Rufus and the Art Chick
written by:
Alabama1

"Would you fuck me?"

The correct answer was yes. But this sounded like a trick question. I hesitated a moment, trying to figure out what I was going to say.

"Not here, not now, but tonight? Would you fuck a complete stranger?" she persisted.

A waif of an Art Chick - skinny black jeans tucked into boots, an oversized sweater against the chill of an Omaha spring. Her close-cropped hair had a stripe that matched her sweater - both a purple color I never had in my crayon box. We were walking our dogs in Heartland Park along the Missouri River. Rufus, my Boxer mix pound dog was sniffing the tail of her sleek black Doberman. Go Rufus!

It was near dusk. I had seen her coming towards me, walking with a purpose. At first I didn't think she would stop. Leave it to Rufus. He likes to get his nose up in those lady dogs' business. She hadn't said a word to my "Hello" until she asked me the question. Of course I would fuck her. But the fire in her eyes told what I should answer.

"No. No I wouldn't." Like hell.

"I knew it! That Fuckface pig of an asshole just fucked some bimbo on a business trip. You know why? Do you know why genius said he fucked her? Because she asked! Can you believe it?"

Uh, yeah.

"He says that girls can get laid any time, but a guy has to take it when he can get it. I wasn't there; she was. Bam. Fucked. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK, FUCKED!"

I didn't know this woman, but I know women. Sometimes you can only say the wrong thing. You can't get in trouble - well, as MUCH trouble - with your mouth shut. I stood there silently.

"So you wouldn't fuck me?" I shook my head. "Even if I asked?" I knew I was answering the question the right way - even if it wasn't the truth. "Even if I threw myself naked at your feet?" I looked down. "Would you come home with me to tell that Fuckface of a shitheaded asshole that despite that fact that HE thinks with his cock, not all men do?"

This could be interesting. I was new in town. I had lost a job, a lake front condo, and a wife in Chicago. I guess in her mind, "for better or for worse" meant "as long as things are never worse." I went from a quarter-million dollar salary to $37 an hour, no benefits, no vacation, no holidays. All I had planned for tonight was network television in my dingy Old Town apartment. What did I have to lose?

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. That little boy needs to grow up. He's not horny high schooler anymore. Maybe a real man can tell him to get his act together if he wants to keep nailing this shit."

She did have a mouth. I was older than she was, but no more than 10 or 12 years. At 35, I hoped "real man" wasn't the same as "old man" in her mind.

"Alright, I'll go with you, if only to help you calm down."

"I AM calm, dammit!" I decided to change the subject as we fell in step continuing along her way.

"What's your dog's name?"

"Princess. Princess Sincere Regret. Her sire is Bold Regret and her dam is Sincerely Summer." Were the heavens sending me a message? She babbled on about dogs and shows and ribbons. All I could think of was that movie, "Best in Show." It was hilarious, but she was dead serious. Well, at least she was off the subject of Fuckface.

Her apartment was in Old Town too and only a few blocks from my place. It was much, much nicer. It had a lobby and an elevator, both with working lights. The elevator doors opened on the top floor, and I followed her down the hall, watching her ass as the sweater rubbed up and down. My, my. Puss in boots.

I was right about Art Chick, but rich-daddy-art-chick not starving-artist-art-chick. The apartment was light and airy, and overlooked the river. In the morning, the sunrise would light this place up. Fuckface wasn't there. I was good with that.

"How about some coffee?" she offered. I nodded, and she busied herself with some sort of cappuccino contraption. "Steamed milk?" Why not? "Bailey's?" I nodded again.

In the middle of her preparations, her cell phone rang. I only heard her side of the conversation.

"You ready to apologize?" "You know what for." "I never agreed to that." "What?" "WHAT!!" "I'm not going to apologize; you're the one out fucking!" "Did not!" "Listen, Fuckface, you find somewhere else to live." "Not my problem." "No." "No." "Text me the address." "Not my problem." "No."

She slammed the cell phone on the counter and prepared our lattés with scientific precision. Her brow was furrowed, but no tears. She worked in silence. At last, she handed me a mug and gave me a forced smile.

