Fragments 02

I got buzzed by the support team. An "early" client needed help. It was mine to deal with.

Let me explain. When I started the IT support business, we took any job going and if we were not sure how to tackle it - we confidently said we could and then quickly figured out how to do it correctly. Over the years the business had grown in size and reputation. We were in a position to decide which work to take and which to decline. Usually small businesses on very limited budgets where it was hard to make money from a call. We now tended to support medium and larger businesses which were on the point of almost but not quite justifying their own IT departments. But I never forgot those who helped us get started. The "early" businesses were on a list that the support team knew we would service - even if it was at a loss. In order to minimize the use of the field teams - I would personally tackle those calls. Perhaps not the best use of the owner's time - but it kept my hand in and I could stay in touch with many who I actually counted as much as friends than clients.

This call was straightforward. An artist whose computer was for email, a little research and printing the odd bill. Something "wasn't working". The artist - Rita - worked out her house which was as much a studio as a home. The finished basement had been converted into a large mural studio. She could use photographs and small models she made and then study the perspective as she sketched onto the walls. These were covered with stretched large canvases on rollers allowing her to roll back and forth along a large scene as she painted. The ground floor seemed straightforward enough from what I could see when I entered through a kitchen door. An adjacent living room and a dining table. Through the part open door - what you might have expected to be a den of some kind seemed to be a bedroom. Then up some small steep stairs to the where one might have expected bedrooms. But any of the rooms I ever saw were a small office with a laptop, screen and printer and two bedrooms that were small studios. One was as much a storeroom. Stacked with literally hundreds of small canvases that were studies for her work. Wildlife, portrait headshots, nude studies. I'd often wondered what I would say if she asked me to pose for her - and which it would be. Portrait or nude?

Rita - like me was in her late 50's. Unlike me - she was short, almost elfin. Her cropped hair was a convenience to stop it flying into close paint work rather than a fashion statement. As she was basically flat chested - she had a rather boyish look to her. Not drop dead pretty. A rather plain lady with the experience of working outdoors weathered into her slightly lined face. She was earnest about her work and her greeting was always a slightly formal handshake. Some folks - you knocked on the door and let yourself in. For Rita - I always knocked and waited. She opened the door - dressed as in a loose faded sweatshirt, loose denim shorts and a paint spattered vest with pockets for brushes and pencils and the like.

As usual I was offered coffee. Something I usually decline on client visits. The reality is that some coffee turns out to be downright awful. But you still have to drink it or you hurt peoples' feelings. And then there is the chance it will trip my bladder and then I have to end up asking to use bathrooms - which in peoples' houses always seems a bit personal. And there is the additional problem that once my bladder is "tripped" some days I might need to pee three times in an hour. So coffee better avoided. But in this case - I accepted. I'd had Rita's coffee before and it was good. I couldn't imagine anything that was going to take more than 10-15 mins to sort out and then I could be on my way.

"Upstairs in the usual room" said Rita as she led the way.

I followed her up the stairs. They were quite steep. As she was ahead of me - her loose shorts were right in front of my face as we went up the stairs. And today - today of all days - they pulled a little tight across her butt as she took the stairs and I saw the most delightful hint of a curve. Perhaps a strawberry shaped bottom. It caught my attention. I also noted from a slight stirring in my groin that it had caught something else's attention. I suppressed the thought and followed on up to her "office" room.

Cans of paint mixes stacked along one wall. Tube after tube of paints on tables and a bench on the south wall facing a north window for the neutral light. Balanced on the bench were some small canvases. Studies of peoples' heads. Some were sketches, some part completed eye/nose combinations. A couple were outlines of nude female forms, posed half seated on chairs. Just some paint strokes to outline torso, limbs and featureless faces. There was some emphasis on the outline of breasts and of hair between legs. I idly wondered if perhaps Rita's boyish looks were more than practicality for her craft and possibly an interest in other ladies. But then the nude was always a legitimate art topic. Near the end of the row there was a nude male. Same outlined brush strokes, anonymous face. Abs were defined and in his thatch of hair - a medium sized dick. Soft - at rest. On the wall some more complete works, Wildlife and nature. A specialty of hers.

