You ever get an invite to a party and you read it a couple of times to make sure that someone is not taking the piss out of you?
I am an ordinary working class man. An artisan, a mechanic and it shows on me. I am well built, partly because of my job and partly because I work out at the gym regularly. My clothing is not suave, latest fashion or terribly expensive. It's neat, serviceable, off the peg. I don't move in the upper levels of society. They don't want to socialise with me and I am pretty sure that I don't want to socialize with them. We have nothing in common so we have nothing to generate idle chit chat.
So. Let's get back to that invite. It's from Beth Simonds to an art unveiling. Beth is a very beautiful woman who is married to an accountant and they live in the best part of town. Not the sort of people who would normally know of my existence, let alone invite me to one of their fancy parties.
Except. Except that her sister, Jess fulfilled one of her fantasies with me. You know the one where the customer pays for her car repairs by fucking the mechanic. The mechanic is dressed in overalls open to the waist and with blotches of grease in random places. She goes home with greasy finger marks on her tits and her pussy dripping mechanics cum. Another dream fulfilled.
Jess always swore that it was not planned, that she just intended to inquire but things got out of hand. I have never believed her. You see somehow she got past my receptionist Alice and into the workshop where I was working and Alice knows this is a bad thing. I still suspect that Alice was bribed with an offer of a modelling job, but, be that as it maybe Jess arrived in my workshop wearing the minimum of clothing to "check up on progress". A see through blouse with no bra, a short skirt, no panties, seamed stockings and high healed shoes. Her make up was completely over the top. The totally clichéd. A school boys wet dream to misquote a song. It was seduction on steroids from the get go.
"Alice tells me you are working so hard on my car!" Hand on my chest. Scarlet finger nails gently digging into my skin. She looks up at me and practically purrs.
What's an honest mechanic to do? Well what I did was to lift her up off her feet and onto the bonnet of her car, roll her skirt up and apply my tongue to her clit which resulted in her grabbing me by the ears and pulling me in as deep as my face could go.
I slid a couple of fingers into her pussy and started thrusting away. It did not take long for her to get close orgasming. She was grunting "Fuck! Don't stop!"
But of course I did stop. Turned her over on the car and stuck my not inconsiderable cock into her.
"Ah, fuck! Slowly. You're too big."
I ignored her complaints and slammed into her. Being so tight and hot as she was I didn't last particularly long, dumping what was left in my balls into her. I didn't dump much into her as Alice had sucked my cock earlier that morning. I dumped sufficient into her so that it leaked out onto her mini skirt and then onto the car bonnet. A prize to take home.
"That is a mighty fine weapon you have there soldier. Maybe we need a rematch so I can play with it a bit before you stick it in me." Jess said straightening her clothes and smiling sexily.
A number of rematches happened in the months that followed, then she stopped calling and I tried to forget about her. Alice didn't forget. Neither of us did. Thereafter when I called on Alice for extra curricular services she would make dark comments about me lowering my standards from society tarts to secretary tarts. Alice eventually married a guy from the tennis club and was terribly faithful to the guy for about six months. After which she started making none too subtle comments about needing a good reaming out. Seems the tennis guy didn't provide everything she needed and so, of course I obliged. Gotta keep the staff happy don't I?
Beth never really approved of the liaison between Jess and me, also I had heard indirectly that Jess had gotten married in the meantime hence my surprise at the invitation. And lets face it, you can't have a society wife's "bit if rough" swanning around with the great and the good now can you? Such creatures such as me are normally kept hidden in the shadows. Did I reject the invite I hear you ask? Of course not. I accepted because hey, what's wrong with being able to drink free booze, leer at the upper classes and cause raised eyebrows I ask you. And being a closet Sunday painter, the art unveiling sounded interesting. Beth's mother was apparently an avid art collector. No, don't raise an eyebrow and me being a painter. It isn't polite.
So it was that on the appointed day and at more or less the appointed time I presented myself at Beth and Lionel's home in the fine, fancy tailored suit that Jess had insisted on kitting me out in to fulfill another fantasy, namely that of being fucked in the toilet of a very swish restaurant between courses. The only fantasy that didn't pan out for us was fucking in a hammock. We ended up underneath the hammock with me still deep inside her and us giggling like school kids. An interesting imagination she had. Still has I suppose. Lucky husband I thought to myself. I wondered if he had discovered her deeply buried kinky nature. Probably not. She needed some serious seduction to get into the less than vanilla stuff. However once she had been seduced there was not much holding her back.
I was met by a doorman who carefully examined my invite a couple of times before summoning Beth, who escorted me in. There was no sign of Jess but her mother arrived to greet me. She was small, powerful and absolutely sure of herself.
"So this is the famous David. I am Mary, mother of, " and she paused.
"Mother of Jess?" I responded.
When I saw the wicked sparkle in her eyes I realized that she and I could possibly get along really well.
"Come along I am going to be your escort this evening. Keep you from seducing my wicked daughters." She winked at me and led me into the reception room, already filled with the sort of people one might see in the society pages of an old fashioned newspaper or gossip website.
I was handed a glass of bubbly and we threaded our way through the crowd, stopping every now and so often to meet and greet people. I was introduced by her as "David, a close friend of Jess."
As we emerged from the scrum of people, Jess arrived to greet me and to introduce me to her husband, a tall willowy looking man with black hair who towered over us all.
"Greg." he said and shook hands with me, Jess kissed me on the cheek and whispered "Later!"
Mary ushered me away to "See my art collection."
The collection was housed in a room obviously set up to house expensive artworks; overhead lights, muted colours and comfortable seats to allow you to sit and contemplate the art and the waft of wealth. An air conditioner murmured discretely in the background. In the centre of the room was an easel covered in a rich, red satin cloth.
"My latest acquisition! And no, you cannot peek. But come let me show you my other artworks."
It is a mixed bag of painters and styles. Some old, some new. An Irma Stern rubbing shoulders with a Gerhard Marx ("So local! So new!")
It is a conservative, investment portfolio carefully chosen to increase in value and to reflect glory on the owner.
We turn a corner and I come face to face with a painting I never expected to see again. "Rough Night at Sea". Starting with Hokusai's wave you strip the colour and the light to their absolute minimum, then you reconstruct the image with dark colours and a palette knife. Slashing, scraping and stabbing, the sea becomes even more vast, threatening and dangerous than Hokusai's version. In Mount Fuji place is a tiny spark of light, faint, far away, inaccessible. There is little hope of rescue from there.
I painted it in a frenzy of despair and rage. About two years ago a casual lover saw it, loved it and told me she could sell it. I laughed at her but with my reluctant agreement she carried it away and two months later she gave me a chunk of money -- minus expenses and her bet winnings. Neither she nor the gallery had any idea who had bought the painting.
Mary paused in front of it, looked up at me and then:
"I saw this painting and I was overwhelmed. I saw the raw power, the anger and the sadness and I knew I had to have it. And meet the artist. Finding you was easy. The gallery owner gave me your name and then I found that the artist was Jess' "Bit of Rough" which completely sealed the deal. I swore the gallery owner to secrecy and here it is and here you are."
As I stand and gape at the image, a range of emotion washes over me, but impatiently Mary tugs at my arm.
