Notches

"Ok. I'll do it. One, Two, Three..." She tied her wet hair back, and put her sandals on. That was number ninety-three. She had made ninety-three people come in ninety three countries. She listened to him count; at forty-four she was walking down the stairs to the main floor, ready to catch a cab to her hotel.

*****

Three days here already, ladies and gentleman, and the sun and soil are hot, Windy thought. She was among the few white faces in this part of South Africa, but most spoke English here. It was friendly enough. But she had stolen her way to the cheap seats at Ellis Park stadium to meet someone who had done the same. The sun was beating on them like a drum, but her wide brimmed hat kept the weather from her skin. She had always taken care of herself, and nobody could accurately guess her age. She didn't care much for football -soccer, as it was called back home -but it was an ill populated game, and she sat alone in the back row where she could see anyone enter her section. The players were coloured dots below and she could not see the ball.

A black man came in, saw her, and turned to get a closer seat for the game. A lady with a beige halter dress did the same. Windy waited. It was a lovely hot day.

Halfway through the game, a man entered Windy's section and sat three rows ahead of her. He pulled out his phone, and played with something on it, before settling his ankles on the seat in front of him and laying back in his seat. Windy stood quietly, and walked like a ghost the three rows up. "Excuse me," she said, "can I join you?" He was startled. "I'm sorry but, I've come here alone, and you've come here alone... I thought we might sit together."

"Sure!" he said, eyeing her curves. His accent was thick. He sat up and took his feet off the chair.

"I'm Windy."

"You're American!" She wasn't, but didn't correct him. She sat down beside him as his eyes travelled over her chest."

"You like what you see?" she asked. He laughed and flushed. his legs danced playfully while he pretended to be shy.

"I didn't mean nothing by it," he said, grinning at her.

"No?" she pouted. "Too bad." She crossed her arms and pretended to be offended. It had always worked with Jeremy... He touched her arm.

"No... I'm friendly," he said. "I'm Charley."

Her arm swung onto his thigh. "Hi, Charley." Her hand was dangling right in front of his crotch. He imagined it even closer, and the tease while she rubbed his leg was unbearable. Her hand travelled up and down his thigh and he had to restrain himself from thrusting forward so her hand connected with his cock. Her hand brushed it, and that was enough. He unzipped himself and pulled it out. He was so eager, she thought, that it wouldn't take a minute. He was an average size though. She banked on the fact that he was lonely and horny.

She placed her hand on his thin chest and traced his collarbone with her fingernail. "Touch it," he begged. "You want to skoon?"

"I don't know that term," she said, stroking him slowly."

"Jump on it bareback?" She laughed.

"No." she said, moving faster on his shaft.

"Spit in your hand," he said. "Get it wet. Slippery."

"I can do better than that," she said, leaning over his lap. Her wide brimmed hat would hide this messy business. She only took it slow to get it wet, and then she stroked him and sucked him at a regular 4/4 signature. She finished him with her mouth and he spouted cum into her mouth and onto himself.

"Oh my god," he said, sitting up. "Can I return the favor?"

"No, thanks, I've got to run and pack. She produced some sanitizer from her purse and did her hands."

"Are you pulling a Jabu pule?" he asked, disappointed. She was hardly paying attention.

"What?"

"A disappearing act. You're lovin' and leavin'!" He did his pants back up and fluffed his tshirt out.

"True. It's been fun, ninety-four." And Windy went back to the hotel to make plane reservations, leaving Charlie to catch his breath.

*****

They were flying over the Atlantic Ocean at forty thousand feet when this adorable woman started complaining to her. "They don't serve peanuts on airplanes anymore. Too many people are allergic. But I remember cherishing those peanuts, you know? Like we guarded them."

"I know," said Windy to her seatmate. "I know what you mean. This one was a real possibility; old enough, gay enough, and bored to tears. They had been flying for six hours now, and Windy had watched the woman while she napped against the window. She was cute in a kind of hopeless way.

"We're down to pretzels!" the younger woman said, shocked as all hell. Her drama was adorable.

"You have a Scottish accent," Windy said. "You're heading home?"

"Yes, to Edinburgh, then toward the University."

"I love your accent," Windy flirted. Did the other woman blush?

"It is you who has an accent," she laughed.

"What's your name?"

"Ahh, I always hate answering that question. It is highly unoriginal, and I assure you, I am an original person." She laughed again.

"I'm Windy." she held out her hand.

