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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
She had mahogany golden hair, a thin Modigliani body and a dazzling killer smile. Her name was Vivian Flores and she seemed to dazzle Slick. Nicky ached to paint her, she was his masterpiece if he could capture her essence on canvas. Slick was in love, he looked like one of those cartoon characters, where Cupid flies by shooting little arrows of love into his ass. If he could sprout tiny wings of love on his ankles he would. “I love you” hearts sprang from his eyes, he was so smitten. The pretty waitress introduced them with a huge grin. Vivian smiled with an inner confidence that shined through all the fake compliments.
“Are you headed for Placitas?” she asked.
“If that’s where they’re filming the movie we are,” replied Nicky.
Slick just stared, trying to keep his eyeballs in his skull.
“Let’s go,” she said. They all climbed into the pickup.
“We go north, past Corrales and the horses and orchards, wild asparagus grows beneath the fruit trees. Towards Algodones, which is Spanish for cotton. When the cotton is ripe, the whiteness against the ruby cliffs is blinding. Then we turn east and start climbing. Some hippies have a commune, built around an old Wells Fargo stagecoach adobe building. MGM or Universal or one of those Hollywood studios is making a miniature Woodstock movie in a valley of the Sandias. There’s plenty of bitchin’ music and grass and fun. I can be your guide, if you’re interested?” Vivian told them.
Slick and Nicky agreed wholeheartedly.
“A man calling himself Ulysses S. Grant started the commune. He ran unsuccessfully for governor, no one took him seriously because he rode his mule down from the mountains and he refused to shave his beard or cut his hair. Lately some strange events have been happening there. Two men that Ulysses had offered shelter raped his daughter. They turned up dead and Ulysses disappeared, before the police could question him. I’m not sure who is running the commune now.” As Vivian spoke, Nicky drew her facial features and profile. Slick turned off the main highway as directed. A lot of traffic was traveling up the valley. Almost all of them were headed for the movie.
The valley started in the high Sierra desert, spritely yellow yucca with brown husky buds and lime green bayonet leaves jutting up. Olive green prickly pear cacti with pomegranate red fruit covered with tiny almost invisible thorns and needles. Green gray mesquite grew taller than the other plants and provided some shade and beans for the rodents and deer. Cottonwoods and willows grew near the stream. As they drove higher in elevation, there were cedar, pine, pinon, and fir trees. The caravan of cars and vehicles kept going up the mountain. Vivian instructed Slick to pull onto a side road. There was a barbed wire gate and a metal cattle guard to prevent cows from roaming. Nicky got out and helped Vivian drag the gate aside, so Slick could drive through, after relatching the gate they continued on at a slower speed. A ridge of hills jutted out from the canyon wall, forming a secondary canyon hidden from the road. They pulled the truck alongside an old army ambulance. No houses were visible from where they parked. Vivian led the way down a narrowly marked trail. Nicky and Slick enjoyed the view of Vivian and the landscape.
They came over a small hill and saw a tepee with smoke drifting out of the top. Vivian called out and someone yelled. “Come on in.”
A man with blonde hair down to his waist was sitting in the lotus position tossing I Ching coins. He was wearing bib overalls with no shirt, smoking a corn cob pipe. The tent was filled with smoke that was definitely not Prince Albert.
He said, “Excuse me, for not greeting you properly, but my current state of inebriation doesn’t allow standing at this moment.” He was obviously fucked up out of his gourd. They shook hands and passed around the pipe. After they all had a nice glow from the weed, Slick broke out a bottle of George Dickel, Tennessee sippin’ whiskey.
“Let’s take a walk down to the village, while we still can,” suggested Vivian. Nicky and Slick waved goodbye to their new friend and stumbled after her.
The commune consisted of eight adobe brick houses with field stone chimneys jutting from their roofs, they were situated near a stream. There were a few permanent residents, but most people returned to the cities during the harsh winter months. A spring bubbled up and someone had built a small dam creating a pond. Fields of corn, tomatoes, chilies, wheat, beans, pumpkins, and squash were all growing in neat well-weeded rows. The village started at the edge of the field. The largest building was the stagecoach relay station. There was still a hitching rail and water trough out front. It had been built in the secret canyon for protection against marauding Indians. Apache, Navajo, Pueblo, Comanche and the occasional Mexican bandito had all roamed the country. The building had rifle loop holes and double thick adobe walls, built to withstand a siege. The other houses were spread out up the stream.
A pretty woman in a granny style dress was shucking beans on the front porch. A baby was sleeping in cradle next to her. She smiled in greeting. Vivian asked about her cousin, Fernando. They spoke in Spanish and the lady was pointing up toward the houses.
Vivian had a distant cousin, Fernando that lived here in an underground kiva. She wanted to visit him and ask about the commune and movie. The kiva was a large hole covered over with car windshields built into the side of a hill. He had a drainage ditch and a chimney pipe rose out of a potbellied stove. You could look right down inside his living quarters and see all the activity taking place. At the moment he was humping away at a woman that wasn’t his wife. They watched fascinated at their love making. It was like seeing a fish bowl fuck movie with human fish. Slick put his arm around Vivian, while Nicky drew the woman’s face in orgasm. They seemed happy to have an audience and soon invited them down the set of stone stairs.
