Art Critic
12
Exhibition
IT’S LARGELY UP to the exhibitors as to what kind of event the BFA exhibition is. Les and I wisely chose to let the women decide. As a result, the two of us stood side-by-side in the guest bath downstairs as we worked on tying our formal bowties.
I had to admire the way Les had filled out and matured over the three-plus years we’d been friends. When we first met, he was a scrawny, frightened kid trying not to be noticed amidst a school conflict. We were a lot alike. I remember thinking that I’d just ruined everyone’s college career and I would be hated forever. He thought he was a strike-breaker and would be hated forever. It proved not to be true for either of us. I discovered that I’d made some real friends and that many others were willing to back me up. Les became a part of our inner circle, with many others maintaining close contact. I could only wonder at the number of insanely cute girls in my class who had come to my studio or Kendra’s dorm room and undressed so I could sketch them.
And the number who had come to stay.
We examined each other’s ties and adjusted our cummerbunds so we could put our tuxedo jackets on. Then we left the bathroom to go face the women in our lives who would shortly come down the stairs. Dad examined us and checked our ties, straightening his own.
Mom had joined the girls upstairs and had opened the master bath to them in order to get all five ready. She was having fun, according to Dad, but he’d been sent away the same as us. Occasionally, we could hear a squeal from upstairs and knew someone had put on a dress or finished hair or did some other of the mysterious things girls do when they are getting ready to go out.
Dad poured a shot of bourbon into each of three glasses and handed Les and me each one.
“Gentlemen,” he said lifting his glass in a toast. We lifted ours. “I can hardly tell you how proud I am of both of you. And not necessarily because of that fine batch of young women upstairs. I’m pretty proud of that, myself. And you should be, too. I’m proud of you for the way you have matured into young men, responsible for yourselves and others. I’m proud of the way you’ve both overcome personal adversity to rise to your potential. Les, you were a frightened boy when I met you. Now you are a confident young man. Arthur, you have a darkness inside that no one can fully understand, yet you have risen to overcome it and to make it a part of your art and your life. I grew up in a good home with supportive loving parents. I had no physical or emotional hurdles to speak of. I had no excuse to fail in life. Yet, I teetered on the edge of doing just that until I met Sarah. It was like she could see into my soul and she showed me what she saw. I got myself squared away, married the most precious woman I’d ever met, and you and your sister are the happy result of that union, Art. Seeing the two of you complete college and collect such a fine group of artists and associates makes me thankful every moment for having let my Sarah look into my soul. I salute you.” We touched our glasses together and took a sip of our drinks. I’d often heard my father make eloquent speeches—he’s an English professor—but I’d never been the focus of his pride like I felt right then.
The women, dressed in gowns and flowers, presented themselves on the stairs for photos before we piled into four cars to go to the opening. Of course, Les and I had to pose with them, too, and then Dad set a timer on the camera and rushed up to join Mom on the top step. I was glad we had eaten an early dinner because there wouldn’t be anything but punch and cookies for the next four hours.
At six o’clock, the doors opened for the VIPs. First through the door was President Escher and her husband. None of us had any idea how we were supposed to greet people or arrange ourselves, but she put us at ease immediately. I guess she’d attended enough of these openings during her tenure that she just naturally took over and made suggestions as a photographer organized us in poses with our advisors, the university president, and the dean.
“I’ve been holding this in my office for three and a half years,” President Escher said when she shook my hand. “I hope you will allow me to display it here during your exhibition.” Her husband stepped forward with a collapsible easel and a hand-lettered protest sign that boldly said, “Support Art!” We all had a good laugh about that and they set it up near the little dais where Leonard had begun some soft background music. President Escher moved on to congratulate Kendra. Morgan came to take my hand. We just walked around and looked at my paintings, Kendra’s sculpture, and Mavis’s photos. We’d hung the painting that Mr. Wells bought next to the print of it that Mavis had made. That drew a lot of people as soon as they saw it at the end of the gallery.
