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Imperfect Ch. 01

By: Amy Sweet



The phone rang. It was my mother.

"So are you seeing anyone?"

"Well, hello to you to."

"Well?"

"No mom. No one seriously."

"What does that mean? You aren't giving the milk away for free are you?"

I groan. I can't believe that my mother really talks like this. I know for a fact that she wasn't a virgin when she married, because I was born two years before that date. She knows I know too, but mom has a very selective memory when it comes to these things. She wants grandchildren, and she wants them yesterday.

Ever since I passed 25, she's been breathing down my neck to get settle down, get married and start popping out babies. The more the merrier! She figures that if I make the guy wait, he'll buy my the ring.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nicole. Any man is going to want to marry you if he knows it's the only way to get into your pants."

"Mother!!!"

Why must our mothers embarrass us like this? Why must they always say what seems like the most inappropriate thing that they could possibly say in any given situation? Why? Why? Why?

And do I really want to put myself on a crash course on becoming like this?

Of course not! But will my mother listen? Of course not!

"I'm just saying," she sniffed defensively.

"Well don't. Your going to give me a complex."

"Try not to be so dramatic dear. Your not seeing some kind of therapist and talking about what a bad parent I was are you?"

"Of course not, ma. I always defend you to my therapist."

"Hardy har- your mighty fresh Nicole. You know that?"

"Yes mom, you've been telling me that since I was eleven."

"Try four."

"Listen mom. I hate to break up this funfest, but I've gotta go. I'm late for work."

"I thought you were a freelancer?" she asked suspiciously.

"I am, mom. But I've got an appointment with a gallery owner." I hoped she would fall for the lie. It seemed innocent enough.

"Fantastic! I can't wait to tell everybody. My little girl is meeting with gallery owners! I'm so proud of you honey. Maybe you'll meet some single men at one of those openings or whatever they call them. I hear that it's a hot spot for wealthy art connoisseurs! Just the guy for you. Someone who can take care of you, so you can work on your hobby."

I start to say, 'Mom! It's not a hobby! How many times do I have to tell you this?' But I already know that if I do that, I'll be in the phone all day. So instead I take a deep sigh and say. "Ok, ma. I'm going to be late."

"No time for your old ma. I understand. knock 'em dead honey. I love you-"

"I love you to mom."

Click.

This is not a story about my relationship with my mother. It just happens to be a great place to start. It might explain to you a little bit of my craziness. My mother lives half way across the state, but with one phone call she always manages to get me worked up over my life choices. And when I hang up, I feel like I need a nap.

I have no time for a nap today however. Although I lied to my dear sweet mother about having a meeting, I do need to get some productive work done. The problem is, I finished my most recent painting two days ago, and can't quite seem to get inspired for the next one. I know that I can't just sit around waiting for inspiration to strike, however so every day no matter how I feel, I make a point to go into my studio (more about that in a minute) and set up my supplies. Sometimes when the blank canvas becomes too intimidating, I just dip my brush into my paint and streak a swash of color across the white board. It doesn't always inspire me, but it makes me feel better. It's sort of like giving the demons of self doubt a big middle finger.

Now about my studio. I live alone in a one bedroom apartment in a college town a few blocks from the campus were I used to attend. It's by far the arts capital of the world, or even the country but it's nice here and there are plenty of opportunities for a talented artists who's willing to try. Of course it's the talented part that always hangs me up. I mean, I know that I'm good. My pictures usually look like what they are supposed to be and all that- but do I really have talent? Of course that's a subjective question and my artistic need for creating my own agony keeps me from being able to firmly settle on any sort of definitive answer to it. Some days I'm convinced of my own genius, while others I cower in fear that I'll be found out for the hack I really am.

So anyway, this studio of mine is in the bedroom. I myself sleep on a loft bed in my living room. I tried the futon thing, but it just didn't make me feel like I was at home in my own home. So I traded it in for one of those beds with a seating bench were the 'first bunk' would be and a nice firm mattress up by the ceiling. At night when I can't sleep, I like to reach up and trace designs with my finger on the stucco. I think it's good practice and it helps me focus my subconscious mind on creative things. Then again, it could be just that I can't sit or lie still.

Ok, the studio. Well, as I said, I sleep in my living room in order that I can turn the one bedroom in this apartment into a studio. I keep my easel, my supplies and my art books in this room. I have a window with a view of the street, so I use white curtains to let in the natural light when I want to block out distractions. But just as often I like to look out at the business below me. It helps me to get energized, it makes me feel less lonely, sometimes it inspires me or sets me off into a daydream. I'll admit it, sometimes it's just a technique to procrastinate.

I also have a radio that plays CD's, tapes and records. Yes, records! I have a bunch of them from my childhood and I love to listen to them while I paint. Especially Leslie Gore, and my best of the sixties and seventies collection. I like that I can shut the door, play my music and enter into a new world. Then I can take that world and put it on canvas to share with the rest of the world.

Is this talent? Bringing my vision, my world out were others can see it? I don't know. But it keeps me sane. Or relatively so, I should say.

After a conversation like this with my mother, it defiantly helps to listen to the tunes. Nothing distresses me like bopping around to "sugar, da da dada da da, ah, honey, honey; you are my candy girl... and ya got me wanting you..." Yeah, that shakes the cobwebs out.

Well, I'm still stuck here facing this mocking white canvas, so I guess I better just splash some goldenrod across it. Yeah, that looks good. How 'bout some more? Now I'll blend in some white and give it a little bit of an ethereal feeling. I like this already. You just gotta put that brush down and move it. It's the only way to start, to get something good. To get anything at all. Who cares if it's good? As long as at the end of the day I can say I did something, I painted something- I feel better than if I painted nothing. And I've got a lot better chance of painting something brilliant, something wonderful, something passable if I do something than I do if I do nothing at all.

Sure it seems obvious. But I have to remind myself every day.

Swash! More color. It's bright and soft at the same time. It's the perfect background for something with wings. An angel? A fairy? A butterfly? I think a pixie it will have to be. Something mischievous, slightly naughty like I'm feeling now. About to start some trouble, splash some water in a cat's face.

That's it! That's my painting, my inspiration. Thank the muses! I've got my subject- and now the work begins. I've got a file box of clippings and I start to dig through it. I find a cat who's eying a goldfish. It's perfect. This cat is being bad, the pixie is being bad, wonder what this fish could do that would be naughty too?! I'm going to call it Misbehaving. I think it's a good sign. Sometimes I don't think of a title until my piece is done, and it's always more difficult this way. The sooner in the process I know what to call it, the more I feel like my work will be successful. I guess it's superstitious, but I think most artistic people are. Besides, it provides a focus, it really let's me know in a concrete way, what the painting is all about.

I flip through some pictures, culled from magazines, catalogues and other sources looking through a variety of fantasy creatures. There are pixies and other fairies in this section, but nothing really strikes me as right for this picture. I think back to my original idea of painting a butterfly, and I realize that those are the kind of wings I want to pain. I have nothing in my file box, but I have a few books that showcase many beautiful butterfly species so I look through those and find just the right one. Irreverently, I rip out the entire page so that I can tape it up by my work station.

Now what to do about this mischievous pixie? She needs a body and a face. This is the easy part, because I know that I really am the naughty little fairy in this painting. Not surprisingly, I do a lot of self-portraits of this sort. It seems I'm always putting a lot more than a little bit of myself into my work. So of course I have a few mirrors in my studio. I drag my easel over to the full length mirror. Now standing in front of the mirror, the light from the window comes in over my left shoulder and from behind. This is perfect.

Now, I tape the large butterfly picture on the wall next to the mirror, and set the smaller cat picture right on my canvas. It's time for pencils. I've got to draw my vision.

Interstingly, this is the time when I start thinking of reason's to procrastinate. I should get a drink, or fix something to eat. I think I have to go to the bathroom, but realize that I really don't. I run my tongue over my teeth though, and realize that they could use a good brushing. And I should change this shirt, it's really to nice to be working in.

I know that all of this is just a way to avoid potentially spoiling the beautiful golden background I've created by putting down my pencil and what? Finding that it won't yield under my hand, won't turn the way that I want it to or dray the lines that I see in my mind. Sometimes this happens, The pencil draws, but it bears no resemblance to the thing I wanted to create. When I was a kid, I used to think that artists were people who could just put down there brush and beautiful masterpieces would flow right out, without fail. Perfect every time. Well, there may be some body out there who can do that, but I've never met them. Most of the artists I know throw away at least twice as many canvases as they keep.

Of course, I never really throw away a canvas. That would be silly. I just paint over it with white paint, or some other color and begin again. Canvas is to expensive for a starving artist to just throw out. Again, there may be some wealthy painters who just throw them out the window, but I've never met any.

I went to work sketching out my vision, integrating the features of each picture and making it my own. In a couple of hours I was finally finished with stage one and I really did need to eat, use the bathroom and get something to drink. My throat was dry from all of my thoughtful and slow breathing, usually from my mouth despite the hazards that this presents.

Its ok, I've gotten enough done now that I can cut myself some slack, stretch out a little rest my eyes and fill my tummy. Besides, this book really isn't about my painting career either, although that too is a big part of who I am.

If my relationship with my mother explains why I'm nearly insane, my painting explains why I'm not. Sure, as an artist I'm a little loopy as a rule. Sure I hop around to my oldies records like a six year old on a sugar high, sure it's my craziness that fuels my need to paint- but it's the actual act of painting that keeps me sane. It's a paradox for sure. But painting is my meditation. I don't know where I'd be without it.

At this point, you're probably wondering,- Nicole, what is your book about anyway? You've already told us it wasn't about your relationship with your mother, and it isn't about your painting career. Does it have a point, and are you ever going to get to it?

The answer, my friend is likely as not, no. If there is a point, I may never get around to telling you just what it is because I'm kind of like that. I'm not really good at getting to the point, as you may have already noticed. And by the time I get done explaining to you how unlikely it is that I will plainly state the point of my story I will probably have forgotten exactly what that point is. But don't worry, I do have one and it will reveal itself on the pages ahead.

I suppose I could summarize and say that it's about me and my life as a single woman, but that wouldn't be quite right. Or I could say it's about my constant battle with my own insecure, even though deep down I know that I'm pretty I'm talented and I'm a decent person, but that wouldn't be quite right either. I could tell you that if you are accepting this to be some kind of Bridget Jones rip off, you should probably go read something else. That wouldn't quite explain what this book is about, but it would give you some idea what it isn't about.

It's not about looking for love. It's not about finding a husband. And it's certainly not about oh-woe-is-me I'm nearly thirty and still single. Or about clicking biological clocks. Although it is about the fact that my single friends and my mother don't quite understand why I'm so happy being single- even though I'm not completely satisfied with everything in my life.

Yeah, a lot of my single friends seem to think that 'finding the one' will solve all of there problems, despite the fact that we know plenty of married people and none of them seem to have it all figured out. If anything, they have twice the number of problems as the rest of us. Maybe my mother didn't tell me the story of Cinderella enough times as a child. I just never picked up that starry eyed romanticism of happily ever after and then fade to black.

It actually sounds kind of boring to me. Oh I like romance. Flowers and music and being made to feel special. I just don't have this overall view that romance is the beginning and the end of happiness or even love. Or for that matter sex.

That's right. I said sex. Just as my mother suspects, I'm giving it away for free. Not like I'm just this slut who puts out to anybody who turns my way- and not to be immodest, but there are quite a few of those. But I'm what I like to label sexually liberated. I'm not above a booty call, or any other kind of mutually enjoyable activity among consenting adults. Hey, why spend the night alone if you know somebody who wants it as bad as you do? I suppose that there are plenty of people who would say this does make me a slut, and to them I would say- absolutely nothing. I don't give a damn what they think, and don't give it a second thought.

Except of course when that self doubt kicks in and you wonder if the guy your having dinner with would freak if he know how many guys you've been with. Not that I'd ever tell. I never tell. Any guy who asks will get a very polite, it's none of your business, I don't discuss that. If he asks again, it's over. Ya gotta have boundaries.

And besides, if a guy can't take a hint, that's no guy I want to be with. Even as a friend with benefits, any man I'm with needs to be able to appreciate the subtleties of a woman. He has to know when to stop and when to go, when to slow down and when to back up and try again later. He's gotta know all this without me having to know it, because I'll admit it, sometimes I don't know my own mind.

I don't suppose it's politically correct to admit such a thing, and my friends in the local NOW chapter probably wouldn't appreciate me saying so but I have this bad habit. Sometimes I can be honest to a fault. Of course, I'm not above being dishonest to a fault either, as you've already seen. I'm a bundle of contradictions. If a guy can't handle subtlety, she sure as hell can't handle me.

Did you catch that last bit? Yeah, I have friends in NOW. I'm a member myself, although I don't go to meetings and gatherings as often as I should. I pay my dues and I get involved when I have time, or when the issue is particularly important to me. Some of my friends get pissed off when the issues that they think are important are not the one's that I think are worth hallin' my tail around for, but they usually get over it. I wouldn't be friends with them if they didn't.

My friends are all pretty cool people. They have to be to put up with me. They gotta put up with a lot. I can be moody, I can be temperamental, I can lock myself away for days on end and then call them up one day like no time has ever passed. But they get a lot in return to. I'd walk to the end of the earth for a friend in need, and it's probably a cliché to say so but I'm a painter not an English major so I'm not afraid to say it because it's true. My friends know that they can count on me and that's the bottom line.

In fact, this same night that I wiggled away from maternal confrontation and started on my rebellious little painting was also the night Glen and Zoë and I had plans for some serious bar hopping.

Remembering this, I decided to give Zoë a call while I made myself a sandwich.

"Simone is coming with us," she informed me as I spread a thick layer of full fat mayonnaise over thick crusty slices of wheat bread. I groan, but only to myself and only silently.

Simone Webster is tall slender with a beauty to rival Whitney Houston in her heyday. She has smooth brown skin, sexy long black hair, and full sensual lips. Her eyes are wide and sincere, and it's not an act. She really is one of the nicest people I know. There's really nothing to dislike about Simone.

Except that when you stand next to Simone you feel like a slob. Regardless of how well you've dressed, she's dressed better. And she's probably spent about half as much to do it. She has amazing style and her body is a perfect fashion plate. Everywhere you go, people are guaranteed to look at her, and look past you. When you stand next to Simone Webster, you are invisible.

Simone is Zoë's friend from way back and my friend too, but mostly through Zoë. It's not that I don't like her, as I said I do. Especially on those days when I'm not to susceptible to negative thoughts and insecurities. But on a day like this, after having the cow-and-milk discussion with my mother I just wasn't sure if it was one of those days.

"Great," I said out loud. "What are the driving arrangements?"

"We're taking my car. Simone is going to drive to my place then we are going to pick up you and Glen and you get to drive everybody home. Your still our designated right?"

I layer ham, roast beef and cheese onto my sandwich and nod. Then I remember she can't hear my head shaking over the phone so I nod and say, "If I don't sell a painting soon, I may take the next two times too."

"Hey we'll take you up on that!" she joked. I was one of the few of the gang that really enjoyed being the designated driver. For one thing, it's a great excuse to try all of the interesting non-alcoholic cocktails that the bars have to offer. And for another, the designated driver doesn't have to pay for drinks. Each round, one of the other members of the group buys a drink for the unlucky slob who gets to stay sober all night. And for a girl of limited funds such as myself, it allows me to go out and enjoy myself far more than I would be able to otherwise.

"I don't think things are that desperate yet." I replied with a hopeful chuckle. Hey, I like the virgin mixes, but I like my liquor too. I'm twenty-nine, not fifty-nine. Might as well live it up while I've got the chance. I like to drink tequila and get a little wild, let loose and howl at the moon. But tequila doesn't like me, another reason why I don't mind abstaining for the night. My stomach will thank me in the morning.


Imperfect Ch. 01



Zoë and I chat while I continue to pile every vegetable known to man on my sandwich- lettuce, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers and green peppers. It's not good to go to the bar on an empty stomach, even if you're not going to get sloshed. Woman can not live by overly salted popcorn alone, or something like that.

Zoë fills me in on the gossip as I chew and occasionally mumble "mm-hm." A good thing about that girl is that she can talk! She has no trouble filling in the spaces I might have left in the conversation by trying to eat while on the phone. And it's a good thing, because my sandwich was by far to good too put down. 

Turns out that Glen is single again and 'on the prowl' as she put it. Great, just what we need to liven things up; our town's most flamboyant gay man over 30 hitting on anybody with three legs. Glen- he's a good looking guy. Clean cut, tall and blond with a baby soft face that looks like he's never shaved a day in his life. Physically he kind of reminds me of that guy from What Not to Wear, Personality wise though, he's sort of a ringer for that weird uncle from the old TV show Bewitched; smirky, quirky and flamboyantly eccentric.

We love him though, naturally. It's true that he's pretty stereotypical of what a lot of people think a gay man is, but we know him well enough to know that he's a true one of a kind, in all the best ways. You'll learn more about that as the story progresses.

We had our transportation plans worked out and all the vital facts were on the table. I myself had nothing to add, so I told Zoë I'd see her soon and we hung up the phone.

I had time, I made another sandwich and puttered around my small kitchen looking through my nearly empty cupboards. Thank god it was designated-drink-for-free tonight.

***********

The good thing about being single is that when you go out, you can find another person to be single with together. Zoë, Glen and I were definitely all looking for a hook-up that night, although Simone was her usual friendly but slightly aloof self. She was single, but gawd was she picky. I suppose she could afford to be, considering she can usually have her pick from any man in the room. The problem is, she never picks any of them. Her standards are so high, she usually ends up alone. And she never seems to mind either. On the other hand, unlike the rest of us, Simone is looking for more than a good time. She's one of those people who doesn't feel that a relationship is worth her time unless it's 'going somewhere,' presumably, down the aisle.

For myself, I prefer relationships that are defiantly not heading in that direction. I like a relationship that's going toward the bedroom. I'm not afraid to admit it- I like sex! I like it a lot. And I'm not the least bit interested in settling down. Some of my single friends don't understand this, they say 'Don't you want to find somebody special to grow old with, to be there everyday, to be a life partner?" Most of my married friends think I've got the right idea. When I look at them, I usually think that marriage has made them grow old much too soon. Even the ones with happy marriages are just not in a place where I want to be. For most of my friends, it's true what they say- the grass is greener on the other side. But in my case, the grass is greener right where I am.

A lot of people look at dating as a chore, a kind of job interview for a future mate. No wonder they don't like it! For me, dating is about having a good time and getting to know someone, getting to see if you like the same things or if the only thing you have in common is a mutual desire to bump uglies. I don't know why they call it that- I think that the human body is a beautiful thing, especially all those interesting parts that we keep covered up most of the time. But if I said 'bumping beauties' I just don't think any one would know what I was talking about.

Anyway, I enjoy dating because for me, it's not about anything but the moment. Sure, I'm deciding if I want to spend any more time with this person. But I'm not planning out our future. I'm not looking for faults that would eliminate them from being 'the one.' The only fault that turns me away is someone who I don't enjoy or somebody who's a lot more serious than I am. That's not a problem with most guys, but believe me- it does happen.

Usually, I date a guy, we have fun for a while and then we either move on to someone else or melt into a sort of friendship. Very rarely do I get involved in a long term exclusive relationship, although it's been known to happen. But I just don't feel comfortable being half of a couple. I much prefer to just be myself and enjoy all that life has to offer. Like I said, a lot of guys that I date become my friends- sometimes with benefits and sometimes not. Eventually, even most guys want to settle down, and I don't mind at all, fixing two of my friends up with each other. Of course, once a guy is dating another friend of mine, any and all benefits stop. Like I said, I like sex, but I'm not desperate and I'm not a bad friend. There's plenty more fish in the sea, as they say.

I guess some people wouldn't want to date a friends ex, or someone they know she's slept with but my friends understand how I am and they know that the guys they are dating have a history. With me, they know that they are getting a recommendation. I never fix up two friends who aren't looking for the same thing or who aren't going to match up- in bed or otherwise.

Of course, it probably doesn't hurt that I sleep with a lot of my girlfriends too. I guess some people would call me bisexual, but I don't necessarily label myself that way. I'm just open to new experiences, and I enjoy a whole range of pleasures of the flesh. Most of my friends are either bisexual, sexual open like me, or just extremely open-minded. Those are just the kind of people I hang out with. Some of the guys that come and go in my life, but don't stick around aren't so open minded, but then that's why they don't last in my pantheon of friends. You'd be surprised in this day and age how many guys have the most medieval of attitudes about women or sex or both. They don't think that men and woman can be friends or they still think that the man has to be dominant or that women shouldn't work after they marry. Oh and they are very vocal about there beliefs. They are not hard to spot.

Guys like that can be fun for a while, but they just don't mesh with the rest of my friends who tend to be pretty alternative. I've been told that I'm not really open minded- that I'm a hypocrite, because I'm not accepting of people with different values than me. I just roll my eyes at people who say that. I have no problem with people with different values, but I don't have the patience for those with different values who have no tolerance for mine or others who are different. I don't agree that we should be tolerant of intolerance. That's completely contradictory, and I think that would be the true hypocrisy. I have to stand by my own values and standards, not somebody else's.

Here I am going on and on about who I sleep with and what I believe instead of getting to the point, which is the club and who we all hooked up with. Because, as I said, we were all looking to hook up, accept for Simone of course.

The first thing that happened after we found our tables was that our waiter stared at Simone the whole time he was taking our orders and of course, mixed them all up. Simone paid no attention to him whatsoever, but for some reason that just sort of encouraged him. While he was off messing up our order, I couldn't help but point out the obvious to her.

"Did you notice him, he was all over you!"

"Who- oh him! He's way to young for me."

"Well it wouldn't hurt just to look at him would it?" I ask, thinking about what an idiot this guy was going to be, trying to get her attention.

"I saw him," she said dismissively. I turned to Zoë and rolled my eyes.

"So did I," Glen chirped up. "What a fine piece of grade A sirloin."

Zoë laughed.

"You know, for a gay man, Glen, you can be a real pig," I admonished.

"Even if he's bi, I doubt you can get his attention away from Miss America over here," Zoë said, nodding in Simone's direction. In typical Simone fashion, she ignored the comment.

"Well, I can try," said Glen lecherously.

This should be fun, I thought. Our waiter trying to get Simone's attention, Simone ignoring him and gossiping with Zoë, and Glen hitting on our waiter, who's just as oblivious to him, as Simone was to him.

It was almost a relief when the young buck brought me a tequila sunrise instead of the two shots I had ordered. When the circus began, I just slipped away, shooting a sympathetic look toward Zoë and found my way up to the bar. I could straighten out this drink situation on my own.

The bar tender was turned, with his head down mixing something for another patron when I got up to the bar. I hopped up on a stool and waited, picking up a napkin to fold and unfold. I told you I couldn't sit still.

When the bartender turned around, he saw me and motioned that he'd be with me in a minute. It was almost surreal as everything slowed down and the sound disappeared. This guy was amazing. Probably about mid-twenties with a winning smile and a handsome face. He looked so cute in his bar apron , I couldn't help but wonder if he was single. He was so fine, it seemed against the odds, but it happens all the time.

It seemed like forever before he returned to talk to me. "How can I help you?" he offered, and all sorts of lewd answers jumped to mind. After what seemed like a beat to long of silence I said, "The waiter mixed up my drink," I say trying not to sound to harsh or accusing. "I ordered two shots of Cuervo."

"A tequila girl, huh?" he asked teasingly. "You sure you can handle it?"

"Boy, I could drink you under the table any day!" I challenge him.

His eyes seem to sparkle. "What's that your going to do to me under the table?" Oh yeah, we're hitting it off.

"I guess you'll have to come over to my place after work and I'll show you ," I offer as temptingly as I know how.

His elbow on the counter, he rests his hand on his fist and leans toward me. Looking me in the eyes, he says warmly, "I'd like that." Amazingly, there's no hint of lechery in his tone. A guy with manners is a real turn on for me.

"If you can handle it," I add.

He laughs good naturedly and extends his hand. "Name's Chase," he says by way of introduction.

"Nicole." His hand is larger than mine, smooth and warm, well manicured without being too effeminate.

"Here," he says remembering my drinks. "Let me take this."

I put my hand out to stop him. The accidental touch brings an even greater thrill than the handshake. "That's ok, I'll drink this after I finish my shots."

I had forgotten that I was supposed to be the designated driver until I realized that I had to pay for my own drink. "Shit!" I exclaimed as Chase sat my drinks down in front of me.

"What?" he asked somewhat startled.

"I just realized that I'm supposed to be the designated driver for the night."

"So all that talk about drinking me under the table..."

"It'll have to wait for another night."

He stopped to think. "You know, if your group is staying until we close, I could drive for you. And as long as you order your drinks before last call, you can stay and drink while I close up."

"Why Chase, are you trying to get me drunk?" I ask teasingly.

He nodded, "Guilty, I admit it."

"Well, we're supposed to go a few other places tonight. I'll have to ask my friends if they want to stay here instead. If not, it will be virgin pin-accolades-coladas for me all night."

He agreed, and I went to see what the gang thought. Mr. Waiter had moved on to another table at last.

"There's a pretty good crowd in here tonight," Glen commented. I'd like to check out the pickin's. I wouldn't mind staying if the rest of you don't."

"There's pool tables in the back and a dance floor," Zoë commented. "That should keep me busy. I'm ok with it. But I think I want to talk to him before I let him drive my car."

"That's a good idea," I conceded. "Come up to the bar with me. You won't believe how gorgeous this guy is."

I looked to Simone. "What?" she asked.

"Do you want to stay here the whole night? If that waiter's bugging you, we can go. I'll just meet up with Chase at the end of the night."

"Oh no, I can handle him. You do your thing," she said with an encouraging smile. I began to think that she was enjoying the attention even though she would never admit it. She was cool about it, but she had to know the tremendous power she held over men. 

"It's settled then," I said, "almost. Come with me Zoë." I took her hand and pulled her through the crowd. I realized that I had left my drinks sitting on the bar, I hoped that Chase was keeping an eye on them. Sure enough, they were right were I left them untouched even though Chase was filling drink orders at the other end of the bar. I waved and he nodded.

He didn't stay and chat with his other customer, but headed right over to us as quickly as possible.

"So what's the word?"

"Everyone's ok with it," I told him. "But it's Zoë's car and she wanted to talk to you first before she decided to let you drive her car."

