Interlude Artistic Impressions

A knock.

"Can I come in?" she asks. Wet and tired.

"Do you want to? You're the one who left."

She stares at me intently. Hesitation and drama. "I was... disturbed. Can I come in?"

I step aside just enough to let her past. She smells of bourbon and fear. I watch as she removes her overcoat: a painted-on pair of jeans and a second skin of a tee-shirt. If she'd been naked, she'd be vulnerable. But she is venerable. She moves about my small cube of an apartment, letting her coat and her boots fall haphazardly; her spiral leads her to the small mattress where I dream. She drapes it in her beauty.

I walk over to the refrigerator. Beer. Vodka. Malt liquor. I display the liquids that dull the outside world so I can better hear my secret madness. She shakes her head no. I take a bottle of beer and sit at the small table where my computer rests. It's surrounded by its ancestors: sheets of white paper, various inks in small jars, and a selection of plumes. I sip the beer as she glimpses a crucifix lying on the floor near where I lay my head.

She picks the cross up and examines it; she twirls it around in her fingers and brings it close enough to her face to almost kiss the wounds away. "You don't strike me as the religious type," she whispers as she puts the crucifix back down.

"I'm not."

"So why do you have it?"

A sip of beer. "I keep it around to remind me that sometimes, you have suffer in life."

"That sounds... religious."

"You think so? Maybe I keep it around just to throw people off guard."

She stands up and walks towards me, each sway of her hips a perfect moment in time. She takes my beer, runs her tongue across the opening and then takes a long sip. She then looks over at the computer table and picks up one of the bottles of black ink. She removes the cap and I watch as she brings the container to her nose; she moves it away and takes another sniff. Then, she hesitantly dips her pinkie into the jar, pulls it out to better observe the way it runs down her finger, and then she greets it with her lips. She smiles as the substance glides over her tongue.

"This isn't ink. It tastes like berries."

I walk over to the cupboards that line the wall opposite the table and open one of the doors. She joins me and closely inspects the various berry extracts and oils housed in elegantly long bottles.

"What are you?" she asks. "An alchemist?"

"That depends on your point of view. I try to transmute feelings into words, but I haven't found my philosopher's stone yet."

With a smirk, she goes back to the table, moves some of the articles out of the way and hops onto it. Her feet dangle wistfully while beckoning me. She spreads them open and invites me inside.

"This is definitely not what I was expecting when you came up to me in the bar and invited me to be your inspiration," she whispers in my ear.

"What?" I ask as I snuggle my cheek to hers. "No one's ever asked if they could write you?"

"Usually, men just want to fuck me."

"Well," I whisper as I step back slightly and take a long and slow trip up and down her body, "I hadn't ruled it out." Her response it to tilt her body back on to her arms as my hand rubs her crotch through her jeans.

"Tell me something," I say as I pull her close and start to rub her back in tandem to her crotch. "You left earlier when you realized you'd be my canvas. Why'd you come back? Really?"

"I was..." she mumbles between her licks on my ear, "disturbed. You scared me with your bottles and the feathers." She wraps her legs around me and grinds my hand. "But in the rain, after the fears were washed away, I couldn't deny the..." her moans and mine, "...curiosity... chemistry."

I smile as she leans her forehead against mine when her body stiffens. I feel her lips close to mine and I gently caress them with my tongue, aroused by the electricity that courses through her body.

"Wow," she mutters as I move strands of wild hair from her face and let my hands float across her erect nipples until they rest back on her hips. "Have you made up your mind?"

I move out of her embrace and go to back to the cupboard where I pick up a bottle of cherry extract, vanilla extract, and a bottle of clear corn syrup. Then, I go to the counter next to the refrigerator where I reach for a large mixing bowl. I feel her eyes burrow into me as I open the tap of the sink in the middle of the counter and let some cold water fill the bowl.

"Well?" she repeats.

"What? I still intend on writing you."

"Yeah, but will I be riding you?"

"Oh, you're thinking about sex. Well, everything we're going to be doing tonight will be sexual. We may fuck; we may not. But we are going to get off."

