Read Online The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey by Roland DeForrest - Free Book Online
Authors: Roland DeForrest
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breast packed tightly into a skimpy bra covered with gold coins. An excited, guttural cheer broke from the men around Dirk.
With her face hidden behind a smaller veil, Jamilia danced fluidly, slowly lowering the large veil in her hands. Glimpses
of her breathtaking figure were possible now. Her slightly rounded belly undulated and rolled. In her navel, a large emerald
glistened and twinkled like a small green island of calm in the midst of a windswept white lake. Low on her rounded, swiveling
hips, another band of gold coins clinked in rhythm to her erotic movements, a small girdle of tinkling sounds. A full skirt
of shiny blue material, split enticingly up the front, swept around her in a full circle and her creamy thighs flashed through,
and now and then her perfectly proportioned legs.
One look at the fully rounded figure, the large whitebreasts jiggling provocatively, told Dirk for certain that whoever this Jamilia was, she could not be the exact duplicate
of his mystery blonde. That beauty he’d found in Central Park had been a mere girl no more than sixteen .years old, and though
she was spectacular, she did not as yet possess such a full-blown womanly body. However, in the heat of this moment, he was
so entranced by the accomplished dancer before him that he did not care; he was dying of curiosity to see her face.
As if Jamilia had read his mind, at that precise instant, with her back to the audience, her hands rose gracefully to the
scarf covering her head. With a quick tug, she yanked free the gauzy piece of material and shook loose a mass of striking
blonde hair that tumbled past her shoulders, shimmering like spun gold in the bright spotlight.
Dirk bolted upright on the pillow—her hair was exactly the same tone of blonde as that of the girl in the park! He waited
breathlessly for her to turn to the crowd of hollering, appreciative men. Her full hips swaying like a flag in a gentle breeze,
she slowly came about, her face partially obscured by soft, curly tendrils of golden hair. With an almost impatient toss of
her head, she threw the hair back from her forehead and smiled serenely—straight in his direction. He stared, frozen in surprise
and delight.
His pal had not steered him wrong. Jamilia
was
the spitting image of the fantasy blond he’d captured on film. In spite of the differences in their bodies, their lovely,
angelic faces were identical—the same fine sweep of brow, the same classic nose, the same high, regal cheekbones, the same
full, sensual mouth. Dirk’s expert camera eye could not be misled; the facial similarities were too strong to be a mere coincidence.
Jamilia
had
to be related to his quarry in some way. Entranced all the more, heswallowed his excitement, and his bird of paradise sprang into a full-grown boner. He could not wait until he was alone, face
to face, with the magical beauty. He began to sweat with tension.
Immediately upon the conclusion of Jamilia’s ripely erotic dance, he pushed himself to his feet and, weaving through the densely
packed crowd of raucously cheering men, made his way to the backstage entrance. He pushed through the beaded curtain and bumped
into the portly master of ceremonies, who emphatically barred his entrance. Dirk pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his money
clip and shoved it into the obstinate man’s greasy palm. At once, a more-than-pleased grin broke out on the swarthy face and
the rotund man bowed mockingly, pointing to a small, grimy door.
Pushing his rigid dick into a less noticeable position, Dirk knocked and a woman’s musical voice called out in Spanish, “Come
on in.” He opened the door and stepped into a cluttered, cramped dressing room that smelled like the inside of a Moroccan
whorehouse—sickly sweet perfume, sweat, and the arousing, intoxicating scent of women. Jamilia stood before a full-length
mirror on the opposite wall, wiping her beautiful face with a towel. Her full
With her face hidden behind a smaller veil, Jamilia danced fluidly, slowly lowering the large veil in her hands. Glimpses
of her breathtaking figure were possible now. Her slightly rounded belly undulated and rolled. In her navel, a large emerald
glistened and twinkled like a small green island of calm in the midst of a windswept white lake. Low on her rounded, swiveling
hips, another band of gold coins clinked in rhythm to her erotic movements, a small girdle of tinkling sounds. A full skirt
of shiny blue material, split enticingly up the front, swept around her in a full circle and her creamy thighs flashed through,
and now and then her perfectly proportioned legs.
One look at the fully rounded figure, the large whitebreasts jiggling provocatively, told Dirk for certain that whoever this Jamilia was, she could not be the exact duplicate
of his mystery blonde. That beauty he’d found in Central Park had been a mere girl no more than sixteen .years old, and though
she was spectacular, she did not as yet possess such a full-blown womanly body. However, in the heat of this moment, he was
so entranced by the accomplished dancer before him that he did not care; he was dying of curiosity to see her face.
As if Jamilia had read his mind, at that precise instant, with her back to the audience, her hands rose gracefully to the
scarf covering her head. With a quick tug, she yanked free the gauzy piece of material and shook loose a mass of striking
blonde hair that tumbled past her shoulders, shimmering like spun gold in the bright spotlight.
Dirk bolted upright on the pillow—her hair was exactly the same tone of blonde as that of the girl in the park! He waited
breathlessly for her to turn to the crowd of hollering, appreciative men. Her full hips swaying like a flag in a gentle breeze,
she slowly came about, her face partially obscured by soft, curly tendrils of golden hair. With an almost impatient toss of
her head, she threw the hair back from her forehead and smiled serenely—straight in his direction. He stared, frozen in surprise
and delight.
His pal had not steered him wrong. Jamilia
was
the spitting image of the fantasy blond he’d captured on film. In spite of the differences in their bodies, their lovely,
angelic faces were identical—the same fine sweep of brow, the same classic nose, the same high, regal cheekbones, the same
full, sensual mouth. Dirk’s expert camera eye could not be misled; the facial similarities were too strong to be a mere coincidence.
Jamilia
had
to be related to his quarry in some way. Entranced all the more, heswallowed his excitement, and his bird of paradise sprang into a full-grown boner. He could not wait until he was alone, face
to face, with the magical beauty. He began to sweat with tension.
Immediately upon the conclusion of Jamilia’s ripely erotic dance, he pushed himself to his feet and, weaving through the densely
packed crowd of raucously cheering men, made his way to the backstage entrance. He pushed through the beaded curtain and bumped
into the portly master of ceremonies, who emphatically barred his entrance. Dirk pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his money
clip and shoved it into the obstinate man’s greasy palm. At once, a more-than-pleased grin broke out on the swarthy face and
the rotund man bowed mockingly, pointing to a small, grimy door.
Pushing his rigid dick into a less noticeable position, Dirk knocked and a woman’s musical voice called out in Spanish, “Come
on in.” He opened the door and stepped into a cluttered, cramped dressing room that smelled like the inside of a Moroccan
whorehouse—sickly sweet perfume, sweat, and the arousing, intoxicating scent of women. Jamilia stood before a full-length
mirror on the opposite wall, wiping her beautiful face with a towel. Her full
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