19 comments/ 27205 views/ 16 favorites Art and Artists By: jack_straw The woman didn't just enter the restaurant where I was having lunch; she swept into it, filling it with a sudden infusion of energy. She walked up to the table where the two ladies she was meeting had been sitting – she was fashionably late – greeted them warmly, then headed to the ladies room. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her as she walked by my table. She was probably around 40, a little taller than average with a trim, but curvy body that was well-displayed in a pair of tight blue jeans and a snug blouse. She had dark hair that swept back to her shoulder blades and a dusky complexion that suggested some Latin or perhaps a Creole background. The eyes, though, were what caught me. They were big, brown and remarkably expressive, and set in a broad face that wasn't classically beautiful, but was striking nonetheless. I must confess that I stared at her as she passed in both directions, taking note of the unfastened top button on her blouse that revealed just a hint of a plump pair of tits, the sparkling smile she gave my dining companion and the sassy sway of her taut butt as she walked back to her table. And for the first time in more than two years, I felt something approaching sexual desire for a woman. I was having lunch with my insurance agent, who was trying – successfully, I might add – to sell me a new catastrophic medical policy. After what I had been through, I wanted to make sure I was covered and my children were taken care of. Ken watched with some amusement as I boldly ogled the woman who had passed, and made sure I knew he'd noticed. "Well, I see something got your attention," he said. "Oh, you know, it doesn't cost anything to look," I said. "She seemed to recognize you. You know her?" "Sure I do," Ken said. "That's Kristi Golden." "The artist?" I said. Somehow, I had not envisioned Kristi Golden as someone who looked as vivacious and down to earth as this woman obviously was. Kristi Golden is a minor celebrity in the area I've called home ever since my college days, some 25-plus years previously. She's quite a talented artist, and her work is displayed all over town and across the region, as well. I don't keep up with the art world, so I don't know how well-known she is on a wider scale, but I'd stack her work up against just about anyone. It's not cutting-edge art, or anything like that, but rather similar to Thomas Kincade, stuff that's more soothing to the eyes than stimulating to the mind. "If you want, I'll introduce you," Ken said, shaking me from a distracted reverie. "She's just now getting back on the market, if you will. Apparently, she found out her husband was screwing his secretary and divorced him. Because she has her studio and everything at their house, and because she has custody of their son, she got it in the settlement. She pretty much put him out to pasture, and made him pay for the privilege. Beats me why a man would fuck around when he had something like that at home. I'll never understand cheaters. Anyway, she's available, but probably not for long, so now's your chance." "Gee, Ken, I don't know..." I said. "Damn it, Stu, it's about time you got out and lived again," Ken said forcefully. "It's been two years now, and you know damn good and well that Shirley didn't want to see you live alone the rest of your life. Besides, you know Shelby needs a mom. And Kristi would make a good one." So it was that my friend Ken did introduce me to Kristi Golden, and it turned out she knew who I was. "I see your picture in the paper with your column every week," she said after we shook hands in greeting. "What? You don't think I read the Sports page? Of course, I do. I love sports and I enjoy good writing, and you're a very good writer." "I'm flattered, but it's just putting it out one day at a time," I said. "Some stories are better than others. But they all end up the same place, lining the bottom of the bird cage." She laughed at that, and we took that as our signal to leave the ladies to their lunch. Ken just gave me an arched eyebrow and a knowing look as we shook hands and agreed to meet in his office sometime the next week. As I headed in to work, I thought about Kristi Golden and thought about my life over the previous two years. Was I ready to get back in the game? As I asked myself that question, I thought about Shirley and how I had reached that point in my life. ^ ^ ^ ^ I met Shirley Beasley in college, my junior year and her sophomore year at the university in town. I had moved into an apartment that was sort of a duplex a couple of blocks off campus. It was actually a house that had been converted into two apartments, and she lived in the other half of the house. She was a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty who was studying to be a teacher, while I was in journalism. We never had any classes together, but we often had classes in the same building, so we got to where we'd walk to school together. I won't bore you with the details, but we became friends, we started dating, then we became lovers. As soon as I graduated we were married. I was 22, she was 21 and we thought it would last forever. Forever turned out to be 23 years, five months and 13 days. Three years into our marriage, we had a son, Sean, and three years later our daughter Susan arrived. We thought we were finished with children, but a little over six years after Susan was born, we got a surprise and our younger daughter Shelby came along. Shirley was a fun-loving woman who always had a smile for everyone, an outgoing nature and a really warped sense of humor. She tolerated the odd hours I worked at the newspaper as I was moving up into my current position as sports editor. Because her family is all from the area, and she was very close to her widowed mother, we never left the town where we went to college. Shirley went to work for the school system and I cheerfully sank down roots. I grew up in a small town a couple of states over, and outdoor pursuits were always my passion. One of the things I did every year was take a hunting trip to Colorado with my father, my brother and brother. It was one of those male family bonding deals, where the fellowship and good times are as important as actually getting an animal. However, I