Rocking in the Big Easy
by Lia Monde
Riding in the cab from Louis Armstrong Airport to downtown New Orleans, Ken realized Mardi Gras had become his favorite holiday. Mardi Gras had none of the familial demands and implied obligations of the more traditional holidays. It fell perfectly in the long lull that stretched from Super Bowl Sunday through the Memorial Day start of summer. Its modern day incarnation of pure bacchanalian freedom and delight matched Ken's need for a periodic outlet to cut loose and press the limits of sexual experimentation.
Glancing out the window and pushing his longish brown hair behind his ear, Ken thought, 'I love this town.' Then chuckling, thought, 'I especially love the sex in this town.' Eager with anticipation, Ken couldn't wait to hit the clubs tonight.
His first visit to Mardi Gras had been a spring break road trip with a van-full of friends. That alcohol-drenched, long weekend was largely a blur. However, what he could remember was universally favorable: a sense of a warm and open and unjudging city. Very different from the more constricted atmosphere of his hometown further North.
Two years ago, after working a couple of years, Ken felt the need for an escape vacation. He settled on Mardi Gras as much for the cheap airfare as for any logical reasons.
This would be his third trip. The first two had exceeded expectations. The other-worldly charms of New Orleans were intoxicating. He splurged on all the delights of shopping, food, music and galleries. But mostly he took advantage of the opportunities to explore his nascent sexual desires. The taste of potentially life altering thrills he experienced addictively lured him back.
His previous trips included tentative sexual explorations. New Orleans' almost tangible decadence fit his vacation mood and needs. It reinforced the occasional desire to escape the constraints of his mundane, daily existence. The Mardi Gras festivities took the sense of illicit freedom to an even higher level and were a license to leave all inhibitions behind.
This trip Ken was determined to go further than ever. He had planned meticulously and practiced extensively. Ken stroked the large suitcase which contained his fashionable new wardrobe.
The taxi dropped him at a small hotel just outside the French Quarter as dusk settled over the city. He paused on the stairs to breathe in the palpable atmosphere. Then, with an excited glint in his eyes, Ken bound inside to check-in.
With his job providing more income, he had decided on nicer accommodations for this trip. Standing on the wrought iron balcony of his suite, Ken grinned in satisfaction at the fabulous view.
Checking out the inside, he was even more pleased. Ken fell back on the high four-poster bed with arms spread. Out loud he said, "This bed is luxurious. And bouncy! I'm going to give it such a work-out this week."
He was looking forward to the Cajun food and the casinos. But he candidly acknowledged sex was the principle driver for his visit and his excitement to get started was building. Ken stood and lifted his suitcases onto the bed. He opened them, eyed the contents and felt a rush of exhilaration.
The suitcases were jammed with old favorites and new acquisitions: skirts, blouses, sweaters, panties, camisoles, bras, baby doll nightgowns, stockings and shoes. Make-up, brushes, hairspray, jewelry, accessories and perfume were scattered throughout. It brought an uncontrollable grin to his face and his eyes glistened. His hand caressed the clothes lovingly.
After years of experimentation and internal conflict, recently Ken had begun wearing feminine clothes frequently at home. He had even ventured out for a few brief sorties. But, he considered this trip his true maiden voyage. Committed to dressing and acting en femme virtually fulltime for the trip, the only male clothes he had were the ones he was wearing.
Shaking himself from the trance, he began to unpack. He knew that if he didn't control himself, he could get carried away, dress up and spend the entire week in his room indulging in fevered fantasies. But, he had bigger plans.
Once he unpacked, Ken stripped off his clothes and put them away for the week. He entered the bathroom, turned on a Cher CD, drew a hot bubble bath and began his transformation. He had become enamored of the long and intoxicating preparation routine. After luxuriating for a few minutes in the warmth and the heady perfume smell, Ken carefully removed his unwanted body hair. Next, he washed his hair in a variety of shampoos and gels to give it the body and sheen he desired.
Forcing himself from the tub, he wrapped his hair in a towel to dry. Next, he began to polish his recently manicured finger and toenails a soft crimson. Delighting as much in the process as the beautiful result, he felt the usual rush of giddy silliness. It was about this time in the process, that he mentally shifted from thinking of himself as Ken and became Camille.
