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Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 01

By: KinghtWhisper



There is no way it was rape. I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted it to happen.

To my knowledge, I had done nothing to make these guys think I was a slut. My friend Sarah and I had had a few drinks with them, yes, but I never so much as uttered a dirty word. I wore jeans and open-toe shoes. Under my blouse, my bra contained my breasts. I had barely dabbed Obsession on my wrists.

I am thirty-two now. I was twenty-four then. I have done nothing like that since, and I have tried like hell to regret that night.

It started in the club with a young man named Michael. To this day, I cannot quite figure what constituted my initial attraction to him. He was cute, but not my type. He was a smooth talker, yet I could see through his attempt to pick me up. As the evening wore on however, he seemed interested in listening to me talk of graduate school. I was interested in the fact that he owned a small business marketing tanning products in the Caribbean. He had even expanded to Costa Rica. He told me that he loved the place- a place I had always wanted to visit.

It was later in the evening, nearing midnight I believe, as I took a sip of my fourth margarita. Michael and his friends told me repeatedly how beautiful I was from the semicircle of bar stools. I appreciated the compliment, though I began to feel a bit for Sarah. Through the eyes of friendship, I found her attractive. I think the boys did too, but I unwittingly stole the show.

"We need to go", Sarah said after returning from the restroom.

"Where are you going?" Michael protested. "The night's just getting started."

"Some of us have to work in the morning", Sarah shot back. She grabbed her purse. "Let's go, Alex."

I smiled at Michael. "I have to go", I said. "It was great talking to you."

He leaned close to whisper in my ear. "Do you always do what Sarah tells you?"

I moved his hand from my inner thigh then, not because I was offended, not because I didn't like it, but because it turned me on. I was wet from a touch and a whisper.

Sarah was irritated. "Let's go, Alexandra", she repeated sternly.

"I will give you a ride", Michael said with a less-than-pure smile.

Sarah left in a huff after the "you don't even know this guy" speech.

I was alone now, with a bartender, Michael, and four of his friends. The sense of danger was slight, but real nonetheless. The boys had been having a good time all night, but they seemed happier now that Sarah was gone. They talked of partying all night as they exchanged high-fives like middle-aged adolescents at a ball game.

Whatever turns them on, I thought. These guys probably have a stripper coming in or something.

I excused myself and went to the ladies room. I stayed in there for what seemed like a short eternity. I don't even remember what I did- all alone in the restroom- I only recall that I was still turned on from Michael's touch. In the solitude of the dim light, partially out of sincerity and partially due to the margaritas, I recalled their compliments. I had to agree. My breasts were shapely, my waist small, my round ass well pronounced and hugged by tight denim.

"Did you fall in?" asked Ryan, one of Michael's friends, upon my return.

My self-adoration assisted me in ignoring the sophomoric question as I stared with a smile into Michael's eyes.

"Last call was ten minutes ago", Michael said. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am ready."

I studied him some more as he confidently entered my number into his cell phone. Yes, I thought, you can see me again. He had not even asked. I contemplated a real date with a guy I had met hours ago. I contemplated a date with a guy whose most endearing quality was his ability to turn me on with a touch and a whisper. I contemplated sleeping with him, just before the words "not in this lifetime" echoed across my mind.

"What?" he said. "Got the number. What are you laughing about?"

"Nothing."

"Ready to go?"

He stood. He could not have been more than five-nine. I like tall men. I like my blonde hair, I thought; but I prefer men with darker hair. His eyes were brown. I like blue eyes, like mine.

"Where are you going?" I asked some ten minutes later.

He turned the music down. "What did you say?"

"You were supposed to turn left at the last light."

"You can party with us for a while."

"No. I have class in the morning. You have to take me home."

He said nothing as the car stopped at the next light. The warm smell of the coastal breeze enveloped us as he let down the convertible top. My protests ceased and my legs spread slightly as his hand moved again to my thigh. For the first time, I began to fear what might happen. The fear was real- as real as my wet anticipation. In that moment I knew that, at least for tonight, he owned me; but my incoherent thoughts quickly turned to rationalization. If I had to sleep in the next morning and miss one class, fine. He is a fun guy, I thought. Let your hair down, I said to myself. You've been working hard. Tonight, have some fun.

The house was huge and secluded, with a romantic looking gazebo at some distance on the stately lawn. The beach was not far, and the distinctive aroma of the inner-coastal waterway stimulated me as a stiff breeze came once more. I heard the music coming from inside as the car came to a stop on the circular drive.

All of his friends were there. Once inside, I was a bit surprised to learn that I was the only girl. More than an hour and nearly a whole beer later, I began to feel comfortable. This was just like the bar. I was just hanging out with the guys.

I was light-headed then, making my way to the bathroom and telling myself what a bitch Sarah had been. She needs to lighten up, I thought. She could have had fun too if she were here.

Michael gave me a start as I came out of the bathroom. "You know what I want", he said, his eye going through me in the hallway.

"Well, you can't have it. I need to go home now."

I waited for a seductive movie scene. I was waiting for Michael to approach me slowly, seductively. Instead, he forced my back to the wall, kissing me with a vulgar passion. I breathed heavily as he groped me. I fought hard for the words... "Michael, stop it. Stop this! I am not a whore". The words would not come.

From the party room, the music came down the long hallway, flowing in like the breeze from the waterway. It was an old song, from the 80's. It might have been from the 60's. I struggled to focus on that damned song as Michael ripped my shirt. 

I felt faint as he unfastened my jeans. "What song is that?" I stupidly asked.

He threw my shirt to the floor before peeling my bra straps from my shoulders.

"Who sings that song? Oh my god, who sings that song", I babbled. 

My breasts were exposed then to the warm chill of the hallway as he peeled the bra away. It hurt a bit as he moved the obstacle to my waist. He then began to alternately suck and bite my erect nipples. I moaned and groaned against the onslaught of glorious pain, unable to form lucid words. He was being too rough, and I loved it.

I was just beginning to perspire a bit. I gasped loudly and my head turned to the right, taking in the sight as his friends watched. They shouted vulgarities, the specifics of which I recall no better than the song. Their applause echoed in the hallway as Michael released my breasts. He kissed me again. The song continued. The applause continued. The vulgarities reverberated in my ears.

I was in a surreal world then. I had no idea whether I had been told to remove my jeans; I only knew that they had to come off. Michael's thumbnails lightly scraped my skin as he removed my panties. Until then, I had been oblivious to the fact that we were moving towards a bedroom. His friends followed. They shouted, whistled, and clapped as Michael took my right hand. He twirled me like a dancer as I looked at my clothing on the floor. It was tattered and snaked- a reminder of my surrender to animal lust. Briefly, the realization set in that I liked his friends looking at me; but I was Michael's prize, and he had shown me off with an arrogance that made me want him even more.

I don't remember entering the bedroom. I don't remember Michael taking his clothes off. I remember a song playing, a different song with the passionate female voice romancing the Spanish language as I stood trembling in the middle of the room.

"Nube de agua", he said, regaining my attention.

My eyes moved from his eyes, to his torso, to his erect penis as he sat on the edge of the bed. I was no virgin, but there was no way I could take that. He was thick, with what I guessed to be at least nine inches. As big as it was, the head seemed too big even for the rest.

"I can't", I whispered, finally able to speak.

"Come here" was his only reply.

I moved to him pensively. I was on my knees in front of him now. He held my hair back as, without a word, I tasted pre-cum and did his bidding. I wanted him to cum now, in my mouth. I wanted to be spared the pain of intercourse.

He whispered vulgar things as I continued what would amount to foreplay, before letting my hair fall and placing his hands on my shoulders.

Unable to form words, I moaned in protest; but it was no use. He moved me with a force that nearly caused me to go over backwards.

"I can't", I said again.

"Come here."

"I can't."

He took my hand. The experience became more surreal then as I moved to his lap. I swallowed hard as he ate at my breasts. My eyes closed. I was filled with longing and terror as I felt the tip of his rock-hard hard penis touch the lips of my vagina. I felt myself stretch then as his tongue entered my mouth. He squeezed my breasts before moving his hands to my hips. His grip was forceful and determined. He was guiding me.

"Do you have a condom?" I asked. Safe sex had always been a priority, and I needed an excuse to alleviate my fears. Why had I not thought of this earlier?

He raised me slightly before lowering me a bit more. It was uncomfortable, but I was taking him.

"I can't", I repeated.

He ignored me, his hands gripping my hips.

"You need a condom", I said.

He ignored me, his hands gripping my hips.

"What was the name of the song?"

"Nube de agua", he said.

"And this one?" I asked breathlessly. "I like this one even more."

"Love can sing", he answered.

He raised me again, and then lowered me. I was taking him deeper now. I began to moan with pleasure and pain. Never had I felt anything like this. This time, I moved myself up, then down until he was about halfway inside me. I thought of his patience as my orgasm began. Instinctively I knew that his friends were listening through the door. I wondered if they would come in and film me. He was so huge. I was so wet. I was wet all over it seemed.

Michael had been gentle until my first orgasm. Now it was his turn. I felt his swelling and throbbing.

"No Michael, don't!" I screamed.

I then screamed in agony, wondering if my uterus was crushed along with my hipbones as he thrust himself into me like an animal. Another of my orgasms followed. 

I felt faint until he lay on his back. On top of him, I was thankful now, sensing a bit more control. I moved myself, as I knew he wanted me to. He commanded me without words as the erotic music flowed over us and pheromones filled the air.

I screamed as his massive presence stabbed then, as his hot cum flooded me. I had yet another orgasm as I felt his ribbed throbbing and he grabbed my hair.

Our little corner of the world was wet. Contented with what I had, I still wanted more. Our breathing was nearly as loud as our screams had been when I spoke his name. I kissed his fingers as he gently placed his hand over my mouth. After several minutes, lying there quietly, I was overcome with the "now". This was my world, my existence. How I would love to have that again, to feel that again, to be there again- in that void where exists no apprehension, no dread, and no judgment. 

Happiness comes in measures, in shades, in moments.

I moved myself slightly with the realization that he was still hard. I giggled slightly as he moved me from the bed, across the room. My back was against the wall. He too, wanted more. 

He held my ass tightly, spreading it as he thrust himself into me over and over. I was on the verge of another orgasm then when he moved me again. As though moving in a single motion, he laid me on the floor, removed himself from me, and rolled me over. He then placed his hands on my hips again, pulling me up, so that I was on all fours. I waited for him to take me again, but he walked around me in a circle, holding himself like a proud beast. I remained still, aware that now was not the time for words, dreading more pain.

This was different. It was, oh so different. I was wet. I had already accommodated him; yet this provided a distinct pain, a distinct pleasure, as though the base of my spine might move from its proper place in my body. My arms collapsed. My face hit the floor. I had never dreamed that this many orgasms were possible. I wanted so for him to be pleased again. I hoped that his pleasure could at least compare to mine.

He stopped then, suddenly. I knew that he was studying me. With my eyes closed, I knew that his vision was moving about me. I could feel it burning my legs, my raised ass, my back and the outline of my spine, the damp hair caressing my shoulders. I was nothing more than his cheap slut, a place for him to deposit pleasure; yet, in that brief moment, he wondered if he might love me.

It was a matter of seconds after Michael started again that I felt his cum once more. Mortal men cannot cum like this, I thought. It was as though his first orgasm had only been a prelude.

Minutes passed, then more minutes passed, before I suffered the unwelcome, cold feeling of Michael leaving me once again. I did not love him, and I knew that he did not love me; yet I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to snuggle with him, pretending that things were different, as that cold feeling melted away.