She lets out a giggle as she watches me pour the white syrup into the bowl. I pour in about two cups worth before I reach for the cherry extract – the bottle itself is shaped like a nude woman sitting on her knees with her arms reaching behind her head. I empty the rich red liquid into the bowl and lick off the last few drops that stick to the curves of the bottle. I hear her moan as I swirl my lips around the cool glass tits. But she gasps when I nearly drop the bottle – the intensity of the cherry flavoring is that overwhelming. After I'm finished with the cherry, I take the vanilla extract and only add a few drops of it in to the mixture.

When I take a wooden spoon from a nearby drawer, she hops off the table and stands close to me while I homogenize the mixture; my knees buckle when she puts one hand on my ass while the other accompanies my mixing. I tense up as she blows into my ear.

"You're making this...hard," I manage to say.

"Is that all that's hard?"

"No."

"Ahhh..."

She wraps her arm around my waist; her hand finds my zipper; she pulls it down and slips her fingers inside. She dances across my cock and I have to deposit the bowl on the counter as she slips more deeply into my pants. She gently holds my cock as it quickly swells with the heat of excitement.

"Oh..." I stammer. "Don't. Don't... I'm trying to work here. I won't get anything done if you give me a hand job."

She pauses, puzzled by my interdiction. "I just want to make this...fun ."

"I understand that. And you will, and then I will, and then you will... But the fun will happen on its own." I pick the bowl up and lead her to the middle of the room.

"Why'd you choose me?" she asks suddenly as I place the bowl on the floor. "There must've been a dozen women you could've approached."

"There were. But you offered me something special." I place my hands on her hips and raise then slowly until I reach the edges of her t-shirt. She chews her lower lip while I look into her eyes until she nods her approval. With a gentle motion, I lift her shirt over her head to reveal a toned stomach, a black lace bra, and delicately pale skin. I run my fingertips down her shoulders, across her arms, and up her stomach until I reach the clasp between her tits. I stare appreciatively at there shape: medium cups full of firm, silky skinned breasts. I delight in the goose bumps that race across her arms as my nails graze the surface of her cleavage.

"This is what you offer me," I murmur as I touch her lips with my thumb. "When I first saw you, prancing from left to right behind the counter, your skin seemed to glow under the black lights.

"I knew you were the one I was looking for. Your skin's ghostly appearance -- but your beauty's unearthly and your blue eyes are electrifying. They fueled my pursuit of you. You were the woman who would become the canvas on which I would write an ever changing masterpiece. Your every movement would trigger a new beginning. Each gesture and moan a chapter in an epic tale of never ending passion.

"And you are one fine piece of ass."

She starts to laugh as I fumble with the bra clasp and free her lovely orbs. Her nipples are only slightly darker than her skin – and they're pink, erect, and oh so delicious.

"Whew!" she exclaims as I push the bra past her shoulders. "For a second there, I thought you had all these grand artistic aspirations. But it was just an unconventional way of getting me out of my clothes."

"It's easier to write on you when you're naked."

She giggles again and touches my cheek; I sigh at the way her fingertips tickle the hairs of my longish beard. She presses herself against me so that her nipples are only slightly below mine as I deftly undo the buttons of her Levis. At the same time, she undoes the buttons of my silk shirt so that she can more easily run her fingers through my chest hair and trace the shape of my abs; I'm just an article of clothing behind her nudity. Once her jeans are undone, I push her hands to her side, hook the jeans, and I lower myself slowly to my knees, taking her pants with me. I take the time to trace the forms of her thighs and calves with my lips, blowing gently on the little hairs that populate her soft skin. Again, a series of goose bumps rise in protest, but I appease them with my tongue, gliding over them like a blind man in search of holy Braille.

"That's... nice," she murmurs. "The way you're touching – it's nice. I thought artists were... destructive. Violent."

"Passion," I answer as I invite her to step out of her jeans, "is not always expressed in uncontrollable bursts of anger. It can be a happy thing. A wonderful thing. Wonderful like you."

I toss the denim away and I look at her up and down: she is an apogee of contrasts as she stands there in black lace panties and sheer, black, thigh high stockings. Her hair crowns her oval face and floats across her toned, muscular shoulders. Her hair and her skin are almost platinum in color, and again she reminds of some ethereal presence – but those deep blue eyes, like drops of sea water... I take her face in my hands and give her a deep kiss. She parts her lips hungrily and swallows my tongue to replace it with hers.