"Here we are" said Rita pointing at a paint spattered MAC in the corner. "Some of the keys on the keyboard are not working".

I had to smile. For someone who could be quite practical about the logistics of her work, getting canvases together, arranging for bucket trucks and scaffolds and enormous quantities of paint mixes delivered to job sites when she painted murals on the sides of building - she could miss the obvious. But perhaps it was because the problem was labelled "computer issue". Not her strong point. There were spatters of paint across the keyboard and some had stuck a couple of keys together. Now if it was a PC - I would have just grabbed a keyboard from the truck and plugged it in and dumped the painted keyboard. But it was a wireless MAC keyboard and like many artists - she "liked MAC". I didn't have one of those in the truck and they are a bit to expensive to just junk.

So I borrowed one of her pallet knives, turned off the keyboard and ran the knife between and around the keys - scraping off the paint. I held the keyboard upside down so the paint fell away from the keys. Out the corner of my eye I noticed Rita watching me work. Seemed like a little more than watching the mechanics of cleaning the keyboard. More like she was sizing me up. After a few minutes effort it all seemed clean enough again. I turned on the keyboard, brought up a blank document on her screen and tapped my way across the keyboard checking all the keys were working. Nearly there - a couple of the keys worked but were still a bit sticky. I repeated the exercise with a stiff two inch brush that I borrowed from her pile - after checking it was OK to use that brush. Again I noticed I was being observed - rather than the work I was doing. I wondered if I was going to be asked to model? Model nude?

"There you go - all set," I said.

Rita beamed. "You are wonderful - I should have figured it out. What do I owe you?"

She genuinely wanted to pay me for the effort - but if just wasn't worth the paperwork and cash would seem a little tacky as well as not in keeping with her business. She had her checkbook in hand ready to write.

"A cup of coffee - already paid" was my response.

"But how can I expect you to help when I call if you don't get paid?"

"Really" I said, "Coffee is fine".

We batted that back and forth a couple of times but in the end she thanked me and let it go. I now had a bit of time on hand so I asked if she had an decent commissions on at this time? She suggested the basement and down the stairs we went. With her leading the way down there was no chance of another view of her butt - but as I was almost looking down over her shoulders, I saw her sweatshirt pulled tight across her chest and perhaps the possibility of a shadow of her nipples. "Down boy" I laughed silently to myself.

In the basement - a large canvas spread on the wall with a night time city skyline in process. Nearly complete. It was for her client's office wall.

"Still trying to get those deep shadows between the buildings correct" she said. "What do you think?"

Now Rita knew that I dabbled in painting. Mainly acrylics of scenes I would snap with my phone camera when out and about and which I would try and recreate when I had a little time on my hands. So I was interested in her question. But I was an amateur - she a professional.

"I'm hardly qualified to comment on your work" was my response.

"Nonsense" said Rita, "you are another set of eyes - something I need sometimes when I am stuck down here working alone."

So I stood back and looked. On a small table she had some pictures she was working from and a small stick model she had constructed to help with perspective lines. Then I looked at the sweeping thirty foot wide canvas. There was really nothing wrong with - except..... Now from a long time ago engineering drawing class - I understood perspective drawings. What she had executed on the wall was technically absolutely correct. But down at the street levels in shadow it looked wrong.

"Perhaps because we are standing above the viewpoint, the shadows look too tall vertically. Maybe you need to artificially shorten them. It will be wrong by the rules of perspective but might then look right?" I suggested. "What height will this canvas be in the client's office? Will that make it better or worse?"

As I said this I was standing next to the canvas and without touching it - I was using my hands to illustrate the area I was looking at. Moving them around in front of the paint. Again I noticed I was being observed.

Rita thought about it for a moment and then moved in with a stick of chalk - she waved it over some parts of the painting, marking it up. Quietly saying that if she artificially deepened the shadow she could allow the eye to be drawn to the brighter lights above and that any perceived error would be masked while leaving the perspective nearly correct. She picked up a large brush, went over to a row of cans of paint and bent over them to pick one out. Again her baggy shorts tightened across her butt and this time I got a full view of her ass. It was as I suspected - a lovely strawberry bottom. I felt another twitch but was able to suppress it as Rita walked back to the canvas and applied a liberal amount of paint to the two areas she had marked up. This time it was my turn to watch her work and she moved precisely and deftly and with some hidden strength of her fit body under the baggy outfit. A quick pass with a hair dryer got the acrylic paint set up and close to final tone.

