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Subject: {ASSM} From TxM6 Angela Seduces Aaron?
Date: Sun, 3 Sep 2000 17:10:11 -0400
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From TxM6 Taxi Murders Sextet Hyperfiction Novel
http://www.taximurders.com/ (updated August 13, 2000)
mirror site: http://www.txm6.com
TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher
0844Xb Aaron Seduces Angela?
'Time and circumstance,' as the song goes, will take
care of that, but my dear beautiful, zaftig Angela
knew better. She loved the man and took him for
granted. She flirted. She fucked other men. Aaron
didn't object. Perhaps, she wished he did.
The Abstract Expressionist Artist, Aaron Leven:
"Sex is the color lemon brushed against a violet tit,"
Aaron said one day painting Angela's tits with some
left over acrylic medium. Smearing it on her nipples
and neck, she kissed him so hard that when she bit
behind his ear, she drew blood. Aaron showed no
reaction. Inside he quivered.
I. 1992
Wearing faded blue jeans and paint spattered rosy
flannel shirt, Aaron Leven, 43, suddenly stopped
painting his mostly dark, gray, umber, and vermilion
floor to ceiling abstract expressionist canvas mural.
Adding a small stroke of pure silver he rubbed it
smooth against only one brief dash of another dried
under glazed vermilion line, finally taking a rag,
cleanly, without hesitation he smoothed the barely
perceptible still wet glare.
Aaron knew what he needed. He sometimes played too
long at one space in a painting wanting more than was
possible. With these changes, the painting had
softened. His whole had been made. Aaron knew the
whole. He understood how one missing or too present
line or mark or hue could disrupt the painting. He
realized his deep blue brown and umber fields in this
one. At least, he though he did.
After working for hours, He crossed the mid bottom of
the painting with his palm, finding the ends of the
lines and retracing them. Some were still wet. He was
gentle there. Some were very dry, and on them, he
peeled back, picked and smoothed (not that there was
anything to smooth).
Angela remarked once that Aaron, when he caressed a
painting, she felt his hands on her body.
"The first time, I saw you do that, I was a student-
not even your student. I wanted to take your hands to
my thighs. I felt your fingers play with the colors of
my cunt."
Angela never wavered when she told a sexual story.
Telling it from the gut she used full body language
and every vulgar word she could conjure. Aaron wanted
her to be crude. He would never have asked for it.
Angela knew Aaron.
She told the story slowly, in detail, playing
consciously with her nipples, sexually stimulating
them, as Aaron held and fed mashed bananas to their
year old daughter who had just finished nursing.
Angela had a dangerous and sexually powerful voice.
Never a little girl voice (although she could fake
that) her darker voice hinted at BDSM that they both
loved. No one knew that Aaron loved to be tied up and
sexually teased. Angela discovered it by accident when
they played a game. When she tied up playfully he got
hard.
Angela loved to be rough and crude, and she did it
best when Aaron was holding their daughter, rocking
her just like any father. Angela played her perverse
games straight up.
Angela liked to shock Aaron. She wanted to make him
(like most men) feel uneasy, and in that manner she
saw them. Insight is what makes for my art, she said.
Aaron allowed Angela this posture. He saw her as an
agent provocateur He loved her as she played. He often
told her that he never wanted her to change unless it
was a change that came out of her own life.
2.
When Angela spoke to him as the whore slut she liked
to take on as a mask, Aaron became shy. When she did
that when he held their child, he seemed almost
embarrassed, and Angela feeling his discomfort would
walk up to him, and touch his face and stare into his
eyes and beg him to fuck her. The infant knew nothing
of these events.
3.
Aaron crossed from left to right at the mid bottom of
the painting one final time, and then quickly turned
the light off. I don't want to change anything now, he
thought. Tomorrow. Highlights are important, he would
tell his students. Edges more important.
When Aaron thought of painting, he remembered his
teachers, mentors, and how their voices merged inside
his own.
Like lovers, he chuckled to himself. "Every time you
make love you absorb them. Every person you know from
the inside becomes part of your pallet."
Aaron saying this aloud to his class laughed at
himself. Aaron knew his extreme sexuality was faked.
It was a style I imported, but now I rarely use. He
told Angela she had tamed him.
Continuing his talk to his ASL class, Aaron said.
"When I was younger I would fuck any beautiful woman
who opened her legs. What an ass I was."
Saying that, Aaron laughed again at himself, but he
did not finish the thought aloud. Actually, he said to
himself. Sometimes sexuality wakened him, made him not
just ready, but intense and capable of driving more
than his cock home.
Finished for the day Aaron thought, or not, he
abruptly left the painting wondering about another
visual blot that stood out too loud on surface.
Later, he said aloud to no one.
Suddenly he turned with a dark red, almost burnt red
brush; he pasted white tissue paper against that thorn
on the surface. Never stop painting with a problem
unresolved he remembered teaching.
ANGELA 1979 (Year of Birth 1956)
Aaron remembered all his better students. The first
time Aaron looked at one of Angel's paintings, he
thought the promise of her work was intense, but he
didn't think she would choose to become a great
painter. Her forms were three-dimensional.
