Coney

A dwarf in a harlequin costume rushed toward then waving a paddle. He was going for Emma, but Frank barred his way. The little dwarf scooted around his legs and swung at her, yelling in a high pitched voice. Emma stepped backwards and felt a jet of cool air shoot between her feet, blowing her skirt up past her waist. Frank had a stupid look on his face as he stared at her bare legs and knickers. Emma pushed her skirt back down, feeling her face burning.

Frank swatted at the dwarf, but he had already ran away, on to torment others.

"Dirty little creature," she said adjusting her skirt as they walked out of the park, though she couldn't help but smiling to herself as she remembered the look on Frank's face.

Before Emma knew it, they were off to another ride. This time they went up the Iron Tower and got a birds eye view of the surrounding parks. Then they shared cotton candy on the Ferris Wheel, and then tried their hand at a shooting gallery.

All thoughts of Johnathan and if he missed her or not didn't seem to matter as the sun began to go down. Really, she decided, what did it matter now? Even if she did decide to go back to him, she had no idea where he could be. It would take her the rest of the day to find him. Besides, she was having too much fun with Frank. This was the type of day she had wanted in the first place. And, she had to admit, it felt good feeling like she wasn't married. She felt free. Even if it was just for a little while.

A cool breeze drifted down the boardwalk. Frank got them a couple of ice cream cones. She shivered with fascination as he wolfed his down, watching his Adam's apple bob and his mouth and tongue lick and suck away. She caught him eying hers. She offered it to him and stifled a chuckle as she watched him gobble it down. Afterward, he happily licked his fingers. She liked to see him like that—so happy and ravenous. And there was something about the way he licked that ice cream . . .

They made their way to where a large crowd was gathering. In a giant cage, a sweaty man chased a Bengal tiger. The loud reports of his pistol and merciless crack of the whip drove the handsome beast to madness. The pistol shots were deafening and Emma covered her ears.

The tiger flung itself, snorting and roaring. Its green eyes flashed, pulling back its lips to reveal sharp yellow fangs. The man cracked the whip again and fired the pistol. The beautiful beast sank down, its serpentine tail twitching, its ears swept back. Its elastic body rolled into a ball as a deep growl rumbled within its chest. Emma was certain it would leap and bury its claws into the man with the whip. In some ways she hoped it would.

The man stamped his feet, let out a shout, and cracked the whip. The tiger arched its neck, showing its teeth once more, then finally, quietly, withdrew to a corner of the cage, pacified and defeated.

The man turned to the crowd, breathless. Sweat dripped down his curled mustache and cascaded down his body. He raised his whip and pistol and bowed low. The crowd shouted and clapped then broke into pieces and dispersed.

"Damn bastard," Frank muttered. "Tormenting that beautiful creature. It makes my blood boil. Next time, I hope that tiger tears him limb from limb."

Emma felt sympathy for the tiger too. Stuck in that cage. The tamer forcing it to his will. She was certain the next time the tiger would prevail. She gave a shudder.

The sun had dipped behind the buildings and the boardwalk was getting darker. One of the spherical electric lamps on an iron post pulsed, then brightened. Three more came on to her left and right. The lights reminded her the day was almost done. She was disappointed it would all be over soon. It seemed the day was just getting started. And here she had been thinking she wouldn't have any fun. But that had been before she met Frank Kelly.

"Coasters, hot dogs, the beach, tigers-" -and 'you' Emma wanted to say. "They have everything here!"

"Sure," Frank said. "Coney's got every sort of amusement you can think of. It's even got the sort polite society doesn't favor. It just all isn't in full view, ya see. Whiskey. Gambling. Women. It's all there."

She had often read the works of writers scorning the life on Coney Island. A modern day Sodom and Gomorrah some called it. She hadn't seen anything of the sort, though, all the time she had been here. "Are there really prostitutes here?" she asked.

"Oh yeah, scores of them."

"Are there . . . brothels?"

"A few. Most just sell their wares out in the open, though."

She felt sure he spoke from personal experience. Emma had never even seen a prostitute. She looked around as if she would see one in a nearby doorway. She wondered what it was like to sell oneself for money to some stranger. It sounded horrifying and fascinating at the same time. What would possess a woman to do such a thing? She heard it was out of desperation. The poor things.