Checking the time, he called room service and ordered a light dinner of cheese, salad and a bottle of chardonnay. Camille calculated that if he didn't dawdle, there was time to finish getting ready before it arrived. Without rushing, he applied body lotion, then dried and styled his hair. Bangs covered his forehead and the rest was pulled back softly to curl around his face. The style and sheen seemed to lighten the color into something that would be described as honey brunette.
Next, Camille's increasingly practiced hands applied the facial cosmetics. Skin, eyes, cheeks and lips softened and turned more feminine. Looking closely in the mirror, Camille decided that she might not be a knockout, but was pleased that the effort made her look a great deal more than passable. Smiling, but feeling both pressed for time and eager, she moved to the bedroom to get dressed.
To kick off the week, Camille had chosen to go with a bright and flouncy look. Her sleeveless blouse had a high neck and was loose and frilly. It was a bold cobalt blue and intentionally opaque to reveal the white lace bra and the outline of full breasts created by the quality breast forms. A jet black skirt, with a hint of gypsy design, fell in layers to flare inches above her knees. Its thin material moved easily accentuating the natural sway of hips. A hot pink scarf acted as a belt at her waist. Underneath, Camille wore a garter and stockings in a pink floral design and blood red, high cut panties. Strappy black shoes with a low heel completed the outfit. She didn't want sore feet ruining the evening.
A simple gold bracelet and earrings were ideal accessories. Camille's favorite necklace held her lucky lizard charm. It was a stylish chameleon pendant made of glass that changed colors from different angles and in different lights. To finish with a flourish, she applied glossy pink lipstick and a strong perfume.
Camille stepped to the mirror to assess the full effect. Scanning from head to toe and back, she couldn't have been more pleased. Altogether, she projected an aura of wanton innocence. She giggled and twirled with delight.
A knock on the door interrupted her reverie. She opened it with a combination of tense nerves and incredible exhilaration.
"Room service," said the young Hispanic carrying a tray. "Where would you like it, ma'am."
Camille almost swooned at the reference to 'ma'am', but maintained her composure. "Please put it on the table on the balcony."
After setting up the table, the busboy handed her the bill and looked her over. He gave no indication that anything was out of the ordinary. She was so pleased; she was especially generous with the tip.
Taking the receipt, he smiled and said, "You enjoy dinner and have a good evening."
"Thank you, I certainly will," Camille replied and closed the door.
As she sat on the balcony in the warm evening breeze, she nibbled on the light dinner. Camille felt completely relaxed in her alter ego. The city, her practice, the clothes, the encounter with the busboy and the wine all built her confidence. She had a sense of sophistication and sensual desire that she had rarely felt.
Feeling prepared for the next big step, Camille asked herself, "Are you ready for some fun?" With a silly grin and a nod, she answered her own question, "Yes, it's time to get started." She lifted her wine glass for a toast, "To life and lust." Then adding, "To a great start to a great week," she finished the wine.
After brushing her teeth and touching up her make-up, Camille grabbed her small black pocketbook and left to hail a cab in a warm glow of giddy anticipation.
She had chosen one of her favorite dance clubs. It was known for loud bands and dark corners. In a nod to Mardi Gras, she had brought a fancy gold mask that covered the top half of her face. Entering the club, she pulled on the mask and felt a rush of party frivolity and an additional level of liberating anonymity.
The club was in a converted warehouse. Its main stage was set in a medium sized room with a dance floor which could hold several hundred. The room was noisy and crowded. It had high ceilings, balconies, and lots of nooks and crannies. The dancers were moving to the pounding beat of recorded music before the live band came on. They were an eclectic mix. The guys wore everything from jackets and ties to fancy t-shirts and jeans. The girls spanned a wider mix from high fashion, to slinky and revealing, to Goth and piercings. For both sexes, there was a liberal sprinkling of revelers in full-blown bizarre costumes.
Camille sashayed through the gyrating dancers to one of the bars and ordered a Pinot Noir. Leaning against the bar, she tried to weigh her feelings. On one level she was certainly nervous because of the novelty of her situation. But she felt surprisingly confident. From previous trips, she knew this was one of the most open clubs in a wide open and tolerant city. Its clientele spanned the spectrum from straight to gay to bi to transgender and every variation in between. If she was 'discovered', it wouldn't be much of a surprise to the people here. Thinking it through relaxed her even more. Surveying the scene, she thought to herself, "I feel lucky tonight."
