Perfectly preserved in the dark,
still, she wears his favorite dress,
his favorite heels, the spikes
that catch on the shag
nearly rolls an ankle
mixes him a highball,
drinks it herself
has another and waits
it is like it was
has another and waits
the longer she waits
the more she will need
has another and waits
for the archeologists
to find her there in his vault
with the rest of his possessions
A dancer leaned from a window and let her hair fall.
Southern Ontario never felt more like a fairytale.
Years later you sent me a text out of the blue.
“If you fuck someone tonight
try to love them less than me.”
I didn’t respond but maybe I should have.
If you’re reading this, I still hope
for the future we talked about
having sex while Bernie Sanders is giving
a victory speech, to really roll around naked
in grassroots where the beautiful voices are
where none of them feel trapped.
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.
I trace the influence
of the Renaissance
in your face
which is not
so much a style
as a way of living.
The dawn of perspective
in doom town. How sad, how
lovely, like death
laying an egg
in a trashy movie.
I’m deep red.
You’re sprawled on the couch
with your clit out.
I mistake it for a bird
at first, and then a pink sweater
and then a monastery
on a hill overlooking the sea
where a submarine blips
like a latticed halo.
“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.
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.
***
Up next:
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.
***
Up next:
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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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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Driving west, the mountains were indigo blue, valleys of white barked aspen intermingled with conifer trees. The Anasazi had left these lands without explanation, leaving large stone and adobe ruins. The Pueblo settled many centuries before. Slick studied the map, but Vivian knew the roads well. They drove through Bernalillo, past cows and horses toward Cuba. At San Ysidro they stopped, while Slick and Nicky nailed together mailing crates for his paintings. They entered an incredible canyon that climbed ever higher into the Jemez Mountains. The burnt red cliffs sculpted strange rock formations. They drove through the Jemez Pueblo Indian Reservation, where women baked round loaves of bread in beehive style ovens. Ladies chatted and sold intricately decorated pottery and bread from stands, along the road. Nicky saw a Pueblo man leading a remuda of four horses. He asked Slick to stop, so he could speak with him. “Hey dude, where did you get those fierce horses?” Nicky asked. The Indian looked at Nicky like he was a Martian. “Hey dude, don’t you understand English?” “Yes, I understand you well. What the fuck is your problem?” the Indian replied.
“Hey dude, I’m a painter and I’d like to paint you and your horses. Any harm in that?”
“First of all, my name isn’t fucking dude, it’s Burma. Mister Burma, to you white boy. I just caught these horses in the sierra and I’m taking them to the river to tame. If you want to come along, it will cost you,” replied Burma. “No problem, Mister Burma, my name is Nicky. I would like to capture your horses on canvas,” Nicky extended his hand and Burma shook it. Slick drove the truck slowly, following the string of horses. They bumped down a rutted dirt road. The river was surrounded by crimson dogwood. Burma led the horses into the water, speaking softly to each one in his own language and feeding them sweet grass. Nicky painted and drew as Burma mounted and tamed each of the four horses. Vivian and Slick spent the afternoon in the camper, occupied. Burma warned Nicky. “Don’t go into Al’s Cantina, it is dangerous for a white man. The welfare Indians drink up all their checks and then hang around like vultures, waiting on a corpse for their next drink. Cebolla Roja in Jemez Springs is a good bar and farther up the mountain is La Cueva, it’s even better. There are good people in these mountains and I hope we meet again.” Nicky finished his work and gave Burma some money and a drawing and they drove on. The mountain road grew steeper and more crooked. The hard core fly fishermen considered the streams a paradise. Tall Ponderosa pine, Douglas fir, and aspen covered the mountain crags. Mullen, wild strawberries, and blooming lupine grew beside the road. Vivian said the Indians mixed kinnikinnic with mullein and bark, when they ran out of tobacco. Bare rock formations jutted up through the forest. Hot springs were numerous, caused by the geothermal underground activity.
