The Muralist and the Pinecones

The Muralist and the Pinecones

It is graduation day and at 22 years of age, I have a bachelors in fine art. I am at my best friend Josh's townhouse holding a gravitational glass of merlot. His forty-year-old mom Debra and her neighborhood-famous breasts are as gravitational as my wine glass. I mean I can imagine that her cleavage shadow is cast by the best and most gravitational 2 things on the opposite side of the room or on Earth. They are like Elvira's boobs but tan and obscured by a soft blue heather fabric Super Mario Brothers t-shirt. The whites of her husband's eyes stab me like Mortal Combat's Sub-Zero's spear. I must be protruding a buzzed lascivious focus like my father before me. My dad would get drunk and leer at women. It was embarrassing. I must not be like him.

"Congratulations Jake," Debra said.

"Thank you," I said.

"Are you going to do that Aztec mural in my bathroom now that you are a professional artist?"

"Oh shit, I forgot all about that Debra."

"Too much pot and booze during art school," Josh said.

"I used to party with my professors," I said.

Josh's dad Ted gets up and waddles over to the back sliding glass door. I can see smoke billowing out of the grill. The house is filled with neighbors filling their heads with Heineken bottled beer. Bob Marley and television football bounces off the drywall.

"Come on up Hun," Debra said. "I am serious about this mural. I will pay you."

Most of the time when someone says they will pay you for your art, it comes out as if they are doing you a favor. They are proud to be unique and supportive of the arts. I follow Debra up the stairs. Her golden hair is tied in a bun. Her thighs are neither fat nor thin. The television football game roars behind me. Wine spills on their carpet but I ignore it. We glide through the master bedroom that smells like Gardenias and marijuana. The bathroom smells like sweet soap.

"I am thinking this wall. Start at the shower door and end at the sink. Within the Aztec theme, you have full creative rights, even artistic style," Debra said.

I have known Josh and his family since I was fifteen. Every year I age, I see them differently as I do everyone else. Things once hidden, now surfaced. Debra lights up a joint and leads me to the window. The outside is a pale green. Josh is throwing a pigskin with his dad. We used to have to hide weed and now we smoke with our parents' friends.

I blow smoke across the room like a villain. By the window, obscuring the full father and son catch there are pine trees that hold up the clouds. I can see an array of pinecones ready to fall the mighty fall to Earth at any moment. The more wine sips and pot hits absorbed by my lips and tongue, the more my penis feels so much pressure I fear it will just explode inside out.

"What are your plans with the art degree? Going to teach?" Debra said.

"I have no clue. Probably do bathroom murals for the rest of my life."

She sucked the joint into her lips. It is gone. She smiles behind a billowing cloud of white smoke. In minimal effort her tits are loose and drop down to a bounce. My neck burns as I scan through the windowpane at their backyard for Josh and Jake. The two quarterbacks are swallowing hotdogs and warm Heinichens near their wood picnic bench twenty yards from the house.

"We have no time. I have watched you grow into this miraculous artist, and this is my graduation present, but you must act real fucking fast Hun."

I almost search for some television guided response. Instead, I try to act like James Bond and not desperate. I avoid eye contact and palm both breasts. She guides me to her lips as her cold breasts are holding up my sweaty palms. She is only wearing cut off jean shorts and she wiggles them to her ankles. Her bare ass is like a gold onion with subtle thong tan lines. She bends over and her ass is squeezable and reflects the late afternoon overcast.

"You better keep an eye out that window. If anyone comes this way, another time Hun," she said.

I have only been with one girl from art school. My fat wallet holds two dollars and two Trojan condoms. But I ignore it. My cock is a spear with its own pulse. I push it down and press into her. I make a few mistakes at first but then I find it. My heart rattles right before I slide in. I see Josh and Ted back in their football passing ritual. Do they know what is going on here?

"Oh shit," I said.

I think I said something or maybe I thought of words and moaned. I am in. My vantage point is self-serving. I see the party to the right and a large wooden gothic vanity mirror to the left. I am fucking Mrs. Simmons. The fleshy profile of her ass jiggles to my grunts and thrusts.

"Oh Jake," she said.

Seven years of visiting Josh, I always suppress my true self. Maybe we all do. We all walk this Earth pretending to be things we are not. Often tangled up in conflict searching for relief. But this remarkable afternoon of fucking Mrs. Simmons is surreal. My own confidence stings me like a venomous viper. I pinch her ass, smack it, and reach forward to grope her coconut size tits. My ass is free and is a blazing white blur in the current of their air conditioner. I see Debra's eyes closed and mouth open.

"Oh Mrs. Simmons your graduation pussy, oh..."

I have never spoken to her like that before. I wonder if she will terminate the fucking. Stand up naked and angry and smack me across the face.

My cock vanishing between her wobbling cheeks makes me dizzy and animalistic. There is no one outside. The grass top is empty and green. My cock explodes inside as I drool all over her jiggling behind. Three huge gulps of come spill out of me. I see her face looking towards the bedroom door. Josh and Ted look like green aliens. The last thing I remember is my nose being on fire and the pigskin spinning like a helicopter alongside my world dropping into a well.