"Windy. A perfectly mysterious name. I'm Ann. Told you." Windy held on to her hand a few seconds too long while she gazed into Ann's eyes. Ann looked down and scratched her pixie cut nervously.

"Are you nervous on planes, Ann?"

"It's just such a long long flight... I'm actually not used to doing this alone."

"Well," Windy started, "You're not alone anymore. Can I help you relax?"

"Sure," she said agreeably. "How?" What an ingenue, thought Windy. She pulled the square airplane blanket over Ann's lap. Anne's face was a question until Windy slid her hand under the blanket and touched her thigh. "Someone will see," she hissed, but Windy could see the excitement in her face.

"You'll be quick for me, won't you, kitten?"

"I..." Windy unzipped her pants and slid her hand inside. Ann's eyes were busy, afraid that someone would notice.

"Shh, relax. Close your eyes." Windy's fingers found the mark. She teased Ann by going slowly at first, earning a smile from the young woman. Windy knew that a slower beginning led to a faster end.

She leaned over and whispered, "Is that nice..?" She rubbed her faster. With a minute, she detected Ann's hips moving slightly, and she knew it wouldn't be long. "Am I going to make you Cum, Ann?" she purred. She kept a steady rhythm until little noises came from Ann's mouth, and her legs stiffened.

Windy withdrew her hand, and picked up her drink, unaffected. In one more hour, she would be gone. Ann was number ninety-five.

*****

"My name is Wendy, but most people call me Windy." she stirred her drink with her fingernail, and chuckled.

"Hi, Windy," he said. He looked warm and oily.

"What brings you to Key Largo? You're definitely a tourist." He couldn't take his eyes off her though she wasn't his long legged type. it was her eyes; they sparkled and hypnotized. A bright brown, he saw, with lighter almost green ring. Hazel then. "Mmm?" she asked, pleased.

"I-I'm actually here for business, Windy, I'm uh, I'm in hot tubs."

"How I love a hot tub on a cold winter night," she said, thinking of her best friend's house back in Thunder Bay... she couldn't lose her focus. "Is there much call for them here in Florida?" Windy reached for her drink which she hadn't sipped even once since it had arrived. He snuck a glance down her top, as she watched his eyes travel. Those girls would require two hands apiece, he thought greedily. The salesman wasn't too subtle, she thought. Perfect.

"Actually yes," he spoke, "the resorts down here all buy from me. I'm kinda well known." He laughed revealing yellowed front teeth.

"What's your name?" She knew it didn't matter. He would be number ninety-six.

"Elgin, but all my friends call me 'Buddy'. What are you doing here, Windy?" This one looked kind of desperate, so she quickly showed her cards.

"Waiting for you, I think." She smiled and pretended to sip her drink. He shifted in his navy slacks and plaid button down open at the top so she could see the red skin of high blood pressure. He couldn't have been older that forty. Maybe it was a sunburn. "You wanna go sit on the rocks at the beach?". As if in response, he downed his beer, nasty American light beer, she noted, and grinned at her. His bottom teeth were uneven, and yellowed like the tops. Cigars, maybe. Cheap.

"Sure!" He was so enthusiastic. A flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks. "You lead the way." She did, down the narrow street to the boardwalk, and past it to the giant boulders beside the pier.

"Kick your sandals off," she instructed. "The sand is still warm from the day." Why not start with footwear, she thought. "Sit down with me," she said, climbing onto the sea side of a rock and patting beside her. Perfect privacy, and it was dark here. He wouldn't refuse her offer. The ocean lapped the beach and she looked up to the a sky of stars. Windy made a wish.

"So you live here?" he started.

"No... " He didn't need to know her. None of them did. "I didn't bring you here to talk." He blushed again.

"No?" Buddy was suddenly shy. He wasn't going to ask for what he wanted. Her purse chimed, and she briefly checked the screen. Jeremy? Her eyes blurred and she put the phone away quickly. Windy adjusted her skirt so it was exposing her entire right side in profile. She rested her hand on his slacks and rubbed his thigh; first she touched the top, then slid her hand to his inner thigh... Further up. He leaned in to kiss her, but Windy pulled away.

"I don't want to kiss you," she said. She never kissed them. She had only kissed one man and meant it in her whole life, but he was gone... gone... gone... She unzipped his pants. "But I do want to use my mouth." A soft moan escaped his lips as she reached into his pants and curled her fingers around his stiffening member. "You're a big guy," Windy purred, coaxing him out of his pants. He practically beamed with pride. He licked his lips. He was honestly smaller than average -it wouldn't be too much of a challenge, she thought.

