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From: "Otzchiim" <Otzchiim@aol.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Art Object (MF, cons, rom)
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Date: Sat, 01 Oct 2005 20:10:02 -0400
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Otzchiim@aol.com

                             ART OBJECT

     The first time that I saw Violet Gable was on a warm Saturday
afternoon at the end of March, when I decided to sit in Mount Vernon
Square and admire the weather, as well as the young women just out of
their winter coats.
     Needless to say , I had no idea that she was named Violet gable.
I was fairly sure from looking at her that she was somewhere between 18
and 25 (20, I eventually found out), and that she was a student at the
Art Institute since it was nearby and she was using a pencil and an art
pad.
     She was slim and long-bodied (or I guess long-legged, really) and
cute if not strikingly beautiful.  She had medium-length black hair and
dark eyes (though I did not see them that day).  I kind of wish that I
could say what she wore that day, but I am afraid that I do not
remember.
     She favored dark slacks and flowered blouses, though.
     I hope that all this does not sound like I was staring at her.
Certainly I was glancing at her - enough that she caught me at it and
smiled.
      After that I tried not to look at her openly, since I did not
want to make her nervous or make her want to move away.  When I got up
to leave, I made a point of walking behind her to see what she had been
sketching - it was the ornamental fountain in the middle of the east
end of the square.
     The next time I was in the square was probably a week or so later,
and I will admit to sitting where I could get a good view of Violet,
once I saw that she was there sketching again.
     By the square was as reasonable a way as a couple of others to go
home from work, and a good way from the central library, and I began to
take it regularly.  If I went by the library, I had a good excuse to
stop and sit without seeming to stalk her - I could read for a while in
the sunlight.
     Some of the sketches were probably assignments, but some I am sure
were not.  I glanced at one that may have begun from a
drinking-fountain there, but grew more elaborate in the telling, as it
were, and surely had more and more varied birds around it than there
was ever in one place and moment in Mount Vernon Square - though they
may have been somewhere in Mount Vernon Square that day.
     I always looked for her, I usually stopped if I saw her, and once
in a while I commented on her work, though I worried about bothering
her.  I suppose I was cautious enough, since she smiled at the
attention.
     Then one day, a Saturday,  she walked over to me and asked if I
would be willing to have her draw me.
     I put down the book I was reading and said to her:
     "Yes, but if I am going to be a model, I expect to be paid for
it."
     She tilted her head and frowned.
     "You have to agree to have coffee with me at the Buttery when you
are finished," I continued.  That was a coffee shop a block away.
     She thought for a moment, and said, "Okay."
     That was how I learned her name, and a fair amount about her
classes (part-time, mostly evening; she worked in data-entry days) and
her ambitions.  She hoped to get a job with a comic-book company as a
penciller, and for that reason worked on being fast but fairly
realistic.
      She was single and unattached at the moment, not even seeing
anyone, which sounded good to me.  At the end of an hour as we were
about to part, I asked her for a date.  She said no.
     Well, she was still nice to look at.  I still stopped, and one day
in June there was a sudden shower.  I had prepared for it by carrying
an umbrella, and she hadn't.  I liked to carry tent-umbrellas, the sort
that open to six feet across, and I offered to walk her up to the Art
Institute.
     She accepted.  By holding the umbrella up high and between us we
could walk without quite touching or getting very wet.  By the end of
the trip, as she was going through the door to wait for her class to
start, I asked her for a date again.
     She laughed, and said, "I admire your persistence.  Why not?  All
right, just this once."
     "Please," said, looking very hurt.  "At least wait a while before
turning me sown for a second date.  Who knows, you might actually like
the first one."
     She smiled and turned away.
     As it happened, she did like the first date, for all that it was
something of a busman's holiday for her.  We went to an art museum; the
Walters had reopened its medieval wing after two years, and she spent
most of the time studying armor and weapons.  She was fascinated though
appalled by the small shield with a concealed pistol in the middle of
it.  She refused to let me buy her the exhibit catalog, but agreed to
the postcards for that wing.
     She also agreed to a second date.
     For the first date, we met at a restaurant and parted at her car.
