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Subject: {ASSM} MATADORES DE SUENOS PERDIDOS f/m/f Sex and Suicide Part I
Date: Sun, 2 Apr 2000 22:10:05 -0400
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WARNING:
This story is fiction, and should be treated as such.
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY,
and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an
adult, or reading sex stories upset you, do not read any further.
Posted from Taxi Murders Sextet Hyperfiction
(c) 2000 Sean Farragher. All Rights Reserved.
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Sean_Farragher/
Comments are desired, welcome, and helpful.
Please reply to: seanfarragher@msn.com
Full site at: http://www.taximurders.com
KILLERS OF LOST DREAMS:
"MATADORES DE SUENOS PERDIDOS"
PART I
Further Adventures of Mary Irish & Jane Sicily on the Planet
Krypton
HOW SUPERMAN JUMPED FROM THE ROOF
OF THE ROCK CLUB "MATADORES" TO HIS DEATH
PROVING, SO HE BELIEVED, THAT HE COULD RISE AGAIN.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Thomas Farragher All Rights Reserved
Kryptonite:
Extra-terrestrial mineral that is impossible at ordinary
temperatures and pressures by the rules of physical chemistry. In
the superman myth kryptonite is both a source of life and death.
Shall we say it is beyond good or evil, male or female?
Year is 2024:
There were two handsome, well-endowed women modestly undressed
for July sitting at the last table of hotel-bar that rose up near
the Snake River challenge to Ansel Adam's Grand Tetons.
Appropriately, the club was called by the locals, "Matadores de
Sue os Perdidos" (Killers of Lost Dreams)
The club, like many famous landmarks in the US Federal Park
System constructed in 2020 by the Morgan Company Inc., imitated
the "Fall of the Universe" standard for decadence and depravity.
D&D, known in the past as Dungeons and Dragons, had found more
than a new association. The game lifted one veil of consciousness
illustrated like Grimm's' fairy tales: no greater fatuous display
off female genitalia could be constructed. Models of the cloud
formations like the New Business Model, displayed in class jars,
had been pickled with the seminal extractions of the failed
freelancers.
At that moment, "the Fall," as it was known, stretched the
musical boundaries to become the anthem of the Popular Rave
group, Marginal Intent.
Because of the overpayment of participation fees, the planned and
very formal suicide of 345 (liturgy by OMNI) by the sinking of a
large raft in blood fed waters off the coast of the Coral Sea
failed only because 24 people survived. It seems the sharks would
not eat them. One of the survivors said that one of the sharks
whispered to her that they were related. Further, the shark said,
"I was her natural niece.
It was that "darling Rave, as it was described, that was Prophet
and script for the next thousand years. This interesting cultural
advance, as a it was described by publicist from within the Rave
organization, made human decline the operating system for a new
network of self programming computers and networks. The Descent
of Man and its his and her wardrobe made the old fashioned geek
show a tame anachronism if one could compare historical
phenomenon.
Suicide in the year 2024 was considered socially acceptable and
encouraged to support the human sink-holes like the most of the
Matadores clubs that proliferated when alienation became ordinary
sin one step up from Mortal or as one wag said, immortal.
In 2011, the Department of Interior, by special exception of the
US Congress, began leasing land in the park system to
corporations to pay for maintenance of the Federal Park System.
No one protested the rapid growth of commercial clutter. It was
if the wilderness, no longer valued, was squandered as a more
usual political fuel.
Cost management and cost accounting, one index of life style, The
US Federal government run by a consortium of private business
knew that this grand lottery, or pyramid scheme, could not be
sustained.
The US Constitution amended finally amended in 2009 began that
antisocial walk towards the take over of the Executive Branch by
US Corp, Inc.
The CEO of US Corp became with the much contested election of
2020, President of the United States affirming the direction of
governments towards the full integration of new business model
with a political process that was more representative of a more
affluent but less intellectual middle class.
Many claimed that a Constitutional amendment "was without
sufficient "demonstration of new process" as the scheme was not
sufficiently different (in consequence) from the system by which
the US Post Office operated when it became a private business and
lost its Constitutional authority." So ruled Chief Justice Manuel
Perrante in his majority decision (7-2) of the US Supreme Court
(July 3, 2019).
