The Dame , The DickThe Dame , The Dick

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It’s late when he walks into my office. Too late. He tracks in water and lets the door slam behind him.

“I need your help,” he booms.

I light a cigarette and slowly exhale.

“Sure you do. Please, sit down.”

He places his hat on my desk and anxiously rubs the back of his head. He looks like he’s at the wrong end of a bottle. I extend my hand.

“Marjorie Stone. But you already knew that.”

“Darren O’Halloran. Nice to meet you, Miss Stone.”

“Likewise.” I pour two glasses of scotch. “What can I do for you today?”

“It’s my girlfriend, Opal. She’s missing.”

“Do you think she’s in danger?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t seen her in over a week and she’s not answering the phone.”

“Have you called the cops?”

“They said they can’t do jack because I’m not family. But there’s something’s wrong. I know it.”

“Maybe she went on a trip? Or she’s busy?”

He slams his fist on the arm of his chair.

“She’s the goddamn love of my life! She’d never leave me.”

“I understand your frustration, but sometimes I need to ask uncomfortable questions in order to do my job.” I take out the ledger and open to the current page. “I charge for expenses in addition to my daily rate, and I require 100 percent upfront from new clients.”

“Expenses? I thought the whole point of hiring a broad was that it was supposed to be cheap.”

“The point of hiring me is that I get results. Now do you want me to find your girl or not?”


He throws the money on my desk. I count it and put it in the drawer.

“Now, tell me about Opal. Does she have a last name?”

“St. Clair. She’s a singer, she sings like a canary. Performs at that sleazy Negro club on Saturdays.”

“Does she have any friends or family in the area? Places she likes to go?”

“No friends or family. She works at the dry cleaner on Washington but she hasn’t been going.”

“Does she associate with any unsavory characters? Owe people money?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“What ısparta escort does she look like?”

“Like a movie star.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Tall. Beautiful. Curves to die for…”

“Right. Sure.” I close my notepad and stand. “Thank you, Mr. O’Halloran. I’ll be in touch soon.”

He slams the door again on his way out. I shake my head and refill my glass.

I hit the Twilight Club the next evening. It’s a Tuesday. Not our songbird’s night. I check my coat, smooth the front of my shirtwaist dress, and look around the room. It’s a sparse crowd.

I take a seat and wait for the bartender to finish drying a glass.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’m looking for Opal St. Clair. Have you seen her lately?”

“You’re looking at her, gorgeous.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s on stage right now.”

“You’re kidding me.”

I pivot my neck and suddenly understand the client’s devotion. A refined woman in a slinky, glittery gown softly croons “Every Time We Say Goodbye” for a small but rapt audience. Her hair is pinned back with a gardenia.

I order a Manhattan and enjoy the rest of the show. Opal expertly holds the room in the palm of her hand. She performs four more songs, thanks the crowd, and heads backstage. I put a couple bucks down and go after my girl.

I knock three times on the dressing room door. Opal answers in kitten heels and a silk dressing gown.


“My name is Marjorie Stone. I’m a private detective.”

She sighs and rubs her forehead.

“What is it?”

“May I come in?”

“It’s a free country.”

Opal glides to the vanity and gracefully sits down. She wraps her hair in a turban, fastens it with a brooch, and looks pointedly at my reflection in the mirror.


“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

“Help yourself.”

I fix myself a glass of vermouth and sit on the couch. It smells like stale cigarettes.

“I’ve been hired to ascertain your whereabouts kastamonu escort and make sure you’re safe. Your boyfriend is pretty worried about you.”

“Boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.” She turns in her chair. “Someone paid you to find me?”

“You know a fella named Darren O’Halloran?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Opal takes a swig from the bottle. “The man is obsessed with me. He’s deranged.”

“I can see that.”

“You’re not going to tell him where I am, are you?”

“Not on your life.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

She takes a seat next to me and clinks the bottle against my glass.

“Let me tell you. That man is ruining my life! I moved, I quit my job, I even had to give up my Saturday night spot. Weeknights are the absolute pits.”

I light her cigarette.

“I had a hunch. He was a grade-A creep in my office.”

“You don’t say.”

“Do you carry a heater?”

“Of course not. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Maybe you should consider it.”

She smiles and drapes her arm over the back of the sofa.

“I could just hire a crack-shot private eye to keep me safe.”

“You might want to rethink that strategy. No one’s ever mistaken me for Calamity Jane.”

“That’s too bad.”

“So did you ever date this schmuck? Or is it all a sick fantasy?”

“Detective, you insult me! Besides, he’s not exactly my type.”

“What is your type?”

“Dames who give me a hard time in my dressing room after a long day’s work.”

Opal unties her silk robe and lets it fall open. I put my hand on her thigh.

“Do you think it would be a conflict of interest if I said you were beautiful?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

I slide my hand up between her legs. Her nipples are hard as diamonds.

“My lips are sealed.”

I churn my fingers in slow circles and watch her chest rise and fall. I press on her vulva with the palm of my hand. I kiss her neck. She leans back, closes her eyes, and touches her breasts.

I kayseri escort take off my dress and fold it over the back of her chair. She reclines like on the couch like the Queen of Sheba. Everything about her is opulence and luxury. Her arms stretch over her head, her wrists intertwined. I lie on top of her and kiss her deeply.

We move against each other like cats in heat. I rub myself on her lithe body and run my hands over her smooth legs. She tilts her head back over the armrest. Her breasts press against mine. I penetrate her with my fingers until she makes beautiful sounds with her beautiful voice. I flip her over and sit on her lower back. She squeals in delight.

“Are you going to arrest me, detective?”

“Have you been bad?”

“The worst.”

I massage and knead her back, her shoulders, her neck. Her arms prickle with goosebumps. I spank her bottom with my hand and pick her up in a single fluid motion. She wraps her legs around my waist and kisses my ear. She playfully snaps my bra as I set her down on the vanity. I softly touch her bottom lip with my thumb.

“Open your mouth.”

I take her tortoise-shell makeup brush and stroke it against her cheek. She licks and sucks until it’s slick. I hold the bristles in my fist with the handle thrust between my knuckles. I slide it inside her and she moans. I fuck her slow at first, then so hard that my hand aches.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she cries out. “Harder, harder…”

Opal holds me against her chest while I pleasure her. I kiss her firm breasts and suck her nipples. She smells like baby powder. I get on my knees in front of her and tease her clitoris with my tongue. She pushes my face into her and has the loudest orgasm I’ve ever heard. I stand and slowly lick the wet handle.

“How do I taste?”

“Like the first day of spring.”

“Come back and sample my buds anytime you want.”

I climb up on the vanity and straddle her with my knees. I slowly gyrate my hips on her lap. She takes off my bra and kisses my breasts. I roughly seize the back of her neck. She’s putty in my fingers.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

Opal pulls me close. Her eyes are mesmerizing.

“Everything worth having always is.”


Originally published in “Stories To Bang By, Vol. 30: Pussy”

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