tagRomanceLife & Art

Life & Art


I met Carla Drovnik at the wedding of a friend. The bride introduced her as an old school friend, and from the moment we shook hands, I was a lost soul.

In that instant Carla seemed to have an aura of light around her. She was all my fantasies about women rolled into one.

She appeared to be about twenty-four or five and around five feel six tall.

She was dressed in a garment that had strips of cloth passing over the shoulders that then descended to cover her breasts, just. The breasts were unsupported and from what I could see, and what I could see was a considerable amount of breasts. They were like beautiful twin cupolas, firm, yet moving just sufficiently to be tantalising. During our ensuing conversation it was an effort of will not to keep staring at them.

The garment terminated just below her knees and was split almost to the hip on one side, revealing long and deliciously strong legs.

Her hair was almost black and flowed down over her shoulders, setting off almond shaped dark blue eyes. Facially she had a slightly hawkish, predatory look, with a slightly curving nose over a wide full lipped mouth. Her complexion was light brown and gave the impression that she was of Anglo-Indian origin. It was a strong face, the face of a woman who knowing what she wanted would get it.

Every male present seemed to be focusing on Carla, much, no doubt, to the displeasure of their partners. She was not partnered herself.

Thus I found myself standing talking to this goddess among women. I had no expectation that, with all the obvious male interest in her being shown, I would have her company for long, but I was wrong.

For whatever reason, she seemed to want only my company, and so we chatted on for nearly two hours. I told her I was a draftsman with an engineering company, and learned that she was an artist.

I suppose I was at a bit of a disadvantage in that I knew little about art, but as an artist Carla knew something about drawing, and therefore, about draftsmanship. Not that it mattered what I knew about art because I hardly noticed what was being said I was so engrossed in her beauty, and frankly lusting for her.

As the reception drew to a close I expected we would go our ways and probably never meet again. Wrong again.

"Peter," she asked, "I don't have a vehicle. I wonder if you could drive me home?"

Had "home" been a thousand kilometres away I would have agreed to take her, but it happened that it was only a little out of my way. I rejoiced that I would be in the presence of the divinity for a while longer.

The divinity's residence was something of a surprise. I had thought the goddess would live in resplendent temple, but the exterior of the block of flats where she lived had a rather dingy appearance.

I stopped the car expecting her to get out, but she sat on, looking at me. Nothing was said for a moment, then Carla spoke in her soft contralto voice:

"Peter, I have a couple of tickets for the ballet tomorrow night. Would you care to come with me?"

My interest in the ballet was minimal, but I would have jumped into a crocodile pool if it meant being with Carla.

"I'd love to come," I responded.

"Wonderful. I have enjoyed your company, Peter. Can you pick me up at seven o'clock?"


"Goodnight, Peter."

She leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips, then slipped out of the car, and moving like a lissome panther, she disappeared from my sight into the building.

I was astounded at my good fortune. I was twenty-five years of age, and had been dating girls since I was sixteen, but none of them matched this gorgeous creature. That night I had difficulty in getting to sleep, and had to masturbate three times before I was relaxed enough to drop off.

The visit to the ballet was a success, not because I saw much of it, but because I was seated next to Carla for two hours. I could hardly be expected to concentrate on the dancing or music, given the erection her closeness and female fragrance inspired in me.

Arriving back at her block of flats, I took the initiative and kissed her goodnight. The response I got to what was a relatively gentle kiss sent fire racing through me. Carla's mouth opened and her tongue thrust into me. Her lips swirled over mine as if she would eat me.

When we broke she said, "Peter, darling, you've had a bit of a problem all evening, come up to my flat and let me help you with it."

My legs were shaking as we ascended the stairs to the third floor, and entering her flat I took her in my arms and pulled her close. As we kissed she began to rotate her hips, pressing hard against me. I was beside myself with lust for her.

"Come to bed with me, Peter," she whispered. She led to into a small bedroom that was almost filled by a double bed. Carla began to undress immediately, and quickly lay naked on the bed.

