Whispers and Brush Stroes

I began to learn more of Doug and April's plans for the foundation. First, they would gather names and addresses for a monthly or bi-weekly newsletter. Secondly, they planned to expand and revamp Milam's website. The ultimate goal was to bring on board like-minded psychologists, therapists, and philosophers. Eventually they hoped to begin a series of lectures.

The challenges were real. Milam and his work were not without detractors. Many of his colleagues held to the belief that there was a sharp dividing line between philosophy and psychology. His writings had also been lampooned as soft porn, thinly disguised as science or religion. Lastly, there was the private nature of Milam Andersen, a man who could take criticism but who had no desire to be a "public" figure.

None of this was a major concern to me now. The days passed all too slowly as I eagerly anticipated the night of the party and the prospect of being Milam's date.

On the morning of November 15th I answered an anonymous call to my cell phone. I said "hello" in a less than friendly tone, fully expecting some telemarketer.

"Is this Geneva?"

I rolled on the bed, wearing a wide smile, until the covers formed a cocoon around my body. I said Milam's name gleefully.

"I hope I'm not calling you too early," he said.

"Not at all, but I thought you were a telemarketer."

"Well, apparently that is what they are truing to turn me into. Listen; there has been a slight change in plans. Unfortunately, I will be a bit late to my own party. Would you be terribly upset if I send a car to pick you up and then meet you there?"

"Does this mean I am not your date?"

"You are still my date. I will take you home; I just will not be able to pick you up. Please accept my apologies."

"I am disappointed that you won't be picking me up. Maybe you could make it up to me."

"Perhaps. I will see you this evening."

"Just how late are you going to be?"

"I will be there by seven-fifteen or so."

"I hope so. They are serving dinner at seven-thirty."

I felt as though I was going to the Junior Prom again. I finally settled on a black evening dress and gold earrings. I thought I looked good, but this time I would be Milam's date. I wondered if "good" would be enough.

A limousine picked me up at six o'clock. The chauffer tipped his hat, opened the door, and said that the Champagne and flowers were for me.

I began sipping the Champagne after reading Milam's not aloud.

"The red roses," he wrote, "represent your passion and the need for challenge. The white roses offer purity of thought. The purple hyacinths balance all. In them, I see Geneva."

My heart melted. I moved my dress and my hips, positioning myself so that I could hold the Champagne with my left hand and touch my self with the right. My entire journey came back to me as my fingers found their way around the black silk of my panties. I relived the first time I had seen Milam in the club. I revived the times April and had had sex. I thought of Doug inside me as we all made love to each other. The privacy glass in the limo closed as I began to moan. I recalled the feeling of Blair's cock in my hand and how I loved watching his cum explode from him.

Mostly however, I thought of Milam- his presence, his touch, his scent...all of the magic that embodied the day at his house.

Alone in the back of the limousine, I enjoyed an orgasm. I placed a finger into my vagina and finished the glass of Champagne.

I took the roses and hyacinths with me as I exited the limousine and found my way to the grand ballroom. Doug and April greeted me with hugs and kisses.

"Miss Milam Andersen's date," April said. "I am jealous!"

"Hey!" Doug interjected.

"I am jealous of Milam," April said. "I wanted Geneva to be my date."

"Thanks a lot," Doug said.

"Maybe you and Milam could hook up" she followed.

"That's funny April," Doug said with a smirk.

"It is like a dream come true". I said, finally able to get in a word.

They showed me to the seat at the stage where we would have dinner. I gleefully handed the flowers off to a member of the staff who offered to place them in water. Guests continued to file in. Part of me wanted desperately to take the microphone from the podium and introduce myself to them as Milam's date.

I met so many people as the minutes passed. There were college professors, philosophers, and psychologists of notoriety. My eyes continually moved to the main entrance, awaiting the arrival of the guest of honor. Doug moved away, deep in discussion with a man named Doctor Schlein.