MARY IRISH AND JANE SICILY FIND IN THE OTHER THAT WHICH IS CALLED
"MURETE"
DEATH HAS DOMINION AND LUST IS FIRST FACT AND AN "UNCOMMON"
PSYCHOLOGY
Imagine, getting drunk, watching old fashion lazar music streak
red, blue, in a variety of sync, as your eyes searched over the
edge of the 20th floor into the fog of dull city cars and taxis
blaring in the traffic below like a lake of anger and dirty steam
floating on par boiled macadam
One woman, the much taller one, had auburn hair with gray eyes.
She called herself Mary Irish. The other, dark and just as pretty
with a touch of a turn to her mouth was Jane Sicily. Tonight,
Mary wore a white silk blouse cut to the center revealing all but
her nipples, and Jane's almost the same was made of magical
material that made the garment transparent an opaque depending on
the heat of her body.
Jane's transparent plastic cloth blouse felt like silk. The
material developed recently by a 26-year-old chemist who named
the silk like cloth "Lucy Silk" after the inventor's girl friend.
The make believe fantasy cloth quickly became known as Lucifer's
silk. No matter what the origin of the cloth, or its
revolutionary polymer chemistry, Jane's pregnant nipples stood up
like erotic statues against a dark brown field in the naked room.
Mary, Jane's girl friend for five years, could not keep her eyes
off Jane and her blouse. Mary would turn away from Jane from time
to time, almost surprised by her embarrassment, as Jane did, when
Mary shifted her legs to expose her freshly shaven pubis
sculpted, as Mary said, "like a heart with a red patch of floss."
Every Sunday night, about nine thirty they would come back to
this club, sit at this same table, and talk about the same guys
they had fucked or would meet someday. It was girl and boy talk.
Usually, it was all the same.
Like many others, Jane and Mary came to "Matadores" not for the
watered down booze, the fake music or the clutter of pick up
lines and passed out memories. They, with the multitudes as
chorus, gathered at the railing to watch folks jump from the roof
top garden through the silent canopy of arc lights and air
drives. The gusts of powerful air (kin to the anti gravity
exhaust of the modern Jet plane) caught the folks that jumped to
propel them upward. Caught by gymnasts employed by the hotel, the
"heroes" returned to the roof of the club were celebrated as the
matadors of death
It was not a perfect system. Some of the jumpers you did not
catch the cyclone. Only jumpers authorized by the hotel jumped
with any hope for survival. It was known by "regulars" at the
club that most of the successful jumpers wore a hidden computer
that guided them through the gusts to safety. Others who jumped
for personal reasons (and there were many of them) usually did
not survive. Like most illusions, the protected jumpers knew that
they were protected. It was "safer than a parachute jump" the
management of the hotel advertised. It was quite a spectacle.
Imagine jumping out of the sky near the Grand Tetons the Snake
River winding in an arc below your fall. Many were tempted who
were not authorized jumpers.
For those not protected who jumped anyway few survived. Most of
freelance jumpers who did not survive the free fall jump used
self-programmed computers. Management did not try to prevent the
unauthorized jumps. It served their interest to have some die. In
fact, some of the contracted jumpers died. The system as designed
was imperfect.
Once a week or more frequently, "free lancers" as they were
called, jumped off the roof proving again that stupidity and
bravery are cousins.
When you jumped, throwing your arms back, letting the wind enter
your mind, keeping your feet together, which was considered a
safety trick, making your body mass a more regular shape, you
would tumble into oblivion. Wearing all the finery you are your
ego or lack of one allowed you tumbled edge over edge listening
to Beethoven or Bach played by your supporters (or paid
worshipers) as your fare well anthem.
Raising your eyes to God or Mammon as one survivor said in a
recent interview, you felt at that pause of no return that your
life and its works depended on your courage. Proving you could do
it, using free fall parachute jumps for practice, "you felt the
surge of magnificence," he said. "Living or dying," the man said,
"did not matter. It was, as the God Wind said, the survivor
jumper, a free lancer, said, reciting Wind's poems like he had
written the mantra himself." He said, "it was partially sport and
acceptable suicide."
At least twice a week, usually on Friday night, at least one free
lancer stood at the railing and tried to jump. No one would stop
him. He had an entourage. Sometimes he did not jump, leaving the
railing, most found the bar and got drunk.