"Well, I can hardly blame her for that," Chase said with a chuckle. The more I talked to him, the more I liked him. He was warm and friendly with a wonderful relaxed attitude about everything, as far as I could tell so far. "Is this Zoë?" he asked turning to look at her.

Zoë was grinning ear to ear. I could tell that she was agreeing with me about Chase. I could tell his driving record wasn't going to be a factor.

"You don't slam a few back after you clock out do you?" she asked him without a hint of seriousness.

"No," he told her. "But I can bring a case of something along, if you'd like to have a little after party." his offer was gracious, and seemed to be sincerely offered to both or all of us not just Zoë. He gave no impression that he was hitting on my friend, even though she's very cute and obviously taken with him.

"I'd like that," Zoë said, practically drooling on the counter. "But how are you going to get home?" I was surprised that she was worried about that, the way she was looking at him.

"I'll just take a cab after everybody is at there destination. Then I'll take the cab back here tomorrow for work, or sooner if I need my car for anything."

"Attention to details," I interject. "I like that." Chase flashes me a warm smile. Of course I'll have to leave your car," he nodded toward Zoë, "at Nicole's." he turned back to me.

If there was a test, he passed it. What the hell, why not leave the door open. "That's ok, we're room-mate's." I worry that I'm getting too good at this lying thing. Zoë looked at me questioningly.

"We're all set then." Chase said. "I've got to take care of some of my other customers, but I hope you'll come back and talk to me later," he said putting his hand gently over mine.

"You can count on it," I promise him, wishing that he could leave work now, imagining the feeling of his lips on mine, wondering if I would make the first move or let him. Considering the possibilities ahead. I smiled back, before he went back to an impatient college kid sitting a few stools down from us.

I took my drinks with me this time as we headed back to the table.

"Why did you tell him we were room-mates. Did that mean what I think it does?" she asked me, barely concealing her eagerness.

"Maybe," I say. "We'll see how things go."

Zoë and I had a thing going for a while. She's incredibly hot and I don't mind sharing her, or sharing with her under the right circumstances. Or in other words as long as nobody is going to end up getting hurt. I didn't see that happening in this situation, but I wanted to take a wait and see approach until I had a better idea of what I wanted to do, and what Chase might be willing to do.

Like I said, Zoë is hot. She is slender and short- about my height, with short blond hair that's layered up the back with longer, slightly spiky bangs in front. Her blue eyes aren't pale at all, but dark and intense and incredibly sexy. Not only that, but she has a great body. She had beautiful C-cup breasts that she's not afraid to show off with low cut blouses, and a nice round backside of just the right size.

Her looks are a direct contrast to mine. Although we are both petite, and let's face it, stacked we are definitely not a matched set. My hair is long and striking black in contrast to my snowy complexion. My eyes are a hazel green that change when the light moves across them. People often have a hard time describing them because there seems to be so many colors within them. I'm not too modest to say, I think they are my best feature. I'm quite proud of them.

We made it back to the table and let everyone know we were staying here for the night. "Me and Zoë are going to go shoot some pool anyone want to come with?"

"I'm gonna check out the dance floor," Glen said, rising.

"I'll come over later," Simone said. "I'm waiting for another drink."

All of our coats were hanging on our chairs, so we didn't have to worry about loosing our table. Our cash, was smartly in our pockets. "We'll see you in a bit then," we told her heading off to the pool tables.

"I think she likes the attention," Zoë said about Simone and the waiter.

I laugh, "You read my mind!"

There was a line at the pool table, so we put our corners down and sat in the chairs set up near the tables to watch.

Two college guys wearing baseball caps with rounded off bills were sparing off. It was obvious that they were friends and that there was some type of bet attached to this game. As we watched, we were able to figure out that the looser had to buy all the drinks for the winner. Not exactly high stakes, but then again depending on how much the winner could pour back, you never know.

The guys quickly noticed us watching and went to work showing off. The guy in the green shirt started holding the cue behind his back ever chance he got, and the guy in the red shirt started trying to verbally one-up his friend whenever he had the chance. It was very amusing for the two of us.

We quickly decided we both liked the guy green better than the other one who was loud and obnoxious, and decided we'd do what we could to help him win. Whenever the blue shirt guy went to take his turn we started holding hands or touching each other's hair. We were casual about it at first, making it look almost accidental, light and friendly. But as we got more and more into the reaction of both of the guys at the table and the rest of the guys waiting to play, we slowly began turning up the heat.

It was hilarious to watch. Red shirt was having so much trouble, a few times his cue stick slipped and didn't even hit the cue-ball. Even Blue was a little nervous and had to stop using show-offy tactics until he was able to find his bearings. It was obvious to the guys in line what we were doing, and they new just when to watch the game and when to watch us.

Zoë and I where having a lot of fun, tormenting the boys but we also enjoy being flirtatious with each other just for the sake of it. We don't often do it when we're in the group because it's not all that our friendship is about, but when we are around a bunch of guys like this we just can't help ourselves. When it comes to our bi-curiosity, we are total exhibitionists. Having the guys watch us was as thrilling as what we were doing to each other. It was like a cycle; a very sensuous and exciting cycle.

As they neared the end and Blue shirt was far in the lead, we decided that on what would likely be Red's last move, we'd do something really big. So as Red chalked up his cue, the two of us looked soulfully into each others eyes and kissed each other over so lightly, stroking the other's hair as we did so. We noticed it had been quite a while since Red had had anything smart alecky to say to Blue. Now we could sense him standing speechless, watching the two of us with interest. As we broke apart, we could hear all of the men around us who had been collectively holding their breaths, exhale. Red made his shot without much care or attention and Blue went on to win.




Imperfect Ch. 01



The game was over, we had been the biggest influence on it's outcome. We reveled in our own power, but we also felt kind of bad for Red shirt. I took Zoë's hand and walked over next to him.

"We're sorry for distracting you," I said sweetly. "We just felt bad for your friend because you were trash-talking him."

"That's ok, I really didn't mind that much," he said with a slight smirk.

"Well, we want to make it up to you anyway," I said.

He stood there grinning, ready for whatever it was we were going to do.

"Well, I guess this is for all of you. And it's not to distract anyone, or to help anyone win or loose, but just because. Here goes."

We turned to look at each other. She ran her hand over a strand of my hair that fell over my breast. I could feel the excitement building within me as her hand touched my nipple. All these people watching us, waiting. I touched her cheek and felt her shiver. She wanted it as bad as I did. It had been a long time since we had been together in this way. I found myself holding my breath as I moved toward her lips. When we touched, it was like fire. We both exploded, sharing a kiss full of thunderstorms, crashing waves, and fireworks. All the old cliques, and some of the new ones. This was a kiss to end all kiss, with a full on body grope to go with it.

I ran my hands down her back, over the curve of her ass and pulled her in toward me. Through our skimpy club clothes I could feel the outline of her body pressing against mine. My sex was hot and damp and I wondered if she could tell that I had no underwear on this night. I humped my mound up and down over hers, creating a friction building a desire. Her hands were on my ass, frantically sharing in the motion, in the hunger of the moment. What had been intended for the pleasure of others was now engulfing the two of us with desire for one another. I had forgotten how her touch made me feel. I longed to shuck of my clothes so she could slide her finger up inside of me. I wanted to pull her head back and trail kisses down from her neck to her breasts and suckle on her nipple. This kiss, this kiss set loose the raging sex monster inside of me. I had to have her tonight, and I didn't want to wait till closing time.

Like all good things, the kiss came to an end. I felt flushed, and my hair was seriously tousled. Zoë's tight blue jeans were none the worse for wear, but her low cut top had slid all over the place and a pale pink nipple was dangerously close to peaking out of her exposed white lace bra. My own lycra dress was riding so far up, that I thought that most of the guys within spitting distance could probably tell that I didn't have anything on underneath.

As we broke apart and looked at each other, each of us with questions in our eyes that we couldn't ask right here, the men around the pool table broke out into a riotous, appreciative applause. We stood holding each others hand until the clapping finally stopped.

Then Zoë said, in her cute, quiet little voice, "We like boys too." And the applause started up all over again. I could feel the warmth rising in my face as I grinned ear to ear myself. I felt on top of the world. I couldn't wait to get Zoë alone so I could talk to her.

"Ah hell," said a guy in a cowboy hat when the second wave of applause died down. "Y'all can play the next round, if no one else objects." He looked around while the other men shook there heads approvingly..

"No objection here," said an older man with a beard.

Our talk would have to wait. We were up.

______________

Author's Note: Please vote and leave feedback. I'd love to hear your input. Thanks:)



Imperfect Ch. 02



Zoë

is one of my best girlfriends. I first met her when I was twenty, at a house party. Back then, her hair was pink and spiky, and I remember she was wearing these large dangly geometric earrings. The thing is, the 80's had been long over- but I really dug her retro look.

She wasn't the first girl I experimented with, but she was the first girl that I really had anything special going with. That night, I had no idea that she was even into girls. Especially since she was hanging on the arm of this lanky dark haired guy with an eyebrow piercing.

The two of them were going at it pretty hot and heavy, like some kind of high school make-out session. As it happened, I found out later that she had just graduated, and he had just dropped out of alternative ed. He was joining this local alt/punk band which she thought was totally cool. I could see that they weren't going anywhere- the band or the couple, but I kept my mouth shut. There was really no reason to do otherwise.

We didn't hook up that night, but we talked during the time that alternate-boy was hanging with his band-mates. I was in college, studying art and I told her that I would love to paint her sometime. She was kind of shy about that, she didn't feel that she was especially pretty and she felt sort of awkward. I let her know that I thought she had the perfect face for portraits, and that she wouldn't have to do anything other than sit still and keep me company while I painted her.

"You mean I don't have to sit perfectly still the whole time?" she asked me.

"Of course not, just when I'm sketching out a certain feature, and that's the shortest part of the process."

She agreed that it wouldn't be much different than what we were already doing and that she would do it, if I really needed her to help me out. I told her that I really did. What I meant was that I really wanted to, but she didn't seem ready to believe it. 

In the weeks that followed, we came to know each other pretty well as I rendered her likeness onto the best quality canvas I could afford. She was frustrated by the fact that I wouldn't let her see it until it was finished, but she seemed to enjoy our sessions as much as I did.

We found out that we had a lot in common; similar values and politics, interest in the arts- Zoë was into photography and fashion design, similar taste in music (band-boy notwithstanding). One thing that we never discussed was my growing attraction for her. She never hinted at any tendencies toward bi-sexuality and I didn't want to take a chance of damaging our friendship or scaring her off, so I didn't say anything. But I felt the heat in the room whenever she was around. I knew the excitement whenever I thought about her, or the anticipation of seeing her again. Part of me didn't want to finish the painting; part of me had this irrational fear that when the painting was finished, I'd never see her again.

But I did finish the painting. I remember the day quite clearly. She came in that day with her pink hair spiked up and those same geometric earrings she wore the first time I had seen her. She was wearing head to toe green and it made me think of a nature spirit, the way her tiny body floated around the room and her musical little laugh echoed around in my head long after the sound had dissipated from the room.

At first she sat quietly while I added the finishing touches. She knew that I was almost done and there was something almost magical about it that we both understood. It was almost as if we were holding our breaths in anticipation, knowing that the finished product was so close so fragile that we didn't want to do anything to slow it down or break it at the last minute.

"OK," I finally said. "You wanna come see?"

Her eyes lit up. "It's ready?" she asked tentatively.

I nodded and she ran to my side. When she looked at the picture, I heard her inhale suddenly and then she was silent for a moment or two.

"You made me look so- beautiful," she said in awe.

"You are beautiful," I answered. She looked at me with her eyes shining. Something passed between us, I felt I know what it was but I was afraid to name it. A moment that seemed it could have gone anywhere if one of us had had the courage to seize it. But neither of us did, and the moment passed.

"Your very talented," she told me. I wondered if the moment had happened at all.

"I think this is my best work," I told her.

"Can I see some of your other stuff?" she asked, looking eager.

"Sure, let's do that while this one dries. It always looks a little different after the paint dries."

I took her over to my cupboard and we started looking through my canvases. I didn't have many yet, most of the pictures I had painted in high school where in boxes painted on heavy paper. Most of the canvases, even, were from school assignments. We flipped through my meager collection. Zoë seemed impressed with every one.

"Wow!" she told me, "I don't think I could ever be that talented."

"What are you talking about?" I asked her. "You're a photographer! And you design clothes."

"Yeah, but that's different. Photography's not really a talent like painting. I just take a picture of what's there. You create."

"We all have different talents Zoë. You use your eyes to see and capture beauty just like I do. You shouldn't undervalue yourself."

"Don't hide your light under a bushel huh?" she laughed.

"Exactly."

Our friendship was cemented that day. Rather than being the last, it was the first that really mattered. It was the day we went from being people who knew each other to being real true friends. Zoë liked my fairy pictures the best, and I sometimes wonder if that isn't the reason that I've painted so many since then.

Zoë became my model, and secretly my muse. She would sit for me whenever I needed to do a painting for class, or even if I just wanted to practice sketching features. One day when I was preparing to do an assignment she said something that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"Do you ever do- you know, nudes?" she asked quite shyly.

"Sure, in class I've done a few," I told her trying to be nonchalant.

"Would you want to- I mean, well. I think it would be a cool thing to have, you know a once in a lifetime- Or do you think that would be too weird? You know, since we know each other so well?"

"No, not at all. I mean, if you were ok with it. I know some tricks to help you if your uncomfortable."

"Tricks?"

"Sure- like wearing a sheet, keeping the room warm, stuff like that."

"Oh," did she blush? "That's thoughtful."

"All in the name of keeping the model happy," I told her with a smile. "And if you decide you're uncomfortable at any point, and don't want to continue- I just stop. I'll paint over whatever work I've already done and re-use the canvas for something else. I don't want to do anything to make you uncomfortable."

"I feel totally comfortable when I'm with you," she assured me.

There it was again. Something between us. What did she mean? Was it something more than the sum total of the words spoken? I had just told her that I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, so I was afraid to ask, to pursue it further.

She mentioned the nude painting a few times again, but whenever I asked if she wanted to do it, she said she wasn't sure yet. I was patient. I tried not to let it show how eager I was to see her body naked, laid out for me to caress with my minds eye and stroke over the canvas board with my brushes. How often I had imagined it and dreamed about it, hoping that somehow she might feel the same way about me. Alone in the night I let the fantasy take me away, to heights of pleasure. But when she was in the room, standing so near me I could feel her body heat and smell her shampoo, I would say nothing of the desires that burned within my heart.

Finally the day came. "I'm ready," she told me resolutely. I didn't have to ask what she meant. It had been on my mind for so long, and I could see that she had steeled up her courage to take the plunge.

I led her to the room, turned up the heat to a comfortable temperature for the clothing-impaired and left to let her take off her clothes and cover with the sheet. "It's just like the doctor's office," she said, giggling nervously.

She called out when she was ready for me.

"The doctor can see you now," I said with a chuckle. I could see she was tense, but relaxing. "The next thing we need to do is decide on a pose."

"I thought I would just lay on a..." she looked around, realizing that there was no couch in the room. "Hmm, what do we do now?"

"I could draw you standing, or sitting. In fact, I have a couple of pose ideas of you sitting down under the window sill. Would you like me to show you?"

"Ok."

"All right, you stand here, behind my easel where I would be. That way you can see how you'll appear from my point of view."

I went to the window and showed her several sitting positions, including one where her knees were over her breasts and her hands down by her feet. It's a good pose that looks fresh and sensual without showing too much detail. The one she choose had her legs together and bent so that the bottom half of her anatomy would be covered, but her breasts exposed. Then she leaned at a 50-60 degree angle on her hand and faced forward toward me.

Zoë seemed to have no problem shedding the cloth. It seemed to me that she had been building her self up to do this for a long time, and now she was determined to do so without showing any fear. It made me like her even more.

Now she sat in front of me, naked at last. "Breathtaking," I said, not even realizing that it was out loud. Her breasts were round and firm with large put pale areolas and pale pert nipples. I sketched her quicker than anything else I had ever drawn and when I reached for my brush, even she was surprised.

"You've finished the sketch already?"

I stopped what I was doing and looked at her carefully. I searched her face and found no fear, I decided for myself to be brave as well. "It's like I was born to paint you like this."

The words fell into the air. There was no tension in the silence, only understanding. The room was infused with a soft kind of energy. A glow of mutual respect, caring, and something else. Dare I even call it love?

I painted like that, in silence. The sun moved down the sky and the shadows in my painting moved to. They were fluid, almost surreal as if the viewer could hear them whispering. Something was different now. Zoë felt it, I felt it. She looked at me differently now. She was waiting. Waiting for me to finish; waiting for me to make my move.

When the last bush stroke was laid down, I nearly dropped my brush and pallet. I didn't run to her, but moved with a fluid motion as though pulled by some force beyond my control. I stopped just in front of her without touching her. Now we looked into each others eyes and calibrated out breaths to one another. The air was thick with anticipation, I could feel our souls being drawn toward one another.

I leaned toward her, taking her in my arms, wrapping myself around her. I didn't kiss her lips, but her cheek near her ear lobe. I kissed her neck and felt her melt into me. I nuzzled her neck, feeling filled with joy. I had painted her so many times, but I had never been able to touch her like this, to capture her in this way. She was like smoke in my arms, like a dream only I knew this was real. I had dreamed this so many times and this was different. I heard her moan softly, accepting me as I slid my hand down between her legs.

She pressed into me as I massaged her moist outer lips. Her moans were like soft mewing, a beseeching sound begging me to take her but to take her gently. I knew instinctively that this was new for her, yet she was willing because she knew me, trusted me. I took my time coving her neck with kisses, blowing softly across her ear, and stroking her gently between her legs. I waited to go further until she was sure she wanted it, until she wanted it so badly that her body was begging. Her head was tipped back, her breaths long and steady.

"Do you want me inside you?" I whispered; our cheeks pressed together.

"Yes!" she moaned back. "Yes."

I pushed two fingers up past her external folds. Her body opened to me as I slid into the velvety flesh and she cried out again. Very slowly I worded my fingers in and out of her, in time with her hard and steady breathing. In and out I slid past the sticky entrance to her cunny. Her breathing quickened and so did my thrusts. She moaned her pleasure as if in a dream, saying my name and calling yes, yes, and please.

"Oh, god Nicole- yes! Oh yes, please. Just like that, baby. Just like that." She was lost in the ecstasy of the moment. She seemed almost possessed my some medieval sprit of sexual rapture, the way she rolled in my arms and pleaded for more.

I brought her up, all the way up so that she was so close- her moans deepened, her cries edged toward screams. My fingers flew in and out of her, bringing her close to the edge, but then backing off. I slowed and now she went back to the moans from before. I could tell she was wondering why I had not let her come, but what I was now doing felt so good that she quickly forgot to complain.

My arm was wrapped around her back, and I now leaned her back on top of the sheet on the floor and slipped out from underneath her. Continuing to work my fingers over her g-spot, I used my other hand to lift her knees and spread her thighs open. When I leaned down and reached my tongue out to touch her, she gasped in shock and pleasure.

I liked her inner lips evenly, tasting the condensed sweetness of her juices. Her pussy-juices continued flowing in response to the generous tongue bath I was providing and together we slicked up both her sweet nether regions and my mouth with a mix of our fluids. Her sweet taste was encouraging to me as I continued to stimulate her g-spot while I flicked teasingly at her clit off and on.

Zoë's head was now thrashing back and forth, and the words and moans that emanated from her mouth were all gibberish. But each time my tongue danced over her protruding little nub, a high pitched squeal would escape amidst the lower earthy tones of lust. Each flick was followed by more attention to her lips and then another flick or series of flicks and then back between her lips. I used my hands to pull her inner labia apart, finally releasing hr g-spot with some protest from her. That quickly died down when I pressed my tongue up inside of her, fucking her wet pussy with my driving thrusting organ.

Now I could feel her fluids gushing down my tongue and onto my chin as I searched for the tender g-spot with my bending stretching tongue. Her hands gripped the sheet on the floor and her body began to tense again. I jabbed at her frantically, hopping to bring her off in my mouth and catch a flood of sticky girl come to gobble down. She moaned and thrashed and seemed so close, but just continued on like this rather than exploding in orgasm as I had intended. It didn't seem to bother her, although her moans grew more and more frantic and she bucked her hips into my face almost violently. She felt she was close, but for some reason she just couldn't reach climax.

I decided that I would need to slow down again, to ease her into this process and seduce her body into letting go. I held her hips still and slid my tongue out of her gushing pussy, and pushed my wet fingers back in. "It's ok," I reassured her. "I want to try some other thing."

I brought her up in my arms again and looked into her beautiful face. I couldn't believe that I was so lucky to be hear with her, holding her, fucking her on the floor of my studio. I wondered if she would accept her own juiced on my lips as I moved in to kiss her.

She sucked my tongue hungrily, reveling in her own taste. I could feel another gush of excitement down below as my come drenched tongue touched her own. She sucked my tongue into her mouth as though it were a man's cock, performing her oral delights with enthusiasm. My own pussy was drenched now and begging for attention.

I broke the kiss to tear off my clothes, wiggling out of a pair of overalls and a plain t-shirt. I had no bra on, as I sometimes feel more comfortable without one when I'm painting. My bikini cut underwear where simple and unglamorous and I tossed them aside without much thought. As soon as my clothes were out of the way, Zoë pounced back onto my mouth with a ferociousness that took me by surprise.

I slid her inexperienced hand down between my legs and she quickly figured out what to do. She stroked my wet folds as I had stroked hers, encouraging my already copious flow of lubrication. I slid my hand back into her and we continued to manually stimulate each other for some time while she licked and sucked at my tongue.

"Are you sure you've never done this before?" I asked her as she nuzzled my sensitive neck area.

"How did you know!" she gasped. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No my dear, you've done everything right."

"But I can't- what if I can't-" there was a tear and a catch in her voice. I knew I had to make it go away.

"You will," I assured her, brushing her damp bangs from her face. "I am very patient. You just relax and it will happen. I want you to enjoy yourself, that's what's most important, ok?"

"Oh, I am! I really am. Nicole, you are amazing. I've been wanting this for so long. But I was afraid."

She had been wanting me too, all this time. The thought filled me with tenderness and deepened my desire. This amazing girl had wanted me. It was not my imagination or wishful thinking. I had not pushed her into anything she wasn't ready for, I hadn't influenced her to do something she didn't want. There was relief, there was pride, and there was determination. I would make her come if it took the rest of my life. In fact, I didn't mind spending the rest of my life like this, wrapped up in each others arms, bringing untold pleasures to each other for all eternity. In fact it sounded like heaven to me.

"You don't need to be afraid anymore," I told her. "I'll take care of you."

"Can I- I mean..."

"What is it? You can ask me anything."

"That taste of myself, on your lips. It was like nothing I've ever tasted before. It was such a turn on."

"I know," I told her with a smile.

"Could I- you know?" she asked nodding down at my lap.

"Of course darling. I would love that."

"Love," she whispered with a hint of a shy smile."

"We can talk about that later."

"Of course, now lay back sweet heart."

She called me sweet heart, and she wanted to taste me, to lick my pussy like I had done to her. The girl could not stop amazing me I thought as I did as she told me, and leaned back with a smile on my face.

"Oooh!" I gasped as she licked me experimentally. I noticed she stopped to explore the taste.

"Your sweeter than me," she told me.

"You'll have to share with me later, so I can judge that for myself," I told her.

She laughed, "You naughty little vixen."

"Yes I a-A-A-AM!" I gasp as she descended on me disentrance. "Oh Goh-od! Oh yeah, Oh, Oh, Oh!" It was my turn to thrash my head back and forth as she slid her wet tongue into my intimate folds. Her method was more exploratory than mine, tracing over my lips and burrowing into the vallies and folds of the inner and outer labia. She hit my clitoris, on accident I think, for she seemed as surprised as I was. I howled and begged her to do it again.

"Oh no," she said laughing. "You teased me, now I am going to tease you." She licked again at my lips then latched on, sucking and nuzzling my tender wet folds.

"Mmmh, ahhh, ahhh, mmmh, yeah," I moaned, I couldn't believe how amazing it felt and then she used her nose to nuzzle my clit while she held my pussy lips firmly in her mouth and shook her head back and forth.




Imperfect Ch. 02



"God! Yes! Oh God, please Zoë, don't stop, please!"

Zoë kept going, stimulating my entire pussy with just her mouth and her nose. I could feel myself drawing closer and I was afraid that she would stop as I had when I had brought her near."

"God Zoë, yes,. Make me come, please. Make me come all night sweet heart. I'm so close. Please don't stop." I gasped the words out as best I could, and she held on even tighter as if to assure me that she was going to see me through.

"Zoë, god yes, god yes. Oh fuck baby, fuck I'm coming, I'm coming!" My hips bucked up into her face as she vigorously gave me her amazing oral treatment. I could feel my body coil and tense and then it washed over me. It was hard and strong and I could feel my liquids gushing up to her face. My body shook through an orgasm that seemed to last forever. Zoë switched to lapping up my flowing juices, I couldn't believe how wild she had become. She seemed starved for my the taste of me.

"Yeah, baby, that's it," she told me as she lapped up the last of my extra juices. "Mmm, you taste so sweet."

"Let me taste it girl, let me lick your lips you sexy little kitten."

"Meow!" sassed as she pulled me up and brought her lips to mine. I had tasted my own juices before, and she was right, they were very sweet today. Sweeter than they had ever been before to my knowledge. Maybe it was her, that I had wanted her so bad for so long. Maybe it was just luck, but now I hungrily sucked my flavor from her tongue like she had taught me.

I could feel my heat growing again as she groaned into my mouth. I was relentless, refusing to let her go until I had sucked it clean. She seemed to enjoy it even more than I had enjoyed her doing the same thing to me, and I wondered if I could make her come by sucking her tongue. The noises she was making while I held her tongue captive encouraged me to continue trying.

She pressed herself into me, grinding her body up and down over mine. I decided it was time for some clit to clit action. I broke the suction on her mouth and showed her how to over lap our legs so that our clit's could come into contact. I put my hands down behind me and bucked into her. She followed suit, banging her clit into my. "Oh yes!" she exclaimed. "I always wondered what two women did together!"

"Well, now you know," I told her gleefully. "Wait, I want to show you something."