“This is my cousin, Fernando and his friend, Mustang Sally. This is Slick and his famous painter friend, Nicky,” Vivian said introducing them. “Sally used to live in a Mustang. Where is everyone?” she asked.
“The movie starts shooting tomorrow and almost everyone is camping there, so they can be hired as extras. They’re paying fifty dollars a day and all the weed and wine you can handle,” explained Fernando. “We plan on going early in the morning. You’re welcome to join us.”
Mustang Sally was still naked, she was proud of her well toned body. Nicky continued drawing her and she seemed flattered. Her body was perfect, red ginger hair, a flat stomach, and firm full breasts with dark cloud-like aureoles, and dime-sized nipples, very erect. She looked at the drawing and smiled at Nicky. She said, “Let’s go down to the stream,” and grabbed his hand, leading him away.
Slick and Vivian stayed near the kiva, speaking to Fernando. The stream was about three feet deep. Sally stepped in slowly and goose bumps broke out all over her body. She retrieved a bar of soap from a coffee can, hanging from a limb. Lathering herself, paying special attention to her pussy, Nicky drew and watched in amazement, this beautiful unabashed nymph of nature. The Impressionists would have loved her for a model. Nicky prayed he could do her painting justice, from his studies. Sally motioned for him to enter the water. He undressed and waded in, but the cold had a numbing effect on his pecker and balls and he was soon suffering from a bad case of shrinkage. Sally took the matter of warming him up in hand and was soon astraddle him as the water rushed around them. As they hit their mind-blowing climax, Nicky looked over to the opposite bank and saw three women watching them. They were smiling in amusement. Two were young white women and the third was a ravishing light-skinned black woman. They waved and laughed, Sally obviously knew them. “Just our luck, Mustang Sally always gets first crack at all the live ones,” the black lady said. They soon stripped off their clothes, hanging them in the surrounding bushes. Here were four lovely nude ladies, taking a bath in a majestic mountain stream. Nicky introduced himself, explaining he was a painter. They all laughed and splashed him and each other. The women had grown excited at the sight of him and Sally fucking like there was no tomorrow. Nicky drifted over to Nettie, the black chick and offered to wash her body. She gave him the bar of soap and he was soon massaging her crotch as she lay back moaning. The other two girls borrowed the soap and worked on each other. Sally joined Nicky and Nettie. Nicky mounted Nettie and gave it to her hard and slow. So much excited pussy kept him in a state of constant erection.
The fuck fiesta went on until the sun started going to bed behind the mountains. Florence and Linda, the other two ladies, invited Nicky to sleep over with them. They went by the kiva to inform Slick and Vivian of where he would stay, but they had already returned to the camper.
Flo and Linda were in their early twenties and looked wholesome and frisky. They lived with two guys that had gone on ahead to the movie site. Nicky kept them from getting too lonely throughout the night. He drew them together in bed and from his other studies next to the stream, he should be able to paint many fine portraits. After another night of exhaustion, with the bare minimum amount of sleep, Nicky met Slick and Vivian at the camper. They looked as though they had passed a pleasant night.
They traveled up the valley with Flo, Linda, Mustang Sally, and Fernando riding along. After about ten miles, they topped a rise. There spread out before them was a vast makeshift parking lot with a gigantic stage. They parked and wandered into the masses.
Hippies were everywhere, long-haired men with beards and love beads and earrings dancing in the buttery sunshine. Gypsy dressed women, breasts unfettered with colorful sashes, feathers, and baubles hanging from all over their bodies. Headbands, backpacks, sleeping bags, leather, clouds of patchouli, madras in a sea of smells and circus-like sights. Mind expanding trips for the brain and body, being almost given away, marijuana, hashish, peyote, mescaline, mushrooms, datura, and LSD. Fake cops from a motorcycle gang, wearing San Francisco police uniforms were passing out wooden matchboxes of weed and Boone’s Farm wine. The cops all had chest-length beards and Hell’s Angels insignias on their uniforms. Indians watched the activities with crossed arms, occasionally smiling at a young topless hippie maiden. The scene was a wild mixture of cultures, drugs, languages, flowers, and love. A rock band was cranking out Grand Funk and Iron Butterfly, people were spinning and grooving. The sounds ricocheted off the mountain walls. Big semi trucks loaded with camera crews and recording equipment were set up throughout the crowd. Film crews were trying to capture all the action.
Nicky split from the people he came with. He was hustled along in the river of heads. It was chaos trying to make your way through the crowd. Going with the flow and ending up in a swirling eddy of insanity. Weed and wine were being consumed in a vast quantity. Hugs and kisses came from strangers, experiencing free love, a brotherhood and sisterhood of the stoned.