Pushing off from the bar, Camille began a slow, exploratory circuit of the first floor. Ken's standard procedure was to check out the dynamics of a club and get a sense of the prospects. He felt no compelling reason to change this successful approach as Camille.
She moved with an open and flirty ease. Occasionally making eye-contact that hinted at availability, she quickly broke it off before anyone could connect. This first circuit was simply reconnaissance. She didn't want to get locked into conversation with the first person that approached.
She finished her wine as she completed the tour of the first floor. The crowd was alive and she had noted several interesting possibilities for the evening. As the band was setting up, Camille picked up a second glass and moved upstairs to check out the balcony. The movement of her hips up the stairs swung her skirt and elicited obvious glances and a couple of appreciative comments from those she passed. She gave them warm smiles from behind her mask, but kept moving.
The stairway ended at an open space directly opposite the stage and was serviced by it's own bar. No one was dancing here, but the floor was only slightly less packed. As the band started to play, Camille walked along the wall to where the balcony narrowed and wrapped around the room toward the stage.
She found a spot behind a waist high wall and next to a pillar. It had a great view of the stage and the dance floor below. Sipping her wine and leaning forward on her elbows, Camille mindlessly fingering the lizard medallion dangling from her neck. Scanning the dimly lit scene, she was fascinated by the seemingly chaotic, but highly focused commotion. People danced, and drank and talked in scattered groups, but there was an unspoken, but common mission to be seen, to see, and to connect. Bringing the medallion to her lips, she kissed it and whispered, "Bring me luck."
Since the night was young, Camille decided to enjoy the band before moving to hook up. She started to sway slightly to the pulsing rhythm of the rock group. The band was very loud and the room seemed to vibrate. Although the noise inhibited conversation, people communicated their emotions and desires with glances and touches and body language. Some of the dancers faced the stage, but many were absorbed between themselves and the music was merely a background cocoon for their independent tryst.
While Camille enjoyed the show on the stage and on the dance floor, she noticed the crowd was increasing. In her narrow perch on the balcony, people pressed in closer. She turned to check out those closest to her. As she did, her hips bumped into someone standing in the cramped space. He was average height with neatly cut, longish dark hair. Even in the shadows, she could see he wore an open-neck, dark blue shirt and light pants. Camille silently mouthed, "Excuse me".
His eyes checked her out and a smile crossed his tanned and attractive face when he caught sight of the mask. He nodded and said, "No problem" then his eyes returned to watching the band over her shoulder.
Camille turned back toward the stage conscious of his close physical presence. Liking the beat of the current song, on impulse, she started to move in a slow, solo dance, hoping that it was also an alluring performance for the dark stranger behind her.
Although they weren't touching, after a minute, she sensed that he was swaying in rhythm with him. Camille felt a thrill at the incipient connection. With a slight turn of her head, her hair swung to the left and she flashed him a smile as their eyes met. Continuing to move, he returned the smile and cocked an eyebrow in acknowledgement that their individual dances could become one.
With her eyes still fixed on his, Camille shifted her weight slightly back so their bodies momentarily touched. His eyes widened slightly and then he responded to her invitation by moving his hips forward and allowing his body to caress her buttocks.
Camille laughed at the ease of the silent offer and acceptance and the quick sealing of the deal to explore each other further. Turning back toward the balcony railing, Camille dropped her hands to her sides. Grabbing material between her fingers, she accented the movement of her body with an additional flare of her skirt.
Rolling her head back, she let her mind absorb the sensations. The penetrating beat and physical presence of the music. The collective vitality of the packed bodies. The colorful, but dimly lit, tapestry of decorations and clothing. The heady mix of aromas – alcohol, perfume, sweat and desire. The edge of mystery from the semi-darkness, her own mask and the intimate closeness of strangers. The sensual feedback of her dance and the massaging feel it generated in her sexy attire. All combined to energize and erotically stimulate her.
Camille's next deliberate bump lasted longer. She lingered and applied pressure from her ass to his groin. He held his position and they moved back and forward as one. When he separated, he leaned in and asked, "What's your name, pretty lady?"
She turned her head only a bit, intentionally forcing him to pull his body even closer so he could hear her over the pounding music. She lifted her lips to his ear and said in her sexiest husky whisper, "Tonight I'm a Bayou Princess. You may call me, Camille." Then, she placed a soft but full kiss on his ear and continued, "And what should I call you?"
He gently rubbed his smooth cheek against hers as he sought her ear. He returned the kiss and said, "My name is Reynaud, my Bayou Beauty. My friends call me Remy." Then, he moved his head away.
