I was frozen. Staring in horror as a penis and testicle shaped chunk of marble hit the ground. Had it shattered, I don’t know what I would have done. My hands did move to Junior and friends to protect them.
“That has been bothering me for weeks!” Francesca’s muted voice came through her dusk mask.
“What?” I nearly shouted.
“Oh, Luis!” she said as she startled and turned. The very sharp chisel still held out, looking to cut off another offending member, it seemed. She must have seen the look in my eyes. “Oh, there was a bad place in the marble that has been bothering me for weeks. I finally managed to cut it out without ruining the piece.”
“Well, his… equipment, looks well ruined now.”
She looked down at the chunk of rock on the floor and stared for a second. She started to chuckle. “You thought…” she laughed hard now. Then a stream of Italian came out that took me a moment to process. “You thought that was your beautiful ‘cazzo’ I destroyed?” Cazzo being the very… familiar term for penis.
I could only shake my head. Faintly, I heard music from a small stereo system she had on a work bench. How could she hear anything over the noise she created when she worked. Damn, I’m drifting again. The system had just changed songs, given the two I heard, I’d guess she was playing a one-hit-wonders playlist from the 60s and 70s. There were a ton of them.
“You are safe. Your little one is still in the other room. Feel free to check on her. Fotella is doing fine, she is in her painting… ah, zona, eh… zone. She will not even know you have visited.”
“Are you sure she’s Okay?”
“Recovering… ah, restoring is better, capisci?”
I nodded my head, appreciating the familiar “you” implied when she asked if I understood. Then I moved towards the door that split Francesca’s private studio into two areas. One for the dusty work, the main entry. And another for the quiet, dust free work. When I cracked the door, there was my Becca. Hands a blur. Focus total. The huge canvas I had helped her mount earlier in the public room, filled with… Magic!
While to my eyes it was still abstract, it impacted me. It gripped me. Just the patterns and the colors and the shapes and the… Magic. Plus, the texture on the canvas made it three dimensional.
Francesca was right. I capire. And, it was easy to see the zone she was in.
Slowly, the image began to make more sense to me, it came more into focus. As she worked in an area, detail emerged from just blotches of colors. My mind began making up for the areas she hadn’t done. I felt I was getting a rare look at what the artist might see.
Pure magic. And, a treat I hoped to experience many times through my life.
What was emerging was a picture of a naked couple walking the halls in a school. Holding hands. They appeared confident, even proud. Just the thing the Program would want on the cover of a pamphlet. Yet, the eyes. The subtle things about posture and apparent movement told another story. A story of pain, doubt, uncertainty. Forced humiliation. Love threatened by making sexual contact trivial.
As I watched, it hit me. This is what it would be like watching Bach, Chopin, or Mozart create a great musical work. The themes created, then blended, expressed with the pacing of a great storyteller, they again emerge in new ways, allowing new insights. And here I stand, watching my love creating a masterpiece.
I’m sure I zoned out, because some infinite time later, Francesca gently placed her hand on my arm. “È una cosa bella,” she said softly.
“It is. A truly beautiful and wonderful sight.”
“I’m afraid it is time for class.”
“Uhm… Should we stop this?”
“Beh, si, credo de si,” she said reluctantly.
“I think so too, but…”
“Lasciate che vi dica la sua,” she said to me looking up with understanding. I didn’t know how I felt about her telling Becca it was time instead of me, but she probably had experience with this that I didn’t.
“Insegnami come fare questo,” I asked her to teach me how to. It hit me that I had easily dropped into Italian without realizing it.
She walked towards Becca and then carefully to the side. Without saying anything, she waited off to the side of the canvas until Becca saw her. She still didn’t say anything and just waited, a loving smile on her face. As if watching someone move through a transporter on Star Trek, Becca moved from her painting world to this world and then nodded at Francesca.
“Time for your next class.”
Becca looked at her for a second, then while moving to put her brush down, “I… Thank you.”
She turned and saw me. In total defiance of the laws of physics, she was standing in one place until her brain gained recognition. Instantaneously, she was on me. Literally. This room must have a dozen transporter pads in it. Arms around my neck, lips on mine. Legs struggling to reach around my waist and hips. Incoherent, but delightful, sounds coming from her mouth between smooches.
Junior rose to the occasion. Duh! A beautiful and wonderful and creative and awesome and… Well, my Becca, was wrapped around me. Junior more than knew that.