did get a couple of trophy bucks, and it was a good way to stock the freezer with meat through the winter. We usually stayed at a lodge in a very rural part of western Colorado, where communication is haphazard at best. Two years prior to the events I'm relating here, we had made the trip in early November, arriving on a Saturday after a long flight into Denver, then a five-hour drive to the lodge. Sunday we had spent scouting the area and Monday we spent in a futile day of unsuccessful hunting. After a long day of traipsing up and down the mountains, then having a couple of medicinal brews to ease the aches and pains, I was sleeping quite soundly that night when I vaguely heard the door to the lodge open, and the proprietor came in. "Mr. Callahan?" he said softly. "Stuart Callahan?" "That's me," I said groggily, and I heard the grumblings and rustling from my dad and my brother when they realized they weren't the Mr. Callahan being paged. But they were curious about why the man was there in the middle of the night. "Your son is on the phone, says it's an emergency," the owner said. "The phone is in my office. I'll meet you there and tell him you're on your way." I was fully alert and awake then, and I got some wickedly bad vibes as I hurriedly dressed. My intuition was correct. Sean could barely communicate from the way he was blubbering on the phone. "Dad, it's Mom," he wailed. "She ... she's gone." That was all I got out of him. Our next-door neighbor came on the line and told me the grim news about my wife. Shirley had been watching the Monday Night Football game while she graded some papers when she started to complain about having a severe headache. She started into the kitchen to take something for the pain when she collapsed. My 10-year-old daughter heard the commotion, saw her mother lying motionless on the floor and smartly called 911. The paramedics worked on her for an hour, but it was too late. She'd had an aneurysm in her brain that had burst. My beloved wife died, just like that, way too young at age 44. Sean was already in college, a sophomore at the university in town, and Susan was a senior in high school. Somehow I got through that year, but I'm not sure how I did it. I just felt so guilty about not being there, for simply going off and taking her for granted, just assuming she'd be there when I came home. I'm not proud of this, but if it hadn't been for my children, especially Shelby, I'd have taken my own life and gone to join my wife. Of course, after Shirley's death, I completely gave up hunting. I let Sean have my deer rifle and sold my other firearms. Every time I even thought about it, I'd remember that I wasn't there when Shirley was stricken, that I never got a chance to tell her goodbye or tell her one more time how much I loved her. It probably wouldn't have made a difference, but my guilt still does funny things to me. The tradeoff was that I started doing far more fishing than I ever did before. I live in the South, where the freshwater fishing is magnificent and there are literally hundreds of places to fish. I enjoyed the solitude of fishing, still do, in fact. The rivers, lakes and ponds where I would go were places where I could be alone to cry, talk to God – talk to Shirley – and just take the time to grieve. Sometimes I'd take Shelby, and we would talk about her mom and why God had to take her from us. At first, when I went with Shelby, we'd just cry together, but soon we got past the crying phase and it just became conversation between a single father and a little girl who was growing up much too quickly. After awhile, one of the questions she started asking was when I'd start dating again. I guess that meant the family counselor she was seeing had done a good job with her, because she had an awful lot of trauma to get through to get back to a normal frame of mind. My stock answer at the time was that I was a 47-year-old widower with a 12-year-old and no sane woman would to want me, with all the baggage I brought. Of course, she would throw back at me that, as far as she's concerned, she had the cutest daddy of anyone in her school. I guess you've figured out by now that I've got pretty good kids, for which I give their mother all the credit, because more often than not, she was the one who was home doing the parenting. So there I was facing a third Christmas without Shirley, and thinking decidedly erotic thoughts about Kristi Golden, which made me feel guilty as hell. ^ ^ ^ ^ My friend Ken's thoughts notwithstanding, I didn't figure I had a snowball's chance in hell of getting a date with Kristi Golden. The reason I'd never met her before, or even knew what she looked like, was because we ran in completely different social circles. She was a country-club type, someone whose success in her field had thrust her into the elite in our community. I, on the other hand, am more comfortable in a more modest social circle. My friends are my colleagues at the paper, high school coaches, teachers and other more middle-class folks. I can deal with the upper crust, but I'm not comfortable doing so. There was also the problem of how to approach her. The week following my encounter with Kristi at the restaurant, I had my follow-up meeting with Ken to finalize the insurance paperwork, so I asked him. "Pick up the phone and call her," Ken said, fumbling in his day planner then fishing out a business card. "Here. Her numbers are unlisted; the better to keep the ex-husband away. Call her. I think she's interested in you. She certainly knew a lot more about you than you knew about her." I started dialing Kristi's phone number three times before I finally mustered the courage to dial all 10 numbers. I paced the floor in my kitchen nervously as the phone rang once, twice, three times before I heard the click and a cheery voice answered. "Is this Kristi?" I said, then mentally kicked myself for asking a really stupid question. "It is," she said, guardedly. I introduced myself and I could hear her relax noticeably when she learned it was me calling. We talked a minute or two about the weather, she asked me about the football coach at the university who had just been fired after another losing season, then the conversation started to peter out. Finally, I knew it was time to take the bull by the horns. "Kristi, I'm