We both stood back to look. Standing on almost the same spot to get the perspective and so our personal spaces definitely overlapped a bit. Not touching each other. But pretty close.

"Much better" Rita enthused. "Thanks - that was a big help."

As we climbed the stairs out the basement to the kitchen I was hoping for another view - but the steps were a bit more relaxed and the deep shadows on the stairs didn't let me see much. Probably just as well. I'd never fooled around with clients and didn't really want to start now. I got ready to take my leave.

"You working on anything interesting?" asked Rita. I wondered if she was just being polite or was hoping I would stay a little longer.

"Nothing to your standard" was my genuine response. But for a moment I considered. Then I got my phone out.

"Here are a couple of pictures I took coming over this morning as the sun was rising over the marsh. I was thinking of trying to capture the light but I'm not very good at it."

I held my phone out a bit and Rita stood in beside me to look. It was a fine line. I was happy to hand her the phone and our personal spaces would not overlap too much. But I also was flicking back and forth between the pictures so she had to stand closer to me to see. Rita moved alongside me and looked down at the phone. Our clothing was clearly touching and I was hyper sensitive to it. Time was slowing down for me and I wondered if I could feel the swell of her hip through the vests and shorts and.....

Rita reached out with her finger.

"May I?"

"Sure" I responded.

She started to slowly flick through my folder of possible painting pictures. The phone was in my left hand and she moved firmly to stand on my right side so she could see the phone and flick through the pictures. I wasn't sure what to do with my right arm and hung it awkwardly behind us - trying not to touch her inappropriately. Rita seemed to have other ideas and she moved quite firmly against me. Definitely overlapping our personal spaces! I could feel her hip for sure. She kept flicking through my pictures and was commenting on which would make good paintings.

"I'd do that one in acrylic, that's definitely a watercolor, this - maybe oils to give you long drying times and let you develop the painting..."

She was looking intently down at my phone and I was looking down too. My eyes could not help but be drawn to her nipples which were now quite distinctly showing through her sweatshirt. Her open vest allowed me a good view. She flicked a couple more photos and now stood quite firmly against me. Her nipples enlarged again and pressed against the cloth of her sweatshirt.

I was now definitely twitching and my senses were extremely heightened by the situation. This could go well - or - oh so badly wrong. After all - I was in her house. I slowly allowed my right arm to relax so my hand was slightly brushing the trailing edge of her shorts. If I curled my fingers I would be holding her right ass cheek. I wondered what her reaction would be. Nothing obvious. She flicked through a couple more pictures. My breathing shallowed and I curled my fingers feeling for her ass cheek and running my finger along the curve above her thigh.

Rita's breathing also shallowed and her flicking through my pictures stopped. She was still looking down at the phone and she was still standing firmly against me. I grasped her cheek firmly and gently squeezed. It felt wonderful. Rita exhaled and relaxed against me more - her head still down and her nipples now like bullets in her shirt. I started to massage her cheeks with my hand. She leaned into me more. With her still standing beside me I reached carefully forward and put my phone down on the kitchen table in front of me. Then I brought my left hand back and placed it on her belly. Continuing to massage her ass cheeks with my right hand, I slid my left hand up and brushed across her nipples. She shuddered and sighed.

"Soft or hard?" I asked.

"Hard" she responded.

"What is your safe word?" I asked.

"Acrylics" she whispered with a smile.

I reached over and grasped her right nipple firmly, squeezing and twisting it while I also gripped her right ass cheek and squeezed. She raised her head, leaned back and hissed:

"Yessssss....."

I leaned in and started to kiss her. She was now leaned into my side, her head back.