Becca was humping on my stomach like… well, like… Oh God! That feels so good. And it is my sweetie! And her tongue is suddenly ravaging my mouth. Her nipples boring holes through the thick muscle armor I wore on my chest.
The morning. The week. All was… Yeah.
In the middle of exploring her soul through the connection of our chests, the delightful waltz of our tongues, the off-world feeling of being with each other, the Universe shifted.
Junior began to feel intense heat. No problem, she’s right above it.
The world shut down, except Becca’s eyes. No longer the fear. The pain. All I saw was joy. Anticipation. Then she started to slide her delicious moistness across a very erect Junior, driving me to new levels of… well… Oh… Uhm…
“Cazzo!” came from Francesca. A forgotten player.
In my shock, I couldn’t move. No problemo. A very energetic, passionate, focused woman was… pussy-lip fucking me?
No. This was more than fucking. Way more. Although I think Junior disagreed. Our eyes agreed. We were making love, without the intercourse. The Universe continued to melt as our passion mounted. She was sliding with most of her weight and Junior had no problems with that at all. She started to shutter, then jerk, then a little shudder, another jerk, a few more strong shudders… all the while staring me in the soul. Our tongues working over time.
Then her hips started to convulse as she tried to suck my tongue down her throat. Her eyes fluttered. Junior did more than that as my hips started jerking hard, trying to “find home” without success.
My eyes started to flutter and someone turned on the pumps. On full. Oh… Shit! Damn! Fuck! Ahhhh… God, I hate cheesy porn, yet…
Somehow, I held a now limp Becca while my knees wanted nothing more than to fold up.
I think we both opened our eyes at the same time.
Then we heard Francesca mumbling something. It was Italian. What, I couldn’t completely make out. My mother would have a 55 gallon drum of industrial cleaner hooked to my mouth if I had said any of what I did understand.
I looked over Becca’s shoulder at the floor. “Clean up on aisle three.”
Becca looked perplexed for a second, then flexed her ass, which I’m sure had a coating on it. Then she started to chuckle.
Francesca just outright laughed. “Repostiglio! Mocio,” was all she managed to articulate while pointing to a utility closet, through the half-opened door I saw a mop. I got it!
Becca and I managed to disengage and had the “spill” cleaned in, well… not short order. There was too much laughing and snide remarks, in two languages, to do anything quickly.
We also shared looks with unspoken promises. Shared a moment of joy with a special friend. Just flat enjoyed the special moment and celebrated it. Even as messy as I can be. I’m not sure if any of the “spill” was hers or not.
All too soon, the floor being long cleaned, the bell rang for the passing period.
“Into the valley of the 600…,” I started.
“Hands,” Becca added.
“Is snuggle okay?” She looked up at me and melted me with her smile. What could I say? My claw across her delicate shoulder and her arm almost around the back of my waist, we headed out to the land of touch and grab.
As we were walking down the hall, I remembered Tuesday. Not the morning. Okay, I did remember the morning by not remembering it. But, the walk to Health class then. That’s when Becca reached out and lead me down the hall by Junior and I enjoyed fondling those magnificent mel-
“Whatcha’ thinking, sweetie?” she asked, as if being an innocent little school girl. Hell, she started to skip as we walked along. It really did add some interesting variables to the fifth order equations on her chest…
Wow! Who turned up the damned heat?
“Hmm… Blushing Mountain. I have to remember that. Now. Honesty.”
How can the female of the species do that? Damn it! They read your mind and then find the one question that just strips your soul… No, more like shred every defensive barrier you’ve learned over the years.
“Uhm… I was thinking about our walk to Health on Tuesday.” Did she remember it? Hell, she probably already knew what I was thinking. She proved it exactly three seconds later as she grabbed Junior, who was only a slight image of his self in this memory of mine.
That moment lasted exactly twenty-four milliseconds after she began stroking with one hand and using the other to pull my hand over her shoulder onto her boob. And then pressing my hand and fingers into it. Damn!
She calmly lead me through the throng that way. I still don’t know whether it was Thursday in the Program and everyone had their “touchies” out of the way or the way she was leading me or…
Ms Carlisle, call me Joan, slipped in between us just before the classroom. Just like Tuesday.
Becca looked over at me. I know my eyes were already chuckling. Hers started. Then we made the grand mistake. We looked at Joan. Her face was already full of mirth.