not very good at this, and it's been a long time since I asked anyone out," I said, haltingly. "The answer is yes," she said, interrupting my fumbling attempt at asking for a date. "You don't even know what I was going to say," I said. "You're asking me out on a date, and I said yes," she said in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "Look, Stu, I'm just as out-to-lunch on this dating business as you are. My ex really did a number on my self-esteem by what he did to me, and I know how hard it was for you to work up the courage to call after what you've been through. Trust me, I never knew Shirley, but I know a lot of people who did, and they all said she was a princess, and that you two had a great relationship. So, to answer your question. I'm very willing to go wherever you want and do whatever you want... Within reason, of course." Then she laughed, and I was absolutely captivated by the sound. It was like the music of a glockenspiel, sweet and lively, a mirthful sound that seemed to reach into my soul. I barely knew this woman, but if her laugh was any indication of what kind of person she was, I was going to do my utmost to reel her in, before anyone else had a chance. I knew in that moment that what Ken had said was right. Kristi Golden wasn't going to be single long. Our first date was pretty mundane. We had lunch at Chili's as a sort of feeling-out process, where we could get to know each other and see if there was anything there. Truthfully, I left the restaurant thinking there was, and I guess she felt the same way, because we made plans for a more romantic evening a few days down the road. Our fourth date was when things started turning intimate. Kristi invited me to dinner at her house, and she pulled out all the stops. The house was impeccable, her son was off on a sleepover, and the dinner was fantastic, shrimp scampi over rice perfectly done. After dinner, we retired to her living room, where she put some soft jazz on the stereo and we sat on the sofa. I'll confess, I was having trouble hiding my arousal, and I could see an excitement in her face that hadn't been there the previous three dates. "Stu, please don't take offense, but I'm curious about how a man deals with a loss like yours," Kristi said softly. "How has it been for you sexually? Have you had any desire for it, or is that part of the grieving process?" "It's OK. A year ago, I'd have been hurt by the question, but time has a way of healing even the worst wounds," I said. "For one thing, I felt so incredibly guilty that I actively suppressed every sexual feeling I had. I guess maybe eight months ago, I finally gave in and masturbated, and that helped some. But I really didn't have any desire for sex until I saw you at the café that day when Ken introduced us. You were the first woman I'd seen since Shirley passed away that really spiked my interest." "I'm flattered," she said softly, a second or two before she kissed me, and I lost myself in her full lips and her active tongue. I could feel the heat of her body as we embraced, and I could feel my erection straining at my slacks from the nearness of her delicious curves. I smiled inwardly as Kristi sighed and pressed her body to mine when I softly kneaded one of her breasts. It gave me a great sense of satisfaction to know I still had it after all this time, that my seduction skills were still intact despite being dormant for over 25 years. It's like riding a bicycle; once you learn how to play a woman's body, you never forget how to do it. Still, I had a clear understanding that I wasn't going to fuck Kristi Golden right at that moment. I had learned that for all of her sensuality, she was actually quite religious, though she's a long way from being preachy about it, and not the least bit easy. And that was all right with me. I didn't want a woman who fell into bed at the first sign of arousal. Also, I still wasn't sure about my own feelings, about whether I was ready to give my love to another woman after Shirley. Nevertheless, the man in me had to try, so I snaked a hand between her jean-covered legs and started to caress her crotch, and as expected, she pulled away and gently removed my hand. "It's not time," she said softly. "Not for you and not for me." "But I do have a chance, don't I?" I said teasingly. "You're in the ball park," Kristi said with a smile. Left unsaid was the fact that I wasn't the only man she was dating. I'd seen her out to dinner a week or so earlier with a fairly prominent local politician, who had been involved in a rather public divorce several years earlier. I'd had to fight off the vague pangs of jealousy, and that both worried and encouraged me. I understood that I was falling for Kristi Golden, but I also knew that we weren't exclusive, not yet. At that moment, I had a sudden urge. I needed a better understanding of Kristi, and I knew how to get it. "Do you mind if I see your studio," I said. "I want to see where you work, where you get the inspiration for your art." She hesitated, as if pondering whether to let me into what I quickly understood was her inner sanctum, the place where she went to get away from the world, the place where she let her dreams run rampant. "Sure," she said finally. "Just don't mind the clutter. It's organized chaos in there." She was right about that. There were all sorts of card tables covered with tubes of oil paint, colored chalk, crayons in a bewildering array of colors, pencils and ink pens, and tins of watercolor paints. She had easels standing everywhere with half-finished works and works that were barely begun. There were caricatures, portraits, landscapes, dreamscapes, even a couple of abstract drawings that I assumed were experiments of some kind. "Good art is often a messy process," Kristi said as she leaned into me with what I interpreted as some affection. "I know what you mean," I said. "This reminds me a lot of my computer desk at home." I explained then that my home office was cluttered with CD-ROMs, floppy disks, paper printouts, even hand-written notebooks filled with a wide – a wild – variety of writings and musings that I had done over the years. Indeed, one of the ways I'd tried to cope with Shirley's death was to write about it, to express my grief on paper in hopes of analyzing why this dreadful thing had