No Consequences Pt. 02

We watched, me with a tinge of fascination. It was hard to believe that a stick figure could be so erotic, but she was, a little bit, with her stiff nipples, her straight pubic hair and the glow she couldn't hide from being well and truly fucked over. She had been the centre of it all; all of it was meant to be a cram course for her in sexual histrionics. The woman looked like she enjoyed every minute of it, or if not enjoyed, appreciated, an appreciation she couldn't keep from her face and body language which now so articulated made the girl seem more a woman, a confident, well-contented woman who now knew herself just a little bit better and welcomed the self-recognition.

"You're going to lick her ass," Kon said, watching her.

I looked at her. "What do you mean?" Who licks an ass?

"We're going to lie her down, you're going to spread her cheeks and lick her ass, it's the one thing we haven't done yet."

"Ah, no I'm not," I said shocked and with absolute finality.

"Yes you are. I love it, a sex life without that is half a sex life, not something I'll settle for... and you shouldn't either. It's fabulous. Do it; she'll be clean, watch her go nuts."

My head was swirling yet again as she was drying herself grinning at us then, placing the towel on the back of a chair, she leaned over to pick up her underwear. Before she got a chance Kon grabbed her wrist and pulled her down. "Just one more thing, OK?" She directed her to lie on the pillows she had bunched up for the occasion, her ass to be at the top of the soft mountain. When she had obediently lay down — honestly, she had absolute and total trust in Kon, Kon moved closer to her and held up her own left breast — Lilly had been nursing on them every chance she got. "Lick her," she said to me, then she fed Lilly her breast and I became as obedient as Lilly.

She has a cute ass, small, with nicely defined cheeks. I didn't know that this was done, never mind how to do it but how many variables are there? I leaned down and had no difficultly pressing my face against one of her muscular cheeks and no difficulty kissing it and then, as emotions started to rise in me, base emotions, lustful,emotions, I licked her then, as it built, licked lightly a few times between her cheeks, then, without thinking, as if it was just an obvious next step I spread her cheeks and touched her with my tongue. She jumped, no doubt in shock, but only once, then she melted into the mattress and moaned and she followed Kon's directions and brought her fingers down to her pussy, rose up on her knees and surrendered

Kon was stroking her hair while I licked and sucked. "Your dad is just below us, not three feet away. This one's for him, OK? Send him a message."

She thrashed on the pillows, fucking her fingers and sucking and slurping Kon's breast as I did the same to her ass. I had settled in for a session that wasn't to be. She came in about three minutes, came with a thunderous joy I'm certain she would remember for a lifetime and then Kon twisted her over, directed me to kneel between her open legs then came over and stroked me for a minute obviously aiming me at Lilly's non-existent chest.

There wasn't much left in me, just a little blob and a few creamy poka dots of the stuff. Kon reached out with a finger and spread my offering around her nipples, grinning. "If things work out with this guy I'll be moving in with him... somewhere... and if I do I want you to have this apartment, I'll sublet it to you cheap and I'm going to help you pay for school"... she was about to protest but Kon slapped her on the shoulder, "that is not up for debate." She looked at me. "Her dad treats her like his slave; she wants to be an occupational therapist, I'm... we're going to see she gets there." She looked down at Lilly whose joy seemed to have vanished. "You're going to do as you're told, Lill. Now put on you bra and don't wash off his cum until tonight. You're a fabulous woman, you've got to get away from that guy. Promise? No more fucking with us until you do."

A resolve seemed to appear where their had been doubt. "I wouldn't be able to pay you back, not for years."

"If you get your degree," Kon grinned mischievously, "and show up when we call, you don't have to pay us back ever, not a penny."

Lilly was putting on her minimalist bra, a tear rolling out from her squinting eye.

I took her by the arm and gently leaned into her. "You don't have to come when we call, she was just kidding about that."

"I'll come whenever she calls, l always will, she means everything to me."

I thought there would be a de-brief, a critical analysis or maybe just a comment but there wasn't, not immediately anyway. As Lilly left, Kon stepped into the shower and I tidied up; as I showered Kon dressed; as I dressed Kon left. I met her downstairs outside the shop.