That did it.
What is it about slapping your knee when you’re laughing that makes it better? Well, it does.
When I do it, apparently, it scares shit out of people.
I couldn’t focus on it, though. We’re all laughing, I’m trying to open the door, and discovering that it opens inward. After three tries of pulling on it.
Oh! My! God!
That was so much fun. So, intense. So… everything. So not me pre-Monday.
Did I say so much fun?
No? Okay. That was so much fun. So much pleasure. So much intensity as to turn me inside out.
And, the painting. I already used OMG. Well. OMG! No editor is correcting me now for being repetitious. Repeatedly.
Yes. I needed my alone time. Oh, please, My Mountain, don’t misunderstand at all. Your cave is wonderful. Beyond wonderful. Yet, it is not the same.
A tug on my arm and I was in the Health classroom. And not in my Cave. And not painting.
Immediately, I looked to see if there were four chairs at the front of the class for the “exhibition”. Nope.
Ms Carlisle, not Joan at the moment, gathered Tim, Shirley, Luis, and I and spoke quietly, “We’re going to have a discussion about the Program and what has been the experience this week. I would prefer that you all participate, but understand if you don’t feel like participating. Who can I count on? Who needs to ‘get supplies’?”
While everyone else agreed, I heard what suspiciously sounded like my voice agreeing as well.
Before I could retract, she looked down at all of us, “It looks like each of you has recently had relief.” I looked over at a blushing Luis and felt my own face warm up. “So, no need in this class?”
“No. I’m… fine,” Tim managed to say.
“He sure was,” said Shirley. They both shared a look and a little laugh.
“We’re fine,” said Luis. I could only nod my head in agreement, still locked onto his beautiful eyes.
“Then take your seats, please.” Ms Carlisle said.
Luis and I found seats next to each other and the class settled down. I caught a few rumbles about us not getting relief. Nothing too serious, more good natured kidding than serious issues.
“On Tuesday, I stressed that the Seniors needed to set an example for the Program. Today, I’d like to talk about the current participant’s experience and the feelings of those about to go through the Program for the rest of the year. We’ll give the current Nakeds a moment to settle. So…”
It took about three seconds before someone asked why none of us had wanted relief.
“So much for giving the Nakeds a break!” Luis grumbled. I loved the deep resonance of his voice. When he grumped, it made that singer, ahem… Crocker, or something, seem like he had a pure, bell-like voice.
“Well?” Another voice asked, this time some girl I didn’t know. Heck, I didn’t know most of these people. That will change. Wha-?
“Didn’t need it,” Luis grumbled again. He could be a blues singer belting out dirty love songs.
“Ditto.” “The same.” “Uhm…”
At least Shirley and Tim had been articulate.
I was getting ready to disappear-in-plain-sight when Luis started talking again. “Look, being naked doesn’t bother me. Yet, providing sexual entertainment for others does. It was fun on Monday, even Tuesday. Now, not so much.”
“For Tim and I,” Shirley began, “It is not something we really want to share with others.”
“But, doesn’t that violate the Program rules?” an anonymous voice spoke out. Male, of course.
“Actually, no it doesn’t,” Ms Carlisle jumped in. “Perhaps the spirit of the Program, as some intended it, but not the rules. The student has to request relief and it is not a reasonable request to ask someone to orgasm.”
That started a long conversation about relief, requests, and the rules. I half listened while I thought about what it meant to me. Nudity didn’t bother me, I realized. Not anymore. It did Monday, a great deal, but I hardly even thought about now. So, that part of the Program was a success. My sexuality had definitely been awakened. At least beyond my own fingers. Yet, I still felt like my body belonged to me, not society. Even during the Program. Where is the line when dealing with requests? What is reasonable? Who defines it? The requester or the requestee? Those thoughts began to spiral around in my head.
“Becky?” I heard Ms Carlisle say, apparently repeating herself, as My Mountain had gently shaken my leg to get my attention back to the moment.
“Did you have something to add to the discussion?”
“We’re talking about how we feel about reasonable requests,” My Mountain whispered in my ear.
“Yes ma’am, I do. Sorry for drifting, I was just organizing my thoughts about this week. I discovered that nudity doesn’t bother me. I feel very comfortable walking around in my skin.” That got a few very positive responses. “I’ve also discovered that I enjoy sharing my sexuality with a few select people. And, perhaps I’m bisexual. I’m not totally sure about that. Yet…” That got offers from a few people to help. “I’ve got my man and woman picked out, thank you.” I put an arm around Luis’s arm and hugged him.