Nicky wanted to paint, he blocked out everything, except his work. He made it back to the pickup and set up his easel. He had to get all his mind images on canvas. As he painted, sure and quick, he used total concentration. He could feel someone watching him, but Nicky refused to be distracted from the task at hand. No one disturbed him. Nettie was one of the figures he was working on. Finally he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Nettie with an old Mexican man. The man looked as if he had just stepped out of a Pancho Villa movie, minus the crossed cartridge belts across his barrel chest. He wore white rough cotton clothes, a big sombrero, and leather sandals with tire treads for soles. He was holding the lead rope of a burro loaded with burlap sacks. His teeth shined under his salt and pepper mustache, as he smiled at the nude painting. “You paint pretty good, amigo,” he said with a thick accent. “A little more hair on the pussy and more fullness to the breasts, I think.” Nicky grinned at the critique. “You are very observant, senor. Thank you.” The man said, “I would like to purchase one of your paintings. I can tell by your great skill, that you and I have a great regard for women. They are creatures to be protected and nourished and never exploited. I am called the herb man, ask for me when you wish to sell a masterpiece.” He gave Nicky a small cloth bag filled with Mother Nature and he disappeared over a hill holding the reins of his burro. “I think the crowd is cramping your style, am I right?” asked Nettie. Nicky nodded. She extended her hand and said, “Come home with me. Vivian will know where to find us.” “I’ll come with you, but I need time to paint,” he replied. They hiked down the road, catching a ride with some folks heading back to Albuquerque. Nicky carried several stretched pieces of canvas, Nettie carried his paints and pallet in her backpack. Nettie’s house was at the upper end of a canyon, secluded by willows and Spanish bayonet. Nicky set up his easel and took advantage of the afternoon light. Nettie stirred together a fire in her big cast iron range and put on a pot of pinto beans to simmer. She left Nicky to his painting for the remainder of the day. He applied the paint in fast, furious strokes for the backgrounds, roughing in the figures. Slowing down for the painstaking, meticulous daubing of the beautiful nude women, faces and bodies painted with skill and expertise. Nicky was a master of the thing he loved most, the female body. He had surpassed his teachers, they had been dead for a hundred years anyway. Dreams of Paris, smoke-filled cafes and studios on the Left Bank used to haunt him. The camaraderie of the Great Masters of Impressionism, the change from dark to light. Fleeting images and the bold subjects of daring young painters, breaking all the rules and barriers and blazing the path for him. Nicky finished his bathers painting and two different poses from studies of the Mexican dancer. He left them to dry in the sun, to send later to Jack. Feeling great having finished some work, his nose picked up a delightful aroma. The smell of beans with pork and jalapeno cornbread was inviting his growling stomach to supper. Nettie set the table with candles and wild mountain sunflowers. Nicky thought of van Gogh, but only for an instant. She was breathtaking, dressed in a simple calico dress with an ivory white seashell necklace.
“I have a secret to tell you. I have a special thing for painters. You capture the soul and essence of a person, at a specific moment in their life. Nothing could be more important. After supper I have a fantasy I want you to help me with. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
They ate with relish, he wondered what Nettie had in mind. After they ate, Nicky laid the bag the herb man gave him on the table. Nettie filled a clay pipe and fired it up, passing it to Nicky. He took a light puff and passed it back. The weed intensified everything. They moved their chairs together and smoked in silence. The crickets serenaded them. Nettie laid her head on his shoulder and said, “I’ve always wanted a man to shave my pussy. The hair is coarse and ugly, to me. I want you to make me smooth and silky. Will you do it for me?” she asked. Getting an extreme hard on just thinking about it, he said, “I’ll be glad to. This reminds me of a story in my past, you might like to hear. Growing up I had a best friend named Jimmy. We hung out together in school and summers, for as long as I can remember. We were tighter than brothers. Jimmy had a sister, Pam, a year and a half younger than us. When we were eleven or twelve, she used to get on our nerves, pestering us all the time. After a couple a more years, she started filling out and not looking half bad. I liked the way she looked and she flirted with me, like she wanted more than another big brother. Jimmy was jealous of me, he knew I wanted his sister. He wanted to fuck his own sister and I figured it out. We both used to spy on her through the bathroom keyhole. She knew we were watching and she would open her legs and spread pussy lips and put a hairbrush inside her and moan, until me and Jimmy were blowing cum in our jeans. After her pubic hair came, she’d let us shave it off for half of our allowances. Twice a week their parents would play bridge and that was time for fun and games. We never did fuck, but we did everything else. What’s ironic, the second woman I ever fucked was Jimmy’s mom. I came over to visit and she was waiting naked in a robe. I fucked her 3 times, once in the ass, she was a screamer. Anyway, that’s my story of shaven cunts.”
Nettie smiled and took out a safety razor and a can of shaving cream. She cleared the table and hung up her dress and slid her panties down off her ankles. Nicky scooted his chair back, as Nettie wiggled up on the table and spread her legs. Nicky wet his hand and patted down her pubic area. Then he rubbed cream over the entire region, letting his fingers trace the inviting opening and clitoris. She writhed and wiggled, as his fingers manipulated her pussy and clit. Nicky could have cracked walnuts with his erection. He started shaving at the outside of the lather, working inward, rinsing the razor in a bowl of warm water. He occasionally stopped to kiss and fondle her smooth skin and breasts. As her pussy became more silky smooth and exposed, they became too horny to continue the shave. Nicky plunged into her for some mutual relief. They knocked the remaining dishes to the floor with their wild lovemaking. They thrashed and jolted in orgasm, they felt as if lightening had struck them, it was so intense. Finally staggering to bed, after finishing the shave was a difficult task.