It wasn't just the gums, I didn't like the way she dressed either. The underwear, for sure. Even after I told her it mattered to me and bought her some nice stuff, she was still wearing the plain cotton that I found a turn-off. Like I was finding her walking gear a turn-off: I hate anyone in cammo, never mind a woman. But that's what she had on: cargo pants in cammo with a military-style green t-shirt that was cut low so I could see the top of the black jog bra I was learning to despise.

And I didn't much like her conversational skills either. She seldom sticks to a subject and when she does she tends to veer off the issue and poke fun at me. But most of the time she flits from one idea to another without a logical connection between them, like her speech pattern is a sequence of non sequiturs. And she has this really annoying habit of bringing sex into the conversation at random points, but when I try to find out what she's thinking she buggers off into something else leaving me with more uncertainty than I already had... and the beginnings of a way too easily inspired erection.

But her ass looked great in those cammo cargo pants, I'll give her that, and she was pretty athletic and fit, having no problem booting it down the trail as if we were in a hurry. And when I told her I never like to talk when I walk she honoured that and shut up, which was nice... until I occasionally asked her something and she answered curtly with as few words as possible then let my question drop. That pissed me off.

"Is it ok to speak when we stop?" She couldn't have cared less about my answer. We were sitting at a small clearing with a great view of a lake far below us. "Just so you know, I think it sounds kind of stupid and insulting when you say people shouldn't talk while they're walking — it's kind of insulting to tell me to be quiet like that, to treat me like a child. You might have said, I like to think while I'm walking and let me figure out that you'd like to walk in silence."

I was about to argue when I looked over at her and saw a little gum and realized that, while she was making a point, she was also mocking me a little. She wanted me to argue with her, she wanted me to try and defend the indefensible... so I did. "I was merely stating a preference."

"You were telling me to shut up, just like you were telling me I shouldn't be living where I'm living; like you were telling me I shouldn't wear what I wear; like I shouldn't drive what I drive or breath the way I breath or all the other things I do to miss-live my life. Obviously, I'm in big need of a life coach... this coming from you, a guy who seldom leaves his house, who is hyper-critical of everyone and everything and who is obviously a snob."

"Ya, well, the super sensitive have a way of seeing shadows when it's totally sunny." I can be stupid when I'm not prepared.

"What does that even mean?"

She was obviously spoiling for a fight so I thought I'd give her one. "What was all that with Lilly about? I mean, really."

"About her getting laid, you probably don't care to help your friends... if you have any. I do."

"My sharing your... boyfriend." Fuck, I knew I just shot myself in the foot.

She grinned; I waited for it... but, caught hook, line and sinker, she let me swim away. "Did you see the difference in her? Walked in a frustrated virgin, walked out a mature woman... it was great to see."

That was it, topic exhausted — it was never about the kink, it was alway about the aid. I changed the subject. "You never told me why you write pornography, only that you love to watch it."

She grinned her full gums. "The life coach doesn't approved."

"Not at all, I was just wondering."

"Well, I did tell you: I just started a story one time and decided I liked it... the challenge, probably because, among other reasons, it's relatively easy to do. Writing erotica mean I don't have to solved a complex crime, I don't have to reach way inside my psyche to offer new truths or expose deep flaws — I don't have to anguish over every word. Instead, I can explore my sexuality, which is kind of fun and I really needed to anyway, and writing about sex has made me far more in touch with myself, made me a lot more able to understand people and society in ways I never could before — and be far more able to recognize pricks when I see them."

"You think I'm a prick?"

"I think you'd be a prick to me if I let you."

"And you're not going to let me?"

"I have so far." She grinned with the stab. "I have this one great fetish: I love to watch people hang themselves."

This pissed me off: she was the fucking stalker; I didn't ask her to show up. "How have I been a prick to you?"

She took another swig of water, threw the water bottle to me, a little harder than she needed to, then she got up. "Now that's something for me to think about as I walk in silence... something other than what motivates the main character of the story I'm writing to get in bed with a woman 40 years older than him."

