In the backstage dressing room, Bulma sat in front of an oval mirror lined with small bulbs that gave light to the otherwise dark and dreary room. She had just changed into a wine-red Art Deco dress with black fur, lining the collar and cuffs. Running her fingers over her black stockings to straighten them, she silently watched the woman in front of her whose mascara had trickled down her chin from her tears, messing up her rouged cheeks.

"That cake-eater never keeps his promises," she cried to herself. "I’m such a fool! Of course he’ll never love me! I’m just one of his decorations…"

Fresh tears began to form behind Bulma’s lids and soon, it followed the washed out mascara, trailing down her face.

"Miss Briefs? Are you in there?"

"In a minute!" Bulma took a tissue and began to clean up the evidence of her sorrow. After retouching the rogue on her cheeks and the mascara on her lashes, she disguised her face with a smile.

"Come in," she called. The door swung open. "Oh, Richard, what brings you here?" she started putting on her black cotton gloves, fitting it over her small hands.

"Someone wants to see you, Miss Briefs," Richard stammered, his dark cheeks hiding a blush as he admired the beautiful lady in front of him.

"Well, you tell that lollygagger to beat it! I don’t ever want to see—"

"It’s not him, Miss Briefs," the young waiter cut in. Bulma raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Then who is it?" she turned to the mirror and gently wiped a bit of eye shadow that had gone beyond her thin brow using her pinky.

"It’s the gentleman you fl—whose tie you pulled," the boy bent his head down and bit his lip. "I tried to tell him that we weren’t running a strip joint here but he threatened me."

"What a jerk," the green haired flapper grumbled. "Don’t worry Richard, I’ll handle this. It isn’t the first time this has happened anyway," she stood up and took her red cap, neatly positioning it over her head, and gently patted the black ribbon around it. She beamed and handed the waiter a ten-dollar bill. "Here, buy yourself something."

Before Richard could reject the tip, Bulma was out of the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vegeta impatiently drummed his fingers against the table, his other hand running over the creases on his trousers. Lifting the cigarette from the ashtray and putting it in between his lips, he inhaled the smoke into his lungs and puffed them out in circles. He had decided to change his plans for the night. Another performer, this time, a black woman, was singing the song "Second Hand Rose." The prince of knockouts was absentmindedly tapping his foot along with the music when he heard the distinct sound of high heels coming his way. He turned to look. Sure enough, Bulma was walking towards his table. He smirked as he considered this petite, yet voluptuous woman in front of him. The blue-eyed white girl immediately sat down beside the boxer.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked, quite annoyed at the way he was looking at her. She had liked it then when she was performing; but now, he was looking at her as if she didn’t have a stitch on.

"Yes. I was wondering if you’d like to go for a ride with me tonight," Vegeta asked immediately, not wanting the conversation to get any longer.

"Oh?" Bulma raised an eyebrow. She could sense something between the lines. She knew what was coming. "And to where, I might ask, will we be going?"

"Just…just around the city. See the sights and all…" Vegeta was flabbergasted. This was the first time a woman hadn’t jump up at the chance of ‘going for a ride’ with him. All of them understood immediately when he asked the question and were more than eager to do so. "I must be in the wrong county. Is this still Manhattan?!"

"Around the city? Sorry baby grand, but I’ve seen all the sights, thank you," Bulma stood up, an amused smile on her face upon seeing Vegeta’s surprised expression. Before she could leave, she felt a strong tug on her arm and she was pulled back to her seat.

"Look woman!" Vegeta flared. "Let’s cut to the chase! No more word games. I know you know what I meant when I asked that."

"And what if I did?" Bulma snapped, in a voice as cold as that of the man who held her arm. They’re eyes locked together in a silent clash of wills.

"You lead me on, woman," he hissed. "You lead me on and now you don’t want to give me some. Fine! If I should need to pay you, so be it," he reached for his wallet and searched through a thick wad of hundred dollar bills. Bulma’s eyes bulged at the sight of all that money. If there was one thing she loved, it was money. In fact, she had milked a lot of dough from her former beaux before discarding them like old rags.