I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but love, compassion, support, love, joy, happiness, love… Did I mention love?
“Okay, you two. Do I have to separate you so we can keep the conversation going?”
“Or ask them if they need mutual relief!” came a shout from the room.
“Settle down. Becky, requests?”
“Yes ma’am. Sorry for getting distracted.”
“No you’re not!” I had to agree with that assessment!
“Requests. Where I struggle is the line where a request becomes sexual assault.”
“Please explain your thinking,” Ms Carlisle asked. I grabbed My Mountain’s hand in a death grip. I felt his support, his energy, and his love flow into me.
“That’s where I’m a bit confused. From my side, a reasonable request is one that I don’t mind doing for a specific person and within certain limits. For example, this Mountain next to me could ask me to do almost anything and I’d consider it reasonable. Yet, a stranger walking up to me and requesting to fuck me in the ass, well, NOT!”
That received a few titters. More importantly, as I looked around I could see understanding and agreement.
“So, where is the line between the two? Should it be reasonable for the 400th person of the day to squeeze my boobs? They are getting fairly tender and sore by that point. Posing, while not pleasant depending on the person requesting, isn’t something that I feel too violated about. Until I’m asked to bend over and expose my asshole.”
As expected, a few more chuckles.
“What is wrong with that?” someone asked.
“It’s not a place on my body I want to share. Aren’t I allowed some privacy of my own person?”
“But, it doesn’t hurt you,” a male voice stated.
“But, it does. It hurts my dignity and it invades a space I consider private. So, back to my concern, where is that line? Who defines the reasonableness of a request? The way the rules have been set up, I don’t have any say. Some arbitrary line is set by someone outside my control that completely differs from society’s standards.”
“Would you expand on that?”
“I’ll do my best. There is an excellent definition of sexual assault that says it is any physical, verbal, or visual act by one or more persons on another that forces that person to join in unwanted sexual contact or attention.”
“Where is your definition from?”
“I found it on the Woman’s Health website from the US Department of Health and Human Services. You know, the same government that sanctioned the Program and the concept of Reasonable Request.”
“Thanks for the information. Continue with your argument.”
“I consider it unwanted sexual contact to end the day with my boobs sore and my ass red from rubbing. I can imagine that more than one male goes home from a day in the Program with a raw penis.” Yes, that got snickers, but a lot more nods. “It really becomes unwanted during the day when I’d really rather have my boyfriend make me sore and walk funny the next day.”
I should be a comedienne. Then it hit me how much I was talking in class, without even thinking about it. Before I could retreat into my internal world, My Mountain gave my hand an affirmative squeeze. Here I thought I was squeezing his hand to death. Damn. Don’t ever let him squeeze my hand hard! That one loving squeeze was enough. More than enough. This felt good. I had information and an argument. I needed to present it. Just like a piece of art, it had to be built up and presented just right. Shift the colors, the shading, and the perspective to tell your story on the canvas. Shift the words, the pacing, and the coloring to tell your story in words on paper. Damn, it works in speaking too. And people listen!
“Settle down, people,” Joan, sorry, Ms Carlisle was able to make heard. “Continue, please, Becky.”
“Understand, I’m, uhm, just beginning to put all this together. So… I might not be as articulate as, well, I’d like to be.”
“Rebbecca, sorry, Becky, you’re doing great!” came another voice from the class.
Damn. I wished I knew who said that. It felt good to get support and it felt really, really, really good that people were making my name change. Another squeeze from My Mountain just… Well, my heart swelled. And, damn it! A lake began forming between my legs. Maybe this public speaking thing has some real advantages!
“Thanks. I’m shocked I’m not finding this harder to do.”
“I’m proud of you my sweet,” Luis said in his normal voice. You know, the one that carries across a football stadium and half the universe beyond. It resonated right down through my core.
SHIT! I think I just had a small orgasm. That’s a first. I don’t think I want it to be a last.
Finally, I heard the other voices supporting me. Encouraging me. And, a kiss on the cheek by My Mountain, melting me and giving me the strength.
“So… Back to the line. What is reasonable and who defines it. Obviously, if I define it as a participant of the Program, I’m in trouble. Yet, if I’m out in society walking around nude, a totally different standard would apply. Isn’t school about becoming good citizens? Should school be that much of a double standard?”