The village of Jemez Springs wasn’t large, thirty or forty modern houses, a cantina, a store combination gas station, a motel, a café, and a church. A rushing river ran behind the houses and an ancient Anasazi ruin overlooked the hamlet from a hill. Lots of pickup trucks with fishing poles in rifles racks were parked haphazardly. Slick and Vivian gassed the truck, while Nicky strolled across the street to check out the Cebolla Roja cantina. Large peeled tree posts held up the roof of the porch. There were several tree stump stools carved with a chainsaw to resemble native forest animals, a painted red onion, the namesake adorned the sign over the doorway. Nicky walked in and looked around. There were stuffed deer, elk, moose, bear heads, and fish all glaring down from their dusty homes. Old muskets, swords, plows, and wagon wheels were mounted between the dead residents. Chandeliers of hanging lights were dangling from a profusion of antlers all curved together. A gigantic fireplace made from fool’s gold took up most of one wall, with a pool table and a small stage next to it. The bar was a long intricately carved and varnished affair of oak with a brass footrest running its length.
A mousy looking woman was serving beer to two guys wearing baseball caps. An old Indian man sat dreamily on a stool. Nicky ordered a beer and went to the can to piss. There was no urinal, so he used the stool. Shit caked to the sides of the bowl. He aimed his stream at the crap and thought life is like this, people clinging to earth and everyone trying to flush you away. He returned to his beer and looked out the door, Vivian and Slick were stocking up on things from the store. Next to the store was a white-washed adobe, with a freshly painted white picket fence. A superbly built woman emerged and headed toward the bar. She had an hourglass figure with black hair, cut in the latest fashion. She smiled at a passerby, a brilliant heart stopping smile. Nicky was anxious to see her up close. Entering the watering hole, she stopped momentarily to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She blinked at Nicky, recognizing a strange face and stepped up to the bar.
“Joyce, give me a six pack of Corona, please,” she said. “No problem,” she replied and put the beer in a paper bag. “How’s your father?” “He’s the same. As long as he gets his cerveza, he’s happy.” She rolled the top of the bag down into a handle. Nicky watched her walk away, prime strut. The guys at the bar saw Nicky looking, they motioned him over to them. “Sit down, have a beer with us?” invited the men. “You were gazing at the most frigid iceberg in the Jemez. You better forget it. No offense but, better men than you have put in years on melting her heart. She’s wears permanent chastity belt,” they said. “Who is she?” Nicky asked. The bartender replied, “Her name is Theresa Gonzales, she teaches elementary school down at the reservation. She’s not available.” “Are you sticking around for awhile?” asked one of the guys. Nicky shrugged. “If you are, all the scientist women come over from Los Alamos on the weekends. More pussy than you can shake your dick at. My buddy and I have our own personal Geiger counters to check out the ladies for radiation. You don’t want to end up with a peter that glows in the dark, if you know what I mean,” explained Nicky new acquaintance. “You guys are so full of shit, it’s coming out your ears,” the bartender said. They both broke into fits of laughter. Nicky nodded. “Thanks for the beer.” He thought about Theresa, what a fine specimen of female anatomy and a challenge to boot. The chase was sometimes more fun than the capitulation. Nicky walked back across the road to the truck. Slick and Vivian were ready to split, they’d stocked the cooler with beer and wine. Bought night crawlers and salmon eggs for bait and were ready to fish. Seeing no sign of the lovely teacher lady, as they headed north out of town, Nicky made a mental note to pass this way again. Vivian pointed out several retreats for priests and nuns that had strayed from the path of the church. A few miles up the mountain, a yellowish mushroom shaped rock perched over a stream, it was like a growth on the landscape. Water gushed through it forming a cave open on both sides and a bridge. Hot steam bubbled and gurgled from several springs. People climbed into the cave, soaking in the cascading water or basking in the sun on the surrounding rocks. Kids splashed and played in the small waterfall. Slick parked the truck and they got out for a closer look. The smell of sulfur permeated the air. On the opposite side of the road, hot water gushed down a cliff face. The rocks were caked yellowish orange, people waded in a trench of water with their pants rolled up. Nicky knelt and cupped some water to his face, it was warm and thick and smelled like a match striking. They walked over to the stream and waded in the icy water. Slick climbed up into the cave for a look around. Vivian sat on a rock, skimming stones into a pool. Nicky went back to the truck for paper and pencils. He sketched Vivian relaxing by the water. Slick soon joined them and they continued north. A few miles further they came to Battleship Rock. The formation was aptly named, it was only missing the cannons. Vivian said a few miles above it, was Banco Bonito. Hippies camped there in the summer in the surrounding caves. Many years ago, someone had stocked the warm pool with tropical fish. The tiny fish had proliferated, now neon iridescent rainbow colored fish nibbled your body as you swam. Continuing north, past another formation called Indian Head, Vivian instructed Slick to pull into the next parking area.
