Artwor

Eli sat at the table with the people he liked to call friends, looking at them with a certain disdain. He would rather be anywhere else at this point, but these were the power players, the few who would make the difference in his life as a young, upcoming artist; but they were as shallow people as you could get. Just thinking about what clothes they could wear to the next shitty charity banquet. Protesting this and that while still conforming to the same old capitalist mentality.

Great. It was Mackie Allen, this black girl that said she was an art critic. Shit. She couldn't know art if it came and bit her in the ass. She was always fucking smiling and grinning, like a fool. She came and sat at their table, Jennie inviting her gracefully. Jennie and everybody else smiled politely at Mackie as the dumbass chatted about all sorts of inane gossip. How could Jennie, Pearle, Richard and Teri stand this shit?

Now Mackie was rattling off about some new rock band. Who gave a fuck about High Riot, or Hog Rot, or whatever the name was? There are a whole set of stuff more important than this shit.

He was sick of Mackie. Always was. So, he leaned forward and told her that thought.

"Mackie Allen, why the fuck are you always so goddamned ditzy? You think you're so fucking important in the whole scheme of things in this world? You really aren't much, let me tell you. So you need to just cool yourself a bit, you stupid cunt."

He leaned back, watching the stupid smile fade off her dark face. He sat there, smug as a bug, noticing the others' gazes of pitying horror. They all thought that, he said to himself. They just didn't have the balls to really say how they felt. Just like all the sheep in this city.

Mackie slowly gathered her purse from off the table, feeling a little ill. Years of making people happy. Years of being easy-going and cheerful. Being a fair critic. Yet after all that, still an unimportant stupid cunt.

She bit her bottom lip and the spoke, trying to keep out the trembling.

"Maybe I should leave."

"Yeah. Do that." Eli looked away dismissively and she fled ungracefully through the crowded, popular restaurant. Jennie stared at Eli censoriously, and he rolled his eyes. Shit. Now she would never even think about giving him any pussy.

Mackie sat in her bedroom, trying to convince herself to sleep. She sighed, scratching at her heavy breast under the long sleep shirt, and surveyed her neat but lonely space.

The doorbell rang and she jumped, and then stared at her bedside clock. Nine fifteen. Her bedtime, but obviously not for everybody. The bell rang again, and she leaped out, rushing for the door. She stuck an eye to the peephole, and then stepped back, her throat tightening. Eli Grant. The asshole artist. Mackie took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

He stood there, in all dark and smoldering angst, hands stuck in the pockets of his brown jacket. She stared at him, and she wanted him so bad. She had wanted him for the longest time, ever since he came on the scene with a set of shocking pieces. She had given him a glowing review, and he seemed to hold his new found popularity against her. He didn't like popularity, apparently. He was such a contrary fuck.

She wanted him so bad. He looked down at her.

"Hi." She looked at him, the longing and the hurt struggling within her. "Want to come in?"

"I came to apologize," he grated out suddenly, his eyes staring behind her now. "So...sorry."

She snapped out of her horny state, closing her eyes.

"You must really be into Jennie, for you to jump when she asks you to," she commented softly, and his eyes flared at her as he stepped into her apartment.

"Well," he sneered, "At least there's something when I look at Jennie."

She rolled her head to one side and stepped back further away from him. She looked at him, and then gave a weak smile.

"Apology accepted, at least."

He nodded, turning to leave, then was stopped by her questioning voice.

"You really think I'm an ugly fuck, don't you? I mean, really, you think that you're so hot yourself?"

He rolled his eyes and turned back to her.

"You look...normal."

"I'm not an attractive person, by most standards. I'm not sweetly cute, like Teri, or drop dead stunning like Jennie. I never was. So," she stepped back even more, rubbing her arms, "I became funny. I became cheerful. I became everybody's lovable sidekick. More than normal. Accepted in the all the good crowds."

She looked at him, and he realized that she had large brown eyes, with short curly lashes. He also noticed she had great breasts.

"But yesterday, you took that away. You took away my cover. Maybe I ought to thank you." She stepped closer to him, and he got a whiff of her musky scent. "Maybe I can thank you in the universal language between a man and a woman. Because everyone wants to be wanted, you know?" She rubbed her hand slowly down his chest and he stepped away, averting his eyes.

Mackie looked up at him, and then rubbed her dark forehead.

"It sounds shallow, I know, to want to be wanted. But not everybody can be as fucking self-righteous as you."

She stepped suddenly to him, and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him with desperate passion. He went still not moving, feeling her soft mouth roam over his clenched lips. He suddenly felt his cock responding, hardening against her thigh, his mouth answering hers. He felt her nice breasts pressing against him, and he twisted his face away. God, this woman was desperate. He peeled her fingers off his shoulders and neck, grabbing her wrists and holding her away from him. Her plain dark face was twisted in need; then suddenly she went limp, pulling away.

"I want you so much," she said dully. "But you hate me. I don't know why."

He stared at her, and then shook his head.

She watched as he left, closing the door softly.

Mackie tried to melt into the crowd, but there were too many people at what Teri referred to as a "small gathering". He was here, of course, and she was doing her best to avoid the circles in which he was orbiting. She had actually bumped into him, at one point, and she had moved off quickly when she realized who it was. She decided that Teri's house was way to big to be running into people, and she went ventured into the dimly lit upstairs sitting room, where the baby grand that Teri's mother had owned.