Nicky awoke to a crunching sound. He looked toward the window and saw a lizard eating a cockroach with a reptilian gusto. He took this as a sign, it was time to split. Easing from the bed, he gathered his paintings and equipment and made it back to Slick’s truck. Vivian and Slick were cuddled around a fire frying up some bacon and eggs.
“Let’s go fishing,” suggested Slick. “Sounds, like a good idea. I need to mail some paintings to Jack, first if you don’t mind,” replied Nicky. “There’s a post office in San Ysidro. Do you need wood for crates?” Vivian asked. “No, we have everything we need in the truck,” answered Slick.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, the hillbillies from hell are scouring this town for you. Where are you? Inside your old lady’s bank knocking off a piece of ass,” Slick shook his head in amazement.
“Nerves of steel, never hurt anyone,” he replied. “Where are we headed anyway?”
“The Jemez Mountains, trout fishing, clean cool air, icy streams and lots of frigid beer and juicy steaks cooked over a campfire. We might even score some mountain poontang, the finest species in the Rockies,” Slick said.
Nicky rubbed his hands together. “Sounds good to me. Look, Bud, I’m in powerful need of some shuteye. You take the first shift at the wheel and then I’ll spell you after a few Z’s.” He said as he crawled in back into the camper. He was soon snoozing away. Slick kept the truck pointed west, the double nickel swallowing the highway, like a python and a gerbil. After four Doobie Brothers tapes, a couple of Steppenwolf, and the entire collection of Jimi Hendrix, ending with Band of Gypsies, he pulled over for a pit stop. Nicky woke up, missing the sound of the whining tires on asphalt. They both got out and stretched and watered the roadside flora.
“You want to take the helm, old buddy?” Slick asked.
“No problem, amigo,” Nicky replied.
Slick was soon sawing logs. Nicky listened to the wind and thought about all the women he had painted. He thought about Goya and Otto Dix and Matisse. There was so much to paint and so little time. Looking ahead and off to the side of the road, he spotted a hitchhiker. He thought what the shit and pulled over.
She was wearing sun bleached denim and down at the heel boots. Her most prominent feature of attire was her straw cowboy hat with a snow white turtle shell attached to the crown. The shell had a have a nice day smiling face. Turquoise nuggets for the eyes and nose, red coral for the smile, other than that, she was dog butt ugly. When she took off her hat getting in the cab of the truck, her crow blue black dyed hair stuck up all over her head. She looked like a cross between a half dead magpie and a fighting rooster. Nicky thought, damnation what a hell of a thing to pick up.
“Where you headed?” she asked.
“West and north to the mountains,” he replied.
“Don’t get any funny ideas, mister. I’m a trained killer in Asian martial arts. I’m headed for a lesbian convention in Albuquerque,” she drawled with a Texas twang accent.
“You don’t need to worry. I’m not into rape or dikes or getting my ass whipped,” he replied.
“What the hell is that noise back there?” She pointed back at the camper. “You got a St. Bernard or something?”
“No, that’s my partner, Slick. He’s taking a nap.”
“He must have constipation of the sinuses. My name is Antoinette, but everyone calls me Tony.”
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Nicky,” he replied.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Tony asked.
“Go right ahead, it won’t bother me,” he answered.
She reached into her back pack and pulled out a freezer bag of pot. Nicky had thought she meant tobacco. Tony pulled a New Mexican map from the glove compartment and started breaking up the golden olive sticky buds. Pulling the leaves apart from the seeds, she took a matchbook cover and rolled the seeds away from the shake. She flipped the seeds out the wing window and pulled out a rolling machine. Sprinkling the weed in, she rolled a Zig Zag paper down until only the gummed edge was exposed. She licked it slowly, smiling at Nicky. Out popped a perfect joint. Tony punched the cigarette lighter in on the dashboard and was soon toking away. Passing the reefer to Nicky, he declined. He was catching enough of a contact buzz as it was. The cabin was full of pungent smoke. It wasn’t long before Tony slid over next to Nicky. Surprisingly, she didn’t look so bad after inhaling the marijuana.
“Pot always makes me horny. Do you mind if I shift your gears?” She had long, elegant fingers that lowered his pants around his knees without him taking his hands off the steering wheel. He soon found out that Tony was an expert at playing the skin flute. A normal man wouldn’t have been able to drive, but Nicky had had his bagpipes honked and squeezed by the best. She came up for air and asked if he’d stop for beer, offering to buy. He pulled off at the next exit and found a drive-up liquor store. Tony was back at work by this time.
