hadn't gotten it in my head that a woman as remarkably beautiful as this one was a whore.

She gave me a pitying look, like she couldn't believe I was allowed to walk around without a keeper. She said in a soft Cajun accented voice, "It's a living. Now take off your clothes and settle down in this tub, Cher. We'll get you some hot water and soap."

I was a bit shy about undressing in front of a lady. I also wanted to make sure my stash of gold coins stayed in my possession. So, I waited until the stunning creature had glided out of the room. Then I stuck everything under the mattress.

I was sitting in the tub in my birthday suit when the first woman, who clearly was the madam, came in with a couple of black porters bearing steaming buckets of water. They proceeded to pour hot water into the tub and I found out how a boiled lobster felt.

The lady was disrobing while the two men did that. I wondered how a female could undress with three men in the room. But it appeared that the two porters were invisible to her, being no-doubt slaves. The woman had removed the bustier and was down to nothing but frilly pantaloons, staring at me hungrily.

She was maybe forty years old. But she was the most voluptuous female I'd ever seen. I'd marveled at the size of her tits. They were topped by big, round, red, almost purple aureoles, with large nipples protruding from the middle. My wife's breasts had been big. But Faith's tits were mere foothills compared to this woman's jaw-dropping treasures.

I'd thought she'd looked chubby in a dress. That was because her boobs were wider than her ribcage. Naked, they were giant swaying globes, with surprisingly little sag. To this day, whenever I see an enormous pair of juicy watermelons, I think "New Orleans whorehouse."

The impression of plump was reinforced by the fact that her massive boobs were accompanied by wide, fruitful hips. In fact, naked, you could see that there was actually very little fat on her. And the muscles moving around beneath that soft female flesh were clearly visible.

With boobs and hips so enormous, you would expect her to have legs like tree trunks. But hers were slim and sculptured, with enough space at the top to berth a frigate. Nevertheless, although her legs might be works of art, her true wonder was her waistline.

In the nude, her tiny waist made her look like she had been tied in the middle using very little rope. You could just about span it with your hands, a little over twenty inches. The contrast between her hips and boobs and her waist brought to mind the term, "Earth Goddess."

The sight of her was something you'd see maybe once in a lifetime. Even more relevant, I hadn't been with a woman in over two years. So, understandably, an object broke the surface in front of me that looked like a breaching bluefin.

My new friend got a hungry expression as she shoved me back in the tub and climbed in facing me. She said coyly, "I'll have to do something about that sugahhh." She leaned forward, seized the recently surfaced item, which was sticking out of the bathwater like the Scituate lighthouse, and proceeded to gobble it like it was a plump chicken and she'd been living on a desert island.

The exquisite sensation of her hot mouth slammed my head back onto the edge of the tub. You have to understand. Faith and I were both newcomers to sex. And we hadn't gotten to that chapter in the book yet. That was the first time I'd ever been blown. I lasted perhaps ten seconds before I groaned and then erupted like Vesuvius. She began to drench her own breasts with the resulting molten magma, moaning lustfully as she did it.

I had no idea what was happening. But that was irrelevant. This woman had just awakened the Kraken. I rose out of the water. Picked her up like she weighed nothing and tossed her on the bed. She gave an eager squeal as she landed, legs spread, massive boobs flopping. Then I pounced on top of her making alarming growls. Her hand reached between us. There was a minute of fumbling and I slid into a fiery passage.

My partner was a professional, which was actually an advantage. She might have serviced many men. But it made her expert in the fine art of fucking. She gripped me down there with more strength than most women have in their hands and proceeded to massage me in mysterious ways.

I made another loud groan and plunged into her to the hilt. That caused her eyes to go remarkably wide, she shrieked, they rolled completely up in her head, and we began a very vigorous dance.

I'd never been with a whore before. In fact, I hadn't been with anybody but Faith. Still, my wife was one very wild fuck... Bad thought!! The vision of that son-of-a-bitch tapping Faith's extraordinary passion hit me and I was overcome by a blazing pang of jealousy.

Mercifully, the pain was quickly submerged by a tidal wave of sensation. My new partner had her gorgeous legs around my waist and was slamming back at me. She was grunting with effort as she worked my shaft writhing like a madwoman. Our mutual sweat made our bodies slippery and she was oozing lubrication around the part where she'd been penetrated.