Looking at her, as with shaking hands I tried to undress myself, I saw those magnificent breasts standing up like two domes surmounted by light brown nipple set in darker brown aureoles.

She extended her arms to me, drawing me on to the bed, to begin kissing again. After a few moments, she broke from the kiss, and taking one breast into her hand, she extended the nipple to me and said, "Suck me, darling."

I took the nipple into my mouth and suckled her. She began to give out with little cries and said, "Bite me, darling. Hurt me a little."

I hesitated for a moment, but then gently bit onto the delicious morsel.

"Harder, darling, harder."

I obeyed, and she began writhing and screaming. I stopped, but she commanded, "Don't stop, harder, harder." I bit down firmly and she made a convulsive movement, holding my head against her breast to prevent my moving away.

"The other nipple darling hurt me there."

As I bit her other nipple I searched with my fingers for the entrance to her vagina. She was soaking wet with her women's fluid and ready for penetration. I stopped biting her nipple and came over her, searching with the crown of my shaft to find her entrance.

Her hand reached down and guided me in.

I felt my crown pass through the heavenly gates and enter paradise. She was soft and warm inside and as I slowly penetrated her I felt her vaginal muscle grip my shaft spasmodically. I must have given a moan because she said, "Like that, darling?" Then she kept on flexing as if to draw me into her.

Carla started to make sound like, "Ah-ah-ah-ah." I knew her orgasm was coming. I felt the first pumping of sperm up my shaft, and then I was driving into her as her cries grew louder. Then she suddenly shrieked out, "O my God, don't stop, don't stop."

I felt her nails raking my back like hot needles and I responded by crushing her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. This elicited an even louder scream and a cry of "Deeper, deeper."

I put my hands under her buttocks, and her legs wound round me as I made my final thrusts, struggling under a primeval urge to impregnate her.

As I finished Carla was still experiencing the after shocks of her climax. She was murmuring, "Stay with me, stay with me."

I remained in her until I felt we had both come down from our mad coupling, then I pulled out and sank down beside her.

"You really are a big boy, aren't you Peter?" She said softly. "We really must do this very often."

I knew to what she referred when she said, "big boy", having had girls make similar remarks about the size of my organ. As to doing it "often", I had no problems about that. "As often as you like," I replied.

I was totally infatuated with Carla. I persuaded myself I was deeply in love with her, and as the following weeks passed, I was either making love with her, or thinking about making love with her.

I spent most of my free time in her flat, and was able to do what I could not have done that first night, and take in my surroundings.

It was a rather stuffy little place, and there were paintings everywhere. They stood against walls, in cupboards and drawers.

Knowing little about such matters, I did come to the conclusion that they were not very good paintings. In quality they seemed to stand somewhere between popular paintings for people who like "a tree to look like a tree", and some avant-garde school of painting.

Since Carla was trying to make her living by painting, the fact that so many works littered her flat suggested that it was not a very good living.

The room in which she worked was nothing like the sort of artist's studios I had imagined. It was a rather small, littered room, with a single window of no great proportions.

I endevoured to make conversation with Carla about her work, and she said something like, "I want to do 'experiential' work, but I haven't been able to come to terms with it yet."

Showing my ignorance I asked, "What is experiential work?"

"It's a new school of painting that says all works of art arise out of the artists life experience, and all that does not come from the artists experience is garbage. It's called 'The Experiential School'."

I had always thought that all art was the outcome of an artist's life experience, but decided not to pursue the matter further.

Our lovemaking grew hotter as we began to discover each other, or perhaps I should say, "experienced" each other, and what we liked. In fact, Carla liked just about anything sexually speaking that a man and a woman can devise. Practically her slave devotee, anything she wanted me to do, I did.

We had been lovers for almost two months and I was still enthralled with Carla, when she made her grand announcement.

It was after we had finished one of our ardent couplings, and she said, "Darling, I hope you don't mind, but I'm pregnant."

I should have had no reason to be surprised except that I had vaguely assumed that Carla was on the pill. I had actually seen what I took to be a packet of contraceptive pills in the bathroom one day, but I could have been wrong.