She stopped her action and I pressed my pussy up to hers. "Ok, now just rub," I instructed. We rubbed out clit's over one another, together, reveling in the pleasure. Our pussies were wet again and we slid around haphazardly over one another making sloppy sloshing noises with our horny bodies. It felt fantastic, but for a moment I felt a surge of penis envy as I wished that I could really fuck her, push my self into Zoë's warm waiting pussy and shoot real seed into her womb. It was illogical, but with Zoë, nothing was logical anymore. She made me want to be everything, to experience her from every point of view, to take her, to give her pleaser to force her into submission to be her slave. I wanted to be her everything and to be everything to her.

I would have to buy a good strap-on, I told myself, although it wouldn't be the same. But for now, all I had was my own very feminine body to pleasure her with and she seemed to be very satisfied by what I had offered so far. Funny how I wanted to protect her, and yet I wanted to do every dirty imaginable thing to her too. I wondered if she felt the same way, or thought these same strange thoughts.

I grabbed her ankle and ground my pussy into hers, then humped her slightly and ground her again. Clit to clit I found every way possible to stimulate her, keeping us in close constant contact. She moaned and mewed and whimpered, but still did not come. I thought that I might not be able to hold out, but I found myself unwilling or unable to climax again until I could bring her the same pleaser.

"69," I told her.

Her eyes gleamed. "I thought you'd never ask." She crawled down beneath me, spreading her legs with her knees up. I positioned my pussy over her mouth and she hungrily attacked me once more. I carefully separated her pussy lips and brushed aside her soft matt of pubic fuzz to gain clear access with my tongue.

We feasted on each other with abandon. As I held myself up on my legs, I bent down into this beautiful goddess's golden pussy savoring the taste and the experience. I was determined now to bring her to a hard crashing climax, to make her first experience with a woman wonderful and perfect. Yet, she seemed almost determined not to come. The little vixen's legs suddenly snaked up around my waist. She locked her feet behind me and lifted her pussy in a lock on my face. Before I knew what was going on, she rolled- forcefully- I would never have guessed that the little fox had that much strength, but she forcefully rolled me onto my back. Only then did she loosen up the hold of her warm wet mound from my lips.

Now on my back, I thrust my tongue up inside of her, causing her to let out an unearthly scream. I held her ass in my hands, pulling her to my face like a melon ripe for the eating, and licked her sweet juices free from the soft pulp.

Quite suddenly, I felt her body stiffen above me, and I sensed this time was different. Her breathing pattern changed to sharp and shallow panting and she was trying to say something, but having quite difficulty.

"Ma-ma-my-" And then there was only panting and moaning in place of words. "a-a-a, my ass," I thought I heard her say. I grabbed her ass and pulled her into my face. She thrashed around moaning yes, yes, yes, and then added "put your- finger in me." I slid my finger back up to the opening of her slit but she wiggled away. "No," she said attempting to redirect my hand. I finally understood, and coated my finger with saliva before pressing it against her resistant puckered opening.

I pressed my finger in, slowly until I found myself buried knuckle deep in her tight little ass, and then slid my finger in and out of her steadily. Almost immediately she started screaming that she was coming. Her body when stiff, I felt for a minute as though I was trapped between her thighs, slowly being suffocated but for some reason, it still felt good, like a head rush. And then she was convulsing and thrashing as her orgasm hit her with the force of a hurricane. She collapsed on top of me, releasing my head from it's prison and I rolled her over easily.

For a few minutes, it was as though she were catatonic. She lay perfectly still, not blinking, barely breathing. "Zoë?" I called tentatively. "Are you ok."

"Perfect," she sighed. She didn't say perfect and then sigh, but said the word as if it were a breath. And then I saw a tiny smile form on her perfect and beautiful face. I laid down next to her on my back, and we held hands and looked up at the ceiling together for a long time before either of us moved.

Nine years had passed between the night we first made love, and that night at the bar. A lot had happened and a lot of questions that I thought had been answered, apparently were not. Now, the energy in the room was filled with tension, excitement, and suspense. But there was no way for the two of us to cut through time and space and say the things that needed to be said. The game had to be played. The rest would have to wait.

I chalked my stick while Zoë racked up the balls. The game was about to begin.

The game ended up being a long drawn out affair. It was agonizing. Zoë, that little vixen, had realized that something was going on with me and decided to tease the hell out of me. She was constantly leaning over the table as far forward as she possibly could, giving me a full look down her blouse. I gave it back the best I could, bending way over so that my skirt rode up, giving Zoë and the guys a good eyeful.

When walking past me, Zoë made a point to stand as close as possible, and to squeeze between me and the table, either coming within millimeters of me without touching me, or other times pressing against me as if by accident. The worst of it was that she absolutely refused to meet my eyes. I couldn't telegraph to her my frustration, I couldn't chastise her for toying with my affections. I couldn't do anything, really. All I could do is play through the game and be patient.

But I am not patient! Being patient sucks and I'm no good at it. I would rather live through biblical plagues than have to wait, but I wasn't offered the opportunity. I was just going to have to suffer. Naturally, my head wasn't in the game. She won.

She grabbed my hand as soon as I put down my cue-stick and dragged me out to the dance floor. "I need to talk to you!" I shouted over the music.

"Later," she insisted. "I've got to dance!"

The song, "I want you to want me," was blaring onto the dance floor, and my pretty little vixen was shimmering all over the place to the thumping rhythms. The way she moved was not a slinky, trying to be sexy manner, but a manner that showed me that she had a lot of bottled up energy that just had to get out. Her forehead was drenched with sweat in a matter of minutes, and it did nothing but add to her sex appeal.

The song came to an end, and I decided to take matters into my own hands. This time, I grabbed hold of her and dragged her off the dance floor, leaving her know choice but to follow. "I need to talk to you NOW!" I shouted over the blaring dance music.

There was no where to go, so I pulled her into the bathroom. Luckily, it was deserted.

"Something happened out there," I told her. "Between us."

"I know," she said solemnly.

"I didn't know that I still felt this strongly about you. I-"

She covered my mouth with hers. It was a crushing kiss, more enthusiastic than my own would have been. I steadied myself on the sink and gasped for breath when she broke for just one merciful minute.

"You- you feel it too?" I asked hopefully.

A nod, a smile, another crushing kiss. Our hands where busy now, tearing at each others clothes, trying to get as close as we could to a zippered bang as we edged our way into a stall. Zoë, usually the more submissive one of us, pressed me very aggressively against the wall and slid a hand up my skirt to fondle me with equal ferocity.

My hands grabbed at Zoë, squeezing at her body and tugging at her clothing. We were like two teenagers in lust. We frisked around in the small space, breathing heavily and groping at each other desperately. I still didn't have any answers, but I needed to have her. I was overwhelmed with desire.

She pushed two fingers up inside of me, and I pushed mine into her. We frigged each other standing up, smothering each other with our mouths to muffle the sounds of pleasure that were so hard to contain. We bounced back and forth from one wall in the small container to the other and back. There was no thought to the danger of getting caught, the only thing that mattered was getting each other off. I, at least, had to get some release. And she seemed eager to take me in as many ways as possible in so small a space. Sweat beaded on my forehead, condensed and rolled down my face. The temperature was rising, my climax was nearing, it wouldn't take long. 

The time when Zoë needed what seemed like years of stimulation to climax had passed, it had been a big thing that we had worked on in our sexual relationship. It was a good thing, because this encounter was definitely meant to be a quickie. And we managed to get each other off pretty quickly.

:"Oh yeah baby, make Zoë come on your fingers," she growled. "Give me that pussy juice, baby. I wanna feel it gush all over my fingers."

"Oh-OH-Ohhhh!" I felt it role over me, hard and satisfying and wild. She cried out in unison and we came together, right there in the club's bathroom stall. I could feel her liquids gush out onto my fingers, and my own did the same on hers. We withdrew our fingers and fed each other the sweet honey comb stickiness of our girl-come.

"You make me so horny, girl," I told her honestly.

"Mmm," she replied, sucking my fingers lovingly. "I've missed your hot little bod."

I laughed at our shared joke.

"Listen Nicole. I know we need to talk- but let's not ruin tonight. It can wait. And don't worry, I'm not putting any kind of strings on you or anything like that. I want you to have fun with this guy Chase tonight. I can tell he's really into you."

"You know, I was thinking- if you were into it, and he was into it- well, you know, are you into it?" Now it was my turn to be bashful which was unusual for me. The girl had a power over me, I just didn't know what to do. Suddenly I'm as helpless as a kitten when she is near.

"Are you sure- you could have him all to yourself you know."

"Yeah, but I think it would be more fun for everybody. I'm feeling really wild tonight."

"I'd never guess," she joked, looking around the small space. We both laughed lightly.

"He'll say yes, I'm sure of it," I predicted. "Who could say no to fucking you?"

But when we got out to the bar, I felt uncertain about how to approach him about it. Most guys are really psyched by an offer like that, but every now and then you meet a religious guy who's repulsed that you would ask. What if he was the second type? I was on cloud nine, and I didn't want to do anything that would knock me down.

I decided to wait until he took us home. Maybe the right words would arrive as I needed them. I spent a lot of time being openly suggestive with Zoë, freaking with her on the dance floor and being friendly with her in front of Chase to gauge his reaction. When it was time to go, he still hadn't freaked so I thought things were going ok.

I wasn't wrong, he definitely turned out to be the second kind of guy. But I don't want to get into that now, because the point of this story isn't just to give a list of my sexual exploits. There are enough of those stories around if that's what you want. And there's plenty of sex in this book too, don't you worry about that. I can pretty much guarantee that you won't be finding a copy of this on the shelf at your local Christian book store. Not that there's anything wrong with Christians or there book stores either, but I digress.



Imperfect Ch. 03



The thing that I had nearly forgotten was that what I told my mother on the phone was only half a lie. I really did have a meeting with a guy from a gallery, just not that day, but the next- Saturday. Lucky for me it wasn't until two, so even though I has slept till noon, I had (barely) enough time to pull my hung over, sex rumpled self together and get my ass to my appointment on time, and (hopefully) looking at least semi-professional.

The man's name was Guy, and he was about 65, with short silvery gray hair. He was very handsome and sophisticated, but unfortunately for me, I could tell within moments that he was gay. Maybe at a later date, I could introduce him to Glen, if he wasn't already involved with someone else.

Anyway, if Guy noticed anything was off, it didn't show. He seemed impressed by me and my work. He wanted to put three of my paintings up in an exhibit called "Flights of Fantasy" which was going to be showing for about three weeks, depending on the reception. He wasn't going to buy them, but if they sold, we would share the profit 30% for him, 70% for me. He didn't really expect them to sell, because type of showing usually generated more lookers than buyers, but the exposure would be good for me.

He told me to price them however I wanted, so I put $100 on them each, thinking that was pretty high. Just in case, I took photo's of them and put them in my portfolio with the label, "Old Town Gallery. Exhibit: Flights of Fantasy. Price $100 each." and the date. Weather they sold or not, my portfolio was important both to document my progress, and to show other galleries or clients what I could do and had done.

Guy liked most of my fantasy work, so he left it to me to choose the three to include. I selected a willowy dryad emerging from a tree in a forest near a small lake, another with a colorful confetti burst of butterflies mixed in with pixies, so that you don't notice the pixies right away, but when you do you sorta stop and go, "Oh!" And the third one was a painting I had done using Zoë as my model some time before. The fairy stood with her back to the viewer. She had heavy almost velvety wings spread wide open while her legs where crossed at the ankle. She was levitating just a few inches from the top of an end table, and her face was turned so that you could see a full view of her beauty. Her expression was quite cheeky- cute and impertinent. It was one of my favorites, but I wanted to show it off. After looking over it for a good long while, I crossed off what I had written on the price card and wrote "Not for Sale."

The first night of the exhibit opening, the local paper showed my "Not for Sale" on the front of their Arts section. I bought at least five copies, clipped one out for myself and another to mail to mom. Then I clipped the rest and put them in a folder so I could toss out the rest of the paper. I called Zoë to tell her the good news, but she wasn't home.

The second night, my dryad picture sold. I was amazed. Somebody somewhere had a "Nicole London" hanging up in there home! I felt like I officially had made it.

A couple of days later my mother called again. She had gotten the pictures.

"Congratulations," she said in a gracious manner before launching into what this would all mean for my personal life.

"So what's the guy from the gallery like?"

"He's gay mom."

"Oh," she was disappointed I could tell.

"Well, what about the guy who bought your painting?"

"I don't know anything about him, if it even is a him. They don't tell you these things."

"They don't!" she was shocked. "You mean somebody had your painting and you don't even know who?"

"It's not my painting anymore, mom. It belongs to whoever bought it."

"Hmff!" was all she said. "Maybe you'll meet someone at the gallery?" she asked hopefully.

"Maybe, mom."

"Just don't-"

"Give away the milk for free. I know mom."

"My daughter, a famous painter! You'll have no trouble finding a man now!"

I didn't know where to start with this one. "I don't- I mean, I'm not famous mom. It's just one painting."

"And two more up in a gallery for hundreds of people to look at. Oh your sure to find the man of your dreams. He'll take one look at your talent and he'll have to have you."

"It's a painting, mom, not a personal ad."

"Well, all the same. Congratulations honey , I'm so proud of you!"

And then she was gone. Funny how when I want to get off the line, she just keeps going and going but when she's done- she's just gone. I was left feeling like the only reason she was proud was because- in her mind at least- I was one step closer to the alter- and giving her those grandchildren she so was dreaming about spoiling. Oh well, at least she called. It gave me a chance to think about what a failure I was as a daughter, even while my career seemed to be taking off.

Just as I was about to let myself wallow in self pity, the phone rang. It was Glen.

"I saw the papers. It's just FAB-ulous. Do I get an autograph?"

I chuckled. "Sure Glen, whatever makes you happy."

"Darlin' what makes me happy, you can't give!" 

"Well, maybe I can. Would you like to go with me to check out the exhibit. I haven't been there yet, and I don't want to go alone."

"I thought you'd never ask!"

It took Glen about twice as long to get ready as it took me, so after I changed into the most elegant thing I owned and painted my fingernails and let them dry I called him back. No answer, I guessed that he must be on his way.

"You look WON-derful!" he exclaimed when I opened the door. "Va-va-va-Voom!"

"Thanks Glen," I said, kissing his cheek. "You look wonderful too." He wore a salmon colored dress shirt with no tie under a navy jacket with matching pants. His leather belt was coordinated with his top quality Italian shoes, shined up just for the occasion. He also wore an expensive watch. Glen was a man who paid attention to the details.

Once in the door, he took my hand and spun me. "Let me get a good look at you," he said, making me feel a little giggly and little girlish. My gown was a deep blue velvet spaghetti straps with a modest neckline but I more daring low draped back. On my feet I wore silver sling backs with a medium-high heal.

There's something about the attention of a gay man that's surprisingly reassuring. After all- he's not trying to get in your pants, so there's no ulterior motive- but he's still a man so his opinion means something different than if your girls tell you the same thing. I basked in his compliments for a moment. Who doesn't love to be told they are FAB-ou-lous?

I offered Glen a Pepsi, but he was eager to leave, "Besides, I'm bubbly enough inside right now, just looking at you!" he enthused. Did I mention exuberance? There's nothing like it when it comes along with a compliment.

We were taking Glen's car, so we went out to his black sedan and he courteously opened the door for me and even held my hand as I got in. I felt like Cinderella going to the ball.

It was about 7:30 when we got there, and it was just starting to get dusky outside. Inside, people milled around with plenty of room to navigate. It certainly wasn't a crowd, but it wasn't deserted either. As we entered, I saw the first collection, painted in flowing watercolors. There were about five pictures featuring garden fairies flitting around over various flowers and plants. They had a very soft and misty quality, similar to the Mona-Lisa. 

Another grouping showed dragons in bold colors and scantily clad women in metal armor who were riding them, taming them or standing beside them. Another artist we passed featured ancient mythological motifs, mainly women in there everyday activities being approached by gods disguised as some animal or other. I noticed that the grouping was sub-titled "Rape and Ravishment" and seemed to have caused a small amount of buzz.

As we made our way through the gallery, I saw Guy walking toward us. He was dressed in black pants with a belt, a lime green t-shirt and a draped black sweater that looked like it must have come from a runway in Milan or Paris. 

"Ah! Miss London!" he called out as he approached. Your work is an absolute smash!" He was bold an exuberant in his speech, but then he lowered about an octave to a more conspiratorial tone. "Who's your fiend?" With that he tipped his head toward Glen and lifted one eyebrow, a combination of question and interest on his face.

"Guy," I introduced him, "This is one of my dear friends, Glen. Glen this is Guy, he owns this gallery."

The two of them shook hands, and I noticed that Guy gave Glen's hand an extra little squeeze. "Won-derful to meet you," Glen told him airily. "Likewise." the gallery owner replied. For a few moments I felt invisible and then Guy turned to me. "I hope you are enjoying yourself. If there's AN-y thing you need, you just holler." Just then a well dressed man walked by with a tray of campaign and Glen took two and handed one to each of us. When the caterer departed he said, "Well, I must be off, but-" and then he looked at Glen with bedroom eyes, "I'll be seeing you around."

When he was out of earshot, I grabbed Glen around the arm and pulled him toward my exhibit. "Wow! He's got the hots for you, what do you think?"

"He's QUITE a number. But I'm not going to get my panties in a bunch just yet. He was just flirting. He's probably like that with all the boys."

"We'll see," I said hopefully, leading him around in search for my paintings. At last we reached the spot.

"Here it is," I announced. The tall rectangular dryad picture had a sign above it announcing "Sold" and I felt both pride and pang. I wouldn't be getting it back, it was going out into the world on it's own. I felt like a mother sending her son off to college, and I guess I realized how my own mother must have felt. No wonder she calls me all the time. There would be no phone calls for my painting however. After I left the gallery, I would probably never see it again.

"What's this?" Glen asked, breaking my reverie. "Getting sentimental already?"

"I think I'm experiencing separation anxiety."

"But don't you give your paintings away all the time?" he asked gently.

All the time? No not all the time. Sometimes. I can't afford to be giving paintings away left and right but I know what he meant. "Yes, but I always know where they are going to end up! That sounds silly, I know."

"No. It's not silly. But cheer up honey. You're a working artist. You're a success! You're fabulous!!!"

That made me laugh. "Thanks Glen. Let's go look at some of the rest of the exhibits." It's good to have a friend who can make you laugh when you come close to having an emotional breakdown in a public place.

We looked through the other displays. Many of them where quite impressive and humbling. I felt awed to be in the same group with artists like the one who's Ferry mural depicted fairies rowing what looked like human souls across a stream in various watercraft formed from flowers and leaves. The only hint that it wasn't a photograph was the nature of the subject.

Then there was the scandalous grouping of Flower Women who stood in a garden with flowers between their spread legs. The flowers were obviously a part of them, attached to their anatomy and planted into the ground. Was this meant as a statement that we are being held down by our anatomy? Or just an example of how nature repeats the same beautiful patterns throughout? The women were labeled by names such as Lilly, Rose, Violet, and Jonquille. It was beautiful with amazing effect, but slightly disquieting. Every exhibit or course must feature some erotic art, something controversial to get people talking, and of course to prompt at least one critic to claim that "all art is erotic." This was certainly all of the above. It was beautiful, shocking and provocative. Looking at it, I felt dwarfed, and completely untalented. My pictures were so provincial, so devoid of metaphor or hidden deeper meaning. What was I doing in this gallery among all of these great talents? I was a fraud.

"Hey!" Glen said, pushing me with his hip. "Your just as good as this Flower Woman is! And don't you be thinking any different." I smiled and we walked on as an argument began to break out about the merits (or lack there-of) of sexually shocking art.

"I don't want to see that," I heard one man comment as I departed. "And if I don't want to look at something, it ain't what I'd call art!"

"Ah, everybody's a critic," Glen said with a smile. I was glad to get away from there just in time to avoid the entire discussion. The last thing I needed was to get embroiled in some heated debate about what are was or what it wasn't. To me, art just is. I don't think it really needs to be defined. But it's a hard side to adequately defend on the spur of the moment. Most people don't quite understand what I'm talking about or they start saying stuff like, "Are you saying anything can be art?" and then they start listing weird out of the way things for me to pronounce as art or not. Like feces paintings or twisted mangled metal or a bare light bulb in an empty room or performance art. Hey, I don't get these things either. But just because I'm a painter, doesn't mean I was appointed the last word on what is or isn't really art. From my experience, most of us who actually create art are a lot less willing to define or limit art than those who don't. I really wonder about this sometimes. But it's best not to say things like this- they tend to alienate your audience.

Even though I'm hadn't been a commercial artist up till now, I still have a sense of concern for the audience. I think every artist secretly wants to be loved- for there work and for themselves. When someone doesn't like you, they tend to be harsher toward your work, and when someone doesn't like your work, it can feel like a personal rejection, even when it's not.

Amazingly, I also found some artists whose work was on display that I felt was inferior to mine. Not in a snobbish way, I don't think but in a sort of reassuring way. It feels ok to be in the middle area between the adequate and the awesome. I guess that's pretty much how I feel about myself as well. I'm not completely untalented, but I'm not the best. I'm not rich, but I'm not starving. I'm certainly not ugly, maybe even beautiful, but not perfectly so. I have faults and flaws and I do my best to hide them and to emphasize my strengths, but I know they're there. I know that my breasts look perky because of my under wire, not because they really defy gravity. I know that my belly looks best covered in a one piece than on display in a skimpy bikini. But I also know that with the right outfit, I can make it look like you'd want to see me in that skimpy bikini. I know that with just a touch of plastic surgery and some braces I could have perfectly straight teeth and a cute little nose, but I'm pretty much ok with being imperfect- most of the time. I know that I could die my hair blonde and my sex appeal would sky rocket. But I'm happy with my black tresses even though they could use a trim and even though it's not what the TV and magazines tell me is "in." I'm not perfect, but I'm good enough. And I'm thankful for what I've got.

My friends- they're flawed too. How can an imperfect person have perfect friends? They aren't the hippest, or the smartest or the richest people in the world either. But they are open minded, fun, generous and forgiving. Those are the things that really matter, in my book.

I had a chance to meet with some of the other artists while I was there, and that helped to ground me to. It always come as a slight shock to me (even though it shouldn't) that they are people too. Some are young, some are old, some are jerks and some are nice. Some are attractive and some are not. Artists are not all the beautiful people like they always seem to portray them in the media. They have about the same proportion as the rest of the population. For some reason it often comes as a shock to see the painter of really delicate lovely images and they turn out to be a bony, angled gnarled old man with a crooked nose and yellow teeth. But it happens- it happens a lot.

Kristin Slate, the painter who created Flower Women was a young college student with an neo-hippie activist sort of feeling about her. She was full of ideas about how the world should be, about patriarchy, about oppression, about women in all corners of the world sold into slavery or doomed to lives in corporate bondage. I found her fascinating. She had been involved with a lot of service work with various organizations and had lots of stories to share about the places she'd been and the changes she was trying to bring about. While I was engrossed in listening to her, Glen excused himself to go do a little bit of man-hunting. There's never a shortage of gay men at an art gallery, and I couldn't expect to keep him to myself the whole night.

Kristin knew a number of the other artists and introduced me to a few. Becket Winter had a beautiful pen and ink display with some very intricate drawings of lesser known mythologies. I was amazed at what he could do with the use of only black and white. "I do use colored inks as well, but the black and white always get the best response. Plus, in an exhibit like this, they really stand out. That's always a plus."

Massimo was a foreign sounding artist with no last name apparently necessary. But I got the feeling that his accent was fake, and Kristen agreed with me later that he was totally pretentious. His paintings used darker colors, thick outlining and obscure subjects. His style was somewhere between realistic and abstract and almost gave the impression of stained glass, if stained glass were completely opaque.

Cassidy Keen was the painter of some lovely watercolors in a series called Magick. They featured swirls and other patterns that were quite lovely to look at. Cassidy was a short heavyset woman with thinning gray hair. She wore a blue button up shirt un-tucked over a pair of jeans. She has a face that reminded me of Cinderella's fairy godmother in the Disney movie, and a sweet personality to match.

I was having a wonderful time meeting with some of the artists who were there that night. And Glen was apparently having a great time to. Occasionally he'd flit over to me with some little tid-bit of gossip or just his high hopes for the direction things were taking with Guy. It seemed they were really hitting it off.

By the time we left, Glen had Guy's phone number and I had made several valuable contacts. It had been a good day. Gen seemed to agree. We were both in high spirits as he drove me back home.



Imperfect Ch. 04



Alone at last, I decided that the most relaxing thing I could do would be to give myself a pedicure. And after all, I deserved it. So I dug out my long abandoned hot pink nail polish and my nail care kit and set to work. I sat down next to the phone, in case it should ring, and plopped my toe separators in and got to work. No sooner had I started then just as I suspected the phone rang. Since I had been prepared for this, I simply picked up the receiver and continued on with my business.

"Hello!" I chirped.

"Hey beautiful," said a male voice on the other end that I recognized as my friend Lin.

"Who is this," I teased.

"What- you don't know? I'm shocked and hurt!"

"Whatever, silly! What's up Lin?"

"I just called to see what's up. See if you're feeling lonely tonight..."

"You sweet-talker you. Actually, I'm feeling pretty good. Giving myself the pampering treatment."

"Oh really?" I noticed his voice went way up at the end of the sentence. "I could help you out in that area." . "I bet you could."

"Come on Nikki. I could give you a nice back rub. You know you love it when I massage your neck for you."

"Yeah, I love it so much, I can never tell you no."

"That's the idea," Lin said devilishly.

"I know. It's tempting. I'm really tempted."

"But...?" he prompted.

Lin is a real scoundrel. Defiantly the cad among my fiends and acquaintances. I adore having him around because he's always willing to go the extra mile to try to convince you that he's not the bad guy you think he is, but trust me, he is. He's your classic, "I'm not like other guys" guy. And in the next breath he'll tell you that women deserve to be treated badly, because we let men do it. Still, he knows all my weaknesses and he's good at exploiting them. And he knows how hard I find it to resist his charms. (Charms and snakes go hand in hand, I try to remind myself. But it does not good. Not in Lin's case.)