"Here," Vegeta thrust a billfold of a thousand dollars into Bulma’s hands. She stared at it for a while, the voices in her head squabbling as to what she should do.

"Don’t do it! You’re not a prostitute!"

"Hell, no! Of course you’re not but think of the money!"

"You’re still selling your body! That’s prostitution!"

"This is a double advantage! You can have the money AND get revenge on that cheating beau of yours!"

Bulma’s lips quivered into a smile. She put the money inside her handbag and turned Vegeta. She held out her hand to shake.

"Deal," she beamed, as Vegeta shook her hand. "And what, may I ask, is Monsieur’s name?"

"Vegeta Vegeta," the bachelor answered, looking for a spark of recognition in the flapper’s blue eyes. There wasn’t any. She simply smiled.

"Strange to have a name the same as your last name. Perhaps you should’ve been called Vegeta times two."

"You don’t know me?!" Vegeta asked in disbelief. This was a first. He’d always thought everyone knew of him…and here was a woman who thought he was just one of those drugstore cowboys.

"Should I? Are you famous?" Bulma stood up, giving the prince a questioning look.

"Never mind," the rich boxer stood up and walked alongside the woman he’ll be spending a night with. He figured his identity wouldn’t be too much of an importance, since he’ll probably never see her again. As the jazz music fades into the night, the couple does the same.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bulma kept glancing from side to side, inspecting everything in the Rolls Royce closely, while relishing the softness of her cushioned seat. She had never been inside a luxury car before. Vegeta had smirked when the blue-eyed woman muffled a squeal of delight when she saw the car. Now, as he drove closer and closer to Central Park, he grew more amused at the way she gaped at everything. Perhaps its because most of the women he came across had as much as he does…maybe even more so.

"We’re here," Vegeta announced as he parked the car beside a tall building. He got out of the car and opened the door for Bulma. When she set her sights on the building, she gasped.

"You stay at the Ritz?!" she exclaimed unable to hide her shock and amazement. Vegeta’s lips curled into a smirk. He held out his arm. The flapper stared at him with questioning eyes.

"C’mon! I don’t have all night!" the prince stated impatiently. Slowly, Bulma threaded her arm through his. They then walked through the glass doors. When they got inside, the woman’s blue eyes traveled all over the place, taking in all the richness around her. Chandeliers hung down from ceilings like diamonds raining down from the sky. The carpet was intricately designed and very well maintained. The marble walls and floors were waxed and buffed to perfection. It was so shiny, she could almost see her reflection in them.

"Ah, Mr. Vegeta. Back again, I see?" a male receptionist asked from behind the counter.

"My key, Waldo," Vegeta snapped, causing the receptionist to quickly hand over the key.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Nothing else. Just hold all my calls until tomorrow."

"Would you like your breakfast to be brought up, sir?" Waldo asked, eyeing Bulma. "Or would you rather have a table for two reserved for you tomorrow morning?"

"No need to do so. I’ll just call you," and with that, Vegeta literally dragged the flapper to the elevator.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bulma put her hand against the window of the 18^th floor, overwhelmed by the wonderful view of the city from that vantage point. She was now in her sheer undergarment: a white cotton gown with a floral design that reached above her thighs and held up only by thin straps on her shoulders. She still had her black stockings on, making her look very sensuous. Her make up had been washed off, but that wasn’t a problem. She had that kind of waterproof face that made most women green with envy. She could hear the splashing down of water in the bathroom, as Vegeta took his shower. Bulma took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time she had gone on a one-night stand…but it’s been two years since she had last done so. After she met her latest beau, she had not given herself to anyone else, for it was the first time she had fallen in love with a man in years. The irony of it all was that it was her beau himself who drove her into the arms of a man she doesn’t even know.

