Toy Soldier Pt. 02

I broke in, laughing. "No it isn't, as you age it'll just get better, what I'm worried about is that I won't be able to resist the temptation of making love to your corpse."

The words just hung there for a moment as surreally stupid things do but, for some reason, no one thought this crude, they all laughed, like really laughed so if ice needed to be broken, that broke it. In fact, we laughed for the rest of the evening, she has a delightful laugh, white even teeth, her mouth slightly open, her hand often going up in a failed attempt to conceal her joy, her pitch a little higher than you might expect but it is filled with fun, a joy noticed not just by me.

"Does your sister know?"

We were having a drink in my cramped apartment — we had dropped Kino off at her's.

"Oh god no, she'd be more weirded out than you are ... you ought to see the looks we get ... the only place we feel comfortable is in the gay quarter, we're getting a place there, making friends."

My dad asked his first question, there would be others. "Just because you're hooked up with one older woman does that mean that you ... as Jimmy Carter once said, have lust in your heart for all?"

"It means that I find women like that," I pointed at my mother, now looking decidedly less stern, "attractive in ways other men don't."

"What?" she said, "the wrinkles?"

"And the sagging," I smiled.

"Then you'd love me."

I stood, walked the few paces over, pulled her, slightly shocked, to her feet and held her, tight, for the first time ever, enjoying the feeling of her body pressing into mine. "I love you mum, thanks for understanding." I let her go, stood back, mimicked her stern look. "You do understand."

She smiled. "Yes, anyone would. We older women can be utterly irresistible."

She said it might hurt a bit but not much and it didn't, but it did take time, first face down on a massage table then sitting back to front on a chair, leaning over the back of it, at least my breasts were leaning over it which made for a little discomfort with the comings and goings in the relatively small cubical — other artists needed to see the emerging creation.

This is audacious, I had time to reflect on that as she concentrated in silence — this, after all, is for her to live with, it would be sightless to me. So, yes, this is audacious but it isn't impulsive, I would never regret it because, I told myself, even if this didn't work out the ink will remind me that for once in my life I made a commitment to something real, not fictitious, I will have tried as hard as I can, I will have jumped in with everything I have ... and I have a lot — my parents left me very, very wealthy, but with no ideas, absolutely no ideas on what to spend it on. I had one now.

Delicate, that's how I was feeling and I didn't feel that way very often.

She laughed at that as I sat gingerly upright on the bus. My hand in her's. She put it there. It was as casual an act as I've ever experienced, my own one moment, her's the next, in her lap, her thumb massaging the back. I am out and tatted and about to be pierced, the question is where? Nipples are out ... so is the vagina.

Her apartment has two bedrooms, that surprised me as did the roommate who was black, also, and attractive and anxious for her to clear out. The reason was there, too, staring at Tosha, lustfully, I thought, a guy who had to be 6'7". The last of her stuff took up two suitcases and two boxes which the dude carried down to the waiting cab.

"You weren't with that girl?"

She didn't know what I meant.

"You weren't in a relationship with her?"

"I've never been in a relationship with anyone."

"Why not?"

She shrugged — she has naturally cute mannerisms, this was one of them, the innocence ... like a black widow spider it felt.

I couldn't lift so she pressed the driver into service whom I lavishly tipped and we were finally standing in the train room watching Murph hunched over, looking up at us, smiling, grinning, exuding life ... I would have gone to him right then and there if this was a few days ago, I know I would, I would have touched his back and ...

Tosh got him to help her move the stuff to the bedroom next to mine, her dressing room, while I went to the kitchen to make dinner.

She hooks her hand into the top of my pants when I'm at the stove or sink, she seems to do it every time, standing watching connecting, she doesn't try to force her fingers down, they're just poking in a bit and her breast is often rubbing against my arm.

This is your first relationship? How much sex have you had, with who, when, where, what's really going on here? I have straight short hair cut in a page boy, it's the only way my hair stays manageable — I hate the look, I've tried countless others but it's the only way my hair will cooperated. She pinches at the side of it, not so much tugs at it but absently pinches as if to straighten it and she's always feeling a breast, rubbing her face against it, feeling my ass, rubbing it, too — she's going to be one to slip her hand in my back pocket like kids do if I ever wear pants with a back pocket. This all seems genuine, like the way she touched my belly, fondling it while she applied the ink.