As we kiss she struggles with my belt and hurriedly fights to pull my slacks and boxers down to expose my cock. I grip her wrists tightly and immobilize them. "I'm sorry. Creation is a slow process, and I skipped ahead a few steps..."

"I really want..." she whimpers as she manages to push her loins against mine . "I really want to hold it. Your cock."

I release her and she pulls my pants down and carefully manipulates my cock. I watch as she moves it from left to right, enjoying the way it grows and fills her hand. She flicks her tongue to greet the engorged head as it breaks from the confines of the foreskin; I dig my nails into my hands as she brushes the top of my tool against her warm lips. My knees buckle as her breath engulfs my shaft – she merely enters the tip into her mouth without touching it and she leaves it there. I feel the heat emanating from the inside of her cheeks, the presence of her teeth just millimeters from my cock, the sensation of her lips ready to tighten around the base of my shaft, the desire of her tongue barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath the shaft. I close my eyes to forget about everything and surrender to her grasp.

But she breaks my anticipation and releases me: "Sorry. I got carried away there for a minute. I hope I didn't leave you... hanging."

"Hanging, no. I was hanging earlier. But this...is no less than I deserve."

"Really?"

"Really. It's what I get for not giving a lady what she wants."

"You think about what I want?"

"Of course. If you don't get what you want, how can I get what I want?"

"And what, precisely, do you want?" she giggles her question.

In response, I push her back somewhat and she understands my meaning – she goes over and lays down on mattress while I bring the bowl closer. As she rests on the bed, her tits fall slightly to the side, inviting vanguards begging to be licked. But I disregard them and proceed to slide her stockings down her legs – I can't help but follow the trail of the disappearing stockings with my nose in order to inhale the scent of her exposed flesh. My nose finally leads me to the true center of all creation as I follow the inside of her thighs until my forehead encounters the inviting warmth and moisture of her pussy. Pussy: the only place on earth where life can go in and come out. Pussy: man's obvious obsession, woman's most subtle power. Pussy: the center of creation, the center of destruction, the center of the world.

"Mmmm..." she moans as I move my head in small circles against her hidden treasures. When I lift my head, she raises her knees and ass in response so I can better grasp her panties and remove them. When her ass falls back onto the mattress, we both stiffen -- my cock lightly touches her outer cunt lips and halts, tip to tip with her reddish clit. Her pale pussy hair points down at the encounter while our bodies are jolted by the electricity of desire and our eyes lock. Do we give in now, or should the torture continue?

"That's... intense," I mutter. I breathe and the up and down motion of my cock causes it to rub gently against her button, igniting light sighs from her lips.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," she declares. She moves her hips closer to mine, but I manage to escape her hunting cunt; she reluctantly lets me back away so I can slide off the mattress. I go to the worktable and when I return, I am carrying a long, thin ostrich plume. Its tip has been softened using some generic skin cream. Now, as I am kneeling next to her, I let the feather hover gently over her heart. A slight tremor runs through her body as she anticipates the possibilities.

I kiss her softly and then dip the tip of the feather into the viscous concoction that has awaited in the bowl. As the plume touches the soft skin of her belly, I glide my other hand over the outskirts of her thighs and ply apart her moist pussy lips where I gently slip in my middle finger – I write:

Primal

Lustful eve of physical speak I give in, to passion I am weak Gutteral thoughts burn inside I lay desires on my ghostly bride Weighed down by the mass of my heat Her involuntary chasm desires succulent meat Her wild gestures reach a frenetic height Lost in visions of her flesh, I give in to her sexual might

As my feather lays down my thoughts on her receptive flesh, my finger traces the shapes of my words upon the quivering walls of her wanton cunt; from each pause between the words she draws the inspiration to release a punctuated sigh, moan, or gasp. I write:

In her, I possess the definition desire She controls my creative fire So long, I have thought this power was dead She has rejuvenated the words for which I have bled Now, my heart fills with boiling blood A genesis of memory escapes me – we are swept away by the flood Once dead dreams distilled by fear fill my head I caress their extravagance as she rests on this bed

While I concentrate on the stable flow of the feather, she locks her hand around my cock and begins to pump it slowly, causing the foreskin to engulf and then release the electrified glans. Each of her strokes triggers a spasm in my hand, forcing my finger in her pussy to move in and out, tracing a line from her clit to the upper part of the inside of her cunt. Soon, I lose all sense of my writing and I hear only the moans of her pleasure and the feeling of her luscious juices flowing freely over my fingers and her hand pumping and my cock swelling... her cunt tightening... words replaced by grunts and groans... With instinct, I write...