"But if they are out in the open," she said carefully. "Then how do you . . . where do you go to . . .?"

He gave a smile. "Oh, we just find ourselves a nice dark corner somewhere—an alleyway usually works perfectly well."

She glanced at a nearby alley and imagined Frank behind some girl humping away against a wall. The thought thrilled her, but terrified her. How debased he was. Never in her life would she even imagine such a thing. But wait? Didn't she just do it right now?

"Wouldn't you be afraid of being seen? Of being caught?" she asked.

"That's half the thrill, dove."

Emma nibbled on her lip as she considered it. What if the girl in the alleyway were her?

A dull hum suddenly droned from the nearby buildings. A murmur rippled from the nearby crowd as the boardwalk began to blink. Suddenly there was a collective shout as the park miraculously transformed.

Emma turned in a circle, her jaw slack, as she took in the wonder.

The tall white buildings had turned into fiery magical castles. Thousands—no, millions!- of light bulbs set the shapely towers, palaces, and temples aglow in brilliant light. Balls of lights stretched over their heads like pearls on golden gossamer threads, trembling in the air and creating an outline on the black background of the sky. The flaming patterns mirrored themselves in the waving contours of a nearby lagoon, blending everything into molten gold.

She turned to Frank. He hadn't seem to notice the change. She had this feeling he had been watching her reaction the entire time.

She slowly turned, taking it all in. "It's so—so-so . . ."

"Isn't it, though?" he said with a smile.

She stood for awhile, unable to look away. She could feel the bulbs warm glow and could hear them hum. So many of them. Together, they created one brilliant light. She could now understand why the writers called Coney Island 'The City of Fire.'

"Why don't we take a walk on the beach," he said. "Now that the lights are up, people will be coming up on the boardwalk. There won't be so many people and we can enjoy the water."

She turned back to the lights, feeling like she wouldn't ever be able to take her eyes off their beauty.

He took her hand and gave a little tug.

"Don't worry, we'll come back to it."

As Frank predicted, the beach was now void of its mob. The dark waters rolled in, their constant waves sounding like an incoming train. Strings of light hung from nearby piers and cast the beach in a soft glow.

"You should walk with your feet in it," Frank said.

He put his hands around her waist, lifted her into the air, and plopped her on an old pier piling. She let out a little whoop, thrilled at his strength, like a child being lifted by her father. She watched his head between her legs as he unlaced her shoes. She realized his head and face was so near an intimate place. It made her wonder. Had he ever given a woman a 'rub' before? She suspected he had. Many times. She felt a tingling in her belly.

He pulled off her stocking and she felt his rough hands around her ankle. He looked at her toes wiggling at him.

"Nice feet ya got here," he said giving them a gentle rub. It sent shivers up her calves, knees, thighs, and . . . goodness.

"That feels good," she said softly.

He put his hands around her waist and lifted her off the piling. She let out another whoop as he placed her bare feet in the sand. She squished her toes in it and gave a little laugh at the sensation.

They held hands as they walked along the water's edge. The waves rolled in, bathing her ankles in the cool ocean water then rolled out again. When she looked up, beyond the piers, she could see the fantastic magic city, all afire, stretched out on either side of them, burning against the dark background of the sky, its beauty mirrored in the broad, gleaming sea.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered.

"C'mere."

Frank swung her hand steering her about so she faced him. He put a hand around her lower back and pulled her in. Her breasts and legs flatten against him. Knowing she should push away, she put a hand on his chest. She knew what was going to happen next.

Her heart beat so fast as he leaned in. Those beautiful lips moved in closer and closer. Finally, contact.

Emma closed her eyes, letting him in. His lips were so soft, moist, and warm. They tasted like a sweet-salty blend of sweat and ice cream. Wonderful.

Her hands came out from between them and she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her wrists dangle behind his broad shoulders. She could smell him. A little repulsive, truthfully- a strong masculine scent of sweat and musk. But when his wonderful arms pulled her in closer and his hand went up her back, rubbing her with long strokes from her shoulders down her waist line and sending shivers rippling down her spine, she didn't mind it so much. In fact, his smell excited her.

Oh! His tongue!

She hadn't expected that. Soft, and just the tip, it parted her lips then slowly licked at her. She touched it with her own. Between them, just below the ridge of her corset, she could feel him hardening against her. She suddenly felt herself burning like the city of fire.