She crept down the rock and positioned herself between his legs. Buddy thought it was the best night of his life, and it was. She licked the length of him like a professional, and took him into her mouth and pleased him there. An expert, it didn't take her long. She never wanted it to take long. And then he was trying to explain himself, all sheepish like a school boy.

"Don't worry," she said, wiping his seed from the side of her lips with a french manicured finger.

"Wow," he said. "That was... I mean I never... but..."

"Shh," Windy smiled and shook her head. "I have another surprise. Close your eyes and count to 100." Buddy gave her a mischievous but goofy grin, and hid his eyes.

By 100 she was in a cab back to her Key West hotel.

*****

The Mediterranean has its trails seaside where resorts haven't marred the scenery. The air was warm and fresh, and Windy sat at a café in Patras, having travelled there on foot, with only her halter dress and a smart blue handbag that matched. She was looking for an ex pat, and Americans dotted this side of the Mediterranean like pimples on a fourteen year old. She was looking for a man who would park his rental car, look lost as he entered the promenade and see her... well, she was something to be seen. She always took the initiative. Windy was a woman who knew what she wanted: number ninety-seven.

A young man sat at the table adjacent to her with an espresso and a glass of red. He sat alone, she saw, for more than ten minutes.

"Milás angliká?" she asked him, with her purse tucked under her arm and her wide brimmed sunhat framing her pretty face. the sun had her features in shadow, so he held up his hand to his brow to regard her.

"I do," he smiled. "Though you'll forgive its quality." She smiled back flirtatiously. It worked.

"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked coyly.

"No, no, please," he gestured to the empty seat across from him. She acted surprised, and moved her drink from the solitary table to his. "You are American, yes?" She took a sip of her drink. They didn't need to know.

"Scottsdale, Arizona," she lied. "Far away from here. Don't misunderstand me, I love Greece, I'm just so lonely..." She stirred her drink with her nail and acted lonely for a few seconds, then sucked the liquid off of her nail while he watched. Jesus, he couldn't have been more than twenty-five.

"I don't know where that is," he admitted. "I know LA, New York, Florida. I've lived in England when I went to school, but otherwise... I've never been out of Europe."

"Your accent is lovely," she said. "You'd be fine in Arizona." He laughed.

"Are you here to shop?"

"Alone? It's not as fun."

"Oh, I will walk the shops with you, ómorfi kopéla."

She laughed and touched her hat so he could see her Chanel bracelet. "Thank you. Efcharistó."

"Very good," he said. "You've lived here a while I can hear in your accent."

"Hmm," she said non-committally. She had been here before, inland, but that was back when she was only counting into the twenties, and was only passing through to Turkey. She had never lived there. She studied Greek with a master. "What is your name, handsome stranger?" She smiled, lipsticked mouth stretching with the effort.

"Aleixo," he said. "And you?"

"They call me Windy."

"Is that an American name?" Aleixo asked.

"Not really." She dipped a fingertip in her drink and stirred. He leaned forward.

"Have you been to the Théatro here?"

"No."

"No? I must show you. They have classics all afternoon. It will remind you of home." She looked away for the first time. Home was not a place she was fond of remembering. She had been the ugly duckling, and picked on relentlessly. She had spent prom night alone on the couch watching the X-men with a can of orange pop. Nevermind, that was years ago; the places she had been since, well, there she had bloomed. Then on a summer night in the back of a pickup in Mexico City, she had forgotten Jeremy, and started counting at number two.

"I wouldn't mind being in a dark room with you," she said, and held out her arm for him to lead her. They walked past a long stretch of shops to the theatre, almost forgetting where they were walking because they didn't want to break eye contact with each other.

"Allow me," Aleixo said, and held the door for her. They paid a nominal fee and entered the dark room. There were only two men in the audience, and one was asleep. The reel showed Humphrey Bogart's mug. The African Queen. They slid into the back row. She leaned against him and found him warm and inviting. He swung his arm over her bare shoulders, and she placed her large brimmed hat over his lap.

He looked at her as a question, so she answered by slipping her hand under the hat. She could feel the shape of his cock under his linen pants, and his eyebrows raised as Windy began stroking him through his pants. Aleixo encouraged her by placing his hand over hers and squeezing.

