Daydream

After her shower, Francesca stood naked at her bedroom window, fingering her cunt, the late afternoon sun showing the dirty streaks in the glass. Next door in the yard below, Khalid, her neighbour’s hunky teenaged son, was throwing a football around with a couple of his friends. Watching Khalid, Francesca panted as she gently pinched her nipples. His young body moved fast, hard, powerfully, the sun glinting off his sweaty chest, for he had taken off his t-shirt. She found herself imagining what it’d be like to run her fingers through his thick, curly black hair, to feel his hard biceps, to spread her legs for his even harder, relentless cock. Her heart beat fast, she began rubbing her clit roughly, almost falling over as currents of joy rushed through her body and her mind wandered into dangerous but exhilarating territory.

Khalid didn’t how his neighbour lusted after him, and had been lusting since he moved in with his widowed father a few months ago. His naivety and innocence, if naive and innocent a college-aged, Arab boy could be, intensified her longings, slightly tinged with guilt. She knew she should resist temptation and keep her distance, but the allure of his youthful vigour was irresistible. Gasping as she fucked herself, her daydream about Khalid deepened, her fantasies so explicit and all-consuming that she could almost feel his cock thrusting into her, his hands twisting her nipples, making her cry out in pain and pleasure. Oh, the pleasure. Hurt me, please, she begged in her mind, her body edging towards a climax. 

If she ever approached the boy with lust in her eyes, she’d risk embarrassing rejection, then again, maybe not. Like any virile adolescent, surely Khalid would eagerly fuck at the first opportunity. And weren’t Arabs supposed to be lusty? She had read many erotic fantasies and watched porn flics online about Sheiks, their harems and sex slaves. She also remembered her university film course where the students and professor had discussed the sexual implications of the silent movie The Sheik with the smouldering actor Valentino. She had to have Khalid, she had to kneel before his majestic cock, she had to swallow him whole, her Arab stallion. 

Francesca’s heart pumped faster. Her fingers pinched her swollen clit as she imagined Khalid’s hands gripping her, probing, fingers slick from her wetness. His cock rose like a sabre, the force of it cutting into her flesh as he raised her legs around his waist, all in front of the window. And she also fancied that his father might see. His voice, deep and commanding in her ear: You’re a cock whore, Francesca, a needy slut begging for virile Arabs. And I’m going to give it to you, bitch. Was that Khalid speaking or his father speaking?

She nearly screamed, yes, yes, as she imagined him staring into her eyes and seeing her insatiable desire for him. His eyes were black with equal lust as he pushed his long and thick cock into her cunt.  And you’re gonna be my cocksucker, bitch, after I nut so much hot junk in your belly, it’ll flow out of your cunt for days. How much cum would he also shoot down her throat: great dollops of creamy, life-sustaining cum? Lost in her daydream, she scarcely noticed the other boys in the yard, for Khalid’s voice sounded as if he was right there in the room with her, speaking as he fucked her: little cum hungry pig who’s going to take my cock like a good slave. 

Francesca’s body trembled with intense and electrifying desire, so receptive and ready for Arab cock: oh Khalid, oh Khalid, fuck me, fuck me, she whispered aloud as if he was actually in the room with her.  Be my master, she cried out, enslave me, whip me, chain me, do whatever you want, as if she could shout out through the window and the boy would hear her pleas, drop the football and rush into the house to fuck her senseless, to fuck the woman next door, just to fuck her until she fainted.

Open your mouth for me, Francesca, Khalid commanded. She was so startled she withdrew her hand from her cunt. Was he in the room? Was his father also in the room? Parting her lips, seeing the boy still outside, she imagined Khalid forcing his horse cock into her mouth and down her throat, filling it, past the gag reflex, and she began working it, sucking it, craving it, as if she could actually taste his precum and feel the veins pulsing as he thrust in and out. Delicious obscenities roared out of his mouth: you fucking piece of meat, you trashy cum bucket, you wasted cock sucking whore, and her mind flamed alive to hear them.

Her nipples, hard and aching, from his rough handling, he slipped out of her mouth, slapped her face, then rammed into her soaking cunt. Was it real? It couldn’t be, for there was Khalid, her Arab stallion, still outside throwing a football. But his hands seemed to be clasped around her neck as if strangling her into submission, securing her as he jackhammered her cunt. Were they his fingers or hers pinching her clit, causing her to hold her breath and nearly collapse, crying in ecstasy? Oh, Khalid, my Khalid, my Sheik. Good bitch, she thought she heard the boy’s voice murmur, suddenly tender.  You need to feed off my huge Arab dick, don’t you, slave? Turn around, bitch, Khalid commanded, his voice firm. Or was it his father? I want to fuck your ass.

