French Quarter by Lacey Alexander (small books to read .TXT) 📕

she said instead, thinking a little more time with both of them would help her decide.

“Sounds good,” Ty said.

“Let’s hit Café duMonde on the way,” Jack suggested, “and pick up some beignets for dessert. We can eat ‘em on the walk up to Bourbon. Might get some to save for later, too. You know how I like my carbs,” he added with a wink in Liz’s direction.

Beignets from Café duMonde were one New Orleans treat Liz had learned to love very soon after her arrival in town. Although she’d never ventured too deep into the French Quarter before meeting Jack, she’d come to the Café duMonde with girls from work from the start.

As she and her two escorts ate the sweet, sugar-covered confections on the stroll to the party district, they soon found their clothing dusted and streaked with the heavy powdered sugar, and all three of them broke into easy laughter. “As my grandemaman used to say, you can dress us up, but you can’t take us out,” Jack imparted, and Liz found herself loving his easy-going manner. Even as he escorted her to an elegant dinner, he was not as proper and stodgy as Todd, not afraid to eat a messy dessert and laugh about it.

Once the beignets were gone, they dusted themselves off, and Jack kindly licked Liz’s fingers clean, sending a lovely little tingle to her already sensitized cunt. A part of her was almost tempted to playfully offer the same service to Ty, but it was still too soon—despite how much fun she was having with both of them, she still wasn’t ready to take that next step.

By the time they reached Bourbon Street, it was hopping. Crowds of people roamed the streets, neon lights lit the night, and music of all kinds—Cajun, blues, jazz, and rock—blared from open doors and windows. People wore cheap beads of purple, green, and gold, and held brightly-colored drinks or bottles of beer. Mardi Gras had been last month, but Liz thought the place still seemed wild and charged with an invisible sexual energy, an energy which she was beginning to realize was always here, part and parcel of the French Quarter.

When the trio stopped at a small, open air daiquiri bar for drinks, Liz’s attention was drawn to a group of four or five thirty-something men smoking cigars and whistling when a group of sexy, scantily-clad college-aged girls meandered past.

One of the girls looked back with a bold, saucy smile. “I want your beads,” she said to the men, who were wearing a variety of them.

“You know what you have to do,” one of them replied, laughing.

“Show ‘em to us, baby,” another guy said.

The girl came back to where the men stood, reaching down to the hem of her skimpy top and pulling it up to reveal a pair of large, pretty breasts with smallish nipples of dark mauve.

“Nice,” one of the men said in a lecherous voice.

“Beautiful tits, sweetheart,” another offered.

She smiled, obviously pleased to show off her assets, and kept her top raised as each of the men surrendered some of their beads, placing them around her neck.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” she said, finally lowering her top and turning to catch up with her friends.

Liz couldn’t help watching the scene with a strange, unbidden fascination. Even as intimate as she’d been with Jack and as she might soon be with Ty, she couldn’t relate to the desire to flash your breasts for fifty-cent beads. Although she might not have realized it at first, the things she’d done with Jack had always been about more than sex between strangers. Even so, watching the girl lift her top for the men’s pleasure had added subtly to her arousal. Clearly, like everything so hedonistic about this city, flashing for beads was not restricted only to Mardi Gras.

“I don’t know about you guys,” one of the men said to his buddies as Liz continued watching, “but I’m ready to hit a strip joint.”

The others laughingly agreed and they wasted no time heading into Club Venus, just across the street.

Just then, Ty approached, handing her a drink, their fingers brushing during the exchange. Jack was still at the bar, paying. “Thanks,” she said softly. She met Ty’s brown eyes briefly, but again, it was too intense for her, so she shifted her gaze away, back across the street, where a lovely young girl in a micro-mini dress and sexy high heels stood next to the doorman, saying, “Come on in, gentlemen.”

“Are you a dancer?” one of them asked, sounding drunker than the rest.

She nodded. “I’ll be on the main stage in about twenty minutes, so you’d better get a good seat so you can give me lots of tips.” She giggled in conclusion.

“You bet we will, sugar,” the drunk guy said. “I want to see your tits.”

“What next?”

Liz flinched at Jack’s voice in her ear. She’d become entranced by the happenings across the street—by the open sexuality displayed here. No one was shy or reticent; no one was anything but eager and honest about it. Perhaps, Liz reasoned, it had been this erotic atmosphere that had first opened her mind to the things she’d done over the last few days. Perhaps it was so intoxicating that anyone would respond as she had, opening herself up for all these new sexual experiences. But one look at Jack reminded her again—no, this was more than that. He treated her with so much more respect than those guys going into the bar showed the women willing to bare it all for them. He was so good and sweet to her, so committed to pleasuring her as much or more than himself. And she wanted to pleasure him just as much in return.

She knew in that moment she wouldn’t say no to his desire for a threesome. In fact, she would embrace it, would love sharing it with him, would dive into it with the same eager honesty about sex that was all