In the shower, I quickly found the warmth I had desired. The erotic music CD was on shuffle. Steam filled the bathroom. The water was a bit too hot, burning my back as I went to my knees in front of him, wondering if I could ever let go of the beauty that had frightened me so earlier. Again, with my eyes closed, I could feel his eyes burning through me. Again, I read his thoughts. I was a fuck- a cheap whore he had picked up in a bar. I was on my knees in the shower with his impressive manhood in my mouth like a porn actress; yet, he wondered again if I might love him. I felt it in his touch as he gently pulled wet hair from my face.

We dried each other off without a word, only smiles and an occasional laugh to break the silence. I loved him, I realized, but now and only now. When we said goodbye, there would be no more Michael. I stood naked, smiling at him in the mirror as he brushed and blow-dried my hair.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he said as the drier was switched off.

In the mirror, I studied my body for a moment. Yes, I was beautiful. I then looked at my face. Even with no makeup, yes, I was enough.

"You", I said with a note of humor, "Turned me into a whore. Can whores be beautiful?"

"If you are a whore, then yes."

He turned me around then. The kiss was nice, it was passionate, and it was real. Through the kiss and the gentle touch of his hand on my left breast, I once again read his thoughts. 

This time, he read mine.

"Hey", he said before laughing. "All I said is that you're hot."

"Will you please go and get my clothes?"

"No."

"Michael..."

"You want this to be what it is and nothing more, right?"

"What do you want?"

He kissed me quickly, then stroked my hair twice more with the brush. "I want you to be the party whore that you said I turned you into."

I stared at him silently.

"You know what I mean", he said.

In that moment, I felt certain Michael wanted me to fuck his friends. There was no way that was going to happen; but then, prior to this night, there was no way any of this was going to happen. I began to doubt myself.

He would not let me dress. My shyness was gone. These guys had already seen me naked. So it was that the night passed with me nude, having a few more drinks, and partying with his friends. I was accommodating, like the "party whore" Michael wanted me to be. I was kissed. I was fondled and touched. I was the belle of the ball. These boys in the bodies of young men loved seeing me naked. They envied Michael and, despite the unspoken rule that said that for tonight I was his girl, they all wanted to fuck me. If they could not fuck me, they at least wanted a blowjob.

None of Michael's friends got any of their wishes. Never had I felt such power. Never had I admired so the power of an ordinary man- if one could call Michael ordinary.

He gave me one of his sport coats for the ride home, as my blouse was torn. Before leaving his house, I stuffed my blouse and bra into my purse. The coat was a big on me, and nicely covered my naked breasts.

The miles passed silently and dawn's sun peeked through artful clouds, as I wondered why I had no regret. It saddened me that I had no regret. I was proud of myself, proud of this realization.

This is it, I thought, as Michael stopped his car at the walk of the small house Sarah and I rented. This is goodbye. I detected the sadness in his being as we sat silently. None of the bullshit lines were forthcoming; though we both waited for "I had fun", "call me", etcetera.

At once, I removed my jeans. My panties soon followed them to the floorboard. 

Michael smiled. 

I needed to be caught. I needed to let the world know what I had done without saying a word. As he entered my vagina again, I realized how sore I was from the night before. I fucked him in his car as the city stirred to life. We kissed like lovers in a cheap novel, those who experience fictional, once in a lifetime love. I was the woman whose being was not complete without Michael. Michael was the man who felt like a whole man because he knew that I loved him and needed him with all my heart. We both absorbed the fiction as we fucked.

There would be no orgasm for me this time. This time, I was in control. This time, I just needed his love in me.

My vagina hugged him tightly as I moved. I opened my eyes to see Sarah, her Tupperware-contained lunch in one hand and her book bag over her shoulder, staring at me. She shook her head with disgust before making her way to the bus stop.

This was perfect.

The cars of early passers-by slowed. I was on his lap facing him, kissing him, with only his coat to hide my bare, hard, erect breasts from the curious.

I smiled at Michael as I got out of the car. Now my panties were in my purse with my blouse and my bra. I took part of him with me, still feeling his wet warmth. Once inside, I was struck by the silence. It was broken then by the ticking clicking of the antique clock Sarah's mother had given her. I then heard a thumping noise. It was a sound made by my dog, Jack. He was laying on the rug in the living room. He had not moved, and the sound was that of his tail thumping the floor. He smiled, and I knew that he smelled the sex.

Sarah quit speaking to me for quite a while. When we talked again, she wanted to know nothing of that night. This was fine, as I wanted to tell her nothing. Seeing me on top of Michael in his car, told her all she needed to know.

The next day I received flowers. I put them in water and enjoyed their beauty until they wilted and withered. When they did, I threw them away. 

I had no regrets for the dead flowers then, as I have no regret for the night with Michael now. I love having a secret. I love knowing that there is a passion within me- something no one can ever take away- that none of the men passing through my life will ever understand. I love the fact that, in the midst of work, responsibility, deadlines, and headaches, that for one night, I was the "party whore".


Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 01



From time to time now, when I find time for myself, I look at myself in the mirror as I dance to songs like "Love Can Sing" and "Nube De Agua" .

Most of my female friends have probably never heard of these songs; but then, I doubt that they can achieve orgasm from a simple brush stroke either.



Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 02



I needed to be free from a false morality. I read a short story by a anonymous author. In the process of becoming a prisoner to myself, I was about to find freedom....at last.

*

I usually sleep naked. Last night, Julian got the message when I wore my panties to bed. "I have to go in early tomorrow anyway", he said before switching off the lamp.

I waited with dread to hear again of the stress he was under, preparing a case that was going to wind up in appeals court. 

I said nothing. Julian said nothing as silent darkness enveloped all. He moved to his side, giving me his back. It struck me through that I did not care. I slowly drifted to sleep, all too aware of a simple truth- I loved my body, my job, my dog, and the memory of a plateau I desperately wanted to scale repeatedly.

I awoke the next morning to find a note on the pillow from Julian. "I still love you" it began. "I apologize for my tone last night. Hopefully, when I get home we can work through our differences and come to a mutually satisfactory understanding".

"Jesus", I said before wadding up the small piece of paper. I started to throw it, before a better idea came to me. 

"You still love me", I said in a loud tone. "Hallelujah" I shouted, making my way to the bathroom. 

"I am not one of your clients, Julian. I am not one of your cases."

I dropped his note in the toilet before lowering my panties to my ankles and seating myself. "Here is some mutually satisfactory understanding for you my love."

I got a perverse, early morning pleasure and a bit of levity as the pee flowed from me. I giggled at my own childishness. I was peeing on Julian's note.

On Fridays, I usually knocked off work at or shortly before lunchtime. This was my day to shop, think, remember, and dance if I damn well felt like it. Remembering that I had overslept and would not make it in until ten or after anyway, I let the hot water persuade me to blow off work altogether. Hannah, my friend and boss, would understand. She was aware of the fact that things had become somewhat strained between Julian and me. 

I felt better after my shower. Today is my day, I thought. I will not think about the changes in Julian. After living together for nearly three years, I would not think of how he had changed. I would not think of how he now wanted marriage and children.

My mirrored image was partially surrounded by steam as I retrieved my toothbrush. I began to tingle. I closed my eyes, brushing my teeth rapidly as I wondered if I would ever get that story out of my mind. I moaned as I let the towel fall from my body.

With my eyes closed, I set the toothbrush on the counter. I allowed my lids to part then, taking in the sight of myself. White toothpaste ran from the corners of my mouth. How disgusting, how stupid I thought realizing that this, along with my wet pussy and hard nipples reminded me of that night. Yet, one glimpse at my body, one touch to my clit was all it took.

I rinsed the toothpaste away quickly, eager to touch myself, eager to taste my orgasm. 

I recalled the story of his last orgasm then. I smiled, remembering how she had left the tight, wet jeans on her body, trapping his cum where she wanted it.

Wet still, and with my own taste weighing on my senses, I moved quickly to retrieve a pair of panties from the dresser drawer. My eyes closed. I was anxious for the ensuing stimulation as the silk touched the lips of my vagina. I have no idea why I retrieved one of Julian's dress shirts. Call it revenge. Call it Geneva being a bitch. It was as sophomoric as having peed on his note, but I needed to do it- I needed to wear his shirt. 

With my hair and my pussy still wet, I moved arrogantly to the den. The book, a biography of Ayn Rand, was on the sofa where I had left it the night before. I sat down, took the book in my left hand, and then used the remote to switch on some music. "Twist in my Sobriety" was just beginning. Yet again, I was reminded of that night. Yet again, my body began to tingle as I set the book down and touched my breast beneath the open shirt.

My dog Merrick slogged his way sleepily into the room then. I moved to the floor to sit by my black lab as he licked my face. I laughed.

"You are the only man I have ever loved", I said. "You are my best friend, the only one who knows all my secrets." 

I sat deeply in thought as Merrick rolled over. I rubbed his belly as Tanita Tikaram crooned. I found myself moments later as Ayn Rand stared at me from a book cover and "Smooth Operator" replaced the previous song.

My dog was aroused. I diminished my apprehensions as my hand moved, slowly at first, then more rapidly and with more determination. I stared across the room, a sense of anger welling up in me as I thought of the bullshit- a societal imposed, hypocritical, so-called morality. I hated it more as I thought of Julian going back on our agreement and trying to impose such upon me.

Moments later, a feeling of guilty levity came over me as Merrick whimpered. My eyes closed and I bit my bottom lip as his cum went everywhere. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as I saw the embarrassment in my baby's eyes. He was not ready to forgive and forget- particularly after I laughed.

It was early afternoon as I moved from shop window to shop window. I smiled at my reflection in the glass, happily remembering that the following day was the monthly meeting of my psychology discussion group silently, I wondered why a discussion of philosophy was referred to as a "psychology group". I didn't really care. I just laughed, remembering that the following day we were to discuss narcissism.

A few hours later, with bags full of things I didn't need, and a few I didn't even want, I strolled leisurely to the V.O. Club, a quaint little place owned by a couple I had befriended over the years. Doug was a great guy. His wife, April, was now something of a soul mate to me. She had that rare combination of inner and outer beauty. She was a simple person who I knew possessed the intellect to be anything she wanted to be. Yet she seemed content to be Doug's wife and help run their small business. 

I entered the club and set the bags down beside a bar chair. The lunch crowd was gone. A lone patron sat at the far end of the bar, seemingly staring into a void. A sweaty drink was in front of him and a cigarette burned in the ashtray slightly to his right. He was handsome but haggard. His black hair was salted gray, but he did not appear to be old.

"Where is April?" I called to him.

"She'll be right back."

"Are you okay?"

His eyes met me then. Even from the distance, I could tell that they were the deepest blue.

"Never batter", he said gruffly.

"Is that why your clothes look like they just came out of the dryer? I that why you appear so thoughtful?"

"Do I know you?"

I shrugged. "Don't think so. But your hair is pretty and I love your eyes."

He stared at me before taking a sip of his drink, and then raised the glass silently.

April appeared then. She moved quickly around the bar to give me a hug. As usual, I was struck with her goofy smile, her high energy, and the perky look of her breasts, hidden beneath a blue golf shirt and a bra. We both giggled as our lips smacked.

"Where the hell have you been?" she asked with silly determination.

A sigh accompanied my smile. "I have been busy, working and fighting with Julian."

"Oh no" she responded. "What happened?"

"He wants babies and is pondering the idea of marriage."

April laughed. "With you? Is he on crack?"

"Hey!"

She laughed again. "You know what I mean."

"Who is that guy at the other end of the bar?"

April sat down beside me. "His name is Milan", she whispered.

"What is his story?'

"He is bored I think."

"Why?"

"He has more money than the governments of a shit load of countries combined. He's done it all and seen it all."