happened to me, to us. I had written dozens of love letters to her, even though I knew she'd never see them, and I think that had helped in the whole grieving process. "Have you ever thought about getting it all published?" Kristi said. "Because just based on what I've read in the paper, you're a better writer than 90 percent of the people on the best-seller lists. John Grisham's got nothing on you." "Do you really think so?" I said, a little incredulous. "I've never thought of myself as anything other than a meat-and-potatoes journalist, a guy who goes to games and writes about them. What I do professionally isn't literature. And a lot of what I've written at home is awfully personal. I'm not sure how comfortable I'd feel about baring my soul like that. I've written stuff that's pretty raw." Art and Artists "Two words," Kristi said. "Mitch Albom. That's all he writes, personal musings and raw emotions. And, if I recall, he used to be a sports writer, maybe still is. He's no better than you; he just has better contacts. Or he did." "What's that mean?" I asked. "Because he's a well-known writer for a big-city paper, it was probably easier for him to find an agent who could help him get a book deal done," Kristi said. "My agent could probably make a couple of calls on your behalf, if you have something worth pushing." I just stared at her. "You'd do that for me?" I asked. "I would," she said softly as she snuggled up against me while we stood there amid the clutter of her studio. "Stu, I believe in you, even if maybe you don't believe in yourself." I just pulled her around and kissed her, very tenderly, very softly. Then I just stared at her again. "You're becoming awfully hard to resist," I whispered. "I hope so," Kristi said. The next time we went out together was the weekend before Christmas, and it was a big event. A local theater group was performing, "A Christmas Carol," and we decided to take our kids, Shelby and Kristi's son, Thomas, who was a year younger than Shelby. They went to different schools, so they'd never met. Neither I nor Kristi said anything outright, but I think we both wanted to see how they interacted. If there was to be a serious relationship between us, how our children got along would be a major factor in how that relationship progressed. As it turned out, we needn't have worried. Shelby is her mother's daughter, congenial and outgoing, and Thomas proved to be a polite, somewhat reserved young man, the kind of kid who could appreciate Dickens. We had a great time then went to Baskin-Robbins for ice cream. Since it was the Christmas season, I gleefully indulged in my favorite of all 31 flavors, getting a double cone of peppermint. Kristi just shook her head in bemusement at that. "Peppermint ice cream?" she said with a chuckle. "I knew you media types were weird, but peppermint?" "Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it," I laughed. "Food of the gods." "Um, I think I'll stick with rocky road, thank you very much," Kristi said. After we dropped Kristi and Thomas off, and after I'd given Kristi a little goodbye kiss, Shelby just sat in the passenger seat and gave me an inscrutable look. It actually kind of shook me up, because it was such a knowing look for a 12-year-old to have. "Daddy?" she said finally. "Do you like Miss Kristi? I mean, really like her?" "Yeah, sweetheart, I do," I said. "I like her a lot." "Good," Shelby said, and that was it. As far as she was concerned, it was settled. It was the day after Christmas and I was taking a few days off, as I always did at the end of the year. The weather was cool, but sunny, and I was out doing some yard work when Kristi drove up the driveway. We hugged then she looked at me very seriously for a few seconds. "Stu, I've come to an awareness, an epiphany of sorts," she began. "I'm sorry if this is short notice, but I wasn't sure of my feelings until I was sitting in church on Christmas Eve. It was just me and Thomas, and suddenly I was aware that I wasn't complete. Stu, I'm lonely. Oh, I have Thomas and my art to keep me company, but Thomas is only 11 and paintings don't keep you warm at night." I could feel my stomach churning in a weird combination of excitement and dread. I wondered where she was going with this. "Anyway," Kristi continued. "Every year, my agent hosts a big New Year's Eve party at one of the really nice hotels down in the city. It's a good networking opportunity, plus he always gets a really good band. I used to love going with Mel, but I wasn't in the mood last year, because of our divorce. I want to go this year, and I want you to go with me. Like I said, it's short notice, but..." And she sort of put her hand on my arm and gazed at me with those huge brown eyes. I swept my gaze over the whole package – the slender legs and succulent butt encased in snug jeans, the tight sweater that accentuated the tight, round bosom, the full lips covered with an alluring red lipstick, and, above all, the big brown eyes that were sending out moon beams of incipient desire. "I'll have to get someone for Shelby," I started to say. "No, you don't," Kristi said. "My sister's going to be staying at my house with Thomas. Shelby is more than welcome to spend the night. Sissy's got a 13-year-old daughter that's going to be there with her. I know she and Shelby will hit it off. Please say you'll come." "I guess you've got it all figured out," I said. "Are you sure about this? I'm ... " I was lost for words, but fortunately, Kristi was into mind-reading right about then. She pulled me to her and held me close "Stu, I want you, and I've wanted you since that day I met you at the restaurant," she said. "I just needed to be certain of my feelings, and I knew I needed to take it easy with you, because of Shirley. But it's time to see if we're ready to take it a step further. Stu, it's time." It was mid-afternoon on New Year's Eve when we pulled into the parking garage of the hotel where the party was to be held. Already, the city was buzzing in anticipation of the night to come. All through the two-hour drive from our town to the city, Kristi and I had engaged in sporadic conversation, but there was a nervousness that underlay everything. I was excited, and terribly nervous about the coming encounter, and, frankly, my emotions were in some turmoil. I