Angela lived up to Aaron's expectations and over
the next twelve years became the sculptor. That was
her intention and wish.
"I didn't create you," Aaron told Angela later.
"For a time I imagined you had been conjured."
1.
Angela came to Aaron's Intermediate Painting class
at the Art Students League that first time wearing
very little. True, it was a very warm that
September, and the League had no AC.
Aaron told his best friend Henry later that night
that the shifting of her breasts (and highlights of
her nipples) under her thin shirt drove him crazy.
He knew he should concentrate on her paintings and
not her body, but he couldn't stop wanting her body
to drive one of his paintings.
At the next class session Aaron asked Angela if she
would pose nude for him. Knowing students always
needed money, he offered her the usual rate, but
Angela laughed.
"You can do better than that," she mocked him, "and
I don't mean the fee. I don't need money.
"I am sorry, Aaron stammered."
"I am not upset. Really, Mr. Leven, you paint
abstracts not nudes, right"? I know I spent hours
looking at your last show at the Metro.
"I am glad you like, but no, he said, you're wrong.
I need the form inside the form. I paint from the
nude. I don't paint the human form. I create the
spirit inside the human skin. I need models for the
adventure of paint."
Aaron softened his tone. Angela listened.
What Bullshit. We'll see who gets fucked here,
Angela laughed to herself.
"Yes, I'll pose, but now that I promised to,"
Angela said, looking straight into Aaron eyes, her
voice trailing softer at the end of the phrase.
"What did you say"?
Aaron interrupted, not taking any chance that there
was a condition attached.
" . . .Good. We can set that up later," he said,
suddenly turning to talk to other students who
walked into the studio begging for attention.
Angela waited patiently for the fellow to leave.
"Wait a second, Mr. Professor."
Angela put her hand on his arm to stop him from
following the student out of the room. "What do you
think of my paintings?
You never said. I want to know before I actually .
. ."
"What he asked? Can we do this later? I have a
class."
"Not for fifteen minutes, right?"
Moving away from Angela, avoiding her eyes now,
"about your painting," Aaron continued, picking up
one of four medium size paintings.
Angela answered his interruption by accidentally
brushing her breast against his arm while Aaron
pointed to and described what he had called a hole
in her composition.
Angela laughed at the word hole, pulling her breast
back and then rubbing it herself slowly and harder.
Angela intended to seduce him.
"I am not going to fuck you, " Aaron spoke the line
carefully without any nervousness or surprise. He
said it like you might say, I am not hungry or
don't pass the butter.
"Who says I want to fuck you. I want to fuck what you
know, but like most men, I figured if I responded
honestly and rubbed my breast accidentally against
your arm, you would give up some of your mind for my
body. I am afraid I am also somewhat insecure.
"Insecure about your painting," he asked? "No need. I
like your paintings. They show your visual imagination
more than your tits."
"No, not just them. Honestly, men, you have one idea.
I was talking about my body as a whole not an h-o-l-e.
I was very fat as a child. You know how kids are.
"Actually, now that you mention it. I want to fuck you
right now, here in this room. Ready?"
"You are a fucked up tease," and she laughed, running
out of the room, saying at the door, "I will come
back, but I am afraid I can't take your class."
"Why not"?
"I don't fuck my teachers."
Giggling like a schoolgirl Angela left.
Aaron remembered racing to the door. He wanted to ask
for her last name so he could look up her phone
number. Angela had vanished.
"I didn't even know your last name," he remembered
telling Angela when she returned to his classroom two
weeks later.
"I didn't see you. I thought you were avoiding me."
Angela touched Aaron's arm. Putting her lips next to
his ear, pretending she was telling some childhood
secret, Angela giggled like a stripper being teased
with her own feathers.
"I saw you. I was watching. Last night, when you were
teaching, showing new students how to stretch canvas,
I imagined your hands on my tits and the stretching
pliers gently squeezing my nipples white. I came,
standing at the door, looking from the other studio,
oblivious to any watching me with my hands stroking my
clit inside my pants.
"You did"?
"What do you think?"
"I am not sure."
"Come home with me tonight," he ordered Angela as he
would a compliant lover and not a student.
"Why? I won't fuck you."
"I don't care. Come home."
"I will let you watch me come. Is that enough"?
They never finished the conversation. Suddenly, Aaron
and Angela noticed (almost at the same time) that
other students had come into the class.
Aaron didn't change his stance. He wanted her. No one
could mistake the signs, Angela told Aaron later. That
was the moment that I decided to make love with you
that night. I figured if you didn't care that other
students knew what we wanted, that you would not stop
being my mentor no matter what happened.
"At that moment I decided," she continued.
Months later, Aaron remember a post fucking
conversation about that first date, "You see, dear
man, I wanted the teacher more than the lover. Sorry
if that hurts your ego, but, even after our mediocre
sex, I loved you. I had had better. You had better,
but when you shaved my cunny that second night, I knew
what you wanted. It made me feel the child in you. I
wanted that child as you wanted my child.