"No one has done and seen it all."

"Wanna' bet?"

"How old is he?"

"Milam", she called loudly. "Geneva wants to know how old you are."

My head went down and I felt my face blush. "April!" I said. 

Milam did not respond.

"I think he is like 42", April offered.

"What is his story?"

"He went to the University of Oregon, where he met the love of his life, a girl named Cecilia. Through her, he was employed to handle the finances and affairs of a multi millionaire named Craig Daniels. He made a lot of money doing that, and when Mister Daniels died, he left everything to Milam."

"What happened to Cecilia?"

"She left him, or he left her. Something happened. Why are you so interested?"

"I don't know. He just caught my eye when I came in."

"Not hard", April said. "Since he was the only person in here."

I watched then as Milam stood to leave. He moved closer as he approached the door. He was slender, tall, mysterious, confident, and disturbed. I found him so attractive. I became envious as he kissed April's hand.

"Thank you", he said to her. 

With his suit as wrinkled as the shirt, he smiled at me then. "Nice to meet you", he said.

April smacked my leg playfully as Milam exited. "I think somebody wants to fuck Milam!"

"While you psycho analyze me, do you suppose I could get a drink?"

"The usual?"

"Yes."

"One margarita, coming up" she said.

"What does he do now?"

"Milam? He writes."

"No way! Why didn't you tell him I am an editor?"

April's laughter was louder than the roar of the blender. "He doesn't write for magazines. He self publishes, mostly underground I think."

"Must be good stuff. What the hell could be called underground these days?"

The blender stopped.

"Well, he writes weird stuff."

I laughed. "What could be called weird these days?"

I stared at April's breasts again as she set the drink down and leaned on the bar.

"He interviews people, but it has to be a unique experience. Like...the feeling you had while on safari. You were hunting elephant, but a lion charged you. How did you feel right before you shot it? You were an abused or neglected child. What were your innermost thoughts and feelings while locked in the closet at age eight? When you were fourteen, you let your sixteen year old brother fuck your brains out- weird shit like that."

I felt April's eyes burning through me as I took the first sip.

"And you, Miss Geneva", she continued. "Don't have any stories that even come close", she said playfully.

"Oh, you think not?"

"Try me."

"Did you ever wonder if you're really human? If maybe you are just a cold bitch not really meant for this world?"

"At least once a month. Try again."

I took another drink. "Did you ever jack a dog off?"

Her face contorted. "No."

"I did. This morning."

"Your dog?" She giggled. "You jacked off Merrick?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I have no idea."

She moved to get a glass of club soda. "Okay, I don't have your education; but I am confident that no one can masturbate a male dog and have no clue as to why."

"It just happened."

"How did it feel?"

"I had no regrets; but I think Merrick was a bit embarrassed."

"Did it turn you on?"

I shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it."

April leaned on the bar again, the combination of her eyes, her breasts, and her voice turning me on now.

"And you think that would be good enough to gain Milam's interest?"

"Probably not. A woman jacking off a male dog is just the stuff of internet porn, right?"

"You tell me."

"From what you have told me, Milam is not so much into the story itself as he is into the sensations, the feelings and thoughts of the subjects, right?"

She moved closer. "Why don't you ask him?"

"I read a story- a true story- that has stayed with me. I dream about it now at least twice a week. This morning, I had an orgasm just thinking about it. I was brushing my teeth."

April moved her face close to mine. "Did you touch yourself?"

A chill came over me. "Yes."

"Will you tell me the story?"

Before I could answer, April's lips met mine. My mind went blank as it was overtaken by metaphysical. A familiar wetness between my legs reminded me that I had always wanted April to kiss me; but I was no lesbian. I was not even bisexual. I still had orgasms remembering the story of Alexandra and Michael and that night eight years ago. I was now fascinated with a young old man named Milam. I wanted to fuck him first and then get to know him.

These thoughts moved to the back of my mind as I moaned. My tongue now explored hers.

I was turned on beyond description. My eyes remained closed as she moved my hair behind my left ear. "Will you tell me the story?" she whispered. "I want to know what gives you orgasms."

"Where is Doug?"

"He will be in at four."

"What time is it?"

Doug entered a few minutes later. April and I headed for the door, laughing as he asked where we were off to.

"Girl talk", April said to Doug. "It is the important kind."

"Trouble in paradise?" Doug asked me.

"I said girl talk", she interjected. "Men are not allowed to ask questions."

All the way to April's house, I loved the fact that we just talked like old friends. I was still wet with a nervousness that recalled the story of Michael and the coastal house; but no third party, had there been anyone else in the car, would have ever guessed.

Once there, we talked about inane things until hours and a whole bottle of chardonnay had passed. She excused herself to the restroom then, returning in a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. I noted the outline of her vagina as she re-entered the room.  

I told her the whole story of Michael and Alexandra, of my inner most desire to be a "party whore". I told her of how his whisper had turned me on. I told her how, since reading the story, I could scarcely brush my hair without becoming aroused. I told her of the songs.

As though she knew my soul, as though the gods had conspired, April moved across the room. I watched her ass moved as she walked. My mouth dropped as I heard the song "Love Can Sing".

I was speechless as she moved back to me. She leaned down then, her palms upon my thighs. I stared into her eyes just before she kissed me again. When the kiss ended, I noticed that she was wearing no bra.

April smiled before standing upright to remove her shirt. "You like them, don't you?"

"April, I..."

"Touch them", she whispered.

My hands moved instinctively to her small, perfectly shaped breasts. She sighed ever so slightly as I rubbed them. I, the woman who was not a lesbian- not even bisexual- then wanted nothing more than to take one of her breasts into my mouth; but April pulled away, interrupting my desires.

Topless, she led me to the hallway. She ripped my shirt off and began kissing me forcefully. I then felt the bra being peeled to my waist. She remembered every detail.

Once in the bedroom, April told me to stand still as she sat on the bed, bathed in bright light.

"Did his huge cock look anything like this?" she asked, just before opening her legs.

I looked longingly at the pinkish-red crescent of her wet pussy then. I watched as she retrieved a wooden brush from beneath the covers. She held it between her legs.

"Come here", she said.

"I can't", I responded on cue.

"Come here."

I moved to her pensively. I went to my knees. She held the bristled end to the brush to her pussy. The handle pointed to me invitingly. I dutifully sucked it, taking in April's feminine fragrance before moving to her lap.

I let the handle touch the lips of my vagina. 

"Fuck it", April whispered.

I had no trepidations. I kissed her as our breasts touched, as I fucked the hairbrush. I was reliving the story until April took matters into her own hands. She moved me to my back, continuing to fuck me. Realizing now that this was not Michael, realizing what I was in fact doing, I begged her to stop. Like Michael in the story, she ignored me until I yelped with orgasm.

I groaned as she pulled the brush out of me. I laughed and started to speak, but she rolled me over. I wondered what was next until I felt her soaked pussy on the small of my back. This, in and of itself, nearly brought me back to the magical place.

I gyrated as, face down, she then began to brush my hair, slowly, softly, gently. I felt her perfect breasts on my back then. "The brush has your cum all over it", she whispered. "Is there anything else you would like to experience with Michael?"

I did not answer. I could not speak.

She lay on top of me then, turning my head just enough to kiss me. "Stay here", she said softly. "Do not move."

I was cold until she returned. I heard her presence behind me.

"Did you move?"

I did not answer. I could not speak.

I moaned loudly as I felt her finger touch my pussy. She knew... she all the right spots. She teased me. Each time is was about to cum, April would stop. She was torturing me. She was loving every second. I moaned loudly- too loudly for good taste- as her finger entered my vagina. I ached as though I might explode. My hips raised as a second finger entered and he fucked me again.

One more time...yet again, April stopped. She removed her fingers and rolled me over to my back. She placed her face between my legs. I felt only her breath and the hologram of her tongue. I wanted so for her to....god, how she was teasing me! 

I gyrated again as baby kisses went over my pelvic bone and up my belly. She moved slowly, moving her lips towards my breasts, then stopped again. I watched, moaning, as she then took the brush, covered in my cum, and placed it into her mouth. Before I could contemplate, she moved quickly to lick my vagina. Her tongue had a gift all its own. 

Then, she was kissing me. The sweetness of her mouth combined with my own juices to bring me close to orgasm yet again. 

I finally came, only when April denied me- teasing me in a most cruel manner. She moved the beauty of her pussy over my face. I could feel the heat. I could almost taste the juices; yet, every time my lips or my tongue came close, she would pull up ever so slightly.

This went on for what seemed like hours, until she finally relented. I could not get enough as she forced the weight of the center of her being onto my face. She sounded like a very young girl- almost childlike- as she came in my mouth.

I moved my tongue into her pussy as I thought about Milam. I thought how wrong April had been. His sadness was not a result of having experienced too much....he wanted more, and so did I.

I held onto April, tasting her sweet lips as she caught her breath. Part of me wanted her to never move; but she did.

I thought I was spent until she began alternately placing her breasts against my lips, then sucking mine.

She then rolled me over again, onto my belly. I think my vagina opened then, anticipating her fingers. Perhaps she would use the brush on me again. Perhaps she was going to lick me from behind.

I waited. The sun had moved and the light was dim now. I heard faint, strange noises. I heard April.

"What are you doing?" I inquired.

"Don't move. You wanted a story to tell Milam, right?"

"Is this it?"

"Not even close."

"What is your idea?"

"What if....instead of fucking Michael at the house on the coast...everything had happened the same way right after you watched him shoot a lion while on safari?"

"I don't believe in hurting animals."

"Do you believe in jacking them off?"

I then felt something like tepid liquid or gel, something like aloe lotion on my ass. April's hands began massaging my ass then. 

"Animals" she whispered. "Tell me again about jacking off the dog."

Once again, I could not speak.

"Tell me how his cock felt in your hand. Lie to me again and tell me it just happened. Tell me how it was an accident. Tell me that you didn't enjoy it."




Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 02



I remained silent, my breaths becoming shorter.

I then felt my head pop up as April grabbed a handful of my hair.

"Is this how Michael would pull it?"

I moaned. "Yes."

"Answer me, or I will pull it harder."

"Answer what?"

"Did you enjoy the dog?"

"Yes."

"All answers are yes. Do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to fuck Michael like a slut?"

"Yes."

"Would you regret not fucking his friends?"

"Yes."

"And you enjoyed the dog?"

"Yes."

She pulled my hair harder.

"You want to fuck some more, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Tell me you are my whore."

"I am your whore."

She pulled my hair still harder, I could barely breathe. 

"April..."

"You know that I can have you anytime I want, Geneva."

"Yes."

"You know that I can do with you anything I want."

"Yes."

She released me then. I waited, turned on by her force, my aching scalp, and the realization that there was still more in me, yearning to get out.

She began to touch my ass again. I liked it. It was soothing.

I was surprised however, when her finger moved to the opening. I felt pleasure as the lubricated tip moved closer, further between my cheeks.

"April, no" I said pleadingly.

"I told you that all answers are yes."

I did not want to, but I loved it as her middle finger penetrated my ass.

"Did you dream about Michael fucking your ass?"

"No"

"Oh my god April!"

Her finger was all the way in me now. 

"Talk to me", April said.

"It feels so fucking good!"

"Do you like my finger in your ass?"

"Yes."

"Talk to me."

"Please."

"Do you want me to fuck it?"

"Please."

She began. Slowly at first, to move her finger in and out. I raised my hips. Without even realizing it, I moved to my knees as she finger-fucked me there.

I begged her to stop as she inserted a second finger. I was feeling pain now. Like Alexandra in the story however, this was pain I imbibed.

"Where is Michael?" she asked then.

"I do not know", I said.

Her fingers left me.