Francesca complied, and braced herself against the window. Hands grabbed her hips, his fingers dug into her thighs, a thick cock forced it ways between her ass cheeks. The father’s, the son’s, did it matter? She screamed from imaginary pain when a crack against the window startled her, and she instantly withdrew her own hand from her sopping cunt.

“What the …?!!!?

The ball had hit the window. A cracked rivered across the glass. Below Khalid and the other boys pointed, and shouted at each other. Abruptly ripped out of her fantasy, dizzy and unsteady, Francesca inserted a finger in her mouth and sucked, relishing her own flavour. Big bellied and bearded, hefty and appealing in his traditional robe, his father appeared in the yard and pointed at her window, as if to assess the damage, as if he knew she was standing there. As if both son and father sensed her desires. Oh, may it be so, she whispered. It was time to get to know her neighbours better.

Geronimo’s Mona Lisa

“I have in my possession a rather substantial check, as a retainer and down payment on your art. Would you care to take a look at it?” Lucy asked. She handed Nicky a check for $1,000,000. He looked at the amount and counted the zeros twice, his hands shook slightly as he had Theresa check the amount. All three of them were smiling at each other. “Would you care to accompany me, so I can lay out the details of the transaction? We’ll need to make some phone calls also,” she explained.

Nicky kissed Theresa goodbye. “Just who exactly, do you represent?” he asked. “A man, you met in the mountains that liked your paintings. You know him as the herb man. We’ve done some checking on your background and like what we see. We even have your paintings at Jack’s reserved.” “You certainly move fast,” commented Nicky. “When Mr. Sandoval sees something he likes, he doesn’t hesitate to pursue it. Do you have any more finished work?” she asked. “Yes, at friend’s in Gilman Canyon.”

Buffalo’s van was missing from where he parked it, so the police trouble must have not amounted to much. Nicky said they could retrieve his work from Buffalo’s and Jeanie’s. He wanted to say goodbye to his friends anyway. Passing a group of trees, they noticed a man pissing. He shook his dick at Lucy and grinned. She pulled a pistol from her purse and aimed it. “Hey, you little no dick motherfucker, I could blow that rat turd clean off, but it would be a waste of a good bullet,” Lucy said pretty as you please. Nicky laughed his ass off, as the man ran like hell. “A pistol packing mama, I am impressed,” Nicky exclaimed.

“You’re a valuable persona now. My boss wants to get your name established with a major New York art gallery. Then perhaps send your paintings on an international tour. You will become very rich and sought after by all the major collectors in the art world. They got into her sedan and Nicky directed Lucy to Jeanie’s first. He got his work and art supplies from there and they drove to Buffalo’s. A blue Lincoln sat in the driveway, behind Buffalo’s van. Guitars and some type of wind instrument could be heard from out back. Buffalo was playing with a dark-haired beauty. She was blowing into a rondador from the Andes. Her notes had a serene and at the same time furious quality. They stopped long enough for introductions. Lucy said, “Please, don’t let us interrupt you.” Sky was her name, quills of porcupine decorated her blue black hair. Her deep blue eyes shimmered in the morning sun. She played oblivious to Nicky or Lucy, when the song finished, her face took on aspects of a French vineyard and an Apache war maiden.

Nicky finally felt love at first sight, it blossomed in his heart and attempted to overwhelm him. They strolled down to the stream, arm in arm. A golden eagle circled three times and landed in a nearby Joshua tree. Sky kissed him hard, he felt her tongue dart inside his mouth. “You are the chosen one,” Sky said. “You must go with me to the desert, where my ancestors once lived.” “Another lady, told me the same thing this morning and gave me more money than I ever dreamed of,” replied Nicky. “Money is only paper. I offer you an eternity in paradise,” she answered. They returned to the house. Lucy protested Nicky leaving. “Why don’t you hang on to this check, until I get back,” he said. Buffalo calmed Lucy’s fears somewhat, by pulling her onto his lap.

Of all the women Nicky had known, Sky was by far the most enchanting and mysterious. She removed her shoes, jeans, and panties, explaining she wanted Nicky in the proper state of arousal, when they arrived at their destination. The road led down out of the mountains, but Nicky hardly noticed, he had a one-track mind. “The place I am taking you is sacred ground. Geronimo would bring his warriors here to rest and heal themselves, after raiding into Mexico. We will eat peyote and you will have what you seek,” she said. Nicky kept thinking Geronimo’s Mona Lisa. He painted Sky in his mind. Her skin was flowing honey, melon-shaped breasts, a flat stomach, and a waterfall of cascading hair on her shoulders. An enigmatic smile suggested any wish would be fulfilled.