How I love the melody of memory, Aaron mused.
"Angela, shit"
Aaron mental picture stretched his naked across their
bed. She waited for him. He was late. He had promised
her he would join her. Aaron stirred anticipating the
moisture, heat and muffled cries. Angela loved her
silent screams. She held them inside when she came. I
like keeping my own time, laughing, she played with
Aaron's mouth while they kissed.
Angela wondered the next morning, alone in her own
bed.
"Yes, I stayed the night," she told her best buddy,
James, playing with the phone, holding the cord
partially in her mouth, letting the white plastic rub
between her lips, talking to him with her feet up,
half in bed and out, wondering if she would have the
time to really sleep.
"I did him like you would," she laughed.
"How do you know how I would do him, sweets," he said.
"You never have given me half."
"Yes, I did," she coughed and spoke, feeling the back
of her throat and how last night when she went down on
Aaron, she felt his cock slipping into her throat,
thinking how odd, but that is what that movie was
about, and how she had never done precisely that
before. "The party last year, she explained, oh, that
one, yea, I know. You punked out on me. Remember.
"I was fucken drunk and drugged," James laughed. James
hated the name Jimmy, and Angela remembering that,
said, Jimmy you were hard and you refused."
"I was afraid," he said.
"That you would like pussy too much," she teased back
"You fucken slut," he bitched at her, letting his
voice go lyric high, and then soft.
"Stop putting on the queer voices," Angela giggled.
"You're no fucken queen. At six foot three and 200 or
more, you could never be petit and a swishing dick."
"Really, cunt," he said.
"No, not my cunt, I figured it would be more familiar
so I offered you my ass," Angela smiled her voice into
the phone touching her own breasts, feeling them in
her hand, capturing them, making them fill that space
where she needed to be filled. Angela envied Jimmy and
his na ve one natured, sentimental sexuality. He knew
he was gay. No ambiguity. Angela thought, I like to
play with women, but I would be lost without a man.
Never tested it, but I know, she thought, I know.
"I didn't want your ass," he said.
"No, you wanted to fuck my soul," Angela said.
"Everything isn't sex, now, Hon," he said.
"It starts there," Angela came back
"Think he is worth keeping. Can I fuck him?"
"Can I fuck Donald?"
"No, bitch, he's already more straight than . . .well,
you know, I love you."
"Yea, like shit I do?"
"You really are jealous Donald?"
"Yes," he said. "Jealous of your straight life."
"I love to make women come," she said.
"I know. You like all of it. Fuck midgets and dogs
too, I bet."
"Dog Cocks are too small and too crooked.
"Nothing is crooked to quote the Messiah unless you
make it straight."
"I want you. Come over," she begged. "I will have his
come in my cunt. You can clean it off. I haven't
showered, honest, Hon," she mimicked him.
"No, what else can I offer."
Jim was sadder now. His voice had shifted on the
phone, and clearly his jaunting start had declined.
"Come over and hug me," Angela said.
"Promise you will not fuck me up."
"No can do," Angela honestly answered. I will try to
keep you straight if you promise to kiss me like a
woman. I know you can do that. When you kissed me at
that Christmas party I almost showed up at your door
for more and kicked out whatever boy you were sucking.
Yes, kiss me like a woman."
"Now, you are kinky, sweets. Like a woman, well, if
you will undress me slowly," he said.
"I will wear . . . "
"No, wear your real self. Please. I need that self
now, please."
Angela walked around her room looking at the edges of
the windows in her painting. She truly wondered after
that sexy talk with her buddy how it all could fit.
No, she wasn't concerned about the art. I know I am
good, she thought. Angela wanted to know if Aaron
could make her life whole (or rather was she whole).
Angela laughed when she thought of it. How I wanted to
feel his cock through his pants she said. Manhandle
him. Yes, that is it. I want to make him behave in my
way. He seemed to like it, and yet he never really
gave up control. He is not like James searching for
some other room. He is more like me. Knowing that he
wants to be a part of a whole. How can I give mine up,
Angela thought. Someday, I will not be the dutiful
wife. What the fuck will I do then?
In three years, Angela and Aaron were married. The
child came two years later. Seems Angela forgot to
take her pills for a few weeks.
Aaron was pleased when she told him. He did not insist
on marriage. Now, I wish I were innocent again. How
amazing innocence? I would like to be a virgin and
have him take me that first time repeatedly. I would
bask in his sweat and fuck him so hard one of us would
die or collapse of fucken-mania.
Amazing how easy it is to forget the power and glory
of being alone.
I envy Aaron, Angela thought. Unlike James and I,
Aaron is never alone and yet he can be alone without
any fear.
-------
Comments appreciated
seanfarragher@msn.com
More American Adventures in erotica and other works by Sean Farragher:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Sean_Farragher/
Sean Farragher
Poetry Site: http://www.farragher.com (updated 8/13/2000)
TxM6 Sites:
http://www.taximurders.com
http://www.taximurders.com/enfer
http://www.taximurders.com/lcfallon
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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