Catfish McDaris

Van Gogh’s Shadow

She had mahogany golden hair, a thin Modigliani body and a dazzling killer smile. Her name was Vivian Flores and she seemed to dazzle Slick. Nicky ached to paint her, she was his masterpiece if he could capture her essence on canvas. Slick was in love, he looked like one of those cartoon characters, where Cupid flies by shooting little arrows of love into his ass. If he could sprout tiny wings of love on his ankles he would. “I love you” hearts sprang from his eyes, he was so smitten. The pretty waitress introduced them with a huge grin. Vivian smiled with an inner confidence that shined through all the fake compliments.

“Are you headed for Placitas?” she asked.

“If that’s where they’re filming the movie we are,” replied Nicky.

Slick just stared, trying to keep his eyeballs in his skull.

“Let’s go,” she said. They all climbed into the pickup.

“We go north, past Corrales and the horses and orchards, wild asparagus grows beneath the fruit trees. Towards Algodones, which is Spanish for cotton. When the cotton is ripe, the whiteness against the ruby cliffs is blinding. Then we turn east and start climbing. Some hippies have a commune, built around an old Wells Fargo stagecoach adobe building. MGM or Universal or one of those Hollywood studios is making a miniature Woodstock movie in a valley of the Sandias. There’s plenty of bitchin’ music and grass and fun. I can be your guide, if you’re interested?” Vivian told them.

Slick and Nicky agreed wholeheartedly.

“A man calling himself Ulysses S. Grant started the commune. He ran unsuccessfully for governor, no one took him seriously because he rode his mule down from the mountains and he refused to shave his beard or cut his hair. Lately some strange events have been happening there. Two men that Ulysses had offered shelter raped his daughter. They turned up dead and Ulysses disappeared, before the police could question him. I’m not sure who is running the commune now.”   As Vivian spoke, Nicky drew her facial features and profile. Slick turned off the main highway as directed. A lot of traffic was traveling up the valley.  Almost all of them were headed for the movie.

The valley started in the high Sierra desert, spritely yellow yucca with brown husky buds and lime green bayonet leaves jutting up. Olive green prickly pear cacti with pomegranate red fruit covered with tiny almost invisible thorns and needles. Green gray mesquite grew taller than the other plants and provided some shade and beans for the rodents and deer. Cottonwoods and willows grew near the stream. As they drove higher in elevation, there were cedar, pine, pinon, and fir trees. The caravan of cars and vehicles kept going up the mountain. Vivian instructed Slick to pull onto a side road. There was a barbed wire gate and a metal cattle guard to prevent cows from roaming. Nicky got out and helped Vivian drag the gate aside, so Slick could drive through, after relatching the gate they continued on at a slower speed. A ridge of hills jutted out from the canyon wall, forming a secondary canyon hidden from the road.  They pulled the truck alongside an old army ambulance. No houses were visible from where they parked. Vivian led the way down a narrowly marked trail. Nicky and Slick enjoyed the view of Vivian and the landscape.

They came over a small hill and saw a tepee with smoke drifting out of the top. Vivian called out and someone yelled.  “Come on in.”  

A man with blonde hair down to his waist was sitting in the lotus position tossing I Ching coins. He was wearing bib overalls with no shirt, smoking a corn cob pipe. The tent was filled with smoke that was definitely not Prince Albert.

He said, “Excuse me, for not greeting you properly, but my current state of inebriation doesn’t allow standing at this moment.” He was obviously fucked up out of his gourd. They shook hands and passed around the pipe. After they all had a nice glow from the weed, Slick broke out a bottle of George Dickel, Tennessee sippin’ whiskey.

“Let’s take a walk down to the village, while we still can,” suggested Vivian. Nicky and Slick waved goodbye to their new friend and stumbled after her.