Ms Carlisle didn’t get a chance to respond and I didn’t have to speak again. The rest of the class took over. I just melted into my seat, feeling completely spent. And not from the orgasm.
I wanted to hug her! I wanted pick her up and spin her around the room! Fantastic!
I turned towards her to express my love and admiration… and saw she was about ready to collapse.
What the hell do I do? Without drawing attention to her, I can’t get my arm around her. I can’t pick her up and put her in my lap. What the hell do I do?
“In through the nose, out through the mouth…,” a voice in my head said. When chant repeated, I was. I slowly rubbed my hand on her leg, lightly squeezing to let her know I was there, but…
Her hand found its way on top of mine. The squeeze she gave me told that I had done the right thing. While she looked like she had just run a marathon, she did have a smile on her lips and a nice twinkle in her eyes. “Are you Okay?”
“Great, but that wore me out. I’m not a public speaker, obviously. But, that had to be said.”
“And you did it well. You woke up some people.”
We got lost in each other’s eyes for a minute. Maybe longer. It was the person on the other side from Becca that got my attention. Looking up, Ms Carlisle said, “So glad you could join us today, Luis.”
“Sorry ma’am. Just proud of my girlfriend.”
“And, what do you think about what she said?”
“She makes a point I hadn’t considered. If the Program is about making us better citizens, then it is… I don’t know if ironic is the right word, but it seems strange they would find a way that breaks their own laws, or exempts us from some laws. So much for the concept of equal protection.”
“I take it you feel the Program is unjust?”
“No ma’am. Not the Program in itself. I don’t mind the nudity. And, while I feel it would be better if people chose to do it, rather than being compelled, things would be better. It’s the Requests that bother me.”
“How so?” Ms Carlisle obviously wanted to keep me on the hot seat.
“I could use the ‘I’m just a guy’ defense and say that I enjoyed it. I did, some. There were times it was fun, times when it was more than annoying, and most of the time, I’d have to say I didn’t even notice. I was a bit distracted.” I looked over at My Sweetie when I said that. I got a bright smile in return, a smile that not only reached her eyes, but made them sparkle.
In the time-distortion that we dropped through, I guess we missed some of the laughter from the class. A snickered, “It’s impossible to not notice something that big and hard!” Which was followed by more titters and laughs.
Joan, Ms Carlisle got the class under control, easily. That’s one thing I do admire about her, her ability to control a class so effectively without ever having to resort to a loud voice or threats. She’d make a damn good sports coach, but she’s so much more valuable in the position she is in. Thankfully, from what I understand from my parents, that teachers are actually paid what they are worth these days. It would seem in the past, they were some of the lowest paid people around. Imagine, trusting the future of your children to the lowest paid professionals. Horrid thought.
“So, how do you feel about Reasonable Requests, then?”
“For me, personally, I don’t care for them. I don’t have as strong as an objection as Rebbecca, but then, the issues are different. It wouldn’t upset me at all if they went away. Now, the other side of the coin, I see what it does to the girls. That alone makes me want to condemn them.”
She then ran a quick poll by hands of the girls that felt the same as Rebbecca. It was near unanimous. Then she polled the guys to see if they agreed with me. It surprised me that the clear majority did. I wasn’t the only one noting who didn’t agree with meâ€”all the girls did. The guys I would classify as the good guys were on top of it as well.
“Ms Carlisle?” asked Marcia Hernandez. A beautiful girl with waist length black hair that always looked like there are diamonds woven in. Thick. Very thick. At Joan’s nod, she continued, “I’d like to think that we’ve seen what other schools have done and instituted. Could the school institute the ‘Red Shoelace’ rule?”
Many of the girls piped in and agreed. I looked at Becca and she was a clueless as I was.
“Marcia, you have to know that it is not part of the Program or sanctioned by it?” Ms Carlisle asked.
“Uhm… No. I thought it was. A lot of schools are doing it.”
“Seeing the number of confused faces, perhaps you could explain it to us.”
“Yes ma’am. If someone is wearing red shoelaces, they are saying they don’t welcome requests.”
“As I said, it is not sanctioned by the Program. Perhaps you should take this up with this weeks Nakeds. They have taken on a project to improve the Program here.”
“Luis, compadre, when can we talk?” Marcia shouted across the room.