Lin's name is Lyndon, after the President, a fact that he's quite vain about. But we all call him Lin. I'm not sure if it's just to knock him down a peg, but if so, believe me, it hasn't hurt him a bit.

Lin is nine years older than me which makes him 38, but he still thinks he's a college frat boy. He wears sweatshirts, drinks beer and chases women. I think it's his job! Actually, he's a D.J. for a local outfit that works weddings and parties and other functions. He's also a designer for a graphics firm during the day, and he plays the guitar for fun (and seduction) and takes nature photographs which he sells to magazines. He's a very busy man, yet he always manages to look like a slacker. His dark brown hair falls into his eyes regularly, and I think he uses that as an excuse for why he can't see half the time. He would never want to admit that he's starting to need glasses. A course beard is usually growing a-la Sunny Crocket from Miami Vice on account of the fact that he usually shaves at night before a gig and lets it go the rest of the day. Beneath all of the unkempt hair, he's actually a very nice looking guy. But most of the time, you just have to take my word for it.

Actually, he has no trouble attracting female attention, even at his worse. That's because even in this horrible state of neglect, he's still better looking than 9/10ths of the population. And charming. But I repeat myself.

"If I say yes, you'll forget all about me and not come over anyway."

"No! I would never-! OK, maybe I would," he admitted chagrined.

"I'm not going to wait all night for you," I warned.

"No of course not."

"I didn't have plans, but I'll leave just to spite you," I threatened.

"Why you spiteful little bitch!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

The laugh was infectious. "You've got an hour. If your not hear by then, me and my hot pink toes are going to see a movie. Whether we can afford to or not!"

"I'll be there."

"I won't count on it," I said dryly.

"Hey! Don't be like that!" He sounded defensive and wounded. I rolled my eyes.

"YOU don't be like that and I won't have to. Now bye. You've got an hour."

"Slave driver," he complained before hanging up. I should write a book, How to Tame your Lin. There was really no way around it, he needed to be treated roughly if you were going to get any respect or compliance out of him at all. Trust me, I've tried nice. It just gets me ignored. He must be a secret masochist, because the more of a bitch I am, the more he comes back for more.

I'm not really like that, but it's a roll I play well. And I don't feel bad about it either. Sometimes being nice just doesn't work. And if you can't be compelled by nice, then it's your own damn fault if I have to resort to uber-bitch because it's the only thing that works. Hey, it's hard to be a woman sometimes. We have to use what we've got. Especially if it's something that usually works against us. I take great pleasure in the irony of those moments.

Would he show up? Who the hell knew. Who the hell ever knew with Lin. Some other pretty girl might catch his eye, and he'd be off chasing her skirt like some stray dog. But if he didn't show up, I was going to bed, despite what I told him. I was too tired and too broke to actually go see a movie. Hey, what a man doesn't know doesn't hurt him. That Lin walks all over my heart to easily as it is. I would be giving him no more extra ammunition tonight.

I resumed painting my toenails. Well, actually I had never stopped and was on the second to the last toe already. Those nails were so small, I really should have used a toothpick to do it. So in no time I was done and with nothing to do but sit there and literally watch paint dry.

I grabbed the clicker and started flipping through the channels. I've been told I channel-surf like a guy, barely stopping to see what's on before going to the next channel. Usually I stop were a guy would to, explosions or boobs. Hey I ain't to proud to admit it. Those are the things that tend to get my attention.

Only this time it was something else that I whizzed past and had to back click to see if I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing. Indeed! There was a news story about the new gallery, and they were showing my picture as what appeared to be the main illustration.

I had never felt so psyched. I had butterflies in my stomach all right. It was just the local news, but my painting has been shown and my name had even been said. It was a banner night for l'il old me.

I watched that but found that I had missed the majority of the story. It seemed favorable in tone anyway, so that was one good thing. It seemed that every were I turned, there was my painting. Maybe I really was on my way, just as my mother had told me.

That ended so I flipped over to some cartoons to pass the time. After an hour, my nails were good and dry and there was no sign of Lin, so I went to bed, thinking was the end of him for the night. How wrong I was. I was awakened to the sound of loud pounding on my door and opened my eyes to see that several hours had passes and it was the middle of the night. I threw on a robe and staggered out to see who or what was at my door, and sure enough it was Lin. He saw me and waved, so I gave up on sneaking back to bed and ignoring him.

"Are you drunk?" I asked in an irritated voice when he nearly fell into my living room.

"Just a little," he admitted.

"What the hell are you doing here at this hour?" I demanded in a grouchy but sleepy voice.

"Well you said you were going out, so I figured I'd wait till a bit later and I went down to the pub to pass the time."

"You are a shit," I said with the beginning of a grin. I don't know why I couldn't stay mad at him. "Get your ass over on the couch and lay down. And no throwing up on my carpet."

"Scouts honor," he said slumping onto my sofa.

"Phfft!" I dismissed his comment. I doubt he was ever a scout- they probably kicked him out.

We talked for a little while, after I locked up, about how his life sucks and how I'm the only one he can always count on- the kind of stuff you can always count on a drunk to opine about in the wee hours. I simply nodded and made sympathetic noises. I doubt that he would remember a thing I said in the morning, so what was the point?

"You can sleep here tonight," I told him, slipping his shoes off and covering him with a blanket.

"No no, I don't want to be any trouble sweetie."

That made me smile, drunk or not. "It's no trouble. You're no trouble- you're a friend."

"I'll be going here in just a minute or so," he promised. The next thing I heard from him was snores. He sure was one to fall asleep fast. He looked so oddly vulnerable lying there on my couch like that all passed out and barely conscious. I kissed him on the cheek and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

"Goodnight snake charmer," I whispered as I flicked the light out and tiptoed to bed.

Amazingly I heard him whisper back, "Goodnight beautiful lady."

It took me almost as long as it had taken him to fall back into dreamland, and when I woke up, I had nearly forgotten that he was there until I rolled over and found him in my bed. "Lin, wake up!" I yelled at him.

"Who?! Wha-?" I wasn't buying it, but it was a convincing performance.

"Your in my bed. You know we can't do this. You gotta get up."

"I'm just sleeping," he protested. His body felt so warm pressed up against mine, I was tempted to let him win. But I knew him and I knew myself. I knew my weaknesses and he was one. "I'm going to the couch," I told him taking my pillow and comforter and leaving him with a sheet.

"Spoil sport," he mumbled, still feigning sleepiness.

I went to the couch and tried to sleep, but I was awake. Fortunately, he soon got out of bed and went to work in the kitchen making breakfast. It was my turn to pretend now. I turned toward the back of the couch and pretended to be sleeping, still hoping for a few extra winks. He could wake me when he was done. Yelling at him for wandering into my bed could wait until I had my coffee.

Before long, he came out of the kitchen calling out for me to wake up. "I made you breakfast," he said, balancing a plate stacked with toast, eggs and sausage with a glass of juice and a mug, steaming with fresh coffee. "I couldn't find a tray," he explained looking at his full hands.

"I don't have one," I replied, taking the coffee and blowing across it. "You can set that there," I directed him, pointing to a side table pushed next to the couch. He did, and then pulled a stool across from me and sat down.

"You're not going to eat?" I asked him, wondering why he was gazing at me in that funny way.

"I don't like breakfast."

"Oh yeah, I keep forgetting. I've got some other stuff if your hungry," I said, trying to be hospitable.

"I can't eat this early in the morning anyway. I'll be ok. Try your eggs."

"You didn't poison it did you?'

He stuck his lower lip out in a pout and lowered his eyes petulantly. "Now why would you go and say something like that?"

"Sorry, you're right. That wasn't very nice." He looked up at me with a smile. Besides, if anybody was going to poison someone around here, it would be me poisoning you."

"Hey!" He squinted his eyes at me making a very childish face. I was tempted to tell him to be careful, or it would stick that way, but I was too tired for verbal sparing so I cut into my omelet with my fork. "Mmm" I mumbled over a warm delicious forkful. Lin looked pleased and proud.

"Sorry about crashing your place last night."

"It's not that you're in trouble for," I told him pointedly.

His look told me unquestionably that he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"You didn't like having me in your bed again?" His tone was between a pout and a tease. But he was also baiting me. He knew I liked it, and he knew that wasn't the point at all.

I looked at him sharply. "Don't push it," I warned.

"But don't you-"

"Don't!" I interrupted, shaking my head.

He decided that it was time to act contrite. "Forgive me?" he said, faking his most sincere repentant look.

I felt like rolling my eyes. Instead, I snapped at him semi-playfully, "Don't let it happen again!"

There it was, I had vented my frustration and he was off the hook. He knew it and I knew it. I also knew he would try something like it again- as soon as he got the chance.

I was willing to over look it because I was busy eating my breakfast. Besides, I didn't feel like fighting. I didn't even feel much like bawling him out. He knew that I wasn't giving in this time, and I knew that he wasn't giving up. There was no point in dwelling on it, the lines were drawn.

He was here, sitting across from me. He had prepared me a lovely breakfast. Life was good. "So what do you have planned for today?" I asked him.

"Well Jess is bringing the kids back from her mom's tomorrow, so it's my last night of freedom. I guess I'll go to Sparty's or the Dollar."

I shook my head at him. "She deserves better than you," I admonished.

He didn't even look ashamed, he just agreed. I had known Lin for a long time, way before he met and married Jessica Blain, making her Jessica Lowell. The few times that she had joined him and his gang at one of the bars he frequents she had seemed sullen and mousy. Unlike her husband, she wasn't social at all. I'm not sure why she always insisted on coming, other than to keep an eye on her husband. And if that was her goal, she was failing miserably.

I myself am not a regular member of his little circle of lost boys, but if you get around at all in this town, you run into Lin Lowell. Despite the often constant presence of his wife during the first year or two that he knew her, no one seemed to know much of anything about her. But one thing was certain. She didn't care much for me.

Among my fiends, old relationships are always considered water under the bridge. We certainly don't cling to pointless resentments against exes no matter what they might have meant in there time. Apparently, in Jessica Blain's world, previous girlfriends were viewed as a threat. Even though the rest of us knew that she should have been more concerned with the next conquest than with ancient history. In any event, she viewed me with suspicion, and I had never been to fond of her either. We were definitely not friends.

So it wasn't her, and it wasn't the generic principal that he was married that kept me from letting him make his move on me either. Pure and simple, it was trust. As a boyfriend, as a lover I just didn't trust him with what matters most in those relationships- my heart. But as a friend, and one in constant pursuit of something that, as an old girl-band once sang, he was 'never gonna get" things were just fine. I kept my wall up, and I was able to enjoy his worthwhile personal qualities. I realized that I still had something he wanted, and it brought out the best in him. But I also knew that it wasn't all an act. Sometimes it was hard to find, but he really did have some redeeming value as a human being and a friend, although he had very little (that I could see) as a husband.

As for Jess, I felt sorry for her sometimes knowing the kinds of things he was up to, but it never rose above the level of pity. As near as I could tell, she was walking through life with her eyes closed, being suspicious of all the wrong things and letting the real ones just slip by either unnoticed or ignored. It was hard sometimes to tell which. In recent years, she spent an awful lot of time visiting her mom, and I got the impression that she needed to be away from him almost as much as he wanted to get away from her. Why they even stayed together was anybodies mystery, but apparently they both got some kind of payoff from the arrangement. The rest of us- those who knew him however formally or informally- made our speculations but beyond that didn't get involved. As for myself, although I sometimes wanted to just ask him, I never did.

Across from me, Lin sat not looking in the least bit guilty. I wonder if he ever felt genuine guilt, or if in all cases that he showed it, it was only an act.

"So you got big plans for tonight. What about the day?"

"What are you kicking me out?"

"Of course not, you made me breakfast. You get to stay as long as you want." But I knew him, he wasn't going to stick around. Not for long.

"I thought I'd hang out here with you for a while. Maybe watch some TV or something and later this afternoon I'd go meet up with the boys for some pool or something."

"Killing time 'till you can get sloshed huh?" I teased.

"You know me too well," he said rolling his eyes. I was supposed to take that to be some kind of denial. But I knew better. I smacked him with my pillow.

"Well, if you want to stick around here, you can help me with the dishes after breakfast."

I finished up and he accompanied me to the kitchen. "Is this anyway to treat a guest," he grumbled as he rolled up his sleeves.

"Your not a guest," I told him. "You're Lin." He understood what I meant. We had a unique connection. Not quite family but similar in that balance of familiarity and that love/hate quality that characterized our relationship.

I had been right that he didn't hang out for long. He was sweet and attentive- more so than he ever had been in the brief amount of time that we were a couple It felt good to be around him. He was funny, he made me laugh and he even listened when I had things to say. He'd always been a good listener, as surprising a quality as it had been long ago, I took it for granted now. We had lively conversation and he often got exited about the same things that I did.

So when the time came that he told me he had to go, I was really starting to wish he would stay. Of course I didn't say so, even though my insides were aching to keep him near me. Instead I shoed him out with the scathing comment, "I was getting sick of you anyway."

He kissed me on the cheek- I allowed it, and then he left. I stood in the doorway feeling sort of empty. I realized that I should use the time to my advantage and go work on my painting, but I just wasn't feeling it. I just wanted to grab a bag of chips and curl up with some comfort snacking. Unfortunately, there wasn't any snack food in the house, so I put on my shoes and headed out the door to the nearest Quick Stop. 



Imperfect Ch. 05



Quick Stop is the local convenience store. There's one on ever corner in Capital City and at least one in each town surrounding it. Here in East Capital, we have a few and I am lucky enough to live nearby one of them. Quick Stop is the place to go for milk, bread, donuts, coffee, ice cream, beer, cigarettes, snacks, candy and a myriad of other last minute essentials. Residence in this town don't know how to get along without it, and most of them have worked there at some point in their lives.

Some of the people who work at the Quick Stop on my street are nice and helpful, but some of them surprisingly are not. One dude in particular always says 'we're out' whenever I ask for anything I can't find on my own. He's never been any help at all, and for that matter, I always double count my change whenever he waits on me. I don't trust him at all.

There was a short red-headed girl who was working that day. I smiled at her and said hi. She's always been helpful and friendly, if a bit too talkative at times. At least she was friendly which is better than I can say for some of her coworkers. I really didn't need help finding anything today though. I grabbed a hand basket and filled it with a two liter of Pepsi and a large bag of Lay's potato chips. I was really in the mood for chip dip but they were out.

"You got any sour cream and onion in the cooler?" I asked as I approached the counter.

"Shipment comes in tomorrow," she said shaking her head.

"Oh well." I put my purchases up on the counter.

"Nice day, huh?" she said brightly as she rang up my order. I looked out and realized that the sky was a cloudless blue and the temperature was just a notch above warm.

"Your right, it is," I told her, smiling. "Maybe I'll go over to the park to eat this."

"You might want to get some cups," she said nodding toward the paper good isle. Beside me, the store was empty so I hopped over and grabbed the package and handed it to her to ring up.

Now that's what I call good customer service. "Thanks." I told her nodding toward my purchase.

"Yeah, I sure wish I could be out there," she said dreamily. "I don't get out until 10:00. The day will be over by then."

"Oh man, that sucks," I commented. "I know what you mean though, I should be inside painting right now, but I'm just not up to it."

"Oh, you're a painter!" she sounded interested, but I was hungry.

"Yeah, I'll tell you all about it another time. I gotta go, thanks a bunch," I took my bag and waved as I ducked out the door. She looked about as disappointed to see me go as I had been when Lin left. I felt a little bad about it, but when the sun warmed my body as soon as I stepped outside, I felt wonderful. I even whistled as I strolled over to the park and found myself a nice spot under a tree to spread out under.

I really needed to talk to Zoë, I told myself as I savored the salty taste of crisp fresh potato chips. They were by far my favorite snack food, even more so than ice-cream or other sweets. I am an amazing salt fiend. I pour it onto my food in amounts that shock my friends and concern my family. I've been warned about my arteries, my blood pressure, and water retention. I ignore them all. What life is worth living without salt? 

Doesn't even the bible say, "you are the salt of the earth"? Would it say that if it weren't good? I also remember that salt used to be used as currency and it's even were we get the word salary, which is definitely a good thing but also reminds me that I should be working, because I don't make a salary.

I did however, just sell a picture, which is worth celebrating. I realize that I never even told Lin my good news, but maybe he already heard. What I really want to do though, is tell Zoë. I wanted to share my good news and find out what was going on between us.

As I savored the crunchy goodness of my top quality snack, I thought about the other night. It had been fun, but no questions had been answered. If anything more had surfaced.

I had confessed to Chase on the way back to Zoë's that I really didn't live with her. "I just figured it would make things easier with the transportation and all if I stayed at her place for the night. But it didn't seem important to explain all that at the time."

"That's ok," he reassured me. But I could see he was wondering how we were going to find any time alone if I didn't really have my own bed-room at Zoë's. I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but who knows it probably just looked like a drunken grin.

"Zoë's place is better than mine anyway. She's got tons more space." It was true. Zoë lived in a small house with a small yard, but it was still bigger than my little one bedroom apartment. In fact, in contrast it was like a mansion.

When we got there, Chase brought the refreshments he had secured in and we all went to the kitchen, which also served as a dining room. My own kitchen was just a space across from my bed where I could cook and wash dishes and my 'dining room' was a card table.

Zoë's kitchen was bright and clean, and her table was a sturdy yellow wood, pine I think. She had four chairs around it, but she could have crowded at least two more in if she really needed to. We had done it a few times before when some the gang got together to play cards.

When it came down to pretty much everyone being broke, we'd gather at someone's place and play Uno or Strip Poker if we were feeling more adventurous.

Chase had brought wine coolers for Zoë and me, and beer for himself, so we all sat down and opened our drinks. We relaxed, or at least tried to look like we were relaxed, and started on some small talk. After a little bit, Zoë excused herself to the 'powder room' as eloquently as if that were the usual accepted name for the place.

"So, I finally get you alone," Chase said, pushing his chair over closer to me. He smiled and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. He had the faint smell of beer on his breath, which in this instance I found quite masculine and arousing. I let him kiss me on the ear while I gathered my courage.

"Yeah, about that..."

"Is something the matter?" he asked me, moving back a little. "Have you changed your mind or something?" his voice was gentle, undemanding. "You feelin' ok?" he asked, wrinkling his forehead with concern.

"Yeah, I feel fine. I was just wondering if- well you seem really into me."

"Yeah, I like you. Is that not ok?"

I laughed, "Of course it's ok. I like you too. In fact, I have an offer to make you that you might really like."

"OK, so what's the problem?"

"Well, there's a chance you won't like it, or you might freak out or something."

He sat back in his chair. "I like to think I'm a pretty easy going guy. Go ahead. I promise to stay calm."

I took a deep breath. "Zoë and I were kinda thinking maybe the tree of us..." I moved my head back and forth in a 'you know' kind of gesture waiting for him to catch on, without my actually having to say it. Why was I so nervous about this?

He laughed now, a really good honest laugh. "Do you mean a threesome?" he asked good naturedly.

I nodded.

"That's every guys dream! Why would I freak about that?"

"Believe me, I've met a few guys who have."

"Well, I'm not one of them."

I felt like I was breathing for the first time since we arrived at Zoë's place. "That is such a relief."

When Zoë came out I smiled at her and told her we were on. Zoë smiled at me, and then Chase. He smiled at her and then turned back to me. We were all smiling. "Well, I don't know how much we've all had to drink, but I think it's enough," I said standing to pour the remainder of my drink into the sink. "We're all grinning at each other like a bunch of drunken fools."

"It's not the alcohol," Chase had said sagely.

Just then my memory of the nights events was interrupted by a Frisbee whizzing past and dashing into the dirt next to my impromptu little picnic.

A pair of tan legs in shorts ran by to retrieve it. "Excuse me," said a male voice. I looked up to say it's ok and saw that it was the man himself.

"Chase!" I exclaimed, rising to my feet. He greeted me with a warm hug.

"Nice to see you again Nicole." Then he lowered his voice a bit. "I had a great time the other night, by the way."

"Me too." I smiled at him.

"I was hoping maybe sometime I could see your real place?" he asked hopefully.

I chuckled flirtatiously. "That would be nice."

"Well, I gotta go," he said motioning to his friends. "The guys are waiting. I'll call you tonight, ok?"

"Ok." As he walked back to the group I could hear them teasing him. I waved and he waved back and I had no doubt that he really would call.

My two-liter was now empty and the chip bag was half empty. I was feeling much better now, so I decided to pack up and go back and get some work done on that painting before Chase called.

My painting was going well when Chase called later that evening. He told me he wanted to take me out the next weekend. We made plans, but we didn't talk for long. I told him I had to get back to work. I was really making headway on the painting but I still hadn't talked to Zoë. I was anxious to speak with her, but I got butterflies in my stomach every time I thought about calling her. So I buried myself in my painting instead.

Midway through the week, she came to see me. She was dressed in a hot pink slip dress that looked like it was right off the pages of Fredrick of Hollywood. She looked amazing.

"Come in sweetie, you look beautiful!" I told her. I wanted to tell her so much more, but I couldn't even begin to find the words.

We talked about all of the things that aren't important, and a few things that were. "How's your painting going?" she asked me.

"I'd say I'm about half way through. And the pieces at the gallery are a hit. Guy wants 5 more for his next show, and the Michigan store is going to sell some of the nature themed ones. And I just got another grant that will keep me fed for three more years."

"Wow! All your hard work is finally paying off."

:"Yeah I'm getting a taste of success, and I gotta say, I'm starting to like it."

She laughed at my joke and I felt at least ten feet tall.

It seemed like no matter what we said to each other we were dancing around the issue. I couldn't believe how afraid I was to speak up. But as I looked at her beautiful body I knew that if I didn't I would be sorry.

"Zoë- about the other night at the bar-"

"Nicole, I completely understand."

"You do?"

"I felt something too."

"You did?"

"Of course. We have a something special between us. I've always known that. Since the first time I laid eyes on you." Her voice was soft and sentimental.

"What does it mean?"

"What do you want it to mean?"

That gave me pause. I realized that I really didn't know. "I'm not sure."

"That's ok," she said stroking my hair reassuringly. "I'm not sure either. I do know that I don't want to own you or control you. I just want to hold you, and have you hold me. No strings. Do you want more than that?"

"I- I don't think so. But, damn girl. It's so hard for me to think when you're around."

"We don't have to think, if you don't want to," she said moving closer.

That was an invitation I could not refuse.

I put my arms around her and drew her in even closer. Our lips met again. It was familiar and new. It was reassuring and exciting. It was all I could ever hope for. We tasted each other for a long time, basking in the deliciousness of each other. We were in no hurry as we ran our hands over and through each others hair, letting the other's touch fill us with shivers of delight. There was no hurry as we pulled each others clothes away and dropped them to the floor. We took our time as our bodies became tangled in each other, savoring the pleasure of each others touch. Time was not a factor, we were in no hurry to reach any particular destination. We took our time and enjoyed every minute.

I let her stroke her hand over my stomach for a very long time, until she finally reached down to stoke my mound. She didn't attempt to penetrate me, or even reach between my damp lips. There was no sense of urgency. I knew we would get there. I was enjoying the ride.

She let me touch her body in awe and appreciate her beauty in slow motion. She never urged me on further, she knew my intentions. He body shivered beneath my touch, encouraging me to take my time, to appreciate every moment, every inch.

Was this foreplay- this slow and wonderful touch, this stroking and caressing that took place with no internal or external pressure to progress? No, I think that it was not. I feel certain that it was lovemaking long before she pressed her two fingers inside of me and set off a chain of moans and whimpers. Long before I searched for her g-spot with my pinky, we were making love.

And still, there was no hurry. We simply let ourselves enjoy the moment, even doing all we could to make it last. It was a rare opportunity, one of the perks of sleeping with a woman. Both of us enjoyed every minute as much as we enjoyed the final, beautiful, satisfying climax.

And afterwards when we held each other, neither of us wanted to be anywhere else.

Zoë and I lay with our arms wrapped around each other, our breaths synchronized, our hearts pounding in unison. After a long while, I finally spoke. "I think I love you."

"Yes, I feel the same."

"I don't think I'm in denial, but I really don't feel that I'm gay."

She laughed, musically. "I know what you mean. I don't feel like we're lesbian lovers. I just feel like we're lovers."

"You know, I don't feel particularly- um, monogamous either. But I feel kind of guilty about that- like I should only want to be with just you."

"Who makes up those rules anyway?" she said dismissively. "I love you just the way you are. You wouldn't be the same person if you weren't such a free spirit, if you didn't own your sexuality the way you do."

"So, it doesn't bother you?"

"No. As long as you want to be with me, and I want to be with you, nothing else matters to me. I've never minded sharing you. I only mind being without you. That's the only thing that hurts."

"I didn't know."

"That's ok babe. I don't think I did either. We numb ourselves. We lie to ourselves. We live in denial. Whatever you want to call it. But when you kissed me at the bar, all the denial just melted away. I didn't even know how to deal with it. That's why it took me so long to see you or even talk to you. I had so much to sort out."

"I had so much to sort out too. Only I didn't know the answers to any of it until I saw you."

We just hugged. Already skin to skin, already naked flesh pressed against naked flesh, we wrapped our arms around each others necks and squeezed. A gesture that communicated our understanding so much better than words. 

"So are we in a relationship?" I finally dare to ask.

"I don't know if I would call it that, exactly. That sounds so demanding. I think we're friends who love each other and who share pretty much everything."

"That sounds about right."

"Just so there's no misunderstanding, if you ever feel like that's not enough for you, you let me know ok? And we'll re-evaluate how we do things."

"Gotcha!" I agreed. "But I think I like things this way. I just wanted to make sure- you know, make sure that I knew were we stand and what the rules are, so no one gets hurt."

She laughed, and I felt like she was the older one. There seemed both wisdom and playfulness in her voice when she said, "There are no rules babe!"

Its hard to explain how good that made me feel, like we were on the same page. Like she knew me better than any one ever had, and accepted me just exactly for who I am. That beautiful, unconditional love is so hard to find. I never would have believed that it was even possible.

Laying there, I wondered why I didn't want to be monogamous. I mean, I was so content in her arms like I never wanted to be anywhere else. Like I could stay there forever. And yet I knew that I could never give up my sexual freedom. I flashed back to the weekend.

I remember how happy Chase was when we finally broke the news. But I was nervous, uncertain. How would we work this out? I wanted him and I wanted Zoë but something about the combination was off. He seemed psyched by the idea of a threesome, yet still largely focused on me.