She had her arms wrapped tightly around my chest and her giant tits were moving around independently between us. It felt like an eternity passed. Then my partner began to emit loud rhythmic cries that built to a crescendo. With that, she made a throaty sound very deep in her chest and yelled astonished, "Oh Mon Dieu!!!-J'ARRIVE!! -- YESSSS!!"

That set her off on a series of bucking and writhing maneuvers that nearly tossed both of us off the bed. Her violent reaction, the musky aroma and the sheer violence of what was occurring in her passage caused me to nearly deposit my testicles in her.

When I got my wits back, I turned and looked at her. She was lying on her back whimpering, one arm thrown over her eyes, giant mounds, rising and falling. She popped one eye open and looked at me with wonder.

Then she rose and planted a steamy kiss on me and said, "That was epic cher!!" I was astounded. I knew that whores didn't come. It's a business, not pleasure for them. And they certainly didn't kiss.

I flopped over on my stomach, covered in sweat, still trying to figure out what had just happened. She was tracing the muscles in my shoulders and back. She said huskily, "How did you get slabs of muscle like that, sugah. I have never been with a man with a back, shoulders and arms like yours."

I said idly, "I've been a whaler my whole life. You get like that if you are good with an oar and harpoon." She said, flirtatiously, "What's a whaler doing in New Orleans? We don't have any whales here."

I said, "I was shanghaied on a slaver that tried to run past the patrols on Lake Pontchartrain last night. They still import slaves from Africa, you know, even though it's been outlawed." I heard a grim voice say, "I know. If that double-eagle's from the slave trade I don't want it."

I laughed and said, "The opposite; they needed to evade a revenue cutter. So, they dumped me and some others over the side with the people they'd kidnapped. I landed them in Bayou Sauvage, and they were heading for a runaway settlement when I last saw them."

She gave me a glorious smile and immediately tried to roll me over. When I complied, something hove into view that looked like the bowsprit of a ship-of-the-line. It wasn't anything miraculous. I was only twenty and it HAD been two years.

She gazed at it hungrily. I grinned and said, "I imagine John Quincy Adams is looking for me as we speak." She gawked incredulous. She said in a no-nonsense tone, "Are you seriously trying to tell me that the Great Abolitionist was captain of a slave ship."

I laughed and said, "I don't think that was his real name. But my life is forfeit if he ever finds me." She said, a voice that was furry with lust, "You can stay here as long as you like my beautiful boy. I just might find a use for you."

Then she lowered herself daintily onto my throbbing member and we commenced the process of getting to know each other better.

*****

That was how I met May Bailey. She had been orphaned by the death of their parents in one of New Orleans periodic yellow fever epidemics. But her beauty was already full-fledged. So. she immediately caught the eye of Joseph Samuel, a wealthy cotton merchant.

He "adopted" her, even though she was already eighteen and maintained her in lavish style in a house in the French Quarter. Attitudes are different in the Big Easy. Hence, having a mistress as young and stunningly beautiful as May was, a mark of distinction for her benefactor.

Then Samuel died. It was alleged that his massive heart failure might have had something to do with the wide disparity in their ages, and his preoccupation with his hot young mistress. But May was a redoubtable woman and she had her renowned beauty to fall back on. So, she quickly snared another cotton magnate named Herman.

He was even older and richer than her previous conquest and May actually worked out a deal where the house went to her upon his passing. The man's inevitable demise came three years later. He was buried with a smile on his face and May had property and a little money.

May told me that she'd grown tired of being taken care of by a man. She had no marketable skills except the ones she'd acquired in her seven-year sojourn as a professional mistress. So, she went with her strength.

She turned her new residence into the type of high-class knocking shop that would attract the area's wealthy planters and merchants. The "talent" she gathered was every type, from poor creoles to rebellious daughters.

They were every color in the rainbow, including red and yellow. But they all had one thing in common. Like May, they were exceptionally beautiful, and they knew how to fuck. In fact, by the time I met her May was something of a New Orleans legend. She even had a license to operate a "house-of-ill-repute," granted by the city.

May might be wealthy and influential. But she couldn't have children. She divulged that piece of information to me one weepy night, after she had nearly killed me in bed. She said that she'd taken a shine to me because she imagined that I looked like the son she'd never have.

That statement was more than a bit disturbing, given the fact that she'd just finished riding me like a thoroughbred at the Gentilly fairgrounds, she called it "cowgirl."