"Remy." Camille repeated, but only she could hear it. She liked his unforced style and his ease at slipping into her playful cat and mouse. It spoke of patience and class and a willingness to see how things developed, rather than to push too far, too fast. It sent the perfect signals and allowed Camille to set the direction and pace. It both warmed and relaxed her. It was the most arousing thing he could have done.
Tight behind her, Remy's hands rested lightly on her hips. Camille encouraged him with a long, hard grind of her softly gyrating body. She was getting excited and could feel he was aroused. This was more than she had hoped on the first night out. It made her extremely nervous. It made her extremely exhilarated. She almost involuntarily decided to continue the game and see where it led. Camille reasoned the openness and crowd in the club afforded protection.
Covering Remy's hands with hers, she brought them around to rest on her stomach at the top of her skirt. While he tightened his grip, she slid her palms back to stroke the outside of his thighs.
The band shifted songs and began banging out a fast-paced Springsteen song. Reynaud's hands stroked her stomach through the delicate layer of her blouse. They soon moved to the bare skin of Camille's arms.
Camille's breathing deepened. She felt an excited flutter in her stomach. This was exactly the type of flirtation she had traveled to New Orleans for. Moving her legs together, Camille enjoyed the thrill of her stockings stimulating her skin. Her fingers squeezed Remy's thighs and kept him tight against her.
Responding to her arousal, Remy started to move his hands to her breasts. Alarmed, Camille caught his wrists and redirected him to her buttocks. He grabbed them tightly then hesitated to gauge her reaction.
At his touch, Camille's eyelids fluttered and she inhaled sharply. She acquiesced to this advance by moving her body back so her tush rested more heavily in his palms.
He immediately started to massage the firm mounds. His fingertips traced the outlines of her panties and began a series of light and playful gropes. When he untucked her blouse and touched the skin above her skirt, Camille tensed…then continued to move to the music. Reynaud slid his fingertips inside the top of her panties to continue his sensuous foreplay.
Nestling his neck against hers, in a deep Cajun accent, he said, "You are warm and fleshy and delightful, sweet Camille of the Bayou."
She glanced around to see if anyone noticed what was going on. Their corner location concealed them from most people. The darkness was another protective shroud. But mostly, people were focused on their own plans and play. Still, Camille felt visible and vulnerable. Nonetheless, she found herself caring more about how to continue the building pleasure than whether anyone saw her. In fact, the public location brought forth the additional stimulation of long-held fantasies. She felt a combination of giddy and scared and excited and willing.
While these thoughts raced through her increasingly fevered mind, Remy's right hand continued to work her swaying hips and ass. Camille returned the favor by resuming her tease and accelerated the movement of her ass back and forth across his excited organ. When Remy started to pull up her skirt, she turned her head, blew him a kiss, and said, "You're very good."
He laughed warmly and with a gentle forward thrust of his hips said, "And you are very, very bad."
Feeling a warm glow, Camille gave herself over to his fondling. Whatever the consequences, she was relishing the moment. They did a bump and grind for a few minutes and got hotter. As she luxuriated in the intoxicating massage, her eyes swept the floor below in a dazed-like state. The menagerie was a cauldron of writhing bodies and passion. The scene was as she'd imagined Mardi Gras in her best anticipatory fantasies: blending in to a fevered, sensuous mass. Knowing she was fast approaching the critical discovery point, she asked herself, "Isn't this what you wanted?" Smiling foolishly and with an exaggerated nod of her head, Camille replied aloud, "Oh, yes!"
Remy took this as further encouragement directed at him and dropped his left hand to Camille's leg and began to stroke her thigh.
Camille's eyes locked with those of a woman on the floor below. She watched the lecherous display for a few moments, realized what was happening, and then with a jealous expression silently mouthed, "You lucky, slut".
Camille laughed. Being observed by a stranger added a new dimension to the experience. The dancer seemed transfixed by the open, but somehow private, show. She held her date close and positioned herself so she could watch the unfolding spectacle. The salacious performance made her vicariously excited and her partner noticed an increasing heat to his date's tight dance movements.
Soon, Camille's eyes lost focus on voyeur and her thoughts returned completely to her rising lust. As the warmth spread in her panties, she was determined to drive this tryst to completion.