“Can you join us for the Naked Lunch tomorrow?”
There were a few other girls and guys that wanted to join us. I was about to give Joan my Number Two stare when I realized that this was one of things we were looking for. A possible way to connect the students as a whole. I looked up and caught Ms Carlisle eyes and winked. She gave me an slight nod.
Good. I guess.
Why the hell am I freaking out about this? Too much to take on?
I just redirected this to the Naked Group. I didn’t even pile on today as I would have done in the past. And, it worked. Maybe not so bad.
Squeeze on my hand from Becca.
Joan was right. This is one way we, the Nakeds, could make an impact, maybe. I needed to understand the plan. I guess my mouth spoke truth before my brain caught up.
I faded out of the class as it went on to other subjects. Instead, I walked through my priority list for the rest of the week. At least it was the latest, greatest, soon-to-be-changed list. The same list that last week had a high probability of surviving the week and this week had a probability approaching zero of lasting fifteen minutes.
Becca’s occasional squeezes and pats helped focus me while my mind went here, there, and twelve other places.
I don’t like drifting like this.
I appreciate and respect the Complexity Theories, sometimes called the Chaos theories, but it does still imply order over and/or under the chaos. If you look under the chaos, there is order. If you see too much order, there is chaos at work somewhere. At least that is my pessimistic view.
WHY IS THE CHAOS HAPPENING THIS WEEK?
Yeah, I’ve been “offered” deals at the schools I’d want to attend. One massive failure like not beating East or screwing up my grades or going Postal… Yeah, no offers. No future on those paths. Getting severely injured by not being ready or not having my head in the game would do it as well.
I might be wiped out, but My Mountain looks like aliens came and stole his brain. The lights are on, but the cobwebs are beginning to grow.
I know he is in there, somewhere. I’m rubbing his leg and squeezing every now and again. Junior twitches a bit if I get too close. How cool is that? To me, amazing. Yet, I wished he was here to enjoy it, just not an anatomical response. Yes, my artistic training has covered such things. Even the “Virgin Rebbecca” knows of such things.
Yet, energy changes, it is like he is acknowledging me when I touch him. That’s a good sign. I only hope I’m more a positive to him this week than a negative.
All I’ve had to do this week is get naked and expose not only my body to the world, but become visible. Not too bad, actually. Okay, from that perspective, the Program worked.
It seems to have worked against My Mountain. I really don’t think he has a problem with nudity, except the size of his cock.
Penis. Johnson. Rod. Tally Whacker. Pecker. Wang. Dong. Pocket Rocket. Tube Steak. Penis. See! I can say those things. At least to myself. Which is better than what I could do Monday. I was at the stage of “Thrusting Loins” and such.
He was scared because of the reactions of some… Oh, hell. He’s scared because of the first reaction of any sane female that doubts that thing is going to fit inside them!
Yet, I know how gentle this Mountain really is, inside. A big, snuggly teddy-bear. Not that I would ever call him that to his face. He’s my rock. My mountain. My strength. A safe, comfortable place that I need to be.
Yet, way so much more than that.
I’m scared because the only things that have been inside me are tampons (carefully) and his fingers. I should have taken the time to try out the hairbrush handle like I’ve heard other girls doing. One advantage of having been invisible is that the girls never thought twice about talking in front of me, guys either. But, I hear everything!
I looked over at him, thinking he was still in Never-Never Land. Instead, those beautiful, hypnotic dark eyes looked into my soul. And, at the same time exposed his to me.
My absolute joy of having My Mountain home was short. Then that black hole of time, the Rabbit Hole of Alice – better for me to think that way – opens. I know our souls are talking. I know things are being communicated, decided on, agreed to, argued, compromised, and settled. Yet… Yet…
He finally smiled. I know my face looked like, as they say in literature, a “shit eating grin” – why would you grin after eating shit? Yuck! I prefer to feel that my smile nearly split my head in two. If I write that enough, maybe people will use that instead of “shit eating”. Again, YUCK!
Then My Mountain squeezed my leg. I squeezed his. Our eyes locked again.
“Ahem…,” came Joan’s voice. “Class is over, you two.”
After Joan, Ms Carlisle, pulled us back from nirvana, I helped Becca up and we headed out of the now empty classroom together. The little girl suppressed came bubbling out of her as she swung our hands as we walked. She added her patented skipping/dancing thing. I couldn’t help but chuckle.