On the second, I picked her up in front of an apartment building and
drove her to another one at the end, where she actually lived.  During
the second date, she was willing to tell me that she had an apartment
of her own.  Before that, she had implied she lived with her parents.
      We spent one or two afternoons or evenings a week together after
that, and I found that I got to like Violet quite a lot.  From what I
could tell, she reciprocated.  Certainly the kisses, while a little
slow in coming, showed that.  As did a few other things, though nothing
major or prolonged.  I was not inclined to push her toward the physical
very much.  Let's just say that some evenings left us both flushed and
happy, though not fully satisfied.
     I posed for her several times.  I offered to pose nude, but she
said that she was willing to use her imagination there, at least for a
while.  I suppose not too much imagination would be needed, since she
did see me in swimming trunks on the afternoon we spent at a pool.  (I
had hoped to see her in a bikini, but she wore a modest one-piece
suit.)  But she took a number of fully-clothed snapshots of me in
different motions and emotions.
     Toward the end of October I had met her in her apartment on a
Sunday afternoon, when she got a telephone call from an old friend or
hers.  The friend was a young woman who had either had a big fight with
her boyfriend or caught him cheating on her, or something of that sort.
 In any case, that woman was very upset, and Violet felt that she had
to go over and calm her down.
      Violet warned me that this might take an hour or two, though
maybe only a few minutes.  I had barely met the woman, once at a party,
and would be of no use if I went with Violet.  Indeed, I would probably
make the woman feel worse if she thought she was interfering with our
afternoon.
    So would I just be willing to stay here and wait?  I would, of
course.  There was nothing urgent about the afternoon for us.
     I did not feel like watching television, so I began to look at the
books on Violet's shelves, though I had glanced at them before.  I
looked at her magazines, and read an article or two.
     I yielded to an impulse and got up to look around Violet's
bedroom, which she had always kept the door of closed.  I found that
there were a few dresses that I could not recall seeing her in, and a
lot of fancy underwear that I would like to.
     At the other end of the apartment were her art supplied, and with
them portfolios of drawings, some in color.  I found that these were
grouped by subject - buildings in one, statuary and such, birds and
animals, smaller objects, scenes, and people.  I was surprised to see
that this last case did not have any drawings of me.
      Then I saw that I had a folio to myself.  On top were the ones
that I knew of and some from photos that Violet had taken.  Then there
was one of me in a bearskin with a club in one hand and Violet thrown
over the other shoulder, a caveman dragging off his mate.  A picture of
me in a Highland kilt with a sword, in a parody of a romance novel
cover, with Violet in an impossibly frilly dress, almost showing
breasts larger than she really had.  Me in a flamenco outfit, bending
Violet in a Spanish dress back in a deep kiss.
      That seemed to be the last.  But no, there was a zipped
compartment in the back that seemed to have something in it.  I pulled
the zipper.
     The first one showed that Violet did imagine what I would look
like nude.  Full frontal, too.  The second one had me from the rear,
standing in the shower with Violet, one of her arms around me and
smiling wickedly while her other hand was between our bodies.  No doubt
working up a lather, from the suds.
     The third picture showed me lifting one of her breasts to my lips
where I circled her nipple with my tongue and her mouth was opened.
Her mouth was open wider in the fourth, while mine was busy about two
feet lower than the breasts on her prone body.
      In the fifth drawing she was also lying on her back, with her
eyes staring at the erection that I had poised and about to enter her.
This became a case of life imitating art, since what was in my pants by
this time was as hard and full as what was in the drawing.
      In the sixth drawing I had entered her almost all the way, and
Violet's body was arching under me.
     After that were less detailed sketches showing us in various
positions and variations.  One in particular intrigued me, since I
would not have thought it possible for a woman to swallow quite that
much of a man's apparatus.
     I restored the drawings to the zippered compartment, sealed it,
and carefully replaced the folio.  Then I sat and thought for a while.
     After a few minutes I decided to do some more classical snooping
and looked in Violet's bathroom medicine cabinet.  Among the more usual
things - headache remedies and such - I found birth control pills.  The
date of the last refill showed that she was taking them currently, the
date of the prescription was before I ever had spoken to her, so she
had probably been on them for some time.
