Girl Singer

4. You're Making Me Crazy

Lulu Martine

I dreamed.

In my dreams, I checked into a dingy motel in Oakland with my prescription for fentanyl and half a fifth of cheap house-brand whiskey. I swallowed pills and liquor until I passed out and died.

But I didn't stay dead.

I found myself wandering around the halls of the motel, climbing Escher-style stairs sometimes, and falling from balconies others. Finally, I stumbled into a cheap hotel room where a plump little prostitute was being choked into unconsciousness by her john.

I didn't feel anything while I watched. I might just as well have been a film editor, looking for the signals in the corners of the frame for where to cut the scenes apart.

The girl passed out, motionless. Then the guy got on top of her, riding her until something in his face changed, and he toppled sideways, soiling himself at the same time as a greenish fluid ran from his mouth and his nose.

After a bit, the girl roused, pushing him off of her. Then she lay there panting, getting her breath back, staring into the darkness…

…gray, gold, and green eyes looking directly into my watery blue ones….

I felt a sucking sensation, like my whole being was caught in the updraft of a tornado. Then I was looking out of the gray eyes at darkness.

*

I woke up when the engine noise changed. We were stopping for gas. I yawned and stretched while Alvin got out to pay for the fuel. The kid wiping the windows with a red rag peered in at me, and I looked to see if all my buttons were done up. They were so I undid a couple of them, just to watch his eyes pop out.

He left pronto when Alvin came back and slid beneath the wheel. "You need to do anything?" he asked.

I shook my head.

He noticed my open top and the blushing kid and grinned. "Amusing yourself?" he asked.

I nodded, giggling.

We sat there while the other station guy pumped gas, however much Alvin had paid for.

"Open two more buttons," he told me.

Squirming, I did so.

The kid had seen. He turned to make his escape, tripped on a bucket of suds, and almost ran headlong into the station building. The older pump jockey came with some change, but Alvin refused it. "Buy yourself a Hershey bar and one for the kid," he said.

"Thank you, sir," the man said, but he was looking at my chest. I took a deep breath and arched my back. He backed away, bouncing off a pillar as Alvin started up the engine and got us back on the highway.

"How far down do those buttons go?" Alvin asked.

I pointed at my middle, where the line of buttons stopped. I should probably wear a belt with this dress, I thought. It would look nice and more complete.

"Undo all your buttons," Alvin ordered.

I caught my breath and began unbuttoning myself. Alvin was only watching in brief glances. I stopped when I ran out of buttons, the wind from the open window on Alvin's side making the loose top of my dress flap open and closed.

"Pull your dress off your shoulders and take off your bra," he said.

I gasped. My nipples, already semi-erect, got hard and stayed hard as I did what he said, the top of my dress pooled around my waist. I was naked from the waist up now, and oncoming traffic had a good view. There were scary sounds as some drivers swerved or stood on their brakes.

Alvin was grinning. "Pull your dress up before there's an accident. Button yourself back up but leave the top three undone."

My breath came in pants as I did what he told me to do. I was sitting on my legs, and I felt something hot and wet against my calves.

"Are you wearing knickers?" he asked.

I frowned. "Kni-ni-ni?" Did I not know what knickers were? That seemed unlikely. I mean Bonnie--did Bonnie not know what the word meant?

"Panties," said Alvin. "You're wearing panties, right?"

I squirmed, nodding.

"Turn around and sit with your feet on the floorboards," he told me.

I did, pretty sure I knew what was next. I heard myself moan. I mean, Bonnie moaned. Maybe we both moaned, even though there's only one of us.

He still wasn't looking at me steady, but for a bit, his glances got more frequent. I moaned again, squirming, rubbing my thighs together.

"Pull your dress up, reach under and pull your knickers, your panties, down to your knees," he said, staring straight ahead.

I made some kind of noise.

"Now pull your dress down, but keep one hand under it and stroke your honeypie."

"Awa-awa-awa!" I gabbled.

"Sh, sh," he commanded. "Hush, no trying to talk. You can't talk, you're a dummy, remember?"

I gasped and moaned, wordlessly. I squirmed and flinched, stroking myself.

After a pause, Alvin said. "Put your other hand inside the top of your dress, find a nipple and pinch and pull on it."

I did that, nearly losing my mind in sensation.

Alvin was talking, but I almost couldn't hear him over the sound of blood rushing through my ears. "Put two fingers in your puss, move them in and out, fast."

Could I do that? Yes, yes, I could.

Then, "Pull and twist on your nipple, almost till it hurts."

This was torture but pleasure, too. So much.

"You wanna cum," said Alvin. "But you can't. Not until I tell you to."

Oh. Oh. The bastard. I moved my fingers and pulled my nipple. I felt hot wet pussy juice on my hand, under me, soaking into the back of my dress. Muscles I couldn't control, that I hadn't known that I had, twitched and jerked.

"Don't move," Alvin commanded. "Stay still. You can't move at all until you cum, but you can't cum until I say."

