Living Works of Art Ch. 02

That last gratuitous insult coming from my daughter hurt, but I let it pass. "I'm with another woman now. She needs me, too."

"I know. You're with that tart Susan Hansen. Okay, she's very pretty, she's a little younger than Mom, and I'll bet she's a great fuck. Mom is too, though, from what I hear. Your tart Susan Hansen sleeps with men to get them to buy apartments. I guess you know that," she said, studying my face and reading my reactions.

"She's a real prize, she is," Samantha continued. "Do you know about her past?" Samantha did not wait for me to answer, but ploughed right on. "You know how she put herself through college? She went to Hunter College here in NY during the day and she made porn films in the evening. Did you know that?"

This time she could tell by studying my face that I had not known that. Not at all. I found it hard to believe.

"I've watched them. She was good! She's a very convincing actress. My boyfriend was so turned on after watching one with me we did it three times in a row!" Samantha was closely studying me now to see if I was shocked. I was, for so many reasons! if only just to hear her talk like that, her diction and confidence, the fact that she was sexually active, and of course it was a shock to learn that the woman I currently loved is a former porn star! Samantha wanted a rise out of me. I was not giving her one, though.

"Here," Samantha said as she handed me a flash drive. "One of her best movies is on the flash drive. Her screen name is just the one name 'Crissy'."

I managed to speak. "How do you know all this?"

"You're not the only one in the family who can hack computers and learn things, Dad. In some ways I take after you," Samantha said.

"I wasn't fucking my girlfriend at age sixteen," I said. Like you are now with your boyfriend was the unspoken part of that sentence,.

"Yes, you were. Her name was Melissa, and she was five feet tall with tits the size of Montana. You even knocked her up but you never knew that, did you?" Samantha said. She was still angry with me. "Don't worry; you're not a father by Melissa. She miscarried. Not all pregnancies end in births, you know."

"Forget about me and my sex life, Dad. Mom needs you. You abandoned her once when you went to Ghana. Maybe more than once, I'm a bit vague on the real details of the divorce. She needs you now. Sometimes I fear she becomes suicidal, but she'd never kill herself because of what it would do to me. It would, too. She just cries for hours and hours."

"She needs to see a doctor," I said.

"Dad, she sees two mental health doctors and she's on Prozac or something like it. Effexor, I think it's called. What she needs has a simpler name. It's Harry. You know I'm right."

We sat there. To do something I got up and went to the counter for a coffee refill. I asked Samantha if she wanted one and she declined. I returned and sat down.

"I've said my piece. Think about it, Dad. Please for the love of God talk to Mom. She still carries a torch for you. She needs you. She wants to fuck your brains out, I'm sure, if that matters to you. We're staying until the funeral plus two days, so you have some time. Go watch your love interest starring in one of the best porn movies ever made. A warning: the male lead has something like an eight-inch cock. Just in case you worry about feeling inadequate," and with that Samantha got up.

"One more thing. Don't you dare ever let Mom know we had this little tête-à-tête. It will be another nail in her coffin if she were to learn I did this. Dad, she needs you. I'm not kidding."

Samantha looked at me. She softened. "Dad, I'll forgive you and love you forever if you can make Mom well again. I want to hear my Mom giggle. It's been much too long since her last giggle. I want to hear Mom moan again while you fuck her as I did when I was ten. You must be very good in bed, or wherever the two of you do it. Of course, it probably helps that she loves you and adores you. God alone knows why! As you yourself always said to me when I was little, 'Life presents a lot of mysteries.' Mom's love for you is one of the big ones. See you, Dad."

With that she was off, leaving me alone in the coffee shop. The coffee shop was called Think Coffee and that's what I did. I sat there and thought. I thought, and thought some more. Then I went home and masturbated to the movie of my very own sexy Susan fucking her lustful heart out in the porno flick. Samantha was right. Either she was one hell of an actress, or she was really and truly into it.

Life is complicated. Mine was about to get very complicated. After the movie I poured myself a large glass of Kansas City Whiskey, adding the proper amount of ice. I sat in my favorite armchair and continued to think, waiting for Susan after her exhaustive day of showing the rich guy twelve apartments on the market. I wondered how many of the apartments she fucked him in? No man could fuck her in each and every one of the twelve of them. He'd have to call in reinforcements. Maybe he did? I'll have to ask her when she returns.

