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floor balcony in our nakedness, the sun was already turning the rain puddles into steaming wisps of humidity rising from the bricked courtyard below.
Hugging me to her body, Ali kissed my forehead, smiling at me afterwards.
"What say we clean up, throw on some clothes, and hit the streets, baby," she said to me as we walked into the apartment through the French doors.
"Works for me, sweetie," I answered.
Rising from my knees, the water cascading over the both of us, I had gone down on her, in the shower.
I cant seem to get enough of her, I told her, as I nuzzled my lips into the side of her neck, her hands stoking my wet hair, and running over my ass.
"Yeah, I know the feeling, baby," she answered, "Since Ive met you, I cant seem to get enough of you, either," shutting off the water, reaching for towels for us.
Smiling at me as she dried me, her hands caressing and fondling as she did so, she offered, "But, thats not a bad thing is it?"
No, its definitely not a bad thing.
We browsed a few shops on the way to the Square, not buying anything, just nosing around.
As we made our way around the wrought iron fence perimeter of Jackson Square, we saw almost every style of art for sale, hanging on the fences or on easels.
There were portraiture artists knocking out quickies of visitors and tourists; cityscapes, landscapes, cubism, neo-realism, etc.
If you didnt see it here, it probably didnt exist.
I took some arty photographs of our day, spending some time for different views of the Saint Louis Cathedral, that triple-spired landmark of the Quarters. Using shadows, textures of the old stonework, I blew through seventy images before I knew it.
I discovered photography in high school and have been hooked ever since, enjoying the creative release that it provides to me.
That first night with Alice-shes right by the way, I did seduce her- the night I brought her home with me? She commented when walking around the condo, during a break from the sex play, about my wall hangings.
I had enlarged some black and white photos from my portfolio, hanging them, making them art-work. She told me that she thought that they were definitely of show quality, good enough for galleries.
Ali got my photo-style, and that made me happy.
"Ready for some food, baby?" kissing me after she asked.
We had been walking around all afternoon, holding hands, kissing openly with small, little pecks of affection. Any fool could see that we were two people who were seriously into each other.
I was as happy that afternoon as I had ever been with another human being.
"I could eat," letting her lead me away from the Square.
"After we grab a bite, Im taking you to someplace I know youve never been," she said, smiling wickedly. "Im taking you to a strip club."
"Ive been to strip clubs," I protested. It was only once, but still.
"Not like this one, you havent," she
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laughed.
Try as I might, she wouldnt divulge any more info than that.
Ali took me to Felixs Oyster Bar, world-famous I was told, and following her instructions to sauce the oysters first, I had raw oysters for the first time in my life.
It took me a couple to get the technique down, but soon I was sucking oysters from the shell with the best of em, followed by long pulls at ice-cold bottled beer.
"How do you like em," Ali asked, sucking her last one into her mouth.
"I like them, especially with the beer; not a bad combination," I answered, sucking my last one down, as well.
Leaning in towards Ali, just so she could hear what I was saying, I whispered, "Honestly, though, the way they feel sliding down my throat reminds me of swallowing cum after a blowjob," laughing as I said it.
She beamed a big smile and said, "Me, too; whew, glad Im not the only one who thinks that," joining me in laughter.
As we approached the Strip Club, it was jammed with people tying to get inside.
The posters on the outside walls showed some gorgeous damned women, long slender legs, beautiful skin, lips, and tits. "Good looking women," I told Ali.
"They not women," she said, "at least, not yet theyre not. Theyre trannies, most of them needing that final operation to give them a vagina, to make their transformation complete."
I stared at her, open-mouthed, like some damn farmer from Nebraska.
"I shit you not," she said to me as she walked us up to the doorman.
Of course, she knew him; she knew a hell of a lot of people in the Quarters I was to find out.
He ushered us inside, found us a small banquette facing the stage and told the waitress that our drinks were on the house.
Its good to know a lot of people in the Quarters, I figured out.
Those two hours we spent there were the most fun Ive had with my clothes on in a hell of long time.
The girls were all fucking beautiful and sexy; the drunk tourists and business people making fools of themselves over the performers.
The dancers hustled the guys for drinks and lap dances, they hustled the touristas and their wives, flirting with them, shaking their silicone boobs in their faces.
All were having a bon temps, as Ali would say.
Not having the luxury of the doorman to plow a path for us through the crowd that had filled the club, it took us nearly fifteen minutes to fight our way to the outside, to the fresh, cooler air.
"Damn, girl, it was only thirty feet but Ill bet my ass and boobs were felt and pinched a dozen times," shaking my head in disbelief.
Pulling her top to the side, she revealed some red pinch marks on the side of her breast.
"Bourbon Street tattoo; wear it with pride," she laughingly said.
She walked us down a side street, heading back towards the Square, our arms around each
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