I froze, muscles stiffening, hardening like wood. I couldn't breathe, couldn't gasp for air. If I couldn't cum, I would pass out—or die. The pleasure went beyond joy to terror, approaching ecstasy.

The road noise crescendoed, or maybe that was just the blood in my brain. I could no longer see, and I wondered if my eyes were closed or if I had gone blind.

"Cum," said Alvin, and the world ended in a scream.

*

When I came back to awareness, I was lying, nearly full-length along the bench seat, both doors of the car open. Alvin stood a little way away, looking down the blacktop as if waiting for someone else to arrive. We were parked on the side of the road, near the crest of a hill.

Had I only imagined a scene that had all taken place while we drove down the highway? Had I finger-fucked myself silly because Alvin told me to? Yeah, I think I had. I certainly felt damp and sticky in the right places. I sniffed of my fingers. Uh-huh. Clam juice.

I squirmed, wondering if maybe Alvin would order me to lick my fingers clean. I didn't want to do that, but I did want him to tell me to do it. My head is so weird.

I shook off a feeling of lethargy, sitting up and looking toward Alvin. He was smoking a cigarette, which I didn't remember seeing him do. Nor did I remember smelling smoke on him. I made a face, and he laughed.

"I know you don't like me to smoke," he said. He shook his head. "You something else, Bonnie Mae Carroll, you really are." He sighed. "C' mere."

I scooted across the bench, under the steering wheel, and stood up beside the car, realizing as I did so that my panties were still down around my knees and that I wasn't wearing a bra. My nipples got hard thinking about it, including the poor boob I had pinched and pulled on. Remembering how that had hurt only seemed to excite me.

I stretched my arms out toward Alvin, knowing that if I took a step, my panties would fall down and trip me. I made a noise, half-grunt, half-sigh.

"Oh, lord," said Alvin. "You ready to go again, ain'tcha?"

I smiled, nodding. I tried to shuffle forward, keeping my panties from falling by clenching my knees together, which made it impossible to walk. My arms still stretched out, I worked my fingers in grasping motions.

I'd been sweating, the back of my dress was damp and stuck to my thighs. Standing there in a soiled dress with my own cum on my legs made me feel deliciously slutty, kind of like a smushed cream pie.

Alvin chuckled. "I can't get over how you'll do anything I tell you to, if you can. And you like it. You have to like it, don't you? Just let them panties fall and kick them off." He took a drag on his cigarette. "Panties ain't no use to you anyways."

He watched as I stood first on one leg then the other, kicking my panties away from me. He put out an arm, and I walked over to snuggle in under it. I could feel my braless breasts jiggle and sway. I liked that feeling. I even liked the drawing sensation of my skin being pulled by the weight on my chest.

"You got to wear a bra most times," he said, grabbing a handful of softness and squeezing. "Otherwise, your titties will be down to your knees, someday. But there ain't no reason for you to wear knickers unless you're having your monthlies. Hmm?"

I giggled when he said knickers. Knickers was a funny word.

He flicked his cigarette away onto the highway in front of a big truck. "So don't wear them anymore. That'll make both of us happy." He bent to kiss me, but I caught a whiff of cigarette breath and turned my face away.

He laughed. "You don't want to kiss me because I've been smoking?"

I nodded. Well, I didn't want to kiss him at all, any time. No sir, I'm a guy in here. Bonnie had other opinions, but she and I happened to agree at the moment. Cigarette breath is nasty.

He laughed again. "You sweet dumb little cunt," he said. "You'd kiss me if I told you to. You'd let me put my tongue down your throat, or anything else in there, if I told you to."

My breathing got a bit ragged. I knew he was right. It was exciting to know that—that if he told me to, I'd kiss him right on his nasty mouth. I'd suck on his tongue if he said to. I'd kiss him and be glad because it was disgusting and he could make me do it.

"That witch woman put some hex on you, didn't she?" he said. "You have to do whatever I tell you to do, and you have to like it. It makes you hot." He took his pack of smokes out of his shirt pocket and looked at it. "I could make you smoke one of these, and then you wouldn't be able to taste it when I kissed you."

I stared at the cigarettes. The damndest thing was that I sure did not want to smoke a cigarette, being from when and where I was from, I knew way too much about smoking. But still, now he had put the idea in my head, I wanted him to make me smoke one because it would make me hot. Horny. Well, hornier.

He took the pack and threw it into the highway in front of another big truck. I stared then looked up at him. "You see?" he said. "You can make me do things, too."

*

We were soon back in the car and on our way again. I cuddled next to Alvin, feeling a bit grimy and soiled. I wondered if I smelled bad. I suspected that I did. I sniffed of my fingers again. Yup.

Some part of me hoped that I had not ruined my dress. I was a woman now, and in this time and place, I would have to wear dresses. They might as well be ones as nice and pretty as this figured silk.