She did not return, however. She went back to her place and called to let me know. She purred into the phone. Was it a guilty purr from all the fucking, or was it the purr of love that I live for? Samantha had turned me into a suspicious monster.

The funeral was in three days. I had three days to figure out my life. I called Carol and suggested dinner. "With Samantha?" she asked.

"Sure, if she wants to join. If not, just the two of us is fine," I said.

We arranged to meet at her hotel at 6 PM, and to take it from there. I made reservations anyway. It's always a good idea for the man to have a plan for the evening. When I laid eyes on her I fell head over heels for her yet again. Carol has that power.

It's some sort of magical animal magnetism. I see her in person and I fall for her all over again, each and every time. When I got to the hotel and saw Carol this time it was no exception. I knew it would happen and yet I was surprised by its intensity.

Samantha was there to give me her regrets, and this time she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I watched the sexy ass of my very own daughter walk away, wiggling. I stood there, shaking my head.

"She's quite a girl, our daughter," Carol said.

"So's her mother," I said, squeezing Carol's equally delectable ass. We grabbed a taxi waiting at the hotel precisely for people like us. "Rouge Tomate in Chelsea," I told the cabbie. "Do you know it?"

I looked at Carol with new eyes as she showed off quite a bit of leg getting into the taxi. I saw the blushing young woman I had fallen in love with so long ago. Carol was nervous and vulnerable. She was scared. Her usual take charge veneer she always kept up as a defensive shield was gone. The real Carol was there in front of me, baring her soul right in front of me. She's also baring a hell of a lot of cleavage, too, as well as a hell of a lot of leg, I thought as I felt a little twitch down there.

"No, but Google Maps sure does. Fasten your seat belts, please," the cabbie replied. Good advice, I thought. I was in for a wild ride.

Rouge Tomate is a fancy restaurant with a casual veneer. It's in Chelsea, on W. 18th Street, between 6th and 7th Avenues, closer to 6th. We got there fairly quickly. We were seated in the window facing East 18th Street. Carol's chair was such that people on the street could look right up her skirt if she let her legs drift apart. We felt exposed.

People, usually couples, kept stopping to study the menu posted nearby but I noticed the men kept stealing glances at us. I figured they were looking up Carol's skirt. I put my hand on her knee and sure enough her legs were reasonably far apart.

"Up to your old exhibitionist tricks, my love?" I asked.

"Oh Harry! You used the L word," Carol said. She looked radiantly happy.

"Carol, you know I love you. I always have, and I always will. I wish we had never divorced," I said. "I wish all that ugliness never happened. I wish..."

Caro leaned forward across the table giving me and anybody else well positioned a lovely look down her dress. The woman has cleavage to die for. The man outside who had been looking up her skirt was now enjoying the view down her dress. His date pulled him away. She was annoyed. Carol saw the street scene and she giggled.

I made a mental note to let Samantha know that her Mom, my Carol, had giggled.

"I love you, too, Harry. Wishing away the divorce won't help. Maybe we can start over?" Carol said.

"I'm with a new woman now. Susan Hansen," I said.

"The former porn star known as Crissy?" Carol asked, Usually she's not so bitchy. Samantha had prepped her, I guessed.

"Yes, that's the one. I didn't know about her porn star past until quite recently, I must confess," I said. "Susan and I haven't yet discussed it."

"Maybe Crissy can act out some of her moves with you. Samantha tells me she is quite the flexible little minx, or at least she was twenty years ago," my newly catty former wife said.

"I do believe you are jealous!" I said to Carol.

"I was jealous of your little Ghanaian love interest Fifi, and of course now I'm jealous of Susan!" she said. "I'm jealous of all your tarts. Each and every one of them. I want to be the only woman who spreads her legs for you, my hunk of a man."

"Have you of all people suddenly become monogamous?" I asked. "That's quite a change, I must say."

Carol blushed. She played nervously with her napkin. She knew I was jabbing her about her rather pronounced tendency towards promiscuity. Of course, it's possible she has aged out of promiscuity. It's easy in your twenties and thirties to seduce lots of men but perhaps it's harder in your forties and fifties? Frankly, I had no idea.

"No," she said. "I can't deal with monogamy or with women as property. I don't care about our Judeo-Christian heritage and all that crap. What I care about is you, Harry Potter, and you believe in monogamy. Isn't that what our divorce boiled down to in the end?"