“Mr. Étrange, I’m Denise Canon, art critic for The Examiner. May I ask you a few questions?”
“Mmm… Uh… Y-yes,” I said. I held my breath. She could ask all she wanted, but I wasn’t sure I could answer any of them.
“How did the unusual black-on-black paintings first evolve in your art? Was that the result of experimentation or inspiration?” she asked.
“I… It… Sort of…” I felt a hand slip into mine. “Kendra.”
“Do you need me to speak, Arthur?” she said softly. The reporter looked at us curiously.
“Please?”
“Hi, I’m Kendra Williams, Arthur’s interpreter.” She held out her hand and Ms. Canon shook it.
“Interpreter?”
“Arthur has some difficulties putting words together when he is among strangers or in a crowd. We’ve been working together for our entire college careers and I have been allowed to interpret what I know Arthur wants to say when we’re in those situations. I even did his freshman review presentation with him in front of the faculty. I guess we get along well because he seldom talks and I never shut up. Sorry. Did you have a question?” God, I loved Kendra. It was the reporter’s turn to be shaken and hesitant.
“Uh… Yes. I was just asking Mr. Étrange how the black-on-black paintings were inspired,” Ms. Canon said.
“Pretty incredible, aren’t they?” Kendra said. “Sorry, that was my own observation and not an answer from Arthur. Let’s take a look at the first two over here. This is one of Arthur’s many portraits of Susan Reynolds, who will appear to recite her poetry at eight o’clock. You’ll love it. Arthur had perfected the techniques of painting drapery that showed depth highlighting the smooth tones of his model’s body. He focused on the contrast between fabric and skin, noting how even the texture of the various drapes changed the way light was reflected and absorbed. This next painting is of the same pose and the same model and was the first painting that Arthur did in the darkness. This was not an evolution, but a complete demolition of Arthur’s world view.”
“I lost color,” I said.
“His vision… literally, his eyesight… ceased to function like yours and mine,” continued Kendra. “He could no longer see color and light. His entire world went black. And using the skills he’d achieved painting figures and drapery over the past three years, he went immediately to black paint and translated his new view of the world to canvas.”
“Arthur, you actually see the world black like this?” Denise asked. Kendra looked at me.
“Better now. A little,” I said.
“See this painting?” Kendra continued with the tour. “After two months of darkness, images began emerging in light and color. They were only of people. Imagine a life where you saw only the faces of your friends, isolated in a sea of darkness.”
“Disembodied heads,” the reporter shuddered.
“That’s what I thought at first, until Arthur encouraged me to look more deeply. This figure is clothed. The clothing, the drapery, the furniture—all are part of the inanimate surroundings of our lives. The detail of those items is still present in the black-on-black that surrounds the living and breathing light that emanates from a human being. Look at this next portrait of Susan. She is fully exposed with only thin strips of fabric pulled against her body. Her inner light shines so brightly that it can be seen through the translucent purple of the drape and actually illuminates a limited area around her before the inanimate trappings dissolve again into blackness.”
Our tour continued. I managed a few words here and there that Kendra would then talk about more at length. She was not only my interpreter, she was the docent of our collection. The reporter had to change cards in her phone so she could keep recording. We ended the interview after Kendra described my still life as ‘the artist bringing color into the world where it could not emerge itself.’
“Miss Williams, you are also the sculptor who created this fusion of bronze and glass, is that not so?” the reporter asked.
“Yes. We talk about it as fusion art, but of course there actually is no fusion between the glass and bronze. The glass is anchored into the casting,” Kendra said as they moved toward the sculpture.
I slipped away as Kendra transitioned to talking about her own art. That girl sure can talk.
“Are you exhausted yet?” Annette asked as she circled my waist with her arm. I nodded. “I have hardly anything to do but stand around looking like a beautiful intellectual until my reading at nine.”
“You are performing extremely well, then,” I laughed.