Then again, leaning against my man while I wore a dirty dress made me feel slutty and cheap. And I liked that. I sighed, contented.

"How about a song for us?" Alvin suggested.

I sat up, putting my feet together on the floor. You can't sing right lying down.

Not wearing panties or a bra and having my top dress buttons undone made me feel almost naked. And wearing my soiled dress added to that. I felt nasty. What kind of nasty song could I sing?

I thought of one. Not the version from Roger Rabbit or even Peggy Lee's version. Instead, I imagined Queen Latifah singing, "Why Don't You Do Right?" Then I gave it to him. It was a song from this era. He might have heard it before. But not with me rubbing a silken tit against his arm.

"Holy shit," he said when I finished.

I wanted to giggle, but I suppressed it. Thinking of Queen Latifah, I moved on to her song from the musical Chicago, "When You're Good to Mama." Only I did it Ethel Merman-style, with volume and vibrato. The tit worked well with that one, too.

"Oh, baby," he said.

I moved right along to, "I Wanna Be Loved by You," complete with Boop-Boop-ee-Doops, only in a little girl voice that would have gotten Marilyn arrested. I'd heard a version like that somewhere, and again, I pressed myself against him, soft and sexy.

"Christ, babycakes," he said. "I'm gonna have to pull over and jack-off again, you keep singing like that."

I looked at him with my head tilted sideways, then gestured with my open hands, like, here I am. Bonnie Mae wanted him, and I was Bonnie Mae. Right at that moment, I wanted him, too. I blame the songs.

"We ain't got no rubbers, sweetheart. It wouldn't be smart."

I sat back on my heels suddenly, staring at him. Was he afraid he'd catch something from me? When he sometimes called me a stupid cunt and a whore, he wasn't using endearments. Damnit. I was beginning to like him.

Wait. I still liked him, and I liked that he called me a cunt and a whore. I loved being a cheap slut. What I didn't like was that he wasn't going to fuck me.

I moved away, scooting back on the bench seat, then turning around with my feet on the floorboards again. I hugged myself and pouted at him. I'm a guy in here, I told myself. I didn't really want to fuck him anyway.

"I'm thinking," said Alvin. "I ain't never liked you selling it. I mean, you're sort of a natural cause you enjoy. But, it ain't right, nohow."

I nodded. Maybe he had got the idea I had been trying to push? He had, and he came right out with it.

"But you're good at singin', too. What we need, what we need, is a way you can get paid for singin'?"

I clapped my hands together and beamed at him. I forgave him for not wanting to stick his dick in my nasty cunt.

"I ain't never heard anyone can sing as good as you, honeypie. And you sing songs I ain't never heard before."

I nodded. I cupped a hand behind my ear then tapped my forehead.

His head was going back and forth, trying to watch me and the road at the same time. "If you hear it, you remember it?" he said.

I nodded, and Bonnie Mae added a kissy face at him. I squirmed a bit.

He laughed. "Since when have you been playing charades?" he asked.

I shrugged. That was sort of encouraging. I felt pretty dumb, but maybe I was smarter than the original Bonnie Mae Carroll?

"We need to hook up with someone like that Benny Goodman fellow. I can be your manager, get work for you, take care of you." He smiled. "We'll see doctors for both of us. They've got shots now can take care of most things."

Antibiotics? They had antibiotics in the war, and maybe before it? That would be good. I nodded and scooted across the seat a little closer to him.

"If you ain't having to sleep with strange men no more…then we could sleep together. Maybe, maybe get married? Would you like that?"

I stared at him. Married? Married? The part of me that came from Bonnie Mae was almost over the moon with the idea. The rest of me wasn't so sure.

Married? To a guy? Well, I didn't feel like throwing up, so maybe it wasn't totally disgusting. And this hex I'm under where I have to do whatever he tells me. That was sort of fun when he made me sex myself right in front of him. I felt my nipples crinkle up.

So, I don't have a choice, do I? I nodded slowly, smiling but maybe not like I was sure about it. I scooted a little closer.

"C' mere," he said. He held his arm out, and I snuggled in under it. "You belong to me," he said. "It was a deal I made with that old lady witch. Granny Carroll, she was your grandma, you know? 'Member her?"

I shook my head. Maybe I would remember more of what Bonnie Mae had known. It could happen. I remembered Alvin's last name was Porter, but I hadn't remembered my own name until he told me. I'm a mess.

He sighed. "The deal was that you had to do whatever I told you, but I had to take care of you? I don't think I been doing that good a job. But you, you been doing a terrific job." He squeezed me close.

I took his hand and put it on my breast. He laughed and gave it a gentle squeeze. "So we find you work as a girl singer with one of these bands, it should be a good living, at least, huh? And we got money to last a while so we can look for a good position for you."

He squeezed again, and I squirmed and giggled. "I'm going to take care of Mama," he said, "and you're gonna take care of me, huh?"

I nodded against his chest. I'm a mess, and I need someone to take care of me. And somebody I can take care of too.