I asked her what she wanted to do. I was not averse to Carla having a baby I had put into her, indeed, I could not think of any woman I would rather make pregnant, but it was her body.

"Darling," she said rather resolutely, "I shall have the baby of course. It is our love that has put it there. I shall of course understand if you don't wish to be part of…"

I cut in; "Of course I bloody well want to be part of it. Children need a proper father."

"Does that mean you'll consider marrying me, Peter?"

"Not only will I consider it, I'll damn well do it."

"That's lovely, Peter. I shall enjoy being married to you."

Neither my flat nor Carla's were suitable for a married couple so, as we decided on an early marriage, hasty measures were taken to secure quarters that were more suitable. It was Carla who found what she said was suitable place.

The flat she found was in a block of apartments overlooking the river, with large windows, three bedrooms, and a well-lit room for Carla to work in, plus the usual offices. It also came with a rent that nearly brought me to my knees.

I tried to point out to Carla that as a draftsman I was quite well paid, but my salary would be stretched to the limit to pay for the flat.

"Darling," she said coaxing, "When we move in here I shall be able to do such work…You'll see…I shall start to sell my work, so don't worry. You wouldn't want our little baby to live in some pokey old hole, would you?"

We took the flat.

Our wedding was a strange affair. I had my mother, other relatives and friends attend, but Carla seemed to have no relatives. When I asked about parents she said they were dead, and all her relatives lived too far away to be invited. This seemed odd since she had gone to school with my colleague's wife – the one who's wedding I had attended and where I had met Carla. I did not pursue the matter.

I had not met any of Carla's friends during the time I had known her, but several were invited and turned up at the wedding.

They seemed to me to be a rather strange lot, and appeared to treat the wedding as some sort of joke, and especially me. On being introduced they were perfunctory in the comments to me, and virtually turned away to address all their somewhat facetious remarks to Carla. They made no attempt to mingle with anyone other than their own group, and put a bit of a damper on the occasion.

It was a week after we were married, and two months after Carla had announced her pregnancy, that one morning she said almost casually, "I'm afraid it was a false alarm, darling. I hope you're not too disappointed."

I was very disappointed, but strove not to show it. I was still totally enslaved by Carla, and continued to wonder how I had gained such a beautiful wife.

It was after her announcing she was not pregnant, things seemed to change between us. We still made love but not as often as we had, but during the act Carla's involvement became different.

I found it difficult to identify what the difference was, but it was a sort of remoteness. As we coupled, I felt as if she was somehow outside what we were doing, observing.

I have often heard people say that when they are "fucking" they have to fantasise that they are doing it with someone else in order to come to orgasm. I began to wonder if that was what Carla was doing, but somehow it seemed different to that.

I tried gently to raise the subject with Carla, but she turned my question around saying, "Are you getting tired of me already, darling."

I decided I was imagining it, but still felt uneasy.

There were a couple of other sources of unease. Carla took to going out in the evenings and not returning till the early hours of the morning. Again I tried carefully to ask about this, and got a reply something like; "I must keep in touch with other artists, darling. We meet to discuss our work."

I noted that any meetings and discussions that were taking place did not occur in our flat.

The other unease was Carla's paintings. She didn't seem to sell any more than before we got married, if anything, she sold less, and her work seemed to be getting more obscure and grotesque.

I suggested that I go with Carla to some of the discussions, but she always put me off saying, "It would be such a bore for you, darling." Then about nine months into our marriage, this changed.

"Darling," she said one day, "How would you like to come with me to the opening of and exhibition of Experiential Art?"

Not having had any such invitation from her before along these lines, I agreed to go with her.

The opening was by invitation only. It was held in a grim looking old mansion that had somehow escaped demolition as the rest of the area had been redeveloped.

Those present were mainly artists, some of whom had works on display. If I thought Carla's work grotesque, it was mild compared to what I saw at this exhibition.

Carla seemed to be in a highly emotional, even agitated state. People came to greet her with "Dears", "Darlings" and insincere kisses, while they ignored me.

At one point a youngish man whom she referred to as "Jeremy darling," greeted Carla and this time the kiss looked less insincere and more prolonged.