The dirt brown hills seemed to vibrate with a life of their own. The sand was warm and inviting. The peyote buttons crawled like fuzzy green caterpillars down Nicky’s throat, threatening to choke him. Sky handed him tequila to wash them down. Nicky had never felt like this before. They undressed each other, feeling the rush and surge of the drug-enhanced lust. Kissing his way down her body, he reached her pubic triangle. He marveled at the blackness, it was so completely dark, it was void of color. The closer Nicky remained to Sky’s pussy, the stronger became the force drawing him inside. It was a gentle soothing suction at first, but then he felt his tongue being pulled out of his face. The suction grew intense. He was slowly being swallowed, steadily disappearing inside her pussy. His entire head was inside her and he couldn’t breathe. Then he felt his body spinning, uncontrollably, until he was gone completely.

The whirlpool of life reclaimed him. Vanished and vanquished, Nicky was no more.

Librarian Poontang

They got into Buffalo’s beat up old van and headed for Jemez Springs. “You should see this road in spring, covered with tarantulas marching down the road, warming their hairy bodies on the hot asphalt,” Buffalo said. “No shit? I’d like to see that.” “Yea, those motherfuckers sure crunch under your tires. They can really jump too.” They drove slowly, Buffalo giving Nicky a short history of the mountains and their previous inhabitants. “This entire area was once covered by an ocean and a multitude of coral and sea creatures. After the ocean receded, it left behind all its fossils embedded in the mountain walls. Many fossil hunters do research in the Jemez. It draws people from all over the world.”

“Tomorrow’s a big night, we shut off the water to the irrigation ditch. Cutthroat trout and bass flopping in the mud, ready to jump on the grill. I invited some Canadian women, that are total babes. This will be party time at its finest.,” Buffalo continued. “What do you call last night?” Nicky asked. “That was just an average night, amigo. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

They wound their way down the canyon, past the faded red barn, across the shallow river onto the highway. It was a steep climb up the mountain, the scenery was spectacular. Everywhere Nicky looked was a scenic dreamscape and a background for his nudes. Buffalo drove around a bend, a police car pulled up behind them with flashing red lights. He slowed down and pulled over at the next wide place in the road. Buffalo swallowed two joints and warned Nicky it was probably about the stolen steer. The police took Buffalo back to the canyon to proceed with a search warrant. Nicky drove the van on into Jemez Springs. “I’ll catch up with you later. If you have to split, just leave the keys under the floor mat,” Buffalo winked at Nicky.

Seeing the library, Nicky pulled in. It was too early for beer, besides he wanted to check out some art history questions, he had. The librarian looked exceptionally fine. She was a bookwormish looking woman, about what you’d expect in a small village library. Her hair had a few strands of gray and her glasses gave her a studious appeal. Nicky smiled as he asked her about books on French Impressionism. She directed him to a small secluded area, where the books were. It was unusually quiet, he could hear a clock ticking on the wall. There was no one besides himself and the librarian in the building. The books he wanted were on the top shelves and out of reach. At the end of the aisle was a ladder with wheels connected to a rail, along the top of the bookcase. A sign on the wall read, For Librarian’s Use Only.

Nicky walked back to the desk to ask for assistance. The librarian was turned away from the counter, working bent over a stack of books. He checked out her figure. She was built like a brick shit house, her butt was perfect. He cleared his throat to get her attention. “Excuse me, Miss, I need you,” he said. She turned and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “There’s a book I can’t reach,” Nicky explained. She followed him without a word, back to the aisle in question. He pointed to the books he required. She slid the ladder down the rail and brushed against Nicky, as she started up the ladder. She had long smooth legs, ending in black lacy panties. As she started back down, he ran his hand up the back of her thigh and rubbed her wet pussy, inserting a finger. She stopped above him on the last rung of the ladder and made a low purring cat-like sound in the back of her throat. He cupped both cheeks of her ass in both hands, then rolled her panties down off one leg. He lifted her skirt and put his tongue inside her vagina, as she hunched him like there was no tomorrow. “Not here, please, please, please, goddamn you,” she moaned. But she kept pulling Nicky’s face into her drenched feverish pussy.

Nicky dropped his pants and lowered her down off the ladder onto his throbbing erection. He impaled her and thrust for all he was worth. She was like an inferno, her hair had come undone and grew wilder by the second. Books and shelves rattled into a frenzied rhythm. So far, they hadn’t been discovered. The librarian’s eyes glazed over in pleasure and passion, but there was also a hint of terror. Nicky locked this face in his memory for a painting and finished her off. They fixed their clothes and he borrowed several books.