She flipped a switch and the fireplace lit up. She nodded to the oversize leather chair as she plopped on the couch. She pointed a remote at the wall, and Norah Jones started crooning. With her legs up under her sweater, she grabbed her mug with purple-sleeved hands. "Tell me about yourself."

I cleared my throat. "Well, my name is David." She laughed.

"I guess I should have asked you your name." She started laughing again. She laughed harder, then hysterically until tears formed in her eyes. I waited until she got herself under control. She wiped her eyes with a tissue from the coffee table.

"Sorry. I had you pegged for a Bartholomew." She started laughing again, but it wasn't as intense or sad. "My name is Sa."

"Ah? That's your name?"

"Sa! Sa!" Then, as way of explanation, "My parent's named me ‘Elizabeth', but that is so prosaic. I was ‘Lisa' in High School, and shortened it to ‘Sa' when I went to college. Have you ever known a ‘Sa' before?"

"No, I can't say that I have. And it is short, both to write and say." Yes, that sounded as stupid as it came out as it sounds now. But Sa?

"I wanted my life to be different. Now, I'm heading down the same road as my mother. Find a man. Settle down. Have 2.3 kids and a husband that cheats on you. My father cheated on my mother for years. I knew it. My Mom knew it. Hell, I think all of Chicago knew it. I thought if I could earn enough of my own money, then I wouldn't be beholden to a man. I guess that didn't work out either."

"I don't know. You look like you're pretty comfortable." She ignored my comment.

"What about you?"

"You know, same old story...school, job, wife, dog. Lost the job. Lost the wife. Kept the dog."

There was more to the story, of course. It was happening all over the country. It wasn't as much age discrimination as salary discrimination. I made too much money compared to offshoring. My new job was in a roomful of cubicals. I was the youngest. Most were 40, 50 or 60 waiting for retirement. The Delivery Center was managed by some snot-nosed kid. I was interviewed on the phone, got the job offer on the phone, and sent the employment papers back in the mail. And moved my ass and dignity to Omaha, Nebraska.

"So when did you last get laid?"

I had just taken a sip of the Irish latté. At least it didn't come out my nose, but I did cough for at least a minute, partly to clear my airways and partly to buy time.

"So? Was your wife the last person you fucked?"

I chuckled uncomfortably. "I'm really not comfortable discussing my sex life."

"Why not? Everyone does it. We fuck almost every night. ‘Fucked,' I should say. Except my period. Then I just gave him blow jobs. And sometimes anal. That's why I was so pissed! He was gone for three days, and all I had was my five-finger delight for company. And then he confesses that he banged the bimbo. I didn't need to know that!" What a strange creature. Once again, I thought silence the best policy. Let this fire burn out.

We sat in silence for a moment. She turned her head, and with an impish smile, asked, "So, you haven't gotten laid in what, 6 months? A year? And you don't want to talk about it. Hell, that's all I'd be thinking about, talking about --- and doing something about! How long have you been divorced? You are divorced?"

"Yes, it was final last May."

"So you haven't been laid in a year?"

"A lot of time passes between knowing, to doing, to done. And the thing is, you never think the last time is the last time. We had a disaster of something at Thanksgiving."

"A year and a half?"

"Two and a half years ago."

"Wow. And you didn't jump my bones in the park? Is there something wrong with you? She paused for a breath. Is there something wrong with me? "

"It didn't seem like the right thing to do. I've been reconsidering several of my decisions tonight."

"So what's your favorite position?"

"Wow. You sure you don't you want to talk politics or religion?"

"Liberal, but not Democrat. Spiritual, but not churched. Reverse cowgirl or doggie, generally on that chair you're sitting in. Your turn."

I wasn't sure what to say, or where to start. I took a sip of coffee, and took a deep breath. "I've always been particular to a woman lying on a bed, a ‘come hither' smile on her face, and her girly parts on full display. The curve of her breasts. The smooth track of her belly down to her navel. The soft down of her pubic hair, her labia swollen and pink and glistening. Her vagina open slightly, down to the pucker of her anus and round of her bottom. The vulnerability, trust and generosity of surrendering her body to me is the most personal, intimate thing two people can share. I find that extremely erotic."

"Anus? Labia? What is this, medical school? And missionary position in bed? How prosaic."

"You object to my vocabulary, and yet you use ‘prosaic'? Do you even know what that word means?"