He rolled down his window and said, “Please, give me a six pack of Coors.” The man working the window caught a glimpse of Tony’s head bobbing up and down, his mouth dropped open. Nicky smiled and asked, “Do you carry Listerine? My girlfriend is getting a sore throat.” She relinquished her mouthful long enough to smile at the man and lick her lips. He shoved the beer out to them, scratching his bald head. Nicky handed him three bucks and drove off. They made it back to the highway without disturbing Slick. She popped the top on a cerveza, offering one to Nicky. He declined.
“Let me ask you something, Tony and I hope you won’t take offense. Why do you say you are gay? You are obviously attracted to men. What is it about women that trips your trigger? Maybe your clitoris is where your tonsils are supposed to be?”
“Pull this piece of shit truck over and I’ll show you what a real fuck is all about.”
“What happened, seriously?” he asked.
“Do you want to hear my life story?” she answered.
“Why not? Do you have an appointment or something?”
“Waco, Texas was a shithole to grow up in. Macho jocks, Chicanos, hippies, and cowboys and they were all just a bit fucked up. The hippies were the best of the bunch, but most of them were smelly, doped up long hairs. I stayed a virgin until my senior year, I was old fashioned and raised right and I never met the right guy. I got into track instead of drugs, I could run myself high. I was close with most of the other girls, but we never fooled around. There was this guy three years older than me, I had a crush on. He came back from Vietnam with all these colored medals on his chest. He was serious, not like anyone I had ever known. I invited him to take me to the prom, he agreed. The night of the prom, he arrived in his uniform, standing straight and tall with a corsage for me. My parents were impressed and I felt weak in the knees. He opened the door of his dark blue GTO for me, I sank back into the leather seats. We went to the high school gymnasium, where a band from Dallas was warming up, all my friends were envious. I was proud as a peacock. My date danced expertly and treated me like a lady. The night was a Cinderella dream. After the dance we went to lover’s lane and I gave him what he wanted. I bled all over my fancy dress and shoes. I felt mortified. He got angry about the blood on his car seat, instead of being excited about screwing a virgin. He dropped me off at home and I hid my dress, until I could clean it without my mother finding it. I waited the next day for his call, and the next and the next. I didn’t expect him to marry me, but at least to have the decency to see me again. I found out through the grapevine that the son of a bitch had told half the guys in town what a great piece of ass I was. I was so mad I loaded my father’s pistol and contemplated blowing his ass away. Finally, I came to the conclusion that nobody was worth killing over. I got back to my running and broad jump and met some ladies with sympathy and understanding. That’s my story.”
Nicky was silent for a while. Then he said, “I guess I can’t blame you.”
“What about you? When and how did you lose your cherry?” Tony asked.
Nicky thought back to his first experience and smiled. “She wasn’t my real aunt, but I called her Auntie Emma. She was my mother’s best friend, they were closer than sisters. I was fifteen and big for my age. I was horny all the time, it seemed like I had a perpetual hard on. I would spank my monkey every chance I got. Looking at the underwear ads in the Sears catalogue, fantasizing about fucking all those models and my teachers, used to drive me crazy. One day I waited until Auntie Emma went in the bathroom, I walked in on her claiming it was by accident, I couldn’t take my eyes off her bush. It was the first pussy I had ever seen and it was a mind blowing experience. I masturbated for weeks thinking about her, I was dazed and confused. My parents thought I had an affliction of some kind. I think my old man had a suspicion of what was troubling me. About a week later, Auntie Emma came over while my mother was still at work. She complained of a sprained muscle in her thigh from too much tennis. Her tennis skirt barely hid her from the waist down. She groaned and massaged her thigh and kept working higher and higher. I grew bold and offered to help. I knew this was what she wanted. I started at her inner thigh and was soon rubbing her pussy through her panties. She had her tongue down my throat and lowered my blue jeans. When she saw how big my erection was, all I saw was pure lust in her beautiful brown eyes. She took me into her mouth and it was all I could do to keep from grabbing her head and forcing my way down her throat. She cupped my balls as I came in gushes and she swallowed every drop. We finished taking off our clothes and Emma showed me how to tease her clitoris and guide my tongue along her labia. By the time I finished eating her I was ready for my first good hard fuck. She got on top and guided me deep inside her, she went right, then left, then rotated. I was milked, by her. I sucked her big bouncing breasts, while fingering her, until I had another raging hard on. She bent over the bed, exposing her ass and pussy, reaching back behind her she guiding me first into her tight little anus, and then she switched me into her vagina. I pumped her doggie style, she screamed in ecstasy as we both reached orgasm. Later she asked my mother if I could help her with some chores around her house. I mowed her lawn, painted, and moved furniture, any excuse just to keep getting that fine pussy. Emma taught me more tricks about fucking than anyone my age had a right to know. To this day, when I go home to visit always stop by to see her. “
Tony listened with growing appreciation. “You know our stories our similar. Now why don’t you pull over and I’ll give you that promised fuck.”
“Maybe later, you’re just horny from that pot and beer and my story. I have something serious to tell you. You’ve probably heard this before, but you’ve got the softest chin I’ve ever laid my balls on and the whitest teeth I’ve ever come across.”
“You son of a bitch and you ask me why I’m gay,” Tony smiled.