"He might be right behind you."

I then felt the perfectly shaped brush, the one she had named Michael, enter my ass. For the first time in my life, I literally cried from erotic pleasure as April fucked my ass with that brush.

I began to feel sick. I was loving every second, scared to death I would throw up on April's bed. She fucked me harder as the words "oh my god" spewed from my mouth.

"Tell me you love it!" she yelled.

"I do! I love it!"

Oddly enough, the next thing I remember is my recollection of sitting on the toilet, peeing on Julian's note. I cried harder.

"I am sorry April!"

"Sorry for what?"

"I will buy you a new one."

April left the brush in me as she stopped to laugh. I had to catch my breath to realize how much cum I had squirted.

"You thought you peed."

"I'm sorry."

I had never felt anything like the feeling of April slowly moving me to my back. The brush was still in me.

"You don't want to be", she said softly. "But you are still so innocent."

She slowly removed the brush from me, then kissed me. "You are my girl", she said.

Her face then moved down my body slowly until her lips were again at my vagina. The bed was still soaked with my gushed cum as she inserted a finger into my vagina. Her tongue began to flick my clitoris. 

"Will you be my toy if I can get you an interview with Milam?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what that means? Tell me the truth."

"I will be your whore?"

"Yes, Geneva."

"I will do anything and everything you tell me to do?"

"Yes, you will."

"I will do it."

Her tongue continued to make me wonder if I would squirt again. She moved her finger from my pussy back to my rectum.

"Tell me you are my whore."

"Oh my god....I am your whore."

"Who do you love?"

"I love you."

"Say it."

"I love you, April."

Not as hard, not as much, my cum squirted forth again. I did love April; and I would have my interview with Milam.

For now, April would hold me as I thought of whispers and brush strokes.



Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 03



Two weeks passed. I could not get the anger out of my mind. I could not shake a sense of shame, the only remedy for which was masturbation. I was angry with Julian. I was ashamed of what I had done with April. I was more ashamed of the knowledge that, given the chance, I would do it again.

I had opted out of my psychology/ philosophy group. There were only two rules there- first, be true to you, secondly, never lie to the group or any of its members. I was guilty of violating both rules.

It was approximately a forty-five minute drive from my house to the home of the man named Milam. Ten minutes into my journey, I stopped at a red light and switched on the radio. I needed distraction to clear my mind. The light turned green and I simultaneously laughed at the irony. "Let It Ride" by BTO...a classic with, in my particular case, more than one meaning. 

Julian and I had had no sex since his first night back. He was not happy. On that night, I lay on my back, oblivious to his presence. I later apologized to him for laughing as he writhed on me- I could not stop the recollection of peeing on his note. What would he say if he knew what I had done to Merrick? What would he say if he knew what April and I had explored? He humped me harder as the realization came that I could care less.

Yesterday, he had seen the indifference in my eyes as I came home to find him packed. I sat on the sofa; my legs crossed Indian-style as his rant began.

"If you don't give a damn about me or my feelings, why did you let me waste three years of my life with you?" he demanded. 

I pulled my hair back and stared at him silently.

"Answer me!"

"You use the word let in an attempt to place all the blame on me. You are going to do that anyway, so what good would an argument be?"

"You are seeing someone else, aren't you?"

I laughed spontaneously.

"I am going to tell you something. You are a cold bitch. In this moment, I wish I had never met you."

"Goodbye Julian."

"Get some help Geneva- some professional help."

Not because of Julian, and in spite of my indifference to him and his departure, I was following his advice.

True to her word, April had secured an appointment for interview. I was aware of our bargain. I would owe her for this. This realization caused both anxiety and the need to masturbate. 

In a two-week period, I had learned a great deal about Milam. He held a PHD in psychology and a degree in philosophy. He was a shadowy figure. He had published a book titled "The Theology of Sex and Self" under a pen name. Though he officially headed no organization, I learned that which I already suspected, he had at least handfuls of followers everywhere. 

Most importantly, I learned that Milam had interviewed and published the story of Alexandra and Michael. Alex was my personal hero now. I needed to tap into that power. She may or may not sleep with another woman. She may or may not let Julian leave with indifference; but whatever Alexandra did or did not do, she would maintain strength.

I had to talk with a speaker at the gated entrance. Here in the mountains, the blooms were springing forth, the birds providing the song of the season. I traversed the long drive to park in front of the huge, stately structure. My short skirt and cotton blouse reminded me that the breeze was cool here. I hoped he would find my attire appropriate.

"Appropriate to throw me on his desk and fuck my brains out", I whispered before ringing the bell. 

"Hello", said the elderly woman who opened the door. She appeared to be at least seventy years of age, yet she was lovely. Her eyes smiled naturally. 

"I am here to see-"

"I know why you are here. Please come in, Geneva."

Everything was wood, marble, and antique. Our steps echoed through the grand hall. This seemed too conservative, not at all what I had anticipated. 

Edith led me to his study. The room was quiet and dark, with little to give away anything regarding the nature of this man. 

"So what do you do here Edith?" I asked as I took a seat. I crossed my legs, hiding the black panties, visible to her smiling eyes because of my plaid skirt. 

"I oversee the staff. May I get you something to drink?

"Coffee?"

"How do you take it?"

"It is a bit chilly in here. Can I have it with Baileys?"

She nodded. "You may."

To my right, after Edith left the study, I was taken with a large picture. It hung over a large fireplace. I moved closer, struggling to determine whether it was a painting or a photograph. Chills went through me as I studied the cadre of black birds, airborne and forming a circle round the full, glowing moon.

I could not seem to stop staring. I was lost in the ephemeral subjectivity.

"It is titled Night's High Noon."

The deep voice from behind startled me back into reality. I turned to see Milam standing at the study doors. My breath went only halfway to the caverns of my chest. This was not the disheveled man I had seen before. His salt and pepper hair was groomed. He was tall and lean. He wore black pants and a white oxford shirt. I moved closer as my eyes locked onto the blue of his. I moved still closer as I noted his broad shoulders, the outline of his torso, and the diminutive girth of his waist, and the fullness contained beneath his pants.

He turned to close one of the doors.

"You have a nice ass", I said softly.

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing."

"Please", he said. "Have a seat."

I advertised myself then. My crotch was hot. My vagina needed to be free. I knew that Milam could see my panties. I wanted him to see my outline before I crossed my legs.

Edith entered then with a silver tray. The coffee and Baileys was for me, the cognac was for Milam.

After setting the drinks between us, Edith left the room, closing the doors behind her. I studied the body of Milam again as he rounded his desk. To my surprise, he retrieved and lit a cigarette.

"I am allergic to smoke", I protested.

"Everyone is allergic to smoke."

"But my Doctor said-"

"Why did you come here? Why did you want to see me?"

I smiled. "You don't care that I am allergic?"

He sat down across from me, the cigarette burning, like the indifference in his deep blue eyes. We studied each other as he sipped the cognac.

He was like the Tanita Tikaram song....haunting, sexy, aloof, and mysterious. 

"Can I have a cigarette?" I asked.

I noted the faintest hint of a smile as he retrieved another cancer stick from his desk. I stared up at his gorgeous, officious presence as he placed the cigarette between my lips. I was stimulated tremendously until he lit it and I began to cough.

"Is this a good thing?"

"Is what a good thing?" he responded. 

I could not take my eyes off him as he returned to his chair.

"Is it a good thing that I am smoking?"

His laugh was sublime. "Smoking is not a good thing. Experimentation is a good thing."

"But then-"

"I understand you have a story or stories in which you think I might be interested."

I puffed again on the grotesque instrument of vice before taking a sip of coffee. "I thought I did", I said pensively. "I don't."

"Then I will ask you again, why did you come here for an interview?"

"I want you to help me."

"I have not practiced as a counselor in nearly seven years, Geneva."

"Why are you trying to bullshit me?"

His brow rose slightly. "Excuse me?"

"You help people. You know that is true. It is why you do what you do."

His laughter was real this time. "You, Geneva, are quite the expert now, are you not?"

"You are laughing at me."

"Yes, I am."

I puffed the cigarette again. "Do you want my story?"

"Tell me."

"My degree is in journalism. I minored in philosophy. I have never been married and I don't think I want children. My live-in boyfriend just left after three years and I don't care. Two weeks ago I fucked April- or, she fucked me; and right now I want to fuck you as much as I have ever wanted anything in my life."

"You get right to the point. That is good, and I will follow suit. What is it you are searching for?"

"Freedom."

He sipped his drink again. "Freedom from what?"

"Freedom from judgment and regret. I want to be where Alexandra was when she fucked Michael in his car. I want to be where she was when his friends saw her naked."

"What are you willing to sacrifice?"

"Sacrifice?"

"Freedom is never free, at least not until one frees oneself."

"How do you achieve that?"

"Like writing, painting, science...it comes more naturally to some."

"How can I achieve it?"

"From what little I know about you, you seem to be working on it already."

"What can I-?"

"Did you enjoy sleeping with April?"

My eyes went to my lap. I crushed out the cigarette. "Yes", I whispered.

"Will you sleep with her again?"

I hesitated. "I have to."

"No one has to do anything."

"I am not a lesbian", I said with determination.

"I never said you were."

I picked up the cigarette nervously before remembering that I had put it out. I sipped my tepid coffee.

"I suppose you want me to tell you why I slept with her", I offered.

He shook his head. "There are only two possibilities", he said. "Either she raped you, or you slept with her because you wanted to."

"But she seduced me", I protested.

He stared at me silently.

"I felt sort of raped", I continued. "But...it was almost like I raped myself."

Again, Milam stared at me silently.

I laughed in frustration. "She fucked me with a hairbrush, Milam. May I speak freely?"

"Please do", he responded.

"She fucked my ass and my pussy with a hairbrush. I had multiple orgasms."

He was silent.

"The last orgasm I had, with a brush in my anus, I came so hard it squirted to the bed!"

He stared silently.

I huffed loudly. "You seem to want honesty from me. Does that work both ways?"

"Certainly it does."

"And you don't find that disgusting?"

"What I find disgusting is not relevant."

"It is to me."

"Okay. I find intellectual laziness to be disgusting. I find disgusting any act that willfully causes psychological damage to another. Lying to oneself can fall under either definition, or both."

"You think I am lying to myself?"

"You have proven it."

"How have I proven it?"

"You slept with April because you were seeking something; but that much is an excuse. You slept with her because you wanted to. You enjoyed it and had orgasms because you enjoyed it. Your fears of being a so-called lesbian are a curtain behind which you hide."

"Is it okay to be a lesbian? Is it okay to be bisexual?"

"Is it okay for whom?"

Again my eyes went to my lap.

"You have to discover your own principles before concerning yourself with societal morality Geneva. It is not enough to live with what you have done. In reality, that is just existence. You must embrace what you have done, what you want to do again. These things are not possible if you fail to be true to yourself."

Without thinking, I moved quickly so that I was on my knees. I knelt before him. "You said you would not help me", I sighed. "But you are helping me."

"Alexandra was not seeking freedom", he said. "She already had it. She exercised it."

"She even advertised it", I said softly. "She embraced it and got what she wanted- what she needed."

I stood then. The blue of the eyes of Milam entered my world as I stood. I raised my skirt slightly to remove the panties. I dropped them into his lap.

"On a bed where the moon has been sweating", he said with soft baritone. "Let us see if I might read you."

He removed my shirt first, then my bra. My breasts beckoned him as I looked up. He stood over me like a god as, for the first time, I imbibed his masculine scent. It was pleasurably intermingled with smoke and the purity of the old wood of his study. The combination made me wet.

"Turn around", he said.

I did so, breathing heavily.

"It is time to test you", he said.

