Anthea s baby 1
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The VaseChapter 24 free porn video
I barely made it through the winter. Wheat germ helped, as did many things the plain woman advised and I researched. Exhaustion became relieved by my weekends with the Amazon, my happiest times. Even those became busy in the fall when we helped build the ranger's house. Creating it resulted in a great experience, a prideful accomplishment in which both the Amazon and I learned a lot. A couple weekends we got lost with the ranger, which amazed and disturbed when he trapped and killed a couple rabbits. But then I realized I would be killing chickens for dinner. I got used to it as quick as I could and volunteered for the last kill and gutting.
The Amazon became pregnant, becoming aware of it in early October, and when it began to show, she decided to end the apprenticeship and concentrate on working at home. Having her around improved my resilience enormously.
As the winter progressed, I lost a few clients. The pixie decided she could get her sperm fix once a month to rejuvenate. Eleanor Roosevelt felt desirable enough to divorce and find a younger man to fuck, thanking me for rejuvenating her self image. The two strings of one off dates found their tattered, unremarked endings when the lists petered out.
Through the book which we completed the beginning of the year the plain woman met a man who finally saw her beauty. Her body on display for him because he edited the book for publication encouraged him. Within one date, he loved the complete package. The advance for the book proved huge, the plain woman getting fifty percent, I received 25 percent, my sister got 10 and 15 per cent went to the agent.
The woman who wanted the dress ended up being fun and sexy, the wrap around black dress looked good on her small voluptuous figure, and she helped sell others on the unique idea. While we fucked, my mother created the dress she and I had collaborated on, and when my mother fitted her, the fun petite woman ended up wanting Mom. Their lesbian affair happened occasionally, occurring mostly when she accompanied a woman to Montauk for a fucking and fitting. She acted the pimp for me and my mother became her reward. These Saturdays occurred no more than once a month and lasted until mother got sick. Before the change, Mother and I enjoyed collaborating on the original and unique dresses. A couple of the women we dressed and I fucked became the plain woman's clients.
Of my three remaining regular clients, like the plain woman, the secretary enjoyed at least one date a week free of charge. The women fitted for dresses paid extremely well for the event, more than making up for the limited cash the secretary could pay me.
Her affair with the heiress became erratic and volatile. The problem mostly rested on the heiress demanding more time and the secretary unable to provide it. One or, pushing it, two weekends a month and post Monday meeting sex twice a month, interrupted by the secretary's need to sleep and go to work the next day caused the heiress to wonder why the secretary didn't quit and be with her. If she loved her she would.
In many ways, the secretary and I are similar, especially in our relationship with love. Neither of us has fallen in love with more than one person in our lives: her husband and the Amazon. Even though sexually their relationship ended several years before, she still considers him her best friend and the love of her life. Being friendly, cheerful and nearly always positive, the secretary attracts friendship, and similar to me, when intimacy adds to the friendship, the relationship fosters infatuation. After spending time reuniting, greatly enjoying each other's company, as the hour of separation approaches, bitterness grows and irrational arguments ensue. It reminds me of my mother's involvement with the Negro bass player.
When the school year neared ending and the heiress pleaded for a couple weeks together, the secretary confessed her relationship with the heiress to her husband and at the same time made it clear he remained her true love and like me with the Amazon, she would always come back to him. She had purposefully brought the subject up a month before the temporary separation to let him mull it over and get used to it. He never knew about us though, and in a sly way the affair with the heiress made him think he hadn't been cuckolded, at least by a man. Spotting him in town with a local woman walking hand in hand while his wife slept with another woman, I let the secretary know when she got back. She shrugged, figuring it for a long affair, and he always came home.
So far the closest I've come to adding another love to my restrictive heart has been the blonde beauty. In some ways I don't understand her need for me. More than twice my age, and those years between never spent frittering, but continually learning, growing more intelligent and wise, and now her body joining her face in awesome beauty thanks to the plain woman, why love a kid? Only the Amazon thrills me more than her in bed and out. And she has taught me so much, corrected assumptions, brought me her knowledge and wisdom. Our conversations rarely waver, never grow stale or end. She still calls me when in need of a friendly voice and a long conversation.
