"Art is not a mirror. It is a hammer."
--phrase scrawled on a whiteboard in the Media Lab at MIT (home of the first computer hackers), attributed to Bertolt Brecht
Domenique, a pleasant ache still present in her jaw since the sex they'd had the night before, passed unnoticed into the doorway of Gwen's bedroom. The stillness and sheer beauty of the scene radiated a power that left her silently captive. Gwen was laying on her belly, her body at an acute angle across the shadowed ripples, rumples and folds of her unmade bed, her dark hair bound in a pony tail and wearing only her favorite sweater, the charcoal cardigan, and a pair of lavender panties. But, what made Gwen even more beautiful, more magical, than usual were the shafts of glowing afternoon sunlight, shining across the room and onto her body like lasers, painting bright glowing stripes along her back, ass, thighs and on the shapely feet that dangled off the bed.
Domenique smiled as similarly provocative images of their latest weekend together played out in her mind's eye. It was Gwen's turn to play hostess, and they'd shared yet another fantastic weekend of loving company, fine spirits, fine food and the dirty sweet delicacies of each other. She hadn't been sneaking exactly; just taking a leisurely tour through Gwen's big apartment; checking out the prints on her walls, the framed photographs, the knick-knacks on her shelves and the titles in her bookcase. But, as she stood there with her bare feet on soft carpet, Domenique realized that Gwen was perfectly unaware of her presence. Seconds passing into minutes, she had begun fingering the smooth contours of the camera that hung from her neck. An amateur photographer, she'd brought one of her favorite cameras, an early Olympus digital model, to record various hot points of their visit. The image before Domenique was beyond hot. It was perfectly artful, a serendipitous union between time and space, simultaneously created and blessed by the mysterious power of the universe. It would be a crime, a virtual sin against them both, not to record the event. Domenique's smile gave way to a very serious expression as she raised her camera to frame the shot.
Gwen, in her own world, trying to get through some Flannery O'Conner, but other wise thinking about the three white roses, who might have dropped them off and why, was oblivious to Domenique's presence. Last Gwen knew, she was in the kitchen, making up some lunch for the two of them. Then, given her attempt to wrap her mind around a little Wise Blood, while entertaining her preoccupation with the white roses for the third time that day, Gwen shrieked and started as she heard the click and saw the flash of Domenique's camera.
"Jeez Nique," she hissed, "You scared the shit out of me!"
"Oh I hope not." laughed Domenique, as she made her way through the door to the foot of Gwen's bed, "Here; let's check."
Domenique set the Olympus on the bed, straddled Gwen's legs, and then proceeded to gently tug her panties from her waist. Nique, the pet name Gwen had come up with during the third time they'd made love, was a sweetly sexualized designation that Domenique had warmed to, but had made her lover swear to never utter in friendly or familial public. Staring down at Gwen's shapely lines and curves, she made a little game for herself, slowly dragging the panties downward, softly caressing each new inch of exposed skin. Gwen peered smolderingly over her right shoulder, a hungry smile beginning to raise her frown. Absently, she felt for her book mark, set it into the clef of pages 69 and 70 of Wise Blood , closed it, and tossed it onto her nightstand. Domenique, having removed Gwen's panties from her body, eyed her lover squarely as she spent a moment or two breathing in choice sections of the undergarment's fabric.
Gwen looked on, mesmerized until Domenique startled her once more; pitching Gwen's soiled underwear toward her face. Uttering a playful screech, she quickly intercepted it. Her eyes still on Domenique, Gwen made her own alfactic assessment of the musky fragrance of her underwear, and even sucked at the more tantalizing parts. Domenique watched her briefly as she set to massaging her lover, kneading her strong hands as far up as the small of her back, lingering on her smooth round ass, and then working her way down to her feet. Presently, lulled into total relaxation, Gwen dropped her panties to the floor, and folded her arms beneath her head while she felt Domenique working her thumbs more deeply between the humid, sloping depth between her buttocks.
"Oh my God Nique honey that feels so good." admitted Gwen.
"You're welcome." answered Domenique, "
"You know, I don't think you should dig too deep in there. It might not be exactly; palatable."
"I'll be the judge of that." Domenique affirmed as she continued a pattern of slow caressing, kneading and squeezing, "But, first I need to take this shot."
Domenique lifted her left leg over and simultaneously stretched her right arm to retrieve the camera. Then, stepping back into the doorway, Domenique framed the shot, instructed Gwen to get back up on her elbows and give her the pouty please eat me look. As she took in the sight from her original vantage, the feeling of awe came flooding back. Only, as if such a thing could happen to the sensation, it was magnified; her skin virtually buzzing, the goose flesh bringing her nipples and clit to solid points of readiness, like three armed sentries. Domenique couldn't help but stare; realizing that the omission of Gwen's underwear had brightened the sight to a hotter shade of miraculous, as if the Goddess and all her angels desired Gwen for their own. Holding her breath, she finally snapped the shot.
"Perfect." Said Domenique, smiling as she stepped back to the foot of the bed, "I'm going to get this made into a nice print."
"Oh yeah?" laughed Gwen, "And where are you going to mount it."
"Everywhere sweet heart," Domenique answered as she set the camera on Gwen's bureau, "Everywhere."