He headed over to the local watering hole, nothing like a cold beer after knocking off some smoking hot poontang. Nicky grabbed a stool and ordered a bottle of Coors. A couple of lumberjack types were eating some goulash looking stuff, mopping it up with flour tortillas. “What’s that they’re eating?” he asked the barkeep. “Green chile stew, you want to try some?“ Nicky was about to order, when he gazed into the mirror, behind the bar. Theresa Gonzales had stepped up behind him and her reflection was smiling at his. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” she remarked. “Eat that stuff,” she replied. “Come with me, I’ll make you some real Mexican food.” Nicky ordered a case of Coors. “For your father,” he smiled.

The house was clean and dazzling white. Shade trees cooled the terrazzo tile floors. The river could be heard from the thick adobe windows. Theresa said, “My father lives in the old servant’s quarters. He likes some independence that way.” She handed him a beer, he stepped close and grabbed her hand. Nicky didn’t want to rush her, but he wanted her to know he was there for more than a meal. “I’ll be right back,” she said, disengaging herself from Nicky. She took her father some beer and returned. Her demeanor was thoughtful, she examined the books Nicky had with him and stared into his eyes. He put both arms around her and at first she pulled away from him, with a frightened look in the bottomless fathoms of her eyes. She realized she was getting into something way beyond her control, where animalistic instincts took precedence.

He kissed her deep and long. Her legs got weak and he carried her to the couch. Kissing her face and throat, he undressed her slowly, kissing each part of her body as it became exposed. Her body quivered and trembled in ecstasy, it was sheer heaven. Nicky started at her sensitive inner thighs, working ever higher. When he came to her mound of love and sank his tongue in, she had her first orgasm. Theresa tossed her head from left to right, as she climaxed time after time. He pulled his tongue out, as he took off his clothes. She stared at his body with naked unabashed lust. She hissed, “Don’t stop, don’t you ever stop.” Nicky plunged two fingers, deep inside her and finished undressing with one hand.  He lowered himself inside her, ever so gently. She protested, saying she wanted him all and rammed her fingers up his asshole.

He sucked her nipples until they were harder than cherry pits. He gave her an inch, then pulled out, almost withdrawing completely. Nicky wanted to cock tease her into a frenzy, he put all his skill and knowledge to work, letting her have an inch, then two, then out, then four, then a taste of all eight, then nothing. Theresa was on fire, biting the stuffing out of a pillow, screaming. Finally she could take no more, she dug her fingernails into his ass cheeks, raking his backside with her talons as he bucked and rode. Nicky reached beneath her and spread her ass, shoving his thumb up her tight little anus. She screamed in high soprano, while he tried to cover her mouth, afraid her father would come to investigate.

They reached their final peak together. As they came, they fell from the couch, her on top. Nicky looked up into the most beautiful hazelnut eyes he had ever seen. He knew this woman was way overdue for a good hard fuck. They showered together, soaping each other and getting off one more time. “I’ll bet you’re hungry?” Theresa asked. Theresa’s enchiladas were delicious, the smell and taste beyond description. Afterward she took him to a hot springs pool next to the river. The water was damn near boiling. They used a bucket on a long rope to retrieve cold water from the river. The mixture had to be just right or you could get scalded. After fixing the water temperature, they lay back in the water and gazed up at the early evening stars. Watching comets, zinging across the Milky Way. The next morning, a loud woodpecker rap awoke them. Theresa opened the door to find a redheaded woman in a well-cut gray suit. Polka dot high heels completed her outfit. She was carrying a leather briefcase and looking extremely auspicious.

“I’m looking for the painter, called Nicky,” she announced. “I am he,” Nicky said, stepping around Theresa. “Lucy Barnes,” she said, extending her hand. “I represent a compendium of art collectors. They have become acquainted with your work and would like to launch your career.” Nicky wondered what planet she came from, and if the folks interested in his paintings also wanted to smack him over the head with a bottle of champagne.

***

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Mojo Meets Hendrix

The house stood across the road from a huge maroon magenta boulder shaped like the head of a buffalo, minus one horn. Crimson ristras hung from viga roof beams, along with what was obviously tall upside down marijuana plants. An outhouse with a half moon carved in the door stood in the distance. Prickly pear with ripening fruit took the place of a manicured lawn. The house was quiet, so Jeanie led Nicky around back. An irrigation ditch separated the sloping hill from the damned stream at the beginning of the canyon. A small log bridge spanned the ditch and a tall chicken wire fence kept out most of the rabbits and marauding raccoons. Mojo was soaking in a big lion footed bathtub, her sleek black body contrasting with the pale whiteness of the tub. Buffalo sat strumming his instrument and writing in a spiral notebook, working on a new song. Corncob was arguing with Mojo.