She could have stayed locked with him like that forever. Slowly, though, they pulled away. Had he pulled away first? Or had she?

She looked up at him, letting her hands touch his face. She ran her fingers over his cheeks down to his lips, feeling the softness under her fingertips.

How would Mrs. Chopin describe them? Lovely. Luscious. Lickable?

She ran a finger down to his scar.

"How did you get this?"

He gave her a little shake in his arms, "That's a love bite, dove."

"Really? A woman bit you?" Not that she blamed her. His whole face was made for kissing and biting.

"More like Mickey the Turk," he said. "We got into a tussle about a year back. Kicks like a mule and bites like a crocodile."

She gave a smile at his wit, still letting her fingers play along his lips. He was so different than Johnathan. So ill-mannered. So strong. So forward. So carefree.

He gave her a squeeze. "What ya say? Wanna go on another ride?"

Actually she wanted to just stay here and let him continue to kiss her, but then a couple of hooligans walked by and gave them a hoot and whistle, breaking the spell. She pushed herself away from him.

"Yes, let's."

When they returned to the piling where she had left her shoes, she found them missing.

"Who would abscond with someone's shoes?" she asked with her hands on her hips.

"Somebody who really wants a pair of lady's shoes, that's who."

She sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter."

They returned to the boardwalk where the electric bulbs gleamed like pearls of frozen fire, shining on signs and walls, on window casings and and roofs. She felt the rough wooden planks under her bare feet. Frank lifted her over a pool of spilled Coca Cola as they neared Luna Park.

"Which ride were you thinking?" she asked.

He gave a sly smile and motioned with his head toward the entrance to the Tunnel of Love.

The thought of being in the dark with him with no one to see sent a warm wave through her. This time, she took his hand and pulled him toward the ride.

Near the ride entrance, a sign read NO KISSING ALLOWED IN THIS TUNNEL. As soon as they were in the dark, though, she wrapped her fists into his vest and pulled him into her.

This time she instigated the kiss. It felt so good to be inside his mouth. She brushed his teeth with the tip of her tongue then probed deeper. He squeezed her tight. As she closed her eyes, she felt a tightness in her chest and a severe case of dizziness. She was certain her city of fire was going to burn down to ashes. She recalled his mother was a midwife and he had nimble fingers.

"Frank," she whispered into his ear.

"Hm?" he said nuzzling into her neck.

"I think I feel some of my hysteria coming on."

*****

She felt his mouth widen into a grin. His hand trailed down her leg then slowly lifted up the hem of her skirt. He pushed his ways past the folds of her petticoat until his hands was on her knees. Strong. Rough. Callused. A stranger's hands. Not Johnathan's. Oh certainly not Johnathan's. She shivered at the touch and gave him a kiss to encourage him.

He pushed her knees apart and felt his way up to her drawers. He hooked his fingers around the waist line and pulled down. She arched her bottom out of the seat to allow him to pull them down to her thighs.

His fingers ran up her thighs, finding their way to the point where her legs joined together. She could feel his fingers running through her pubic hair and searching their way to the soft velvety lips between her thighs. His fingertip gave her lips just the barest of parts, then slowly ran up and down her slit. She could feel herself dripping on his hand.

She sucked in when he slipped a finger in her. He pulled it in and out, as if it were his cock inside her. His thumb found the engorged little knob at the top of her lips. When he touched it, it sent a jolt through her and she gave a little jump. He held her in place and began to stroke it.

"Oh my . . ." she whispered in his ear. His mother was right!

He was all focused on the knob now. He placed it between a couple of fingers and began to circle it clockwise.

She buried her face into his neck and bared her teeth, lightly raking the skin right behind his ear. It felt so good. He was moving his hands more rapidly now, causing her head to spin. Something was building inside her. Something deep. And it was about to come out.

She felt her drawers slide down her knees and plop around her ankles. It allowed her to open her legs even wider for him. The back of his hand touched against her thigh, it was all wet. All from her. Little sloshing sounds emanated from under her skirt. Coming from her!

His breathing was rapid, as if it was he being the one pleasured. He was excited, she thought, excited about pleasing her! She crushed him into her, and brought her lips and tongue to lap at his ear.