knew it was time for me to move on with my life, but I still held some residual guilt about having a relationship with another woman when the love of my life was lying cold in her grave, now two years gone. I think Kristi sensed my inner struggles, because she held my hand with a real tenderness and did her best to make me feel at ease as I motored down the interstate. The room had already been reserved, and while we were in the lobby checking in, I got a chance to meet Kristi's agent. Paul Florentino was a large, barrel-chested man with a sophisticated air, but a warm smile and garrulous personality. He greeted Kristi with a buss on each cheek then shook my hand with enthusiasm when she introduced us. "So, you're the fellow who's going to write the next best-selling Southern novel," he said in a jolly tone of voice. "Kristi's told me you're very talented." "Oh, I don't know about that," I said. "Like I've told her, writing for a daily newspaper isn't exactly literature." "Nonsense!" Paul boomed. "All the great writers started out in newspapers. And I've read some of your clips. You do have a nice way with words. But enough about that; we'll have a chance to chat later. In the meantime, enjoy yourself, and thank you for coming. I happen to be very fond of this little lady, and I hope you can make her happy again. She deserves it." "I'll do my best," I said. It was a good thing I wasn't paying for the room – or, rather, the suite – because it looked like it was expensive. There was a front sitting room, with plush sofas and chairs, elegant tables, a wet bar and a wide-screen television with a DVD/CD player hooked up to a pair of small, but powerful speakers. At one end of the room, a sliding-glass door opened up to a balcony that overlooked the street, where revelers were already starting to party. A lot of them were fans of the two schools that would be playing the next day in the big holiday football game. There was a game on the TV, which I turned on, once we got our things settled. I sat back on one of the sofas with a soft drink while I waited for Kristi to emerge from the bedroom, which was adjacent to the larger room. She had touched up her make-up and brushed her dark, flowing hair when she emerged from the next room. I felt my groin twitch nervously as I watched her glide to the bar. She pulled the cork out of the bottle of wine she'd brought, poured herself a glass and came over to sit next to me. "Have I told you today how beautiful you really are," I said softly. "And have I told you today how handsome you really are," she said as she melted into my arms. Drinks were forgotten as we kissed deeply, all the passion we'd been holding back now bursting forth. Our hands were everywhere; hers sliding over my chest, down my stomach and on to my crotch area, mine caressing her breasts – her unfettered breasts, I might add – then down her flat belly to her butt, which was encased in a peasant-style skirt. Kristi's eyes were on fire as she suddenly whirled around and straddled my hips. I could feel the heat of her pussy through her panties as she lap-danced on my already throbbing-hard cock. She pulled my sweater off, and the t-shirt I had on underneath it, and lightly raked her nails over my chest. Her fingers found my rock-hard nipples and I gasped in pleasure as she rolled the little pebbles with each index finger. I responded by working the buttons of her blouse open, then tossed the shirt aside. I just stared in awe as Kristi's twin globes were exposed to my gaze for the first time. They were round and plump, just enough so to hang artfully on her chest, and capped by two brown nipples that were hard as nails. "Taste them," Kristi whispered as she dangled her orbs over my face. I did as I was bidden, suckling her luscious tits with eagerness. I licked, sucked and nibbled on her little brown tips while softly caressing the swell of her flesh. I could tell I was getting somewhere from the little sounds she was making as we kissed with ever-greater urgency. Abruptly, she broke our lip lock, stood up and shimmied out of the skirt. Kristi stood in front of me dressed only in a skimpy pair of panties, staring into my eyes, swaying in a lustful dance that had me weak in the knees. I leaned forward, reached up with one hand and slowly massaged the juncture between her legs, and this time she didn't move me away. I could feel the wet heat of her pussy through the satiny cloth of her panties. Suddenly, I slid two fingers into the gusset of her panties and felt the creamy wetness of her cunt. Kristi hissed in lust as I stroked the gates to her sex and finished with a flourish around her clit. I fingered her for a minute or two, until she gently moved my hand away. "Much more of that, and I'll be done before we get started," Kristi said in a panting voice. "Trust me, love, neither one of us is going to last very long," I said in a voice thick with lust. I quickly settled on the floor, on my knees, reached up and slid her panties off her hips and down her luscious legs. I gave a sharp intake of breath as I was face-to-face with a well-trimmed bush of dark, dark curls framing a coral-colored set of lips that were gleaming with arousal. Again, I slid my fingers through her gates and was gratified by the low moan of lust that oozed from Kristi's mouth, and by the way her eyes were closed in reverie and her head was raised to the ceiling in incipient passion. Later, I would feel a twinge of guilt, but right at that moment, Shirley was the farthest thing from my mind. The only thing I was thinking then was burying my aching cock in Kristi Golden's juicy twat. I didn't have to wait long. Kristi pulled me to my feet, fumbled with my belt buckle – and the button to my jeans – and frantically pulled my pants and my boxers down. She cooed as she hefted my leaking cock and softly stroked me. "Love me, Stu, please," she panted. "Fu-fu-fu... Aw, shit, Stu, just fuck me. I need it, and so do you." I managed to kick my pants off, then I gathered Kristi in my arms and we kissed ravenously, consuming each other in our out-of-control lust. I staggered back until I was seated on the sofa again, my cock pointing straight at the ceiling. Kristi took firm hold of it at the base, straddled my hips and lowered herself until the tip of my dick met her gushing