Deidre Ch 06

Chapter 6

Art and the Goth Scene

Several rather uneventful weeks passed after my romp with Marco, Vangie, Blaine and Freddie. The fact of the matter was that I couldn't find them again. It would be a year before I ran into Blaine at a club downtown and sadly learn that Vangie and Marco had died in a plane crash in Spain, and that Freddie was in prison for selling cocaine.

The most momentous thing in my life during that time was reuniting with my Aunt Miriam. Actually she was waiting for me outside my workplace one afternoon and insisted that I accompany her to an art gallery to see this "Wonderful painter" just discovered. Since she had also offered to buy me dinner I went along without protest.

The gallery was three blocks away and while I had never been inside an art gallery before, I sensed an excitement that outside of sex, I hadn't known for quite some time.

We entered the gallery and Aunt Miriam was greeted warmly. It never occurred to me that it was her gallery... oh, no, I was that dumb.

I was, however, taken by the vivid colors and amazing works hanging on the walls. I left her trailing behind as I scurried from one to the next, lost in the totality of it all. I had never been to any of the art museums in the city. Had that been the case I might not have been affected as I was. But I was immersed in all of it; my mind was reeling with what my eyes were taking in.

Aunt Miriam let me go. My guess is she understood what I was going through and knew enough to leave me alone.

She told me later that I'd gone from one painting to the next for over an hour, repeating the process three and a half times before staggering to a bench and plopping my ass down.

She came over and sat next to me.

"What... what is this?" I managed to say.

"It's an art gallery, Dee, one of dozens in the city."

"It... it's unbelievable!"

"Makes you want to pick up a pencil and start drawing again, doesn't it?"

"Yeah... it does."

She let me sit there absorbing, or trying to absorb what I'd seen for another twenty minutes before saying, "Do you have any questions?"

"Um... are any of these artists alive?"

"As a matter of fact, all of them are alive and kicking, so far as I know."

"You come here often, Aunt Miriam?"

"I do. Partly because I love this place and partly because I also own it."

"You own this gallery?"

"Yes, I own it, Dee."

"You... you think I have the talent to do this kind of work?"

"That remains to be seen. I do think you have a certain talent. But you need to work at it. You need to study with someone who can teach you certain things about art and thereby enable you to, if you have the capability, to rise to a higher level. If that happens, then yes, you'll be capable of turning out work comparable to what we have here."

"These... paintings... what do they sell for?"

"Some are relatively cheap. Some are quite expensive. What you see here range from $800 to $40,000."

"Jesus Christ!"

"No need to swear. These artists have worked a lifetime to reach their current levels. Too many perfectly good artists never achieve this level... of success. They are either not discovered, or are missing some element of artistry the others possess. In my opinion that's something that really can't be pinpointed. Critics will provide a reason for every success or failure, but they're only blowing in the wind. The distinction between talent and genius can't be measured by a critic despite what they say.

"The buyer determines that, and only the buyer. And mind you, the buyer is often wrong, but once someone pays, say $20,000 for a painting, that artist is considered highly marketable, people line up to buy the rest of their work. The critic has little to do with it."

I could only nod my head in wonder.

"Let's get something to eat, shall we?' My aunt said. I nodded again, and we left the gallery for an Italian Restaurant a block away. ________________________________________

During the dinner, Aunt Miriam questioned me again about my wanting to pursue art as a life's work.

I told her I couldn't as I had to earn a living. She pooh-poohed that, telling me that I could work at her gallery and earn slightly more than I already was and would learn something about both art and the world of art in the process.

"But where would I paint? My place is too small and besides I have a roommate who in all probability would muck things up." And yes I used the word 'muck,' rather than 'fuck,' not wanting to shock my aunt.

Aunt Miriam whisked me off to an art supply store, where she proceeded to spend around $2000 on what she termed the essentials needed by any aspiring artist. This included paints, canvasses and brushes, along with the many other ingredients an artist needs to get through their day. ________________________________________

To top things off, she took me home to her place, a sumptuous brownstone a block and a half from the park in mid-town.

"You can have the third floor and store things not needed at the moment in the attic. I think you'll find it spacious enough for any contingency."

We went in, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. It seemed a vast space with only four walls from one end to the other.

