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Heads or Tails
© 2003 by Lesly Sloan

We were in a strip joint in Juarez, across the bridge from El Paso.  I was sitting with my buddies from Fort Bliss, doing what GI's do in Juarez: eat hot food, get laid in whore houses, and bitch about the Army over beers.  We went to strip clubs and got shit-faced before buying pussy.  It helps to be high when you shop for whores.

The MC introduced the next stripper, 'Carlotta'.  She came out while the band played 'Bésame Mucho', great music for stripping.  Carlotta was something special, not the usual tired-looking Juarez stripper, but a tall voluptuous woman who made eye contact with the audience as she moved around the stage.  She wore a long red dress that buttoned down the front.  It was tight, tight enough to show her tits and great looking ass.

Carlotta looked down at me and winked while passing our table.  The guys kidded me about her behavior.  I was embarrassed but secretly pleased as they made remarks about how she had her eye on me, that sort of shit.

As the pace of the music picked up, she slowly undid the row of buttons and removed the dress, revealing a skimpy black bra and a bikini bottom that covered almost nothing.  She tossed the dress to one side, almost contemptuously.  Look what I have, soldier boys, but don't touch.  Eat your hearts out.

She worked the crowd, whipping the audience into a frenzy.  Then she loosened the bra straps, but held the bra against her chest, smiling as guys whooped it up—a real prick teaser.

Finally, when the crowd's clamor for her to take it off had become deafening, she did exactly that.  Carlotta pulled off the bra with a flourish and stood there, showing off to the crowd, shaking her tits.

"Holy shit," yelled out Howie, a computer tech from Bravo Company, "that's the best fucking pair of jugs in Juarez."

I said, "Howie, those tits look too good to be real.  I bet she had a boob job." He told me I was full of shit, so I dropped it and ordered another round of beers for our table.

She moved around the stage, flaunting those gorgeous tits, and by God, she winked at me again as she passed our table! The guys gave it to me again.  Sometimes strippers do that, pick out one guy, a harmless looking one like me, and have fun at his expense.  Just what I needed, to get worked up over a fucking stripper.  I figured that I'd wind up after midnight with the guys at "El Corazon Rojo", buying sex from a whore, on a back street full of whore houses.  They run a decent house; nobody gets rolled there.  And, if a customer gets out of line, the Policia arrive quickly to take care of things.  Sex is one of the main businesses on the border, and it's well controlled.

The tempo got even faster.  A guy in the front row of the band shook maracas wildly; he and Carlotta played off each other.  She shook her tits in time with the rhythm of the maracas.  I kept my eyes on her as I drank Bohemia beer, thinking it was about time for the rest of the costume to come off.

I was surprised as hell when she came over to our table and turned around so that her ass and hips were right in my face.  She reached back and grabbed my arms, putting my hands on her hips.  I managed to hang on to her hips as she moved them in sync with the music.  The crowd yelled and whistled.  My buddies thought it was funny as hell.  I didn't know what to think, and I didn't really care—all I knew was that her body was warm, sweaty, and moved in a way that turned me on.

She stepped away from me, to the center of the stage.  Carlotta reached down and undid snaps that ran down one side of the bikini.  She whipped it off, revealing a big cock! The bastard stood there and grinned, as if it was the biggest joke in the world.

The audience went crazy, and my buddies laughed.  I just sat there, feeling embarrassed and stupid.

That night I paid for sex from a twenty-something whore named Delora at El Corazon Rojo.  As she sucked my cock before lying back to get fucked, I thought of Carlotta.  Most whores in Juarez don't suck cock because of AIDS, but Delora put a condom on my dick and sucked on it, as if it were a Popsicle.  I guess she needed the money.  I wasn't able to come that night and went back to Fort Bliss feeling drained and unsure of myself.

Dreams, dreams of sex with a strange half-woman/half-man bothered me so much that I had to go back to Juarez two days later, alone.

When Carlotta came out for her turn, she/he noticed me and smiled.  Afterwards, Carlotta came out to my table, wearing a tight dress that clung to her body.  The dress was cut low, showing off her tits.  She put her face close to mine and spoke.

"Back again.  You must like something you saw the other night."

She ordered an expensive drink from the waiter, who had rushed over to the table when she sat down.  That's standard procedure at a strip club; the drink she got was ginger ale.

"Carlotta, I liked your dance—very much."

"It's 'Carlos", but you can call me by either name."

"You like it either way?"

"If you mean sex, yes.  I like to get fucked in the ass, and I like to fuck a woman or a man, any way they want.  Is that a problem?"

"No...It's not a problem.  I was just wondering."

Then he/she leaned closer and said, in a low husky voice, "Tell me what you were wondering.  Are you interested in fucking, getting fucked, or both?"

I had no idea what I wanted from Carlos/Carlotta and hesitated.  Images of getting fucked in the ass and fucking him/her got all mixed up in my mind.

"That's a tough question...  I don't know what to say."

"Honey, I'll play it any way you want.  I have one more show tonight.  If you leave before that show's over, it'll be 'Adios'.  If you decide to stay until the end of the show, you'll come to my place, and we'll try many things that two people can do to each other.  It's up to you."

With that said, Carlos/Carlotta stood and walked away, hips swaying seductively—all for my benefit.  Bitch!

I sat at the table, staring at my beer, undecided about his/her proposition.  Finally, I took out a quarter and flipped it in the air: I figured 'Heads-Go Home', and 'Tails-Stay'.

It came up Heads.  Go home, to what?

I drank more Bohemia, then tossed the coin again, going for two-out-of-three.

© 2003 Lesly Sloan.  All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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