Most, if not all of the freelancers died, but that was the risk
you took when you stood up at the railing pushed aside fear and
let go as you tumbled down to become a footnote to history at the
back doors of what some called a beautiful death.
If you jumped, living or dying in the attempt, you placed
yourself in the range of the Tetons and you believed, or at least
you said you did, that your life had been or would be renewed.
Many of the jumpers were like the actress Dorothy Bouchier,
great, great granddaughter of the famous English actress Chili
Bouchier.
Meet Jane Sicily and Mary Irish
Tonight at "Matadores de Sue os Perdidos" was no different. If
you sat down just for a moment with Jane and Mary at their corner
booth, hidden from most of the crowd, but in clear view of the
space where the protective railing lowered to make it easier for
the jumpers, you could hear the twenty-two year old Jane tell
Mary talk openly about their sex lives.
"This guy, you know," Mary said, as she played with the top edge
of the blouse that barely covered her breasts, "fucked me so hard
last week I felt it for three days. He was not subtle at all,"
she stopped for a second, lowering her hands to her best friend
Jane who would be twenty-five in a few months. "I met here last
week when you had to leave early, Mary continued, looking at Jane
whose nipples shimmered as her body warmed making her blouse
transparent. "That guy, stoned on his ass," Mary said, "made me
come when he slapped my ass. Haven't had that done since we
played DOM games in High School.
Jane, content to look at the animated Mary as she talked,
listened content to absorb the truth of bullshit as Jane often
called it.
Not saying one word, Mary continued. "The fucker was a shit,
bottom line." Turned on by her story, Mary moved her legs back
and forth in her seat. Wearing a very short white skirt, every
time her legs moved, the skirt would ride up exposing her plum,
as she called it, when she allowed it. Always in control, Mary
left nothing to chance. If she moved her top, letting her breasts
show pushing the small pears out, her breasts barely rippled the
cloth that held them in.
Mary continued, lighting a cigarette. "When I reached down to rip
his nipples he pulled away. He didn't mind fucking my ass with
his thick cock. He was just too big. No, really, trust me on
this, he was too big."
Doubt if I will fuck the selfish shit again. Next time some guy
with a huge dick insisted on fucking my ass, I would insist that
he let me fuck his ass with a strap-on first. Some kinky guys
really like that. You knew one, Jane. I know you have one.
Harness or double dildo.
"Yes, both" Jane said, smiling, amused by Mary's story, Jane
imagined how she seduced Mary that first time many years ago.
Ignoring Jane, Mary rushed on. Jane leaned back, happy to be
quiet, listening, and she encouraged Mary to continue.
Getting back to the story, Mary continued. "If the guy let me do
him with my harness, I would hurt him to the same degree he hurt
me. If he were cool, when he did me again he either would hurt me
or would be too gentle. Sympathy or rage, does it matter, Jane
thought, pretending to laugh at Mary as she continued to mock
sex, some man or men in general, Jane thought.
Jane loved men and women. "I am a true bisexual she told her
mother when she asked Jane if she would ever married. Her mother
answered. "I am one too."
Jane thought of that story as Mary continued.
Jane interrupted Mary asked, "What happed with the guy last
night," I was not there. As she spoke, Jane looked down at her
transparent blouse shifting it slightly so as her nipples
hardened, as the temperature rose, her magnificent breasts, my
one vanity, she told everyone, dominated the room like the Tetons
in the surreal landscape panorama background to both women.
Stopping to take several drags on her cigarette that she just
lit, "You promised to tell me when we talked on the phone this
afternoon," Jane wanted Mary to do the talking.
"You mean when you were getting fucked it yourself, dear Jane?"
"Never mind, Mary. Please."
"The guy I met here last night. I told you about him. I met him
here last month during the great jump off. He was weird. He's a
freelancer. Never met one before. They usually travel with their
own troop. Just like the regulars here, they do not mix with the
patrons. This guy is different, Mary said. He is softer and I am
not sure I like him much. I felt sorry for him when I took him
home, and besides I was horny, and he is one of the most
beautiful men I have ever seen. All muscles when you look at him.
When you touch, he is soft, female almost. Not very human. We
might see him here tonight. I will introduce him. Want him for
yourself? I share."
"I don't like weak men," Jane said. Why would I want to fuck him
or even let him make me come?
It is true I do like strong-minded intellectuals. They can really
take you, and are not going to let you continue with out a
challenge.