“Do you know what the speed limit for a lesbian is?” Tony shrugged. “Lickety split,” Nicky said. “That sucked,” Tony said as she went back down on him.
He let her have it and was soon squirting in her mouth. She chugged some beer after that. They were quiet for while as he turned up a Jeff Beck tape. The sun was reflecting off the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Nicky imagined the first Spanish conquistadors arriving from Mexico. The name land of enchantment certainly fit. Four mule deer ran alongside the road. The highway was carved through solid red crimson stone, long vertical drill marks were evident on both sides of the mountains. They soon entered Tijeras Canyon, leading them into Albuquerque. Adobe houses and pinons and mesquite dotted the surrounding hills. The city spread out before them, like an inviting maiden, split on the western side by the Rio Grande.
Tony gave directions to where she was going. She said, “Stay with me for a while, sweet man.”
“I can’t right now. I have things to discover about myself,” he replied.
“You know where I’ll be, if you ever change your mind.” He pulled over at the place she designated. Nicky stared into her moist mournful eyes. It was enough of a goodbye. “Stay straight, baby,” he whispered. She laughed and hooted and flipped him the bird.
Slick woke up, as Nicky was driving off. He looked in the mirror and saw Tony with her finger in the air. Nothing surprised him with Nicky. “Damn, you did some driving. This is Albuquerque?” asked Slick. Nicky nodded yes. “Just wanted to make sure, you didn’t hijack me to some fucking fantasy land in Bumfuck, Mexico. Hey, I know a good place to eat and I’m running on fumes.”
Long red and green chilies, tied together in ristras hung from the protruding roof ceiling beam vigas. The adobe restaurant was called The Mexican Kitchen and it was in Old Town, it had a huge girthed cottonwood tree growing right through the center of its dining room. The smells were incredible. Wood scorched poblano chili peppers, coffee, frying bacon, ham, garlic and fresh handmade corn and flour tortillas. The waitresses wore blinding white blouses and embroidered lacy aprons with colorful serape style full skirts. Their welcoming smiles were infectious. They all wore turquoise necklaces, rings, or bracelets. Nicky started sketching as soon as they were seated. Slick explained that turquoise was a good luck stone used to ward off witches.
After several cups of steaming black coffee, they ordered stuffed sopapillas. Sopapillas were a Pueblo Indian dish of blown up fried bread, hollow and airy on the inside. They could be filled with honey and eaten as a desert or eaten as a main meal. Nicky and Slick’s food arrived, flaky bread filled with tender skirt steak, Chihuahua cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, grilled onion and garlic, cilantro, chilies and a special secret sauce. The dish covered an entire platter and every morsel was delicious.
While they ate, they overheard two guys talking about a movie that was being filmed in the nearby mountains. Slick stopped the waitress the next time she brought more coffee, to inquire about it.
“Miss, have you heard anything about a movie being made around here?”
“Yes, it’s a rock and roll concert movie being made up near Placitas,” she replied.
“Could you give us directions to Placitas?” Slick asked. “We’re new to these parts.”
She looked them both over for a second and said, “I can do better than that. My cousin is going there tomorrow and she is looking for a ride. Let me give her a call.”
“Damn it Nicky, I told you if I caught you cheating on me again, we were through. You come home with some bitch’s lipstick all over your underwear and try to make up some lame ass excuse. Get the hell out of my life.” Mercedes, his wife threw his duffel bag after him as he stumbled off the porch.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he headed for the bus station. Nicky had just enough cash for a locker and a couple of drinks. No job, no wife, no prospects, but for some reason he knew he had the world by the balls.
After taking his sketch pad from his bag, he stuffed everything into a locker. Palming his key, he headed for the men’s room. Stepping up to the urinal, Nicky glanced up at the graffiti. It read: “Your future is in your hand.” Up above it, it read: “Don’t look up here, the joke is in your hand and you are pissing on your shoe.”
Nicky smiled, like he knew something no one else could fathom. The smells dilated his senses, fresh garlic bread from a pizzeria. Street walker’s cheap perfume, after shave combined with sweat, above all greed and money. Strolling down skid row, steering clear of hustlers, pimps, and rip off artists of varying degree, he wanted to wet his whistle and sit and straighten his thoughts.
An oily haired Latino with a narrow tie and zoot suit tugged at his sleeve with whispered promises of a pussy paradise. Nicky didn’t put up enough resistance and found himself steered into this strip joint. Figuring it might do his libido some good, he relaxed.
He felt bad about losing his wife, but it had been coming for awhile. They’d been together for what seemed like forever. It hadn’t lasted two years. When they had moved to the big city, things had changed drastically. Nicky wanted to paint, it was what he breathed for. Mercedes couldn’t understand and had no faith in his capabilities. That was only a small part of their differences. The women were hot for him and he could never say no.
Mercedes was a preacher’s daughter. Her family stopped at the gas station he worked at every Sunday after services. The reverend would fill up his car, while Mercedes would head for the restroom.