Shifting forward slightly to separate their bodies, Camille lifted the back of her skirt to her waist. She could feel Remy's warm breath on her neck and the pace of his breathing quickened. Her stomach tightened and her heart raced as Reynaud moved his hands under her dress and rested on the exposed panties covering her derriere.
Camille's mind raced, 'Did he know? Did she care?'
Closing her eyes and focusing on the music, Camille arched her back as Remy began to caress and explore. A low moan began in the back of her throat. She sensed the pleasure as his hands found the garter and blindly followed them down to the top of her stockings. After playing there, he reached around and started to rub her inner thighs. Camille involuntarily began to rise and fall on her toes. The movement was a bawdy invitation for Remy to move quickly to her eager genitals.
He took the signal. His fingers reached the edge of Camille's panties. Reynaud lingered there a moment to savor the sensation and to build the anticipation for the final push.
Camille suddenly panicked. She was flushed and ready and needy. But, she knew this could come to a sudden and crashing end. She looked around for a way to escape. But there was none. The delay seemed almost interminable. She had to know what would happen. Biting her lip and with an almost irritable shrug, she gave her fanny a hard wiggle in an attempt to move his hands onto her genitals.
Remy complied. His hand moved lightly across the front of the moist and flimsy and stretched fabric of Camille's panties. She froze and closed her eyes tightly.
Remy's hand stopped and she felt his entire body stiffen. After an eternity, his hand moved again. But it was not withdrawal. He started to explore Camille's engorged shaft. Then he squeezed. Then, he began to stroke.
Pulling her tight against his body, Remy said, "You are full of surprises, wild one."
Relief and ecstasy flooded her body and mind. First, she arched her back to let his caresses explore her fully. Then, Camille gave out a grateful sigh and settled her weight into his hands to increase the wonderful pressure. His skillful manipulations continued and pushed Camille to the breaking point. Licking her lips, she said, more to herself than to him, "Oh Remy!"
Unable to wait longer, she pushed her panty-covered cheeks hard against his zipper daring him to go further. Remy answered by pressing his bulging penis against Camille's ass and they rocked in unison. After a few moments, Reynaud fumbled with his zipper and released his penis. Placing his hands on her hips, his thumbs caught the waist of Camille's panties. The head of his excited penis pressed tightly into her underwear. Camille leaned forward to rest her arms on the railing and lifted her ass in brazen invitation.
Remy lowered the back of her panties just enough and maneuvered his cock to the opening of her virgin, boy vagina.
Camille was simultaneously frightened and overcome with desire. Even in the dark corner, they were only feet away from hundreds of people. She barely had time to consider the thought. Reynaud pushed forward and entered her. Her breath caught. Then, she panted in pain and pleasure as he continued inside in a slow thrust.
Camille tried to brace herself, but she was off balance. Her stomach was leaning on the railing with her toes barely on the floor. She had never been so excited...sexy clothes, public place, wine, aroused stranger, dripping boy cunt and the erotic beat of the music. Camille screamed with excitement but the sound was lost in the bedlam. Remy continued in and in. Press against the rail, she could hardly breath with the passion and the fullness and the mystery of how deep he would go.
Reynaud leaned forward to finish the penetration and cover her back with his body. Pausing, he said in a husky whisper, "Now, my new princess, let us do the danse de la vie."
He raised his body slightly and almost completely withdrew, then began to pump. Camille tried to move to assist, but Remy was completely in control. They rocked to his pace and Camille's sensations were overwhelming. He was a strong and dominant, but caring lover. Even as he heaved them in a stimulating rhythm, Remy moved a hand inside her panties to stroke her penis.
Camille couldn't take any more. The feel, the sound, the pleasure was incredible. He yelled with joy. After a few more strokes, she climaxed in a series of uncontrollable spasms.
Lightheaded and euphoric, she collapsed to rest on the wall and enjoy the rest of Reynaud's ride. She stayed clamped tightly around him. He pumped furiously and Camille was merely impaled. The surrender was wonderful. Her lucky chameleon charmed clicked rhythmically on the railing eliciting a giggle from Camille.
Reynaud rammed one last, hard, deep thrust and erupted. Time stood still and they were lost in the moment.
Bathed in sweat, pleasure and a mellow electric glow, Camille struggled to regain her breath. After a few moments, she refocused and found the wide-eyed observer below. She couldn't help smiling deliriously and enjoying the curiously shared moment. Camille winked at her audience and the band played on.
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