Sharon walked in arm in arm with Ted and Angel, pals of mine from the art scene. They were all painters, of a sort. But her stuff was mixed media, more exploratory, more visceral. I had loved every work of hers I had ever seen, and it made me want to fuck her before I even met her.
No, I don't mean the conquering, claiming, possession thing. I wanted to be naked with the person who did that painting, naked in body and words. The truth is nobody fucks a body, you fuck a mind. Sadly, minds that are '10' 's are rare, and many '1' 's do a good job masquerading as '10' 's, especially among the naturally and deliberately twisted pageant of humanity that we call the Arts Community.
Sharon wasn't gorgeous, but she was the kind of woman I liked. She had wide hips and a generous bosom, both of which were accented in her one-piece retro dress that ended three inches above her knees. She had these amazing shoes; red patent leather Saddle shoes with flames down the sides and then fishnet hose going up her curvy legs. She had big eyes of brown and a wide easy smile. Her hair was cut short, and it had bangs in front, like a flapper from the 1920's, which was a hairstyle I loved. Ted and Angel introduced her to me, and I tried to be clever but my charm slid off her like teflon. I got them drinks and showed them where to smoke and tried to put her out of my mind.
Half a bottle and half a joint later, I couldn't think of anything else but her, and especially her ass. I wasn't seeking her out, but as the night went on it seemed wherever my eyes fell, there she was, and usually with her magnificent backside facing me, half hidden and half on display in that damned dress. I don't know if she caught me staring, and I'm not sure If I cared if she did.
The get together had rolled itself into a party, and I had wound up in a back dressing room talking about sex with my friends. We were a ribald bunch, and didn't hesitate to share intimate details, if a story demanded it. After all, we were students of Human Nature! We had to experiment, and that experimentation usually involved our genitalia. We were in the middle of relating our most embarrassing orgasm stories when Sharon joined in the conversation. I hadn't realized she was there. She fit right in, and told a hilarious story about her days in Austin, that left us all laughing and enlightened.
"And after that, I swear I never had a multiple orgasm again!" We all cried out in mock sorrow and despair, which she then chastised, "And you should bemoan and bewail, for we ladies have few advantages in this world and multiple orgasms are one of them. 'Is' of one them? 'are' one of them? Which is right, you think?"
The fact she was concerned about the grammar was an extra turn on. I got half hard listening to the debate about which is correct. Then Julie burst in, "Ah, you just need the right man." She said it in a broad Texas manly voice, mocking my gender, as was appropriate. "That's all it takes, missy!" She then mock spit on the ground and I provided the fake DING of the non-existant spittoon. "Or the right woman..." Said Sandra, who was a lesbian and a hell of a burlesque dancer. "An ass like yours, heavens to Betsy and me!" Sandra licked her lips, and Sharon turned around and flipped up her skirt to bravely flash her ass at us. We hooted and hollered in appreciation and Sharon bowed. "There ya go, Carson! That's the ass you'd been dying to see!" said, Kerry, calling me out for staring at her ass all night long.
"Have you been looking at my butt, Mr. Theater Person?" She said in a funny accent, which left us giggling. I responded with bravado, "Well, of course I did! It's fabulous, we all should be looking at it forever!" We joked about her ass, and other asses for a while and then Julie left with Kerry to get another drink, or to fuck. As the conversation died down, Sharon said to the room as I passed her on the way to the bourbon, "I swear if I could get another multiple orgasm, I'd let my ass be the prize!"
"Is that a serious wager?" I asked her in a perfect Sean Connery accent.
"Subject to negotiations upon the details." She came back with a pretty good Miss Moneypenny.
"Three orgasms in one session of less than two hours but more than one hour will grant the . . . winner. . . complete access to the prize spoken of, namely, your posterior."
"Complete access?" she asked.
"Complete."
"Three orgasms?"
"Three."
"For how long?"
"You may orgasm for as long as you like."
"No, for how long shall my posterior not be mine own?"