“I tell you I met Hendrix once,” she exclaimed. “You’re full of shit. The closest you ever came to Jimi Hendrix was shoplifting Electric Lady Land from Kmart.” “I’m telling you, I was his foxy lady.” “In your dreams, Mojo,” the dude called Corncob, replied. Nicky enjoyed their banter. The black lady looked like an ebony warrior, completely uninhibited by her nakedness. “Do you mind if I draw you,” he asked. 

“Be my guest. Buffalo said you were very talented, but I’d like to find out for myself,” she winked at him flirtatiously. Corncob sent up little clouds of smoke. Buffalo broke out the scotch and built a fire inside a ring of rocks. “We’re having meat tonight and plenty of it. Remember when the Indians used to stampede the buffalo over a cliff? We won’t have that much meat, but no one will walk away hungry,” he proclaimed. An asshole up the mountain hadn’t paid him for several loads of firewood and to make matters worse, laughed in his face when he tried to collect. “I waited for a few weeks, to let this guy get square with me, but he had no intention of settling his bill. So I took my amigos deer rifle and blasted one of his prime corn fed steers. We butchered the carcass and put it in a freezer, down the canyon. I think its best if we eat the evidence tonight, then there is not much the authorities can do about it.” They spitted, grilled, and pit barbequed more meat, than Nicky had ever seen. Laying chilies and garlic cloves among the steaks, the aroma was mouth watering. Neighbors from all up and down the canyon came, bringing wine and weed. They sang and ate and fell in love and fell out of love. Jeanie and Nicky went back to her house for a siesta of romance. When they returned, she had her guitar and he brought his sketch pad. Nicky drew Mojo sitting in a silk kimono robe, openly revealing herself as she toked on a bong, the smoke enveloping her Afro style hair. Mojo had a massive amount of pubic hair, her bush looked like one of those that attacked and killed werewolves in the deepest darkest jungle. Buffalo made a joke about her gorilla looking snatch. “If you flashed that motherfucker in the zoo, there would damn sure be an escape.”  

“You know you’re always begging for more,” she grinned. They all ate and drank and smoked weed and fucked and ate more. Nicky danced to the mountain home grown music. The stars came out and chased each other across the galaxy. Guitars and voices called down the angels. Finally they all went skinny dipping and there was a lot of grabassing and horse play.

Nicky didn’t remember how the night ended, but he awoke nuzzling his face between two chocolate peaks. Mojo’s delicious titties were like two towering Hershey kisses, he sucked each nipple, smacking his lips. Then decided she needed an African queen motorboat fuck between those gigantic black hooters. Nicky worked his hard dick up between her tits, resting his nuts on her soft stomach. He was rubbing, as Mojo’s cat like tongue flicked out like a snake and massaged the delicate head of his pride and joy. Nicky reached behind him for her clitoris, it was standing up and waiting for attention. They switched ends and went into a fast and furious sixty nine routine. That lasted a short while, until Mojo whispered, “ I need you now, white boy, right now, right fucking now.” Nicky kept up and stayed aboard, which was a miracle. When they stopped, Mojo seemed like she was in a trance.

When they finished they snuggled together and looked around. Jeanie was mounted on Corncob, fucking like there was no tomorrow, her head thrown back weaving from side to side, as he thrust up into her. Buffalo was pumping Cindy, a banjo player from behind, doggie style, while he ate the pussy of another lady. They were quite acrobatic in their ballet of sex. What an orgy. The party finally ended, Mojo and Corncob had to return to Albuquerque. Jeanie had to get home to see about the store. She invited Nicky along, but Buffalo insisted he hang out with him. He said they could catch up with Jeanie later.

***

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That Cunt Can’t Sing

Jeanie wheeled her pickup expertly down the snake-twisting road.  Jeff Beck played from the eight track tape deck. Her sons hadn’t budged from their makeshift bed. They were probably used to tagging along with mom on her gigs. When Nicky climbed into the truck, she’d given him a peck on the cheek. That was all the body contact they had so far. He found it rather refreshing for a change. He knew she was no airhead, this woman was in a class all of her own. “What do you paint?” she asked. “Women, mostly in various states of undress and arousal,” answered Nicky. “Sounds interesting, have you been to Spence Springs yet?” Jeanie asked. “No, not yet,” he replied. “Maybe we can go together?” “I would like that,” Nicky said. She changed the tapes to The Ballad of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid by Bob Dylan. He whined, “There are guns across the river, aiming at you. Billy, they don’t like you to be so free.” It was an appropriate tune for a special New Mexican night.