Say it like it is Jane, Mary said. They won't take your shit. I
like them that way, but when it is over, I want them to come back
to me. I will not go to them.
No, I do not care if I am the one in control or not, I want them
that way," Jane insisted as she looked towards the place at the
edge of the room where the men and some women would jump tonight.
"Who wants a pussy, Jane said, surprising Mary. Jane rarely used
street talk.
"If I wanted a sissy, a little boy, I'd find a slave in the
yellow pages," Jane continued pleased with how she shifted her
language. "Besides, Mary we like different men and yes, women."
Jane never said "and women." The last phrase of the sentence
trailed off. Gaining composure, realizing what she had just said,
Jane said, "Isn't this the reason we get off so well together."
It is more than being bisexual Jane thought, or getting over the
fear of being with your own sex that first time. Jane crushed her
black cigarette in the ashtray scattering the dust as she spoke.
Why do I never say what I am thinking when it matters, she
thought?
"Yes," Mary said, "get off says it best darling."
I don't really like sex with men when it gets too complicated.
Just like a man in that way. After I come, and he comes, I want
him to go the fuck home. Feel differently about women, but then I
rarely go there, and when I do I want it perfect." Mary knew she
had not told the complete truth. She preferred to project an
image, Jane thought. Ironically, Mary was more active as a
bisexual than Jane. Unlike Jane Mary denied her compulsion. Just
having fun, she would say, when challenged.
What Mary did Jane realized, looking at her now, talking about
this or that in graphic sexual terms, was pretend to be straight.
Jane believed that Mary did this, knowing the woman for ten
years, to keep her life less clutter. Jane knew that Mary
preferred women. Mary told Jane that one night when they were
both drinking and smoking some good shit. When Jane asked Mary
about what she had said the next day, Mary dismissed it. "Never
said that," Mary told Jane. "You must have been hallucinating. We
have to stop smoking and drinking."
"We won't stop any of it, Jane remembered telling Mary who had
laughed it off. Forgetting is the easy way out Jane laughed to
herself remembering that Christmas party last year, and looking
back at Jane who just said, "I love your blouse, Jane, you're
gonna drive the fuckers here crazy. Think I may take my top off
later.
Jane looked at Mary, lowered her eyes, and told her how expensive
the blouse had been. "I wanted one every since I saw that movie
star Dorothy Boo (AKA Dorothy Bouchier).
Jane hated small talk. "Mary, she said, "don't you find that you
miss too much when you take on a mask, assume an attitude,"
digging at why Mary liked to push herself "back in the closet."
Why can't she just say the word bisexual, Jane thought. Well, at
least she is responsive. Why do I want her to say, "Look, I am
bisexual, world. Take me."
"Miss what," Mary said, cutting back into Jane's trance. "All you
get from some fucken guys is strained conversation and bullshit
pillow talk.
You can't believe all men are liars, Jane said, speaking softly,
slowly to keep Mary from jumping at her, trying to pound back as
she often did. When Mary did that Jane usually got bored with
Mary, and Jane tonight turned on by her girl friend intended to
seduced Mary not that she believed that would be difficult.
Jane loved how she and Mary looked together. Tall and short. Dark
and light. Foul -mouthed slut and intellectual. Yet, we did
switch personalities. That made the balance more than perfect,
Jane sighed while Mary continued, listing the plus and minus
qualities of many of their shared lovers. Jane struck by Mary's
passionate descriptions remembered the videotape that they had
shot of making love when they were in High School. We thought we
were special, Jane thought.
We even let the guys shoot the video, but we did not fuck them
afterwards, Jane remembered. We locked ourselves in the bedroom
and told them to fuck each other. Mary did wake up early, and I
found her locked with both the guys.
"Guys are shits, Mary continued her litany.
Jane, interrupting Mary said, "I like the connections no matter
how forced."
Jane beautiful face and eyes danced while she spoke, lowering her
hand to caress the inside of Mary's upper arm the patters of
letters that spelled out "sex me."
"What? I am not full of shit. Sure," Mary said, sitting back,
annoyed, but not wanting to get Jane in one of her, I am smarter
than you moods. "Men never acknowledge how we let them escape
judgment when their I am the best fucker in the world performance
sucks," Mary said, "looking hard into Jane's eyes, but putting
her hand on top of Jane's keeping her hand there when Jane
started to move away.