She was heading down the trail before I got the dig.

The woman has irreversibly changed me. I looked at her a few days after the initial stalk and for the first time ever, I looked at and really tried to study... a woman. One woman, sure, but looking at her I was seeing all women. Before, they were just a version of a man to me, that's pathetic, I know but ever since that moment when I truly studied her, women have become an entirely different species.

She is smarter than me, I know that, and more intelligent — she understands how the world works far better than I'll ever be able to and as a libertine she is entirely comfortable just joining in to life where she wants. I'm thinking not just of the stalking thing here, and not just the lesbianism but all of it, she appears to have no self-censor while I'm riddled with it.

But she's loosening me up, I can feel it. When I studied her that time I saw how comfortable she is in her own skin and how sexy, with her big breasts, her bra struggling to contain her, her confident movement as if she had every right to stride her way through life. Two things came of that: first, I subsequently noticed that most women have this air of confidence as they go about their day where most men are much more hesitant, like they're pondering a few questions that need attention. And the second, because of her, I'm now looking at women much more critically and I'm starting to ogle... the tits, the asses, the everything, and I'm speculating about them. I've never done that before. It's fun, I'm feeling more alive than I ever have.

But feeling more stupid, too. How did she get to be so worldly, how come she seems to know me so well?

"You're a type," she said, as we sat on a bench an hour later and I asked her. "We're all types, you're just an easy one to read... I've worked your type through a few of my stories, I know you guys. You're shy, hardworking, inexperienced, remote, uninvolved, uninteresting but you could be, you just need someone to pull you out of the house, your insular world. That's where I come in." She got up and started walking.

"I don't think I've been a prick to you," I said when we finally got in the car.

"Nonsense, you think you're better than me, that's obvious every time you speak... in that condescending, I'm a famous writer, you're not, kind-of-way."

"That's ridiculous."

"And you don't think I'm up to your standards looks wise, either, that's obvious, too."

"That's bullshit, too."

"You haven't taken me anywhere except on a remote trail in a dark forest."

It was a public trail through a sunny meadow. "Ya, well, I was going to ask you to go to a writers' gala on Saturday night but I'm probably not going to now."

She looked at me as if this was a revelation. "You were not."

"I was so."

She buckled up. "So ask me. Prove it."

I don't know why I was so nervous. No, I did: what were people going to think of me, people I barely knew or didn't know at all. I had achieved an unexpectedly great reputation in the local literary scene and I was hoping to bask in that bright glow for one night but now, instead, I was showing up to the literary event of the year... with Konrada frigging Remp on my arm, no doubt in full gums for the fucking cameras. I hated myself for being inveigled into inviting her — she had played me for the fool I can be, but I hated myself even more for how I was feeling about her now. I knew she didn't deserve it and, goddam it, I thought I was better than this.

And then it got worse.

Just before we were leaving for my big event I was sitting at the kitchen table steeling my courage in a bottle of beer while beating myself up for inviting her — my one big fucking night! So my thoughts were elsewhere when she materialized in the kitchen doorway.

When I looked up an immediate bolt of shock raced through me. "You're going in THAT?" I could feel the shock ignite every nerve in my body. "Oh, no you don't."

"Oh, yes I do." When she turned and left I made up my mind then and there that we were not going, neither of us.

But we did go, that is, I did, alone in my own mind, but she was there beside me in the car, beside me as we climbed the long flight of steps to the convention hall and beside me when we entered the huge hall to join the milling throng. And then it no longer mattered: we were just spots of colour in a swirl of opulence, me in black tie and her in what can only be described as yellow, red and orange body paint — a kinky dress worthy of a Mardi gras.

If there is a crowd where I should be recognized, this was it... and, as it turned out, I was, and I was appreciated as I was pushed and pulled and plied for what may have been an hour until my agent, Carol Hattersley, finally came and got me to guide me over to my table. Only then did I remember Kon and looked around. I'd had a few glasses in me by then so, primed and pumped, the colours splashed on that body made her look like a fabulously tropical island in an otherwise somber sea. On a high, I reached out my hand to her and she took it.