It was his suggestion that finally broke the ice. He said that he would love to see the two of us in a sixty-nine. I myself was pretty jazzed about the idea too. Zoë has the sweetest little pussy, with a natural blond fuzz that covers her just the right amount without her having to wax or shave. In no time at all we had each other out of our clothes and turned around clit to lip, lip to clit, flicking, flicking, licking, licking.

I could hear Chase sigh as I slurped noisily on her beautiful cunt, putting on a show for him and enjoying being such an exhibitionist. Zoë was above me, lapping at my kitty-cat like she was a pussy herself. She was smacking her lips and showing off for him too. We were both so enthusiastic, that Chase soon said, "you two don't look like you need me at all!"

I looked up to see that he had freed his cock from his pants and was stroking it up and down while watching us with a great big smile. I realized then that I definitely wanted to have that thing in me that night. Much more than I had thought when I first went down on Zoë. I smiled back at him and licked my lips. Then I dived down and started giving Zoë the licking of her life.

We ate each other to orgasm, coming loudly and sloppily. I sucked reverently on her cunt, until she filled my mouth with her cum and then I crawled over on my hands and knees toward Chase. I climbed up on his lap, and kissed him deeply, sharing Zoë's juices with him. He kissed me back enthusiastically, sucking her sweet come off my tongue.

He slipped his hand into my wet slit while we kissed. I almost had to think about baseball to keep myself from coming immediately. I whimpered, and felt Zoë crawl up behind me and slide her finger into my ass. The two of them finger fucked me like for a while, I just held on and whined with pleasure. As Chase held my tongue captive, I could do little else.

"Come for me baby," Zoë rasped. "Show Chase here how you can make that pretty pussy squirt."

I held Chase's cock in my hand, stroking him now that his hand was occupied with me. It jerked excitedly in my hand when she said this. "Oh god, yes!" I yelled. "Finger my ass Zoë! Finger my pussy Chase! God yes, I'm coming- don't stop!" Of course I didn't come right when I said, "I'm coming." They kept up the stimulation and I squealed out a long string of high pitched vowel sounds that don't qualify as words. Then I came, squirting my pussy juice right over Chase's lap and onto his erect and waiting cock.

"Look at that, you naughty girl!" Zoë suddenly chastised. "You are going to have to clean that mess up!" Before I could even more she barked at Chase. "Push that slut off your lap!" And he shoved me to the floor, quite roughly. Before I even knew how to react, Zoë had grabbed a handful of my hair and was shoving my face in his crotch. "Clean that mess up, you dirty little slut! Look, you've spilt your filthy juices all over his beautiful cock. No! No! You're not doing it right, you worthless little bitch!" When I heard sweet little Zoë call me a bitch, my pussy was on fire. All I could think was that I wanted him to pound that beautiful cock into me hard and fast. "You're not doing it right, you worthless little bitch! I'll have to help you." She pushed my head to the side and dived right down beside me. Pretty soon we were both licking his cock and even each other's tongue. I felt certain his prick added another full inch since she joined me in lapping up my juices. He was certainly enjoying himself.




Imperfect Ch. 05



We shared his cock like this for a good long time. And then Zoë greedily took him into her mouth, pushing me to the side. She swallowed him up, taking him all the way into her mouth and deep down in her thought. When she finished she said, "Now you do it like that," and she took my hair once again and forced my mouth down on his cock.

I had a hard time taking him all the way in my mouth, but Zoë just pushed saying, "Deep throat him slut-girl, you know you can do it."

Zoë knew from experience how much I loved rough commanding sex, being ordered around and 'forced' to do one nasty thing after another. She knew I could take his member down with a little bit of struggle. She knew I was capable of much more than that. She got a thrill from being dominant too, a real change from her day to day self who's voice barely rose above a whisper. Every time she called me a dirty name or made an attempt to humiliate me, I felt my pussy tense and grow wetter.

"Swallow it whole you nasty cunt!" Chase must have looked at her strangely because she said, "Oh it's ok, she loves it when I talk to her like that. Don't you cunt?"

"Mmhmm," I mumbled around the cock filling my mouth.

"That's it bitch, hum. Give this stud a nice hummer."

I hummed as best I could, concentrating on not gagging. While I did, she talked.

"This is what's going to happen slut. When I tell you your done sucking him off, we're going to go back to the floor. I'm going to lay down and suck on your pussy while you suck on mine. Chase here is going to fuck your pussy from behind while I eat you out. When he's ready to shoot his load, he's going to pull out and come over your cunt and down into my mouth. Then you are going to get your little ass moving and come over and suck his come out of my mouth and swallow it all. You understand?

"Mmhmm," I mumbled again.

I did as she said, scrabbling down to the floor. I was on my hands and knees with a face-full of pussy, her warm mouth over my quim when Chase slid his hard member into my soaking wet whole. Never before had I come so quickly or readily. My body shook and spasmed while he held my sides and continued to drive into me, giving me multiple orgasms with no time to recover in between. Zoë licked quickly as my mouth filled with her juices.

"Give me a face full of that hot jizz!" she begged Chase. And he quickly complied, pulling out of me and coming with explosive force. I could feel the warm sticky liquid splash onto my clit and run down between my legs. It tickled a little bit as it dripped off me into Zoë's waiting mouth. I quickly turned to see Chase shooting still more jets of seaman straight into her mouth.

Doing as she said, I sucked his cum out of her mouth and swallowed it hungrily. She sat up and wrapped her legs around me so that we could be clit to clit. We hugged, pushing our bodies together banging our clits against each other as we rocked back and forth. Chase kept his dripping dick shoved in our faces and we reached out our tongues to lick him clean while we pumped our bodies against each other.

"Clit fuck me you slutty little cunt!" Zoë demanded. Chase got into the spirit by grabbing his dick and slapping me in the face with it, getting it hard again. We tried to keep licking him while we clit slammed our pussies together but he often slipped out of our mouths and the reach of our tongues. As he got harder, it became easier to reach him.

Our climax was nearing, and it became nearly impossible to suck him off anymore, so he grabbed himself and started jerking himself off over our faces. He started shooting white cream every which way moments before our orgasms hit. We opened our mouths to get the most we could, but much of it went flying onto our neck and face and tits. Much to his delight we immediately started licking it off each other. It was hedonism at it's best. I came harder than ever before.

Zoë and I hugged tight to each other in the seconds after our climax, letting the gooey man grease ooze between us. When we were able to move again, Chase had slipped into his jeans. "You two are quite the wildcats," he commented. "I never even suspected."

"But will you respect us in the morning?" Zoë demurred in her usual mild tone.

Chase laughed. "I respect you now. I respect the hell outta ya! When can we do that again?"

"Give us about ten minutes," Zoë answered.

Chase was amused, "I'll probably need a little bit longer."

We found a movie USA to watch for a while, a B rate soft porn edited to hell piece of crap. But it was just the thing. An hour later we were at it again.

After this round, we all passed out. I was surprised any of us lasted that long. Nothing had kept us going but pure horny-ness.

Now laying in Zoë's arm in my own apartment, I wondered why I should think of that. I think in a lot of ways it answered some of the questions I had about us, about monogamy, about the lack of jealously from either of us. I wasn't totally devoid of jealously. When she had taken Chases cock into his mouth like that I had felt a stab of jealously toward her. That was why she had done it, it was all a part of the sex game. She had stolen my cock, she had humiliated me and put me in my place. I hadn't felt jealous toward him for being serviced by her. I was uncertain as to why this should be. Maybe it was simply because of her intent. She wanted me to feel jealous and I did. She didn't want me to and I didn't.

And yet, I knew there was something more. I wanted him- not because she told me or wanted me to, I just did. And I wanted him to want me more than he wanted her. As much as I wanted her, I still wanted him. There was no choosing one over the other. No want was stronger than the other. As a choice between man and woman the pull was equal; as a choice between love and lust it was also equal. Between a new lover and one with a history, I still could not have chosen. Zoë was right about me. I just wouldn't have been me if I were about loving only one person at a time, or about denying my desires. I new that I had what it takes to love her without holding on tight, to lust unrestrained and to let her fly as equally free.

Indeed for me and her, there could have been no other way. 

Zoë and I lay with our arms wrapped around each other, our breaths synchronized, our hearts pounding in unison.

At least I knew that Zoë would have no problem with me making plans with Chase. He wanted to see me alone, and I found that encouraging. A part of me was certain after giving him such a wild and unforgettable night, he would decide that we had served our purpose and were all used up. It's happened, and I usually don't let it bother me, but I realized very quickly that as fun as that threesome was, I wanted him all to myself too.

After she left, I felt so good at having cleared things up, and so energized by our lovemaking I was able to get quite a lot of my painting done. Luckily, I didn't have any phone calls or other interruptions because I'm pretty sure I was 'in the zone'.

While I painted, I just couldn't help but feel filled up and bubbly. I was in love with her and she was in love with me. Yet I wasn't tied down I was free. How could anyone person be so wonderful? I was sure my painting was full of this love that I felt for Zoë. It just seemed somehow luminescent.

At last I realized that I would have to go to bed or suffer some dire consequences the next day. I didn't have the luxury of sleeping in just because I didn't have a nine to five job- Glen was coming over in the morning. He wanted to go antiquing and he insisted on taking me with him. He was looking for just the right coffee table for his living room. Interesting that he would want to take me, I didn't even have a coffee table, just end tables. Maybe he was hoping I would find one too, and fill an obvious void in my life. 



Imperfect Ch. 06



Glen arrived in high fashion at 10 a.m., early in my book. I had barely dragged myself out of bed and into the shower when the knock came at the door. I hopped out and wrapped a towel around me. I checked the peephole so I know who it was and then flew open the door.

"Hurry, come in, I'm not dressed," I said ushering him into the room and shutting the door behind him.

"What is going on here, young lady," he lectured me. "You are supposed to be bright eyed, bushy tailed and ready to fly!"

"What am I a squirrel? Have a seat, I'll be right out. The remote is shoved under that first cushion there."

Before he could say another word, I turned and scurried off to the bathroom. My hair was wet but not washed, and I hadn't shaved yet either. Fuck the shave, I told myself as I quickly lathered and rinsed my hair. I was wearing a faded pair of blue jeans and a cap sleeved t-shirt, so what was the worry? It was supposed to be a nice temperate day so that would be a comfortable outfit. My body hair would be safely under wraps. Not that I care, I reminded myself. I shave when I feel like it and when I don't, I don't. That's been my motto for a long time. I've got bigger things in this life to worry about than if my body hair offends the sensibilities of some guy. Or anyone else for that matter.

We spent a better part of the day searching for the perfect coffee table. Glen was impossible to please. This one was to plain, this one was to pretentious. Another was too light a wood, another was metal and glass- totally unacceptable. One didn't have a drawer while another was part of a set- he didn't need the set and he refused to break it up. At last he spotted a cherry wood coffee table with just the right amount of detailing- a high sheen gloss, delicate edging details, claw foot legs, a roomy drawer, and an ornate silver drawer pull. I thought he would wet his pants, he was so exited. While he went off to pretend not to care and negotiate a price, I decided to look over the clothing table.

Most of the clothing wasn't to my liking, but they had four StateU sweatshirts in my size or larger with different designs. When I had gone there, I never bothered to buy one, but now for $1 a piece, who could pass it up. I took all four. I looked up and saw that Glen was still haggling with the sale lady, so I moved over to the next table, which had various other MSU memorabilia. There were statuettes of Sporty, the school mascot, coffee mugs, key chains and other junk. I decided on two mugs, one for me and one for Glen, now that he had a coffee table.

I couldn't believe how all that junk brought me right back to my college days. I just felt like I had to have this stuff. Stuff that wasn't important when I was a student, but now seemed a link to my past. My college years had been fun, but they were a real whirlwind. There was no time back then to stop and reflect.

My room mate was this total wildcat. Her name was Elaine. She wasn't in a sorority, but she hung with this gang of upperclassmen who lived in a big house off campus that acted very much like a sorority. It basically was an unofficial fraternity and sorority mixed together. The house was owned by some alumni and it was passed down year to year to a new class of party animals.

They had specific requirements to get in, but they used there own system that was different from the rush system. The whole thing took place as an open secret, under the radar. Elaine had been very exited to get in, they were famous for wild parties and escapades. There were even rampant rumors of orgies. Years ago, a local newspaper wrote an article claiming it was a dangerous sex cult, but no charges were ever filed and nothing ever came of it. From my experience, the group was wildly promiscuous, and even quite deviant but it was a far cry from any cult. I think it got that label because its members did practice certain ritualistic behavior that were really nothing more than sex games. But there was no brainwashing, no mind control, and far less 'peer pressure' than most normal cliques, let alone Greek organizations. The people who joined the house did it because they wanted to be hedonistic and uninhibited. No one had to push them to act up.

Since they weren't an official sorority, Elaine couldn't live in the house until she became a junior. So she ended up as my room-mate. The house had plenty of organized activities and she was allowed to invite people at her discretion, so I got dragged along to many a wild event without ever having to join myself. Which turned out to be good for me, because I never would have joined anything resembling a sorority. 

The closest thing that I ever saw that came to pressure was at Thanksgiving when members were encouraged to stay on campus rather than going home for the holidays. There was an annual event they called "Stuffing the Turkey" and it was beyond wild. Even though it's entirely consensual, if the truth about this event ever got out- they would surely shut the whole organization down, unofficial or not.

The thing about it is, everyone knows going in that it's a simulated rape. They stress it over and over again, and even if they ask you if you are aware of the fact before you are even allowed to enter. Anyone who claims otherwise is a lying whore, who feels guilty after the fact. The other thing that's explained is that the house members, weather male or female are never raped. It's only the guests.

Elaine told me all about this, and I listened with intense interest. I couldn't believe it. I had had a secret rape fantasy for as long as I could remember having sex fantasies. I had always thought that I must be the only one with these kinds of sick desires. Even though I had plenty of experience and had horded lots of porn and forbidden sex knowledge, I had never encountered or even heard of anybody with fantasies like mine. Even as I told her that I would like to go, realizing that we both new what that entailed, I found that I could not admit to her that it had been a long time fantasy of mine or that I wanted to have strangers pretend to rape me. The illicit thrill was perhaps made sharper by the deep sense of shame and immediate desire to hide my true level of arousal.

I heard about the event about a week before it took place, and was sworn to secrecy. Every night before going to sleep, I masturbated to the thought of strangers taking me roughly, dragging me through the house and taking turns stuffing me like a holiday bird. I whimpered softly into my pillow as I climaxed, hoping that Elaine was fast asleep across the room and not aware of how deeply I wanted this.

As part of the security as well as to raise money for the house, non-members had to pay $20 to be admitted. Members had to pay to, but only $5. Later they would taunt us that they paid five bucks to be able to fuck us, while we had paid twenty for the privilege of being raped.

When you paid your entrance fee, you were given a wrist band that identified you as a "Turkey." It was orange and brown and made of the same kind of plastic you get when you pay for an all day pass at the fair. As soon as we got inside the house, Elaine gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and told me she had to meet some of her 'sisters' in another part of the house. That left me standing there all alone.

I had worn a pleated gray skirt with a black thong underneath, and a cheep lacey bra under a button up white shirt, left unbuttoned down so far as to put the bra on display. I wore spiky black heels, that didn't do anything to help me balance as I looked uncertainly around the room.

Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed me and squeezed my tit. I looked up to see who it was, but a hand quickly went over my eyes. I felt several more hands groping at my body; squeezing and poking at me and tearing at my clothes. They left me in a thong and bra and dragged me across the room roughly, to a dirty mattress in the middle of the room. Now, the one who had covered my eyes moved so that I could see what was going on. There were about twenty guys surrounding me and another ten or so girls. I couldn't see around them to see what else was going on in the room, but the smell of sex was everywhere and the loud din made it hard to isolate any one sound.

Whenever anyone in this group spoke to me, though I could hear it. The women were taunting me, calling me a bitch and a tease. They were egging the guys on saying stuff like "fuck that filthy little slut, I want to see her get what she deserves. They didn't even know me, yet they were doing there best to humiliate me. The sheer number of people who now seemed intent on taking me and the realization that it was too late to back out sent a cold fear through me. Was this what I really wanted? What if they really hurt me. I was truly at there mercy now, and they didn't seem to have a lot of that quality.

A tall brawny guy tossed me down and shoved his cock into my face. As if I was gong to object, a woman who was standing nearby grabbed my hair and face and forced my mouth open. "Take it you fuckin' whore!" she shouted at me. Immediately I could feel a woman's hands roughly spreading my legs and shoving a tongue into my pussy. She didn't' even bother taking off my thong, just pushed it to the side.

"She's wet," she announced a few minutes later. She moved aside to make room for a fat cock who's owner I couldn't see, to slide into my slippery slit. "Stuff that Turkey! Baste her good!" came a guys voice in a nasty disrespectful tone. Guys all over were grabbing at me, and those who couldn't reach stood over me jacking themselves off, just waiting for an opening to stuff themselves in.

The guy who was feeding me his sausage stuffing, grabbed my hair and shoved his cock deep into my mouth yelling, "Swallow it all slut!" as he shot his load down my throat. I nearly puked, but I managed to swallow his both his meat and his cum. 

He pulled out and was immediately replaced by another. "I'm going to shoot off on your face," the next guy warned. "Your nothing but a filthy little cum rag to me whore." He too buried himself in my mouth to the point were I didn't think I could take it, but I did.

The guy in my pussy came with a loud howl, filling my pussy up with his oozy cream sauce. "Sloppy seconds," the next guy exclaimed, sliding in right on the heals of the first. The guy in my mouth pulled out and slapped me across the cheek, knocking my face sideways. He slapped me on the other side for good measure before spewing jets of sticky jizz over my face. At the same time, a guy who was jacking off near the top of my head exploded, shooting a tangled net of gooey cum into my hair. And another guy shot his load on my belly. Already I was feeling sticky, dirty and abused.

The guy in my pussy lifted my legs up over his shoulder and started ramming into me while my pussy made slurping sucking sounds from his cock slapping against the cum that the first guy had shot between my pussy lips. A girl startled my face and started humping against me, "Suck my motherfuckin' snatch you filthy cum soaked whore!" she yelled at me abusively. I couldn't believe the rage that she seemed to take out on me. After I made her cum, she told me that she had to piss and she was going to do it in my mouth. The warm bitter liquid ran down my chin, soaking the mattress underneath me. "Look at this filthy bitch," she announced. "She's covered in piss and cum. Get over here Quinn and piss on her some more." Quinn and two of his friends came straight over and pissed in my mouth while the girl held my mouth open. "Swallow it cunt," she told me in a menacing voice.

I had no choice but to swallow all the piss that had made it into my mouth. It tasted so awful, bitter and harsh. As I swallowed the man who was holding my legs let his load go, greasing my insides with still more sperm. He dropped my legs and shoved his sodden dick into my mouth. "Clean it up bitch," he told me. I put my tongue to work doing as he told me.

"Let's turn this filthy cum rag over," a male voice demanded, and hands grabbed at my sticky messy body to turn me. "Get on your hands and knees whore," he demanded. "We want to rape your ass."

Someone spit and I felt a wad of saliva slap me in the ass. They spread my cheeks and continued spitting until it was dripping off me. The next thing I knew, I had fingers in my pussy and my ass, pumping into me. The fingers in my ass worked around, loosing me up for the real thing. I felt another finger stretch me farther and another and then more spit. By my face, my mouth was quickly crammed full with another cock.

As I was being gagged my a strange cock form the front, anther began sliding into my anus. They went slowly but steadily as I tried to relax and allow them in, but still I cried out. Cries that were muffled my a mouthful of hard dick and ignored anyway.

I felt a hand reach up to finger my cunt. Someone reached up inside me, pumping my cum leaking pussy and then brought that hand to my mouth. The cock came out for a moment and the cum covered hand smeared its contents over my mouth and then the hands owner shoved the fingers into my mouth. I sucked them clean before they were replaced my the straining cock once again. Now I could feel several hands rubbing my pussy and my clit. There were fingers inside me and fingers on my labia and fingers poking at the opening to my cunt. My ass was fully invaded now and being pounded. My mouth and my ass were both full and the shouts from the crowd wouldn't let me forget it.

"Fill up both of her nasty holes! Fuck her ass and her mouth. Use her up real good, she's a dirty dirty bird. Just a dirty cum rag. Do her hard and nasty!"

I couldn't believe what they were saying as they gang raped me. I had given my consent to be used like this, but it was rougher than anything I could have expected. As each man or woman finished up on some part of my body a new one jumped in to fuck me in the same place. Several guys came in my ass and then one blew his load across my back.

A mean looking Hispanic guy lifted me up from the front. "I'm gonna D.P. this bitch," he told the others. He guided me onto his lap and pressed his huge cock into my pussy while my ass was still being invaded with it's fifth or sixth cock of the night. The two men held me up as I couldn't hold myself up any more and double fucked me end to end. "Look at her being double penetrated like some sort of porn slut!" One guy announced. "We should be taking pictures of this."

"I got a camera," I heard another guy say. Oh no, I thought, I hadn't agreed to this. Suddenly he was snapping pictures of me with both of my holes stuffed full. They were Polaroid's, and he let them develop and then waved them in my face. "Look at what a whore you are! You paid to be raped, is this what you wanted you nasty slut?!"

Looking at my torn bra, my messed up make-up, the red marks on my cheek and the cum and piss that had been splattered all over my face, I began to cry. "No! This is too much, this isn't what I wanted!" This was met only by laughter.

"Too late now, you filthy slut!" a heckler yelled. "In for a penny, in for a good pounding! Fuck her boys! Rape her sweet little pussy and her tight ass and that worthless mouth. You know you like it sweetheart. We know what a whore you really are. You know you asked for this. You wanted it so bad you paid money for it."

I continued to cry, but they only seemed to like that more. One girl came up and got in my face. "You disgust me, you worthless piece of filth," she said, and then she spit right in my face. 

"No, no," I told her through my tears, "I didn't want this, this is too much.

She spit again. "Don't lie you filthy whore. Don't be such a lying cunt."

I was crying now, tears streaming hard down my face. But my pussy was still hot and wet. I knew she was right when she grabbed my hair and yanked it hard, twisting my hair to the side. "Tell these boys how you really feel," she ordered. "Tell them how much the little whore likes being used up and raped. Tell them what you really mean when you say no bitch."

I bawled and gasped. "I really am a whore," I admitted through my tears. "I love being fucked like this, taken with no regard to my will. Use me as your cum whore. I want to be abused. No means yes boys. No means yes," I sobbed.

The guy with the camera kept snapping and the girl would show me the picture and say, "tell me what you're doing here little whore, tell me what a filthy piece of slut trash you are."

After the D.P. they filled my mouth again and my pussy from behind. She showed me the picture and demanded an explanation. "I'm a whore," I told her. "I deserved to be filled up and fucked like that- like a filthy whore."

"We're going to pass these pictures around to the whole school, so everyone knows what an easy loose little tramp you are." I knew it wasn't true because the party was top secret, but the words held there sting. "We're going to show the teachers and the dean and they're all going to want to fuck you're used up hole. The only way your going to pass any classes is by letting your professors fuck your ass while you tell them what a cheep whore you are. Tell me you're a filthy little cunt!" She demanded with a sharp yank. I was facing the camera now, and another shot was snapped.

"I am a filthy cunt," I conceded. "I wanted to be raped." 

She spit in my face again. "Someone get over here and piss on this slut again!" Two more guys came over and pissed in a grand arch into my mouth while the photographer captured it all. The hands laid me out on my back while men shot cum and piss all over my body and into my hair.

A mean looking butch woman started working at my pussy with her hand until she was stuffing her whole fist up inside my stretched cunt. "Stuff it in this slutty bird!" My tormentor demanded. The guy with the camera moved in for a close-up.

I was surrounded by slutty instant pictures of myself being used and raped, even begging for it with tears in my eyes. The mattress was soaked and my body and hair were filthy. I smelled like a toilet. But they were not threw with me. The butch fisted me while the violent fem squeezed at my breasts. Come continued to splatter every which way on my body. I had lost count of the number of men who had used me.

The camera was out of film, the camera man decided to take his turn, first in my mouth, straddling my face while I was being fisted. The butch was yelling at me now, "This don't stop until you cum for me bitch. You gotta show me how much you love it by coming in my hand."

I was so gagged that it was hard to make any sound, but I could feel my body coiling in preparation. The camera man moved so I could lick on his large nut sack while he drizzled thin pre-com onto my forehead. I was thrashing and coming and the two women were assuring me that I was a whore. I felt my body climax but I was unable to cry out. My pussy was squirting all over the butch's hand and she was ye-hawing like a cowboy. When my climax was complete she pulled her hand out of me, but I was not done.

The photographer pulled out of my mouth and now went down to fill my pussy. Most of the onlookers now were spent but a few continued to beat off and blow there wad over my body. One guy shot off right in my eye before I had a chance to blink. I yelled from the pain, but the audience just laughed.

The photographer was a blond haired freshman, well hung but skinny. He grabbed my legs and fucked me through three more orgasms. "Little rape slut!" he chastised me. "You should be ashamed to be such a whore, to enjoy being humiliated by all these strangers. Tell me no slut, so I can fuck you against your will. Fight me cunt. Struggle bitch."

I did. I cried and struggled and yelled out "No, No, No!" but I wanted it. I wanted it so bad. Each time I yelled no I could feel myself coming again. I fought hard, hoping he would slap me, not knowing where I had gotten this newfound need to be abused. This skinny, pimply kid was fucking me and slapping me around like a rag doll. Under normal circumstances, I could have kicked his ass. But even if I had wanted to, that would have been impossible now. My struggles were only to add to his pleasure and mine. I clawed and scraped at him, but he only held me down by my wrists and spit in my face.




Imperfect Ch. 06



I opened my mouth to yell, and he spit again, right into my mouth. This set him off, twitching and cumming inside of me. And I found myself coming as well. This was the first time in my life I had experienced a mutual orgasm and I apparently had to be gang raped by numerous men, spit on and abused in order for it to happen.

When he had finished with me, someone helped me sit up and gave me a drink of something. Then everything faded to gray. When I woke up, I was alone in my dorm room. My torn clothes were nowhere to be found. I could feel that the message being sent, even though I was still covered in sticky filth was, "this never happened." I took a shower and put on my pajamas and went to sleep. IN the morning it would all seem like a dream.