“You are good for me, Pen. I love you.”
“Love you, my Lady.”
“Speaking of which, we need to get our Dolly ready for her performance.”
“Her mom is here.”
“Yes. Mr. Dorn has her… um… well in hand. She’ll be front and center to hear Susan read.”
“She’s a lot like Susan.”
“I think that’s what caused the rift in the first place. Mrs. Reynolds tried to suppress her submissive nature while raising Susan to be strong and independent. When Susan came under Zen’s influence her mom thought she was doing it to throw shame on her. I think now that she is out, it will get better,” Annette said.
“Zen’s here, too.”
“That’s a positive sign, I suppose. I don’t believe they’ll reunite, but they need to accept each other in a new light. As submissive as Susan is with us, she can be an absolute tiger if she is crossed. I don’t ever want to be on the receiving end of that. It would break my heart. Just like it did Zen’s.”
“It’s almost eight.”
We led a blindfolded Susan to the dais. She’d changed into the diaphanous harem outfit for her performance but had acceded to wearing a bra and G-string under it. She carried a copy of her book, Bound for Freedom, but the poems she would perform were memorized.
There was nothing calm about her as she approached her performance. Susan was shaking like a leaf, scarcely able to keep hold of the little book. We led her to where the strips of silk were hung from the hoop above and Annette raised Susan’s right hand to show her where to grasp the fabric.
“What a good little Dolly,” I whispered as I pulled one strip around her waist and let it fall in folds to the floor. “An artist’s model who will perform her poetry for her Lady and her Sir. We might have friends come to watch you—maybe even touch your beautiful body—pose you as they would like to see you—stretch you and peer into your secret places. You will never know who is here to watch and listen. That is all up to us.” Susan was panting, her chest heaving. I wondered if she would even be able to speak.
“But, little Dolly,” Annette whispered next to her. “No matter what—no matter who we share our little treasure with or what touches her precious body—we will take care of you.”
“Tell us your poetry.” We stepped away from Susan, but did not leave the dais completely. She took a deep breath, then held out her book as if to read from it. She spun in a circle, wrapping her arm and her legs in the hanging silk.
You set me free.
You closed my eyes and opened my heart.
You bound my body with silk
And let my soul soar across the plains of my desire.
Susan had once described our posing sessions as performance art, but she had taken it to a whole new level with her poetry. She positively glowed as she moved from pose to pose with the silk draped around her. She kicked at the fabric and made it float around her like a lowering cloud while still holding the book out away from her as if she were reading from it instead of reciting.
My love is the master of my being.
She comes to me in the darkness
Singing songs of devotion—caring for her slave
Transporting her to pinnacles of ecstasy
And dropping me into the depths of my fears
Only to rise again on her wings
Into the crystal sky.
Susan’s performance was twenty minutes long. It was beautiful. On the opposite side of the little stage, I could see Annette smiling at her little Dolly. I was pretty sure that a person could read Susan’s entire book in half an hour, but mixed with the performance she was giving, I knew she had only read a fraction of the poems. And in the book, Mavis’s pictures of Susan in many of the poses she created on stage—but often not so completely clothed—enhanced the images her words created in the reader’s mind.
Annette moved to untangle Susan from the loosely wrapped bindings of the hanging silk as the guests applauded. I felt a presence beside me as I helped and saw Mrs. Reynolds standing on the dais in front of Susan. I wasn’t sure how this would play out, but I slipped an arm around Susan’s waist to support her.
“I will take care of you,” I whispered.
Mrs. Reynolds lifted a hand to Susan’s face and softly stroked her cheek beneath the blindfold. She opened her palm and Susan automatically relaxed into it, letting her mother cradle her face. Susan shook in my arms.
“I am so sorry, my precious little girl,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “I never meant to hurt you. I was so ashamed. I hope one day you can forgive me.”