"I know you have stroked the ego of a man who could not get it
up. Why do you let him pretend he likes sucking cock and clits
more than fucking? You know they do not.
"Some do, Jane said, moving her fingers to the under cup of
Mary's small pear breasts, "I just love a man who is honest. "I
know if I am even partially responsible for some of the mask, how
can I not expect men and yes women too to give back when and if I
cannot give.
"Give back. Guys know themselves. Being like them is the only
way. Take and fuck 'em up first. Jane, my darling, how can you be
so naive."
"Not believe," Jane openly said as she ,
tenderly massaged Jane's breast, watching Mary close her eyes,
tighten her thighs, putting her head back, she let Jane continue,
saying only, "don't stop," when she thought Jane was stopping.
Feeling is dangerous for Mary, Jane thought.
Mary sensing Jane, knowing she could often hear Jane's mind not
as words but as mood, stood up forcing Jane to stop.
Going back to the conversation, almost as if the caress of her
breasts had not happened, said. "Sure. Swear you are not stoned
now, and I might believe that the hotel's regular jumpers do it
without any protection. That life is not fixed. Fate contrived.
What is my responsibility? How do I both acknowledge fate and
contrary to reason accept responsibility and consequences for
what I choose to do."
You remember our conversations in college. You always believed in
free will, and I in the unavoidable fates. Barnard was good for
that. Why did we go to the same school Jane? We do things too
well together.
"I know I was selfish." Jane answered. "That is why I prefer the
company of women."
"Sure we are," Mary caressed Jane's hand reaching out to really
hold both of them bring their hands up to Jane's mouth so Jane
could kiss and then suck for just a moment the tips of Mary's
fingers.
"Fucking guys," Mary continued, "we get to clean the bed, wash
the dishes, suck them off, make them come. We get the illusion of
being powerful. Don't think they want to give any of it up."
"We are more fucken powerful," Jane said.
"What shit, are you kidding me, Mary laughed?"
Jane suddenly pulled her hands back and turned away from Mary,
and said nothing.
"Fuck no," Mary was intent now in winning her points. "Don't you
just love the way you can make them do what you want just by
rolling your ass to the left or right pretending to screw, but if
you are genuine, enjoy the quiet of the after shocks, and just
want to be still afterwards, they squirm, feel guilty, and are
anxious to get up and out of there. Well, so do I. I want to be
rid of them too at the proper time. I really like faking them
out," Mary said, going in circles, repeating her arguments,
knowing she had no control, but consciously not admitting any
weakness. Lighting up another cigarette helping herself to one of
Jane's, Mary continued relentlessly, "Have you ever tried to fake
hard breathing," "Exhausting and looks shitty, doesn't it. I
practice," Mary bragged. "That is how I get it just right. I can
twist my ass in a subtle screw; they always come when I want
them. Never tell them you got too bored to come. You know what I
mean."
"Why bother," Jane offered. "If you have to fake it, what's the
point?"
"It feels good to fuck 'em up at times," Mary blew smoke away
from Jane, feeling sure of her, thinking she had won. "Keeps the
game tighter," Mary finished.
"Oh, I see. It is all a game. That's "fucked up' (saying the
phrase intently) and you know it, Mary. How absurd. Do you really
enjoy being poked and used by some fucker who wants only to get
off? Worse, do you want to be one of them."
"II know," interrupting Jane, Mary said, "never tell a man you
faked it.
Looking around the room, nodding, realizing that Mary will never
understand that there are times when all relationship is power,
and times when there is more to it.
"OK," Jane said, anticipating Mary, "You know my problem. I am
not sure of anything anymore. All that I believed is like the
jumpers finding solace in death or faked heroism. What can you
believe? We are here. We enjoy the excitement. We come here to
meet men and women, live vicariously through their struggle, so
we can fake one of our own.
Jane stopped speaking in mid sentence and Mary turned in her
chair putting her legs up on another chair, leaning back, opening
her legs, and flashing her cunt at this guy and Jane who sat a
few feet away.
"Yes, I want only truth and not I believe there is none," Jane
continued, "I know you enjoy it, Mary. I saw you and the guy. You
know the brothers we fucked together in Rio last year. Did not
understand a word of their Portuguese but they had rough hands
and seemed as if they never got soft. I like that sometimes like
you I want the illusion without the truth of it all. Now, I am
lost, just like the name of this sad fucken club we attend like
church at least twice a week. The locals gave it that name."
