"Sky-High Seduction" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flywright Fay)

Chapter 3

Bob Potter

It's the grooviest thing there is, being engaged to a sexy lady who above all else loves to fuck. That's Gabriel. We've been engaged for almost three years now and it keeps getting better! How long can that go on? We've done everything there is that can be done between two fucking adults in at least 200 different ways. We never run out of variations and I'm beginning to think we never will! I'm seriously thinking of having a chandelier installed in our bedroom. (Of course, that would mean drilling through the mirrored ceiling to get at the beam, but what the fuck, it's only money!)

We've even made it twice on commercial flights, first class, of course. Gabriel was flying as a passenger. The first time, during a flight to Miami on Eastern, we removed the arm rest and she laid across me as if she were sleeping in my arms. Her dress was up and we were covered with a blanket; it was a simple thing to zip my fly open and slide in. Christ! It was funny! I mean here we are fucking like mad in a 707 up 30,000 feet, passengers and stewardesses passing up and down the aisles, all the lights still on and no one was wise! Not that Gabriel would have minded, she's such an exhibitionist she would make it in Macy's window if I'd let her! The point is that we can fuck without moving our bodies and that's what we were doing on the airplane. Gabriel's cunt is amazing, she has fantastic muscular control and once you get your cock into her she can literally jerk you off with her pussy muscles! The finest snapping pussy in the world, ladies and gentlemen! Step right up and watch Miss Du Champe shoot a ping pong ball out of her cunt! She never misses the target, ladies and gentlemen… Gabriel the eighth wonder of the world! No shit!

I'd better start from the beginning and tell you how we met. I'm a photographer, I've got a good-sized studio operation in New York in the twenties right off Fifth. Among other things I do a lot of shooting for the better men's books, like Playboy and Escapade and these days, Oui and some of the other new magazines. Now naturally, I fuck around with models from time to time, but not nearly as much as one would think. I realize that the general public attitude about guys such as myself who shoot this stuff is that we screw our brains out with every broad who walks in off the street. Wrong. That's the fastest way to a reputation that can ruin your business. Suddenly one day you'd find yourself with no models because the word got around. But every now and then there's a chick you have eyes for, the sexual tension builds nicely during the shooting and you begin to feel the mutual vibes kind of meshing. Now when this happens, the shooting itself is a groovy sexual trip and the whole photography session becomes pre-coital play providing hours of mutual erotic stimulation.

The idea, in order to get great pictures, is to allow the sex tension to build up. You should never actually make your pass until the photography has been completed. Fuck her with your camera and if it works, she'll fuck your camera back and the resultant photographs will be erotic as hell. That's a secret of the trade I've just given away.

One summer day a little over three years ago, I was having lunch with an agency art director at Frank and Eddy's when a gorgeous chick, sporting one of the all-time great asses, entered and sat at the bar. She was wearing a kind of Arnel pantsuit that clung to everything, but since her back was to me as she walked in, my initial impression was based solely on her ass, to which the Arnel clung as if it were soaking wet. Those fully packed, rotating, luscious globes swinging from side to side in fuck rhythm were so hypnotic that I lost track of what my lunch partner, the schmucky art director, was saying and unknowingly consented to shoot his campaign for half of what the job was worth!

Of course, by now you've guessed that she was my future fiancй, Gabriel. Right, but it was a full twenty minutes before I got even a glimpse at her frontal configuration. She had entered with a girl friend and the two of them ended up at the bar to wait for a table. I just stared at Gabriel's long black hair and her pliant curves and ignored my martini and striped bass with salad and my client's tedious description of how he wanted his product shot, which I seem to remember was a spray deodorant or some such garbage.

She had a good back, as they say, strong and lean with just enough meat at the shoulders, hips and thighs. Even sitting down, Gabriel was all curves! In the three years I've known her, I've never been aware of a straight line on her body-everything curves and bends; there are no angles, no abrupt lines, just curves, gentle and severe, and mounds and globes and smoothly rounded edges.