gash. That's when I grabbed her hips and pulled her down, impaling her in one screaming thrust. I can't remember now if we both squealed or what, but I do know the room was suddenly filled with the sounds of our mutual excitement as I entered Kristi's tight, creamy cunt. I couldn't believe how good she felt, or how well we fit. I'm not the biggest tree in the forest, but I'm no sapling, either. All the girls I bedded in high school and college before I met Shirley I left well-satisfied, and Shirley never tired of my cock, wearing it out right up to the bitter end. So I must have had something the women liked. And Kristi was certainly enjoying herself. She was bouncing up and down on it in ever-increasing throes of passion – mewling, grunting, sighing and squealing as she fucked me with an ardor that had me wrecked in no time. As I felt the pressure in my scrotum build, I filled my hands with each other bouncing breasts, squeezing her tits in rhythm to the upthrusts of my cock as I filled and refilled Kristi's burning hole with my meat. Faster and harder we worked, all the weeks of build-up exploding through our bodies in one glorious rush. I was holding back, holding back, waiting for the signs I knew were coming, and, sure enough, I could see her head lolling on her shoulders, could feel the shiver of her body as she approached her climax. Just about the time I pulled her to me and we kissed yet again, I felt her go rigid for just a second then the convulsions hit her and she squealed loudly. Suddenly, I felt the mercury explode through my cock and spew out the tip to baste Kristi's twitching pussy with my boiling hot seed. Our bodies shuddered in our mutual release, and we clutched each other. It was all too much for me. I felt my emotions give way and I found myself bawling into Kristi's shoulder as all the months of deprivation, of numbing grief, came bursting out along with the flood of semen that flowed out of her dilated hole and over my churning balls. Kristi held me tight and softly stroked my hair, letting me get it all out of my system as we lay together on that sofa. Finally, I got control of myself, and I looked up to see Kristi looking at me with a smile on her face that could only be described as beatific. "Well, lover, that was worth waiting for, don't you think?" she said softly. "I'm sorry," I said. "I kind of lost it there for a minute." "Don't be," she said. "You needed to let that out. It couldn't help but be emotional for you, giving yourself to me after such a long time. Don't worry; you were wonderful, and we're going to do it again. And again and again. I love you, Stu Callahan, and I want you in my life, as much as you're willing to have me." "I'm humbled; I really am," I said. "All I can say is that Mel was an idiot, letting you slip away. But I'm glad he did." "Yeah, well, his problem is he doesn't think his shit stinks," Kristi said. "He always thought he was God's gift to the female of the species, and he thought he was smarter than anyone else. And, actually, he was pretty clever, because he got away with it for years before I found out what was going on. But he got careless, I started picking up on some things and timed it so I caught him at the Best Western one afternoon. What hurt me the most was the lack of respect and the utter lack of remorse. He called me frigid. Can you believe that? I'm a lot of things, not all of them good. But frigid?" "Frigid?" I echoed. "I can think of a lot of words to describe you, and frigid just doesn't come to mind." I had to chuckle at the irony of it. There I was, snuggling naked with Kristi on a hotel-room sofa, my semi-hard cock still securely embedded in her freshly-fucked pussy, with her rock-hard nipples still boring holes in my chest. No, I don't think frigid would have been a word I'd have used to describe Kristi in that moment, but maybe love had something to do with it. I was in love with this woman, and getting deeper by the minute. I told her so, too. I found Kristi was well-liked and well-appreciated by the artsy crowd that was in attendance at the party that night. I was proud to have her on my arm, but I was also a little frightened. It was clear that some of the men there would have loved to take my place, especially a couple of artistes who insisted on cutting in on the dance floor. I wasn't all that comfortable with that sort of crowd anyway, me being a country boy at heart, and the thought of Kristi dancing with the sort of men that were there had me a bit insecure. I was just starting to fume a little when I sensed a presence next to me and turned to see Paul Florentino. "I wouldn't worry, if I were you," Paul said with a laugh. "Anyone with eyes can see that you're the only man she cares about being with." "Well, it's just all so new," I said. "I'm still not 100 percent sure yet how secure our relationship is. We both have some emotional baggage, and it's still early in the game." "Kristi's told me about your situation," Paul said. "You have my sympathy. It had to be hard. She says you've done some pretty intense writing about it, sort of as catharsis. I might be able to steer you toward a publisher, if you're interested." "I've thought a lot about it, but I'm not sure which direction I need to go," I said. "Let me let you in on a little secret," Paul said, and now he had a conspiratorial look on his face. "Among the publishing companies I do business with are a couple of Christian-oriented companies, and they have writers who are making money hand over fist. There's nothing in the Bible that says you can't make a nice living writing inspirational or journey-of-life type literature. The arty sorts turn their nose up at it, but there's a lot of good writing and a ton of money to be made in Christian literature. Come see me when you get some free time, bring me what you've got, and I'll see what I can do." "Thanks, Paul, I appreciate it," I said. "You know, it's been two years since Shirley passed, and I may finally be looking toward the future." "That's the only way to look," Paul said. "You can't change the past; all you can do is make the future the best that you can. You're off to a pretty good start, I'd say." He smiled as he nodded toward where Kristi was walking toward me, her face glowing with what I was rapidly coming to see was love. "I can't