Locals, what the fuck do you mean, Jane.
You know, Mary, the kitchen help. The unwashed we ignore. The sad
fuckers who work ten hours a day so we can suck rich cock.
"My, my Jane what has happened to you. Never heard you curse like
this?"
"You just are never there," Jane said, upset now, pulling her
hands back from Mary's.
" I am never there. Shit, I am the only one who understands the
new rules. Earth to fucking Jane, where the fuck are you?"
Suddenly Mary's mood changed. She had been there before. If you
made Jane angry, you lost the night. "Isn't worth it," Mary said,
leaning over to Jane, placing her head on Jane's shoulder, Mary
looked upward at Jane who was not surprised by Mary's abrupt
change.
In response, after a few moments, Jane wrapped her hands around
Mary's face and tickled that spot behind her left ear that Mary
loved to be caressed.
Jane hated and loved when Mary switched, gave it up, rolling
towards her belly up like a bitch dog.
Having listened to Mary's pretense at power, Jane felt
uncomfortable with the change in position, but she brushed Mary's
hair from her eyes. Teasing now, Jane continued, aggressive, she
exposed the brown edge of Mary's very comfortable nipples.
Finally after a moment, Mary reached up and kissed Jane lightly
on the mouth lingering softly opening Jane's lips, and just as
suddenly as she kissed, Mary pulled back, putting the back of her
hand up to her own lips.
"You taste like fucking," Mary said.
"I told you on the phone I was engaged all afternoon," Jane
laughed. "In fact I was fucking him while we talked and planned
tonight."
"I knew it was a man. You taste like cum and toothpaste. How
weird, but I like it"
"What an imagination," Jane teased back. "You are faking it. I
really brushed my teeth. I am very clean you know."
"Not like me," Mary added. I like funk.
"Not sure about that Mary," Jane said, choking and laughing as
she sipped her drink. I loved making love to you after I watched
you make love to that guy. You know what I liked best. Watching
him get off ogling us. What an ellipse, no an flattened sphere
like the earth."
Jane played with napkins, while she talked drawing abstract
doodles that seemed calm given the rise and fall of the
conversation. Maybe I should just take her home tonight, Jane
thought as Mary continued to talk so everyone within ten feet
could hear what she said. At this place, most did not care. They
were there for the show, the jumpers. At that moment, a
freelancer had just left the railing. Said he needed to pee.
Leaving he did not return. Some of us do have good sense, Jane
though.
Watching Mary smile and greet some guys they both knew, Jane
thought, I love sex with her, Jane thought.
Mary asked. "Why are you staring and laughing at me," and saying
that Mary pulled sharply at Jane's arm jostling Jane's very large
breasts stretching through invisible silk. "I love that blouse,
so fucken evil," Mary said. "I want some."
Jane took Mary's hand, after gracefully removing Mary's
cigarette, and pulled it to her breasts, letting Mary feel the
transparent silk again. Mary just listened and said nothing.
"Yes, " Jane whispers, can you feel the child in my womb growing
to my nipples?
Mary did not know that Jane had confirmed the pregnancy. "Just
found out for sure today," Jane said. They said I must be in my
fourth month." How did they miss it for two months? I wanted it
so much."
"Did you use the Sperm Bank down at the Top of the cliff? That is
the agency April had used. I am not ready for a kid, but when I
am, that is it."
"Bill, Mary's Brother, helped as you know," Jane added, almost as
an after thought. "He made love to me before and after we went to
the clinic to get it done. Yes, I knew I was taking a risk with
paternity but he used a rubber both times. I hate condoms, but I
needed something else. Maybe reality, who the fuck knows?"
"What if the fucker broke?"
"Then it would have been very interesting before the DNA came it.
Bill was great. He has three kids and a wife, and I am not sure
what they would have said.
"I wish it had been my brother," Mary said, sincere, and
perplexed by the change in conversation.
Yes, that would have been nice, but maybe too close. He turned me
down. Said your sister-in-law would leave him
"She's a stupid cunt," Mary said.