"It means boring, but the word boring is so boring. And missionary is boring. How can the woman possibly come if she can't reach her clit?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes, I'm serious."

"How many guys have you been with?"

"I've probably fucked 1000 times. Probably more than you ever did, especially if you took a couple years off."

"But how many guys?"

I had stumped Ms. Mouth. "One," she said softly.

"Well, there's a difference between quantity and quality. A man that cares about you makes sure your needs are met. Guys are pretty simple - there's only one way to get them off. With women, there are a million ways. You've never heard, ‘The lady always comes first'? They're not talking about priorites. Well, only priorities."

She sat there quietly for a minute. "Would you fuck me? Please?"

"I'm not sure this is the right time, you're up...set..."

While I was talking, she stood up and pulled the purple sweater over her head. She was not wearing a bra - her smallish breasts were firm and rounded nicely, topped by pinkish pencil eraser nipples and Necco-sized areolae. She unbuttoned the top of her tight jeans and slowly unzipped them. No underwear of course. She stopped, leaving a little bit of black pubic hair showing. She stood before me, hands out as if to take mine. "C'mon."

She pulled me out of the chair, and led me around the back. She stripped off the skin-tight pants, stooping, pulling down, kicking them to one side. She stood, naked. She spread her legs wide and bent over the back of the soft leather chair. Her pink star of an anus was small, surrounded by the tiniest ring of hair, her pussy just below. "Tell me you don't want to hit that. I'm wet. Go ahead, fuck me. You can do my ass if you want, just grab the lube out of the side table." She reached back, pulled both cheeks hard, opening a very private place. My cock hardened at the sight.

Still fully clothed, I came up behind her, grabbing the sides of her rib cage. "Elizabeth," I said softly. "Not like this." I pulled the naked woman erect, turned her around, and hugged her tightly. She tucked her head against my shoulder, mouth under my chin. I just held her for a minute.

"What about Fuckface?"

"He won't come back. This is my place. He doesn't make enough to pay for a place like this." What a curious woman!

"Do you have a prosaic old bed?" I whispered. She nodded, and I followed her naked form down the hall. The bed was an antique walnut four poster, covered in a duvet and a dozen coordinating pillows. She pushed those off to the side and pulled back the covers, revealing silky cotton sheets and another set of pillows. She jumped on the bed, buried her face in a pillow, beautiful, naked ass up. I lay down beside her.

I ran my hands over her back and bottom, first softly, then harder, massaging the muscles up to her neck. "That feels nice," she said. I lightly scratched her scalp, and then her back, then her ass. Softer, softer, until I was barely touching the skin, my fingers lingering between her thighs and up the crack of her ass. I could see goose bumps, and she suddenly flipped over on her back. "Just fuck me, already!"

"Not yet. Not for another hour. This is called ‘foreplay'."

"I know what foreplay is. You just don't need it when you're young. When do I get to see your cock?"

"Patience, child," and I gently sucked a nipple in my mouth. The entire areola firmed, and her back arched. I continued my light stroking, this time down her smooth stomach around her pussy and down her thigh. Her reaction was to spread her legs slightly, but I didn't rise to the bait. Slowly back again with one hand, carefully avoiding what she wanted me to touch. I cupped her entire breast in my other hand, her nipple between my thumb and finger. I flicked the first nipple with my tongue, then sucked in a rush of cold air. I kissed her breast and up to the side of her neck and her jaw. She turned for a kiss, but I turned away, kissing back down to the second breast, where I started another assault with my mouth.

I was having the desired effect, as she started thrusting her pubic area against nothing but air. There was only a tuft of black pubic hair, and my fingers traced a light trail down, where I scratched along the top and then each side. She tried to thrust against my hand, but I was careful not to provide any relief. This time the trail of kisses went up her neck and jaw to her lips. A light kiss first, then harder. She was driving her tongue into my mouth and writhing in the bed. I kissed her hard, then softer, then softest and kissed my way back down her body.

Her musky smell filled my nostrils as she spread her legs wide. I kissed the inside of her thighs, first one side, then the other, closer, closer.

Impatiently, she reached down and started rubbing her clit up and down, hard and fast, like a stubborn stain. I pulled her hand away. "Arrrrrrrrrrgh!! Fuck! If you're not going to do it, let me!"