He then placed a silken blindfold over my eyes. I moaned as he gently tied it on the back of my head.

"Trusting you", I said. "Is that part of freedom?"

My body quivered as he leaned down. His words were close. "No. Trusting yourself is part of gaining freedom. Do you trust yourself Geneva?"

"Yes."

"Do you trust yourself enough to justify trust in me?"

"Yes."

"See with your soul", he said. "Follow me."

Blindfolded, I followed the sounds of his movement. I heard something like the sound of a door opening.

"Mind your step", he said.

We walked slowly up a spiral staircase. My nipples and my mid-section ached with longing. The stairs ended where another door opened. On faith, I entered another room. I trusted myself to know that it was a bedroom. It was huge, dimly lit, and cold.

He guided me to an antique bed. I sat still, not realizing how relaxed I was until I felt him binding my hands. The silk felt good. He laid me comfortably on the bed then, as he bound me to the antique headboard. 

"Please make love to me", I said.

I felt him sit beside me on the bed. I heard the distinctive sounds, then smelled the aromatic stink as he lit another cigarette. 

"I want-"

He interrupted me as he moved the smoke to my lips. I inhaled deeply, exhaling with eroticism, knowing that the cigarette had been between his lips.

"I will not make love to you Geneva", I heard him say.

"Then fuck me", I moaned.

"No."

"What purpose is their in teasing me?"

"Very good. You seek objective purpose. Tease yourself. Lose yourself in thought. Touch yourself."

"My hands are tied."

"You do not need hands to touch yourself."

He moved on the bed.

"I am looking at you", he said. "I have a view from your thighs, to your hungry vagina. I have a view that takes in the small mountain of your pelvis before it reaches the valley of your stomach. Your ribs are exposed beneath stretched skin that makes its way to your breasts."

I groaned loudly, like a beast on the Serengeti.

"Please..."

"Find the freedom you seek", Milam said.

He was right. My hands were not required. I touched myself. I felt the swelling of my vaginal lips. I felt my protruding clit. Absent the use of my eyes, I smelled the sweet smell of my pussy. My ass moved against the bed in a circular motion. My hips rose. I could feel my breasts. I could feel the wet perfection of my vagina.

I wanted to ask Milam if I could fuck myself. I wanted to ask him if I was being selfish. I wanted him to fuck me.

I had learned. I would fuck myself first. With my hands bound, I felt the beauty of my body and of my spirit. I began to know and understand things about me. These realizations were simultaneous with my first orgasm. I was not Alexandra, I was Geneva. I am Geneva. My cum ran into my ass as I said the words, "I love me". I laughed as I struggled for air. "I am okay."

A series of loud moans and groans followed. "Everything", I whispered, "Is okay...so long as I do no willful harm to another and remain true to myself."

My back arched violently as I felt his mouth near my wet pussy. I screamed.

"You learn well", Milam said. "It can be better than okay, however. These are the building blocks. Master this, and you will live a life of honesty, free from trepidation and doubt."

His words reverberated in my mind. They reverberated in through my vagina and into my womanhood. They found their way to the quintessence of me. 

The words of Milam brought me to orgasm again.

"Find the beauty in yourself" I sputtered. "That is part of it, right?"

I cried out as I felt his hand ever-so-lightly touch my breast. Such was his approval.

"But I don't need the approval of others. It is just that I cannot love anyone else unless I love myself first."

I screamed again as his hand moved to my belly- another correct answer. 

"You are my story", I said. "I love you. I don't give a damn if you love me or not- not right now. I love the freedom of knowing this. I love the freedom of telling you."

I was in heaven, with a smidgen of loneliness and longing as I heard Milam leave the room. My sigh accompanied my smile and both were louder than anticipated when I heard his return. 

He untied the end of the silk that bound me to the headboard. I sighed again as my hands, bound but free, moved to my belly. 

What happened then, oddly, will stay with me, should I live that long, into very old age.

Milam placed a soft, cotton towel between my legs. He was cleaning me. I blindly screamed incoherencies as the towel moved upwards across the inconsequential distance from my ass to my vagina. My bound hands moved to his then. I pressed hard on his hands, pressing the towel into me. All was absorbed as my last orgasm came forth.

I continued to feel the strength in his hands as he wiped me again. I was his best friend, his wife, his little sister his daughter. Though I knew he would differ, Milam was my savior. He was the vehicle through which I had found me.

The trip back to the study began. He freed my hands from the freedom of the silken chains. I remained blindfolded, realizing for the first time that my shoes were still on my feet.

Once again, I followed my faith and his presence to the door, this time with a sense of disappointment. I wanted to remain with the warmth of the bed and the scent of my freedom.

We wound back down the staircase slowly, silently. I followed blindly and with surety until I smelled coffee and Baileys. It compared not to my own scent, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

Indeed, I had learned well. I needed no words. I did not need the blindfold removed. I placed my hand on his shoulder as he helped me step back into my panties. I smiled as he gently pulled them up where they belonged. I then felt a sensation of erotic security as he replaced my bra.

I groped the air then as he handed me my blouse.

"Can you find your way out?"

"Yes."

Somehow I knew that the blindfold was to remain until I was out of the study. I closed the door behind me. My eyes strained against the light as I removed the blindfold. I missed the darkness. 

Without a care, I used the silken scarf to wipe fluid pleasure from my inner thigh. My heels echoed again as I found my way to the front door. I would take the long way home. I needed time to bottle my newfound happiness. 

I rubbed the scarf over my upper lip, as the realization came to me...there is no other man like Milam.



Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 04



I awakened to miss him. I missed Milam. Reading his book made me ache for his presence. I masturbated, thinking how many times I had manipulated my body over the last week. I breathed rapidly as child-like screams came from places beyond my vocal chords. 

"I saw you", I moaned.

In my dream, he wore a dark gray suit. He walked alone on the sidewalk of deserted streets. A full moon, circled by black birds, bathed him. In my dream, I caught his scent. I longed to let my fingers slide a feigned innocence over his tight body before drinking his kiss.

I awakened to the dreary half-light of a cold spring morn. My hands were on either side of my head. My nipples were hard and my chest rose and fell like a stormy sea. I moved about the bed, my pussy like a small animal caught in the eagles' talons.

After showering, I decided to let my hair air-dry. I moved quickly for coffee and Milam's book. Merrick was not fully awake. He moved slowly to take his place by me on the sofa. I moved the book long enough for him to place his head on my naked lap.

I wanted to become one with Milam's philosophies. "I want you", I whispered.

I retrieved my cell phone then. I dialed three digits of April's cell number before I paused to bite my lip and smile.

She answered on the first ring. "I knew you would call today!"

I laughed. "Then I have reached April's psychic hotline?"

"I have missed you."

"I missed you too. I just needed some time to clear a cobweb or two."

"Today's Friday", she said gleefully. "I know you're not going to the office."

"Well, I-"

"Come see me."

"Are you taking the day off too?"

"I am. That gives us plenty of time. I have to know how the meeting with Milam went."

"You haven't seen him?"

"Not in about two weeks. Besides, he would not discuss it with me. He is big on confidentiality."

"Good thing we aren't", I said.

"You got it. Hurry up and get your pretty ass over here."

The sound of her voiced was soothing. "Give me an hour, Miss April."

I arrived at her house shortly before 10 AM. Her face glowed as the door flew open as widely as her smile. I laughed as she took my wrist, running with the excitement of a child. She kissed me longingly as we lightly touched each other's breasts.

April told me that sex with Doug had been the best ever, since she relayed the story of her and me. Before my meeting with Milam, I might have been embarrassed, I might even have been angry. Now something in me loved the fact that April's husband was aware. I knew April well enough to know that she spared no detail.

Then it was my turn. She wanted every detail of my meeting with Milam. No, I had no stories to interest him- unless our session became a story unto itself. Her eyes opened wide, the goofy smile making her face glow, as I relayed the experience.

From April, I learned that she had been a student of Milam for nearly two years. She had never had the pleasure I experienced, but she and Doug had attended a party at his home last December. 

"To this day", she laughed. "Doug cannot understand why I melted when Milam gave a reading of Federico Garcia Lorca."

It had been a long time, but I recalled then that I loved Lorca when I was in college. 

"You know Lorca?" I inquired.

"I do now. I don't understand some of it, but it is romantic beyond belief." She grinned like a Cheshire cat. "I bet you had no idea that Lorca is Milam's favorite poet."

I tingled. "No, I didn't."

"Do you know how to waltz?"

"Do I know how to waltz?" I laughed. "No."

"I will teach you. I am not very good, but I know the steps."

She took her hands in mine after turning on the music. My feet followed, not so clumsily, as she sang along with Leonard Cohen's tribute to the greatest of all poets. Our bodies touched. Her eyes were locked onto mine.

"I dedicate this to your meeting with Milam, your love, and your freedom. I do love you."

One great paid homage to a spiritual genius. I found April's voice lovely as she stared at me and sang along.

"Now in Vienna there are ten pretty womenThere's a shoulder where death comes to cryThere's a lobby with nine hundred windowsThere's a tree where the doves go to die"
I smiled as tears welled in my eyes.

She continued singing to me.

"Oh I want you, I want you, I want youOn a chair with a dead magazineIn the cave at the tip of the lily In some hallway where love's never beenOn a bed where the moon's been sweating..."

I recalled Milam speaking those words to me- "On a bed where the moon's been sweating".

I was gleefully surrendering my soul as we waltzed like little girls.

"And I'll dance with you in Vienna", she sang. "I'll be wearing a river's disguiseThe hyacinth wild on my shoulderMy mouth on the dew of your thighs..."

I did not attempt to hide my tears. Beyond the lyrics, words were unnecessary. I wanted the song to never end. It continued as we kissed. My eyes remained closed as we removed each other's shirts. I did not part my lids until we were naked in the bedroom. I had followed her there on faith.

My mouth moved to her vagina. I was so hungry for it. It was wet and eager for me. I kissed it gently as more tears came to my eyes. She pulled me up to the bed. Everything was so quiet. She laid her body on top of mine as I went to my back. I felt eternity as she kissed me, as our bodies pressed together with gentle determination.

I felt the respite of our love, the connection to which we were now addicted. It became sweeter as April sat up. She moved her hair over her shoulders, staring at me as her pussy moved over mine with magical symmetry.

"Tell me", she said. "Is there anything you would not share with me?"

I moaned as she moved her pussy sideways over my hard clit.

"No."

She grabbed my nipples, pulling them hard.

"Tell me the truth", she demanded.

My back arched. "I am telling you the truth!" I cried.

She glared at me as pain sat perched on one shoulder of my being; rapture on the other.

Air filled my lungs as she released my nipples. Her smile melted over me as my hands moved to my breasts.

"Do you love me?" she asked, still moving slowly about my tight skin.

"I do love you, April."

"Do you believe that I love Doug?"

"I know you do, yes."

"Do you believe that I love you?"

I smiled. "Yes."

I watched Doug enter the room pensively. He seemed a bit nervous as he spoke to me. April continued to writhe on me.

"Doug", I said softly.

"May I share Dough with you?" April said.

"Yes."

"Will you share yourself with Doug?"

"Yes."

I remained as I watched April stand and move to her husband. I stared at her ass as she removed the clothing from him. From behind the distance of his hard, throbbing penis, Doug's face displayed both longing and fear.

April knelt before me then, holding her husband's cock in her left hand. "Milam" she began with a smile. "Told me of how he used to feed the wrens. He spoke of how they would feed each other."

My body pulsated with ripples of pleasure. They spread from my vagina to my stomach. My breasts tingled.