Every Sunday he watched her from his peep hole. She had a fantastic body and from the way she lifted her dress and touched herself, he knew she was primed for love. Her hair was reddish blonde, thick and curly. Long legs and ripe grapefruit sized breasts. A sweet girlish face topped off her generous attributes.
Nicky drew her with her hands inside her panties, a look of wanton pleasure on her face. From his sketch, he made a beautiful painting and showed to her. She was mad and embarrassed at first, but the painting was so erotic and flattering it aroused her. He persuaded her to come to his apartment and pose for him, at first clothed, then nude. Seducing her, they made earth shattering love every chance they got. Capturing her at the height of orgasm on canvas was what he finally succeeded at.
He continued to work at the gas station, the pay was lousy, but his fame spread. It was amazing the quantity of women that started using the restroom. Nicky painted, studied, and made love to Mercedes. They married after a short engagement.
Her Papa had seen several of the paintings of his daughter and some of women in his parish. He thought it would be best for them to get out of town as quickly as possible. Besides, it would be unbecoming of the town’s minister to murder his new son-in-law. So, he married them and financed their move to a large city.
The love of women, their smell, their smile, their twinkling eyes, their walk, and their hidden curves all drove him senseless. Nicky painted them all in his mind. He wasn’t a Casanova or a Don Juan, but something attracted women to him. Maybe it was because he knew how to talk to them? Maybe they sensed his devotion and it drew them into his magnetic power? His looks were average, dark curly hair, an athletic body, not overly muscular. He could go the distance. He knew how to stroke a woman, her mind and body and put her at ease. They loosened up and wanted to confide their deepest secrets. Nicky took advantage of his charm every time he got the chance.
Painting was his life, capturing the feminine body on canvas. He studied all his favorite artists. Manet’s skin colorations, Toulouse Lautrec’s barroom women, Gauguin’s native beauties, Renoir’s exquisite faces, Degas’ ballerinas, Cezanne’s fruit, Van Gogh’s irises and sunflowers. Learning from them all, he still had one main problem, his dick kept getting in the way. His small brain took over sometimes.
Words from a loud song broke into Nicky’s reverie and made him smile. “If she won’t do it her sister will.” The strippers had a small stage with a shiny brass pole to hunch and to hang on to. It was connected to the bar, so they could dance between customer’s glasses after their routine and retrieve tips. They bumped and boogied to ear blasting rock, stripping down to G strings and high heels. Shaking their money makers, they were mostly young with big titties and round asses, full of energy. Mostly working class dudes filled their strings with singles.
One lady in particular caught Nicky’s eye. She had long dark hair with beautiful amber highlights that whipped back and forth when she danced. Her body was superb. When she smiled, one gold tooth
sparkled like a bejeweled vampire. Nicky sketched her face and body in half a dozen positions. Every time she danced down the bar, men stuffed both sides of her string.
She slowed as she sidled past Nicky, trying to see what he was up to. He signed and folded his small sketch of her and slid it into her booty string. His other hand slid over her cute ass, copping a quick feel. The bouncer, a humongous black dude with a yard wide Afro headed his way, with head busting on his mind. The lady motioned him off and shimmied and wiggled on her way.
Figuring he had broken a rule or two, the feel of her behind had left his hand on fire. Three or four skits later, the dark haired beauty was up again. She passed him a note asking him to wait for her until closing time. This was perfect for Nicky, seeing as how he had no money or no where to stay. The bartender hassled him once, for not spending more money. He gave him a drawing, which got him a couple of free drinks and no more trouble.
The dancer’s name was Chichi Martinez and she was a bundle of smoking hot chili peppers chased with raw mescal.
“All the time I was hunching that pole, all I could think about was my little dog. I left it behind in Juarez. And you know what? You remind me of my little poochie, Peppi,” she confessed.
“Thanks, I think,” replied Nicky.
He had never felt so flattered. They picked up some chow mein and several bottles of Mad Dog, on the way to her place. As soon as they opened the door, everything went flying and she had her tongue down his throat. Nicky ran his hand up under her skirt and rolled her panties down past her ankles. Her bush felt like a scouring pad, all trimmed for exotic dancing. Chichi undressed him and mounted. She started riding like the Texas Rangers were in hot pursuit and she’d be free if she could cross the Rio Grande. She gave him the pet name Wolfie, deciding he didn’t resemble Peppi at all.
They fucked and sucked in almost every conceivable position. Resting between orgasms for wine, Nicky staggered up and drew Chichi at length.
“Wolfie, baby, stay with me, I’ll buy you paints. You can become a great artist like Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo combined.”
“Thanks, Chichi, but I just lost one good woman and right now I can’t hurt another. I need to move around for awhile,” he replied.
“You lying sack of shit. You just want to fuck anything with a heartbeat and use painting as an excuse,” she said.
Nicky just smiled.
After two days of sex and art, the walls of her tiny apartment started closing in. They’d made numerous trips to the liquor store and Chinese joint. It was time to reenter the world. His prick had gone through the agony and the ecstasy more times than, Charlton Heston’s movie about Michelangelo. He gave her three of his best sketches. Chichi fronted him a ten spot. He used the dancer’s mint toothpaste and cleaned his teeth and gargled.