“What do you do in Gilman Canyon?” “I help run a small store, garden, play music, and raise my boys. I make a little cash playing small gigs around the mountains and when a forest fire breaks out, I go help put it out. Sometimes I cut firewood and Christmas trees, with my neighbor, Buffalo. If times get desperate, we go to the desert and borrow cacti, to sell to landscapers and make fake arrowheads. I also grow a few herbs.” “I like a woman of many talents,” replied Nicky. “You’ve seen nothing yet,” she laughed. They drove down the road, through Jemez Springs. Nicky thought of the Mexican beauty, as they passed her house. Jeanie continued on for about five miles, and then turned west, crossing a small wooden bridge. The Jemez River ran dark and cold over the round rocks, leaving it behind.

They entered a canyon. Nicky could see a barn that had once been painted red, almost lying on the road. Cattle, horses, mule, deer, and elk were spotlighted by the truck’s lights, eyes staring back, waiting, innocent in the starlit night among the small adobe ranchos. The Rio de las Vacas could be heard splashing along the west side of the canyon. The sun inched above the eastern rim, exposing the cliff walls of multicolored strata. Copper, gold, red magenta, opaque quartz layered irregular stone crumbled into the water. An ancient rusted Coca Cola sign, with a faded name, Gilman, marked Jeanie’s house. She rented from an old lady named Quintana, which owned the land from a Spanish land grant, which supposedly dated back to Cortez. Jeanie helped with the store. It had no set hours. A cowbell on a rope was rung by customer’s requiring service.

Nicky helped Jeanie carry her two sons into the house. They tucked them into bed. Jeanie started a fire in the fireplace, to warm the front room. They were both exhausted, they settled on the couch and soon fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

He dreamed Jeanie was playing guitar in a small tavern. The crowd thinned out, as the night wore on. She played two sets and started her last around midnight. Two loud-mouthed Chicano dudes had been making stupid remarks, the more they drank, the louder and ruder they became. Jeanie continued to play, but finally they got so obnoxious, she stopped. “That cunt can’t sing,” one of them said. “She could wrap her lips around my chorizo and make better music,” the other replied. “She could fuck us both and sing at the same.” “I bet she has a big loose pussy, like her mouth.” 

Nicky was a lover, not a fighter, but sometimes there was no choice. The bigger Mexican finally had enough liquid courage to do something about all his bold bullshit talk. He started staggering toward the stage. Nicky got up and intercepted the drunk. He jumped four times from the balls of his feet to his toes, to get his adrenaline flowing. He slapped the drunk, to turn his attention away from Jeanie. Reaching down to the floor, he brought up a Spanish Harlem haymaker that just about took the punk’s head clean off. His amigo started for the door, but Nicky was on him, like a Tasmanian devil doing a dervish dance. They would both be lucky to be fully functioning for quite some time.  He awoke to a set of warm expert lips coaxing him awake. Jeanie had her hair down, flowing over his thighs and stomach. Her perfect pear-like breasts massaged his body.  She almost brought him to climax, but eased off, teasing and licking and sucking, then prolonging the pleasure. Finally she lowered herself down on Nicky, incredibly slowing down and speeding up at the most crucial moments. Nicky had never encountered a woman with such muscle control and sexual prowess. Every other woman paled in comparison.

The morning light streamed in. As they heard the roosters crowing, they reached their simultaneous orgasm. Timmy and Joe attacked their mom, as Nicky made it into the bathroom. They were little hell raisers, to put it mildly. Jeanie stirred together a fire in her cast iron kitchen range. She got breakfast ready, as the boys got dressed for school. Nicky dressed and carried in some firewood. He stepped back outside to take a look around. The mountains were steep and awesome. Beyond the river was a hazy azure blue. The landscape was like the Sea of Tranquility. Ruby red oblong-shaped boulders marched down the canyon. Emerald green kaleidoscope juniper, yucca, and sage brush sprouted from the most unlikely fissures. No wonder so many great painters came to New Mexico, thought Nicky, the palette was infinite. Jeanie came outside to call him to breakfast. She could tell how much the canyon affected him, it usually had that magic. They ate huevos rancheros, she sure knew how to dish on the salsa. Taking the boys down to catch the yellow school bus, Jeanie made her way back to the house. Nicky offered to help her clean up, but she told him to go paint. Jeanie could sense his mood.