And then it happened. Her eyes went wide as he brought her to a pinnacle. It was like electricity arcing through a trolley cable, over and over again, shooting from between her legs and outwards to her belly and breasts, out to her arms, and up to her neck and face. She swayed and felt like she would fall out of the boat as the feeling cycled through, but his strong arms kept her in place.

She gripped his shoulders and rested her head against his chest, feeling the final tremors throughout her body. She was panting like a race hound who had been ran out.

He withdrew his hand from under her skirt and licked his fingers, just like he had done when finishing the ice cream cone.

"How you feel now, dove?"

She was trembling. "Oh my . . ."

"You think that was good," his lips moved against her ear and murmured, "Next time I'll use my tongue."

His tongue?! Her eyes widened.

"That sounds . . ."

Awful? Delicious? Awfully delicious?

Really? His tongue?

She remembered how his tongue had parted her lips at the beach and the thought of how he could do the same between her legs sent a tremble through her. So bad, she wanted him to kneel down before her right now and oblige her, but then she thought she was being selfish. It was his turn.

Her hand reached down to his trousers. She could feel him through the woolen cloth, solid and long as a lead pipe.

"Do men get hysteria?" she asked as she ran a hand down its length. She wanted to see him.

"What are you talking about dove? Men are always in a state of hysteria."

She chuckled as she unbuttoned his trousers. He leaned back in the seat, casual like, watching her as she felt about for the buttons on his long johns and undid them. There it was, poking out at her. It was a little too dark to see it very well, but she could feel how thick it was- thicker than Johnathan's.

She heard a deep rumble in his chest, like the caged tiger, as she gave it a stroke.

He reached out and rubbed her cheek. "That a way, dove."

She could hear his breathing, deep powerful breaths that corresponded with each stroke. She wanted to see his face as she rubbed her hands up and down, stroking him. Was she giving him the same pleasure as he had given her? It was still a little too dark. And then suddenly she could see him. There were lights coming up at the end of the tunnel. Wait! The ride was over.

As the boat slid up to the platform, she disengaged, mortified Frank's trousers were still open. He buttoned himself up, almost casually, as if he didn't care if anyone saw him. The assistant gave him a quizzical look as Frank fastened his last trouser button and stepped out of the boat. Frank reached back and helped Emma out. She could see his cock poking at his pants leg like a circus tent and she felt herself blush.

Too late she realized she had left her drawers. She turned around to see a pair of smiling young lovers enter their boat. The fresh faced lad reached down by his feet, confused, then brought the garment up in front of his eyes. His sweetheart let out a shrill squeal as laughter peeled from the crowd. He dropped them, as if they were hot. More laughter.

Oops.

"Where to now?" she asked hanging onto Frank's arm. She hoped it would be another place nice and dark. She hadn't finished him, which must be the foremost thought on his mind too. Also, she was still thinking about that promise regarding his tongue.

"How's about-"

Emma felt something behind her.

"You little harlot!"

A hand clawed at her shoulder. Emma spun to find Johnathan's terrible red face only inches from her's. His teeth were clenched and his cane held high above his head, ready to strike.

*****

Frank leaped to the rescue, shoving Johnathan aside. Johnathan's fingers ripped Emma's bag away, spilling the contents across the board walk. Johnathan swung his cane at Frank's head. Frank ducked. Emma felt the wind and heard the whistle as it swished by.

"Scoundrel! Taking a man's wife! I'll beat you good for it! And you! You slut! Cheating harlot! Whore of Babylon!"

Frank stood between Johnathan and Emma, dodging the swishing cane. Johnathan yelled like a wild man while onlookers gathered round. They laughed and pointed, eating peanuts and popcorn, as if this was just another amusement show.

Emma spotted a trio of policemen wading through the crowd. Their badges gleamed in the light, their clubs brandishing. Frank saw them too. He dodged one more swing from the cane and snatched Emma by the hand. "Time to skiddoo!"

"Stop them!" Johnathan shouted at the policemen as he struggled to get through the crowd. "Scoundrel! Slut! By damn I'll send you to the asylum!"

Johnathan snatched her book off the boardwalk. Emma felt her heart tear when she watched him rend the pages from the binding.

"This way!" Frank pointed toward a sign that read BATHS.