“Mommy!” Susan cried. She threw the rest of the fabric off and collapsed against her mother in a tight embrace. I removed the blindfold from her eyes and for the first time in four years, Susan looked at her mother. Mr. Dorn stepped up onto the dais and I saw him run a finger down Mrs. Reynolds spine. She straightened up.
“Pet, why don’t you invite your daughter to sit with us for a few minutes and have some punch. Her voice must need some soothing after that wonderful performance. It would be better than standing on the stage.”
“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds said. Susan followed her mother’s unspoken invitation off the stage to her table of books where a line had already formed to buy the little paperbacks and have them autographed. Mr. Dorn retrieved the glasses of punch and set one next to Susan. She looked up at him and simply mouthed, ‘Thank you.’
Susan’s mother and Les’s father sat behind Susan for the rest of the evening as she signed books.
“Mavis, you’ve advanced your art again,” Dr. Lowenstein said. “The color artwork is lovely, but the print of Arthur’s work truly breaks new ground.”
“We’re filing patents on the chemical formulae that make it possible,” Mavis said. “We had to break into some new areas of photosensitivity.”
“We’re a University of the Arts and Design,” Dr. Escher said. “I had no idea we had chemists in our program.”
“I’ve had help. This is Dr. Norman. My father introduced us to each other and the lab work has been all hers,” Mavis said.
“I’d never have delved into the areas of photosensitivity had I not visited Mavis in her home photo lab. It’s quite impressive,” Dr. Norman said. She seemed awfully young to be a PhD, but when I’d first met her, I found out she’d gone far into post-doctoral work as a chemist. “I believe this new area is going to have a far-reaching impact beyond photography. We believe there may be a way to reproduce spectral images that are beyond normal human eyesight. That is what led our company to establish a grant for The Grail Associates. We want to encourage the exploratory work of these artists.”
“And we want to thank you, as well, for the generous grant to the University,” Dr. Escher said. “It was unexpected and came at a critical time in our endowment fundraising.”
“It is a recognition of the contribution that the arts can make to hard science as well as the other direction,” Mr. Wells said. “I’m proud that my daughter is one of these artists, but no less proud of the others. I believe Miss Williams’ process patents will also be significant in the further development of 3-D printing and imaging.” Wow! I hadn’t realized that. Way to go, Kendra!
“Artistically, Kendra’s fusion castings are as ground-breaking as the scientific patents,” Dr. Lowenstein said. “I have, however, advised Morgan and Les to get more legal counsel regarding the contractual issues that The Grail Associates will encounter as they continue to cross boundaries and work with established corporations.”
“We quite agree,” Dr. Norman said. “We have honorable intentions, but it is often all too easy for a large corporation to trample the rights and stifle the contributions of unprotected individuals.”
“I’m not proud of that fact,” Mr. Wells said.
“The inspiration,” Dr. Robinson, my advisor, said, “is standing with us. Arthur, congratulations on a spectacular BFA exhibition and on gathering this talent around you. You have cherry-picked the top talent that our University has produced in a decade. An artist, a sculptor, a photographer, a novelist, a poet, and two top business minds. I’m expecting great things in the future.”
“I’m… uh… not really… like the leader,” I said. “I just paint pictures.” They all laughed.
“Arthur, I’m sure you see it that way,” Dr. Escher said. “I look at you, though, and see a young man who inspired a student revolt on a campus that hadn’t seen activism since the ’60s. A man who can count nearly every member of his graduating class as a friend. Leadership is sometimes confused with the ability to stand up and give speeches or run for political office. But true leadership comes from within and people are inspired to follow. By your presence, Arthur. Not by your words.”
I felt like I was kind of getting a swelled head. It was embarrassing to be singled out like that, even at my own exhibition. Except it wasn’t just my own. We were all involved.
And it was time for Annette’s reading. I wasn’t sure I was looking forward to this. Dad had told me how good it was, though. For that alone, I was proud of Annette.