I thought about what she said for a few minutes.

"Yes, I guess so. I couldn't handle you sleeping with so many men while I was in Ghana, and even after my return," I said.

"That was because you abandoned me, you idiot. You know how much I need sex all the time. Besides, you were sticking it to Fifi and who knows who else over there in Africa. You know, I never asked you. Are African women good in bed?" Carol said.

"They're good in bed, on the floor, in the bath, outdoors, and all sorts of other places, too. Happy?" I said. I was sensitive about Fifi. I had no business having an affair with her while I was married to Carol thousands of miles away. It contributed to destroying my life and also Fifi's. It was a selfish thing to do.

To be without a woman however for three long years was just not viable for me back then. I had wanted Carol to come with me, and she might have had it not been for Samantha. In actuality though, going to Ghana with its constant dangers of malaria and yellow fever did not tempt Carol. I understood.

Fifi was something else. Trained from the age of nine to balance baskets on her head she had unbelievable posture. You should have seen her boobs when she stood up straight, which was all the time. I'm not sure how she learned to fuck so spectacularly. My only explanation is that the men in Ghana are sexually demanding of their women. They train them well and there is no question I benefited. I still to this day get hard when I think about the positions and little tricks Fifi had mastered. What a babe she was! The only woman who came close to her is Carol.

I think it boils down to loving sex. Nobody ever loved sex more than Fifi. Carol takes a strong second. Now I was thinking about how much I had enjoyed making love with Carol over the years. I thought about all the idiotically risky places we had gotten it on. We had been 'caught' more than once, too. Luckily, we were never caught by the police!

Carol interrupted my ruminations. "Harry? Wake up. The waiter is here for our dessert orders."

After dinner we took a taxi back to Carol's hotel. We called the room from the lobby to let Samantha know we were coming up. Samantha met us at the door, kissed her Mom and kissed me too on the cheek and announced, "I'm going down to the hotel bar. They don't check ID at this hotel. Have fun, lovebirds!" and off she went in her remarkably short skirt before we could say anything.

Carol looked at me. "Kids," she said, blushing. She shyly looked at her feet. I had no idea who was more nervous, Carol or me?

"Want to play truth or dare?" Carol said. I said okay. It was a good way to break the ice. It was a game for teens and we were decades beyond that age, but still.

"Truth or dare?" I said to Carol.

"Dare," she replied.

"I dare you to strip naked in the window," I said.

Carol giggled. "You're so predictable, Harry," and she stripped so fast my head was swimming. She left her panties on.

"Panties too," I said.

Carol looked me in the eye. "You sure, lover?"

"I'm sure." The panties went down. Carol put a couple of fingers inside and sucked them in her mouth.

"I'm already wet for you, big boy," she said. "Now it's your turn."

"Dare," I said.

Carol smiled. "Strip naked in the window and get hard for me," Carol said.

I was already hard. Carol saw this when I stripped. "Good boy," she said.

We looked at each other. "Samantha expects fireworks, doesn't she?" I said.

"It'd be a pity to disappoint her. You know how children love fireworks," Carol replied.

I walked towards Carol as she walked towards me. When our bodies were flush one against the other with my cock pressed against Carol's tummy I put my arms around her and pulled her hard against me. Carol's head leaned back, her eyes closed, and I kissed her lips. Carol moaned softly and we kissed like that for quite some time.

As we kissed my hands roamed over her naked back. Her skin was so soft and yielding to my touch. The curves of her hips were perfect, her shoulders met her neck gracefully, and her silken hair hung just a little down her back. I broke the kiss and pushed her a little from me so that I could gaze at her gorgeous boobs and erect nipples, floating above a nice flat tummy.

How did she have such a great body at her age? Good genes, I guess. "Are you really wet?" I asked, as my fingers went down to the source. Ronald Reagan always said, "Trust, but verify." I trusted her, but the fun is in the verification.

Of course, Reagan also said, "It's silly talking about how many years we will have to spend in the jungles of Vietnam when we could pave the whole country and put parking stripes on it and still be home by Christmas." So maybe he's not really a man I want to quote.

