The Faces of Freida Fay McBeal

When I started undressing Frieda Fay, she just stood there and watched me undo the buttons on her blouse. She still had her shoulders hunched forward, so it wasn't easy slipping it down her arms. Once I'd tossed it on the foot of the bed, I stroked back up her arms to her shoulders and she shivered.

"Are you cold", I asked.

"No, I just never felt anything like that before. It feels good."

"Still want to do this?"

"Yes, more than anything I've ever wanted before."

I unhooked her bra then, and when I slipped the straps from her shoulders, I cupped her breasts and fondled them gently. Frieda Fay caught her breath when my thumbs touched her nipples.

"Oh...I didn't know it could feel like this."

"I didn't know your breasts would be so nice either."

I bent down and licked the tip of her right nipple. Frieda Fay moaned and pushed my face into her breast, then moaned again when I closed my lips around it and sucked gently.

She liked the sucking part better than the licking part, and she held my head to her breasts while I undid the button and zipper of her jeans. I had to move away to pull them down her legs, but as soon as I raised back up, she pulled my face to her breasts again.

I let her keep me there while I rolled the panties down her hips, but pulled away again to pull them down to her feet. When I raised back up, I kissed her while cupping her soft hips and then gently pushed her back on the bed. I pulled her jeans and panties off the rest of the way, took off my own clothes and then joined her.

I like foreplay, and I was taught what women like by two. One was a grad student in Accounting when I was a senior and we had a fantastic semester. I was living in an apartment by then, and Sharon usually spent the weekends with me. Sharon wasn't backward about telling me what she liked, and once I'd learned those things, she wasn't backward about telling me how it felt.

The second was Marilyn, a woman I met on a job site. She was an electrician with a very healthy libido and was a little more direct in telling me what she wanted. "Suck my tits now", she'd moan, and a little later, when she was starting to wiggle around on the finger I was using to rub her clit, she'd gasp, "Oh, fuck. Stick your cock in me".

When the job ended, she moved on to a job in Wisconsin. I, of course, stayed where I was. Both were great in bed and taught me a lot about how women like to be touched, but I always had the feeling that some of the ways they acted was just that - acting. They were doing what they thought I'd expect them to do. There were just too many moans and too many words like, "Oh yeah, Jack. Do that again."

I knew Frieda Fay wasn't acting. She didn't know enough about sex to know how she should act, and I don't think she had enough control to act anyway. Her body was just doing what it felt like doing and Frieda Fay was just letting it do what it wanted to do.

At first, she just laid there while I stroked her skin. When I touched her inner thigh though, she sighed. As that touch went higher and higher, I started nibbling from her breasts down her soft tummy. My fingers and my lips touched hair at the same time, and Fried Fay gasped as I stroked her soft, puffy outer lips.

She gasped again when my fingertip slipped between those lips, and her hips rocked a little. I felt her hand start stroking my back. When I slipped that finger down and then inside her, I felt her fingers curl and then the tingling sensation of her nails on my back. I slipped that finger back out and up, and Frieda Fay moaned.

Between using one finger stroke her passage, lips and the little button at the top of her slit, and moving back up enough to nibble on her stiff, swollen nipples, I'd already aroused myself to the point I was more than ready. I wanted to make sure Frieda Fay was ready too, so I added another finger to the one sliding in and out of her entrance, then curled them both up to the little pad just inside her and gently massaged. Frieda Fay gasped, then moaned, then spread her thighs a little more.

I kept doing that until I was sure she was wet enough I wouldn't hurt her. When she was, I gently opened her thighs and knelt between them.

Frieda Fay looked down over her breasts and tummy, and I saw fear in her expression.

"Will it hurt", she asked.

"No, Frieda Fay, it won't hurt. I won't let it hurt you."

I didn't push my cock inside her at first. I move the swollen head between her lips until it felt slippery. When my cock head probed for and then found her entrance, I felt Frieda Fay tense up. She couldn't close her thighs because I was kneeling between them but she tried. I whispered, "Just relax. I won't hurt you", then leaned forward and sucked her nipples again while I used my fingertip to gently rub the hood over her clit.