Windy unbuttoned his fly -it took both hands- and freed his smooth cock. He glanced around, but nobody had come in; nobody was watching. He gave in to her. "I feel like a schoolboy," he whispered into her ear, and kissed her neck. She smiled and stroked him until he was rock hard. "I don't want to make a mess," he panted.

"I can help you," Windy said, and moved her hat, leaned over his lap and took him with her mouth.

He moaned, "Efcharistó!" in response. and played with her hair with his left hand. She toyed with the bottom of his shaft with her tongue until he squirmed for her to stroke him with her lips. He was in ecstasy. She rode Aleixo with her mouth like a central vac. He was rising against her face, and muttering prayers. Finally his legs stiffened and he came in her mouth with a gasp and convulsions. She licked him clean as he rested, his breathing returning to normal.

"I have to run to the washroom. Count to 100," she said, kissed him on the cheek and darted into the aisle.

Five minutes later, she was in a taxi, headed for the airport.

****

She walked past the Stonewall Inn, feeling the cool wind play up the curves of her skirt. A block later, she tucked herself into a ladies dive; a place where only she would be the only lady. The other women, near bald and tattooed, fat and lonely, plaid shirt over wifebeater... a typical display of Brazilia's lesbian underbelly. But who would be the lucky ninety-eight who would come for her? Jeremy had said she was... disgusting. How disgusting could she be? Everyone was giving her the eye.

Maybe right on the dance floor -a thin strip lined by mirrors- maybe in the bathroom. Windy scoped the room for her lonely girl. As she approached the paltry bar, she could have caught on fire from the appreciative and curious looks she was getting from the other women. A little leg went a long way. And where in this room was number ninety-eight?

Some cheap lights, only purple and green strobed on the dance floor, and cast a ghoulish pallor on the night's creatures within. Windy stirred her drink with her fingernail and looked around to see who was looking at her. A slut on the floor, grinding to "Striptease," a heavy butch on the stool at the end of the bar. She would be an easy target, but kind of gross... a petite little scrappy girl leaning against the DJ table. Her. Windy sent vibes her way and hoped to catch her eye. Soon enough the muscular and lithe nymph looked her way again. Was she alone? a moment more found nobody joining her, talking to her. That would have to be remedied.

Windy took her drink, and waked toward the girl who sat up straight and looked ready to fight. Windy smiled. "Can I sit with you?" she said in Spanish. "si no te importa..." The girl's eyes darted around. People were definitely looking and this seemed to be one low profile woman- the kind that breathes best in the shadows. Windy's cocktail dress might have been a cause for those eyes. The girl, she saw, was wearing a white wifebeater decorated with a little devil logo and a jean skirt. it would be too easy to slip the latter out of the way...

"Sure," she said finally, brushing back her dark hair. Windy sat down right beside her.

"Eres una chica hermosa," Windy said over the terrible blend of American and Brazilian dance music.

"Oh, yeah?" said the girl in English. her expression was very bemused. "I think you speak English from your accent and your skin."

"You're right," Windy admitted. "What's your name, hermosa?" The girl laughed, completely amused by her.

"Lara," she said loudly over the sound of Beyoncé.

"Windy," she said, gesturing to herself. Then she pointed to her drink. "Can I get you a drink?"

Lara nodded and said, "Sure. I wanna see you walk to the bar and back again." She winked. Windy could see the woman's muscles defined under her skin. It was exciting. She ordered a beer, and turned to bring it to Lara. Lara's eyes were on every inch of her as she returned to the table. It couldn't have been more perfect. Windy sat down and placed her hand on Lara's bare thigh as Lara did the same. Her hand was strong as she massaged Windy's leg. More people came in to dance, and the hall was suddenly crowded.

"You want to dance?" Windy asked.

"No, I just like to watch."

"I can hardly hear you. Come with me downstairs so we can talk." Lara shrugged but stood up. She was game. Windy counted on it. "Here, come into the bathroom," Lara raised an eyebrow.

"We're not going to do anything naughty, are we..?" asked Lara. Windy loved her accent.

"I sure hope so," said Windy, as she pushed Lara into the farthest stall, and began kissing her neck. Lara went for the mouth, but Windy busied her lips with her chest, and then with the tank lifted, her small breasts. Windy didn't want anything to stop this woman's vanilla voice. Windy sat Lara down on the toilet tank and lifted her jean skirt. She pulled her panties to one side, and started masturbating her with one hand, and feeling her breasts with the other.