When my sister's unique and well received show opened, including my filmed interpretation, which ran continuously throughout the first week of its month long run using two projectors and two copies, of all those who didn't participate and therefore might be considered biased, the beauty espoused the most enthusiasm. I asked if she wanted to be filmed. The way I shot nude men and women except those sitting or walking slowly into the bucolic skinny-dipping creek consisted of close ups and quick edits, and included the plain woman, my sister, the princess and even the secretary, her identity never would have been clear. She claimed her lot to be patroness and not participant.
The worst it gets between us happens too often. She envisions the gilded cage, to keep me forever in her presence, talking of her wealth and attempting to sway me to remain only hers. It suffocates me and angers me. The first time she met the Amazon at my sister's opening, like my mother she didn't understand. To me, four months pregnant with my child, the Amazon never looked more radiant. I threatened to leave the blonde beauty when she insulted my love, but thankfully, as she does everytime she presents the cage, she brought herself back to reality. Despite warning her then and several times later, the cage reappears and inevitably dissipates in the throes of sexual bliss. These post argument peaks never contain desperation. Instead they celebrate our being together.
Counter to our enjoyment, whenever she invites me to some soiree of the ultra rich (I pretend to be her favorite distant cousin and prove my merit by going head to head with her queer friends.) I search for possible suitors. The choices seem endless. Her appearance draws attention, and from men and a few women, desire. Her beauty creates unceasing stares. The inherent rudeness edits out many. The rich exude pomposity and self love which the beauty loathes. Like the gentlemen and ladies of London, a lack of porosity, a closed egotism prevents discovering new and different and sometimes silly, foolish or seemingly lowly things. The queers may be cynical, but because their nature tramples on proper sexual decorum, anything is fair game even if the most fun they have consists of grabbing new events and wittily whittling them to bits. Flirting occurred from the beginning, me being young and pretty. The beauty whispered once during a particularly intense flirtation she fantasized my being buggered while fucking her. I denied her the fantasy, and after the party she told me the idea of anyone, let alone a man, joining us in bed made her uncomfortable. However on occasion she whips out her dildo and buggers me while I fuck her. I admit it provokes an intense orgasm for both of us. Anyway I have failed to find her a replacement for me to match her age and her wisdom. The world, including the classes below hers, appears stuffed with the self-possessed, either overly self-confident and egotistical or disturbingly shy and self-deprecating. So far she's happily stuck with me, but someday, considering the millions who would love to be chosen, she'll find a proper mate. I hope not too soon.
We have kept her daughter ignorant of our relationship. A couple of soirees her daughter appeared and I found a back door unseen. It's stupid but she is a bit too.
The film for my sister's gallery show resulted in interesting collaborations. For one, it provided a chance for the princess and me to work together on the text. We created a dialogue between the Amazon and the young poet, who ended up adlibbing as well, and then extracted bits and pieces to weave through the City and country sounds. At the same meetings to work on the text, we discussed her ghost play, bringing it to a real place instead of a fairy tale land, deciding to place it in the Hamptons. It proved weird and difficult pressing it into contemporary society, but greed and brutal self-interest exist all the time and everywhere, so she managed. The producer couldn't decide if he wished to purchase it. He's lost his taste for greatness I think. Last I heard a small but well endowed young company has shown interest in developing it. It means a lengthy period of readings and casual walk throughs to polish it into a fine diamond. She wants that. As far as school, she decided to stick through it in case she wanted to have her pick of colleges. I got my GED near the beginning of the year thanks greatly to the math professor. The chemistry I learned researching the plain woman's book proved helpful as well.
The shoot for the gallery film brought the Jewish poet and his followers to Bard. They provided male nudity along with students who happened on the shoot at the creek. They also had a group reading at the church the evening following the princess and the young poet creating a mini poetry festival. The great poet, the projectionist asshole and a poet friend from the State University in New Paltz read on Sunday evening ending the weekend event. The Jewish poet also provided the young poet with one of his followers to fuck and fall in love with. The dancer was fun, but the young poet's heart belongs to the friend of the Jewish poet.