Lost in the mist of sightless bliss We surrender to the page's eruptive kiss The thesaurus of desire is spread wide open The constancy of mad pleasure has been riven We move together with the ease of unmitigated luck Reason has surrendered to the mindless fuck Our bodies discuss, with tongues and limbs so carnal We can only be described as sexy beasts, oh so Primal

Racked by the throes of orgasm, I fall on her while she writhes beneath me from the actions of my fingers; our bodies soon become sticky from the mixture of sweat, come, and poetry. When our breathing finally reaches a moderate rate, I lift myself from her and watch as the words I had just written now rest smeared over her belly and mine. But in my mind, the poem swims in the sea of thoughts – I reluctantly get her to release my member and she agrees to let my fingers go from her delirious cunt. With a satisfied sigh, I manage to get to my feet and I head straight for the work table where I pick up a pen and lay down the words to the first poem I've written in months.

Even as I write, a plethora of moans and sighs drift over from the mattress. I peek over my shoulder and I tremble at the sight: she is resting on her stomach. Her face is buried in the pillow while her knees are tucked beneath her belly – this pushes her perfectly heart shaped ass into the air where she gyrates it as her fingers tickle and dances across her pink lips. I put my pen down and watch her as she slips two fingers into her pussy. She moves them furiously across her clit, deeply into her cunt, and then out again across her clit. My own desire returns as I hold my cock and turn to face her. Her legs shake and she bites down on the pillow as her ass trembles invitingly. I fight to keep my seat, to resist the urge to ravish her with a wild fuck, and I remain there with my erection aching – demanding – to penetrate her and own her. But I resist.

She suddenly opens and eye and notices me watching her. In one fluid motion she has changed her position and is now sitting and facing me. Her lips parted in a predatory grin, she opens her legs and eyes me mischievously while pressing a finger on each side of her pussy lips, displaying for my viewing pleasure a tight looking expanse of reddish tissue surrounding an enticing opening. Longing to dive into her pussy, I maintain my resolve and stay seated, even as she does a come hither motion over the crease of her love sheath. With each gentle caress of her fingers, her legs come more closely together until the are sealed tight around her hand.

"Oooohhhhhh..." she moans as her eyes sometimes come into contact with mine. Given the way she arches her back, I fear for a moment she will break herself in two.

"Ahhh...you...you... coming for you!" I suddenly leap from my chair, land on the mattress next to her quivering form, and I cover her soft lips with mine in order to better absorb the thunderous vocal eruptions of her pleasure. Her tongue tangles with mine while her mouth seems to vibrate in tune to the orgasm prancing across her limbs. My hand roams across her chest, taking the time to pinch her hard nipples and massage her soft aureoles. I finally let my hand rest on her heart while her body bucks with the last vestiges of her orgasm. Funnily, the rhythm of her heart causes renewed stirring in my loins – I realize that I'm pumping my cock almost as fast as her heart is beating. I stop just in time before I come – or I will pull the skin clear off.

"That," I whisper as I lay down next to her, "was a beautiful sight."

"I just had to do it. I had so much energy pent up inside – I thought I was going to explode."

"I felt the same way."

She gives me a small laugh and tugs my cock affectionately before getting off the bed and taking a moment to give her elegant body a long, well deserved stretch. Again, I'm entranced by her profile – her breasts that point skyward, slender hips that culminate to beautifully rounded thighs, an ass that juts out just enough to be sexy and not obnoxious, and long slender legs that are powerful enough to squeeze the juices from you.

"This is icky," she mutters as she picks at the drying mixture I used on her. I go back to the table as she heads to the bathroom -- I finish jotting down the poem while I hear a faucet open and water run.

She comes back, smelling sweet and clean. I notice she's still holding a hand cloth, but I pay it no attention and struggle on getting ink out from some ubiquitous ball point pen. I suddenly feel some rough rubbing on my stomach.