wait to get you back in the room, big boy," she whispered in my ear as we embraced. "We have some unfinished business to attend to." The band played "Auld Lang Syne," at midnight and I gave Kristi a deep, soul-shaking kiss. "Happy New Year, love," I said softly. "Happy New Year to you ... love," she replied. "I think this is going to be the start of a great year." I was lying back on the king-sized bed, naked. My cock was maybe three-quarters hard as I listened to Kristi singing in the bathroom while she took care of whatever business women do in preparation for sex. As if it wasn't enough that she was such a talented artist, she also had a wonderful singing voice. There were so many things about Kristi Golden that had me intrigued and beguiled, and I was now looking forward to enjoying every single one of them. I had to catch my breath when she flipped off the light in the bathroom and emerged. There was something mysterious about the way she looked with the soft light of the bedside lamp as the only illumination in the room. She was naked, with her raven hair brushed to a silky sheen, her make-up touched up perfectly and a look in her eyes that was like a jolt of electricity straight to my dick. But I was relaxed, unlike earlier. Our first coupling had been frantic; two newly-minted lovers getting past the first rush of passion. This was going to be slower, much slower. I knew in my mind exactly what I wanted to do with her. Art and Artists Kristi slid into the bed next to me and we embraced. My body tingled from the tactile contact of skin on skin, and my cock seemed to grow an extra inch, if that was possible. I rolled her onto her back and kissed my way down her neck, down to her breasts, which were standing up in apparent defiance of gravity. That was the one thing Kristi had over Shirley, her tits, I thought, and I was a little surprised at how dispassionately the thought came to me. Shirley had a great body, trim and compact, but she wasn't well-endowed. I didn't dwell on it, though, as I set to work munching on Kristi's globes. They were just about perfect, round and plump, but not excessive. I licked and sucked on the stiff brown nipples as I squeezed the swell of her flesh. I shivered as I heard the guttural groan that was ripped from Kristi's mouth as I suckled her. "You have a nice tongue," she whispered. "I guess you've figured out by now that my breasts are very sensitive." "What woman's aren't?" I said. "I've never met a woman yet who did love having their tits played with." "Yeah, but I'll bet that tongue can do other things," she said with laughter in her voice. "We'll never know if we don't try," I said, and ran my tongue down her flat stomach, while slipping two fingers in her soupy box. I worked them in a spiraling motion, in and out and back in again as I kissed and licked her abdomen. Once again, I found myself in thrall to the pretty pussy that was right in front of my nose, which I used to nudge her clit. That sent Kristi's back into an arch of shivering lust, and I pressed my attack with a broad swipe of my tongue over her juicy slot. I clamped my lips over her flowing hole and drilled my tongue into her hot depths as far as I could go, trying my best to tongue-fuck her "Aieeeee! God, Stu, keep ... doing that," she gasped as I gave her the best my mouth could offer. "Ummmmmmm! Yeah!" Kristi's body was writhing on the sheets as I worked my tongue in a figure-eight, over her hole and up to her clit, and I could feel her spasm every time I brushed her hard little nub. I knew she was getting close from the way her body was moving and the sounds she was making, and I zeroed in on her clit and added two fingers, working them in her hot pussy in time to my tongue. That did the trick. With a squeal and a gasp, Kristi went stiff, then shuddered as I felt her passion flow from her convulsing cunt, covering my face with her arousal. "God, Stu, that was wonderful," Kristi said when she managed to catch her breath. "Now it's my turn." Kristi climbed onto her knees and rolled me onto my back, all in one smooth motion. My iron-hard cock was leaking profusely as she settled in between my widespread legs. She held it up at the base as she blew on it lightly, sending shivers of lust from my head to my toes. "Jesus, woman, that feels exquisite," I stammered. She just gave me a wicked grin, with eyes like sparklers. "You ain't seen nothin' yet," she purred. With that, she swiped the flat part of her tongue up the underside of my dick, working it like strokes of a paintbrush, carefully laving my rigid flesh. When she had licked her way all around the shaft, she slowly slid her lips over the crown. Our eyes locked in a lustful stare as she opened her lips and let the head of my cock pass into her mouth. She kept her gaze on me as she fed my meat slowly, ever so slowly past her ruby-covered lips toward her throat. She got about two-thirds of it in before I felt the head gently nudge the opening to her throat, and that was her signal to start working her mouth on me in earnest. I groaned in abject surrender as Kristi worked her lips back up until just the tip was in her mouth, then back down again. With each plunge a little bit more entered her throat and she worked a little bit faster. As she sucked me harder and faster, her hand was steadily working the base of my shaft, regulating the pace and thrust of my cock into her mouth. I could feel the tingle right at the fulcrum of my legs, that spot every man knows is the core of his sexuality. As much as I wanted to spew a bucket load of cum into Kristi's mouth, I wanted even more to fuck her again. No, that's not quite right. I wanted to make love with this utterly sensual creature who was giving so much of herself for me. So I gently pried her mouth from my cock, and was slightly amused at the dazed look on Kristi's face when I did so. She'd been so into it that she'd lost touch a little bit with what was going on around us. Again, I rolled her onto her back and got up on my knees. "I want to love you, like you deserve to be loved," I whispered. "Oh, please, Stu," she pleaded. "I want you. In every way, I want you." I paused for a moment and swept my gaze on this woman that a lot of men would give their left nut for: the dark hair that fanned across the pillow, the yearning look