"I have to go to the restroom," April said. "Why don't you go get a drink? You can order a scotch and soda for me while you're at it, okay?" She smiled. "Good girl."

"Anything else?" I asked playfully.

"Just the drink for now."

I seated myself at the bar and ordered our drinks. I was in the mood for something different, so I ordered a Crown and Ginger. I took one sip as I noticed a woman approaching me.

"Is your name Geneva?" she asked sternly.

She was tall. Her hair was straight and dyed blonde. Her dress was gold and the red lipstick was heavy. Her black eye makeup was heavy, as was the fullness of her fake boobs.

"I am Geneva," I said. "Do I know you?"

She then took my drink in her hand and put the glass to her thick lips. I watched as she partially chomped a small piece before spitting it back into the glass.

I laughed. "I take it there is a problem?" I said.

"You are the problem" she shot back. "I know about you. You are supposedly Milam's date tonight, right?"

She laughed.

"Supposedly," I responded. "Why don't you tell me something about you, like your name?"

"My name is none of your business, you little tramp. You fuck anything that moves. You are an insignificant magazine editor and an even cheaper whore. Do you really think you have what it takes to be part of this foundation? Do you really think you are even close to being good enough for Milam?"

"Step off bitch," April said then as she reappeared.

The woman's eyes never left me. This time April took my drink.

"Maybe she has a hearing problem," April said. "Or maybe she is just falling asleep."

I jumped up as April threw the drink in the woman's face.

Now her eyes, filled with alcohol and angry tears, met April's.

"Go refresh your makeup, Brittney," April said. "It should only take you about two hours."

"You'll both be sorry," said the strange woman before departing.

"I take it you need another drink," the bartender said to me.

"Yes, thank you. April, would you mind telling me who that was and what the hell it was all about?"

"That was a waste of skin named Brittney Long. She's in love with Milam; but she can't have him so she screws a philosophy professor named Allen Meredith. She doesn't like you."

"So I gathered."

"Forget her," April said with a smile. "Get your drink and come with me. Someone I want you to meet."

Some strange bimbo had just threatened me. Not an easy thing to forget, I thought. The incident was soon forgotten however. April introduced me to a man named Michael Ladson. His significance escaped me until I met his wife moments later. They were the Michael and Alexandra of the story, the couple about whom Milam had written.

By chance, Michael had encountered Milam while he was vacationing in Costa Rica. After talking with him for several days he determined to find Alex. Together, they began the exploration of his theology of sex and self. I received the brief bio as I stood in awe of the woman I had once called my personal hero.

Unlike me, Michael and Alexandra had lived a good deal of this philosophy even before meeting Milam.

My attention turned then to the ballroom entrance, as did the eyes of most in the large crowd. Applause began to echo, my knees weakened, and my face beamed as I saw Milam towering over most in the crowd. At this black tie affair, the guest of honor wore a black suit, white shirt, and a red tie. Always he seemed to be making a statement.

His blue eyes then illuminated a pathway to mine as he found me. He moved quickly through the swarm as he approached. For the first time, I saw a sincere smile on his face.

"Hold me, April" I said. "Don't let me faint."

"Fuck you," she said jovially. "You faint and he is all mine."

I said his name, looking up, staring into the deep blue of his with certain vulnerability. His scent was one that combined expensive cologne with fresh mountain air.

"I hope you have forgiven me," he said, the deep voice causing me to swoon again.

"You are forgiven," I softly responded.

He leaned down to kiss me. As our lips met, I wondered again at the prospect of fainting. April took the drink from my hand. I felt Milam's touch on my bare back. I ignored the applause, wishing only that the crowd would vanish.

"I have missed you," he said as the kiss ended.

My eyes moved from his to the perfection of his body, hidden only by the perfectly tailored suit.

"Hello April," he said then.

She kissed him quickly. "Happy birthday old man."

"Hello Doug," Milam followed. "Please do not kiss me."