The commune consisted of eight adobe brick houses with field stone chimneys jutting from their roofs, they were situated near a stream. There were a few permanent residents, but most people returned to the cities during the harsh winter months. A spring bubbled up and someone had built a small dam creating a pond. Fields of corn, tomatoes, chilies, wheat, beans, pumpkins, and squash were all growing in neat well-weeded rows. The village started at the edge of the field. The largest building was the stagecoach relay station. There was still a hitching rail and water trough out front. It had been built in the secret canyon for protection against marauding Indians. Apache, Navajo, Pueblo, Comanche and the occasional Mexican bandito had all roamed the country. The building had rifle loop holes and double thick adobe walls, built to withstand a siege. The other houses were spread out up the stream.

A pretty woman in a granny style dress was shucking beans on the front porch. A baby was sleeping in cradle next to her. She smiled in greeting. Vivian asked about her cousin, Fernando. They spoke in Spanish and the lady was pointing up toward the houses.

Vivian had a distant cousin, Fernando that lived here in an underground kiva. She wanted to visit him and ask about the commune and movie. The kiva was a large hole covered over with car windshields built into the side of a hill. He had a drainage ditch and a chimney pipe rose out of a potbellied stove. You could look right down inside his living quarters and see all the activity taking place. At the moment he was humping away at a woman that wasn’t his wife. They watched fascinated at their love making. It was like seeing a fish bowl fuck movie with human fish. Slick put his arm around Vivian, while Nicky drew the woman’s face in orgasm. They seemed happy to have an audience and soon invited them down the set of stone stairs. 

“This is my cousin, Fernando and his friend, Mustang Sally. This is Slick and his famous painter friend, Nicky,” Vivian said introducing them. “Sally used to live in a Mustang. Where is everyone?” she asked.

“The movie starts shooting tomorrow and almost everyone is camping there, so they can be hired as extras. They’re paying fifty dollars a day and all the weed and wine you can handle,” explained Fernando. “We plan on going early in the morning. You’re welcome to join us.”

Mustang Sally was still naked, she was proud of her well toned body. Nicky continued drawing her and she seemed flattered. Her body was perfect, red ginger hair, a flat stomach, and firm full breasts with dark cloud-like aureoles, and dime-sized nipples, very erect. She looked at the drawing and smiled at Nicky. She said, “Let’s go down to the stream,” and grabbed his hand, leading him away.

Slick and Vivian stayed near the kiva, speaking to Fernando. The stream was about three feet deep. Sally stepped in slowly and goose bumps broke out all over her body. She retrieved a bar of soap from a coffee can, hanging from a limb. Lathering herself, paying special attention to her pussy, Nicky drew and watched in amazement, this beautiful unabashed nymph of nature. The Impressionists would have loved her for a model. Nicky prayed he could do her painting justice, from his studies. Sally motioned for him to enter the water. He undressed and waded in, but the cold had a numbing effect on his pecker and balls and he was soon suffering from a bad case of shrinkage. Sally took the matter of warming him up in hand and was soon astraddle him as the water rushed around them. As they hit their mind-blowing climax, Nicky looked over to the opposite bank and saw three women watching them. They were smiling in amusement. Two were young white women and the third was a ravishing light-skinned black woman. They waved and laughed, Sally obviously knew them.  “Just our luck, Mustang Sally always gets first crack at all the live ones,” the black lady said. They soon stripped off their clothes, hanging them in the surrounding bushes. Here were four lovely nude ladies, taking a bath in a majestic mountain stream. Nicky introduced himself, explaining he was a painter. They all laughed and splashed him and each other. The women had grown excited at the sight of him and Sally fucking like there was no tomorrow. Nicky drifted over to Nettie, the black chick and offered to wash her body. She gave him the bar of soap and he was soon massaging her crotch as she lay back moaning. The other two girls borrowed the soap and worked on each other. Sally joined Nicky and Nettie. Nicky mounted Nettie and gave it to her hard and slow. So much excited pussy kept him in a state of constant erection. 

The fuck fiesta went on until the sun started going to bed behind the mountains. Florence and Linda, the other two ladies, invited Nicky to sleep over with them. They went by the kiva to inform Slick and Vivian of where he would stay, but they had already returned to the camper.