"I never got around to finishing this floor. I have all the room I need on the first two as it is. Do you think it suites you?"

"I... I don't know what to say. It's... its unbelievable!" You really mean it? I mean, you want me to live here?"

"Why not?"

We were quiet for a time as I looked around. Then Aunt Miriam started talking.

"I know what kind of a life you've had, Dee. Your mother was only a child when she had you. My mother practically raised you. I helped out when I could, but I won a scholarship to an art school and looked at it as a means of escaping what I then considered a bad situation. Then your Mom met that drunk and to my regret, I used that as an excuse to keep my distance from the family.

"I do regret it, Dee. I could have done something to make life easier for my mother, your sister and you a long time ago, but I didn't. I sincerely regret it. Now my mother's gone, and your mom, my sister, is... or I should say, wants nothing to do with me, and I can't say I blame her.

"But I'm successful and in a position to help you, Dee. Please let me do that. I won't bother you other than to stop by... I promise to call first... just to see how you're progressing and if you need anything. Tell me you'll stay here, Dee. Please tell me you'll stay?"

It was a no brainer, and I told her so. And so, within the next four days I began my immersion into the art world, quitting my office job to work at the gallery, and using the night hours to read and work at perfecting my new craft. ________________________________________

Some months later I looked in the mirror and saw a girl seemingly unsure of herself; a girl whose eyes shone dark from sockets that were deepened by the purple eye shadow piled on to give me the authentic (so I thought) Goth look I sought. My skin seemed molded out of pale dough. I bit into my lower lip and decided not to apply another layer of black lipstick.

I thought the Goth-crowd to be the in thing of the moment and so sought desperately to merge into it.

I was approaching my twentieth birthday, I had already produced two works Aunt Miriam pronounced "Decent enough, but unsalable."

I had renewed my friendship with Elsie, who had dumped Vaughn and Jackie after finally deciding she no longer wanted to be their slave.

"I loved how they could both make me cum like crazy, really I did. I mean, it was soooo fuckin' good I rationalized that if you didn't want to be part of it then I didn't need you."

"Cruel of you," I said.

"I know, and I'm really, really sorry about it. Can you forgive me?"

"Already have, Elsie."

"You have?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but...."

"No but's Elsie. Anyways I see you're into the Goth thing. How is that workin' for you?"

"Wild baby, fuckin' wild. "A girl don't have to spend hours fixing her face or getting dressed. Just paint your eyes with this black shit, throw on a couple things from the Rescue mission and a pair of combat boots and you're considered a sex goddess by those into it. The Goth I mean." ________________________________________

We met Elsie's friend Una over at a club called Breathless in my initial foray into the Goth thingy. We talked small for awhile, avoiding the obvious topic at the fore of each of our minds. A crazy woman kept coming up to the jukebox, mumbling to herself and playing patriotic songs like "Stars and Stripes Forever" which puzzled the shit out of me Breathless being the kind of dark place that it was.

At any rate, she hovered perilously close to us. Una laughed and told us that one of the regulars, a short, balding man in glasses, was trying to bed the crazy woman.

Una's ass nicely filled her tight jeans and her sweater couldn't fight back the swell of her breasts. She was a stealthy babe, the kind of girl whose sex-appeal grabs you from behind in an off-moment and doesn't let go. Soft-spoken and gentle, she was capable of holding her liquor.

There was something about her that reminded me of Vangie and I wanted to kiss her, and cursed my luck at having met her here at this dark circus instead of some cozy little lounge with dark corners and intimate spaces.

"Una's got a really nice ass," I told Elsie when Una was leaning away from us and I thought it safe to say.

Elsie being Elsie laughed and nudged Una. "What is it?" Una yelled to be heard over the raucous din.

"Deidre likes your ass. I thought you should know!"

Una turned to me and smiled. "Do you?"

I nodded, yes.

"Cool!" Una said and kissed me on the mouth. No tongue, but it was a lovely smooch regardless. I started to return it, with some tonguing in mind, but she averted her face and laughed teasingly. "Later, maybe," she said, and for a moment I wanted to die.

"So," I yelled, "you're not lesbian, are you bi?"

She came up next to me and calmly said in my ear, "Well, someday I want to get married and have kids and all that, but he'd have to understand that I have other needs as well. That answer your question?"

I nodded and gave her my best smile.

