The day was hot and sultry, as it usually is in New Orleans this time of year.
She stands, leaning over the balcony of her French Quarter apartment that overlooks just one of the many popular streets that draws so many tourists this time of the year. It's Mardi Gras, and the crowds are gathering for the final celebrations, the party of all parties... the wild, dizzying, madness that overtakes all.
She watches the sun sink into the sky, knowing that tonight she will also get caught up in the madness. Sweat trickles a path down her neck between her breasts. Lost in thought, her fingers trace the path to follow the moisture. She watches the passersby, smiling at the unsuspecting tourist, knowing that most have no idea what the night brings.
She turns and enters the apartment, goes to the mirror, and checks one last time, making sure everything is in place. She is wearing a dress with thin straps. It's a deep shade of green; it fits her well. You can make out the shape of her full breasts through the fabric, and the heat makes it cling to her even more. Her dark hair is long and flows down her back; her skin dark from her Cajun heritage; her eyes, a vivid green -- witch eyes, as the bayou people call them. Her lips are full and pouting. She is ready for the night. She leaves the apartment for the streets.
She travels the streets, milling through the throng of bodies pressed together -- everyone having fun, laughing, yelling, singing in the streets -- some dressed, some, only partially. Nothing is taboo in the quarter on this night. She is caught up in it all... in the thrill... dancing with strangers, toasting a drink here, sharing a laugh there. Moving through the streets, she feels a sudden prickling at the base of her neck. She feels eyes on her, though she looks around and sees nothing unusual... but someone watches her, she is sure of this. She moves on, stopping to play here and there. Suddenly bounced around by an over exuberant bunch of college boys, she is thrown off balance, and lands in the arms of a stranger. As her eyes travel up to thank him for catching her, she gasps. He is the most intensely beautiful man she has ever seen -- long black hair, tanned skin, intense dark blue eyes. She thanks him, and wriggles free of him before he can respond. She turns, and slips into the crowd.
One of the subcultures of new Orleans is the voodoo culture. She knows that tonight is a big celebration ritual of fertility, for that is what Mardi Gras is all about... fertility of the crops. She goes around a corner, heading to a back road that she knows. Up ahead is the old townhouse, with the big wrought-iron gates. She can hear the drum beat beating a rhythm. Already she is late. She rushes toward the gate and enters, closing it behind her. She goes around the courtyard towards the back of the house where the crowd has gathered. There is a circle of bodies, a fire in the center, and people dancing -- bodies writhing to the beat.
She moves closer, watching... mesmerized. She can feel the beat all through her body. Her blood warms, pumping faster and faster through her veins. Her body starts to sway to the beat. She sees familiar faces all around her, these are her friends; they accept her here. Partners are joining in the center, dancing a sensuous dance. She feels excited. Her blood is hot now -- she runs her hands up her body cupping her breasts -- now running them down, along her waistline, across her hips. Suddenly, she feels hands grab her and pull her out into the crowd of dancers. She is pulled close to a body. She doesn't care who it is, she gives in to the rhythm, closing her eyes, and throwing her head back. She feels her body move with his, their hips touching occasionally, his hands running along her body. The tempo increases to a frenzy. Her feet move her in the steps that she knows so well. Their bodies touch... so close... so hot... it almost burns. She finally looks up -- her partner is the stranger from the street. She is shocked. These rituals are always closed to strangers. She knows all who come here, but she doesn't know him. Who is he? The dancing continues, but as their eyes meet, he takes her by the arm and pulls her away from the crowd towards the house, where around a corner, a pair of French doors stands open to the evening air.
He moves into the room, closing the doors behind him. It is dark and humid. He turns and moves toward her. Reaching up, he takes her face in his hands, and pulls her close to him. She turns her face up to his, letting her lips open, as his mouth comes down hard against them. His tongue darts inside her mouth to twist around her own. Her hands slowly come up to his neck, pulling him even closer, sticking her tongue deeper into his mouth. Her fingers slide down, to slowly start to unbutton his shirt... one button, two buttons, as her mouth starts to circle his lips, breathing hot breath on his lips. She whispers sweet, French love words to him. Her hands move down the buttons rapidly now, as his hands roam over her body, feeling her full breasts. His hands pull the straps of her dress off her shoulders, as his fingers slide inside her top to pull the material away from her breasts.