Subdued, that's what she has become, like she's on some mood altering drug ... that makes her grin at me. We set up her studio where, news to me, the lighting made the room as brilliant at night as the sun did during the day — I've never been in it at night, I couldn't find the light switch which was in an unusual place.

She is made for the room. Her shadowy black illuminates, her grin glows and my chest heaves in pride, in desire, in the thrill of living.

I am writing about her ... no, not quite, I'm creating a story in my head, waiting for an opportunity to get it down on paper. Then it occurred to me, stop, don't, don't you dare, leave her alone, let her be real, in real time, don't turn her into fiction, you've turned everything in your life to fiction, don't with her, leave her real, enjoy the moments, they can't last.

The easel was up, a table for the paints dead centre in the room, her glow radiating when her mouth closed on my open, wet, welcoming mouth, my tongue, my moans. I have something for you, I said. When I broke away — I had to wait for her to extricate her fingers from the back of my pants, I hurried and was back in minutes with the tiny bag. Something comfortable to paint in.

God, the joy, the excitement, had she never received a gift before?

The clothes she handed me were hot and damp and I could smell her in them when I pressed them to my face. How long can it last, the words looped through my brain as I watched her, as excited as a little girl, slip on the panties and then the nightie, vivid orange, vivacious orange on her gleaming black skin.

She is carful with me, insisting I stand, the easel a leaning post. Rewards, would I have a lifetime of rewards for all that I would lavish on her? Or would these and everything else I buy for her disappear in a hastily packed suit case?

A sheen of me was on her lips as she grinned and licked, mischievously.

A house of anonymous rooms is now becoming a home: the train room, a joint office, her studio, her dressing room, a functioning dining room just off the kitchen beside the formal dining room.

I wondered how I could ever write porn with no experience, just attempts to understand how we as people think and act. Thought precipitates action, that's what I was banking on — if you can figure out the right motivation, you can design an appropriate response. It seemed to be working with my characters: find the right motivation and it wasn't hard to pair the right sexual response, and the right sexual response was basically the metaphor for the kind of relationship that would eventuate.

But what's the thought with us, what's the logic? Simple: making her my dependent.

She handed in her resignation in the morning. She became a ward of my state. I was so excited I celebrated in the washroom at work ... while, at various times, used by three others a stall away.

Harland Nicholson, Hardy, works in a cubical in an area of the office called the Dark State because basically, they were all young men with energy, opinion and an assumed malevolence that none of them actually had. Hardy had always had dogs growing up, couldn't imagine life without them so had one in his small apartment deliberately located close to a dog-walking park. It was quite a big dog.

This day, completely serendipitously, Hardy decided to walk his dog over to another park a few blocks away, just for a change of scenery and to check out the other pooches — he was fascinated by the astonishing array of breeds now proliferating, it kind of reminded him of the Star Wars bar scene.

He didn't need to see her face to know it was her, the ass was an instant tell, even the shoulders, the back of the head. And he wouldn't have been alone, every dude in the Dark State knew Sandra Shlelkin from every possible angle, most of them merely imagined, often no doubt imagined with their cocks in their hands.

Sandra Shlelkin is one of those people of indeterminate ethnicity who has genetically arrayed the puzzle of facial features into ways that tax our ability to interpret them: her face isn't anything so much as fascinating and, I don't know why but these people, most often women, come with bodies that just naturally go with the look, often referred to as killer bodies. Her's is murderous.

Her dog is as equally indeterminate as she is, small, imperious, obviously redolent with attitude ... and little pink bows, loving positioned and tied suggesting a meaning consistent with the indeterminate ethnicity — they do some strange shit around the world.

I was hoping Bruno was going to take a liking to the little nipper but no, he was more interested in pissing on the leg of the swing set so it was up to me to bump into her so to speak and it was no surprise she wanted to be bumped into even though she was talking to some guy — she is so naturally cheerful and enthusiastic (God gave me this? Far fucking out!) that around the water cooler she'd make the eighth guy to show up feel like he's the first.