She returned it with one of hers.

We went out for a smoke, shivering in the cold. I told Una about the last time Elsie and I had been picked up. I closed with: "After that I'm careful about entering into any relationship."

"I don't blame you," Una said. "It sounds like they were incredibly fucked up."

"Elsie can confirm that. I left that first night and didn't go back. She did."

"Is that the sadists she's talking about, Elsie?"

Elsie nodded and bummed a second cigarette off me. After I gave her a light, Elsie added, "Dee's gonna be an artist. She's studying for it and works in this really posh gallery; meets all the hoi-poli in the art world there."

"Elsie!" I said, embarrassed, but I was really thinking about getting it on with Una at some point down the road along with a man who was as yet a mystery man.

Oh, I knew I wouldn't become her woman. I prefer men, but a good woman from time to time is a wonderful thing. As long as one has variety, life is good, don't you think?

Triangulation on the other hand, is hot. The sex is wonderful. There are a seemingly infinite number of ways three bodies can be joined. Each of you can take turns savoring the ministrations of two hands, two lips, two tongues. You indulge in the simultaneous pleasures of watching and being watched. There aren't so many people involved that anyone has to feel left out, that any lines of communication aren't open. Beyond the sex, there's the quiet joy of enjoying each other's time, of collapsing into bed together after a long night out, of waking up the next morning and grabbing brunch. Whether you head out to a dive bar or simply curl up on the couch watching a movie, three is an instant party.

And I love parties.

But I digress. Eugene happened.

Yeah, Eugene, a Black dude, about 6'2" with dreadlocks and wearing a pair of denim coveralls and apparently, nothing else, save a pair of Air Jordan's. I gravitated to him as if he were a giant magnet. I would later hear some girls call him a pussy magnet and I wouldn't argue the point.

Elsie, Una and I bought him a round of drinks, after which he lazily unbuttoned the top of his coveralls, exposing a smooth chocolate chest with nipples like Hershey Kisses.

All three of us couldn't resist touching him. I remember thinking how women loved chocolate, finding it irresistible. Well, Eugene was like that, simply yummy. I found myself kissing his pecs, the hollow of his sternum, nuzzling at his nipples, while the girls and God knows how many others laughed and whistled while making various comments of encouragement.

Lord knows he was tasty enough. Lord knows I was wet for him. And knowing so many people were watching me only made me wetter.

Eugene maneuvered me to a dark corner of the club. Of course the others followed but they were fairly discreet and no one else followed. My hand magically caused the coveralls to slide down his body.

Big surprise, he wore nothing underneath. He had a tight, ripped body. Very short, very kinky black pubic patch, big fat knobby dick, uncircumcised, with a purple head like a ripe plum peeking out from underneath the foreskin.

I dropped to my knees, doing my very best to swallow him whole, which given his size, wasn't really practical, but was a lot of fun to try. Booth Una and Elsie told me after that they were betting I could, I did my best, but there was just too much him to engulf.

I tried several approaches: slathering my tongue up and down his shaft, slurping his fat testicles, pulling back the foreskin and tracing the topography of his glans. His cock was rigidly hard, craning eagerly upward, and, mmmm, hot and juicy.

Someone, I suspect it was Una, unbuttoned my blouse letting my tits hang down like twin pendulums as I was braless. Elsie gave me a pat on the head like you would a dog and tousled my hair.

Una - I know for certain it was her this time - was tugging my jeans off, groping and pawing at my cunt. I was soaking wet; hot and slippery and horny as hell. I raised my knees one by one, and with my mouth full of cock, kicked my panties aside.

Eugene pulled his dick away, and I came up, panting. Una chuckled, "God, Elsie, what a horny slut she is!"

Elsie laughed and tugged my hair fondly, and I wiggled my ass in response. One of Eugene's friends, a weasel-faced skinny Hispanic, was standing in front of me, his jeans unzipped, his cock projecting straight out. His dick was dark, not black, and it was crooked; bent like a scimitar.

It fit nicely into my mouth, and I sucked at it greedily. Meanwhile, Eugene got behind me, maneuvering between my thighs. I jumped, startled as his big dick rams up against my cunt. Weasel-Face wrapped his fingers in my hair commanding my attention as he vigorously humped my wide-open mouth.