Her destruction of the presumptuous fool was complete. She had spotted his weakness the moment he was introduced and was immediately certain she could build him up and tear him down. What the goddess had created, the goddess could destroy. He’d fallen head over heels in love with her. And he’d been good in many ways, a devoted servant to her desires. But the time had come. When he had the temerity to kneel before her and ask her to marry him, surrounded by those sycophants he called friends, she knew it was time to dismantle what she had built and move on.
Total. Complete. Devastation.
She turned to walk away while he still knelt in the sidewalk café. Anger and bitterness warred within him. What she had destroyed in a few words was the pure light of his love. It was the last thread that held him to humanity. His vision narrowed as he stood, the lovely ring he offered her falling to the pavement. He focused on her back and his vision darkened. As it lost color and light, she blackened. She spun suddenly, looking back at him and his singular focus on her. Horror etched in her eyes as she began to lose dimension as well as color and light. A black tear escaped from her eye as the place she stood became a slowly collapsing hole in the universe.
A passerby paused, looking puzzled, as if he had suddenly forgotten something. He shrugged and continued, not noticing the woman who had never existed.
Shivers ran down my spine and the hair on the back of my neck stood up as I listened to Annette read the passage from her book. My girlfriend definitely had a twisted mind. She had taken my blackness and created a horror—a person who dismantled all that failed to please him and sent it into a void. But in so doing, she had also made me thankful that my blackness was not like that of this creature of the dark. My blackness was a backdrop to the wonders of my life and my art.
I had felt horror at what I’d become, that was true. But I’d accepted it as part of myself. The antihero in her book ultimately took the color out of himself and collapsed into his own hole in the universe. I shuddered again.
But things were improving for me. I scarcely missed the color of the car or the rocks in my path. Instead, I was wrapped in the vibrancy of the living things around me. I felt some of my vision expanding, as well. Certainly, after making love to Susan the night before, I’d continued to see clearly for at least ten feet around me. I waited for it to collapse some as it had when I made love with Kendra, but even though the edges were dark, the vision seemed to hold this time. Perhaps it had just needed to be ‘refreshed’.
Unless I decided to rest my eyes—my brain. Then, in moments, I could relax into blackness, retreating from the cacophony of color around me. I could find peace and emerge again to see life.
I embraced Annette as she came down from the dais and offered her the punch I held. She drank greedily.
“Is it okay, Pen?” she whispered. “It’s not you.”
“It is okay and it is not me,” I smiled. “It is an invention of your beautiful, if somewhat twisted, mind and I love you.” She hugged me fiercely and then went to the table next to Susan. Annette had no stock since her book would not be released until fall, but she did have a stack of front covers that she signed for those who pre-ordered the book.
It had been a good night.
We were all too exhausted to have raucous sex after the exhibition and the trip to the Pancake House for a late-night dinner and more hugs from our parents and grandparents. It was a good thing, too. Seven of us piled into bed naked at about one in the morning. Yeah. Seven. Annette and Morgan sandwiched Susan between them as Susan continued to chatter about her reunion with her mother. Mavis had her back against Morgan’s butt as she cuddled up to my left side and Kendra kissed my cheek from the right. Behind Kendra, Les spooned, one hand on Kendra’s breast.
“Mmm. I might like this sandwich thing, you know?” she giggled. “But not tonight, babies. If we tried something, someone would fall out of bed.” She turned her head and kissed Les. When she turned back to kiss me, Les kissed the back of her neck and my fingers in the process. I was pretty sure I felt Kendra make a couple thrusts with her hips back toward him.
“I’m glad I’m in the middle,” Mavis sighed. “I think I could stay like this forever.”
“The bed sinks toward the middle,” Morgan said, turning to kiss Mavis. “Not only do we all roll that direction, that’s where the wet spot tends to pool.”
“Oh, yuck, Morgan,” Annette said. “That’s a gross thing to say to our friend.”
“I don’t mind,” Mavis laughed. “As long as I’m responsible for some of the pool.”
