Performance Art

by Chris Holden

 

She stood off to the side and watched him staring at himself in the mirror, as if he didn't recognize the face reflecting back. She permitted herself a faint grin as he glanced down at the pink bra in his hands.

"Need some help with the bra?"

He roused himself and looked at her, shaking his head. He seemed offended. Which gave her a rush. How perfect he was!

The man brought the bra up behind his back and pulled it around to link the stays. She enjoyed how serious he was as he connected the stays. The pink bra was bright against his winter flesh.

As she watched, she found herself going back over the weekend. Today was Monday, had she only met him on Friday? Could that be? Yes … she'd spotted him cutting across Broadway, against the traffic.

Of course.

He was all male, and that appealed to her. Especially the way his rolling shoulders cleared space on an empty sidewalk.

Perfect.

They'd met at a downtown gallery. He was dressed in black, and that appealed to her. Afterwards, over a beer – she'd suggested a latte, but he'd have none of that, and of course that appealed to her. As he talked and she listened, enrapt, the subject of performance art came up. She dabbled on the fringes. He was intrigued. She expressed admiration for Karen Finley, her courage in challenging community norms.

Nonsense, he said. How brave is it to challenge community norms in New York? What community norms? New York had none! She begged to differ, softly. He rode over her demurral, anybody could get up and showcase themselves in NYC. To do it in Oklahoma, Iowa, now that took cojones.

He was so … male.

She dangled the bait, he circled, all masculine assertion. And even as she reeled him in, he took smug pleasure in having convinced her that he was right.

Endlessly appealing.

He'd gone home, changed and met her back at her place. She'd left the door unlocked and when he buzzed, she yelled that it was open. He came in, now wearing a long-sleeved off-white shirt. He stood in the open doorway, grinning at her.

The grin full of confidence, all male.

 

They spent the weekend in bed, ordering take-out over his cell, Chinese and pizza. He was aggressive, take charge, and she took her time leading the way. She mentioned, almost an after-thought, that she was preparing an art exhibit – THE MAN OF TOMORROW—TODAY. Would he be interested in taking part?

His head was tight between her surprisingly muscular thighs when she brought it up. She was on her side, relaxing. When he tried pulling his head out to respond, she tightened her grip. He chuckled and relaxed; like, hey, this is punishment?

"Yeah, sounds like fun. What've I gotta do?" His voice was garbled, which gave her a rush.

"Just be yourself."

It wasn't until Sunday evening that he realized he'd done things with her that he'd never done with any other woman. Much of it oral. His mouth had explored appendages he'd never been near before. Like her luscious toes, precious pink. When she placed her foot to his mouth, he'd laughed, as if embarrassed.

"What's the joke?"

"Nothing, just …"

"My feet?"

"Huh … no, no, I mean …"

"You don't dig feet?"

"Sure, yeah, course."

"Well …?"

To his surprise, he found her feet sexy. And he did enjoy running his tongue beneath her soles, inhaling the sweaty scent. Soon, he was taking each toe in his mouth, taking pleasure in their salty dampness.

But it was only when she suggested he rim her that he realized just how far he'd come this weekend. When he let out a snort, she rolled onto her belly, her gorgeous derriere wide and inviting. She wriggled each cheek and glanced over her shoulder.

"Know what makes a guy a great lover? When he goes down on my ass."

She winked and turned away. The male ego … toss it a challenge and settle back … no one ever went broke underestimating the male ego.

He knelt between her legs and studied her backside, both cheeks firm, round … and then he was running his tongue over them, down each thigh, back up, lingering at the rise of the lower buttocks. He started letting his tongue dart at the edge of her cleavage. Then, using his nose and chin, pried her buttocks open.

He stiffened and froze as her untamed rear scent suddenly overwhelmed him; it was raw, rich, pungent. She jerked her backside up and his nose flattened against her anal aperture. He was still adjusting to her powerful rear fragrance, and seemed about to pull out. But she was ready. Tightening her muscular buttocks, she planted her hand on his head and jammed it between her rear cleavage.

Later, she coyly asked him to sit up. He liked it when she was coy, cute … feminine. She felt under the sheets until she found her panties.

"Shut your eyes."

He did so and she stretched her panties over his head. His eyes, popping open, beeked through the leg openings. He started to yank them off, but she gripped his wrist, with surprising strength. Even as he tried to raise his arm, it hit him that her grip was too strong.

Of course, she was delighted when, instead of acknowledging her superior strength, he snorted, as if he was letting her have her way.

All male. Perfect.

Afterwards, as he lay asleep, the panties still strapped over his head, she gently slid out of bed. She crossed to a closet and took out a basket filled with lingerie, all different colors. Searching through the overflowing basket, she took out a pair of pink silk panties and matching pink bra. But as she glanced over her shoulder at him, she shook her head and exchanged them for black panties and bra.

He wasn't ready for pink. Not yet. But she'd have to rush him, just a bit. THE MAN OF TOMORROW – TODAY was opening tomorrow evening. That didn't give her much time, 24 hours. She stood over the bed, holding up the bra and panties as he came slowly awake.

She smiled down at him, the bra and panties dangling over his face as his eyes grew wider.

 

(Cont'd.)

  

  

  

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© 2004 by Chris Holden. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.