It took me a long time to get my cock all the way inside Frieda Fay, but I intended for that to take a long time. I'd just push in gently, then pull back, then push in a little farther. When I was half-way inside her, Frieda Fay sighed and opened her thighs wide. When the base of my cock finally pressed her lips flat against her inner thighs, Frieda Fat moaned and started pulling on my ass.

My cock isn't all that big, but Frieda Fay was still a snug fit. I couldn't stroke very fast or I'd have lost it, so I kept my strokes slow and deep. For a while, I heard her making little mewing noises, but shortly, I felt her hips starting to rock up when I stroked in and then relaxing enough I had to be careful or I'd have pulled my cock all the way out. A little while later, that rocking became Frieda Fay straining to get my cock deeper. It didn't help because I already had my cock buried as deep inside her as I could.

It did start pushing me to the point of no return though, so I slipped my right hand under her hip and up beside my cock so I could reach her clit. It wasn't hiding anymore. The satin smooth tip had swelled out of its hood, and when I stroked it gently, it was like I'd touched Frieda Fay with a live wire.

She gasped, arched up, and then started to shake. She kept shaking when I pulled back, and then moaned when I pushed my cock back in. After three more strokes, she dug her nails in my back, and made a little shriek. The next stroke was more than I could take. I let my fingertip flutter over Frieda Fay's little button, pushed my cock deep, and then let go. As the spurt raced up my cock and inside Frieda Fay, she cried out, arched as high off the bed as she could, and her hips started rocking up and down over my cock. She stayed arched up and rocking her hips like that until I'd shot my last, and made another little cry when I started stroking my cock in and out again.

After a few more strokes, she gasped, then gasped again, and then pulled me down with her as she eased back down onto the mattress. She didn't say anything and neither did I. I was just enjoying the feeling of the little contractions in her passage massaging my softening cock.

When it did slip out of her, I rolled to her side, pulled her close and kissed her. Frieda Fay just sort of melted into me, and this time, she didn't fumble with the kiss. It was a kiss that told me fate did have a reason for bringing us together.

When she pulled away, I saw she had tears in her eyes, so I asked her what was wrong. She wiped her eyes with her hands, and her voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"Are you going to leave now?"

I kissed her on the forehead, then stroked her cheek.

"If you want me to, I will, but I don't want to. I hope you don't want that either."

Frieda Fay hooked her thigh over me, wiggled close enough I felt wet hair brush my leg, and then kissed me again. When she pulled away, there were more tears in her eyes.

"I don't want you to leave, not ever. Please stay."

No, we didn't get married right away like they always did in the romance novels Mom used to read. We had a lot of things to talk about before that happened. One of the things we had to talk about is love. I found that out the day she explained that first painting that brought us together.

"The two people are my mother and father, and I painted the picture after they were dead. I didn't paint them so you could really see them, because they were only there in my mind. I'm swinging between them because that's how it was living at home."

I asked her why she felt it was that way.

"I wasn't a baby they wanted. They had to get married because my father got my mother pregnant. I heard about that ever since I can remember, how I'd caused all their troubles. My mother said that's why my father drank, and I know that's why she was so religious. That church told her women are evil, and I think going to church all the time was her way of trying to not be evil like she thought she was. She said if I did what she did, I'd be evil too and end up the same way.

In my painting, they're pushing the swing, but instead of doing that because they want to make me happy, they keep pushing me away from them. That's why the girl isn't smiling. I never smiled at home."

I stroked her hair.

"You smile all the time now."

Frieda Fay looked at the floor, then up at me.

"Does that mean I love you? I don't know how love is supposed to feel."

I kissed her on the forehead and then stroked her cheek.

"I think it's different for everybody, but if you smile all the time, I'm pretty sure you at least like me. The other thing is...Frieda Fay, I can't compare you to other women because you're so different, but when we make love...I don't think you'd be like you are if you only liked me."

"I just do what you make me feel like doing."

"I know, and that's the difference. It's like we aren't two people then. We're like...well, it's hard to describe how it makes me feel."

Frieda Fay smiled.

"I didn't know how to say it either, but I painted it. Wanna see it?"

Almost all of the paintings Frieda Fay had done but wouldn't show anybody were done on a background of black or very dark gray. This one started out with a black background on the left side, but that began to change. It went from black to gray to a pale blue, then to a brilliant blue and then into a white that was almost blinding in intensity. The figures in the painting weren't difficult to understand.