Carol moaned as I fingered her. After a while she crumpled down to the floor. Her hotel had a nice plush rug so I joined her on the floor. I kissed her boobs and then raised her legs in the air pushing them back to her head. Carol was still the flexible little wench I had married so many years ago. Her pussy and asshole were exposed to me. What a choice!

Okay, so nine times out of ten I'm a boring traditionalist and this was yet another one of those times. I stuck my cock at the entrance to her pussy. This was her chance to back out. Boy was she not taking it! She actually scooted her body forward 'forcing' my cock to enter it. "Don't tease me you bastard. Give it to me!"

How can you not love an attitude like that? I plunged all the way into that wonderful pussy I already knew so well. Carol reacted as if it were our first time. She was groaning and panting as I pumped, rising up to meet every thrust and coaxing a maximum effort out of my sixty-two years old bones. One bone in particular, I might add. "Give it to me, Harry! Oh God do I need you! Oh yes, just like that. You were always the best. Oh MY!" she exclaimed as she climaxed.

That was fast! I took it as a big complement that I was 'the best.' She had a huge sample to compare me with, I was sure. She started fucking at a young age and never slowed down all through college and graduate school. Like the store name, she fucked in bed, in the bath, and in the beyond. I especially liked it when we did it in the beyond, you know?

As I continued plowing her, I was reminiscing in my mind of past wonderful times we had shared. My favorite was that time in the airplane bathroom at 35,000 feet. Another time we did the deed on a hotel balcony in the middle of Manhattan. Carol was naked, too. I knew with Carol I could have her anywhere, any time. The only constraint on my little wife was my own imagination. How did I ever manage to blow that relationship?

Fucking ambition, that was the enemy. The three years in Ghana made my career. I'm now a quasi-wealthy man. I'm a successful man. I have an ex-wife who loves me and a former porn star girlfriend who loves me. With that thought I lost it and squirted my heart into the depths of my fragile little sex machine of an ex-wife.

Carol was kissing my chest and telling me she loved me. I love when she does that. I suspect she does it to all the men she fucks. It's a charming trait for a lover to have. Of course, in my case I knew she meant it and it was not just the sex speaking. I knew Carol loves me. I love Carol. That's not the problem, is it? No, it's not.

"I should go. I'll let Samantha know the coast is clear," I said.

"Ask her to give me ten minutes before returning to the room, okay? And don't you dare leave without kissing me!" Carol said.

I smiled. "I wouldn't think of it." I bent down and kissed her.

"I meant on the lips, lover," Carol said as she giggled at my kisses on her boobs, my little gentle bites on her nipples, and my kissing of the region between her legs. "But I guess whatever floats your boat, Harry, is okay."

"You've got my boat seriously floating Carol. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?" I said, and we kissed slowly and intimately before I left.

Down at the hotel bar Samantha was working on her second glass of cabernet while some twenty-something junior executive with a garish tie was talking her up. When she saw me coming she said something to the man hoping for a little action from Samantha and he turned beet red and slinked away.

"I told him I'm jailbait," she said to my questioning face. "That works most times."

"What happens when it doesn't work?" I asked.

"Some men are just not risk averse, you know? You don't want to know what happens. Daughters and Dads don't discuss such things," Samantha said. She was so much like her mother!

"Carol asked for ten minutes before you return," I said, relating Carol's message.

"Was she good? Did she moan?" Samantha asked.

"Daughters and Dads don't discuss such things," I said.

"Make an exception, Daddy. I need to know," Samantha said. Samantha had some sort of bizarre daughter power over me, especially pronounced when she called me "Daddy." I could not refuse her.

"Yes, she was good. She moaned. She was loud, too," I said. I don't blush, but if I did, I would have been blushing as I spoke those words.

"Good for you, Dad. I knew I could count on you. When I'm eighteen I hope to find a man who can drive me to distraction and to involuntary moans," Samantha said, and she winked at me. If I did not know better, I'd have thought she was coming on to me, her own father!

I said goodnight. We kissed each other's cheeks and I left. When I was at the door I turned around and Samantha was sitting at the bar continuing to drink her glass of red wine. The man with the garish tie had returned and his hand was on Samantha's thigh as she sat there. I could see her reflection in the mirror of the bar behind the bottles. She was smiling. She was looking right at me via the mirror as his hand began to move up her thigh and under her obscenely short skirt. She made no protest and his hand stayed up under her skirt. I noticed her legs had parted slightly.