He got out his easel and canvas and set his studies against a rock. The canyon wall and background blended perfectly with his figures. The paintings came alive under his expertise, the canvas filled and overflowed with a strange life-giving force. A guitar could be heard from up the canyon. It was a country song, one he’d never heard before. The voice was alright, but the guitar work was excellent. Nicky heard a harmonica join in and he cocked an ear to keep listening, as he kept applying colors. A sweet jazz-like gospel voice took over, adding a verse to the song.

“Mojo, you could fuck up a wet dream,” he heard someone say in a New York accent and then crack up laughing. “If you countrified fuckers knew what music was, you’d need a ladder to climb to kiss my sweet molasses black ass,” the soul sister replied. This was more than Nicky could take, he went inside to inquire about the neighbors. “Oh you mean Buffalo,” Jeanie said. “He might have anyone with him. He’s from New York and he know musicians from all over the world.” “Do you ever play with him?” Nicky asked. “If you mean music, the answer is yes. Everyone in Gilman jams together, it’s the unwritten law,” replied Jeanie. “Will we meet him later?” “Sure, anytime you’re ready,” she replied. Nicky finished a couple of paintings and was putting the final touches on a third.

“Not bad, damn the ladies look so real, like they could step right down from the canvas and come alive,” he heard from the shadows. Nicky turned and saw a blonde, clean-shaven, almost baby-faced guy wearing a straw cowboy hat and smiling at him. The guy was shirtless, wearing cutoffs and huaraches and had an Ovation guitar slung across his back from a rainbow-colored strap. “You sure know how to paint naked women,” he said and extended his hand in friendship. “They call me Buffalo, I live up the road a piece.” “I heard your music and asked Jeanie about you, I’m Nicky,” he replied. “Don’t let me interrupt your painting,” Buffalo said. Jeanie brought them coffee. Buffalo played Starry Starry Night about Vincent van Gogh. He said it was the only song he knew about a painter. Jeanie got her guitar and they played for an hour, mostly old rock songs.

“I got to split. Bring Mr. Matisse Picasso down for a little get together this afternoon. I’ve got some twelve-day-old Scotch that came from a young horse near Glasgow, and I only rinsed my socks in it once,” Buffalo said. 

“You don’t own any socks,” Jeanie replied.

***

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Catfish McDaris

Mountain Oysters and Moses

The tavern was built log cabin style with mud and concrete chinked logs. The atmosphere was like a mad circus with a vast array of crazies. In the parking lot, as they drove up, a man was sitting on a big grayish buckskin horse. Another man rode up behind him on a gigantic black stallion. The horse kicked the first rider from the saddle, doing one of those Lone Ranger numbers. Out pops this three foot pink dick and the horse starts humping away at the mare. The rider of the stallion can’t get his foot loose from the stirrup, so he’s being thrashed and jerked up and down like a yoyo, as his horse knocks off a piece. The mare is whinnying in delight and the crowd is cheering them on.

A guy dressed like a mountain man was putting on a knife and tomahawk throwing demonstration on one side of the bar. He keeps trying to get a lady to hold a cigarette between her tits, so he can show off his undaunting prowess. Several lovely ladies are watching with drinks in hand. La Cueva was two pool tables, a long bar, a dance floor, and a blaring jukebox. A monstrous muskellunge smiled down from behind the bar, wearing human false teeth. A band was setting up their equipment. The drums read Mountain Oysters. Two men in cowboy hats were concentrating on a pool game. Three ladies in halter tops and short cutoffs were playing on the other table, shaking their shit as they cued up. Guys with long hair and beards leaned against the wall, waiting for the babes to finish. 

The band looked familiar, if you knew a bit about history. One resembled Harpo Marx with a Frank Zappa goatee. Another like Buddy Holly, complete with nerd glasses. The female singer looked like Cher with Dolly Parton floatation devices. The lead guitar player looked like Jim Morrison and the chicks were eyeballing him, big time. A biblical looking guy was at the end of the bar, chopping up lines of cocaine on a Harley Davidson advertising mirror. He had the Ten Commandments tattooed on his bulging bicep, but he didn’t appear to be the religious type. Several ladies were waiting with rolled up bills for a snort. “That’s Moses,” Vivian said. “He’s keeps things interesting.” The bartender was a red headed guy, with an Asian slant to his eyes. When he wasn’t serving drinks, he seemed to be scanning everywhere at once. He kept his arms folded and a blank look of meditation on his face. Moses supplied all that wanted, huge toots of Peruvian flake. He then started a game, with four women and a small group started gathering around. Bets were being made on the size of each chick’s nipples. “Now, let me get this straight, when you say nipple, do you mean just the stand at attention sticking up part? Or the entire dark area surrounding the cherry?” one guy asked.