April moved him to me. Doug looked at me with trepidation. His hard cock felt good as he slid into me. His eyes widened as he continued. His face bore the look of a teenage boy who was feeling pussy on his shaft for the first time.

"Oh my god, Geneva", he said.

I was turned on beyond words in a way that was a first for me. It was not me; it was not my pussy or the feeling of Doug's hard penis inside. Rather, I felt his pleasure. Spiritually, I felt his love for me. I felt his love for April. 

His eyes became the windows to his soul as I touched his face. I stirred with the slowness of his movement. Happiness comes in measures, in shades, in moments. The words of Alexandra echoed softly in my mind as Doug kissed me.

April moved to her knees beside us then. Doug's lips left mine before meeting his wife's kiss. My eyes went to the lovely perfection between April's legs- the perfect distance of her spread and the art that was her sweet pussy. 

Doug kissed me again. He moved in and out of me slowly. From my throat came the sound of a waking baby. My right hand moved to April's loveliness. My middle finger moved blindly to her clit. It stayed there in the measures, the shades, and the still moment, before finding its way into the creaminess of her vault. Her eyes closed and her hips moved sublimely as I felt Doug's' swelling. 

"Oh my god, Geneva", he said again.

I felt his pulsating as April moaned. Simultaneously, April's vagina tightened around my finger. Her hips moved faster. Doug shouted my name as I felt his cum explode into me. 

Long moments of heavy breathing ensued.

Doug remained hard within me as April's lips took my right nipple. Her husband's mouth then took the left. I began to moan louder, moving my hips and feeling the push of his erect shaft. This lasted until my skin temperature rose. 

My heat permeated the room as Doug removed himself from me. I touched myself as I watched April take his cock into her mouth. 

He called out the name of his spouse several times before taking me into his arms and moving me to the sofa. April smiled at me longingly before adjusting me. She moved me so that my ass was just beyond the edge.

"My little girl", she said.

They seated themselves then, April to my left, Doug to my right. Her nipples beckoned as I felt his still-hard cock against me.

I thought I would cum as April whispered in my ear. "Our little girl needs to cum", she said.

Her left hand went to my pussy then. Doug held my right thigh as he began to stroke himself with his other hand. Minutes later, April paused to lick his white warmth from my belly and my hips. Like the wrens, she fed me with a kiss. I swallowed Doug as her hand found me again.

"Are you a little girl?" April asked from a fog of heated breath.

"Yes."

"Are you our little girl?"

"Yes", I moaned.

"Does our little girl need to cum?"

Her hand moved faster. The aching welled in me.

I screamed. Doug sat in awe. April smiled as my cum jetted at least three feet into the air.

"I'm coming!" The words echoed.

I squirted again. They both licked the cum from my body before kissing one another passionately.

Our bodies sparkled between dual showerheads. We laughed and kissed and bathed each other's bodies as, for the first time in my life, I saw true love. Doug and April were one on every level. I faced my envy, confident and unbothered as Doug kissed my neck and I lathered April's breasts.

Doug prepared lunch while April and I dried our hair. We talked and giggled playfully like very young women.

I enjoyed the mixed field greens. It was adorned with balsamic vinegar, goat cheese and pepper corns, and topped with strips of grilled tuna. I sipped wine as they told me they had sold the bar. They had worked hard and invested wisely. Now they would seek freedom. They would see Vienna and the museum of winter frost. They would hold each other in the thousand-windowed dance hall.

April laughed after lunch as Doug and I danced to the music of Selena. I laughed too, struggling to follow the steps of ethnic dance. My Spanish was rusty, translating slowly through my mind as Doug sang to me.

"Caminando en calle dose. Debes estar en la escuela. Dulce angelita... ¿De quién eres tú?"

My body loosened. I flowed with Doug and the music as my Spanish came back to me. My heart filled with the memory of Milam as he continued to sing.

"Canción del vampiro...Gloria de amor...Es nuestro reino...Pero vean lo que hemos hecho."

That evening I was home again. Merrick snarled and smiled, his tail wagging like a pup. I let my baby out as I thought of Milam and recalled "Little Viennese Waltz".

I spoke the words to kitchen cabinets and the man I loved.

"In Vienna I will dance with youIn a costume with a river's headSee how the hyacinths line my banks! I will leave my mouth between your legs, My soul in photographs and lilies, And in the dark wake of your footsteps, My love, my love, I will have to leave

Violin and grave, the waltzing ribbons".



Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 05



I began to keep a diary as something of a small void encroached upon my life. Doug and April were gone to Europe. They would return in October. I appreciated the emails and phone calls; but it was not the same. I missed them; but, primarily, I missed Milam. I poured myself into his book. I found links to dozens of essays he had published over the years. Every word made me strong, every word made me long for him even more.

I continued to seek honesty and spiritual freedom. I continued to desire the forbidden. Throughout the month of May, I attended boring parties with coworkers. The guys watched baseball and the women talked of crap like Oprah, soap operas, and public education. I feigned smiles and put in my two cents worth when asked. Though work was going well, I was bored there too.

The lesbian clubs provided something of an outlet, but the atmosphere proved challenging. Hannah had laughed before refusing to accompany me.

"It is not that I object to having fun" she rationalized. "But as Editor-in Chief, I don't imagine the owners would appreciate me being seen in gay clubs. I hope you understand."

Going to the lesbian clubs alone, I found that I was both popular and loathed. Pretty women always seemed interested, and they were always escorted by some bull dyke. The eyes of the bull dykes always telegraphed the same message- "move from your seat, smile at her again, and you will need an ambulance". Dancing with the single dykes did little for me. Their kisses stimulated me not. 

By late June, I switched my routine. Friday and Saturday nights were prone to find me in "regular" clubs. In a bar called The Monies, I met a young man named Blair. He was nineteen and had just completed his first year of college, though he looked older and his fake ID served him well. As I was thirteen years his senior, it became apparent that we had little in common, other than sexual desires. I remained however, willingly bound to my inner circle. Doug and April and my feelings for Milam, these represented my freedom and my truth. To cheat on that truth would be to cheat on myself.

Blair and I served a purpose for one another. He was a whisper of youth, his presence like a never-ending spring fever. For him, I was a subject of study and exploration, a trophy in his fledgling case. 

I introduced him to the basics of Milam's world, the theology of sex and self. He was fascinated by it all and we formed a bond sufficient to thwart his sexual frustration. He was not allowed to fuck me, not allowed to kiss me. Yet, by summer's end, he was reporting his sexual encounters and talking to me openly about his feelings. We were both comfortable now with the parameters of our relationship. These stretched only to one new routine- he wanted me to jack him off with each story. I felt I owed him something, and I have to confess I enjoyed watching his cum jet forth as he called my name.

In August, I paid for adjoining suites at the beach. Blair and I had a deal- he could bring any hot chicks he may pick up back to the hotel, but if they thought he was my son, out they would go.

"I am just kidding", he said following the pact. "I will be going back to school in about a month and I miss you already, Geneva."

I was a child, I realized, the last time I enjoyed such innocent fun, such closeness. Blair and I would hit the beach early each day. We would laugh as we squirted oil at each other. 

On our second day, I fell asleep on the beach towel after he applied lotion to my back. I awakened some time later when he gently pulled the hair from my face. He kissed my cheek and announced that he was going shark hunting. I was the first to laugh as I watched him run toward the crashing waves like an eight-year-old. He stopped, facing me from a distance and garnering attention from others as he flexed what muscles existed on his skinny body. I laughed harder as the waves batted him around like a stray buoy.

In the evenings, we walked hand in hand, letting the tide bathe our bare feet. I listened to Blair talk of how he was in college only because of his parents. He had no idea who or what he wanted to "be"; which is why he was even more fascinated with Milam's philosophy and my feelings for the man.

I helped him as much as I could, reminding him that I was no Milam Andersen. I reminded him that I was still learning as well.

"It is the journey", I reminded him. "Not the destination."

The days passed like minutes. I showered and dressed with the realization that this was our last night here. Tomorrow we would load the car and begin our long journey home. I wondered how Blair would react to fine dining. I had made reservations for two at Rick's. I laughed, thinking how Blair considered hot wings and beer a meal fit for a king.

He picked at his food, staring and asking me what each item was as we went through the courses. 

After dinner, we moved to the adjacent club called Rick's Sideline. Blair was an experienced drinker and a lousy dancer. It was enough however that he thought himself good.

We were back at the hotel by eight-thirty. I sensed his need to be alone with me, and we were back at the hotel by eight-thirty. The ride in the hotel limousine might have been romantic, if not for the enveloping silence. I recalled the feeling of his erection as we swayed our last dance to a song called "Sign Your Name".

"Can we please get back in the hot tub?" he asked as the limo stopped at the hotel's main entrance.

We had enjoyed the hot tub every night. How could I say no now?

Twenty minutes later, I noticed the full moon as I moved to the balcony.

"Your body is awesome Geneva", he said.

"Where did the Champagne come from?"

"Oh. I phoned here and ordered it just before we left Rick's."

I laughed. The little shit was trying to get me drunk.

"So, I haven't asked you", he said as I stepped into the hot tub. "What is it like being a magazine editor?"

I talked for approximately ninety seconds before Blair moved his mouth to mine. I let him kiss me for a long moment until his hand found its way to my breast. The alcohol in his system was not sufficient to override his trembling.

"Blair, no" I whispered.

He pulled away with anger. "Why can't I make love to you?"

"We have discussed this. We discussed it before coming here."

"Does this get you off? Does teasing me give you some sort of weird pleasure?"

He threw his Champagne glass.

"Blair, stop!"

"Is being a tease part of your grand philosophy?"

"That is not fair and you know it."

He backed away slowly. I watched the anger melt into sadness.

"I will pay for the glass", he said.

"Don't worry about the glass, Blair."

"I apologize."

"I think I am the one who owes an apology."

"No", he responded. "You're right. You outlined the rules from the start. You outlined the rules for this trip. You were honest with me."

"Let me be honest with you some more."

I took his hand before standing. We left the towels. Warm water dripped from our bodies as I led him to his room. His erection was prevalent as I sat him on the bed.

"Do you really want me?" I inquired softly.

His breaths were shorter. "You don't want me."

"This is not a rejection of you, Blair. I will fuck you right here and now if it means you won't be hurt, that you won't be angry with me. But my reasons are my own and I have explained those to you."

His eyes closed. "You're right. I don't want a pity-fuck. I don't want anything to mess up what we have had together. I love you, Geneva."

"I love you too, baby."

My lips met his as he lay on his back. Our tongues touched as the realization came to me that Blair would move on, that he would outgrow me. My hand moved to the yearning of his erect penis then. He accommodated us both by removing his bathing suit. He screamed my name repeatedly as thick cum exploded from him.

I left him long enough to retrieve a towel from the bathroom. His hand caressed my arm as I cleaned him.

"Can we walk on the beach one last time?" he asked.

I smiled as the thirsty towel absorbed his pleasure. "You read my mind, Blair."

He moaned as I moved the towel gently over the tip of his cock.

The sand felt good beneath my feet. Blair's hand felt good in mine.

"I'm sorry for making you feel that way", he said. "You must feel like you brought a four-year-old kid here."

I laughed as the wind danced through my hair. "Shut up stupid", I said.

"Me?" He laughed then. "You're the stupid one."

We used our shoulders, playfully shoving each others we strolled.

"Nope", I shot back. "You were stupid first."

"But you are more stupid."

We were barely fifty yards down the beach when I heard the familiar voice from behind.

"Well, I will be goddamned! Isn't this just too cute."

I longed for this to be a mistake. Surely, this was just someone else who sounded like Julian. I turned to find that it was indeed him.

"What is it?" Blair asked.