The azure sky was filled with purple bruised fingers groping the sun. Nicky staggered back into the day. The sunlight hit his eyes like a cop’s interrogation torture lamp. His head throbbed and his tongue felt like it was growing green bologna fur fungus. As he took a breath of fresh air, a Santa Fe Chief locomotive blew by screaming its whistle. Feeling like he’d passed out in some alley with his mouth open and a wino had taken a piss in it for a cheap laugh. He finally got his brain strain together so, he could grab a couple of cups of java and some greasy eggs. Then he called an amigo.
Slick, his lifelong pal was a small time cat burglar that graduated from stealing manhole covers to various nefarious schemes. He’d done three years in the big house for getting stuck in a Radio Shack’s cooling system. Unfortunately for him, this was at the time of the big prison riots and some unruly inmates cut off three of the guard’s heads and set up a bowling alley with them. Slick had never come completely clean about what happened inside. His Uncle Tommy Keys had taught him to steal, before checking in to Club Fed for a twenty count. Their family motto was; “The night is friendly.” It almost always had been for Slick, until this little old lady caught him doing his sleight of hand and blasted a hole in his left testicle with a 32 derringer.
“How are you? You old one balled horse thief,” Nicky asked.
“Where the hell have you been? I thought your nuts would have been hanging from the rear view mirror of Mercedes’ cousin’s pickup truck.” Slick replied.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, your wife’s hillbilly cousins. They are all hunting your ass like coon dogs.”
He thought about Mercedes’ inbred behemoth relatives, Jim Bob, Billy Bob, Jerry Bob, and the runt Curly Bob. “I don’t know why, she’s so upset. I gave her the best mustache ride of her life for two years.”
Slick replied, “I was planning a vacation to the Jemez Mountains. You want to come?”
“Why not? First I need to stop for my bag and some paints and canvas.”
Jack of Jack’s Art Supply was to Nicky what Pere Tanguy was to Van Gogh. “Jack, I need oils, brushes, and enough canvas for a couple of months. I know I owe you, but I don’t have money right now and I need to blow town. I have a few sketches to add to my growing stockpile. Plus I’ll send you something you can sell as soon as I get settled,” Nicky explained.
“Fifty years in the business and I have never met a painter with more natural talent than you. I have waited all my life for you to come along, then you turn out to be a drunk and cocks man,” replied Jack. As he loaded a box with the supplies Nicky needed, he finished and hugged Nicky. “You just turn out the masterpieces and I’ll keep putting them up for sale.”
Leaving Jack’s, Slick and Nicky headed for the bank. Nicky knew Mercedes would probably have frozen all their assets, not that they amounted to much. Luckily, he kept a key to their safety deposit box on his key ring. He remembered they kept several hundred in there, just in case.
The teller he spoke with informed him there was a flag on all their accounts. Nicky went to the personal banking department and signed in to wait for a banker. A young blond verified his signature and was about to buzz him into the inner office and then take him to the vault. Her supervisor, a gray-haired lady came over and whispered something to the blond.
“I’ll take care of Mr. Moon,” she said out loud. The woman appeared to be in her late forties, a little over the hill, but extremely well taken care of. If she’d dye her hair it would take at least 5 years off her appearance. She led Nicky into the vault. As she placed her key next to his, her breasts brushed up against his hand. This sent a tingle through them both. The lady looked him in the eyes and sucked in her breath. Nicky gave her his best smile, as she led him to a private cubicle. She opened the door and he entered with his metal box. He pulled her in behind him, the box forgotten. She started to protest, but Nicky was kissing her full and deep. Any questions about what was about to happen disappeared, as he cupped and massaged her fine ass through her silky dress, pulling her to him. She moaned as he pulled her panties to the side and with a feather like stroke erected her juicy clitoris and nibbled at her hardening nipples through the fabric. He guided her down onto the thick plush carpet and ripped off her lacy white panties. They split at the seams, but they were beyond caring. With her dress around her hips, Nicky let his tongue do its magic. The lady groaned and tugged at his belt and unzipped his fly and freed his stiff boner. Placing soft wet hungry kisses up and down his dick and then sucking greedily at the tip, she knew her business. Almost beyond ready, he mounted and worked fast, banging her head against the flimsy wooden wall of the cubicle, the harder he thrust, the more she liked it. She was so vocal, he stuffed her mouth with her shredded panties. They both climaxed together, wiping off, he checked his box. While she put herself back together.
Mercedes had beaten him to the safety deposit box. Every person in the bank, watched as they exited the vault area. Nicky waited for a standing ovation. The lady blushed right down to where her panties should have been. He made a quick survey of the women, always checking for future fornication prospects.
Nicky walked out of the bank. Slick sat there waiting for him in his Ford pickup, with a camper shell. He climbed in and they drove off, headed west and north.
“What the fuck took you so long?” Slick asked. “I thought you were pulling a stickup or something. As much as I love you, I’m not going back inside without a damn good reason.”
“This silver fox jumped my bones in the bank,” he explained. “Can we find a gas station, I need to clean up?”
Horror Sleaze Trash 