Carla turned to me, her face flushed, and said, "Peter, why don't you get yourself a drink and sit down for a while, Jeremy and I have something to discuss that will bore you to tears."

I obediently and foolishly obeyed. I got my drink and sat opposite a painting that I endevoured to untangle. It seemed to be a picture of a woman giving birth to a crocodile while a troop of monkeys looked on.

A young woman came to sit beside me. She was totally in black. Her hair was dyed black; every item of clothing was black. Her eyes had black shadow, her lips black lipstick. Her black toenails complimented her black painted fingernails. and every finger and toe was adorned with a black ring. Black beads, bracelets, ear and nose rings completed the ensemble.

She stared rapturously at the painting. When she opened her mouth to speak I anticipated black teeth. I was disappointed.

"Isn't absolutely fabulous," she sighed ecstatically. "The artist has captured so vitally the oppression of women in our patriarchal society. No man could possibly have painted that."

I stood and went closer to the painting. The artist's name was in the corner and it read, "Arthur Stiggles". "Strange name for a woman," I thought, as I returned to the seat. I said nothing to my sable companion.

She prattled on not expecting any response from me, and simply enjoying the sound of her own voice and what she no doubt thought her own cleverness.

Half an hour must have passed, and I began to wonder about Carla. Excusing myself to the girl, I left her still talking, this time to no one, and went in search of Carla.

I did not find her in any of the rooms, but as I passed through the massive hallway I saw her at some distance with Jeremy and two other men going out through the front door.

This exit seemed rather strange, so I walked in pursuit of them. I got to the front door to see Carla climbing into the back of closed van with one man, and Jeremy and the other man in the front seat.

The engine was running so I quickened my pace and called "Hey, what's going on."

A grinning Jeremy struck his head out of the open window of the van, and as the vehicle began to move, he called out, "Don't worry, we're just looking after little wifey for you. Don't go away, be back soon."

I tried to run after the van, but it picked up speed and disappeared down the drive.

I was confused and frustrated. Carla had not seemed to be under any coercion getting into the van, in fact she had been laughing, and I felt sure she had actually seen me but had pretended not to.

I sat on the stone steps that led up to the front door, thinking perhaps Jeremy had meant it when he said, be back soon."

An hour passed and it was approaching midnight. People were beginning to drift away from the exhibition, many of them drunk.

I went inside and started to make inquiries about Jeremy. I wanted to know who he was and where he might have gone with Carla. Most seemed to know him, but only raised their eyebrows and said inane things like, "Hmm, darling, Carla must be having as good time."

As I went around asking my questions I came upon one couple copulating in a passage standing up, the woman against the wall. I opened a door to find two couples having sex on the floor.

There seemed to be no one who was willing or able to help. I went back to the steps and sat waiting, not knowing what to do.

The last of the people left, and a man who looked as if he was an official of some sort came out.

"I'm locking up now," he growled.

I replied, "Humph."

"You gonna wait here all night?"

"I'm waiting for my wife, she's gone off somewhere."

It was his turn to humph. He went off and I heard a car start, and he drove past me going down the drive.

I was beginning to panic. I thought I might go to the police, but what could I tell them. "My wife has gone off quite happily with three men in a van"? They would laugh at me.

It must have been about three thirty in the morning when I saw the van's headlights swing into the drive, focusing on me at it approached.

I stood up and went to meet it, and it pulled up in front of me.

Jeremy, clad only in his jeans, stepped out.

"Where the hell have you been, and where's Carla?"

"Don't get your knickers in a knot, Peter darling, she's very happy," he sneered.

The backdoor of the van swung open and the other two men got out. Like Jeremy, they too wore only jeans.

"Where's Carla," I asked again in a fury."

"Calm down, sweetheart," Jeremy said derisively. "She's nice and comfortable in the back, go and see."

I walked to the open back door of the van and looked in. The sight that met my eyes stunned me.

In the overhead light of the van I saw items of male and female clothing scattered across the floor. Carla, naked, was partially propped up against the back of the seat, her eyes half closed and mouth hanging open slightly.

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