She loved this piano. Teri kept it finely tuned, even if she couldn't play to save her life. Mackie set her drink on the side table, where the lone lamp stood, and opened the piano, making sure not to make any noise, notwithstanding the racket going on downstairs. She let her fingers dance a scale, warming her fingers, feeling the sweet sound fill her bones. She descended into a complex melody, the noise of the party fading into a background noise as she closed her eyes, rocking with her music. This was her one true talent, hidden from nearly everyone but her family. She started to sing as well, something short she had written as a carefree teenager, her smooth voice rolling harmoniously over the accompaniment.

She opened her eyes, smiling as she played the chorus again, and then stopped abruptly, the wide smile fading quickly. He was here. Eli sat in a couch in a darkened corner, long fingers curled around a dark drink. His eyes were indiscernible as he took a sip, and Mackie couldn't take her eyes off him. He motioned to her as he lowered his glass.

"Go on. Keep playing. I like it."

Dumbfounded, Mackie set her hands on the keys, and played something more haunting. She couldn't sing, she felt off-balanced. Finally, she stopped in the middle of a song, and just sat there, looking down at the keys.

"What's the matter?"

He actually sounded concerned. The asshole artist had a heart? What a laugh.

She stood up, and he rose with her, closing the space between them in a breathless moment. She didn't pull back from his sudden invasion of her space, but her eyes were shielded. He took in her softly curled hair, and the Chinese style red dress that complemented the dark skin. He was so close, his green eyes assessing. He suddenly ran his hands down her sides to rest on her hips pulling her close.

"What are you doing?" she chose to ask as his lips came within a millimeter of hers. He closed the gap, rubbing his lips against hers, forcing her mouth open.

She drew back her head.

"I said, what the hell are you doing?"

She meant to sound forceful, but already her pussy was dampening, her nipples crinkling into sweetly painful points.

"I thought you wanted me," he taunted, pulling her to the couch he had rested in.

"I thought you hated me."

He didn't answer but raised his eyebrows mockingly, pulling her into his lap as he sat down. He began to play with her collar, pulling at the fastenings on her dress, his tongue teasing her ear and neckline. Mackie clenched her eyes shut as his talented fingers finally found her nipples.

"The door." She breathed out as he managed to pull her dress down to her waist.

"What about it?" He nudged her to her feet, and removed her dress completely, then pulled down her black panties. He began to remove his own casual clothes. He was quick about it too.

"The door, it's not locked. Anybody could walk in." She sounded faint as he spun her around and pushed her onto the couch.

"This room has a piano and no liquor. Those people wouldn't come up here to save their souls."

His finger began to stroke at the lips of her pussy, and she could feel his staff brushing against the chocolate skin of her thigh. Just the thought of his white meat beating into her dark hole was enough to set off a tremor in her, and she moved against his hands.

"Tell me how much you want it," he coaxed, now slipping a finger inside her wet cunt. She looked up at him, hovering above her, his other hand pinching at her breasts.

"Tell me how much you want me to want it."

This paused him, and Eli simply looked down at the woman he called plain. She was convenient pussy, and yet there was an openness in her face that was nearly iridescent. He took hold of his cock, and entered her tight wet warmth with agonizing gentleness, hearing her whimper out his name. He bit his bottom lip, swearing to himself not to call hers. Never hers. Not this convenient pussy.

She wrapped her whole self around him, pussy, arms and legs, and pushed back. She was moaning aloud now, sweat beading on her body. She saw from underneath her lashes her dark arms strapped across his pale back. She felt him slick in and out of her, filling her with eight inches of talented pleasure, and she bucked against him.

"Yes!" She cried against his brown hair. "That's how I want it, yes!"

Deep inside herself, a woman bitterly cried for something that would never be hers. This fucking was just to show her what couldn't be. It was a lesson she would take, and remember.

He grabbed onto her hips, and pistoned his cock harder and faster. She was holding onto the edges of the couch, gasping up at him, reaching her pinnacle while the dark eyes burnt into his. He couldn't stand it much more as she bucked beneath him, and with a long stuttered groan, he spilled his hot cum into her.

He collapsed onto her, his body warm and sweaty, and she stroked at his hair as they breathed deeply. This was a nice part. Here, she could pretend that it was more than a casual fuck, and they walk out together, hand in hand, after they got up and got dressed.

An immature wish, she thought, as he pulled away from her, and handed over her clothing without a word. With the racket of the party downstairs, she pulled on her panty, their juices trickling deliciously out of her hole. She felt an overwhelming urge to burst into tears, but even when he walked out the room and closed the door, she only allowed a single tear.

************

It was her. Without a doubt. The same large slanted eyes in the heart-shaped face, the round body, and the full breasts with the large nipples she hated so much...there it was! Almost all her glory. Mackie stood gaping at the immense painting, the dark-skinned figure lounging seductively in the lower right hand corner, one hand propped up dreamily under the chin, the other running through the wild curly hair. Colors shimmered around the body, mercifully only disclosing her breasts (HER breasts!), a wild skirt that filled the rest of the piece. Mackie's notepad was frozen into her fist. She tried her best not to blush as another patron at the gallery looked at the painting, looked at her, looked again at the painting, and then gave her chest a pointed look.

It was good, of course. He used light projections in his artwork, and the cloth surrounding her seemed to tremble, like hot air. It was part of a computer projection onto the painting, she knew that, but how did he make it seem as if she was staring at the viewer from under a clear stream, a dark siren seducing anyone who heard her song? She was almost dwarfed by the large skirt, but the parts of her body visible came off the surface in relief, the skin dark and smooth. Mackie shook her head. She looked so seductive. So attractive.

The title of the piece was "Lover". He saw her naked only once. How did he remember her body so well...?