We all laughed.

"You know," Doug said as they shook hands. "Between you and my wife, I am beginning to get an inferiority complex."

Milam smiled. "Hardly the start we need, given your idea for this foundation."

"I will work on it," Doug quipped.

Brittney reappeared then. She bumped me as she moved to embrace Milam. "You look different," she said to him. "You look better every time I see you."

"Hello Brittney."

"Brittney," April said. "You look different too. Did you change your makeup?"

The woman's nostrils flared as she briefly looked at my best friend.

"Milam," Brittney continued. "You remember Albert don't you?"

He extended his hand to the balding man with the glasses. "Hello, Doctor Shlein," he said.

"It is an honor to be invited," said old Albert.

"I believe you know Doug and April," Milam said. He then introduced me.

"Geneva," said the psychologist. "What a fascinating and lovely name."

"Thank you," I said.

After refreshing our drinks and talking more with Michael and Alexandra, dinner was served. This was followed by Milam's brief speech, where he announced his agreement to the foundation. He then fielded stupid questions from well-educated people. I admired the cool confidence of Milam, the man who seemed to count privacy among his most prized possessions as he provided answers.

"Your doctrine seems a bit Freudian," one woman said. "What are your thoughts on that?"

"Aren't you really forwarding the idea of individualism with sexual overtones?" another audience member asked.

The mundane question and answer session finally ended. Music played then as the club, staff began clearing tables. I ignored it all, along with the chatter, as Milam's eyes found mine again.

"I need some air," he said. "Would you care to join me?"

"May I powder my nose first?"

"If you must. I love your nose and your green eyes. I love the artistic sculpting of your face, and the softness of our hair. I love your body as well; but none of this compares to your soul, your center."

Less than five minutes later, I walked with my arm through Milam's as we made our way to the grand foyer of the old club. It seemed that most everyone there stared.

"It is snowing out sir," a staff member said to Milam as he helped put my coat on.

"I love the snow," Milam responded.

I was again speechless as we made our way outside and down the steps of the old mansion. The air seemed warmer and there was no wind. Aside from our footsteps and the pounding of my heart, there was no sound.

"Have you been here before?" he asked me.

"No, but this is so beautiful."

"There is a walking trail here. Most use it in the spring and summer. It is glorious."

The trail was illuminated by small blue lantern, lamps of some sort. They were adequately dim to combine with light snow and provide luminescent faith.

"You seem to be in a good mood tonight," I offered.

"I hate counting birthday and I hate parties," he said.

I laughed. "Then you are very gracious. Did you really miss me?"

"I did."

We came then to a lovely old wood structure, a bridge that spanned the width of a rushing river.

"I forgot to thank you for the flowers," I said.

My arm left his as he made his way to the left side of the bridge. His hands touched the old wood as he stared silently. The rush of the river some fifteen feet below was loud but peaceful. I watched as he stared into the water's glow.

I moved to his side.

"May I ask what you are thinking, Mister Andersen?"

He faced me silently then, representative of art come-to-life. I studied his chiseled face, the breadth of his shoulders, the white scarf around his neck and offset by his dark overcoat. I felt the passion of the half-light.

My hands went to his chest.

"I once told you that I loved you," I said faintly. "I told you that, in that moment, I didn't care if you loved me or not. I do care."

The blue of his eyes cut with illumination the darkness between us as my coat fell to the wood. His arms went round me and our lips met again. He moved the top of my dress. I tingled as I tiny flake of snow landed on my left breast, melting quickly. I moaned as his kisses moved slowly, sublimely down my neck and to my shoulder. I clawed the back of his overcoat as his exploration continued. My voice echoed as his lips found my breast.

He stopped suddenly then as his embraced tightened. His mouth opened as though he may speak. He said nothing. The silence was interrupted, first by my breathing, then by my passionate moans as he took me into his arms. My fingers moved through the mass of his thick, dark hair as he sat me on the wide railing of the bridge. I felt only warmth, still anticipating his words.