"Well now…don’t you look like the perfect little sheba," came Vegeta’s husky voice, making Bulma turn about abruptly. Her lover for the night was wearing nothing but a towel, swathed around his hips. The only light illuminating the room was a single lamp by the bedside but the green-haired flapper could clearly see Vegeta’s body, which was rippling with muscles. Her eyes widened. She knew how strong he must be when she saw his broad shoulders but she never realized how visually strong he is.

"Champagne?" the prince offered, holding up a wine glass to Bulma. She gingerly took it from him and stared into the yellowish, yet crystal clear liquid, riddled with tiny bubbles. She had never tasted champagne before.

"Isn’t this illegal?"

"Not if nobody knows about it. Take a sip."

Opening her lips a bit, Bulma allowed the liquid to tickle her tongue but when it reached her throat, she sputtered.

"Had enough?" Vegeta asked arrogantly. Bulma took it as a challenge.

"Not yet," and with that, she drank up the whole glass. The liquor had barely been in her mouth for a second when she spat it out, staining the Oriental rug.

"That’s going to leave a mark," the boxer frowned at the stain. He took the wine glass and set it on the bedside table. He held Bulma’s small shoulders with his strong hands and leaned over to rain kisses on her cheek. "Should’ve known you couldn’t handle a rich man’s booze…"

"What arrogance!" Bulma thought angrily as Vegeta’s lips made its way to her shoulders. The smell of alcohol reeked from his mouth, making the flapper think the man had a shot of champagne himself. Though she disliked him, she found herself unable to resist his efforts of turning her on. She stood still, tilting her head to allow his lips better access to her neck.

"Uh…" a moan escaped from Bulma’s lips when Vegeta nipped at her flesh. Slowly, his hands made its way up from her shoulders into the nook of her neck and slid down again, taking the straps along with it. The gown fell softly down the blue-eyed woman’s feet, revealing lovely pink skin, for she had taken her brassiere and her panties off a few moments ago. Vegeta stared at her, his glazed eyes moving from her head, to her toes, before kissing her again, this time, on the opposite side of her neck, lingering near her ears. Bulma began taking deeper breaths. Her lover’s hand had just moved over her right breasts, gently caressing it with his fingers.

"I thought only men stiffen up. You’re almost like a statue!" Vegeta chuckled. "Don’t tell me you don’t know anything? Or do you always get stage fright?"

"What? I ain’t good enough for you?! Is that it?!" Bulma spat, infuriated by the air of arrogance carried by the prince since they first met in the club. "Maybe you should’ve gotten someone wealthier! I wasn’t the one who wanted this in the first place!"

"Oooh…feisty now, aren’t we?" the boxer hissed as his arms started circling around Bulma’s petite form.

"You want feisty?!" Bulma suddenly made a grab for Vegeta’s face and just as quickly, she smothered her lips on his. The boxer staggered backward and fell down on the bed, the flapper on top of him. Vegeta’s eyes widened when he felt Bulma’s tongue drive down in between his lips to touch the tip of his own. For a moment, he seemed unable to move, but he quickly gained composure and turned to his side in order to gain the more dominant position. However, Bulma wouldn’t give up that easily. They wrestled then, rolling over the bed but the flapper was fighting a losing battle, for the boxer had more strength in one small finger than she had in her entire body. Vegeta pinned both her arms above her head, stopping to catch his breath. The towel around his waist had somehow slipped away during their little struggle.

"You’re a fighter I see," he sneered. "Not bad, not bad at all…"

In a sudden burst of strength, Bulma managed to push herself up into a sitting position while her lover’s hands gripped her wrists like vices; but just as suddenly, she was forced down the soft, fluffy pillows.

"Whoops…easy," Vegeta pulled the woman’s arms high above her head. He then held her hands together using only his right hand while his other hand sank down to her body, never leaving her skin as he reached out for her breast and caressed it, as if molding it to shape his need.

"Damn you! Let go of me!" Bulma screamed, but not as loudly as she would’ve liked it to be. In fact, it had sounded husky. The sensations she felt wherever Vegeta touched her began to overwhelm her entire form.

