Excerpt from Fungus Man by David Arthur Walters

French Heel by Darwin Leon

Prelude to an Interview
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My assignment was to interview Manny Rodgers for What's New in Drugs at his hidden laboratory in Oregon. I rendezvoused at a shopping center with Virginia, Manny's significant other. She picked me up in a beat-up Bronco. Virginia was around fifty, and as sexy as can be. She had a handsome, blue-eyed face, wore no makeup, and sported short, bleached-blonde hair. She was relatively tall, about five-nine, with pert, braless breasts, enough to fill a large man’s hands, a lmost fully visible in a flimsy white blouse. She was otherwise packed into skin-tight, brand-new blue jeans on a platform of blue, high-heeled pumps. Any straight man would be turned on by her right off the bat. She caught me ogling her thighs, and presented me with a tie-dyed blindfold. "Sorry, Jim, Manny says you gotta wear this," she said in a low voice as she handed me the blindfold, rolled up and protruding from in her hand. I was thrilled by the way she pronounced my name, softly prolonging the 'j' and 'm' in my name. We engaged in small talk as we drove away. I asked her how far we were going. "Relax, Jim, you're going for quite a ride." "Take a big toot off this, Jim, just inhale,” she said, and I felt her hand on the left side my face, and a tube being inserted in my nostril. I just said no to that, turning my head away. I heard her take two deep pulls on the inhaler. Then she started talking up a storm about the good old days with the Angels, the Outfit, and the Feds, and so on. Then, out of the clear blue: "Jim, would you rub me here, please? I've gotta keep both hands on the wheel, and my blue jeans are making me itch. It must be the indigo,” she complained, taking my left hand and moving it to the front of her jeans, which I realized were unzipped when I felt skin and hair. “There's some cream in front of you, in the glove compartment, you ca n reach in and feel it, in the big bottle. That will help." My heart was thumping madly. "No, Virginia, please, I'd like to help you out with that, but I can't," I gasped, short of breath, pulling my left hand away. "Why not, Jim? I saw you looking at me. Do you want to pull your blindfold down for a minute and get a real good look?”
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"I would, but, uh, I can't. I'm a journalist. I have ethical concerns. Besides, I never fool around with another man's woman, that's plain wrong." "Jim, honey, don't worry, screw ethics. My man Manny doesn't mind at all. He even recommends it as long as I get some video. Just don’t tell him about the coke—he doesn’t like me doing drugs. So why don’t we pull over and get it on? I can see that you want to.” I painfully desisted. Virginia fell silent and we rolled onward. She was pouting, I supposed from behind my blindfold, until I heard her moaning, then, "Oh, yes, yes, yes, ah, ah, aaaah!” I gripped the armrest and pressed my feet against the floorboards. I could not see what was going on, and I feared she would lose control with one hand off the wheel and run us off the road. But she was in control. She was evidently an old hand at it. We rode for two more hours, the last of which was gut-wrenching as we climbed up rough terrain. Virginia was cussing like a sailor and laughing hysterically, obviously because of the joint she had just smoked—she said she liked to smoke afterwards. I declined to take a toke after promising her not to tell Manny about the toots and tokes. She said he had turned into a real teetotaler, despite the fact that he was "planning on drugging the whole damned state!" --To Be Continued--

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