Cody asked Imelda about her life and seemed genuinely interested in her responses. She showed no surprise when Imelda said she was married, telling her that she could see the mark left by the ring on her finger. But she seemed to take it in her stride, as she took everything in her stride. “Live and let live” appeared to be the motto by which she lived her life.
She didn’t pry into her personal life, didn’t seem anxious to know what had brought her all this way to a strange town. Maybe, Imelda thought, that was because she knew. She suddenly wondered if she wasn’t the latest in a long line of desperate housewives who had been brought back to Cody’s apartment under the pretext of “a place where they could go and talk.”
She told her she had moved to the Midwest from Colorado, which surprised Imelda, because she thought that state would be a magnet for artists. Cody laughed and said that everybody said that, but that she preferred to live in a place with more vibrancy and more energy – and more history. Imelda nodded her head but didn’t say anything. Cody already knew she worked in a library and must have worked out that she was someone who read and visited galleries – and all that kind of stuff.
Imelda wanted to ask Cody if she had ever had a boyfriend; what she really meant was whether she had ever slept with a man. But she held back. Maybe she’d volunteer the information, and if she didn’t, nothing would be lost as a result. Of course, at this point she couldn’t be absolutely sure that the girl wanted to sleep with her. It wasn’t as if she was making a play for her, or even sweet-talking her.
Imelda was enjoying just being with her and chewing the fat. Cody didn’t appear that interested in talking about her art, but when pressed by Imelda she opened up a bit and gave her some background to the industrial landscapes she had painted. But what she really wanted to learn more about were those nudes. Were they all her lovers? Did she still see them? She couldn’t believe they were just based on photos she had seen in magazines.
Cody smiled an enigmatic smile when Imelda broached the subject, stopping her before she could any questions.
“You’re wondering if they’re friends or models, yes?”
“I was kind of curious,” Imelda replied, wanting to place her hand on the girl’s knee but not daring to.
“A bit of both. But these are mostly models. If they’re friends, they generally get to keep the paintings.”
“And you sell them?”
“Ha! You’re wondering how I keep body and soul together?”
Imelda laughed, then laughed some more. It must have been contagious, as Cody started laughing too. Soon they were cuffing each other with their hands and arms, like hares boxing in an English field. The laughing came to an abrupt halt when Imelda took hold of Cody’s wrists, like that faceless woman in the “psychedelic” painting.
Imelda caught Cody watching her jiggling breasts and knew she had to have her.
“Feast on them!” she told the girl.
Without further ado, Cody pushed the billowing fabric to one side and isolated Imelda’s breast.
“It’s really fine,” she said, getting further under the older woman’s skin with her combination of lasciviousness and understatement.
“Suck it! You know that’s what you’ve be wanting to do.”
The artist wasn’t going to be browbeaten into doing anything she didn’t want to do. Instead, she told Imelda to raise her hands and, tugging the blouse from her leggings, pulled it over her head.
“They’re both fine,” she said laconically, making Imelda laugh once again.
After the inauspicious start to the evening, Imelda knew she had landed on her feet. No, that was too weak a way of putting it: she had won the lottery! She had no clue what lay in store for her, but that glorious uncertainty was part of the fascination of the encounter. Cody was so different from Cindy: her allure lay at an altogether deeper level. It was as if she had been paddling in the shallows and was now being taken out into the ocean, with no lifebelt to keep her safe.
Yet safety was the last thing she wanted. She wanted to be buffeted by the waves, to feel the full force of the storm, to lose herself in its unpredictability. Her libido was soaring to places she didn’t know could exist. She caught sight of the painting of the two women on the wall and wanted what they had, what they shared. She was almost frightened by thoughts of the intimacy which was being prepared for her. Could she embrace it? Was she fit to make this journey? Would she be swept under the waves? Did she want to be swept under the waves?
She could feel the girl’s hot breath on her nipple. She realized that she had closed her eyes, and she didn’t want to open them. Just knowing that was wasn’t dreaming was enough for her. When Cody’s tongue touched her nipple, she exhaled long and hard. Every nerve ending in her body was set on edge. She tried to resist it (she wasn’t quite sure why), but a shudder wracked her frame. The curtain in the temple – her temple – was rent from top to bottom.
The tongue – instrument of both pain and pleasure – worked her nub unhurriedly. She tried (oh! how hard she tried!) not to think of it working her other nub – the nub at the core of her being – but she found she was powerless to do so. With every fibre of her being, she tried not to imagine the explosive release she would feel when the tongue touched her there, but she had nothing with which she could fight back. The orgasm came upon her as if from nowhere, with a force that wasn’t of this world.
Cody had never witnessed anything like this. She thought she had been taking a chance on this woman when she picked her up in the bar, on a whim – she seemed such a lost soul – but now she realized fate had brought them together. Every artist needs a muse, and hers was sitting right there in front of her, sexuality oozing from every pore.
She kissed her softly on the mouth, one hand on the back of her head, the other on her neck. The woman kissed her back, softly too – the frenzy of her climax having left her, at least for the time being, mellower and more aware of her partner. Cody sensed that she had it in her power to give, that she wanted to give back to her. But she also sensed that she wanted to take so much more first. And she was totally cool about that.
As they kissed, Cody offered the woman her tongue, knowing the power it held over her. Imelda accepted it, letting it play with her own tongue, and paddling it gently in return. Sensing the moment was right, Cody took Imelda’s hand and brought it to her chest, laying it against her tiny breast. The married woman moaned almost imperceptibly and rubbed it gently, as if afraid she might damage it. At the same time, she kissed her back with a growing passion, covering her mouth completely and seeking out the far recesses of her cavity, almost into her throat.
Her hand now stationary, as if she could focus only on one task at a time, she let herself go, her teeth grinding against the girl’s own perfect set, her tongue whirling about, as the frenzy built up once more inside her. Cody let herself be dominated, feeling the wetness that was being released inside her, burning up with the knowledge that the other woman was awash with a wetness of her own.
How badly she wanted to taste her! How overwhelming was her urge to pull down those slutty pants and “feast”, as the woman had put it, on her liquid core! She hadn’t known such naked passion for what seemed like an eternity, not since she was in college and had been seduced by her art teacher – another married woman! What was it about these creatures, she asked herself. Why could they do things to her that the girls who modelled for her couldn’t do?
She had tried to convince herself that she was doing this lonely woman a favor, but she knew now, if she hadn’t known all along, that this wasn’t true. Breaking the kiss, she took off her camisole and offered her breast to the woman. For a moment, she was scared that the woman would reject her. She hated herself for thinking this; she hated the woman too for bringing her to this state.
Imelda was completely oblivious to her lover’s plight. She was hesitating only because she was finding it difficult to comprehend the immensity of the moment. As far as she was concerned, the girl’s tiny titty was for her just then the most beautiful thing in the world. Regarding the blunt nipple as if it were the most precious jewel, she took it between her lips and kissed it softly.
Cody’s insecurities (where they neuroses, she wondered?) vanished at the tender touch. After a minute or so, Imelda placed her hand on Cody’s other breast and began to make circling movements with her fingers. Inevitably, as the circles became smaller, her fingers ended up on her nipple, rubbing it lightly at first, before giving it a series of pinches, which drew the shy bud from its hiding place.
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