Finally, with more kisses spread around, hugs, familiar caresses, we fell asleep.
Mavis was glued to my side the next day. Not that I minded. We even showered together. And used all the hot water as we made sure every curve and crease of our bodies was squeaky clean. It took several minutes, just standing under the flow of the water to catch our breath. The next people showering had to wait half an hour for the water heater to recover.
I’d always had an involuntary visceral response to Mavis. My very first thought when I noticed her for the first time in my second semester Lib Arts seminar was Damn! Were all the girls in school this cute and I just wasn’t noticing? I was thinking that while my cock was swelling uncomfortably in my pants. It had happened every time I saw her, before she said anything and long before we posed nude together. We’d spent hours making love to each other with our eyes as we posed. We’d touched each other, mentally and intimately. But I’d never physically penetrated her.
It was like we were saving that treat for some special occasion.
As we ‘cleaned’ each other to very long messy orgasms in the shower, I knew that the special occasion was near.
“Deadlines,” Dad read aloud as the seven of us sat with my father for a late Sunday brunch. “So many inches to fill and so few minutes in which to do it. And all I want to do is steep in the artistry and emotion of the final BFA exhibition of the university season. Five artists joined together for the most amazing show this reviewer has seen at the university in a decade. I want to go back… I will return Sunday afternoon to try to reach the next level in my understanding and joy in this art. Painting, sculpture, photography, writing, and even science. The group of young artists who call themselves The Grail Associates has it all.”
“Pretty impressive,” Mom said. “Kendra, the way you captured Arthur and Mavis in that sculpture… I know that the plain sculpture is what most people would see when looking at them. But the fused glass sculpture is beyond even what I see. You let me see into my son at a deeper level. Thank you.” Kendra got up and hugged Mom. The rest of us smiled.
“So, what is the plan for our celebrities on this sunny Sunday in May?” Dad asked.
“Let’s go on a picnic,” a cheerful Susan suggested. “It’s going to be warm and sunny, but it’s still early enough that it shouldn’t be crowded. It would be fun!”
“Aren’t you the bright one this morning,” Annette chuckled.
“I’m not just a pretty dolly, Annette,” she answered. “Thanks to you and Arthur, I’m a real girl.”
“Pinocchia,” Dad chuckled.
“Oh! Female Pinocchio,” Mavis said. “Does her nose grow when she lies?”
“I suppose we could run an experiment,” Annette said.
“Lie to me! Lie to me!” I squeaked in my best girl-voice as I bounced in my chair. Mavis laid a hand on my leg and I was instantly rock hard again. I guess I don’t need to lie.
“Jean, did we order these children from Amazon? They have a return policy, don’t they?” Mom deadpanned.
“Yes, but I’m afraid we’re past the expiration date,” Dad said. Mom sniffed.
“Oh, that’s what it is. I was about to tell you it was your turn to change the diapers.”
We took Mom’s Mazda and piled all seven of us into it along with blankets, baskets of food, and thermoses. I didn’t think we were technically allowed to strap three people in the last little row of seats with one seatbelt stretched across them, but the other four seats were buckets. I still got a big grin on my face when I thought of the first time Annette and I got back there and had a wet reality.
Morgan drove with Annette in the passenger seat. Mavis sat beside me in the second row. Susan and Kendra were being unmerciful to Les between them in the back seat. We drove out to the State Park west of town and found that even though it was open, they weren’t charging admission until Memorial Day. There were a few cars in the parking lot and we saw a couple returning down one of the trails with backpacks and hiking sticks. They began unloading their burdens into the back of a small pickup. Real dedicated hikers, I figured.
We got our bags and baskets and headed toward the picnic grounds. Apparently, all the cars in the parking lot belonged to people who were hikers. The picnic area was empty. We claimed a table and just sat around talking. It was still too early to eat another meal.
“Are we really going to pull this off, babe?” Kendra asked after a quick kiss with Les. “I mean getting a building with shop space and studio space and living quarters? It seems so unreal.”