Julian let go of another woman's hand as he moved closer. The bright light of the moon illuminated his drunken face, bringing nausea and dread to the center of me.

Julian laughed as he looked at Blair. "This skinny-ass punk is who you left me for?"

"Are you talking to me?" Blair said angrily.

I stepped between them. "Leave me alone, Julian. Leave him alone."

His new companion approached. "This must be Geneva", she said angrily. "The woman you are supposedly over?"

Julian snarled his eyes locked on Blair.

"Who is this asshole?" Blair asked.

With lighting speed, Julian's fist connected to Blair's face.

"You fucking jerk!" the other woman screamed. With equal speed, she slapped the back of Julian's head before running away.

Then it was my turn. "Leave him alone you ass!" 

A crowd began to form around us. I slapped his face just before being knocked to the sand.

"Get up pussy", Julian said to Blair.

Blood streamed from Blair's nose as he came to his hands and knees.

"Julian, stop this!" I screamed.

His response was a quick movement to his victim. Angry tears came to my face as he kicked Blair's ribs.

"Stop it! Please, someone call the police!"

"Calling them now", said an elderly man.

Julian moved away, taking the cell phone from him and throwing it towards the surf. "You don't want to do that old man."

Blair was up quickly. I screamed again as he jumped onto Julian's back. Julian easily flipped Blair's thin body to the sand. He then straddled him and began to punch his face repeatedly.

I moved quickly to the scene, crying as I punched, slapped, and scratched at the asshole named Julian.

"Doyce no!" the old man's wife screamed. Now he too was attempting to pull Julian away.

Julian knocked me away before elbowing the older man in the mouth. I watched as his wife came to his side.

Julian stopped then. He faced me as I stood, displaying raw hatred that dripped from his eyes to his snarled lips. He pointed his finger toward me.

"You are a whore, he hissed.

"You're going to jail", said the old man's wife.

"Fuck you bitch!" Julian shot back. "Do you know who I am?"

I smacked his now-ugly face one more time. "She knows who you are", I hissed. "Now everyone knows who you are. Get away from me, Julian."

He breathed hard. "I lost my head. It was just seeing you with-"

"I am not interested in anything you have to say."

The punch had little effect, but I nearly smiled as the old man's fist connected with Julian's face. His wife screamed in protest.

"You push around women and boys half your size", Doyce said. "Try it with a man. I am sixty-seven years old. Come on!"

Julian began backing away. "I am sorry, Geneva."

"Go to hell", I said.

Blair came to his elbows as I went to his side.

"The boy may need a doctor", Doyce said.

"Baby", I said to Blair. "I am so sorry! Please tell me you are okay."

"I don't need a doctor", he muttered. "Just leave me alone."

We received stared from both hotel guests and staff as we made our way back to the suite. Blair ignored my pleas through the locked door of his room. Finally, I relented, trying to understand his need to be alone.

I awakened early the next morning. Blair's note thanked me for the friendship and explained that he had taken a cab to the airport.

I cried like a broken-hearted teenager on prom night. I cried until I showered, packed, and barely met the checkout deadline.

I tipped the porter after the last of my bags were in the trunk.

"Geneva, I wanted to apologize."

Julian seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Shove your apology up your ass!"

"I wanted to thank you for not calling the police."

"How do you know I didn't?"

"Please tell me you won't report me to the Bar Association."

I smiled. "I had not even thought of that, but it is an outstanding idea. Now get away from my car and get away from me. If you come near me ever again, I will have you disbarred and put in jail."

"I still love you."

"Fuck you", I said as I closed the car door.

He followed along as I backed away. "You just dumped me like I never existed", he yelled. "You had no right!"

I saw the devil in my rearview mirror as I exited the parking lot.

Days turned into weeks. My calls to Blair remained unanswered. I received no response from my messages.

I struggled against feelings of hatred directed at Julian. More than once, I thought of reporting him to the Bar, only to remember that revenge serves no objective purpose.

The heat of August began to wane with the passage of weeks. I resolved to send a letter to Blair. After that, the issue would be in his hands. I had to remember his age and his bruised manhood. I would fade away, secure in the knowledge that he knew where to find me if he needed to talk.

I would not forget Blair, but melancholy turned to elation with the return of Doug and April. They returned on the second Friday in October. I took the day off and spent the weekend with them. I knew they were tired from the trip, so I made myself as useful as possible, doing their shopping, running to the cleaners and the like.

I could not get enough of their stories of Spain, southern France, Italy, and Austria. They spent their final week in England. The romance, the culture, the history all served to bring enlightenment and enhanced freedom. 

Nothing from my end could match a months-long tour of Europe, but I told them of my relationship with Blair. April admonished me that, while refraining from sex with him was the right decision, the beach trip was perhaps a mistake.

"It probably wouldn't be easy for any guy", she began. "But for a nineteen year old...wow...being in the same hotel suite with you and knowing that it is hands-off, that would be tough."

"I know it would not be easy for me", Doug chimed in.

April laughed as she popped his arm. "You be quiet", she said.

"I only wanted to help him", I said. "To be his friend."

"On balance", April said. "It sounds like he may benefit from the experience in the long run. It is just a shame that Julian had to end things that way."

I returned to work Monday feeling renewed and refreshed. April and I had been hungry for each other. Our sex brought us even closer.

I had no way of knowing what a turning point this week would prove to be. 

Doug and April invited me to dinner that evening. I learned of Doug's Uncle who passed away while they were in Europe.

"I am so sorry", I offered.

He shrugged. "I never cared for the old bastard to be honest."

"I did" April said. "Joseph was a nice man."

"Easy for you to say", Doug said with a snicker. "He was in love with you."

"That means he had good taste."

"What was his story?" I asked.

"He had 1.5 million good stories", Doug said. "We received a call from his attorney, informing us that he had left all of them to April."

"Doug", April protested. "Stop being so shallow. Uncle Joseph was an eccentric. He was a poet, a musician, and an artist. He owned gallery in the mountains. He collected and sold rare art and musical instruments like Grand pianos and old pipe organs."

"He sounds fascinating," I said. 

"He left us-" April began.

"Left you", Doug interrupted.

She laughed. "Hush. He left us his entire estate. All told, it is worth somewhere between one and two million dollars."

I laughed. "So you two take a trip to Europe, comfortably well off, and come back rich. What a rough life."

"It is your money too", Doug said.

"That is why we invited you out", April followed.

"I am not greedy. I will only ask for half", I quipped.

They both laughed.

"You are greedy", April said. "That is why I love you."

"I just want you for your body" Doug joked.

April rolled her eyes. "And you wonder why Uncle Joseph hated him?"

"Anyway", Doug continued. "April and I have an idea. We discussed it Europe before we knew anything about the inheritance. If we can make this work, and if you would consider a career change, we want you to be part of it. April has already broached the idea with Milam."

A tingle moved up my spine. "Milam?"

"Yes", April said. "Our idea is to form the Milam Anderson Institute. We want to spread the word. We want others to know the freedom and happiness we have experienced."

"May I be a cynic?" I asked.

"Please", Doug responded. "We want your feedback."

"Well, I like the idea; but hasn't Milam already done that with his book and his essays?"

"To a degree", April said. "But everything is like a giant incoherency- a giant quilt. His book was published under a pen name. His website is stumbled across by perverts searching porn on the internet. That hardly does justice to the man or his philosophies."

"I agree", I said. "But isn't that the way he wants things?"

"Bingo", April responded. "Therein lays the rub. Milam is a very private person."

"He has some Uncle Joseph in him" Doug quipped. 

"I see the idea", I offered. "How did Milam react?"

April sighed with a smile. "He welcomed us home, said that he would think it over, and that he would get back to us."

Typical Milam, I thought.

I arrived home shortly after nine. The more I thought about the idea, the more I liked it, the more excited I became.

I arrived home from work the following Thursday to find small miracle- something of a dream-come-true- in my mailbox. On November 15th, a party would be held to celebrate Milam's birthday and make a "special announcement". So excited was I at the prospect of being invited, I had yet to notice the small piece of paper that had fallen to my lap. 

Milam was asking me to be his date for the party.

Merrick wagged his tail and barked twice as tears moistened my smile.



Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 06



I began to learn more of Doug and April's plans for the foundation. First, they would gather names and addresses for a monthly or bi-weekly newsletter. Secondly, they planned to expand and revamp Milam's website. The ultimate goal was to bring on board like-minded psychologists, therapists, and philosophers. Eventually they hoped to begin a series of lectures.

The challenges were real. Milam and his work were not without detractors. Many of his colleagues held to the belief that there was a sharp dividing line between philosophy and psychology. His writings had also been lampooned as soft porn, thinly disguised as science or religion. Lastly, there was the private nature of Milam Andersen, a man who could take criticism but who had no desire to be a "public" figure. 

None of this was a major concern to me now. The days passed all too slowly as I eagerly anticipated the night of the party and the prospect of being Milam's date. 

On the morning of November 15th I answered an anonymous call to my cell phone. I said "hello" in a less than friendly tone, fully expecting some telemarketer.

"Is this Geneva?"

I rolled on the bed, wearing a wide smile, until the covers formed a cocoon around my body. I said Milam's name gleefully.

"I hope I'm not calling you too early," he said. 

"Not at all, but I thought you were a telemarketer."

"Well, apparently that is what they are truing to turn me into. Listen; there has been a slight change in plans. Unfortunately, I will be a bit late to my own party. Would you be terribly upset if I send a car to pick you up and then meet you there?"

"Does this mean I am not your date?"

"You are still my date. I will take you home; I just will not be able to pick you up. Please accept my apologies."

"I am disappointed that you won't be picking me up. Maybe you could make it up to me."

"Perhaps. I will see you this evening."

"Just how late are you going to be?"

"I will be there by seven-fifteen or so."

"I hope so. They are serving dinner at seven-thirty."

I felt as though I was going to the Junior Prom again. I finally settled on a black evening dress and gold earrings. I thought I looked good, but this time I would be Milam's date. I wondered if "good" would be enough.

A limousine picked me up at six o'clock. The chauffer tipped his hat, opened the door, and said that the Champagne and flowers were for me. 

I began sipping the Champagne after reading Milam's not aloud.

"The red roses," he wrote, "represent your passion and the need for challenge. The white roses offer purity of thought. The purple hyacinths balance all. In them, I see Geneva."

My heart melted. I moved my dress and my hips, positioning myself so that I could hold the Champagne with my left hand and touch my self with the right. My entire journey came back to me as my fingers found their way around the black silk of my panties. I relived the first time I had seen Milam in the club. I revived the times April and had had sex. I thought of Doug inside me as we all made love to each other. The privacy glass in the limo closed as I began to moan. I recalled the feeling of Blair's cock in my hand and how I loved watching his cum explode from him.

Mostly however, I thought of Milam- his presence, his touch, his scent...all of the magic that embodied the day at his house.

Alone in the back of the limousine, I enjoyed an orgasm. I placed a finger into my vagina and finished the glass of Champagne. 

I took the roses and hyacinths with me as I exited the limousine and found my way to the grand ballroom. Doug and April greeted me with hugs and kisses.

"Miss Milam Andersen's date," April said. "I am jealous!"

"Hey!" Doug interjected.

"I am jealous of Milam," April said. "I wanted Geneva to be my date."

"Thanks a lot," Doug said.

"Maybe you and Milam could hook up" she followed.

"That's funny April," Doug said with a smirk.

"It is like a dream come true". I said, finally able to get in a word.

They showed me to the seat at the stage where we would have dinner. I gleefully handed the flowers off to a member of the staff who offered to place them in water. Guests continued to file in. Part of me wanted desperately to take the microphone from the podium and introduce myself to them as Milam's date.