As harrowing as all that sounded, those where memories I cherished. I unlocked some of my deepest sexual urges that night and started a process of coming to face what some might call the dark side of my sexuality. But for me, I embrace is because I believe that sexuality is who we are and that we should accept ourselves and love ourselves. Shame and repression only lead to actions that damage ourselves and others. So while it's sometimes scary to face my own turn-ons when they seem so twisted, I know deep down that it's healthy and good.

Better that than to be one of those religious crusaders who are so consumed with what they perceive as filth that they let it take over there life, spending all there time scouring the planet for 'decency violations' and obviously getting some perverse thrill out of the process.

Yes, better me as I am, accepting myself for me- than that.

I collected my college memorabilia and went to pay for it all. I didn't even haggle. Glen was satisfied with his purpose so we called it a day and went to get a late lunch. There was a nice little sandwich shop nearby so we went in and got a seat by the window so we could see the people walking past, going about there business. As you might have guessed by now, I'm something of a people watcher. I think most artists are. Many times we feel more comfortable observing than actually joining in.

Glen leaned in over his fries and said in a stage whisper, "I met someone!"

"You did? When? Tell me about it!" I exclaimed, knowing that he would weather I wanted him to or not. But on the other hand, yeah I wanted the scoop."

"Well, I'm not really that interested in him," he said suddenly sounding disinterested. I knew something was up. He had my attention.

"Why's that?" I asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as he had.

"Well, he's a cop. He pulled me over the other day and when he asked me to step out of the vehicle, he complimented my buns."

"So you don't like him because he's a cop? I thought you liked men in uniform," I said with a teasing smile. "I didn't know we had any gay cops here though- were you out of town?"

"That's the thing, he's not out."

"O-oh." I said, finally understanding. Glen refuses to get involved with men who are in public denial over there sexuality. I can't say that I blame him. Who wants to hide their relationship from the world?

"Well, you know how I feel about that. I just won't. Absolutely not. No way. Ever." He was resolute. Firm. I would say, a little too resolute. "He was kinda cute though," he added softly, almost wistfully.

"OK, so that's the end of that then, right?" 

"Actually, no. He's been calling me. He really wants to see me. I told him my policy but he won't give up."

"Don't do it Glen," I warned. "You'll only get hurt."

"Don't you think I know that?" he replied defensively. "Of course I'm not going to do it. I don't need that drama. I just thought you'd be happy for me that he wants me so bad. That's all. I mean, you completely missed the point I was trying to make."

I gave him a steady look. "Glen."

"What?" he droned, putting his hand under his chin and looking away from me.

Despite what Glen may have said, he was a total drama queen. He didn't lie when he said he didn't need the drama, but I knew him well enough to realize the truth. He craved it. Weather healthy or unhealthy, if there was drama to be had, you could bet that Glen would want a part in it. Preferably the staring roll.

"You're not fooling me," I told him. Then I turned my attention to my hamburger to let him off the hook some. In the end, it really wasn't going to matter how much I warned him or what I said. Glen was going to do what Glen was going to do. My job would be to stand by, try to warn him but not too much, and be there to help him pick out the pieces afterwards without saying 'I told you so.'

"I'm not going to get involved with him. He asked me to meet him for coffee. But I said no."

"Good for you Glen. Stick to your guns." I did my best to sound- I mean to be supportive. That meant pretending that I believed him.

"He sure was cute though." Glen swished a thick crinkle-cut french-fry back and forth in his ketchup. I knew it was time to change the subject.

"Well, at least you found a great coffee table," I said in a chipper tone. This gave me plenty of time to concentrate on my lunch while Glen expounded on art, antiques, design, furniture manufacturing , and interior decorating. It was interesting, I just didn't have anything to add, which was just as well, because there was no way that Glen was going to let me get a word in edgewise. So I just chewed and nodded.

When I had finished my lunch and Glen had finished his speech, I saw that he had barely touched his fries and hadn't even taken a bite of his burger. "I guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought," he said lightly, waving our waiter over. "Could you wrap this up for me? I'm just going to take it home."

The waiter nodded and took the food back to package up. "So Miss Thing," Glen said leaning forward again, conspiratorially. "Tell me about your love life. Did you score with that bartender or what?"

"Aren't we getting a little personal?" I blushed.

"Haa! You did! Your dirty little thing. So, are you seeing him again or is he yesterday's gossip?"

"Actually, he wants to take me to dinner. Even though, as my darling mother would say, he's already gotten the free milk."

Just then, the waiter appeared with Glen's food. "Let's go then, you can tell me all about it in the car," Glen said, heading to the cashier.



Imperfect Ch. 07



Just as I got home, the phone rang. It was Guy form the art gallery, telling me he wanted to show several more of my works if I had any available. This time he was doing a reception show which would feature more works from fewer artists, and the artists themselves would each say a few words and be available for questions as well as mingling with those in attendance.

It was an invitation only thing, so there would be critiques, collectors and many important society people in attendance. These shows, Guy informed me, tended to yield a better than average sale rate and the pieces all went for rather hefty prices. The people who attended these events would be insulted if any painting at the show was going for less than a thousand dollars. And even that was fairly low ball. Plus, he said, a reception was just about the best way to network in the art world.

I told him I was sold. "You had me at hello," I said quoting Jerry McGuire.

Guy laughed. "Oh and bring your friend. He's adorable!"

It really seemed my life was on track. My career was taking off, I had a date with a guy who'd already slept with me on the first date and seen my freaky side, and the girl I was in love with was also in love with me, in a totally non-possessive sort of way.

It was working for me, but there wasn't a whole lot in there that I could tell my mom. Who called me the very next day."

"Seeing anyone?" she opened with.

"As a matter of fact, I'm meeting a really great guy for dinner this weekend."

"What's he do?" again- straight to the point.

"He's a bartender."

"Oh dear lord, haven't I taught you anything Nikki? A bartender? Your really asking for trouble. And the money- they don't make the kind of money you need to keep you up in style." I looked around my apartment, knowing that this was definitely not what she would have considered 'in style' and realizing that I loved it, just the way it was. "Does he have some kind of goal? Is he saving his tips for night classes? Tell me Nikki, please tell me he's got more ambition that to stay a bar tender for the rest of his life!"

"Mom! How should I know?! It's a first date for crying out loud. Slow down. It's a dinner date not a quickie wedding in Vegas."

"Well, you make sure he comes to the door to pick you up. If he's one of those guys who just beeps the horn, you just stay put until he gets the picture, you got it?"

"Chase is definitely not a horn blower," I told my mom, feeling relieved that I could report something positive. "He'll probably bring me flowers and the whole bit." I didn't know about that last part, but it didn't hurt to throw her a bone.

"That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you. I can't wait to tell Aunt Gracie, my baby is dating a real gentleman. Not like that biker your cousin Angela is seeing. Oh! He would curl your hair. He's dirty, he's rude, he's disrespectful. I don't know what she sees in him."

"Probably that he's dirty, rude and disrespectful," I deadpanned. Angela never dated a guy unless he had massive potential to piss off at least one of her parents. If they only realized this and showed every guy she brought home massive love and support, they could have guaranteed her lifelong celibacy. I know Uncle John would have liked that. They would never figure it out though, they were too obsessed with the fact that they couldn't control her- although they never seemed to give up. And reverse psychology was- well let's just say that even if they could have understood the concept, it never would have occurred to them anyway.

"Fresh, you always were fresh."

My mother is in her early 50's with shoulder length hair that she still dies blond. She refuses to cut it, thinking that it would make her look like an 'old lady.' She actually looks about fifteen to twenty years younger than her age, but I can kind of identify with the hair thing. I keep mine longer than shoulder length for fear of having that 'mom' look, or looking like I'm- oh no!- thirty! My mother is particularly obsessed with not looking like a grandma at least until she is one- and preferably not then either.

I consider making a citrus joke, but instead decide to go with a simple, "Yep."

"Have you found a job?" she inquires.

"Mom! I have a job." This is my thousandth attempt to get her to understand that my painting is not just a self indulgent hobby since I graduated from college.

"Sure, but you know- a paying job."

"Well, I'll have you know that someone just bought two of my paintings. And the owner of the gallery wants to show some more of them."

"You know, I always said you had talent. My father was a painter too you know."

"Of course I know that mom." My grandfather Tully Lester was my inspiration. He was the reason that I started to paint, the reason why I love to paint. Growing up one of my fondest memories was seeing my grandfather sitting at his easel. It always seemed to make him happy. I always thought that someday he would be a world famous artist. Little did I know that painting was his passion, construction was his job. He never sold a single painting or made a penny off of it his whole life. He kept most of his paintings, and gave a few away as gifts to special friends and family members. I think he felt that accepting money would taint his work. Not like it would make him less of an artist, but that it would make him stop enjoying it if it became something he had to do to pay the bills.

Grandpa Lester painted a lot country scenes, rolling hills, fields of wheat or corn, mountains. He painted animals in his pictures, but never people. Many of his paintings involved homes, small cottages that seemed to be an escape from every day life. I always felt like he was inside the houses in those paintings, maybe smoking a pipe or drinking coffee, or painting another picture. I loved those pictures. I would stand in front of them and imagine that I could hop right inside- to the serenity of the isolated cottage located in some pristine landscape. 

His home was adorned with his pictures, and it was my defining memory of him. That and the fact that he would always either take us for ice-cream or give my mother money and tell her to take us for ice-cream. Painting and ice-cream. Two good memories to associate with my beloved grandparent.

And now, here was my mother reminding me, who followed quite consciously in his footsteps- not that I could have stopped myself- that her father was a painter, that artistic talent runs in her family. Now, right after nagging me to get a job. Sure, before it was just a self indulgent hobby. But now that I've made money on it, I have talent. Well- ain't that the way that it always goes.

I decided not to remind her that I was just wasting my time and avoiding the real world. Why not just take the praise while I could get it. Unfortunately, I also had to listen to a long list of everybody down through the family tree who had ever shown artistic promise, from the uncle who started a band down to her own childhood dreams of becoming a singer. The problem wasn't hearing the stories that I had heard so many times over the years, the problem was simply this. The stories did not call for interaction or interruption. Sitting there holding the phone and basically not able to do anything else. I was getting restless.

"Well mom, the muse calls."

"What?"

"That means I gotta go finish this painting I've been working on. Listen, I'll send you some newspaper clippings ok? I gotta go. Love you."

"I love you too, bye."

I quickly hung up before she could think of anything else to add.

The weekend came around and I had made plans with Chase. I was so exited to see him and get to know him on a one on one basis. He was taking me to a nice Italian restaurant, so I dressed in what I considered to be a classy and yet at the same time sexy dress. It was deep green, form fitting, with a long silhouette that touched off just above the ankle. It had a slit in the side nearly all the way up to mid-thigh and had a plunging V neckline, with plenty of lift and cleavage. Besides some leg and cleavage however, I was practically covered from head to toe. The outfit reminded me of the fabled femme fatale from the old mystery movies with the hardboiled detective and the sexy bombshell. I defiantly felt like the sexy bombshell.

My confidence was further boosted when Chase came up to the door (gentlemanly, as my mother had insisted that he should be) and let out a low appreciative whistle. "I can't wait to go out with you on my arm," he commented, making me blush all kinds of red.

There was a long wait at the restaurant but luckily Chase had made reservations for us, so we got a table right away. They brought us rolls and water, even before we looked at our menus. The butter was seasoned giving the bread a very special flare. 

I scanned the menu quickly and ordered a fettuccini dish with a rich creamy sauce. Chase ordered lasagna. We had time for conversation while we waited for our food. We talked about our hobbies, our jobs, our fiends and other interests. He seemed really eager to get to know me. I told him about my philosophy on dating and friends and he agreed with me on all the major points. We really clicked.

The food finally came, and it was delicious. Mouth watering. The atmosphere of the place was so warm and friendly that we just couldn't help but have a good time. We gorged ourselves on good food and then at the end of the mean we splurged and ordered a chocolate torte and coffee.

"What's life without a little chocolate?" Chase said, and I laughed agreeably. 

"I love a man who loves chocolate," I said.

"I love a woman who loves a man who loves chocolate!" And then we both laughed as we dived into our rich and decadent desert. After dinner, we were having such a good time we decided to go an catch a late movie. The movie was a comedy and it provided plenty of laughs for the two of us. I really love to laugh and find that it raises the passions about as much as a scary horror flick.

By the time the movie ended, we defiantly were ready to head home. He drove me to my door and I invited him up. This time there was no small talk, as I locked the door and turned to him, his lips dipped down to meet mine and clothes were quickly flung to the floor.

I felt a deep hunger for the manly sexiness that Chase exuded. He was good looking yes, but rugged with big hands and a well muscled body. His arms were sculpted to perfection and even his back felt strong and muscular under my hands. I had my arms wrapped around him, pulling him close to me kissing his chest and flicking at his nipples. He was very responsive to my touch, and it was complimentary to see such a big strong manly man shudder with pleasure at the slight brush of my hand, or my lips.

His arms held me close as well, reaching out to stroke and caress my every curve. He let his hands trail down the small of my back and later he toyed with the nape of my neck. He filled his hands up with my hair and released it, he cupped my face and kissed me with great feeling. He searched the inside of my thighs for erogenous zones and found them there, he trailed down my stomach with his tongue and sent shivers up and down both sides of me.

Chase explored every part of my body, thrilling me with his touch and strumming my body like a musical instrament, making it sing along with him. He pressed his hard cock down between my thighs were it was wet and slippery and receptive. I took him into me, feeling the warmth travel from my core and radiate through my body. He kept a slow and steady pace, never neglecting me with his lips and tongue.

Fianally, I began to feel the coil of my pleasure tighten, and whimpered out beneath him to move faster. He stroked in and out of me with speed and deep penetrating thrusts. At last, the culmination of our passion over took us and we called out together into the night.

Now spent, he lay next to me, stroking my hair and looking over me with an expression of satisfaction. We talked for a while, gentle sweet whispers to preserve the moment, and to our mutual agreement he rose, and went home for the night. I lay alone, yet content, hoping we would see each other again soon.

My summer progressed well steadily from there. My career seemed to take off. I even became something of a local celebrity. I'm not anywhere close to rich, but my paintings are always in demand, and I seem to have a steady stream of income to match my steady outgo. My cupboards are quite full, and I volunteer to be designated driver less often. Occasionally I even spring for a cab, so that no one has to drive. I've found that it's a lot more fun that way, although possibly a little more dangerous. It's good to have one clear headed individual among each group of drunken fools to keep them from doing things that any sane and sober fool knows better than to participate in.

Chase and I went out a few times and he quickly became on of the gang, another friend with occasional benefits. Zoë and I spent a lot more time connecting, once we realized all that we had been missing out on. We added a few more people to our group. Glen continued not seeing his closeted cop friend, and we were there for a shoulder to cry on when Glen's feelings were inevitably hurt over and over again because Officer Macho refused to acknowledge their relationship in public. This of course happened on a regular basis.

Guy continued to pursue Glen, who seemed to encourage it. I think it was a distraction from the gymnastics his heart was performing going through the flips and flops of dating this cop. Besides, he couldn't tell Guy the truth, so he just told him nothing, remaining illusive while still appearing to be attainable.

Zoë had a few lovers, and we had a few together. But she too was focused on her career. Simone dated no one, but continued to complain about the unsuitability of all the guys who wouldn't give up on her. Lin's wife seemed to be at home more often or else he found himself a more willing playmate, because I didn't hear from him at all for the longest time. 

By September, my life was on a personal high that I thought would never come to an end. But we know, that nothing good- and nothing bad- lasts forever.

By Autumn my mother's calls had become blessedly infrequent. In fact, it was getting to the point were I actually looked forward to hearing from her instead of dreading it. She was satisfied that my career was a success and it was just a matter of weeks before I met a rich art collector who would solve all my problems and hers. She didn't understand of course, that as far as I was concerned, I didn't have a problem. Because until she had grandchildren, as far as she was concerned I had a problem.

The leaves were beginning to change, the college students were heading back to class. Art supplies went on sale. There was anticipation and excitement in the air. Even those of us who had finished school in what seemed so long ago could feel it.

I was spending nearly every day at the gallery now, doing whatever needed to be done- helping with arrangements, cleaning cataloging whatever I could do to stay in the thick of things. That was how I met Kale Masterson. I first saw him in his pressed white pants and crisp three button shirt, also white. His blond hair was slicked back and he held himself with absolute confidence, or many would say arrogance. He approached me with no sign of insecurity. He made small talk, but quickly got to the point of asking me to dinner.

I accepted, and soon found out -from the grapevine- that the restaurant that he was taking me to was one of seven that he owned. The first thing that I thought was that he was my mother's dream man for me. That almost caused me to back out, but I thought he was cute and I felt that I was too old to be making decisions so reactively and rebelliously.



Imperfect Ch. 08



The night of our date arrived. I wore a long black dress with a knee length slit, and a wrap waist. I put my hair up in a French twist and wore silver dangly earrings, and a cubic zirconium pendant necklace. He showed up dressed very nicely, in a dinner suit that made him appear even more handsome than I'd ever seen him before. Kale escorted me to his BMW, and held the door open for me. It felt like something out of a dream

The restaurant that he took me to was absolutely fabulous. Each table had a chandelier above it and a linen table cloth coving it. And yes, the restaurant was called Masterson's. The waiter's who served us were dressed even better than we were, and waited on us as if we were royalty. Of course, in the case of Kale, he practically was. He was there boss and he was there on a date to impress a woman. They knew that tonight was not the night for anything to go wrong. And thankfully, nothing did.

The food as well was first class, and Kale was a perfect gentleman. When we finished our meal, we had desert and some kind of exotic coffee. It was heaven. There was something about Kale, I don't know if it was his wealth or something in the way he carried himself, but something told me not to sleep with him on the first date. The evening went wonderfully and in the end he invited me back to his house.

I told him that I had an early appointment and that I needed to go home and go to sleep. He seemed disappointed but didn't make a big deal of it. Three nights later he called to ask for a second date. Of course I said yes. Again, everything went great, although he took me too a new place were the staff till clearly knew who he was. Again I begged off going in for drinks.

The third date, maybe it's cliché but I couldn't wait anymore. The third date was the night for the two of us. I wore a knee length skirt in forest green and a long sleeved light sweater in the same color. I curled the bottom of my hair and wore a metal barrette in the back with a large green bow. He wore tight tan pants and a ¾ unbuttoned shirt that showed a smooth and sexy chest. He obviously worked out.

Kales place was beautiful, and lavishly furnished. It looked like an interior designer had been hired to decorate. Considering the source, that was incredibly likely. We had drinks in the kitchen and he told me about the new big screen TV he had gotten for his birthday. It was, naturally- set up in the bedroom.

So I followed him to the room and pretended to be interested while he showed off all of the great features of his new toy, as if he was trying to sell me one. I nodded and smiled and checked out the room. I was impressed. He had a king sized bed with large velvet and silk pillows. The sheets were silk as were the curtains. A beautiful rich creamy off white. In addition to he TV he had a stereo with a remote that held about 100 Cds. He had exquisite paintings and antique furniture all adorned with candles in expensive and elegant candleholders.

Kale put in a jazz CD and came over to sit with me on the bed. He put his arm around me and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were moist and soft. His embrace pulled me down on the bed for more.

He was skillful; he stimulated each hungry body part before gingerly slipping the clothing back from the area. Before long we were horizontal, with barely a scrap of fabric covering our bodies. As he slipped my panties from around my waist, he told me he had a secret fantasy about me.

"What?" I said, giggling a little.

From under the pillow he produced a silk scarf. "I'd like to tie your hands together."

"Mm, kinky," I told him, giving him the go ahead. I had done a whole lot wilder than this, and considered it to be rather mild and acceptable. It was still thrilling however, to feel the smooth silk tighten around my wrists, and to have Kale move my hands up above my head where they would no longer be any use to me.

Kale moved quite expertly over me, sliding his impressive shaft in and out of me, while I squirmed and moaned beneath. In a few minutes he was moaning in that tell tale pitch and he quickly came inside of me.

He moved off of me and untied my hands. "I need a shower," he told me and handed me a towel from beside the bed. And then he was gone.

As I listened to the water run, I lay on the bed confused. Why hadn't I spoken up? I guess he had just taken me off guard. I had not expected that he would finish so quickly, or that he would finish before me with seemingly no concern for my own pleasure. It had been enjoyable while it lasted, but I felt that we were just getting started, and then it was over.

Kale came out of the bathroom, drying himself with a towel. "You can go in now," he told me magnanimously.

In the shower, I let the hot streams of water run over my body, wishing I could wash away the memory of such forgettable sex. By definition forgettable sex should be easily forgotten- but this was not the case this time. This should have been classified as sex that would best be forgotten, but the memory of which refused to go away.

Normally, I would have brought myself to climax if the man had at least tried, but it wasn't working for whatever reason- but this time I didn't even have an urge to touch myself. I had lost my desire.

Once out of the shower, I saw that Kale was already dressed. "I was thinking we'd go get something to eat. Hurry up and get dressed, I'm starving."

I dressed, feeling rather resentful. Was it all about him with this man? Did he not see that I was even there? He didn't even seem to notice my anger until we got in the car.

"What's wrong?" he asked when I didn't return his conversation with my usual chatter.

"Why-ever would anything be wrong?" I sulked.

"Uh-oh. I know what that means. What did I do?"

"What did you do? What did you do?! What didn't you do, that's the question. You didn't seem concerned with me at all. I thought there were two people in that room."

"You mean you didn't-?" he seemed genuinely surprised.

"No I didn't. If you had paid any attention at all you would have realized that. I thought it was quite obvious."

"Well, it's not like I can read you mind."

"Oh yeah, can you tell what I'm thinking now?" I growled.

"Your pissed."

"Kale Masterson, mind reading extraordinaire."

"Nicole-" he reached out to touch my arm.

"Just take me home. I'm not hungry."

"Look, I'm sorry. I guess I should have known. I just assumed- I was a jerk, ok. It won't happen again, I swear."

I looked at him. He gave me a sad face, a puppy dog pout with an irresistible 'forgive me' look. Maybe I was being a fool, but a man deserves a second chance. It had been fun while it lasted.

"OK, let's go get something to eat."

He took me to Subway and I thought he had read my mind. It's a great place to go when you've got after the deed munchies. We quickly were talking and laughing and had forgotten about the unfortunate incident.

Things went on quite well with him. He started taking me to other galleries, to baseball games, once we went on a riverboat dinner cruise. It was glamorous, wonderful to be with him. He knew how to spoil a girl, and his sex appeal never wore off. We spent so much time together, it started to seem as if we were always together.

The next time that we had sex, he finished before me. But this time he asked if I was done, and when I shook my head, he helped me along with the skillful use of his fingers. It seemed that we were on different timetables sexually, but he seemed willing to bridge the gap. Our sex life was not as satisfying as I was used to, but I really enjoyed being with him in other ways so I was willing to overlook it. Besides- he knew that we weren't monogamous, I could get my sex thrills elsewhere.

Of course, the two of us were together so often, I had no other opportunities to meet anyone else or even to hook up with any of my old standbys. Except Zoë, of course. Zoë and I met about every other week and I found that I was on fire for the kind of satisfaction that seemingly only she should bring.

She noticed of course, the change in me and we talked about what was going on in my life. "I appreciate the change in you," she told me one day after a very satisfying love making session. "But are you sure you want to be devoting this much time to a guy that leaves you feeling so unfulfilled?"

"That's the thing," I tried to explain. "He fulfills me in every other way. We have so much fun together. He takes me to all the best places. It's like I'm experiencing a whole new side of life with him."

"I know, honey. But it worries me. It seems fun for a while, but you don't seem like the same person. I think you're loosing yourself inside this guy. Like he's replacing his interests in your own."

"That's not true! I'm still interested in the same things I was before. I'm just interested in more now. I haven't replaced anything, I've added to my life."

"Are you sure?" she looked at me critically. "When was the last time you painted anything?"

It was true, I hadn't been painting. I had been so busy, living the life and painting the town with Kale, I hadn't had time to paint- let alone the quite reflection time I need before I even start to paint. My life was on a whirlwind.

"It's not as though my career is suffering," I told her defensively. "I have a huge stash a paintings to sell and to display. I've got time to just take a break and have fun."

"Take a break? Painting is what you do. I wasn't aware it was a chore you needed a break from. I thought it was your break."

"It was. But now I've got opportunities that I didn't have before. I'll paint when things slow down. My career is not going to suffer."

"If you ask me," Zoë sniffed. "I think your soul is suffering. And you're in denial."

"Well, if you ask me," I bristled. "I think you're just jealous."

"Maybe so," she answered quietly. "Maybe I'm jealous that Kale has taken you away from the rest of us, locked up your soul, kept you away from what you love- and you don't even know it. Jealous that he can make you blind but I can't make you see."

There was a tear in her voice, but I felt myself hardening against it. How could she- my best friend, not understand this?

"I have to go," she said. I realized suddenly that she had been dressing all along. Now she was out the door, and I was still sitting naked on the floor, unable to follow after her or even to open the door and call out. But I didn't want to anyway. Let her go, I felt. She didn't understand what I was going threw. I felt more abandoned by her at that moment than I ever had by Kale.

I didn't tell him about our fight, but he quickly saw that something was wrong. When he asked me about it I told him that Zoë and I had gotten into a fight because she was jealous of all the time I was spending with him.

"I can't really blame her," he surprised me by saying. "I don't like having to share you either. In fact, I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a while. I'd really like us to be exclusive."

I was stunned. I'd never even considered being in an exclusive relationship. I was so proud of saying that it just wasn't my style. And yet, our relationship had begun to take over everything else and I realized that we were already de-facto monogamous. Still, making it official was a really big step- and I was still holding out hope that Zoë would come back to me eventually. We hadn't actually split or anything, officially. Just had a fight.

"I don't know, Kale. You know that's not me."

He pouted. He pouted a lot. "Look, just give me some time to think about it," I told him. He was making me feel guilty no matter how much I fought it.

"I don't need any time to know that you're the only one I want to be with," he said, pouting some more. "But go ahead. Take some time."