I didn't say anything, but I sucked her clit in my mouth and she instantly tensed. Only a second, I released, licked once hard, and pulled way. She started wimpering. "Please. I can't take it. Let me come."

I kissed her clit as I slid two fingers into her sopping pussy, and twisted slowly. I rubbed the inside while I licked her clit at a steady rhythm. I inserted a third finger, leaving my pinky free to tease her asshole. Her stomach muscles, tightened as the whole lower half of her body started shaking with spasms. She made primal, guttural noises, half-breathing, half-grunting, "uhhhn, uhhn, uhhhn". She pulled my head away as she sat up instantly -- my god, the strength of young abs. Her face was contorted, her eyes squeezed shut as the noises softened to a half-whimpering sound.

"Shit!" she yelled. "Fuck...me! Wow." She looked at me, her breathing returning to normal. "Why aren't you fucking me yet!"

She started grabbing at my belt as I pulled off my shirt. She slid over so she was sitting on the edge of the bed as she pulled my boxers down. "Oh my god!" she said as she saw my cock. "That's huge! It's not going to fit in me!"

Now I'm flattered. Really, I am. But I've also been in a few more locker rooms than she has, and I hate to tell you, I'm probably in the 60th percentile, not the 95th. Not only is Fuckface a shithead, he must be tiny.

"You like blow jobs?" Really? You have to ask? She attacked my cock with more enthusiasm than skill. She sucked so hard I thought I was going to pee in her mouth, she had about 1 inch of up and down, and only used her hands to hold me still. I had not yet decided if I would ever come back, but she definitely needed coaching. And practice.

I gently pulled her head away, and she looked me in the eyes. "Are you ready?"

"Fuck yes! I've been waiting for three whole days!" She lay her head on a pillow and threw her legs apart. "Is this ‘come hither' enough for you?"

Ok, it was pretty hot. But I was going to fuck her lights out, and I couldn't do that doing pushups in bed. I stood next to the bed and pulled her sideways, her legs up and over my shoulders. The bed was the perfect height. Her pussy lips were swollen, her creamy juices oozing out of her red pussy. I pressed the head of my cock against the opening and pushed. She was tight and warm and wet. I pushed in, then pulled all the way out. She whimpered. In again, I pushed all the way in hard and stopped. "Ah! That feels good!" I started fucking her, slowly at first, then picking up speed. I lifted on the in stroke, mashing our pubic hair together. I set up a nice, sustainable rhythm, fuck, fuck fucking with a steady beat.

With her earlier orgasm, and much less direct stimulation than she was used to, I could tell her body was slowly building towards an orgasm. She was rocking with me, and her hand darted back to her clit. I pulled it away. "Just go with it," I said as I continued fucking. She started the whimpering again. She was so limber, and her knees were up around her ears as I pulled her ass into me. We increased the pace together, galloping towards her climax. She arched her back, squeezing her eyes shut. The spasms and grunting started again, this time louder and more intense. She stopped moving, and I felt her pussy clamp onto my cock. She was coming.

The sight of her face, the smell of sex in the room, and the strong contractions of a young tight pussy were too much. My relief came too, as I rammed home one last time, pumping deep inside her.

"I can feel you coming! Cum inside me, baby! Fill me up!"

She relaxed her legs, and I pulled out, my seed spilling out of her gaping pussy. I didn't have long to look, as she slapped a hand over her pussy, jumped up, and ran to the bathroom.

I wasn't sure exactly what I was supposed to do, so I lay down on the bed. Rufus was curled up with Princess, but looking at me. I could swear he had a knowing grin on his face. She was taking a while.

I noticed a picture frame face down on the nightstand. I couldn't help it. I had to look. Well, well, well...it was Sa and Fuckface in an expensive portrait. Engagement photo? Turns out Fuckface is my new boss. I put it back as it was. She came out with a hot washcloth and matching towel and cleaned me up like she was waxing a car.

She threw the dirty linens into the bathroom and said, "You're on my side. If you're staying over, you have to sleep on the other side."

"Do you want me to stay over?"

"Hell yes. I want another good fucking in the morning."

I had been right. The correct answer to her original question was, "Yes".