I met so many people as the minutes passed. There were college professors, philosophers, and psychologists of notoriety. My eyes continually moved to the main entrance, awaiting the arrival of the guest of honor. Doug moved away, deep in discussion with a man named Doctor Schlein. 

"I have to go to the restroom," April said. "Why don't you go get a drink? You can order a scotch and soda for me while you're at it, okay?" She smiled. "Good girl."

"Anything else?" I asked playfully.

"Just the drink for now."

I seated myself at the bar and ordered our drinks. I was in the mood for something different, so I ordered a Crown and Ginger. I took one sip as I noticed a woman approaching me.

"Is your name Geneva?" she asked sternly.

She was tall. Her hair was straight and dyed blonde. Her dress was gold and the red lipstick was heavy. Her black eye makeup was heavy, as was the fullness of her fake boobs.

"I am Geneva," I said. "Do I know you?"

She then took my drink in her hand and put the glass to her thick lips. I watched as she partially chomped a small piece before spitting it back into the glass.

I laughed. "I take it there is a problem?" I said.

"You are the problem" she shot back. "I know about you. You are supposedly Milam's date tonight, right?"

She laughed.

"Supposedly," I responded. "Why don't you tell me something about you, like your name?"

"My name is none of your business, you little tramp. You fuck anything that moves. You are an insignificant magazine editor and an even cheaper whore. Do you really think you have what it takes to be part of this foundation? Do you really think you are even close to being good enough for Milam?"

"Step off bitch," April said then as she reappeared. 

The woman's eyes never left me. This time April took my drink. 

"Maybe she has a hearing problem," April said. "Or maybe she is just falling asleep."

I jumped up as April threw the drink in the woman's face.

Now her eyes, filled with alcohol and angry tears, met April's.

"Go refresh your makeup, Brittney," April said. "It should only take you about two hours."

"You'll both be sorry," said the strange woman before departing.

"I take it you need another drink," the bartender said to me.

"Yes, thank you. April, would you mind telling me who that was and what the hell it was all about?"

"That was a waste of skin named Brittney Long. She's in love with Milam; but she can't have him so she screws a philosophy professor named Allen Meredith. She doesn't like you."

"So I gathered."

"Forget her," April said with a smile. "Get your drink and come with me. Someone I want you to meet."

Some strange bimbo had just threatened me. Not an easy thing to forget, I thought. The incident was soon forgotten however. April introduced me to a man named Michael Ladson. His significance escaped me until I met his wife moments later. They were the Michael and Alexandra of the story, the couple about whom Milam had written. 

By chance, Michael had encountered Milam while he was vacationing in Costa Rica. After talking with him for several days he determined to find Alex. Together, they began the exploration of his theology of sex and self. I received the brief bio as I stood in awe of the woman I had once called my personal hero. 

Unlike me, Michael and Alexandra had lived a good deal of this philosophy even before meeting Milam.

My attention turned then to the ballroom entrance, as did the eyes of most in the large crowd. Applause began to echo, my knees weakened, and my face beamed as I saw Milam towering over most in the crowd. At this black tie affair, the guest of honor wore a black suit, white shirt, and a red tie. Always he seemed to be making a statement. 

His blue eyes then illuminated a pathway to mine as he found me. He moved quickly through the swarm as he approached. For the first time, I saw a sincere smile on his face.

"Hold me, April" I said. "Don't let me faint."

"Fuck you," she said jovially. "You faint and he is all mine."

I said his name, looking up, staring into the deep blue of his with certain vulnerability. His scent was one that combined expensive cologne with fresh mountain air. 

"I hope you have forgiven me," he said, the deep voice causing me to swoon again.

"You are forgiven," I softly responded.

He leaned down to kiss me. As our lips met, I wondered again at the prospect of fainting. April took the drink from my hand. I felt Milam's touch on my bare back. I ignored the applause, wishing only that the crowd would vanish.

"I have missed you," he said as the kiss ended.

My eyes moved from his to the perfection of his body, hidden only by the perfectly tailored suit.

"Hello April," he said then.

She kissed him quickly. "Happy birthday old man."

"Hello Doug," Milam followed. "Please do not kiss me."

We all laughed.

"You know," Doug said as they shook hands. "Between you and my wife, I am beginning to get an inferiority complex."

Milam smiled. "Hardly the start we need, given your idea for this foundation."

"I will work on it," Doug quipped.

Brittney reappeared then. She bumped me as she moved to embrace Milam. "You look different," she said to him. "You look better every time I see you."

"Hello Brittney."

"Brittney," April said. "You look different too. Did you change your makeup?"

The woman's nostrils flared as she briefly looked at my best friend.

"Milam," Brittney continued. "You remember Albert don't you?"

He extended his hand to the balding man with the glasses. "Hello, Doctor Shlein," he said.

"It is an honor to be invited," said old Albert.

"I believe you know Doug and April," Milam said. He then introduced me.

"Geneva," said the psychologist. "What a fascinating and lovely name."

"Thank you," I said.

After refreshing our drinks and talking more with Michael and Alexandra, dinner was served. This was followed by Milam's brief speech, where he announced his agreement to the foundation. He then fielded stupid questions from well-educated people. I admired the cool confidence of Milam, the man who seemed to count privacy among his most prized possessions as he provided answers.

"Your doctrine seems a bit Freudian," one woman said. "What are your thoughts on that?"

"Aren't you really forwarding the idea of individualism with sexual overtones?" another audience member asked.

The mundane question and answer session finally ended. Music played then as the club, staff began clearing tables. I ignored it all, along with the chatter, as Milam's eyes found mine again.

"I need some air," he said. "Would you care to join me?"

"May I powder my nose first?"

"If you must. I love your nose and your green eyes. I love the artistic sculpting of your face, and the softness of our hair. I love your body as well; but none of this compares to your soul, your center."

Less than five minutes later, I walked with my arm through Milam's as we made our way to the grand foyer of the old club. It seemed that most everyone there stared.

"It is snowing out sir," a staff member said to Milam as he helped put my coat on.

"I love the snow," Milam responded.

I was again speechless as we made our way outside and down the steps of the old mansion. The air seemed warmer and there was no wind. Aside from our footsteps and the pounding of my heart, there was no sound.

"Have you been here before?" he asked me.

"No, but this is so beautiful."

"There is a walking trail here. Most use it in the spring and summer. It is glorious."

The trail was illuminated by small blue lantern, lamps of some sort. They were adequately dim to combine with light snow and provide luminescent faith.

"You seem to be in a good mood tonight," I offered.

"I hate counting birthday and I hate parties," he said.

I laughed. "Then you are very gracious. Did you really miss me?"

"I did."

We came then to a lovely old wood structure, a bridge that spanned the width of a rushing river.

"I forgot to thank you for the flowers," I said.

My arm left his as he made his way to the left side of the bridge. His hands touched the old wood as he stared silently. The rush of the river some fifteen feet below was loud but peaceful. I watched as he stared into the water's glow.

I moved to his side. 

"May I ask what you are thinking, Mister Andersen?"

He faced me silently then, representative of art come-to-life. I studied his chiseled face, the breadth of his shoulders, the white scarf around his neck and offset by his dark overcoat. I felt the passion of the half-light.

My hands went to his chest.

"I once told you that I loved you," I said faintly. "I told you that, in that moment, I didn't care if you loved me or not. I do care."

The blue of his eyes cut with illumination the darkness between us as my coat fell to the wood. His arms went round me and our lips met again. He moved the top of my dress. I tingled as I tiny flake of snow landed on my left breast, melting quickly. I moaned as his kisses moved slowly, sublimely down my neck and to my shoulder. I clawed the back of his overcoat as his exploration continued. My voice echoed as his lips found my breast.

He stopped suddenly then as his embraced tightened. His mouth opened as though he may speak. He said nothing. The silence was interrupted, first by my breathing, then by my passionate moans as he took me into his arms. My fingers moved through the mass of his thick, dark hair as he sat me on the wide railing of the bridge. I felt only warmth, still anticipating his words.

His eyes cut into my soul, piercing my being with mystery and longing. I felt the power in his hands as they moved beneath my dress, up my legs, and to my panties. Unwilling to move from that spot, I assisted him. He kissed me again as I ripped the underwear, freeing my ravenous form.

I kissed the top of his head, lightly grasping his hair as his lips found my swollen vagina. My body pulsated at the immediacy of his perfection. Even April was not this good. The snow came harder, its flakes resting and melting on my hard nipples, as I leaned back, placing my palms on the width of the railing. Tears flowed from my eyes. My throat stretched as I looked to the abyss of sky and heard the river's rush. I overflowed with orgasm as Milam made love to me, as he ate my soul.

He stopped then, moving again to kiss me as he took me into his arms. The ripped panties fell alongside my coat and my breasts remained one with nature as he carried me away from the bridge. I laid my head on his shoulder, burying my face in the strength of his neck. 

The limousine awaited us at the end of the trail. Milam opened the door himself. Only seconds seemed to pass before the vehicle moved. I was completely naked now; Milam wore only his pants. On my back, I ran my fingers over the hair-covered chest muscles. Our mouths were open widely as his lips moved lightly about mine, teasing me in splendid fashion.

Moments later, I groaned loudly as I felt him enter me. My mouth stretched. My eyes rolled back in my head. My hand moved to my breast, and my spread legs wrapped round his potent waist as he broadened the walls of my femininity. I called the name of god as I realized that all of my experiences combined paled in comparison.

My hands moved from the fullness of my breasts to his shoulders as he kissed me. My mind was devoid of the words to describe the truth now- Milam inside me, the purity of melted snow on my breasts, and the sensation of his kiss. My orgasms came again as the smell of my pussy intermingled with the scent of Milam's supremacy.

He moved me then, pulling me upright. "No," I whispered, praying silently that he would never leave me.

My prayer was answered as he manipulated my body, turning it around so that I was on his lap with my back to him.

I took his girth with pleasure. His length stabbed me however, causing my hips to grope for comfort. I moved myself up and down the base of his shaft as he poured a small glass of Champagne.

I leaned back, touching the right side of his smooth face. 

"Thank you," I whispered, taking the glass with my left hand.

"How did your parents come to name you Geneva?"

"I was conceived in Geneva."

"Your parents were Swiss?"

"No. My father was an officer in the Air Force. He took my mother there when he was on leave."

"Drink your Champagne."

I moaned as my hips moved again and I downed the bubbly concoction.

"And your parents...?"

"They are dead."

"Do you miss them?"

"Very much. What about you? Are your parents still-?"

I could not complete my question. The Champagne glass fell over my leg and to the floor as Milam kissed my neck. He was so large inside me. My head flopped against his shoulder.

"I want you so much," I whispered.

I heard his breath now in my ear.

"Is there objective purpose?" he asked.

"Yes. I love you."

"Then take me," he whispered.

In that moment, everything I had ever been or ever hoped to be changed. Pressing my back against his chest, I felt the absorption of my soul. I moved my hips, raising and lowering myself. I twisted my neck for another kiss as I felt my pussy- all of it- hugging his thick cock. My hands went to the tops of his as they found my breasts. He gripped them harder as I leaned forward. He held me as I moved up and down on him with greater speed and determination.

"I want a baby," came my soft, unexpected, spontaneous comment.

Before fear could overtake me, I felt his hands on my ass and my hips. He stiffened and throbbed. I had his cum now; he had my soul. 

I wanted his soul. I wanted his love. I wanted to give to Milam what no one had ever given. I wanted to take from him what he had yet to imagine.

The smell of love filled the back of the limousine. I used his hands to caress and squeeze my breasts. I used my pussy to squeeze and lightly release his pleasure.

I was dead. I was in heaven.

"I love you, Milam Anderson."