After our conversation, I noticed that Kale began to act possessive, even though I hadn't given him an answer. He didn't like me talking to other guys and he even pouted when I talked to girls or even mentioned one of my friends. He wanted to be the sole beneficiary of my attention. And of course he knew about my open-minded sex policy, so he apparently felt that no one was safe. I could hook up with anyone at any time- man or woman. And I hadn't given him an answer, so he acted as though that was because I really wanted to hook up with anyone at any time. It was becoming confining. I felt uncomfortable no matter what I did. I started dropping off the social calendar, because any time I spent time with anyone other than him he acted as though I was thoughtless and neglectful. And for some reason, even though I knew intellectually that none of that was true, he managed to make me feel guilty about it anyway.

So soon, it was just the two of us. Morning noon and night. Sometimes I wanted to hang out with someone else instead- just to take a break from constant togetherness, but now when I called my friends they were all busy with other plans. I knew that they were hurt by my exclusion of them, and I couldn't blame them. But it was so lonely.



Imperfect Ch. 09



How and when had Kale managed to hijack my social life? Or was it only myself I had to blame. My mother used to say, "No one can do anything to you if you don't let them." Great, nothing like mom to add a little guilt when I'm already feeling bad about myself.

What was worse, I hadn't painted in ages. And I found that when I did get time alone, the inspiration just wasn't there. I'd splash my paint across the canvas to rid myself of the dreaded blank page syndrome and still- nothing.

Sometime I would just pull out a clipping from my files and try to draw it just as it was, but even that just didn't turn out. My sketches were pathetic, and barely even resembled what they were meant to be. I felt that a fourth grader could have done better with crayons.

Kale couldn't understand why I was getting moodier and moodier. Should' t I have been happy to be with him? Hadn't I enjoyed all the places he had taken me, all the things we had done together?

I had a hard time explaining, because he just didn't seem to understand my need for friendships beyond him. He had friends but they were all what I would have called acquaintances. People you speak to when you see and ask about their families, but other than that you rarely even think of them.

Finally, my moods, his inability to understand, and our constant togetherness got the better of me. I exploded in a fight over which dress he wanted me to wear. It was stupid- but I had so much pent up frustration, it didn't matter. We called each other all the names we could think of, and he stormed out in anger. "Don't come back!" I yelled after him, and our plans for the night were canceled.

I stood there in the dress that I had chosen. Fat lot of good it had done me to wear what I wanted- now I was literally all dressed up, but I had no were to go. I threw myself down on the couch to feel sorry for myself. What had gone wrong?

The phone rang, and I thought it was probably Kale, calling to apologize or maybe just to have the last word.

"What!" I snapped into the phone.

"What did I do to deserve that?" a hurt male voice said on the other end. It wasn't Kale, it was Lin. I couldn't take it anymore. I just burst into tears.

"I'll be right over," he said. And hung up the phone. I continued holding the phone and sobbing. Before I even realized that enough time had passed, he was standing outside my door and knocking gently. 

I let him in and he scooped me into his arms and tried to decipher my blubbering. I couldn't paint, none of my friends where talking to me and it was all my own fault, I'd had a fight with Zoë, Kale was suffocating me, and now he was gone too.

Lin's chest felt so sturdy as I cried into it. His warm familiar aroma soothed me and I could feel myself calming down some as he stroked my hair.

"There, there," he said patting my back protectively. "Calm down, it will be ok. Shh. Sh." His calming voice washed over me, helping me to gather myself together.

"Oh!" I cried, looking up at him and realizing what a mess I was. "Oh god, I'm so embarrassed. Did I ask you to come over? I'm so sorry- I shouldn't have-"

"You didn't," he assured me. "I called you. I came over because I was concerned."

"Oh! But I don't want you to see me this way," I cried out, wondering why it mattered and if I should have said it out loud.

"Don't be silly. It's fine. You need somebody, and I'm the only one here right now. It's no trouble; it's the least I can do for you. You might not believe this Nicole- but I do care about you."

I bristled. I didn't believe it. Or rather, I wanted to, but I didn't dare. I looked up at him, brushing my tears out of my face. I couldn't believe I was crying in front of him. Letting loose all my sadness and frustration. Letting myself fall apart and become a mess before his very eyes.

"I must be a mess," I said, turning away to get some tissues.

"You look beautiful," he said pulling me back around. "As beautiful as ever."

"What-" my voice caught in my throat. Our eyes locked. Was he taking advantage of my moment of weakness? Did he mean anything that he said? I wasn't sure, but I was even less sure that it mattered. I called to him with my eyes and he lowered his lips to mine. The kiss was soft, a soothing balm to the storms of the world.

"Just hold me," I breathed.

He grasped me close in a tight embrace. I let the tension just drain out of my body. His arms felt like home wrapped around me and I wondered why I had resisted him for so long.

"Take me to the bedroom," I whispered.

"Are you sure?" he asked me sounding reserved.

"No, I'm not sure of anything. Just take me. Please."

He lifted me, the skirt of my white dress hanging down his arm like the wing of a swan, and carried me into the bedroom like a groom caries a bride over the threshold. He laid me down gently on the bed and began kissing my neck. I kissed him back, unbuttoning his shirt with my shaking unsteady fingers. His neck was vaguely rough, as though he shaved yesterday but not today, and the woodsy scent of his cologne drew me in further. Was it him or his scent that I couldn't resist? There was no separating the two.

My lips traced down his chest. Like mine, not perfect but beautiful nonetheless. The brown hair from his head repeated itself over his body in a pattern of soft curls. He had the body of a man, there was nothing boyish about it. His nipples were hard, standing out from his well toned pecks. I flicked my tongue across them and kissed them as well.

He slid down the zipper in the back of my dress and slipped it away from my body in one stroke. His kisses burned across my shoulders, and he pulled back the straps of my slip. I felt a shiver go threw my body as his hands trailed my back, removing this next layer of clothing.

And still I had on a lacy bra and panty set. Three layers of white, as if I were indeed a bride on this night. Something inside me almost felt as if I were. It was like a wish, but without the pain of longing. A wish fulfilled. Perhaps I was deluding myself, but the moment felt perfect, and everything else just melted away.

I pulled away Lin's shirt and dragged my nails lightly across his back, down to his waistband and around front to unfasten his fly. I could already feel his arousal, and sense his internal struggle. This was what he had been after for so long, so why was he holding back.

"I don't want to do anything that you're going to regret," he told me, pausing my progress on his jeans.

"I regret a lot of things right now. And I don't know how I'm going to feel tomorrow, but right now, this is the only thing that feels right to me. Whatever happens, I won't hold you responsible. This is my decision. This is what I want, Lin. Please. I need this now."

He sighed, a long and deep shutter of a sigh. I felt him letting go, giving in to his own temptation. He let go of my hand and let me finish unzipping him. As I slid his jeans down off his ass, I heard him growl- a primal growl of pleasure that would not be denied.

I could feel the same desire burning inside of me. I rolled on top of him, feeling him, tasting him, enjoying the sensation of our bodies pressed close- separated only by our underwear. There was something innocent in this, that last moments before we became naked together. And innocent and unbound joy. My body was in love with his, and I felt the reciprocation.

I let him remove the last layer of clothing from our bodies. His hands were deft. There was pleasure in the feel of his touch over my body. The touch, almost incidental for it's purpose was not to thrill me but to unwrap the present that lay for him beneath. My hunger grew with every moment.

At last, we were naked, skin to skin. He rolled me back to the bottom. He kissed me again, this time taking my breath, and returning it with his soul. I felt tears inside me again, threatening to well up but they were tears of joy. The feeling of connection with him was so strong that when he entered me, I felt a wave of pleasure that seemed to come from beyond the body, to an astral plane where we were together as closely as we were on this one.

Perhaps I was delusional, all the blood had drained from my head along with my tears. Maybe my need outweighed my common sense, my judgment and my rational mind.

His body moved over mine, sensing my yearning, my need for something to fill the void that was threatening to engulf me. I was overwhelmed by life, and now by my long held back need to be with him like this. The music played, our bodies danced. I could see colors and lights celebrating our union. Every voice that should have told me that it was wrong, had deserted me, went elsewhere, as if on vacation.

There was just the two of us, at last together. His weakness filling my need. I let myself believe that he felt what I felt. That this union was a union of souls, long overdue and at long last come to pass. And when I called out because I was falling, I knew with certainty that he would be there to catch me, and he was.

I came crashing back into my bed, into my body, into his arms beneath him. I felt him releasing his tension within me as I was calling out with my climax. It was nearly perfect, almost simultaneous, and still a joy.

Yes, he was there to catch me. And he held me as we fell asleep together, needing no words. And when I woke in the morning he was still there, beside me with his arms wrapped around my torso. I felt protected and cherished, almost as if I had never been the tough jaded woman that had built the wall that had held him off for so long.

I shook him gently awake. "Lin- Lin, do you need to get home?" I whispered without accusation.

"No, she's at her mom's again," he mumbled into her pillow. "We had a fight. She won't be back for a few days."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked supportively. What an odd thing to say, I remembered thinking. And still, it was from my heart.

He turned toward me, and brushed my hair out of my eyes. "No, I don't want to think about anything right now but you."

My insides were like jelly. I knew it must be nothing more than sweet talk, morning after balm to keep him in my good graces. But I let myself believe it. "Sweet talker," I teased him. "Do you want something to eat?"

"You know I can't eat this early. I'll take some coffee if you got it."

I kissed his forehead, not knowing if I would ever have him here like this again and took a long lingering look to file away in my good memory box. "I'll put a pot on, then I'm going to take a shower."

The warm water washed over me, but didn't seem to wake me. I felt so light that I must be dreaming still. Nothing from the night before could be true. Let it be a dream that I could cherish, with no consequences and no guilt.

It wasn't a dream, because when I emerged from the shower he was still there. And still the bad feelings that I kept expecting to crash down on me stayed away. There was something magical in this, I thought as we sat down to a shared cup of coffee.

"I can't stay long," he told me. "I hope you understand."

"Of course I do. I- Thank you for coming over, Lin. I just needed someone to be with me."

He smiled at me. There were no words for this moment. It was a pure moment. We drank in silence and then he rose, kissed me on the forehead and told me goodbye. "See ya, beautiful lady," he sang before strolling out the door.

I felt an urge now to go into my studio and paint. Without sketching I let my brush fly over the canvas, creating roses and lilies and crocuses. They were smaller canvases with single theme images, but they came quickly and easily and I painted a room full of flowers by the time that the sun was setting again. 



Imperfect Ch. 10



*Two weeks passed, and I refused to talk to Kale, or to see him. Lin called once to tell me that she was coming home, so I would know not to call the house. (Even though I never call the house, he always calls me. But I guess he thought that what happened between us might have changed that and didn't want to take the chance. I couldn't blame him.)

Things were fine between us. I didn't feel the need to see him again and he either didn't have the opportunity or inclination for another visit. I felt like I needed to reconnect with Zoë, so much had happened since I had seen her last. But she proved impossible to get in contact with.

I finally caved and called Glen. He told me that she had gone out of town for the week to visit a cousin of hers. I told Glen that I was sorry for having abandoned all of them. "I don't think I had my head on right for a while there. But I'm working through things. I hope you guys will be willing to take me back."

"Of course, honey. And listen, you'll never believe it but Simone finally found someone!"

"What? No way!" I gasped.

"And get this- he's white! All her homeboys are green with envy. He's in the Army, which is a good thing, because he can hold his own."

"Yeah, anybody dating Simone is going to have to prove himself a time or two."

"Listen, not to cut this short sweetie, but I've got to go. I've got company."

"I completely understand, Glen. Thanks for being so cool about this."

After that, I decided to go out and get some fresh air. It felt good, as if I had been cooped up for a really long time. By the end of the week, before I had been able to talk to Zoë even once, I wasn't feeling so good.

In fact, it was becoming obvious that something was horribly terribly wrong. At first, I thought I had the flew. I was tired all day long, and overtaken by nausea whenever I caught whiff of anything but the most bland food. My head felt like it was full of a buzzing hornet's nest. If anybody else were around, I would have surely been a complete bitch. But as I was all alone in my apartment, I just raged against my canvas, at one point throwing paint past the easel and onto the wall. My hormones seemed out of control. This was stronger than any PMS I'd ever had, and I was beginning to fear the worst.

I bought a home pregnancy test and took it home. I just kept looking at it. I wanted to know, but only if it was going to give me the answer I wanted. The last thing I wanted to do was take it alone. Finally I decided to wait until Zoë got back, and hope that she would be willing to listen to me, perhaps she would sit with me and wait- be there when the results came in.

She called me when she got home. She told me that she was sorry that we fought, and she hoped that we could work threw things. I told her that I was so relieved, and that there was so much to tell her.

"I'm going to buy some champagne so that when that test comes back negative, we can celebrate. Then I'm going to drive over to your place. Do you want to do it there or here?"

I felt like hugging Zoë through the phone. I knew that I could count on her. I hadn't yet told her about Lin though, it was such a huge deal, I had to tell her in person. "Let's do it here. And there's a few more things I have to tell you. But they can wait until you get here. I can't wait to see you. I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too, hun. Now hold tight, I'll be right over. And Nikki?"

"What?"

"Don't worry. Everything's going to be OK. I promise."

I knew that she had no way of knowing that for sure, but I loved her for saying it. And I felt reassured. It would be ok, Zoë said so, Zoë would make it so. I clung to this thought as I waited for her to arrive with wine glasses- full of optimism to the end.

We greeted each other with hurried kisses and a rushed embrace. "Hurry, go take it," she urged me.

In the bathroom, my hands shook as I opened the box. I knew that after this, nothing would be the same. I could feel that in moments my world would turn upside down, and soon everything would be spinning out of control. Despite Zoë's assurances that everything was going to be ok, I felt panic and fear. I swallowed hard and tried my best to keep my hand from shaking.

When I was finished, I set the test on the sink counter and went out to the living room. Seeing Zoë sitting there, waiting to see what I had to tell her, I felt apprehensive. I didn't want to admit to her what had happened. I wanted her only to see the best in me. And yet, it had to be told.

I sat next to her and folded my hands in my lap. "I have something I need to tell you. It's very hard for me to say."

"Go ahead, Nikki. It's ok, whatever it is. We can deal with anything once it's out there and we know what we're dealing with."

"After Kale and I got into our fight, I was really upset. Crying. Hysterical. I just felt so off balance."

"Go ahead," she encouraged. I was afraid that at any moment I would name the deed and her calm demeanor would turn to ice or fire, cutting me with anger and shame.

"Lin called me. I don't know what he wanted. But he heard how upset I was. And he came over to make sure I was alright and- and- I was out of my mind Zoë. I just didn't care anymore- the wall came down and Lin was there. I needed comfort. And he was- there."

"You slept with Lin." Zoë said simply.

I dropped my head. I couldn't bare to look at her. Instead I focused my eyes on my fingernails, touching them and rubbing them with my fidgety fingers.

"Oh God-" Zoë said, suddenly realizing what this meant. "and if you- this could be- it could be- Oh Nikki!" She swept me into her arms and crushed me to her chest with an all embracing hug. She was on my side, she supported me. But she knew the weight of what I had to face.

She pushed me back, encouraging me to sit straight by the way she guided her hands over my frame. She steeled herself, and by association me. "It's ok. It's going to be ok, because the test is going to be negative anyway. We'll deal with the other issue after we see the test."

Our conversation, with all the nervous pauses, deep breaths and resolute gestures had taken the requisite three minutes so I went to check my results. I came out, speechless- stunned into silence carrying the test out in front of me. I presented it for her to see. Both windows were colored with a cheerful pink. The result was positive.

We stared at each other in stunned silence for a moment, and then I let the test drop from my shaking hands. She hugged me again. "We can get through this- we can. Don't worry we will get through this."

I don't know what I would have done without Zoë. She truly was a lifesaver to me. She held me for a long time, and she refused to judge me for my indiscretion. For breaking my code- sleeping with a married man, and Lin no less. She understood my weakness when it came to him. She even told me that she always felt that it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened between the two of us. I couldn't believe it. I had always thought that I was so strong. That I could resist him. Apparently she had seen something that I had refused to.

The timing of the event made things so muddled. I realized that either Kale or Lin could have been the father, neither of which was a good option. I realized, vaguely that I had options but not taking any of them seriously. This baby was mine, whatever else it was, and it belonged with me. That was the only thing that I knew, the only thing that was sure and true- besides Zoë.

When I told Kale, he reaction was nothing I could have predicted. A part of me wanted to keep it a secret from him, but a sense of honor compelled me to inform him of my situation. I hadn't yet told him that I knew it could be someone else's child. I simply told him that I was pregnant and how far along I was.

"So you want money? Is that what this is about? A little money now or a lot of money later?" I supposed that was his thoughtless way of asking me if I planned to have an abortion.

"I'm keeping the baby. And I didn't come here for money. I thought you should know, that's all."

"Why? It's not like it's mine. What with all the men you've probably been with- that baby could be anybody's."

I hadn't suspected until then, the depths of his jealousy. But what he said next stunned me anymore.

"I don't know what you think, but that babies not mine. And you'll never be able to pin it on me. I have a reputation in this town. I don't father illegitimate children with some nobody painter. If you try to say any different, I can make life very difficult for you."

The words stung beyond belief. All the time that he had been with me, had he been thinking of me this way? Just as some cheep inferior white trash piece of ass- another possession to acquire and then discard or trade off when he found a toy he liked better? Or was he just lashing out, repaying me for some unknowing slight? For refusing to let him tie me down as figuratively as he had always enjoyed doing literally?

From his demeanor, I knew that it was both. I had refused him denied him something that he wanted. And he was not used to being refused. And yet he was right about the other stuff too. He had a reputation as a man of good standing. It would cause a scandal for him to be the father of this child. The kind of scandal that he was accustomed to using his money to make go away.

I was angry at him for his attitude and reaction. I never told him that there was a possibility that it could be somebody else, because he just assumed that it could be anybody. Even though, the whole time we had been together, there had been no one else besides Zoë, he was not willing to believe that. He could only believe the worst of me. That I refused to declare myself monogamous because I wanted to keep having sex with as many men as possible. His low view of me, along with his accompanying contempt made me come close to hating him. The only thing that stopped me was the realization that if he had wanted to claim this child- I could be facing even worse circumstances than this. A fate I did not even want to contemplate. I crossed my fingers and hoped that he would not change his mind. But knowing all I did about him, I could safely say that was unlikely.

The second possibility was also a problem. Unlike Kale, Lin was a person who was dear to me. True to my word I didn't hold him responsible for what happened between us, and I didn't want to do anything to come between him and his wife. The truth was- I loved Lin in my own special way, but I didn't want him for a husband or even a boyfriend. Zoë and I agreed that either way, the paternity of the child would be protected, classified information. Whatever it would take, even letting the hospital and anyone else that enquired simply believe that I just didn't know who could have fathered my child. Let them judge me, I had been judged before.

The conversation with Lin, may well have been more painful than the one with Zoë. He told me that he would not deny this child if it was his, that he would leave his wife and take care of me. I told him no. I didn't want to ruin his marriage, and that I would protect him. He could see my baby, and be an honorary uncle if that was his wish. I knew that he was not really ready to leave his wife and that this kind of news would be far more than she would allow. I knew that he wanted this way out, and yet I felt that he really wished he could do what he saw as the more honorable thing. I had to assure him that there was no honor in destroying his family. That Zoë and I would take care of things, that the child- who's ever it was, my child, would have a good life. And so would he.

I convinced him of what he already knew. He would tell no one and neither would I. Things would stay just as they were. Only everything would be different. He gave in- with just enough fight to feel that he had tried to do the right thing. And I really did appreciate the thought- as they say. A part of me doubted that he ever would have followed through, but I had no desire to ruin his life just to confirm my worst fears about him. Instead I chose to believe the best. And we chose to protect each other.

Zoë and I steeled ourselves for the coming storm. I began moving in with her, but kept my apartment as a studio for my painting. I realized that I just didn't want to be alone during this trying time. She agreed to be my birthing coach, and co-parent. We agreed that we would continue to have an open relationship, but that we would begin to be more low key about it, and that the relationship between the two of us would be taken to a new level.



Imperfect Ch. 11



Now suddenly we were officially a lesbian couple- expecting a baby. People assumed all sorts of things to fill in the details. I found it hard to ignore them and just smile, especially as my belly grew and my hormones swung wildly from here to there. I also found it hard to think of myself as half of a lesbian couple- just saying it felt so political- when I had always considered myself nothing more and nothing less than simply sexually open minded.

At first I insisted that I wasn't gay. People were confused.

"Are you living with a woman?"

"Yes."

"So is she your friend or your lover?"

"Both."

"But you're not a lesbian?"

"No, I don't consider myself to be a lesbian?"

"So you're bi?"

"I don't consider myself to be bi either."

"But you're in a lesbian partnership, right?" they would ask, genuinely confused.

"I guess you could say that," I would concede.

"So you're a lesbian- right?"

At this point I would usually sigh and say, "I guess that's the simplest way to put it- yeah."

Over time my answer was boiled down to the much more simple, "yeah," and everything else that came before it was just skipped for the sake of brevity. And to keep me from pulling my hair out.

My mother had the hardest time understanding. I had found prince charming, but managed to let him slip though my fingers. Even though I was having his child. (She knew nothing about the married friend who was another likely candidate for fatherhood.) Now I was living with a woman. "What will your father say?" she guilt-ed me with when I informed her of that bit of news. "What are you bringing my grandchild into?" she lamented day after day when she called to check in on me. She was driving me out of my mind with constant questions and recriminations. Still, she was exited about becoming a grandmother, despite her apprehensions. She barely knew from one day to the next how she felt about the situation, and refused to tell anyone in our hometown that I was 'shacking up with some lesbian corruptor' as she called my beloved Zoë.

Though not to her face- my mother was a dear thing to Zoë and I think that she even liked her on a personal level, but not as a life partner to her only daughter. A daughter who was destined to marry a rich art collector who would take care of her so that she could produce many grandchildren. Zoë was no rich art collector, and she didn't have the right tools for the rest of it.

She clung to her dreams for me, insisting that Zoë was some kind of fad. "I read that all the college kids try it at least once," she once said dismissively- conveniently ignoring the fact that I had long graduated from college. Still, she was sure that lesbian romance and illegitimate children were a phase that would pass, and it would be unnecessary to alert the town gossips. It would all blow over, and her fairy tale world would come true for me. Even if they were wished that I had never made for myself, but wishes she had conferred on me long ago.

The months leading up to the delivery were long indeed. There was much uncertainty, but at least I knew that Zoë would love and support me no matter what. I had security in that.

Zoë's house wasn't very big, so we decided to start looking for a family size home- with room for a studio, so we could stop paying on a whole other apartment. I already had some savings, so we considered our options of either buying or renting, and decided that we would buy. We planned to raise this child for at least 18 years, and we wanted to be able to give him or her some sense of stability in what was likely to be a tumultuous childhood. It was a huge step for us, neither of us having made such a large purchase ever, and here we were, doing it together. It made us realize the finality of our decision, the weight and meaning of all that we were about to embark on.

It wasn't difficult getting the loan, however we found to our surprise that finding a house would be. There was quite a lot more resistance than we expected. Our town was a fairly progressive, liberal minded college town- or so we thought until we tried to find a neighborhood that wasn't hostile to the idea of us relocating there.

We found that an amazing number of people really didn't mind us being what we were, they weren't against us being a couple or having a baby together, they just didn't know how our presence was going to change the dynamic of their community- or what they might tell there children about us. Even among the open minded, it seemed there was fear.

We didn't want to be crusaders and insist on our right to live in a neighborhood that didn't want us there. We wanted to find a warm and welcoming home for ourselves and our baby. We kept our faith that somewhere, someday soon, we would find that place, and that it truly did exist.

At last we found a slightly run down community who's residence for the most part were young twenties and rather bohemian in attitude. There was a real experimental feel about the place and we were welcomed with a warm attitude of 'we don't have things figured out- we don't know everything all ready; so why would we tell you that your way is wrong when we don't know which way is right." There were a lot of artist types and even a few that were more or less simply shiftless. It was nothing to write home about- not to my mom anyway- but it felt remarkably like home to us. And we were grateful for the accepting atmosphere.

The house itself had three bedrooms, a roomy kitchen and living room, a porch with a decorative wooden rail and a big square back yard. Nothing was new and quite a few things either needed repair, or would soon but it was far from condemned. We were surprised that we could afford it. We were so exited, we just scooped it up.

We had thought, since the bank approved us for a loan and we found a house, that we could move in quickly before the time came for the baby to come. Wow, were we wrong about that! The process of purchasing a house is so harrowing, and so time consuming that I won't bore you with the details except to say that we felt quite deflated when we realized how long we were going to have to wait. And relieved that we had started as soon as we had.

The pregnancy itself was a healthy one, and physically not as bad as many, or so I hear. I was nauseous a lot, and much warmer than everyone else and had night twitches and muscle cramps. But I was lucky to escape without swollen hands or feet, varicose veins, or a host of other uncomfortable and stressful complications. I ate well, and continued to work. Zoë looked after my health as much as I did, making sure I got plenty of milk and dairy and fresh fruit and of course fiber. Even as my belly grew, the two of us grew closer.

We made frequent visits to the homes of our soon to be neighbors, who were as eager as we were for our new arrival. Actually, their excitement was what helped me forget my misgivings and fears much of the time and embrace my growing belly and changing life.

Dexter and Ilene were the neo-hippie couple across the street. They wore bell-bottoms and leather fringe and bead shirts found at Goodwill. They had a very non-materialistic view on life, and were really big on recycling.

Janice and Menache where kind of hippy-is too, but they bought all the new wave hippy styles. Janice was a potter, and Menache worked in the city. He was a political lobbyist and was paid very well. They were the 'rich couple' on the block. Which meant they were still pretty poor by the rest of the world's standards. They had a little boy who was 2 and a baby girl.

The third neighbor we were close with was Miss Henderson. She was a sixty year old novelist, who pretty much always said what was on her mind. She like me, had a very open attitude toward her sexuality, and even when we met her had two female lovers and one male lover. Miss Henderson had never been married and informed us that she never intended too either. Her hobby was playing the piano and she was quite good. Her three lover's had far-flung interests as well. The man in her life built quality hardwood furniture and was a part time travel photographer. He was a young man of 43. He also was a gardening nut and raised prize winning roses. In his spare time he liked to make macramé plant holders!