As we headed towards the art rooms, it was either her antics or Thursday or word had spread about Reasonable Request conversation because neither of us were approached, manhandled (is girlhandled a word?), or fondled on the trip. Junior was a might upset, but I was perfectly fine with it.
When we got to the art room, Becca dragged me in. “Sweetie, I don’t have time to pose today.”
“No, not that, silly. I want to show you what I’m working on.”
“I saw it earlier, remember?”
“Oh! You must have. I got a bit distracted then.” I swear she giggled and blushed at the same time.
“Well, I was a little distracted as well.”
“That was wonderful. I can’t wait to feel Junior in me, though.”
“Soon, my Becca. But not in front of a teacher!”
“Spoil sport,” and she blew a raspberry at me. What happened to the Invisible Girl that I started the week with? Who cares. I love this one just as much, if not more. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to finish this.”
“I’ll meet you here in time to go to the Pep Rally,” I told her as I wrapped her in a hug.
“Will you have time? I think Rosa was going to come by after her class. We can walk over and talk. I think… I feel pretty sure, she and Mike have hooked up.”
“I think you’re right. She told me she wanted to talk later.”
“Well, go. Run. You’re a distraction. I can see I’m going to have to have a time lock on my studio, otherwise I’d keep coming to find you.”
“Who says I won’t be able to break the door down? You know, my size and strength are good for many things!”
“I certainly hope so,” she said as she gave Junior a couple of strokes that were filled with promise. Hey, he’s just a guy. He rose to the occasion, looking around for the action. “Later, you eager boy. My Mountain needs his energy right now.”
Our kiss was sweet and way too short. When she turned back to her painting, she must have stepped back into that transporter. Instantly she was the focused painter, ignoring all around her. A brush appeared in her hand, a palette loaded with the right colors in the other. How does she do that?
There was a part of me that wanted to be upset at being so easily dismissed, yet I knew in my heart that our love was strong and growing. I also knew that I would do the same thing to her many times in the future when I walked into a locker room or onto a field. Or, stood in front of a blackboard writing equations. Or, preparing a lesson plan. It’s nice to have a plan, a backup plan, and alternate plan… Yet. Yet!
I watched for a few minutes, in awe, as areas of the abstraction became concrete. What might have been a hallway slowly became a very realistic hallway. The same with other areas in the painting. I began to see how Becca was building the layers in the painting. Each holding a surface meaning and something much deeper. I realized it wasn’t just the eyes that created the sense of something wrong, pain… angst. It was every detail of the painting. A distortion of the lockers as they appeared. They were right. Perfect. Yet, wrong. Out of place, yet in place. Too damned confusing to put into words. I guess that’s why we have painters. And talented painters like my Becca.
A lot like music and the complexities of Bach, Beethoven, Handel, Mozart, and many, many others. If it could be done in words, it would be. Yet, a piece of music that can move you through so many emotions in less time than it takes to read a magazine article, now that is art. As is this painting.
I tore myself away and headed to the gym for a light workout, enough to keep the blood flow strong through my new muscles and keep my stamina and conditioning in just the right place for tomorrow. Burn some calories, keep the metabolism going, while conserving the deep energy reserves. I was going to need every bit of it against the strong offensive line of East.
As I walked, my mind shifted to a preview of the game. I was seeing the offensive line of our opponents, East, and how they moved depending on the play. What little keys they gave away. How the guards on either side of the center might pull and move to another part of the play, or stay in place, or one might pullâ€”backup and move around to provide blocking mass on another part of the fieldâ€”and the other stay in place… Each held information about the developing play. I needed to know how to instinctively react to each combination. Come kickoff, my focus became a small piece of turf. The neutral zone, that space between the offensive and defensive lines, is my office. Specifically the space covered by the center, the two guards flanking him, and the two tackles flanking them. Generally, I didn’t have to worry about the tackles. They belonged to the defensive ends. Yet…
Junior registered a few hands, but allowed me to continue planning. He allowed me to play the scenarios as I’d observed in game films, had mapped out, and considered, and practiced. After all, he had a vested interest in me doing well. I thought we would. Yet, I knew that East was too much like us. They didn’t expose their entire capability at one time at the beginning of the season. Keeping secrets in reserve is the perfect way to derail an opponent.
So what little surprises could they pull on us?
How would my world keep changing?