It was awkward because the guy was feeling exactly like I was feeling: competition. Luckily, the guy mistook her excitement at seeing me as unique to me and not merely her generic goodwill which I knew it was. He buggered off.

People who are natural smilers and relentlessly cheerful can often appear brain-dead, she is one of those; you wonder how she could be employed at the same place you are ... and then you know she was hired on the spot by some guy just like you.

We walked around the perimeter of the park, me knowing I'm the envy of every pair of eyes in sight, both genders. With some people the search for conversation starts and ends with the weather, but still you can be fascinated, riveted, hanging on every word ... which were constantly being interrupted.

I don't think I've ever called Bruno once in the five years I've had him, I've never had to, he knows that all he needs to do to get whatever he wants is to 'be a good boy' and that means being attentive, reading me.

Shilly, is different. Shilly needs to be reminded she is Shilly three times a minute, no wonder the little fucker is a bundle of nervous energy, yapping at anything that dares to wander near. To one of us this constant need for name recognition is annoying, to the other joyfully participatory, as if just calling the thing was playing with it.

A cup of coffee? Very well. There was a Starbucks across the street, a quick cup just to see how she'd handle the pooch in a crowd but no, we passed Starbucks and went through a door beside it, up two flights (which Bruno took in rhythmic stride and Shilly took with awkward difficulty) and into a nice, medium sized apartment, with tall windows welcoming in the evening light ... and the focussed scope of every perv in the surrounding high rises?

Sometimes, it has happened to me twice before, you become, out of the blue, with no prior knowledge, not a hint of a hint, not even any wishful thinking, acutely aware ... that you're going to get laid. Something chemically changes in the cheerful smile and joyful chattering and you're thinking, well, fuck me, and you're waiting for the move and because you know it's coming it doesn't need to be much, in this case her shoulder touching mine as she sat down beside me with the coffees, well, her hip pinching mine was a bit of a tell, too.

It was over before it began, she must be used to that and used to the near immediate recovery.

She isn't prissy, she didn't care a hoot that my cum was all over her thigh, round two began with the same alacrity as round one only this time I noticed the dog on the bed, looking at me, quiet, it wasn't yapping, but the malevolence was clear and so was her fingers stroking his belly as he stood balefully as she rhythmically joined my coital insistence. One of the bows had become undone, I was surprised she didn't notice it, surprised she wasn't doing it up.

And surprised by her approach to sex, it was like she wanted to make everything as easy and uncomplicated as she could. The first time was so fast that even time-stop photography wouldn't have captured it but this time it was easy to see: when she was ready ... or more probably when she thought I was, she shifted to position herself for me, her legs open ... wide, like she was offering a bull's eye that I couldn't possibly miss. It was weird ... but appreciated.

The dog didn't snarl when I knelt between her — with determined resolve to last a little longer, and she used one hand to guide me in, the other was still scratching ... no, caressing the dog's belly, I more or less watched it for the entire minute.

"I'd apologize," I said when I could speak, "but you must be used to guys not lasting very long ..." I just then realized the intimation.

"It's OK." She smiled the lie.

I was lying beside her. It was OK because she swung her leg over mine and made it OK for her, too, it took her eight times as long and may have scoured off two layers of my thigh skin but she got there eventually with some of the most cock-straightening sounds I've ever heard.

I played with her unsurpassingly erotic nipple as she, with her leg crooked over mine, raked her pubic hair with long ruby red fingernails, perhaps de-lousing herself of the last of my cum — Shilly had licked it off her belly and was starting in on the patch on her thigh ... with her tacit permission as she stroked his leg as if to get it off.

She was clean and recharged when she noticed I had risen to the occasion and was down on me before I could say 'Oh my fucking god', it was all of it, all the oral sensations of course but seeing that perfect body twisting so she could get to me, her flat taunt belly with it's amazing outie straining in effort, the hip, a perfect arch of mystical sexual art, her breast, like a billows, with her effort changing shape against her arm as she part scratched, part caressed Shilly's muzzle as it nuzzled into her, perhaps waiting to share what was imminent the moment her thin, wonderfully expressive lips curled around the object of her worship, because that's what it was, the insatiable avidity made that abundantly clear.

