Free Your Princess is in Another Castle by Richard Fore Page A

Montana.
    I glance to either side of the hall and see that there’s a black leather couch in the room to the left, and to the right a bed that reminds me of the kind you lie on when being examined by a doctor.  It has a single cushion.  “What do you recommend?” I ask.
    “Ah, so you’re a virgin,” she says.  I try hard not to react to her words, don’t know if I succeed.  “Well, it depends on what you want.  If you want to experience my entire body pressing against yours, go for the bed.  If you just want to play with my big boobies, get the couch.”
    I look down at her jean shorts and imagine the thong she’s wearing beneath them, and her taking it off again to become completely nude.
    “Couch,” I say. 
    “You’re definitely a guy who likes his titties, aren’t you?”
    “Did Dickinson like her dashes?” I say instead of think.
    Montana laughs.  “Well, I can suffice for you, I know.”  She leads me into the room on the left and gently pushes me onto the couch.  “Now it’s twenty-five dollars per song, all right?”  I’m able to give her exact change.  “As soon as the music starts up we’ll begin.”  Montana uses the down time to take off her boots and shorts, leaving only her thong and hat.  She sits on my lap a moment before the song begins.  Looking at her, I’m unsure what music she begins to dance to.  It could be Moonlight Sonata, it could be Cop Killer.  We could be in the vacuum of space for all I know.
    Montana straddles me, taking off her hat and hoisting it into the air as if she were riding a wild bull.  She then tosses it aside and nibbles on my ear.  “Oh, that’s right,” she whispers, “you want to get better acquainted with the twins.” She grabs my head and shoves it between her breasts.  “I hope you can hold your breath baby, cuz’ I’m not letting you up for awhile.”  She continues to press my head against her chest, finally releasing me and folding her arms around her breasts, concealing them.     
    Montana stands up and turns around, arms still folded.  She falls back into my lap and grinds herself into me.  I fondle her breasts from behind and smell her hair.  I want this moment, where this beautiful woman whose real name I don’t know is letting me touch her, to go on forever.  I see all of her beauty and she sees none of my flaws.  We are complete strangers, and that is why she allows me this pleasure.
    Montana turns again to face me, rubs both breasts against my face.  Bounding off my lap, she sits next to me on the couch and lays her head on my shoulder, mock cuddling with me.  “That was fun,” she says.  “Can I go for another ride?” 
    “ Next time.  I’d like to see you again,” I say as if I were asking for a second date after walking her to her porch.
    “I’ll be here.”  Montana grabs her clothes but makes no move to actually put them back on.  “So what’s your name?” she asks, hurling a brick through the glass window that keeps us strangers.
    “Ben,” I say.   Benjamin is the suggested name for the hero in Final Fantasy Mystic Quest.  And there’s also Ben Reilly, the alias used by the Scarlet Spider.  Ben is a good name.      
    “Why don’t I believe that?” asks Montana.  “I’ll tell you my real name if you tell me yours.”
    She’s intent on making this difficul t.  But how did she know?  “Actually, I like your stage name.  You were given your birth name.  It doesn’t say anything about you. But you picked your stage name, and picked it for a reason.  It does say something about you.”
    “ So it does,” says Montana.  “Not too many people catch onto that, although I heard you talking with your friend about Kilgore Trout earlier, so you must be Vonnegut fans.”
    “Yeah,” I say.   “My friend Seth, he thinks I’m like Kilgore Trout.”
    “Are you a writer?”
    “No.  But then neither was he.  I’m a wannabe at Northwestern majoring in English and