The clouds and confusion of colors, patterns, lines, and textures were slowly coming into focus, matching the image in my mind. I knew better than to tackle the imagine directly. It had to build, layer on layer. Texture and pattern on texture and pattern. Colors sharp, blended, and obscured, even smugged, but still there.
I thought of classical music, even the opera, that My Mountain listened to. It was the same way. If you just played the notes on a single instrument it would be rock. Instead, the layers of different textures and colors presented by each instrument are built up, creating the overall melody. Suddenly opera made sense to me. It was painting with instruments and voices. Layers, themes, textures, patterns…
It didn’t matter if it was in Italian, German, or Swahili. They key was the layers, the textures, the colorsâ€”and how they fit together to express emotions and tell a story.
Damn! I had to shake my head. I might even have to listen to more opera. My mind wander around the possibilities that presentedâ€”sitting snuggled with My Mountain while a flood of emotions swirled about the room. Some even from the music! And, what we’d be doing during the more intense, romantic passages… Scenes from my romance novels came back, with the main characters being Luis and myself. My experiences let me go beyond the thrusting loins, the steaming valley between my thighs, and the engorged rockets of his manhood. Oh, yeah, they went way beyond that.
I let those thoughts swirl in my head, and other places, while the rest of my mind tackled the painting.
I felt myself put the brush down, the palette no longer in my hand. Automatically, I stepped back to see what I had wrought, shifting gears from creator to observer. Returning to the world, I guess others would call it. And… I backed into a very naked pair of breasts and two arms that wrapped around me, and lips that attacked my neck.
“Becky, that is sooo good! I can’t believe it,” Rosalee gushed into my ear between kisses.
I found myself spinning in her arms and throwing mine around her. The kiss was fantastic. Yet… She was holding back.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I think I’m falling in love with a guy.”
“Why are you sorry for that?”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. I felt her pain instantly. “No, no, no. I’m so happy for you. Luis didn’t do it for you, did he?”
“Ahem… Well… Uhm…”
“Enough said. It’s okay. He and I have talked about it.”
“Rosa, why am I suddenly the confident one in this?”
That got us both giggling.
“I’d say we’re where we are… trying to figure this all out.” Her Inner Slut-Self, Confident, Wonderful self came out. And, the energy was still huge. Not as much as My Mountain, but… DAMN!
“Yep,” I said as I wrapped in her my arms and kissed her. “We’ll work it out. Okay?” She tasted good. Felt good. Love? Possibly. Well, love as a deep, close friend, but LOVE? Could be. Lust? Oh, yeah. Lake Becca proved that point.
“Perfect!” I shivered. It started at my toes and moved up through my spine and exited out through my hair.
Arm-in-arm we headed out of Francesca’s private studio into the main art room, where class was just breaking up. I was excited about finishing the painting, pumped that I was in a solid relationship, intrigued about where Rosa and I were going, concerned about the game tomorrow night and how it will affect my Sweetie, and… anxious to have him make love to me.
“Are you guys going to Shirley’s party-,” Wrapped up the way we were, when she stopped, it brought me back to the moment. She bent her mouth to my ear and whispered, “That guy is creepy.”
I did a quick glance around the room and saw Rashad. “He’s okay, an artist like me.”
She gave me a squeeze and whispered, “I’ll take your word for it, but watch out.”
“No problems. Oh! He does want me to pose for him. When was that? Oh, yeah, tomorrow after art. Let’s go over to the Pep Rally and root for our men.”
“Damn straight! The best looking hunks of man flesh on the entire team.”
We rapped our arms tighter, kissed, and headed out.
Note: Capire is the Italian verb for understand and has many times been represented in the media (movies and TV) in very incorrect forms. I’m being as precise as I can be in using the conjugations of the verb. Capisce is the term we often hear. When I use capisci, it is the the familiar you (tu). Capisco is “do you understand” to an unfamiliar. Anyway, Capire has 40+ unique conjugations. Thank the Italians for choosing this verb to bring over the Roman obsession for conjugations.
“The Letter” by Wayne Carson Thompson, first performed by The Box Tops (hint: a one hit wonder). Joe Cocker’s version was in my mind when writing this. Parts of the chapter were also inspired by “Color My World” by James Pankow (trombone, percussion, keyboards, and vocals in addition to being a song writer for Chicago) and performed by Chicago, I would hope not to have to say, “Think about it.”