I didn't know what to say. My one experience with a woman was with Faith. And inevitably, I had a flash of painful regret at THAT thought. So, I did what I'd do with my former wife. I stroked May's naked back and held her as she cried.

I said matter-of-fact, "You know, the priest might have a problem if I really were your son." She looked at me sadly and said, "I know dear boy. It's just that I've grown very fond of you in my own way and it's time for you to leave."

That was news to me. I said puzzled, "Leave, where am I going?"

May smiled affectionately and said, "I have a partnership arrangement with one of my girls. We're going to open a place in Denver. There's gold out there and we're going to split the profits. That is, if I provide the stock."

I had visions of cattle drives. I said, "What does that have to do with me?" May said, "It's a long and dangerous journey. So, I'm sending you, along with Patrick, to make sure they get there."

Patrick was the very essence of the smiling Irishman. I liked him. He was ten years older than me, and he had one of those classic Irish faces, hooded eyes, long narrow nose, thick eyebrows and an accent that hinted at larceny and good humor.

He'd come over during the great hunger and was making his way via every conceivable form of grift. He had been working as the barman downstairs, laying out drinks and blarney for as long as I'd been upstairs.

I might have felt a bit resentful being unceremoniously kicked out of the nest. But I was thrilled by the prospect for new adventure. It had been almost a month since I'd walked through May's door. We weren't sure whether Adams was still looking for me. So, I had been confined to the upstairs of the house; trying to stay invisible.

At night I serviced the madam. But we were both getting fidgety. I always had a daring spirit and a journey into the wild west was just the kind of prospect that I could sink my teeth into. Even if it was as a trail boss for a herd of whores, movin' west.

I'd miss May. But we both knew that our interlude wouldn't last long. I was twenty years her junior and she was a madam. Hence, a week later we were bound up-river on the steamer Natchez - destination, Hannibal, Missouri.

That was my first trip on a steam driven boat, and it was eye-opening. The big stern paddles were turned by a mighty engine located in the bowels of the ship. It huffed and puffed its way against the current, making a full five knots. That was a miracle in-and-of-itself for a blue-water sailor like me. Steam obviously had a future.

May had seen us off at the cotton docks at the end of Ursulines Avenue. She gave me a parting hug and said, "Be good my beautiful boy. I'll never forget you" Was that a tear in her eye?

May Bailey might have been a prostitute and a madam. But she was a strong and independent woman and one of the kindest and most honorable souls I've ever known. She sailed by her own star and she never budged an inch her entire life.

It was obvious that May was helping me to get out of town. Still, fate has a sense of humor. Who would have thought that I would be making my escape by honchoing a shipment of prostitutes on a thousand-mile journey to the promised land?

There were eight girls in our group, all stunningly beautiful. Two of them, Aphrodite and Bathsheba were former slaves and black. Lin was exotically oriental. Abigail was a planter's daughter. She actually seemed to enjoy her work. Then, there were three Mexican beauties, Itzel, Nelli and Tepin. They were sisters from Vera Cruz; sold into the trade by their parents.

Finally, there was Marie-Aimee. She called herself Aimee since every Cajun girl was named after the Virgin. She was May's business partner. I had not seen much of her since the day I arrived. She'd been around. But she had kept herself scarce while I was hiding out. I think that she'd been told to stay away. Since, it was clear that I found her fatally attractive.

Aimee was a Louisiana creole, what the locals called a quadroon; meaning one of her grandparents was black. The product of that fortuitous merger was a woman of magical beauty, She had a pointed, "intellectual" nose over a stunningly sensual mouth, thick, silky raven hair framed a classic oval face, high, intelligent forehead and her beautiful eyes were a dark shade of violet.

Yes, I said violet!! The contrast between Aimee's golden skin and her distinctive eyes was so startling that men would literally stop and gawk - mesmerized. There was also an undefinable scent about her. it might have been voodoo sorcery, or just plain Aimee. Whatever it was, it turned every male near her into drooling idiots; me included.

As I'd noted, she was perhaps five six, with a body that was feline in its sensuality, big full tits, lithe hips and long smooth muscular legs. She moved like a bayou panther.

May had dressed me like I was her kid. The clothes were stylish and sophisticated, right down to the ruffled shirts and cane. Nevertheless, I was still a former harpooner underneath, and it showed through the Frenchified duds.