It was still covered, of course, both domes putting a severe strain on the bikini bottom, but by this time the green fabric had creased at the crotch and worked its way deep into the in-between furrow, leaving very little to the imagination. Just enough to make the picture a masterpiece of obscenity. Somehow even the dangle of fringe added to the total erotic appeal, a sensuous appeal that was nothing short of remarkable in view of just how much pudgy fat that lard-assed Mexican peasant girl had to camouflage.

But it was a moving picture, too, although I almost didn't notice the gradual disappearance of the bra. All of a sudden she swung back around again and there they were, those two big naked breasts, adorned only by two big rouged nipples. Then she had a kind of private party with them, flashing a half-smile for the round of applause but letting it fade to a dreamy look as her self-caress grew more intimate. They must have felt nice under her busy fingers, huge and soft and lovely, a fine pair of tits despite their overblown proportions, huge and soft and just lovely to touch. And to play with, no doubt, because now her hands were pushing and rubbing one against the other in a sportive little game. Oh, she seemed to be having such a grand time all by herself! With only a sly wink every so often to let the audience in on it: having a wonderful time, aren't you glad you're here?

I kept wishing Jerome would shut the hell up. He was saying something about how the shoddier Tijuana nightspots, like this cramped hole-in-the-wall we were in, often put on hotter shows than the more expensive tourist traps. As though his excuse for bringing me here was more important than the performance itself. Bragging, really, bragging about how clever he had been to choose this place, but the dear old boy needed an ego lift, so I didn't have the heart to gripe. Although I did wish he would cut the chatter and just let me concentrate on this miracle we were seeing, the miracle of so much fat being churned into so much sex.