The Artist And The Model Ch 05

Chapter 5: How Dan met Marion

Dan worked steadily on the whiskey labels all morning and hardly felt the time passing until his phone buzzed with a reminder: 12 Noon - Lunch with Mac.

As he was leaving the house Dan had a call from his FWB Marion.

"Can we meet this afternoon?" she asked.

Dan thought for a moment. Lunch would take about an hour, allow 15 minutes each way for travel... "Sure, would 1:30 pm suit?"

"Pick me up outside Emmy's Bar then."

As he got into the car, he called Whitney and asked her to bring Anita back to her house for a few hours after school. He would collect her at 5. He had often done the same for LaShonda, when Whitney had to work later than usual, and Whitney was always glad to spend time with Anita, hoping to enlist her as an ally for the ensnarement of Dan.

Driving to the restaurant for his lunch with Mac, Dan remembered when he had met Marion first. It was about two years before at the opening of an exhibition of his work in Mac's gallery. He was trying to feign interest in a potential buyer's long rambling account of his attempts to buy a particular brand of fishing rod, when he noticed a woman he did not recognize, and was sure had not been invited, take one of the plastic cups of cheap wine, take a long drink from it, and then pour the contents of two others into it until it was full to the brim. The angler finished his tale at last, and left without buying anything. The woman walked over to him. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was short, plump, had very short red hair, glasses, and a sleeve tattoo on each arm. A T-shirt reading "I'M THE SHE WHO SAID THAT," daisy dukes, and sandals completed the ensemble.

"Hi," she said. "You don't look like the arty type. It's all ugly crap, isn't it? I'm Marion."

"I'm Dan," he replied. "I'm the artist, in fact, so I have to disagree."

"Whoops, many embarrass. Still, do people really give you money for this stuff?"

"I hope so, otherwise my landlord will be very cross with me."

"You have a cute accent. You're Irish, aren't you? I'm Irish too. My grandfather came from Longford County. He says 'cross' when he means 'angry', too."

Like most Americans, she applied a one drop rule to Irishness. Dan knew they were just being friendly and usually found it amusing, but sometimes annoying because he regarded it as claiming a privilege to which they were not entitled. Combined with her non-appreciation of his art, Dan was finding himself getting irritated. So thinking it was the quickest way of getting rid of her he said,

"Well, sweet-tits, we'll be winding up here in half an hour. Why don't you wait till then and I will take you home and fuck you silly."

"Sure, good idea."

And so it went on from there; Dan could hardly back out, not that he wanted to. Anita was at a sleepover in LaShonda's house with some other friends from kindergarten. No sooner were Dan and Marion in the door of his house than she clasped him with her arms around his neck and shoved her tongue into his mouth. She was much shorter so stood on his toecaps to make it easier. He walked her into his bedroom, still balanced on his feet, and they stripped each other, throwing their clothes anywhere. She bent to kiss the tip of his hardening penis, and then did something he had never experienced or even heard of before. Her plump belly made her navel deeper than most women's, and she took his penis in her hand and shoved it in, moving it around and running her hand up and down the shaft. It was deep enough to take the whole of the glans, and Dan found the sensation pleasant, though rather weird.

"No-one has ever done that to me before," he said. "I like it, though."

She giggled and lay back on the unmade bed. He lay beside her and began to kiss and fondle her ample breasts. "Mmmmmm," she said, stretching like a cat, and reached down to grasp his penis. He kissed her throat, her mouth, her nose, her closed eyes, and took the whole of her ear into his mouth. He did it all in reverse, finishing with the other ear. His hand was stroking all her body, going lower and lower until it reached her thighs. She spread her legs, exposing her generous red bush, and he rubbed up and down her slit. She was very wet, and became more so as he slipped first one and then two and then three fingers inside, working in and out till she relaxed enough to take the next. As he was doing this he had his mouth on one breast and his free hand on the other, and his thumb circled her clitoris. Soon her orgasm was near and he sped up his fingering.

"Ogodogodogoddon'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstop," she whimpered, as her breath became ragged, her face pinker and pinker and she started to sweat.

He took her nipple between his teeth and bit gently. The sensation sent a shock through her body which ignited her orgasm and she jerked her belly and loins, crying out in pleasure.

He held her until she returned to her senses and her breathing was more normal.

"Wow," she said. "That was really something. But you haven't come yet. Your turn now, artist man. I want you to fuck me hard until you come."

"I don't have a condom."

"In my purse," she said. She took the condom from its pack, and put it on the tip of his penis, then pushed her lips down, unrolling it, until the whole of his penis was covered, then moved her head back and forth, covering it with saliva. She squeezed with her lips a few times, then lay back and spread her legs. Dan moved over her and she took his penis and put it into position. It went in smoothly all the way, and he began to move, slowly at first, and then faster and faster.

"Fuck my cunt, artist man," she said. "Fuck my cunt hard."

It had been a long time since Dan had had sex with a woman, not since an unfortunate rebound relationship while he was still trying to cope with grief in the first few months of his widowerhood. Very soon he felt his orgasm coming.

"I can't hold out much longer," he gasped.

"Do it, Dan. Do it."

"Yee haa!" he cried at the moment of climax, as his penis swelled and jerked inside her. He held her tight for a little while, then withdrew and threw the condom in the trash can.

"Whoo," he said. "That was great."

"Have you anything to drink?" she asked.

"Coke, Mountain Dew, Fanta, beer, wine?"

"Fanta."

Dan got her the soda and watched her, marveling in her body, with its golden brown skin and supergenerous curves, as she drank it down, glug glug glug glug, aaah.

"Am I forgiven for not liking your paintings?"

"Oh, yes."

"Good. But now I have to go. Give me your phone number and I'll call you when I need that again."

And so she called a taxi, dressed, and went.

Since then, she had called at irregular intervals, sometimes once a week, sometimes twice, sometimes two weeks, once two months went by without hearing from her. She withheld her number so he had no way of reaching her. Nor did he know her full name, her address, occupation, or anything about her really except her taste in sodas and sex. But he was usually glad to hear from her, and she never seemed too disappointed when he said he could not manage sex at an hour's notice. He suspected there were other men in the same position, and wondered idly whether he was the first she would call, or the tenth.