Flo and Linda were in their early twenties and looked wholesome and frisky. They lived with two guys that had gone on ahead to the movie site. Nicky kept them from getting too lonely throughout the night. He drew them together in bed and from his other studies next to the stream, he should be able to paint many fine portraits. After another night of exhaustion, with the bare minimum amount of sleep, Nicky met Slick and Vivian at the camper. They looked as though they had passed a pleasant night.

They traveled up the valley with Flo, Linda, Mustang Sally, and Fernando riding along. After about ten miles, they topped a rise. There spread out before them was a vast makeshift parking lot with a gigantic stage. They parked and wandered into the masses.

Hippies were everywhere, long-haired men with beards and love beads and earrings dancing in the buttery sunshine. Gypsy dressed women, breasts unfettered with colorful sashes, feathers, and baubles hanging from all over their bodies. Headbands, backpacks, sleeping bags, leather, clouds of patchouli, madras in a sea of smells and circus-like sights.  Mind expanding trips for the brain and body, being almost given away, marijuana, hashish, peyote, mescaline, mushrooms, datura, and LSD. Fake cops from a motorcycle gang, wearing San Francisco police uniforms were passing out wooden matchboxes of weed and Boone’s Farm wine. The cops all had chest-length beards and Hell’s Angels insignias on their uniforms. Indians watched the activities with crossed arms, occasionally smiling at a young topless hippie maiden. The scene was a wild mixture of cultures, drugs, languages, flowers, and love. A rock band was cranking out Grand Funk and Iron Butterfly, people were spinning and grooving. The sounds ricocheted off the mountain walls. Big semi trucks loaded with camera crews and recording equipment were set up throughout the crowd. Film crews were trying to capture all the action. 

Nicky split from the people he came with. He was hustled along in the river of heads. It was chaos trying to make your way through the crowd. Going with the flow and ending up in a swirling eddy of insanity. Weed and wine were being consumed in a vast quantity. Hugs and kisses came from strangers, experiencing free love, a brotherhood and sisterhood of the stoned.

Nicky wanted to paint, he blocked out everything, except his work. He made it back to the pickup and set up his easel. He had to get all his mind images on canvas. As he painted, sure and quick, he used total concentration. He could feel someone watching him, but Nicky refused to be distracted from the task at hand. No one disturbed him. Nettie was one of the figures he was working on. Finally he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Nettie with an old Mexican man. The man looked as if he had just stepped out of a Pancho Villa movie, minus the crossed cartridge belts across his barrel chest. He wore white rough cotton clothes, a big sombrero, and leather sandals with tire treads for soles. He was holding the lead rope of a burro loaded with burlap sacks. His teeth shined under his salt and pepper mustache, as he smiled at the nude painting. “You paint pretty good, amigo,” he said with a thick accent. “A little more hair on the pussy and more fullness to the breasts, I think.” Nicky grinned at the critique. “You are very observant, senor. Thank you.” The man said, “I would like to purchase one of your paintings. I can tell by your great skill, that you and I have a great regard for women. They are creatures to be protected and nourished and never exploited. I am called the herb man, ask for me when you wish to sell a masterpiece.” He gave Nicky a small cloth bag filled with Mother Nature and he disappeared over a hill holding the reins of his burro. “I think the crowd is cramping your style, am I right?” asked Nettie. Nicky nodded. She extended her hand and said, “Come home with me. Vivian will know where to find us.” “I’ll come with you, but I need time to paint,” he replied. They hiked down the road, catching a ride with some folks heading back to Albuquerque. Nicky carried several stretched pieces of canvas, Nettie carried his paints and pallet in her backpack. Nettie’s house was at the upper end of a canyon, secluded by willows and Spanish bayonet. Nicky set up his easel and took advantage of the afternoon light. Nettie stirred together a fire in her big cast iron range and put on a pot of pinto beans to simmer. She left Nicky to his painting for the remainder of the day. He applied the paint in fast, furious strokes for the backgrounds, roughing in the figures. Slowing down for the painstaking, meticulous daubing of the beautiful nude women, faces and bodies painted with skill and expertise. Nicky was a master of the thing he loved most, the female body. He had surpassed his teachers, they had been dead for a hundred years anyway. Dreams of Paris, smoke-filled cafes and studios on the Left Bank used to haunt him. The camaraderie of the Great Masters of Impressionism, the change from dark to light. Fleeting images and the bold subjects of daring young painters, breaking all the rules and barriers and blazing the path for him. Nicky finished his bathers painting and two different poses from studies of the Mexican dancer. He left them to dry in the sun, to send later to Jack. Feeling great having finished some work, his nose picked up a delightful aroma. The smell of beans with pork and jalapeno cornbread was inviting his growling stomach to supper. Nettie set the table with candles and wild mountain sunflowers. Nicky thought of van Gogh, but only for an instant. She was breathtaking, dressed in a simple calico dress with an ivory white seashell necklace.