Miss Henderson's two female lovers were as different as night and day, and both closer to her own age range. Matilda was the young and feminine one, with shoulder length wavy brown hair. She was 56. Katherine was 58 and full of piss and vinegar. She dressed simply, never putting on airs, never bothering with the slightest bit of make-up, indeed she thought moisturizing lotion was a luxury, which she occasionally indulged in. The first time I met her, I was taken aback. She was clearly a woman- and she had a beauty that was not only external, but seemed to radiate from within. Her long hair she wore pinned up, but she refused to cut it. She was extremely brusque to the point were she seemed rude, and that's what had taken me off guard about her. I thought she must surely hate me, but I found out later from Miss Henderson that she was quite fond of me. It was something I never would have guessed. And I had to learn very quickly to read between the lines with her.

Sometimes a group of us would get together in one of the houses for a game of Rummy. I wasn't very good at it, but I enjoyed the company. Sometimes we would bring Glen or Guy or even Simone or Chase and we all quickly became one big semi-dysfunctional group of mostly artists and free spirits. Simone and Chase were clearly the 'straight men' of the group, but we loved them just as much as the others.

We used to joke that even if we didn't end up moving in, we would all still be close fiends. Which was funny until we almost didn't get the house.

At the last minute the bank informed us that there were some problems that could potentially make the entire deal fall through. We were close to due date, and very tied up with last minute preparations. We were very scared that we just weren't going to be able to balance everything out and be able to salvage our claim on the house. It was Miss Henderson's friend Katherine that pulled us up out of the fire at the last minute. It turned out that she had some connections and she really wanted to see us in the neighborhood. I was so exited when I got the news that things could once again move forward, I considered hugging her, but one look at her told me that was a very bad idea. Instead I told Miss Henderson in private how much we appreciated it, and she passed on the information.



Imperfect Ch. 12



The house was still not going to be available to move into for almost 6 months. Zoë's house was beautiful, and we had plenty of room there, but we had such big dreams and I was so anxious to begin. The baby was born, and we named her Emily Estelle Keys. I gave her Zoë's last name in order to tie them together in some way.

We set up a rough nursery in the rental house. Unable to paint or make any renovations we just made do with curtains which we could bring into the new house with us, decorative bedding and furniture and a few framed posters.

From the beginning Em was the light of my life. Her, Zoë and I were the most amazing little family, impatiently waiting the arrival of our new home. Even Emily seemed impatient, as if she knew that we had big dreams and they started at some point other than here.

I couldn't believe how much my perspective on just about everything changed, from the use of 'bad words' around an infant who had no comprehension to the state of the world in general. Suddenly, Barney seemed endearing and cable TV seemed all too violent and sexual.

The biggest and most surprising change was that my sex drive became amazingly low. Now I felt much more like staying home and cuddling with Zoë, than going out and finding a playmate. Zoë hadn't experienced the same physical changes as I had, but she too seemed much more homebound.

It was the strangest thing- this family that I had never sought, and never even thought that I wanted was the most fulfilled life I could have ever imagined for myself. But it was not without difficulty. I found that the money that I thought I was pretty good didn't go nearly as far after diapers, diapers and more diapers. Never mind the myriad of other things that it turned out you need for a person so small they fit in the crook of your arm.

Even though our new neighbors were loving and excepting, there were many others whom we encountered that weren't. Many just assumed that we were two friends and that one or the other of us had a baby, but when it became clear that the three of us were family we got responses that ranged from hostile to those who seemed to take it as a personal insult. The last group I will never understand, even if I somehow figure out the reasoning that rules over the first.

At last the day came when the deal was final and we were able to move into our new house on Willow Street. Em was four months old, and we dressed her in this sweet little pink dress and booties. Normally I'm against gender stereotyped baby clothes, but she just looked so darn cute in it and we planned to take lots of pictures.

First we drove Zoe's car- now our car up to the house and brought Emily inside with much fanfare, snapping pictures and telling her in our high singsong voices all about how this was our new home and how much she was going to love it here, and how great the neighbors were. The whole time she gurgled and drooled on my shirt, not understanding anything beyond the fact that her parents had flipped.

We decided that we would spend the night in the houses, moving all our boxes and belongings from Zoe's house in first. The big house cost us much more than the apartment so we let that go first, and decided to keep the apartment for a while so that we could cut down on the stress of moving. After our first night there, we still didn't have a phone hooked up, and many of our neighbors chose not to even have a phone, so I ran out and invited them all over for an impromptu housewarming.

Now for many people that would seem rude, not giving them time to prepare and come with a gift and all of that. But once you understand the mindset in our neighborhood you would realize that it was just the right thing to do. They were all very spontaneous people, and very much enjoyed the idea of a last minute party. In fact, they all told me they would be over as soon as they could cook up something quick that they could bring over with them.

Janice and Manache made a quick cassarole of ham and corn baked into scalloped potatoes from a mix, Dexter and Ilene made an organic salad from their backyard garden, and Miss Henderson, who came over with Katherine, brought an grocery store frozen ice-cream pie from her freezer and a bag of chips. 

Our guest had also brought makeshift gifts. Ilene brought us a potted plant which she had put together from a cutting of her garden flowers. Dexter made a bright patchwork wall hanging using cloth and hot glue, Janice embellished some kitchen curtains that Dexter had packed away that they had inherited from his grandmother. Miss Henderson had painted some wooden candlesticks, and Katherine had insisted on bringing some light bulbs. "They always blow out as soon as you move in," she told me grimly. "And before you get a chance to stock up."

Our party was fantastic, with gifts and food and good friends. We played cards and talked and had a grand old time. It was a wonderful welcome to the neighborhood. Later on in the week we would invite them all back along with our old friends- but there was something special in this first welcome- some warm and full of generosity.

After a month or two we had settled in, and made the new house a true home. Zoe told me that I deserved and needed to go out, and that she would stay home with Em.

"No, I really don't want to," I told her honestly. "I'd rather stay home with you."

"I know- but you really need a change of pace. Besides I want you to get out before you feel like you have to or you'll go crazy."

"That's not going to happen, silly."

"Of course not," she said rolling her eyes. "Just humor me. Besides- maybe I'm getting sick of you," she finished in a teasing way. I gave her shoulder a friendly shove taking no real offense.

"All right. OK. I'll go."

I soon realized this really was about her as much as me. As I was dressing, she began to make suggestions about what I should wear. And all of her suggestions were more daring than my own choices.

"Look, you've got your figure back so nicely. You want to show that off!" she said, grabbing a form hugging mid-thigh skirt. "And your breasts are amazing!" She said, handing me a cleavage enhancing top.

"But I'm not as thin as I want to be," I tried to protest. "And they're so tender!" about my breasts.

"Don't be silly, you look great! Here, put these on," she said handing me a pair of sheer black crotch-less pantyhose. Finally she dug out a pair of strappy four inch heals that I had not worn for what had seemed ages.

"I can't wear those!" I objected. "I'll fall on my ass!"

"And a gorgeous ass it is, too," she said shoving them at me.

After I dressed, Zoë brushed my hair and helped me put it up and encouraged me to use some color on my face, although I still kept it tasteful to which she did not object. In the end, I looked sexy but not sluttish and she seemed quite satisfied.

"Have fun," she told me with a devilish grin. "We'll see you tomorrow some time," suggesting that she fully expected that I would stay out all night and maybe even go home with someone for a while.

"If not sooner," I told her just before shutting the door behind me, suggesting that I might not.

To my surprise, she opened the door and came out to give me a final kiss goodbye. "I'm living vicariously though you tonight . Don't let me down Tiger." Then she slapped me on the ass and went back inside.

The bar I went to was a busy nightclub. The DJ played a mix of rock, dance and disco- all of it loud.

I ordered a couple of shots and moved out to the dance floor. I didn't have as much trouble with my shoes as I had thought I would and soon had two men dancing near me, each trying to show each other up with their moves.

When I went to sit down, only one guy followed me. He introduced himself as Jerry. Jerry was a slender guy, slightly taller than me with dark hair and eyes and the beginnings of a beard. Beneath the growth you could see a smooth hansom face, early to mid thirties. He wore an expensive suit, good shoes and a high quality wrist watch. This was the kind of guy you'd be scoping for if you were single and looking. He was a keeper all right. But I only needed to take him out on loan.

I introduced myself and we exchanged small talk and then went to dance together on the floor. I found out that Jerry was traveling through town on business- and this was in fact his last night in town. He had been afraid that I wouldn't want to spend time with him because of this. But the truth was, I was relieved. There was no chance of this evening being misunderstood, or taken to mean something it didn't.

As the music thumped and blared, I shimmied my body against his on the dance floor. Through his clothes I could feel lean muscles, and a not so lean expression of his excitement. The alcohol was going to my head, making me feel a little dizzy, but also mixed in with excitement. Jerry was responding positively to having my body pressing against him. He let his hands wander freely over the front and back of me, practically undressing me on the dance floor.

After we had bumped and groped our way though two songs, we went back to the table to sit for a while. 

"So, it doesn't bother you that I'm leaving town tomorrow?" he yelled about the din.

"No, of course not," came my shouted reply. "It actually kind of adds to the fun."

He laughed, "Adventurous woman huh? I like that."

When the music turned slow, Jerry led me back out to the dance floor. We pressed our bodies even closer together and swayed back and forth with the song. With my head resting on his shoulder, I could smell Jerry's warm spicy cologne. I nuzzled into his chest to enjoy the sent further.

"My hotel is right down the street," Jerry informed me. "If you get tired of the noise in here or something."

"Na, I'm used to the noise. But I'd love to see where you're staying."

We got our coats and stepped out into the night air. It was crisp and cool and soothing. A bright moon illuminated our path to the car. Jerry looked as sexy from behind as he did from the front. I couldn't wait to get alone with him. Thank goodness Zoë insisted that I go out tonight.

When we got to his hotel, Jerry helped me out of the car and all of that. He was a perfect gentleman. I've known many men who come off smooth at first but then are rough and crude and completely inconsiderate, and I knew that many of them kept up the act until the very last minute- until they get you on the bed with the door locked, legs spread, no where to turn and no real way to scream for help- before changing there tune, so I kept my guard up, but I didn't get the feeling I was in for anything like this tonight.

Jerry was quite a gentleman, offering me a wine cooler and sitting next to me on his bed- he just had a single room, not a suite, so there were few places to sit- telling me how beautiful he thought I was. "I feel lucky to be here with you," he said, continuing to flatter me. "I really wish this wasn't my last night in town."

"I'm just glad that I didn't wait another night to come out or we would have missed each other all together."

"That's true. But I'd love to have a girl like you."

I laughed nervously. "Well, I'm not really a 'somebody's girl' kinda girl."

"What do you mean?" He leaned back on the bed casually and looked at me with interest.

"Well- I hope this doesn't weird you out or anything, but I'm already in a relationship. An open relationship."

"So you're old man knows you're here with me, and doesn't care?"

"Well, it's more like- my old lady."

"No way! I never would have pegged you for bi."

"I don't consider myself bi- just open-minded. Anyway, it was my girlfriend who insisted that I go out tonight. I'm a little nervous though, because I haven't been with a guy since my daughter was born. Erm- is this too much information?"

"No, not at all. I find it fascinating. Confusing but fascinating. You two sound like you got a cool thing going."

"Yeah, well- she's my salvation really. I don't know what I'd do without her."

"She as cute as you are?"

"She's beautiful!" I exclaimed. "Like an angel. She's got died pink hair and this cute teardrop shaped face. About my height."

"You're face lights up when you talk about her," he commented.

"And your lap stands up, when I talk about her," I observed, putting my hand on his erect cock. "Would you like to hear some of the details?"

He laughed as though he were a little embarrassed. "Sure. I've always been kind of curious about what two women do together anyway. I mean- I've seen lesbian porn but that's made for men and who knows if it's anything like what really goes on, right?"

"Well, we do it all. We don't really watch lesbian porn though, so I couldn't really say if it's off the mark."

"They usually show the girls doing sixty-nine, or using toys on each other, food sometimes," he explained.

Now it was my turn to laugh. "We don't usually use food- occasionally toys. But for us, I've got to say, it's a lot less about the penetration and more about being together, enjoying each other. We spend a lot more time just kissing and making out then most men want to." I felt a twitch under my hand when I said that.

"Oh, so you like the picture of us kissing, do you? We kiss for hours sometimes, teasing the hell out of each other before one of us even touches the other's pussy." Another twitch. I gave him a squeeze and he twitched again. "We sixty-nine sometimes, but not as often as you might think. We usually just take turns eating each others pussies. It's better for us both like that." I started rubbing him thought his pants as I talked.

"When it comes to penetration, we sometimes use dildos or jelly dongs or odd things we find around the house, but usually, it's just our fingers. She can make me come with her fingers better than any man ever could. You're welcome to try to top it though," I said giving him a devilish grin.

"Oh I will," he assured me. I unzipped his pants, and told him to stand up. I let his pants slip down to the floor and pulled his boxers down with them. I stayed down on my knees in front of him and looked up at him.

:"I like to give a guy a good blow job before we fuck," I inform him. "So I'm going to have to pause in my story here for a minute." I took his cock in my hand and licked the head of it. Then I licked the shaft from underneath and the sides and took the whole thing into my warm wet waiting mouth. His cock was thick and long and hard and had a light tasty flavor in my mouth. I sucked on first the head, and then gradually took more and more of him into my mouth. I looked up at him as often as I could to make eye contact while I sucked on his member. Each time I looked up, he groaned. One time I winked and his cock jerked so hard I half expected that he had already come inside my mouth, but he hadn't. After giving him a healthy tongue bath, I pulled my mouth off of him and started stroking him with my hand, using a firm grip.

"I love the taste of sweet pre-cum," I purred at him. "I hope some will leak out now so I can lick it off the tip of your cock."

Jerry moaned again and a little clear liquid leaked out, "Are you always this forward?" he asked as I licked it up. I covered the head of his penis with my wet lips and sucked him into my mouth.

"Mmm," I replied with his engorged member still in my mouth. "When I see something I want, I go for it."

I could feel my pussy growing damp as I have him head. His cock was beautiful and I couldn't wait to have it pressed into my other lips. Thank goodness I didn't have to struggle out of panties or nylons. I could fuck him without ever taking off a stitch of clothing, let alone my shoes. But his cock was so yummy, I just didn't want to stop. Pretty soon, though my pussy was so wet, it really needed some attention. I could have slipped my hand under my skirt and fingered my own slit while I continued sucking his cock, but I really wanted to feel his hands on me, so I drew the oral sex session to an end.

"You're not going to be afraid to kiss me now that I've had your cock in my mouth are you?" I asked him bluntly.

"No, of course not," he said, leaning in to prove it. His hands went to my pussy, now soaked with my dripping juices. "Oh, you are a bad girl aren't you?" he said happily.

"Yes, I am," I agreed. "Very bad indeed."

"Those are the best kind," he assured me, lifting my shirt off. The black push up bra I had on, barely contained my milk filled breasts.

"If you take that off," I warned, "you may end up getting squirted with breast milk."

"Oh hell, I'll try anything once," he said, gleefully removing my bra, and taking one breast into his mouth while cupping the other in his hand. He sucked on my tit, getting a mouthful and then swallowing. "Mm, warm, sweet- not bad," he pronounced. Then he took the other in his mouth and gave it the same treatment.

I threw my head back and enjoyed the feeling of my nipples being sucked on, gently yet hungrily. He reached up my skirt and continued fingering me there. I was profusely wet, my pubic hair felt damp and heavy, the touch of his fingers sent waves of pleasure over my body.

I went to work taking off his shirt, which I quickly had undone and tossed to the side. I through my leg over him, straddling his lap, and started kissing his neck and his chest. "I could fuck you without ever taking off these clothes," I told him. "Would you like that?"

"Oh, yeah!" he told me, "That would be hot."

He moved his hand and I dropped down on his lap. His hard shaft slid effortlessly into my slick pussy. I continued to kiss him while I moved my body up and down over his lap. He wrapped his hands around my back to support me from falling backwards, so I was able to arch my back and shove my pussy deeper toward him. His cock slid way back to the back of my pussy hitting up against my cervix. In my state of arousal, that just felt even better and I howled out my pleasure.

"You like to fuck a girl with her shoes on, baby?" I asked him as I rose and fell over his tool. "Suck the milk from mamma's titties and then fuck her hot wet pussy?"

"Oh yeah!" he moaned, breathing hard. He was really close, I could tell. I wasn't, but I couldn't help pushing him over the edge. I was using a very reliable from of birth control at this point- hey, once bitten twice shy right?- and so I wasn't afraid of him coming inside me.

"Come in my tight little pussy, daddy! Do it!" And he did, I could feel him spurting against the wall of my cunt filling me with his hot thick jizz. He moaned loudly as he thrust himself deep into me, pressing me down with his hands on my side, all the way to the hilt of his cock to release straight up my pussy.

When he had finished, and looked at me realization dawned on him very quickly. "You didn't come yet, did you?" he said sounding apologetic. I shook my head no.

"Lay back, there's something I've always wanted to do," he said, helping me over to the center of the bed. He pushed my legs up so that my knees were in the air and my feet tucked up by my butt. Sitting on his feet in front of me he looked down at my pussy all covered in his cum, leaking his juices and mine onto the bed.

"Cream-pie," he said as he dug down to lick up his own mess from between my legs. His tongue felt so amazingly slick on my cunt with the mixture of seaman and pussy juice sliding around beneath his mouth. I arched my back again and wailed. The idea of what he was doing was also a thrill for me. He was such a clean cut and professional looking guy, you'd never expect that he'd be willing to suck up his own. Jizz out of the pussy of the girl he just fucked.

It was hot, fucking hot. It made me feel completely wild and uninhibited. I could tell this guy was willing to do just about anything just to please me, and that he had his own kinks and probably wouldn't feel judgmental of mine. (Although, this is often not actually the case.) I felt free to just enjoy the sensation of his lips sucking my labia into his mouth, cleaning the cum off my pussy and swishing it over my clit.




Imperfect Ch. 12



I howled, I screamed, I begged for more. "Suck my pussy, baby. Lick my clit, yeah, oh yeah, lick my clit daddy! Lick my clit and suck on my horny jizz soaked pussy. Oh yeah, suck your cum out of my hot wet snatch! Oh yeah, oh god, yeah. Scoop it up with your tongue."

His hansom face was positioned between my legs, and he looked up into my eyes with his tongue shoved into my cunt. He started jabbing it into me, and wiggling it all around. "Oh yeah, yeah, yeah!" I yelled as I came into his mouth. My body tensed and twitched, thrashing around while he mercilessly continued to tongue fuck me. At last I collapsed, feeling a surge of relief and satisfaction.

"Mm, oh yeah," he murmured moving up my body. "Your not going to be afraid to kiss me now are you?" he challenged me.

"Of course not," I said, pulling his face towards mine. His mouth tasted like cum and pussy and felt as slick as pureed bananas. I could feel his cock had become hard once again and I reached down to guide his ridged member into my open slit. Now above me, he fucked in and out of me while we continued to kiss, swapping bodily fluids in a very personal way.

His hard thick cock spread me wide. I could feel the perimeter of my pussy stretching to accommodate him, and I could feel him once again thrusting through me. Each thrust filled me, squeezing out moan after moan. My gasps turned to throaty yells for him to fuck me more, fuck me harder, fuck me deeper. Give it to me good! 

He fucked me for a long time, and I called out nearly the whole time. He felt so good inside of me, spreading me wide, thrusting and filling me. I felt as though I was going insane with lust and desire. He whispered nasty words in my ear as he thrust harder and harder into me. I wrapped my hands around his back and dug my nails in deep, dragging them down his back ferociously. It seemed to spur him on, causing him to thrust still harder into me. I brought my knees up to my shoulders and he pressed them close to my body, fucking into me with fervently urgency. He had come into me once already and was going for a second. This time I was determined to be right there with him.

"Oh god, oh yeah that feels good. Oh god, slow down- I want to come with you, but I need a little more time."

He slowed his pace and made his thrusts deeper and harder. Each thrust caught my breath inside of me. I forced myself to breath deeply, slowly and rhythmically as I could. Soon I was close, I could feel the tight coil within myself. "Faster now, faster, that's it, I'm coming."

I tightened and let myself let go, just as he let go again, filling me with his sticky goo once more. We lay there together; arms wrapped around each other for a while, letting our breathing slow and calm. In moments we were asleep.

The sun came shining through the window bright the next day, waking the two of us up. There we lay, two strangers dirty and entangled from an amazing romp. He turned to me and smiled, I smiled back. When he spoke it was light and friendly, "I'm going to go take a shower, do you want to join me?"

I needed the shower and I didn't want to wait. Plus the idea of seeing him fully naked again by the light of day really appealed to me as well so I said, "Sure," and jumped up out of bed. Amazingly there was no embarrassment on the part of either one of us. Maybe knowing that we would probably never see each other again freed us up.

The warm water washed over us, clearing away the evidence of the previous nights activities. We fooled around in the shower a little, soaping each other's bodies up and getting quite aroused again. "We're going to need a shower from our shower," I joked as he nuzzled my neck.

"Let's just do it in here then," he said encouraging me by bringing his hand down between my thighs.

"Mmm," I moaned happily. How could I argue with that?

We slipped and slid around in the shower for a while trying to figure out what should go where and how. Finally we settled on me facing the wall and him entering me from behind. This way, he was also able to reach around and stimulate my pussy with one hand while cupping a breast with the other and still managing to nuzzle on my neck at the same time. I was in heaven. Amazingly, this sweet carress of lovemaking took very little time and no conversation whatsoever beyond a few sighs and mumbled yeses. Soon we were climaxing together again, and it was all the sweeter for the warm water washing over our bodies as we peaked.

Out of the shower, Jerry asked me if I needed a ride home.

"It's sweet of you to offer, but I think I'll call a cab. A girl's got to keep a bit of mystery."



Imperfect Ch. 13



When I got home, Zoë greeted me cheerfully, asking if I had a good time, but requesting that I save the details for later, when we could put the images they would evoke to good use. Later after the baby went down for the night, I relayed my story telling her how excited he had been to hear the details of our girl on girl sex life.

Zoë grinned from ear to ear, "Ironic, I'm so excited to hear about the two of you." She put her hand on my knee and gave me a good squeeze. "So was it painful or anything, being the first time you were with a man since delivery?"

"No, I was worried at first but it went fine."

"That's good. If he didn't break you, I sure won't."

We shared a laugh, and then a slow sensuous kiss. We didn't talk any more about my encounter from last night. It got the juices flowing but after that, it was all about us. There was something magical and reassuring as our bodies moved together, flesh pressed against flesh celebrating a love that had no strings and yet a firm bond.

I slipped my tongue into her mouth, and reciprocated the gentle massage I received. Then I caressed her soft contours slowly, taking my time to enjoy each inch of her glorious supple flesh. Her clothes slipped off easily as did mine as we met together in the soft moonlight for a wondrous symphony of carnal desire. There was beauty and majesty and even subtlety in our union.

On our soft bed, in our yet new home, we made love as only two women can. Our hands did what our more receptive body parts could not- which to the uninitiated is far less than you might think. It was not the first time that we had made love in this house, but it was the first time since we moved in that Zoë seemed completely comfortable that my postpartum body was not a fragile vessel simply waiting to shatter or break.

She brought me up to the heavens, beyond the clouds, beyond the sky, beyond the sun and stars. Like Lois Lane flying through space with Superman, I clung to her filled with pure unrestrained joy. Up so high and unafraid, waiting for the awesome free fall that was to come. And then there it was, we were falling toward earth, feeling so free and wild and unrestrained, holding on to one another as if we were parachutes. And indeed, I felt that Zoë was my lifeline, and likewise sensed that she felt the same about me.

At last we hit the mattress, hard and soft all at the same time, hair and skin damp from our lovemaking, arms and legs entwined. We landed safely in each others arms, home in our bed secure in our love for one another. I had never felt better in my life.

We fell asleep in each others arms. The baby mercifully slept through the night as well. We made love to each other every night that week, and every day we spent time watching our darling daughter grow. I should have known that something was going to creep up on us, to spoil our domestic tranquility, and sure enough, the following week, something did.

The phone rang.

It was my mother.

"How's the baby?"

"She's doing good. So am I, thanks for asking."

"Still shakin' up with that lesbian?"

"Mom!"

"All right, all right. Are you still together with that girl? What's her name- Chloe?"

"It's Zoe and yes, we are still together."

"Ok, well, listen- I was thinking. If she's going to be a big part of your life from now on, I should probably meet her. And I want to see my grand-daughter. So I'm coming for a visit."

I didn't know what to feel. Joy that she was finally excepting my 'way of life' or terror that she was coming for a visit. Long term visits with mom are one of the most anxiety producing events in my life. I love her and all- but I try to avoid her at all cost.

"Um, er- I'm glad you've decided to accept Zoe as part of my life mom, that's good to hear. When were you planning on coming?"

"Oh not for a week or two," she said breezily as I panicked. Only two weeks maximum to prepare. I had no idea what I meant to do in preparation, but I felt I needed more of a time buffer between then and now. "Don't worry about fixing me a room or anything, I'm going to get a room at the Holiday Inn. You can all come see me and we can use the pool. Plus I have a discount there." Well, one relief anyway. "And I thought we might do some shopping together- but I hope you won't be upset that I don't plan to spend the whole time with you. I've got some plans of my own too."

Relief, mixed with apprehension. "How long do you plan on staying?" I asked, trying to sound calm and non stressed about it.

:"Oh just 4 days. I'd love to stay a whole week, but I've got some appointments and I don't want to put off this visit." Well thank god for small favors, I thought to myself. Four days was more than enough, it sure was a minor miracle that she didn't want to put it off. A week and I'd go insane. There was nothing more too it.

"Well, great mom. I can't wait to see you. Let me know when you're firm on a date ok?"

"I'll call you in a couple days. I should know for sure by then. Listen, I got to go, your aunt Stephani is on her way over. I gotta go- I love you."

"Ok, ma. Talk to you later bye. Love you too."

I hung up the phone and turned to Zoe. "Uh-oh!"

She motioned me over to her, and I came and sat down next to her on the couch. She wrapped her arms around me, kissed me on the forehead and said in a very reassuring voice, "Don't worry. We can handle it." And I knew that we could.