“From a real estate perspective, it’s possible,” he said. “It would be akin to having artists’ lofts someplace like New York City. The real question will be whether we want to keep the group together like that.”
“Yes!” Annette and Morgan shouted together. We all nodded.
“Enthusiasm counts for a lot. I agree. You guys changed my life. But you must know that there could be a certain loss of privacy,” Les continued. “Right now, we all have places we can escape to if needed. I mean, Arthur, Morgan, and Annette live together, but they’ve been known to have alone time. Kendra and I have a second bedroom if one of us needs to be alone. Of course, as soon as she has to move out of the dorm, the second bedroom will be occupied by Susan until we get our acts together.”
“Personally, I’d like a little less privacy,” Mavis said. “Or maybe I should say a little less isolation. Our loft doesn’t need to be all one open space. We could divide the living space up so we each have private spaces and bathrooms if we wanted to.”
“Having a common kitchen, dining, and living area would significantly cut down on costs, though,” Annette said. “Sort of like we have with Mom and Dad.”
“We might still have to take out a loan to do construction, even with the generous grant,” Morgan said. “I don’t know if we could get a loan like that.”
“We might not need it,” Les said. “I mentioned a building to Dad yesterday that is not finished. The owner would have to finish buildouts according to spec. It’s zoned for mixed use, so living and working in the same space shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Let’s keep going forward,” I said. “I don’t want to lose my friends.”
Mavis gave a little tug on my hand and waved me toward one of the many trails. I grabbed a couple bottles of water and she carried a light blanket as we said, “Later,” and left the others. We walked about twenty minutes, managing to crowd ourselves side-by-side on the narrow path so we could hold hands. The trail led through sparse juniper and across some rocks before it entered a grove. There were a few white fir and we could see a stand of aspens about a hundred yards away with their leaves just greening. We chose a spot between two Douglas firs with dappled sunlight filtering through the branches to spread our blanket.
We each had a drink and set the water bottles aside. Mavis caught my eyes with hers and that magnetic tension that described our connection washed over me and left me speechless. Words, however, weren’t needed this time. We simply let our bodies talk to each other. We kissed and I lost myself in the joy of that connection. I wanted to lose myself in her… did lose myself in her.
It was Sunday, and in deference to having breakfast with my parents and friends, I’d donned a yellow button-down oxford shirt this morning. Even with jeans, that was a step above just wearing T-shirts. Mavis had three of my buttons undone before I realized she was even touching it. I, on the other hand, had slid a hand beneath the cerulean peasant blouse she wore. My hand was already caressing her breast beneath the white embroidery. If anything, the color of the blouse deepened and intensified the electric blue of her eyes. She lifted her arms and I carefully pulled the top over her head. She didn’t wait for me to fumble with her bra, but deftly opened the catch and let it fall on the discarded blouse. That left her in only her cut-off shorts and hiking boots.
We laughed as she pulled off my shirt and then had to stop and unbutton the cuffs so she could get it off my arms. We paused long enough to untie our boots and slip out of them and our socks. Then we kissed again with our bare chests pressed against each other.
I wasn’t concerned about being discovered. Only Mavis counted and she illuminated the entire forest around us. Yes, in the distance, there were black rocks and a mountain still covered with black snow and black sky above. But in our world the colors became ever more vibrant, even sparkling off the litter of dead needles around us.
I kissed her again and petted those beautiful breasts, begging for my lips, which I willingly surrendered.
The first time I met her, she’d told us that she changed to our Lib Arts class because she’d heard that one of the students drew pictures of his classmates. She looked straight at me as I drew the first one. All my classmates got onboard with posing for my nipple-drawing project. Kendra, Susan, Casey, Dee, Rachel. Even Les, Jonathan, Leonard. But when Mavis came into my studio and took off her shirt, it was the first time I’d become fully erect while drawing. I stayed that way long after she had left.