     I sat on her couch again and looked through some of her art books,
thinking through the implications of what I had learned about how she
thought.
     When Violet came back, two hours or so after she had left, I
looked up and said to her:
     "I've heard that you can learn a lot about a person by observing
how they live, especially from the books they have.  I think I like you
even more than I did before."
     She looked at me, thought about it, smiled and nodded.
     "I suppose that this afternoon is going to have to be written
off," she said.  "Are you willing to just stay here and talk?  I could
fix us dinner after a while."
     "Spending time with you without definite plans appeals to me quite
a lot right now," I said to her.
     As she walked across the room toward me, I set down the art album,
got up, and took Violet in my arms, bending her far back and kissing
her deeply.  She was startled but cooperated quickly.
     She also cooperated with, and enthusiastically elaborated on,
everything else that I suggested that day.  It seemed that she had kept
her fantasies away from what she felt proper to actually do, and having
me act out one of her milder fantasies broke the dam, as it were.
      I saw the inside of her bedroom again, this time with her in it.
That kiss led to another, which led to my holding her waist in my hands
and kneading my fingers into the small of her back.  I raised my hands
to her shoulder-blades to hold her to me above the waist and pressed my
hips - and a part of me that she had drawn sight unseen - against her
below the waist.
     My hands returned to the small of her back and my fingers dipped
below the waistband of her skirt to find the bottom of her blouse and
pull it up.  I touched the bare skin of her back, there and soon higher
up.  When I reached the bottom of her bra, I extended my hands around
her, going from her spine forward, then moving around until my thumbs
were under the cups and I could push up against her breasts.
     Violet stepped away from me, but took my hand to show that she had
not been offended.  She looked at the couch for a moment, and took a
step toward it, then stopped.
     "No," she said, but rather to herself than to me, I thought.
     Those dark eyes looked up into mine and studied me.  She said,
"Yes, I can.  Yes."  Just what the question had been I did not know and
never asked, but the results became plain.  She stepped to the door of
her bedroom and turned the knob with the hand that was not holding
mine.
     Our clothing slowly made a neat common pile as we removed it from
each other.  I learned that her drawings of her nude body were very
accurate, though reversed left-to-right since she had copied it from a
mirror.  Not that I confined myself to looking at her, when I could
touch and taste her, and see and hear her reactions to my touching and
tasting.  Though I did look a lot at her slim face between sessions of
kissing it.
     Her reaction to having one breast lifted and caressed by my tongue
was not quite as she had pictured it, but very gratifying none the
less.  What Violet did when I buried my face between her legs - well, I
of course could not see what she did, and the picture could not capture
the sounds she made.
     She did indeed stare at my erection as I knelt over her and
prepared to fulfil a daydream of hers (and mine) by filling her.  At
the next stage, she cried out as her warm wet walls moved apart and I
moved inward, over and over.
     Violet showed that her slim body could be used as artfully as her
pencil or brush, with a bedsheet for her canvas.  Ah, the art of love!
     Our collaborative effort was a masterpiece (or should I put it
that way?), we both felt, when I painted "each secret hidden part" with
my seed.  We rested in each other's arms for hours afterward.  No,
that's not true; we mostly rested, but our hands and mouths did some
roving and I was in a place much tighter than her arms after her
skilled hands worked up my human clay - though not to the end this
time.
     In the evening, she put on an apron (just a long apron, hanging
from her neck) and made dinner for us.  We ate in out underwear.
     We talked over plans for next weekend and I began to prepare to go
home when Violet asked if I wanted to take a shower with her first.  I
would be inclined to accept an offer like that from a young woman
anyway, and when I though of the second drawing in the zippered section
I was definitely interested.
    Yes, her hand did work up a good lather, but we got the sheets wet
afterward.  We almost did not go back to her bed, but staying in the
shower was more appealing than comfortable, though we tried it.
    I left her early in the morning to change before going to work.
That night I called her, and the night after.  On Wednesday she asked
if she could come over after class; she brought an extra dress and put
it on in the morning.  After three weeks, we moved some clothes into
each others' apartments.
    At the end of December, we signed the lease on a larger apartment,
for both of us.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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