In the dark black section was a woman with long, blonde hair and she looked like she was crying. That face faded away into streaks of color and then came back in the gray section, this time joined by a man's face who could only have been me. Those two images faded back into streaks and then appeared in the pale blue section with bodies, but the bodies were a little hazy.

They were both nude and lying down and embracing, though because they weren't very clear, that was about all I could determine. When those bodies changed into the brilliant blue section, it wasn't because they faded and then came back. What Frieda Fay had painted was a gradual increase in clarity that clearly showed both their bodies locked together. They were kissing, and splayed out onto the blue field were splashes of bright red, brilliant green, yellow that seemed to vibrate, and pink so soft it looked like if you touched it, it would feel like a wisp of cotton.

In the white section, both the man and the woman were walking away, hand in hand, towards a tiny lavender dot.

I'd been able to figure out everything except the last two sections, though I had a pretty good idea about the blue sections. Frieda Fay held my hand as she explained the painting.

"The black part is me when I was sad all the time. In the gray part, you found me and made me feel better. I was still sad, but only when I wasn't with you. The pale blue part, that's that night when you started to make love to me that first time. It was like everything started to feel right, and the more things you did, the more right it felt.

"The bright blue section is how I felt right at the end of that time, and the way I still feel when we're together. It's like I can't see that black time anymore. All I can see are colors that keep flying through my mind and they get stronger the longer we're together.

"The white part, that's us being happy together."

I asked her about the lavender dot, and she squeezed my hand.

"I don't know what that is. I just painted it thinking it should be there, and I picked lavender because it's a combination of blue, red, and white. I think blue is happy, red is sad, and white is what lets us see everything else. Maybe it's our future. I'm really not sure."

I have that painting hanging on the wall of the spare bedroom we converted into my office. It's there to remind me of the many faces of Frieda Fay McBeal. She still signs her paintings as Frieda Fay McBeal, but her driver's license says Frieda Fay Mason, because we married a year after that first night in her house.

There are several more of her paintings hanging in my office. After six years together, I'm still finding more faces of Frieda Fay. She has a lot of trouble expressing how she feels about something, a trait both Debbie and Brittany told me is common to very talented artists.

I met them both at our wedding, and they come to visit sometimes. Debbie now works as an artist for a greeting card company, and she usually brings her partner, Melody, with her. Brittany still lives in her old farm house, raises chickens and goats, and sells her paintings. I've found all three women to be very much like Frieda Fay.

Because Frieda Fay has difficulty expressing herself with words, her paintings are her way of telling me how she's feeling and what she wants. It was a little difficult to get used to that at first. Engineers are pretty "black or white" type people with little room for gray areas. I've learned that artists operate mostly in those gray areas and have difficulty speaking in definite terms. It's only though their work they can put their real feelings out there.

Frieda Fay still paints landscapes and she still sells her work, but now it's at several galleries instead of just the gallery at the university. She doesn't have to work because I make enough money we could live comfortably, but I've never suggested she should stop. Painting is her reason for being, her reason to keep on living, though I know I'm part of those reasons now. I think another reason is starting to take shape in Frieda Fay's mind as well.

I never ask to see what she's working on, but she'll always show me when she's done. Last night she asked if I'd like to see what she'd painted over the last two days.

The painting was about the same as the one where we were walking hand in hand toward that lavender dot, only this time, the dot was flesh tone and had a face. It was a very small, round face, but it was easy to figure out what it was. I hugged Frieda Fay, and whispered, "does this mean what I think it means".

Like always, she didn't really answer me. She just said, "I don't know yet. It just seemed like it belonged in the painting so I put it there."

I don't know if Frieda Fay is ready for a baby yet, but I know she'll tell me if and when she is. She won't just come out and say, "I want to have a baby". No, it will be with another painting, one with two people who will be her and me, and a third little person who seems to materialize out of thin air.

Well...it will be something like that anyway. Every time I try to figure out what she's going to paint, I find out I'm wrong because there's another face of Frieda Fay I've not yet seen. Some men would find that frustrating, not being able to predict what their wife was going to do. I just think it keeps life interesting.