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Rainbow Roll

Jack always wondered why the sushi shop on the corner never closed until 11 pm.  His apartment building overlooked the little shop, and he saw customers moving in and out until around 10, when the city hushed into an informal curfew.  But the lights in the sushi shop still flickered until an hour later, when they would finally go out, leaving a faint emptiness where the neon buzz had been before.

One night, a project deadline kept him at the office past dinner, so by the time he got home around 10:30 his stomach was very angry.  Jack shrugged off his shoulderbag and went back out into the rainy night.  He flipped up his hood and dashed across the street, not even bothering to glance for cars.

The shop bell jangled and the lone server – a slender, pretty girl of indiscernible Asian origin – glanced up from her stool. She gave him a smile and paused to grab two menus before crossing to the table he had chosen.

“Party of one?” she asked in a soft accent.  Jack nodded and took the menus with a grunt of thanks.

The first covered his expectations: sushi rolls, miso soup, some haphazard teriyaki offerings.  It was the second that caught his eye.

Above the top of the flyer, the words “RAINBOW ROLL” were displayed in glittering golden letters.  Below the title was an image of a man reclining on pillows with beautiful, scantily clad women sprawled around him.  Jack frowned and glanced up, catching the server’s attention.

“Can I try the rainbow roll?” he asked, tapping the second menu with two fingers.  The girl kept her gaze on his hand, then met his eyes and grinned.

“Of course.  Follow me, please.”  She bowed slightly and waited for a confused Jack to stand and trail her to the back of the restaurant.

They passed through a bead curtain into a smoky room lit by candles and smelling strongly of incense.  Jack turned the corner and froze, one hand on the wall.

The menu had not lied.  Spread out across the length of the room, a veritable rainbow of naked women lounged: dusky black, creamy brown, soft gold, ivory white, and several in between.  They smiled with their teeth and blew him kisses as the waitress touched his elbow to move him closer.

Jack turned to utter his thanks and surprise to the waitress, but he was unable to get the words out as his gaze raked up and down her thin body, her breasts and crotch outlined by a slim silver bikini.  She cupped her hand around his ear and stroked it down his stubble.

“Enjoy your rainbow roll,” she said as the other women rose and surrounded him with eager hands and mouths, drawing him down onto the spread of pillows.

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Closing Time

The tempered squawking of the baseball announcers was the only sound of life in the bar.  Grunting as he leaned across the counter to reach the far corner, the bartender glowered at the small figure hunched over the last stool.  "Hey.  Kid.  We’re closing.  Move along.“

The figure uncoiled, lengthening into a slender woman with a pixie cut.  She smacked a piece of white gum under her canines.  "Your sign’s still on,” she said with a jerk of her thumb over her bare shoulder.  The movement made her visible breasts quiver.

The bartender stopped mid-wipe and sighed.  "Right.  Okay.  Look, I’m turning off the sign.“  He crossed the distance behind the bar and flipped the switch.  Neon tubes hissed and died.  Hands to hips, the bar cloth dangling from his fingers, the bartender faced his last customer.  "We’re closed.”

“Excellent.”  The young woman swung off the stool, and with a thrill in his groin, the bartender realized she was not wearing pants.  Her heels ticked away the seconds as she moved to the door, bolted it, and slunk back towards him.

He suddenly found that his hands were awkward, no matter where he intended to rest them.  "Ma’am, I’ll h-h-h-have to ask you…“

"I’d prefer you give commands.”  She dropped to her knees on the rubber mat, her tongue lolling.  Like graceful divers, her hands disappeared into his pants and slid them off.  "So?  What’ll it be?“

"In your mouth,” he gasped, his hand moving without bidding to the back of her head.  Her hair was coarse, dyed too many times; he grasped a handful and pressed her nose into his crotch.  She accepted his length down her throat with a grateful gulp.

His eyes fell on the envelope, splashed with beer, resting where she had been sitting.  His name was on the back.  His fingers trembling with the effort of concentrating, he managed to extract the card.

Happy birthday, bud.  Have one on us.

It was signed by bar owner and his coworkers.

Stabilizing himself on the edge of the counter with his palms, he adopted a wider stance.  "Deeper, bitch,“ he said, and she went to work.