"Now, who is putting down women," Jane shook her head. "Nerve
mind," you know who I got," that Cuban Ball player, "Domincanus"
-- The one who quit baseball for what they are calling now
legitimate porn. I picked him out of a catalogue. I had to sign a
release of course. Cost almost $20,000 and I could get as many
"shots" as I needed until it was done.
"For that money, you could have just fucked him, Mary looked at
Jane's breasts."
"I love that Jane said.
"What is that?"
When you stare and trace my breasts. Remember the models and the
contour drawing we did at the League. Remember when that girl
came up to us and asked if we were lesbians, and how embarrassed
we became.
Ignoring Jane, Mary was thinking of that handsome Domincanus and
his huge cock. Beautiful Porno, Mary said, repeating what was
obviously in her mind.
"He probably sucks," Jane said, "slam bam guy," Jane said. "Who
knows. Did you know he has blue eyes and very dark skin when he
tans? He is the most graceful man I have ever seen. Actually,
come to think of it, his eyes are transparent like my blouse. I
wonder if his eyes get dark when he is cold," Jane seemed almost
serious.
While the women talked, Mary gently played absent-mindedly with
Jane's breasts. Jane's torso moved slowly to the pace and rhythm
of Mary's hands feeding the ache inside the sway of the music. As
Mary touched the underside of Jane's breasts, Mary opened and
closed her legs.
"You make me feel wonderfully odd," Mary said. I can feel you and
the whole room watching. I love it. It makes me want to come so
loud the whole bar would be our witness."
Jane did not say anything. Both women were silent. It was obvious
they were looking inside the Tetons and the white clouds that
covered the mountains in summer
When the woman screamed after jumping off the roof, Mary turned
into Jane, silently questioning.
"How can we let them," Jane answered.
Feeling the hypocrite, neither Jane nor Mary had run to the ledge
like most of others at the bar. It all happened quickly. The
woman rolled her legs over the ledge and without saying a word
let go.
Ignoring the excitement, but noting that she had looked away from
the hotel jumpers gathering around the railing, Jane led Mary's
hand her belly that was pierced in three places. Jane had many
piercings over the years, but had tired of them except the one in
her navel, and another in the hood of her clit.
Jane had bought the ring as a present for Jane's birthday.
"Is there anything wrong," Jane asked.
"You're shaking," Mary said, "No nothing at all," Mary's voice
suddenly had changed from the pursuit of pleasure to the search
for faith. "I just wonder what will come of us, sometimes. I
believe in only myself. No, forget it, I don't even believe in
you and I"
"Philosophy my dear," Jane said, softened her voice. "Just
laughing at how absurd we are. Here we are out on the town
wanting some new and good sex, and we are caught up in this silly
silent background dialogue about suicide and mountains and, yes,
feeling each other up, teasing but not really wanting to be alone
together."
Off center, Mary answered whispering and nibbling and licking at
Jane's belly ring, "how could I not want you"
"I love you Mary," Jane said, whispering so it would linger
longer.
You are fucked up, Mary said, perplexed by Jane. Always so fucken
serious. Can we just have fun?
As she spoke, Mary pulled away from Jane, crossing her arms, she
pretended to look askance, and Mary said, "what about me. You can
have mine any time. Yours are at least two sizes larger. You have
lost weight. What are they now?
38 D. I lost 30 pounds. I am much shorter than you."
Pausing, Jane suddenly said. "What are you talking about Mary. I
do not love your breasts. I love you.
"Well I love your tits, and that's it, Mary mocked. Come on
girlfriend, Mary bit her lips, and pretended to dance, be loose.
"How could I not love yours," Mary said, cupping her breasts in
her hands. "These are puny compared to yours."
At that moment, Mary and Jane started to laugh. Jane first.
Sometimes self discovery runs into a dead end, and listening to
them, you couldn't help notice that their talk seemed as if two
streams of darling, sexy egos were spread thin over the veneer of
the mindless fuck music that blared off the edge of the Ansel
Adams landscape. All of this was obvious foreplay and prelude to
the folks who would jump to a new life or death later that night.
At that moment, Jane thought of the jumpers, and realizing that
they gathered in an invisible room below, they waited for
eternity. I admire their bravery, Jane thought. I must admit that
it really turns me on almost as much as Mary, or Robert, when I
am in the mood, for a man who knows how to at least be patient.
END PART I of Three Parts
----------------------------------------------
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