"Oh, we don't eat like this every day, only on special occasions," Erik explained as he stared into the sparkling green eyes of the curvaceous redhead seated across the balcony table from him.
Jill, in spite of her strenuous resolutions to remain coolly uninvolved, found herself smiling back at the handsome blond man. A pre-dinner drink and two powerful Elephant beers along with her oysters and sole meunieure had made her feel relaxed and contented; and the fairytale atmosphere of Tivoli Gardens, with its colored lights, bright flowers, and whimsical buildings, seemed to preclude any emotion except cheerful enjoyment. Even when the good-looking young man reached across the table to clasp her hand in his she did not try to draw away. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be touching him as they gazed down at a cascading fountain below their balcony seat.
"How about an after-dinner drink?" Erik suggested in a voice as soft as the subtle caresses of his warm fingers upon her palm.
Although she had planned to be home early, Jill found herself very reluctant to leave this beautiful place. Being with Erik channeled her mind away from her worries; if she tried to go to sleep now, she'd only lie awake tossing and turning as lewd visions danced before her eyes.
"That would be fun," she smiled, her sea-green eyes sparkling at the well-dressed man beside her.
"Tivoli closes at midnight," Erik told her, "but I'll ring my friend Lars who owns a club and see if he's open tonight. I can't bear for this night to end so early." He'd discovered in New York that a little sticky sweet romanticism was the key to loosening the inhibitions of certain types of American girls. Even the ones who liked to spurt Women's Lib slogans at him would grow warm and cuddly in response to his Prince Charming image; it was, after all, the ideal that had been instilled into their subconscious all during their early childhood years. Now, just as he'd suspected she would, Jill stared back at him with dreamy, star-studded eyes.
"Sure," she murmured. "I'd like to see a Danish nightclub."
"Waiter," Erik called to the whitejacketed waiter, "please bring a Cherry Herring Special for the lady. And where can I make a phone call?"
Jill watched as the tall blond Dane followed the waiter into the oriental-roofed pavilion, returning the kiss that he blew to her before vanishing behind a pillar. In principle such silly romantic gestures annoyed her, but for some reason she felt quite unlike her usual efficient, organized self tonight. Come to think of it, the attractive redhead mused to herself as she picked up the rose-colored drink the waiter had placed before her, she'd been feeling and acting very strangely ever since she'd left the United States. Could it be possible that there was a direct relationship between her strange behavior and her new home – was the climate perhaps responsible? There was something very strange about these long bright Scandinavian days with only a few hours of darkness. In one of her classes at college she'd learned about a "suicide belt" theory; apparently certain areas of the world such as Austria, Los Angeles, and part of Israel have statistically higher suicide rates than the rest of the world and some scientists attribute this fact to certain chemicals prevalent in the atmospheres of these areas. If this was true, then presumably her own sexual arousal could be caused by something along the same lines.
Shaking her auburn-haired head at her own silliness, Jill turned her attention to the delicious cherry-flavored drink and the panorama of bright lights and laughter going on below her. For once in her life she didn't want to be studious and introspective – she just wanted to enjoy herself as much as the shrieking children on the nearby roller coaster were doing… she wanted to feel alive.
From where Erik Mortensen stood inside the glass-enclosed telephone box, he could see Jill's profile clearly. He noted her expression of pleased surprise as she tasted the Cherry Herring Special he'd ordered for her. Good! It was a very powerful drink, although the vodka laced in with the cherry liqueur was barely detectable, and he knew it would make the serious American beauty lose more of her inhibitions. So far, the tall young man was more than satisfied with the way his auburn-haired date had been acting this evening, she seemed more relaxed and friendly than she had the first day he'd met her, and she looked better than ever too in that modestly cut yet sensuous silky dress that clung to her voluptuous body's curves like Saran wrap. Erik felt his long cock pulsing against his tight-fitting trousers as he dialed his friend's number. Tonight he'd get inside that sweet little pussy if it was the last thing he ever did!
"Lars Jensen?" he spoke into the receiver. "Erik here… I'm in Tivoli… yes, Tivoli, don't laugh, I'm with the most terrific piece of ass you've ever seen, and I know you've seen a lot…! Yes, that's why I'm calling. I want to bring her around to 'Club 33'… No, not like that… she'd freak out. She's an American, real uptight, you know the type. So I want to find out exactly what time the show begins, so that we can be there 'accidentally' and I can pretend I didn't plan it… 12:45? Okay, we'll be there, outside the door… Thanks, pal – just wait till you see this hot little cunt and you'll know what I'm talking about! What's on tonight anyway… REALLY? Great! That should do the trick if anything will…! Okay, Lars, see you later."
The handsome blond man replaced the receiver and turned back toward the balcony with a little smile of triumph on his face. He turned toward Jill again; she was staring out at the brightly lit park, an expression of amazed pleasure softening her beautiful features. Wait till she sees what I've got planned for her! he gloated in lewd anticipation. Then she'll really be smiling!
CHAPTER SIX
Club 33 was so dimly lit that Jill, who was beginning to feel the effects of the considerable amount of alcohol she'd consumed already that night, stumbled and fell to her knees on the plush-carpeted stairs of the entryway. Erik Mortensen helped the blushing young redhead to her feet, allowing his hand to rest a little longer than necessary on her smooth-skinned upper arm. Jesus Christ, she felt so soft and warm there – how much better her full breasts and flaring hips would feel!
As the handsome blonde's hand lingered on her sensitive flesh, the intoxicated redhead was thinking much the same thing. His pressuring hand felt so good that her clouded imagination immediately conjured up an obscene vision of his hands gently and sensuously caressing every inch of her naked flesh. Jill shivered, a lewd tingle traversing her slender body. Something told her that she was remembering rather than fantasizing. It must be those porno magazines, the auburn-haired young woman convinced herself, once again driving her obscene memories of the long-haired drug addict back down into her subconscious. I wash I'd never seen the awful things! And then, as Erik led her into the exotically decorated club, she thought no more of her body's unwelcome arousal.
The ground floor of Club 33 had been designed by a young Danish interior decorator who'd just returned from six months in Marrakesh, and anyone entering the room was immediately plunged into a sensuous Arabian Nights atmosphere. Club members, for this was a special "key club" which wealthy Danish hedonists, well-heeled foreigners, successful dope dealers, and various other hangers-on paid many kroner for the privilege of entering, lounged around the large candlelit room in various stages of stupefied collapse or amphetamine-accelerated exhilaration. At one end of the large, tapestry-walled room was a bar of sorts where a long-haired youth clad in a silver-embroidered Moroccan robe sat crosslegged upon a dais mixing drinks into smoky-blue mugs. The air was filled with the scent of incense and a pungent undertone of cigarette smoke which immediately made Jill feel quite overwhelmed by the sensuous, harem-like mood of the place.