in her big brown eyes, the fat tits that were heaving with desire and, most of all, the slick red pussy that was spread open waiting for me, and only for me. I carefully fit the head of my cock to that juicy slot and slid into Kristi's hot depths with a satisfied gasp. At first, I kept my pace deliberate, working my cock back and forth evenly, while I gathered Kristi in my arms and we kissed, hot and hard. Every nerve in my body was on high alert from the touch of our sweat-slick skin, every feeling was magnified by the sense of wonder that had enveloped us. We had been dancing around our feelings for each other for weeks, and now we'd taken the plunge. There was no going back for either of us. I can't recall now just what we said during those magical moments, but we talked continuously, just passing little endearments and words of pleasure between us as we strained together in our passion. I couldn't believe how free I felt! It was like I'd been held underwater and had just broken the surface. I was drinking this new life, this new love like a swimmer gulping air. And, strange as it sounds, I could sense something in the room with us, a vague presence, and I've told myself ever since that it was spirit of Shirley urging me on, pushing me to grab this life, this love, and to quit looking back. I laughed then, as I suddenly picked up the pace and began driving my cock forcefully in Kristi's pliant pussy. She looked at me strangely, but happily, and worked her hips right in time with me. I was gasping now, sweating hard as we hurtled toward an explosive finish. Our voices filled the room with the sounds of love as we worked ourselves to a crescendo. "Come on, baby!" Kristi panted. "Come on, do it! Make ... me ... yours!" "I ... I .. I'm ..." I gasped, and that was all I could get out. Just as Kristi's body spasmed into a powerful climax, I let it loose. I lurched forward, shaking in my passion as I surrendered one of the hardest, most intense cumshots I've ever had the pleasure of giving. It seemed like my whole insides were coming out the end of my dick as I gave Kristi everything I had, and more. This time, there was no angst, no tears and no deep emotion. We just floated back to earth, our hands touching each other in odd places. "Can I tell you something?" I said softly as we lay together in the warm glow of sated lust. "Sure ... As long as it's good," Kristi said, and she laughed that glockenspiel laugh that had so enchanted me early on. "I love you, Kristi Golden, and I want you to be mine," I said. Kristi got a serious look on her face as she pulled herself up onto an elbow and looked at me. "Stu, I can never replace Shirley," she said. "She was your love and your wife, and she gave you three wonderful children. But she's gone and life goes on, and if you're willing to give me even a piece of your heart, I'll take that gladly. You're a fine man, and I love you." ^ ^ ^ ^ A year has come and gone since that pre-dawn New Year's Day, and my life has changed in so many ways I can't begin to count them. Kristi and I have been together now for the whole time, and our wedding is in a few weeks – on Valentine's Day, of course – and that's a day after my last day of work at the paper. After 25 years, I'm retiring and devoting myself to my own writing. Paul was good as his word, and after reading the manuscript I sent him, he helped me find a publisher and I got a very nice advance from a Christian-oriented company. My first book, "Swimming Upstream," is scheduled for release in a few weeks, and advance reviews have been favorable. I don't plan on limiting myself to religious work, however. I've got some sports fiction, some romantic works, along with the personal essays that I've written. Kristi cried when she read some of the love letters I'd written to Shirley after her death, and for awhile she was vaguely depressed about it. "How can I ever match that kind of love?" she asked a few days later. "Just be yourself," I said patiently. "You said it yourself. You aren't Shirley. You're Kristi, and you're exactly what I need, and want. Trust me, Kristi, Shirley is up there rooting for you. She spent every day of our married life trying to make me happy, and I know she wants me to be happy now that she's gone. I spent too long beating myself up over it, and you know what? It still didn't bring her back. Life goes on, Kristi. I love you, and you make me very happy." I knew she was over her funk when she presented me with a sketch drawing for my birthday. She somehow caught me in a pensive pose, my gaze looking at infinity. It was striking in the way that she seemed to catch my soul in that look That told me that I was on her mind, and in her heart. Shelby, of course, was tickled to death that I'd found someone, especially someone as "cool," as Kristi, as she puts it. She and Thomas have become friends, and I think we'll have no problems when our family becomes blended. Often, our dates will simply consist of the four of us hanging out together in Kristi's studio. She'll work on something or another, I'll be reading or maybe writing something in a notebook and the kids may be doodling in a corner somewhere or maybe playing a board game. Sean and Susan are also happy to see me happy, Sean especially, because he's getting to move back into our old house, which I'm letting him rent for a ridiculously low rate. I'm not quite ready to sell the place that still holds so many memories, good and bad, and I like the idea of keeping it in the family, at least for awhile. The only fly in the ointment in all of this bliss was Kristi's ex-husband, who made vague noises about contesting the custody arrangement. But the judge very firmly, and very quietly, told Mel he didn't have a chance in hell of ever getting full custody of his son. I still have trouble believing he thought Kristi was frigid. She shows me all the time just how not frigid she really is. I think it's the soul of her ethnic background. I learned early that her parents were both originally from Argentina, which explains her slightly exotic looks, and her hot-blooded nature. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to think that I was able to overcome my grief and land a woman like Kristi. But art and artists have a way of finding each other, even in the most trying circumstances.