We kissed deeply and I worked back and forth across her nipples, twisting, pulling and firmly grasping them. She was gently sighing into our kisses. I wanted more. I slid my left hand down and unzipped the front of her shorts. Then I undid the button on the waistband. This allowed my right hand full access to her ass as I slid it inside and reached to feel her panties. Plain cotton I guessed. Well it is a work day. I now really started to enjoy her ass while my left hand rose again and worked over her nipples. Our kisses became deeper and she started to whimper into my mouth.

I was now quite hard in my pants and was beginning to feel quite constrained. Just as I considered doing something about it - I felt Rita reach across and smooth her hand across the front of me. As she felt my hardness she growled gently into our kiss. Then she worked my belt, zip and button and reached in. Her hand brushed across the front of my briefs. It felt glorious and I wondered if she could feel my pre-cum soaking through them. Without breaking our kiss Rita eased herself away from me slightly and shook her ass. Her baggy shorts fell away and she stepped out of them. She broke momentarily and also shrugged her vest off. Now she was standing in her thin cotton panties and her sweatshirt and she moved back in for more.

As I held her toned and delicious ass and reached and twisted her nipples - she worked me out of my pants which dropped to the floor. I stepped out of them and my slip on shoes so we were both half dressed in her kitchen, kissing and gently mauling.

"Bed" she indicated and nodded to the room off the side of the kitchen. We stumbled towards it. Trying to both make progress while continuing our explorations. Standing beside the bed Rita slipped my vest off and was delighted to discover that my flannel shirt had popper buttons which she happily tore off me. I reached for the bottom of her sweatshirt and pulled it off over her head. She really was flat chested. Not a trace of a swell. Just rock hard nipples standing erect. She smiled ruefully as I looked down - but I told her I loved it and reached in with my teeth - gripping and trying to gauge just how hard I could bite without triggering her safe word. Her whimpers became groans and she reached into my briefs - freeing my drooling cock. She pulled my foreskin back and started to rub her thumb back and forth across my tip, lubricated with my pre-cum.

I reached around and continued to squeeze her ass - extending my fingers between her legs, feeling her heat and the dampness of her panties. I tapped in the area of her asshole and she hissed and leaned into my finger. I reached in deeper and felt the creases in her panties. Soaking wet. I rubbed back and forth and she spread her feet on the carpet to give me better access. And so we stood. Me biting her nipples to the point of pain, feeling her ass and fingering her wet panties. She head back and groaning as she rubbed my dick tip. It couldn't last and she eventually fell back onto the bed. I stripped her panties off to be met by her wonderous untrimmed thatch. She was definitely turned on. Her bush was matted and soaked with her precum. Her lips were swollen and her pussy was gaping slightly - displaying her redness within.

"Take me - please take me" she begged.

I stripped off my briefs and knelt between her splayed legs. Holding my cock in my hand I positioned it over her entrance.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"God yes - fuck me please" was her response.

I looked again at her open pussy, covered with her cream and was pretty sure she could take it. I positioned my tip between her open lips, then I reached up with both hands and grasped her nipples and twisted hard. As I did I pushed firmly into her in one long hard stroke. She gasped and then went wild. Bucking against my thrusts. She begged to be fucked and I was happy to oblige. I ravaged her nipples and she wrapped her legs around my back. I went wild with my thrusts and she opened her pussy right back at me. Grinding her clit against the root of my cock. We were both completely lost in the moment. Grunting and begging and thrusting and fucking. Her pussy completely relaxed open and I was truly deep in her. Balls bouncing off her asshole. Her hairy lips sucking me into her. Jerking and thrusting and completely losing it.

"Fuck me, I'm going to come" she screamed and I redoubled my efforts, my heart pounding and my chest dripping with sweat from my exertions. I felt her tense and as she did I gave her nipples a final, crushing and hellacious twist. She screamed and her pussy started to vibrate and her hips started to jerk uncontrollably. I felt her flooding us both with her squirt and I lost it. I bottomed out in her, reaching around and under her to hold her ass cheeks tight as I unloaded in her. My thick shots of cum mixing with her liquids. As she continued to jerk spasmodically, I shuddered my final spurts into her and we collapsed onto the soaked sheets. I was still buried inside her. Making sure my cum would stay deep in her. Even though I knew we were both too old for procreation - I still relished the feeling of having rutted in her pussy.