“Anything that isn’t colored is titty. Anything that isn’t white is nipple. Okay?” replied Moses. The women were giggling and tossing back shots of Cuervo Gold. Money was piling up on the bar.  Nicky had his eye on a café au lait lady that didn’t really fit in the game. She stood back and watched from the shadows.

Moses lined up his measuring equipment. A dime, a quarter, a single shot, and a double shot glass, and a tumbler, these were to fit over the nipples of the contestants. The crowd seemed to favor the chick with the biggest tits, they were torpedo shaped. Two had tits like a Texas ruby grapefruits. The last one seemed rather flat chested and skinny in comparison, to the other three. Nicky knew all types of women, from his painting. He placed a bet for a hundred bucks at three to one odds, on the skinny chick, knowing her tits were all nipple. They all raised their shirts at the same time, none wore bras. The crowd hooted and yelled, as Moses made the measurements. Nicky won easily, big tits had cherry pits, the two grapefruit ladies had strawberries, but flat chest had ink blot monkey nipples. He collected his cash, after dropping a hundred for a round for the house and another hundred for the four ladies to split.

The crowd dispersed, as two guys went at it fist city style, over a pool game. Another guy tried to break it up, while a friend of one of the fighters broke a cue stick over the buttinski’s skull. The bar filled with a loud explosion and gun smoke, everything got real quiet, the sound of a pistol being cocked for a second shot could be heard. The bartender had a 357 magnum aimed at the slugger, holding the pool stick. “Any killing going to be done in my bar, I do it.” He kicked the guy in the nuts and kept kicking, until he was outside. Then made an icepack for the guy with the headache, then things got back to near normal.

Nicky walked his café cinnamon lady out to the back deck, overlooking the river. Several couples were smoking weed and making out. Across the river, cows and horses grazed in a verdant green pasture. “How would you like to go for the best mustache ride of your life?” he asked, while he stroked her flank. “Sounds good, because I plan to suck you until your nuts look like chick peas and your asshole is puckered like a prune,” she replied. Nicky got the keys to the camper and they had their sexual rendezvous. They took a bar of soap and went down to the river and washed each other. “Cock and pussy cleanliness is a must, even in the wilderness,” Nicky proclaimed. “I have to go sweet man. Can I see you again?” she asked. “Anytime, anywhere,” Nicky answered. He watched as a uniformed man opened the door of a long shiny limousine.

Nicky hit the cantina like a barracuda in a tank of goldfish. The dudes had no chance against the maximum chick magnet. He danced and pranced and joked and toked. Women were eating out of his hand. Slick laughed at his amigo, in top form.  The Mountain Oysters cranked out Smokestack Lightning by Buddy Holly, then took a smoke break. A young woman pulled a chair on stage and lowered two microphones. She unpacked an acoustic guitar and sat down. Her hair was parted in the middle and she wore wire rimmed glasses. She resembled John Lennon and an old fashioned no nonsense school marm. The first song was a Spanish flamenco instrumental, it started slowly and softly, but was soon a machine gun staccato of finger picking. By the time the song ended, her hair was loose and wild. The next song was a Little Feat truck driving ballad, her voice was full throated an unearthly. She took off her glasses, revealing ice blue eyes and lit a cigarette. Taking a couple of drags, she wedged the smoke between the strings of her instrument. She played Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, and several songs that she had written. Nicky bought her a tequila sunrise and placed it next to her chair. She smiled her thanks and finished her short set, then repacked her guitar to applause, as the Oysters took over. Nicky walked with her out to her pickup. She opened the door softly, to put her guitar inside. There was a pallet on the floor board, her two young sons were asleep there, huddled against each other. Jeanie was her name and Nicky knew then, he had to paint her. She invited him to Gilman Canyon, where she lived. He told her he was a painter.    

“Good, you can paint there,” Jeanie replied. She went back into the bar, to get paid. Nicky went looking for Slick and Vivian. “I’m going to Gilman Canyon with Jeanie and her sons, to paint. I need some canvas and paints. Can you mail Jack my stuff that’s finished? I’ll catch up with you in a few days, cool?” Nicky explained to Slick. “I’ll take care of Jack and I’ll see you in a week or so,” Slick replied. “Gilman Canyon is a very special place. There are two huge tunnels dynamited through sheer mountain cliffs. There are rare gardens and musicians and scientists and Indians and mad inventors all living in harmony. You are lucky someone extended you an invitation,” Vivian told them and smiled. They had a group hug, as Nicky loaded his painting supplies into Jeanie’s truck.

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