The Chinaman watched as the entire staff leered at Cinderella, the young gorgeous Hispanic girl, who suddenly found herself without a home but surrounded by the Cantina family. She had five husbands, and a couple of slippery wet lesbians breathing down her soft neck, and the family of Cantina staff at her wispy back. But Chinaman whisked her into the galley where the young Hispanic homeless couple set her up, as if she was another member of their family escaping from Mexico for the golden opportunities in California.
For a couple of days, they kept her out of site, learning the galley ropes. The staff didn’t know of Bandit’s history with this girl. But most of them experienced the Cantina indoctrination. Bandit came from a long line of Navy swabs. His dad was a Chief in WWII and served time as a Seabee in Guadalcanal. He followed the ship’s code. Rookie seamen were sent to the Galley for a couple of month?s duty. It was the ship’s boot camp, training, and prospect system. If you couldn’t handle the mess cook duties, you weren’t worth the powder to blow you to hell. It taught young recruits ship discipline, scheduling and arduous, hot work under distress. Nothing like dishing up bowls of sloshing, boiling hot oatmeal in a typhoon.
Bandit liked to put new hires to the Galley test under the watchful eye of the ever-loyal Chinaman. Someday, we?ll delve into the connection between the Chinaman and Bandit. They met in Hong Kong on a floating restaurant, but we’ll slip back to the Vietnam era another time. So there was the glistening Cinderella, covered in sweat, her thin white sweat-soaked t-shirt a translucent film stuck to her big bouncing boobs as she scrubbed stainless steel pans in the deep sink. She wore frayed denim short-shorts, which didn’t entirely cover her moist ass cheeks as she bent over the steamy metal sink. Steam bustled around her as if she was trying to hold the devil down under boiling water.
The Chinaman scrambled around his stoves, fry cookers and grills, making nachos and chorizo and egg burritos. His kitchen slaves buzzed around the smoky kitchen, delivering steaming plates of food, reloading supply trays and the refrigerators.
Outside, the bar was a buzz of testosterone. Like a pack of hungry dogs surrounding a downed pigeon. Nyla’s succulent cleavage lost its aura in the lured fray. It was getting to her. She hadn’t had another woman in a month and she picked up a bad case of the holiday blues. Cinderella didn?t help. She was sick and tired of the constant projecting banter, the bets, the crystal ball, tea leave forecasts, and the machismo guessing game. Nyla’s impatience peaked as she burst into the kitchen to retrieve an order of sizzling super nachos, with guacamole and Chinaman’s special salsa on the side.
As she slammed into the steamy galley, she spotted her smoldering plate of nachos touched off with a garnish of parsley, and colored with tres colours chips, rojo, verde and corn. Then her eyes lit upon young Cinderella’s ass bouncing against the deep sink. As she stepped forward for a closer look, Cinderella turned to face her, and her massive boobs swayed slightly beneath her slick t-shirt.
“You like,” Cinderella said as Nyla ample nipples hardened under her gathered cotton top.
“I see you don’t mind,” Nyla said witnessing Cinderella’s nipples hardening.
“I am so caliente,” Cinderella said and peeled off her t-shirt in the center of the galley.
Nyla stepped forward and in a single movement pulled her top down to reveal her gorgeous pure white mounds of joy. The two girls embraced crushing their boobs together in a sudden explosion of sexual energy. Their lips met, their tongues danced and their hands explored.
Sweating profusely, their sense of seduction peaked and they backed out of the kitchen, bouncing through the massive stainless swinging door with the old ship’s brass porthole mounted at eyeball height. The door banged open like a fire drill and two highly engaged voluptuous girls, naked to the waist stumbled into the dining room. They brought the heat, and Marko responded sliding two tables together and clearing them. Never disconnecting, they slithered onto the table their tongues locked in a search for the perfect chemistry.
The small barroom crowd was stunned. They didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. They just starred as two beautiful women grappled to find pure sensual nirvana. Ignoring the crowd, Nyla broke free just long enough to unsnap and unzip Cinderella’s shorts and push them down here perfect legs until they toppled to the floor. For the first time, Nyla focused on Cinderella’s perfect form. She leaned over and kissed her lightly, as if she was kissing a gold statue of the Virgin Mary.
Then she ran her hand down Cinderella’s soft carmel neck to her shoulders then slowly up one of her mountainous breasts, to her nipple. She touched it as if she was touching the gates of heaven. Her hand glided over every inch, as delicately as humanly possible. Nyla’s fingers were on fire as they danced over her tummy and crept close to her shaved mound. But something else crept into her conscience. It was the half-dozen sets of eyes boring into the two women. Nyla looked up at Marko and their eyes met.
Without a word, Marko read every thought. Nyla was the goddess of the Cantina, the queen, the coach, and seductress. When she needed something, all responded dutifully.
“Bar’s closed for the night,” Marko barked, and brought the patrons quickly back to reality. They picked up their shit and hit the door. Motorcycles started and rolled out of the parking lot. Marko shut off the Cantina signage lights; he shut off the dining room lights and most of the lights in the bar.
He moved around the Cantina stealth-like and lit a couple of candles and set them on the bar. As quickly, as he completed his tasks, he disappeared through the galley, locking the door to the bar behind him. He informed the kitchen crew, popped open a Corona and snatched the plate of nachos for his evening vigil on the dock, fishing in the harbor.
Fire still burned in the dining room, as Nyla slid off the table, while their eyes remained cemented in mutual adoration while she removed her clothes. Finally, they were alone, warm, bathed in candlelight and lust. Nyla kissed and touched every inch of the Hispanic goddess.
Outside, Jeremiah straddled his bike, while Dismal Dan, Clay, finished his Corona.
“You can’t beat the entertainment here,” Jeremiah said. He was the only bar patron who knew womanly treachery. He had too many broads and kids in his life. He didn’t need another one.
“Yeah,” Clay said and kicked the dirt at his feet, “but I was hoping for a shot.”
Jeremiah kicked his Bandit-built Shovelhead bobber to life, slapped on his helmet and cool shades.
“This game ain’t over yet, pal,” Jeremiah said. “It’s just started.” He disengaged his suicide clutch, slammed his tank shifter and sped out off the parking lot.
Clay looked after him, then at the brilliant sunset above the Palos Verdes point. It was a magnificent multi-hued sky. All was not lost.