His eyes cut into my soul, piercing my being with mystery and longing. I felt the power in his hands as they moved beneath my dress, up my legs, and to my panties. Unwilling to move from that spot, I assisted him. He kissed me again as I ripped the underwear, freeing my ravenous form.

I kissed the top of his head, lightly grasping his hair as his lips found my swollen vagina. My body pulsated at the immediacy of his perfection. Even April was not this good. The snow came harder, its flakes resting and melting on my hard nipples, as I leaned back, placing my palms on the width of the railing. Tears flowed from my eyes. My throat stretched as I looked to the abyss of sky and heard the river's rush. I overflowed with orgasm as Milam made love to me, as he ate my soul.

He stopped then, moving again to kiss me as he took me into his arms. The ripped panties fell alongside my coat and my breasts remained one with nature as he carried me away from the bridge. I laid my head on his shoulder, burying my face in the strength of his neck.

The limousine awaited us at the end of the trail. Milam opened the door himself. Only seconds seemed to pass before the vehicle moved. I was completely naked now; Milam wore only his pants. On my back, I ran my fingers over the hair-covered chest muscles. Our mouths were open widely as his lips moved lightly about mine, teasing me in splendid fashion.

Moments later, I groaned loudly as I felt him enter me. My mouth stretched. My eyes rolled back in my head. My hand moved to my breast, and my spread legs wrapped round his potent waist as he broadened the walls of my femininity. I called the name of god as I realized that all of my experiences combined paled in comparison.

My hands moved from the fullness of my breasts to his shoulders as he kissed me. My mind was devoid of the words to describe the truth now- Milam inside me, the purity of melted snow on my breasts, and the sensation of his kiss. My orgasms came again as the smell of my pussy intermingled with the scent of Milam's supremacy.

He moved me then, pulling me upright. "No," I whispered, praying silently that he would never leave me.

My prayer was answered as he manipulated my body, turning it around so that I was on his lap with my back to him.

I took his girth with pleasure. His length stabbed me however, causing my hips to grope for comfort. I moved myself up and down the base of his shaft as he poured a small glass of Champagne.

I leaned back, touching the right side of his smooth face.

"Thank you," I whispered, taking the glass with my left hand.

"How did your parents come to name you Geneva?"

"I was conceived in Geneva."

"Your parents were Swiss?"

"No. My father was an officer in the Air Force. He took my mother there when he was on leave."

"Drink your Champagne."

I moaned as my hips moved again and I downed the bubbly concoction.

"And your parents...?"

"They are dead."

"Do you miss them?"

"Very much. What about you? Are your parents still-?"

I could not complete my question. The Champagne glass fell over my leg and to the floor as Milam kissed my neck. He was so large inside me. My head flopped against his shoulder.

"I want you so much," I whispered.

I heard his breath now in my ear.

"Is there objective purpose?" he asked.

"Yes. I love you."

"Then take me," he whispered.

In that moment, everything I had ever been or ever hoped to be changed. Pressing my back against his chest, I felt the absorption of my soul. I moved my hips, raising and lowering myself. I twisted my neck for another kiss as I felt my pussy- all of it- hugging his thick cock. My hands went to the tops of his as they found my breasts. He gripped them harder as I leaned forward. He held me as I moved up and down on him with greater speed and determination.

"I want a baby," came my soft, unexpected, spontaneous comment.

Before fear could overtake me, I felt his hands on my ass and my hips. He stiffened and throbbed. I had his cum now; he had my soul.

I wanted his soul. I wanted his love. I wanted to give to Milam what no one had ever given. I wanted to take from him what he had yet to imagine.

The smell of love filled the back of the limousine. I used his hands to caress and squeeze my breasts. I used my pussy to squeeze and lightly release his pleasure.

I was dead. I was in heaven.

"I love you, Milam Anderson."