While attending the several hours of poetry in the church, I re-imagined the space for a performance. Everything about the place and the moment I noted down. Christianity, the ghosts of Bard past, usurping the sacred for the profane, stealing its acoustics and its stained glass altering mood, the beautiful organ, the performers and the audience entered my notes haphazardly. I thought of who I knew could skillfully perform their various abilities. The dancer came to mind as did the actor. I thought about the organ and decided to contact the Negro drummer. His girlfriend, the mulatto would also be an asset. But I keyed in on the drummer and the sounds of the organ and decided to have him compose something sparse and free-form for the film. And then I remembered the heiress desiring a composer to fill out the multiple artistic disciplines.
I contacted the drummer at the end of the weekend, promising to refund the cost of travelling to Bard. He felt indebted to me; though I thought it should be the other way around. He contributed brilliantly and essentially to the Vase. I met him and the mulatto the following day at the train station, embracing them both, but lingering with my old lover. The drummer didn't seem to mind. When we got home I found out why. As soon as their bags dropped, the mulatto brought me upstairs, the drummer trailing behind. "Make love to me," she said. I glanced at the drummer. I found uncertainty and a touch of sadness.
"Are you sure?" I asked the drummer.
"Absolutely," said the mulatto, removing her clothes quickly. She knelt in front of me naked. Her body looked even more enticingly curved and tight. Removing my pants, she took my penis and sucked it to life. "I missed you," she said, rolling the glans around her face. Her skill brought me close, and I warned her. She stayed with it and drank my spend and what she didn't drink she let drip onto her coffee and cream colored chest. Standing up, we kissed for the first time since the Vase ended, both of us excited by the sensations of tongues. I laid her on her back on the bed and began cunnilingus to our delight. "Take off your clothes, darling," she said to her lover. He did and sat so she could lick and suck his penis. "Watch the pro," she ordered. "Look at the rhythm of his fingers and tongue. Look how he watches me react." Her words flowed, but filled with breathiness as my cunnilingus effected her. "See his fingers. They're hooking inside, finding the perfect spot. Oh fuck." She suddenly stiffened and climaxed.
"Show him," ordered the mulatto once she recovered. She had her lover straddle her, his butt towards her head, and sucked his cock while I grabbed his fingers and guided them to the places she liked. "He's too delicate," she said after the lover's cock popped out. "Show him the pressure. Mmm. Like that." While he stroked inside, I demonstrated how I licked and sucked and pressed her clit. He nodded and began doing it himself. "Gentler," she instructed. "Good, now your lips. Suck. Mmm. Now your tongue again. Now your thumb. Press. Mmm. Oh fuck. Keep it going. Keep touching but switch. Now faster. Harder. Oh fuck. Oh yeah." She stopped talking and sucked hard on his cock, fisting him where her mouth couldn't reach.
"Fuck me, white boy," she said. The drummer nodded his permission. I grabbed a condom and rolled it on. Then I shoved in steadily, reaching her depths and pressing our pubic bones together. "Oh yeah baby," she said between sucks. "Fuck me good. Rub my clit while he fucks. Watch him find my angle. Oh that's perfect. Now hard. I'm almost there. Fuck me good!" Her sucking became even more intense and she groaned, vibrating his lucky cock."
"Oh fuck baby," he moaned and filled her mouth with cum. She removed it, letting the ejaculate pump onto her cheek and hair as she writhed and met my thrusts. I felt near and told her. "Me too. Oh fuck. Oh yeah!" she wailed and we joined in unison, throbbing against throbs.
Her urge and her desire to school the drummer in good sex completed, we never bedded together again. However my sister joined them in the master bedroom for some noisy fun, the Amazon and I in my sister's bed enjoying and getting inspired by the sounds.