Shilly left not a drop; she licked her lips with a satisfied grin.

Things like this don't happen to me. I'm not a very good looking guy, I'm not bold, I'm not even all that interested in the quest, but once done, I was smitten and I replayed every second of the memory, every second of the night and day until, next day, I was getting Bruno ready for another trip across town.

There were four of them this time, milling about her, pretending to admire Shilly as if it was the breed and not her. She smiled brightly when I approached and, so help me, Shilly licked her lips. There were hints to get, three of them got them immediately and left, the fourth loitered so long we had to leave him rudely on our trip around the park, one lap which we broke off at the closest angle to her door beside Starbucks.

Shilly, I noticed had more spring in her step bounding up the stairs ... I myself lingered to look at the ass that has been imprinted on my brain ever since I watched it disappear into pink panties as she microwaved the coffees and sat topless as I drooled into my drink.

There is a long thick rubber dildo with an industrial-sized suction cup on her bathroom sink. She smiled at it. "I was washing it, Shilly likes to lick it, I don't know how hygienic that would be when I put it in. What do you think?"

"I hear dogs saliva is a lot better than our's but, ya, maybe you should play it safe." I marvelled at the suction cup. "Where do you use it?"

"Bath tub, coffee table and kitchen floor, only places it will stick, I'd like to get something for my bed but I don't know how to do that."

I saw my opening. "If you show me how to use it maybe I can design something."

"You will?" She grabbed the thing, washed it under the tap so vigorously her breasts were slapping together and I had to fight for control then she handed it to me and left for the bedroom as excited as she had been climbing the stairs ... this time I could see the crack, not just imagine it.

I threw the thing back and forth between my hand glad I myself wasn't burdened by such a length, never mind the girth.

She was on all fours, a truly astonishing sight, tight cheeks, slightly gaping vulva neatly dripping elegantly feminine labia that looked like they were designed to welcome and cushion any invader, human or otherwise.

Helpfully, she tapped with a finger where she wanted it positioned, eventually at my eye level, conveniently so I could view in exquisite detail Shilly's treat approaching, touching, entering and disappearing with the miraculous symbiosis of form and function.

The demo lasted a little longer than necessary but the leaving was every bit as instructive as the entering — engineering perfection.

We watched as Shilly chased the glistening member around the pillows with his tongue, it's master smiling in approval.

"When I anchor it she'll be able to get at it easier." I got a kiss for that and a look of near adoration as I started removing my clothes.

It was Friday night I thought I'd better get out of there before she told me I had to leave so she could get ready for her date. I was reaching for my underwear when she took them from me. "You have a date?" The disappointment sounded crushing.

I was going to say no. I hurt, I've had enough but that wasn't it, she appeared insatiable, how long could I last? How long could this go on? Then there was the look, the one every guy at the water cooler gets, the one that blurs out everyone else but you and I took my underwear from her and flung them over my shoulder and her look of joy will stay with me forever.

"It's nice that we're not in a hurry," she said, obviously pleased that marathoning was now a possibility. We were sitting at her little kitchen table with a quickly prepared bacon and eggs in front of us, coffee beside it. She has a way of eating that makes you want to share her food; she had my complete attention but for brief moments when I glanced to see if her stabbing nipples had finally broken through her t-shirt.

What did we talk about? I have no fucking idea but it wasn't for long because we were still chewing when we got back to the bed with Shilly standing guard over their toy.

She wanted me to stay over but I needed to get away, to collect my thoughts ... to be untouched for awhile.

Exhausted as I was I still couldn't sleep. I am not a prude or didn't think I was but this wasn't normal. Real people don't do this, don't succumb to prolong bouts of animal lust. It didn't feel right. I was up most of the night doing things I had long put off — the laundry, cleaning the kitchen, tuning up my bike, doing anything I could to take my mind off that body and our depravity, not just her's, mine too.