That right nipple that I’d drawn many times since then still had the same effect on me. Only now I was free to simply worship it with my mouth and tongue. Mavis whined as I nipped it lightly.
“I need you, Artie,” she whispered. I moved up to kiss her again and she fumbled with my belt. We rolled away from each other long enough to strip out of our jeans and underwear. Aren’t you supposed to remember something about your lover’s underwear the first time you take it off to make love? I don’t. I only remember revealing the sparse blonde hair that softly covered her mound. A shade or two darker than the hair on her head, it was still a testament to her natural color. My fingers plucked at it and fluffed it as she stroked my hard cock.
What I remember most about our coupling was the way my world tilted and I slid off into the ocean of her love. I knew she had lovers before me and expected that she would have lovers after. But I had no doubt about the present as we gave ourselves to each other completely. We’d relieved each other earlier in the shower, but being coupled together intensified the bond that had been growing between us for four years. I stroked my cock into the welcoming sheath of her vagina, marveling at how perfect we were together.
No, there was no thought of replacing Annette and Morgan as the central figures of my love. Not even of nudging Kendra or Susan away. Mavis was a person who made us more complete with the luminous sparkling of her aura, her brilliant mind, unparalleled talent, and open love for all of us. She had already made love to both Annette and Morgan. I suspected she might have been with Kendra and Susan as well. But this was our moment.
“We are always going to be like this,” she said as she rolled me to my back and straddled my waist. She paused long enough to hold me inside and let her inner muscles just pulse around me, pulling me closer to the edge with each pulse.
“Making love?” I whispered. My eyes were blurring as I sensed my impending climax.
“Lovers,” she said. “We have lives that we will lead. They won’t always be together. But if we were parted for fifty years, we would still be lovers when we returned. There will never be a time when I can’t close my eyes and look into yours.” Her breath was coming in short gasps as she spoke and began rising and falling on my cock again. It was too much. My world collapsed to a pinpoint of awareness and I could see nothing but her eyes as mine fell shut in the moment of our orgasm.
“Look! I told you.”
“Aren’t they beautiful?”
“It’s too bad both the artist and photographer are unavailable to take a picture.” There was a little giggling as I sensed the rest of our party approaching as quietly as five people in hiking shoes could. I smiled without opening my eyes.
“I love you, Mavis,” I whispered in her ear. She nuzzled against my neck and raised her lips to capture my earlobe.
“I love you, Artie.”
“The rest of our family has found us.”
“Oh, dear,” she said lazily. “Does your cock in my pussy make my ass look big?” We giggled, the motion causing my cock to be squeezed out of her. I was pretty sure it would be hard again shortly. My hands drifted down to cover the ass in question and she moaned into my neck.
“You two are so beautiful,” Annette said as she knelt on the blanket beside us.
“I’m so happy you let the physical catch up with the mental,” Morgan said as she petted us from the other side.
“Spiritual,” Mavis and I said together. We giggled again.
I finally unglued my eyes and looked directly into the electric blue of hers. The depths were eternal.
Beyond her eyes I could see my Lady and Fay, looking at us lovingly. Kendra, Susan, and Les smiled over their shoulders. I could see every colorful detail.
Including the bright blue sky above.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I claim this as my original work, but that doesn’t mean that others don’t play a part. I would be a poorer writer without the support and advice of my editors. Thank you to Mr. Spock who pointed out where I was rushing things in the first chapters and needed to slow down—even though he was interrupted in his critique by a couple of broken ribs and pneumonia. Thank you to Old Rotorhead who helped me extensively with art samples and photo techniques ranging from the research of Dr. Edwin Land to the chemicals used in archival photo processing. Thank you to Pixel the Cat who critically reads every word and corrects my spelling, punctuation, and word use. Yes, I actually do understand when to use “I” instead of “me” but he corrects me when my passion gets ahead of my grammar.
And finally, thank you to my patrons who make it possible for me to keep writing and to make these stories available to you. Join Now!
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