I lavished attention on Weasel-Face's thrusting cock, trying to breathe while Eugene spread my cunt and crammed his magnificent tool home. The sudden invasion electrified me, as he filled me with his huge dick. He fucked me hard, slapping my ass in a casual way, every second or third thrust.

I tried to concentrate on the dick in my mouth, but got more difficult. My head was lolling back and forth as I humped back against Eugene's fucking; grunting like a pig with the pleasure of it. Weasel-Face withdrew his cock from my mouth, apparently content with the occasional slurp I remembered to give him; and began jerking off into my face.

Suddenly Eugene came, slamming into my cunt and with a series of: "Ugh... ugh...ughhhh!" grunts and groans I feel his dick swell and spasm inside me. Moments later, his hot semen is spilling out and running down my thighs, dripping onto the floor. His cock slips away and I feel empty.

"Your turn" Una chirps. She has one hand stuck down the front of her pants.

"Sloppy Seconds, for me," my Hispanic, whose cock I've been sucking laughs.

"Fuck her in the ass," Una says. Her hand moving busily down the front of her pants, "You know she wants it."

He smears the gooey wetness that is drooling out of my cunt up and down my butt, and around my anus before rudely jamming a finger into that tight, sensitive hole. I yelp and jump, but I certainly do not object as he works his forefinger in and out, twisting it around inside me. Besides, Eugene has come around front again, and feeds me his long, soft, salty, cum-flavored dick.

I'm back in a heavenly bliss.

Weasel-face discovers my tits, pinching and squeezing the stiffened nipples. It is really quite distracting and utterly exhilarating.

I guess Weasel-Face figured he'd warmed me up enough, as he suddenly withdrew his finger, leaving my asshole gasping. I glance over at Una. She's working her hand rhythmically back and forth inside her work pants, and swapping spit with Elsie.

Weasel Face worked his crooked dick up my ass. It was kind of a tight fit getting in, but once past the tight ring of my sphincter, he slid right on in. It felt wild, quite amazing actually. I had thought it would hurt, but apparently I was so hot it didn't matter. I mean, it wasn't my first ass fucking, and it felt better and better the faster he pounded into me.

I remember reaching the point of no return -- I'm so close to cumming, - I have to cum. I start masturbating, letting Eugene's wonderful cock slip out of my mouth so I can concentrate on getting my hands between my legs to play with my swollen, aching clit.

Eugene takes matters into his own hands, masturbating himself onto my face. Una is still jilling off; still kissing Elsie who also has her hand on her pussy. And Weasel-face is fucking me like the proverbial Johnny-B. Goode.

We all cum at about the same time: Eugene growls like an animal and splashes a relatively small amount of sticky white come onto my face; Weasel-Face buries himself in my ass, filling me to overflowing with what seems like a pint of hot semen; my girl, Una comes silently, her face screwed up in an ecstatic mask; and I go off bucking and screaming, wracked with pleasure that breaks over me again and again like storm-churned surf, until I am left a limp, sweaty, sticky mass on the floor.

________________________________________

Several drinks and a cab ride later, we shut the door to Una's apartment behind us and we three girls were cheek to cheek to cheek.

Una's apartment is small, too small for two people really. It is just one room, with a barely separate bathroom and a tiny kitchen squeezed in. With three people inside, it was like a crowded elevator. Elsie's boob kept brushing against my arm.

We sized each other up like alley cats; but there was no hissing or bared claws.

"I've got a gallon of Gallo," Una said gaily.

"That should hold us for a while," I said and plopped onto the loveseat that passed for a couch in the small space.

Una poured out the vino, Elsie produced some pot and we were off and running.

We all ended up on the bed together; there was really nowhere else to be. Out of the blue I said, "I wanna watch you two fuck."

"Okay," Elsie said, "No problemo." She was already pulling her shirt off over her head. "You should go down on her," I said becoming a referee of sorts.

Una had discarded her top. Her boobs were big and round, like a pair of cantaloupes. The areolas were huge and brown, and her nipples stuck out excitedly. There was a thick white scar that ran down the left breast, just missing the areola, and traced its meandering way along her sternum. As I watched, she unfolded her legs and slid her jeans down, gathering them up around her knees. She was wearing black mesh underwear, and I could see her fat, puffy slit through the sheer material.