Just as our waiter was delivering the coffee, Gabriel and her friend rose from the barstools and drinks in hand, turned, to walk to their tables. Well, you have to understand… I mean, I'm an expert, I've seen hundreds of beautiful naked women, but I've never seen anyone as naked as Gabriel, even when she's dressed! And that afternoon in Frank amp; Eddy's she was as naked as I've ever known her! I just sat there marveling, offering up praises to the manufacturer of Arnel. It was a bloody miracle! God bless static electricity or whatever!

I glanced around quickly to see if any other men were reacting as I was, but true to form all the guys in the joint were playing it cool and looking down at their chopped liver platters. That's what women's-lib has done for us! I mean a beautiful woman, obviously dressed to enhance her sexuality, to turn guys on, to be looked at… a woman who for all intents and purposes is proud of her body and wants it to be appreciated-when a woman like that walks into a joint these days most of the "liberated" men look the other way so as not to be accused of chauvinistic piggery!

Well, meet Mr. Hog! That's me! It was instant erection. I didn't even attempt to be surreptitious about my intent, eye-bulging stare. I started at her head and worked down. She had wide eyes rimmed with what I later found out was kohl, a cosmetic favored by hour is and other Arabian exotics. Gabriel's mouth was wet, it was always wet because her lips were always parted and her sexy tongue was constantly darting out to taste her own lipstick. Her neck was long and gracefully curved, her head erect, her shoulders back… we used to call it good posture, remember? (That's a phrase that went out with good character.)

Nevertheless it stood Gabriel in good stead by causing her breasts to thrust forward in such a way that the blouse material was clinging to the undersides of her two perfect orbs. In dead center were nipples, doing their damndest to punch holes through the blouse. He belly was not quite flat; I mentioned before that there were no straight lines on Gabriel. No, her belly curved outward ever so slightly and because of the three-quarter view I had, I was able to follow the resultant, barely perceptible inward curve till it merged with the diminutive outward swelling of her mound. I stayed there awhile and then started back up, following the long sweeping line of her right hip and then it happened… a barely perceptible movement, a slow billowing like a gently rolling wave in the sea, followed by another and yet another. She was signaling with her midsection! Minor-key belly dancing! The undulations carried themselves down to her groin and then back up again to her breasts whose nipples now seemed larger, if that were possible. Then, lifting my gaze, I found her eyes grinning into mine! I raised my old tired martini in a toast.

All of this took less than fifteen seconds. Gabriel had stopped in mid stride in order to give me a better view and now she turned as if to say something to the bartender. Once again I was face to face with her opulent buttocks! She flexed each cheek separately one time and then was gone, following her friend to the table.

"Hey, Potter, for Christ-sake will you get your eyes off that broad for a minute and listen!" It was my lunch partner. I mean, shit, he was paying for the food and drink so I should at least pay attention, right? Wrong! Fuck him and his lousy deodorant campaign! You see a girl like that only a few times in your entire life! I felt like I had already fucked her just by looking at her for a quarter of a minute! What would it really be like?

"Listen to me, Grey," I said. "I've agreed to do your damned campaign at a ridiculous fucking price and you're also getting a rake off, arranged by my fucking, bribing rep, correct?"

"Cut it out, Bob, some one will hear you! What do you want from my life?"

"I want your tie, your nice corny red and blue striped tie!"

"C'mon, let's be reasonable, what the hell are you talking about?"

"We are talking about your fucking tie. If I don't get it right now the deal is off and you can start all over again with another photographer."

"You serious?" His mouth was twitching.

"I'm serious, pal, so now let's have it… "

He took it off and I carried it over to the buffet where I created a lovely bouquet of celery stalks and bread sticks wrapped in a checkered napkin and bound, ribbon-like, with Grey's ten dollar silk necktie. I placed my card under the bow and handed the whole thing to Max the waiter along with a buck for his trouble. I watched him as he walked it over to Gabriel's table but I didn't wait for the reaction. I hustled Grey out of there and headed down town to my studio, fingers crossed.