Strange, isn't it, what a little booze can do? An hour ago, Kon might have been beside me but she didn't exist. Now, I had banished my agent and plunked Konrada Remp down in her place... then, all of the sudden, the frantic high from all the booze and attention dissipated and I was looking across at people I didn't know and sitting beside a woman who just didn't belong.

But these people were pros at this; they are anything but recluses. The guy across the table immediately to my right quickly engaged me and the woman beside him took on Kon.

The guy was great: fun, funny, with moments of creative profundity — I had to concentrate hard to stay with him. But it became hard, bloody hard and then impossible because I was soon paying more attention to the conversation beside me and I could tell he was, too and so was everyone else.

I had just heard snatches of it at first but then I clearly heard Kon say that she thought writing erotica should be required in the later stages of high school. But not just the writing classes, no, she made that abundantly clear: "You either learn about sex by doing it, all of it, or you learn about it by thinking about it, by testing yourself in how you might feel about it, how you imagine it, how you might handle all the body types, obesity, anorexia, deformity — all of it. I wish to God I had started writing about it when I was, say, 16 because it would have forced me to think about, not just sex, but alternative sexualities and relationships and racism — all of it... it would have forced me to work through it all... to humanize myself before I started developing my biases and that would have done me a whole world of good."

"But you can't expose kids to it that young can you? Society would never allow teachers to explore something like that." A woman off to Kon's right was leaning into the table to get closer, as fascinated as everyone else seemed to be.

"No, but what's wrong with telling kids to write about these important issues for themselves, to work through them, to get them to think about how they feel about them, then discuss or write about that? Seems to me it's absolutely vital."

Sometimes the complexity of a subject can take over an entire conversation and spread out like spilled water to wash over everyone. This was one of those and Kon, smart, bright, funny, concerned Kon, with her foot-long cleavage and form hugging splashes of colour was at the centre of it, intermittently furrowing her brow in concentration and glistening her gums in laughter. The courses came and went with the only respite from her holding court the hour and a half of speeches and awards, including mine, then it was back to the educational value of erotica until, thoroughly thrashed out by all, all agreed with her: erotica should be encourage at the high school level... and it should be included as a writing category in next year's ceremony!

We were about to disperse for the evening, sated with food and thought, when the woman across from Kon, clearly fascinated with her, asked Kon how she had met me. They were all leaving one moment, the whole table of them, then hey stuck to their seats the next. Kon tacked on another 15 minutes to the evening as she gave them a hilarious rendition of how she had stalked me, a rendition that had all the women laughing uncontrollably and all the men yearning.

It was officially over when she finished. When she stood up with all the others I noticed that the admiration in everyone's eyes was not so much a glint but a stare.

It was supposed to be my night.

I would have driven her directly home but her car was at my place and I didn't want her to show up tomorrow to get it so I headed to my house, putting off a vibe that she had no difficulty reading.

One of the reasons I avoid people is that I have a sullen side that can make me, Kon was right, a bit of a prick to be around, which, in turn, makes me disgusted with myself. And when my prick-ish side comes on, most times entirely irrationally, I have a hell of a time shaking it. Like tonight. When we got home I went directly to my bedroom, not even pointing out the spare bedroom to her, and I sulked as I stared up at the ceiling... for hours until I was forced to confront the reality that it would have been no evening at all without her, without her thoughtfulness, her cheerfulness, her gums and that fucking dress. But even then my self-disgust simmered for hours until it boiled over and I got up and slipped in beside her getting an erection the moment I spooned into her hot naked body.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"You don't respect me," she said, her voice, with not a hint of sleep in it, as condemning as a prosecutor's.

"I had a bad night, I can get like that, it had nothing to do with you."

"It had everything to do with me and you know it — according to you I'm not good enough for you; I don't know why you took me. Anyway, I was going to go to Europe when I left my job. I put that off for you. I can go now."