After the sex, I gave them a tour; showing them the retreat and explaining the heiress's idea about having him join us for multi-media workshops. He liked the area, so he looked forward to it. I brought my camera and shot them naked in the creek. I showed them the campus and ended the tour at the church where he played the organ, getting used to the sounds including the pedals. We spent the evening at the Annandale Inn with students drinking and dancing. After their night with my sister I dropped them off at the train station, promising them another invitation when the film needed music. "Are you in the City at all?" asked the mulatto. She invited me to their apartment in Harlem and to come to a jam session. I promised I would.
That Friday I made good on my promise, and it provided a first date with the redhead teaching assistant. Three weeks after the film class began we had become uncertain about our relationship. Since I planned to meet a new client, the vice captain's wife soon after the first class, I helped her pack up the films and store them and clear the auditorium of the class's presence and then had a leisurely lunch, talking about film and what we'd seen, an early DW Griffith and some Melies, and what the eccentric professor had said. Then I walked her to the library. We kissed briefly like a date ending at her parent's house and I headed to my car and uptown. After the second class, we repeated the same activity even though I had no plans. I intended to spend time with my daughter, the old flapper and my mother in Montauk. Before I took off and after a longer kiss, I asked if she wanted to hang out with me, a sort of general question. "Of course," she said.
Again the Friday after the drummer's visit upstate we followed the same pattern. I decided not to spring my vision of a day and night with her until the last minute, being coy I guess. At the library I asked, "Is there something in there you have to do?"
Confusion ended with a lovely smile. "No," she said. I led her to my car and we drove to the mentor's studio where my sister awaited. She amazed the redhead student with her paintings. After chatting awhile, the two of us returned to the car and I asked if she had her writing with her. She didn't so we stopped to drop off her books at the apartment and grab her writing. She thought it strange I didn't accompany her inside. I could smell her desire. I promised the cliché: "all good things come to those who wait."
We headed to the princess's apartment. The she and the princess exchanged writing, both of them enjoying what they read, though the princess couldn't help making suggestions. The redhead, having realized the maturity of the princess's work, accepted them gladly.
We headed north to Harlem, the Negro streets baffling the white suburban kid. I told her to relax and promised she was about to meet one of the nicer families in existence. The drummer and the mulatto shared a large apartment with his father and step mother and a half brother and half sister not yet in their teens. The father and the delicious aroma of a Creole feast greeted us warmly. Warm words and warm stew entered our bodies. It got a little colder when we explored racial questions, but waited until coffee and peach cobbler before we went there. The drummer's step mother hid her anger well inside her beautiful exterior. A popular singer in her youth, at least to various Negro big band leaders, she still sings with small groups, mostly the more adventurous be bop quartets, but like the drummer's father, never journeys out of the City. Her earlier life she encountered prejudice directly, both in the South and the North and began writing about her experience. Her poetry, song lyrics and stories reflect her character, a calm outer layer rumbling with anger inside: both beautiful and profoundly disquieting.
The world remains segregated. People of different races lead separate lives. Yet being human creates parity. Experiencing life, developing through childhood into maturity, needing sustenance and protection and love, interacting with sin and temptation, choosing compassion or shielding, getting frustrated or celebrating success, eating drinking, shitting and pissing, a human is a human no matter what color or means, thus assuring communication. But with separation and prejudice, people become other and become images justified to put them in their place. It goes both ways, but because the white man dominates European society and all the places he has conquered, considering other races lower beings, his prejudice creates especially demeaning and destructive ugliness. Interestingly, that narrow view seldom breaks despite encountering other races. The particular rarely affects the general. For instance the rigidly prejudiced wealthy southern land owners raised by Negro slaves and then servants depended on them intimately, interacted with them directly, received moral instruction, and learned nothing to change their ignorance in viewing the race as a whole. And yet I witnessed the redhead student's eyes open. The beautiful singer coaxed her to admit her images and confront them and laugh at them and consider their cost. I felt shame and ignorance too, if less than the redhead because I spent more time than most whites with Negroes and by and large those times I found as good as any other. But the fact I still held stupid beliefs made me feel worse.
Alma
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