Its creator had intended to provoke thoughtful reflection with its grotesque iron base, crudely cast and melting down to a point stabbed into the loamy earth, or so she assumed. Every time she passed the work of modern 'art', however, Isabel Aphelion felt nothing but mild disgust and discomfort, pondering who in their right mind up in Urban Planning had approved its placement in DeNay Park. Today, on this particular balmy, clear May night, she stopped and actually pondered the question.
"What's the point? You don't tell a story," she muttered in a gentle alto, lightly accented English more familiar at this point than the Greek she'd spoken as a child. The heels of her short-rise, red leather boots thudded quietly on the concrete as she circled the...sculpture? Statuette? An industrial disaster recast as some post-globalization expression of agony? Or...she paused, considering.
From its iron base, it transitioned into a largely flat, mirror-polished wafer of bronze through which holes had been punctured, like the toothmarks of some vicious predatory mammal. A trio of chains, one painted a greasy white, another pallid blue, the third a sort of greenish-brown that reminded her of stomach contents, were bracketed from top to base.
Isabel could see herself reflected in the bronze: hooded, dark brown eyes staring back with captious disdain, thin black leather jacket hanging open off her slender shoulders. Like a camera, her mind caught the image and analyzed it, parsing it apart; could she see a representation of her own existence, expressed herein? What if that was what the 'art' had in mind, to bring her perspective on her own life, independent of whatever mania overtook its creator when they cast it?
What if...the iron base represented the bleak dark she'd risen from only months earlier? What if the bronze facing, bitten through and punctured, was the life she'd desperately clawed in the shadow of industries she'd despised, living a life where she could only see herself reflected back and drained of color? Like a pretty dragonfly preserved in amber, trapped amidst wealth and splendor but never to partake of it...well, that was far too generous, she was more like a mosquito; skinny and undesirable in her eyes, as she'd always been...and yet.
The top of the...object reminded her of an alien tree, and it was kind of wondrous. Filaments of silvery, brightly polished metal strung with colorful streamers reflected the light shining from tall poles, interlaced with each other in the manner of branches that sought to embrace one another rather than spread forth to devour the sun's light.
It was a silly thought, but one that made her reconsider the grotesquerie, and even appreciate that moment of reflection, for her life had become somewhat otherworldly and brightly colored as of late. The age old specter of loneliness and isolation, unbanishable even in the face of a series of unsuccessful relationships with men and women, had fallen silent.
She gazed at herself for a moment longer, considering how her body still tingled from Ascher's attentions; the love-bites upon her neck...the satisfied ache in her loins...the warmth of his seed inside her, slowly 'defiling her panties' as she'd put it. She seriously considered taking a detour to Yusuf's place as her impulsive mind carelessly suggested '
MORE
', but she'd been a terribly hedonistic thing over the past couple of days, and a night in her own place was necessary for once.
When Isabel reached her 27th story apartment overlooking Tokamok Avenue and the Grandview Bridge, she turned on the lights for the first time in a couple of days; a great deal of effort had been sunk into making this place livable, and every object - boots and purse, keys and pepperspray - had its place in cheerful little rainbow baskets sitting in cubbies near the door. Plush silver carpeting opened into her small kitchenette and living room.
Her ex-girlfriend had taken the cat, so this place was quiet as any apartment could be in The City; the hum and thrum of its endlessly churning, chaotic life outside her window and through the concrete and rebar was an endless drone like locusts in the Mytilene Summer. This place served a monastic function, where she could simply...be her lonely self unjudged. Isabel's mind was still welded to that unpleasant metal sculpture, considering it again as she kicked her boots off and hung her jacket from a peg that held a number of colorful scarfs. What did it represent in her life?
Her bathroom was a simple affair of pure blue tile, and a Christmas bonus had gone toward the actual copper bathtub she'd installed herself. As Isabel shed her clothing, shower water rapidly steaming the mirror, she regarded her reflection, slowly disappearing and becoming indistinct amidst the hot vapor.
Isabel Aphelion had never considered herself any great beauty. It was her opinion that her jawline was too severe for a woman, her eyes too tired, her collarbones overly defined for lack of body fat. Vanta black eyes were heavy with dark circles - less than before, admittedly. Stoic and serious, her lips nonetheless were a natural rosey shade, holding back the enigmatic hint of a smile. Dark brown, curly hair tumbled in unruly ringlets when it was humid, tied by a green silk ribbon.
She'd been self-conscious of her body, although...after Mizrah's and Ascher's praise and attention, she was starting to view herself differently. 'Skinny' shoulders were now 'delicate'; disappointingly small breasts were 'pert' and 'firm', 'delightful' as Ascher had put it. The flare of her hips was now 'ripe', and she couldn't help but feel a rose-tinge of self-admiration as she gazed upon the short thatch of groomed black hair covering her mons, the juicy, plump impression of her labia between her slender thighs.
Strings of her lovers' cum stuck between her vulva, her clitoris and her legs. There was no denying it - stepping under the water, sure she was alone, she sighed into the hot stream. "I love them. I love their cocks, I admit it."
Them.
Them.
There was that word...not 'I love him / his cock'. That was just it; what she'd intended to just be some impulsive fun and release after the disaster of the Great Breakup almost a year ago had run away with her. If the sex was good by itself that would have been nice enough, but...they were so
sweet
to her, and she'd had so much
fun
with them both. Reaching for her mango-scented body wash, she dipped her fingers -
-FLASH-
- into a handful of oats, holding them in a wary palm as the enormous equine head swung toward her with fascination, marble-black eyes reflecting Isabel's unsettled visage. Ascher's hand found her fingers - almost a half-foot taller than her but she noted they're only slightly larger than hers - and he guided them toward the mare's lips. "It's okay Isabel, she's not going to bite you, are you Tornado?" They were only able to do this because he helped build the stables, so the owners adored him and gave him free reign of the property. The horse's lips tickled against her palm, and he brought her other up to touch the side of the mare's long face. It was Isabel's first time, seeing or touching one of these beautiful creatures, and she felt skittish until she looked back to his kind, comforting smile...
-FLASH-
Isabel was slick with tropical-fruit scented suds, recalling in detail that first, perfect outing with Ascher Ryazansky. He was in many ways a paradox - one of the more imposing men she'd dated (if one could call it that) but possessed of the nurturing kind manner that attracted the adoration of children and small animals; humble in his own way, but also one of the most well-read and well-traveled individuals she'd encountered...and to be frank, she