A Santa Fe National Forest Service sign announced: SPENCE SPRINGS-NUDE BATHING ALLOWED ON TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYS ONLY. ALL OTHER TIMES OCCUPANTS MUST BE PROPERLY ATTIRED. THANK YOU
Naked men and women together, sanctioned by the government. Nicky couldn’t believe his good fortune. Two blondes, that looked like Scandinavian airline stewardesses got out of their convertible. They waved towels at Nicky and smiled. Nicky voted for the hot springs, but was overruled by Slick and Vivian, they opted for fishing.
A few miles later, they hit the road for Los Alamos to the east and Fenton Lake to the west. Turning west for the lake, La Cueva bar was next to the river. Nicky figured that was the meat market, the guys down in Cebolla Roja spoke of and Burma.
Fenton Lake was crystal blue, nestled between aspen and pines. A few fly fishermen were whipping their lines out for trout. Slick got the raft out and they took turns blowing, until it was inflated. He got the poles ready and Vivian and he launched for the middle of the lake, where a miniscule wooded island was located. Nicky stayed on shore and worked on painting his studies on to canvas. He had the woman with no face, with her back arching toward heaven, gnawing a knuckle. Orgasm was dripping off the canvas. Nicky was ecstatic, he’d finally accomplished what he’d attempted to do for many years. He was so engrossed in his work, he didn’t notice a young woman watching him. She was sitting on a blanket, staring in awe at him and his painting. She was wearing a straw top hat, with long braided hair hanging from either side. She had on black rimmed glasses and a kind of khaki style explorer outfit. Nicky thought of a butterfly collector or maybe a bird watcher.
“Hello,” he said. She continued staring. “Do you like it?” he asked She nodded and removed her glasses, licking her lips, “It’s truly the greatest painting I’ve ever seen. Do you make women feel like that?” she asked. “Yes, I guess I do,” he replied. “I thought so, or you couldn’t paint with such feeling.” They fell silent, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. He knew she was horny, his painting had that magic effect. She got up from her blanket, rubbing her thighs and calves, as if to revive her circulation, she smiled seductively. Nicky walked to her and took over the rubbing action. He pulled her to him, crushing her mouth with his. She moaned and hunched hard against him, opening her legs engulfing him. Rolling her into a bed of soft pine needles, she mounted him and threw caution to the wind. They soon collapsed together in climax and pleasure. He thought about how his painting more often than not led to pleasurable situations. The woman disappeared into the forest. Nicky thought he’d just fucked the nymph of the Rockies. His nymph returned with her hair brushed down, looking beautiful. Nicky had returned to his painting. “Can you put my face on the woman in your painting?” she asked. “I’d like to buy it. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars cash for it.” “For ten grand, I’ll finish it right now,” he replied. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She waited as he put the finishing touches on his masterpiece. Nicky knew that once he had accomplished the ultimate orgasm, it was always at his fingertips. Taking her money and delivering the painting to her, they kissed and she walked back into the forest.
Slick and Vivian soon returned with a stringer full of rainbow trout. Slick cleaned the fish, while Nicky gathered firewood. Vivian admired Nicky’s second painting of the day. She let out a low wolf whistle. “I thought you were working on a different painting when we left?” Vivian inquired. “I was,” Nicky replied. Then he told them both of his afternoon adventure and showed them the money. He gave some dough to Slick to help pay for expenses. They fried the fish with potatoes and washed it down with cold beer. The mountain air had whetted their appetite. After the meal, Vivian suggested they head back to La Cueva, to shoot some pool. They doused the fire and piled into the truck, after gathering all their gear.
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