“I have a secret to tell you. I have a special thing for painters. You capture the soul and essence of a person, at a specific moment in their life. Nothing could be more important. After supper I have a fantasy I want you to help me with. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

They ate with relish, he wondered what Nettie had in mind. After they ate, Nicky laid the bag the herb man gave him on the table. Nettie filled a clay pipe and fired it up, passing it to Nicky. He took a light puff and passed it back. The weed intensified everything. They moved their chairs together and smoked in silence. The crickets serenaded them. Nettie laid her head on his shoulder and said, “I’ve always wanted a man to shave my pussy. The hair is coarse and ugly, to me. I want you to make me smooth and silky. Will you do it for me?” she asked. Getting an extreme hard on just thinking about it, he said, “I’ll be glad to. This reminds me of a story in my past, you might like to hear. Growing up I had a best friend named Jimmy. We hung out together in school and summers, for as long as I can remember. We were tighter than brothers. Jimmy had a sister, Pam, a year and a half younger than us. When we were eleven or twelve, she used to get on our nerves, pestering us all the time. After a couple a more years, she started filling out and not looking half bad. I liked the way she looked and she flirted with me, like she wanted more than another big brother. Jimmy was jealous of me, he knew I wanted his sister. He wanted to fuck his own sister and I figured it out. We both used to spy on her through the bathroom keyhole. She knew we were watching and she would open her legs and spread pussy lips and put a hairbrush inside her and moan, until me and Jimmy were blowing cum in our jeans. After her pubic hair came, she’d let us shave it off for half of our allowances. Twice a week their parents would play bridge and that was time for fun and games. We never did fuck, but we did everything else. What’s ironic, the second woman I ever fucked was Jimmy’s mom. I came over to visit and she was waiting naked in a robe. I fucked her 3 times, once in the ass, she was a screamer. Anyway, that’s my story of shaven cunts.”

Nettie smiled and took out a safety razor and a can of shaving cream. She cleared the table and hung up her dress and slid her panties down off her ankles. Nicky scooted his chair back, as Nettie wiggled up on the table and spread her legs. Nicky wet his hand and patted down her pubic area. Then he rubbed cream over the entire region, letting his fingers trace the inviting opening and clitoris. She writhed and wiggled, as his fingers manipulated her pussy and clit. Nicky could have cracked walnuts with his erection. He started shaving at the outside of the lather, working inward, rinsing the razor in a bowl of warm water. He occasionally stopped to kiss and fondle her smooth skin and breasts. As her pussy became more silky smooth and exposed, they became too horny to continue the shave. Nicky plunged into her for some mutual relief. They knocked the remaining dishes to the floor with their wild lovemaking. They thrashed and jolted in orgasm, they felt as if lightening had struck them, it was so intense. Finally staggering to bed, after finishing the shave was a difficult task.

Nicky awoke to a crunching sound. He looked toward the window and saw a lizard eating a cockroach with a reptilian gusto. He took this as a sign, it was time to split. Easing from the bed, he gathered his paintings and equipment and made it back to Slick’s truck. Vivian and Slick were cuddled around a fire frying up some bacon and eggs.

“Let’s go fishing,” suggested Slick. “Sounds, like a good idea. I need to mail some paintings to Jack, first if you don’t mind,” replied Nicky. “There’s a post office in San Ysidro. Do you need wood for crates?” Vivian asked. “No, we have everything we need in the truck,” answered Slick.

***

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Catfish McDaris