"Shush, or you’ll wake everyone up!"

"I don’t give a damn if—MMPPHH!!!" Vegeta muffled the woman’s scream with his mouth. Bulma moved her head sideways to avoid the lips that crushed against hers but it was futile. Slowly, the prince’s hand moved away from her breast and down the middle of her thighs. The flapper started to breathe even faster, as his fingers caressed her intimate depths, sending electrifying explosions within her. She soon began to weaken under the wave of touches, caresses and kisses Vegeta was showering upon her body. When he sensed that she was no longer resisting, he let go of her hands and immediately, Bulma hungrily groped them around his muscled shoulders, unable to deny the physical need inside her that had to be satisfied. She began answering his kisses, stroking and touching him as he did her, their bodies damp with sweat.

"You…bas…tard…" Bulma whispered in between gasps, as Vegeta’s lips trailed down from her cheek to suckle her breasts. He trailed moist kisses upon them, each kiss feeling like a drop of warm rain. Bulma began pounding at Vegeta’s back. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she enjoyed this…for she did, and she didn’t want to admit it. Never had she experienced foreplay this long. Most of the men she was with would skip that stage and end the pleasure in seconds. It was pure agony Vegeta was giving her, delaying what she was wild to have now. Without warning, her legs were pried apart and Vegeta thrust himself in between her.

"BASTARD!" she cried as she struggled to free herself but Vegeta had put a vice-like grip around her with his arms. "UH! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that now!? I wasn’t ready!"

"You seemed ready to me. You want me to pull it out?!"

Bulma bit her lip. No, she didn’t want him to…but she didn’t want to tell him that either.

"Well?" the prince waited for an answer. Bulma’s mouth stayed shut as she looked at him defiantly. "Fine then. Be that way," he started to lift away from her.

"Stop!" Bulma finally cried, wrapping her arms and legs tightly around the boxer. Vegeta snickered.

"Knew you couldn’t resist me…" he started giving her smooth, slow thrusts. He lowered his head to kiss her neck while he did that continuous, rhythmic motion, which sent chills not only over him, but over the woman beneath him as well.

"You…arrogant…egotistical…" Bulma gasped the words between his every movement but soon found herself moaning instead. For a moment, she felt lost in the sea of pleasure, unable to recognize exactly whom she was making love with. Vegeta grunted as he quickened his pace, his moist mouth traveling all over the green-haired woman’s unblemished face.

"Yamcha…"

"What was that?" Vegeta stopped and gave Bulma a questioning look.

"Nothing."

"I heard you say a man’s name."

"So what if I did? Does it matter?!"

"Not really. You must be a whore then…screaming another man’s name while making out with another…" Vegeta sneered.

"What do you want me to do? Scream out yours?! I barely know you!"

"So you must know this Yamcha character then."

"Why the sudden interest in my personal life?!"

"You’re right. We shouldn’t go beyond that boundary," Vegeta agreed and returned to the task he had left undone. All the while, the name echoed in his head. It sounded familiar…that’s why he was interested. But now, more things occupied his thoughts. He had quickened his thrusts to the point where he reached his peak. He let out a harsh, almost angry scream as he exploded in hot spasms. Bulma dug her nails into Vegeta’s back as she felt the liquid warm up her insides pleasantly, a warm feeling rising up to her cheeks, making them rosy, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh of the boxer’s lobe. She bucked her hips, a scream escaping from her lips upon her climax, her well-manicured nails scratching against Vegeta’s skin. They both fell on the bed, exhausted and unable to move. They took in huge gasps of air, waiting for their hearts to stop racing. Finally, Vegeta lifted himself away and lay flat on his back. Saying nothing more, the couple soon drifted to sleep, faced away from each other.

* * * * *

* I had a hard time describing Bulma’s underwear but the 1920s undies are more conservative than that of today. It looks like a mini nightgown in fact. To view it, click HERE.