Chapter 4
Dean walked into the Pumpkin Eater Gallery at one in the afternoon. The place was empty except for a receptionist eating her lunch at a small desk near the door. He looked around the gallery for a few seconds before walking over to the desk. The place looked right for him; the walls were covered with anything but paintings.
There were collages, metal sculptures, even glass-fronted boxes with articles pasted or thrown inside to make a composition.
"Hi, there," said the girl at the desk. "Are you buying or browsing or selling?"
Dean was laughing as he turned to answer her. "Multiple choice question, huh? A, B, or C? Well, my answer to that question is C. Selling. That is, if you can tell me where I'll find John Thomas."
The girl carved several slices from a round cheese and nibbled at one of them. "John's out to lunch now. He'll probably be back in an hour or so. Can you wait?"
Dean looked her over carefully. She was small, maybe five-two with a stunningly developed figure. Black hair, parted in the middle, cascaded to her breasts. She had piercing black eyes and a small but sensual mouth. Her dress was a purple mini cut so low in front that he could almost see the nipples on her lush breasts. The outfit reminded him of paintings of French women who adorned the kingly courts during the post-Renaissance period. He nodded. "Yes," he told her, "I can wait."
"Fine. Pull up a chair. Would you like some cheese or an apple?"
"No, thanks," said Dean, "I've already eaten lunch. I'll just have a cigarette." He pulled one from his jacket and lit up.
"You look familiar," mused the girl. "I seem to remember you from somewhere before. A party, maybe. What's your name?"
"Ryder. Dean Ryder."
"Dean Ryder? Sure, I remember. I've seen your sculptures around, lots of places. You really do some nice work. By the way, my name's Mario." She took a bite from her apple, showing perfect white teeth.
"Sure," echoed Dean, "lots of places. But mostly in people's pads, Mario. Friends of mine. What I need is to get the goods out by showing them in a gallery."
"Well, we'll see about that when John gets back from lunch. What made you choose this gallery, anyway? Do you know John, or are you just going the rounds?"
"I know his ex-wife, Marty. She said she'd put in a good word for me."
"Good old Marty. He's bound to take her advice. I don't think you have much to worry about."
Dean took a long drag on his cigarette. "That's fine, you know, but he's still got to like my work."
Mario smiled as she wrapped the remains of her lunch in a paper bag and dropped it into the wastebasket. "Oh, he'll love it, probably. From what I've seen of your stuff, I can say that with assurance." She stood up and smoothed the short purple dress over her shapely thighs, then walked to the front door and locked it, flipping a CLOSED sign to face outward. "I have to close up for about half an hour so I can straighten out some things down in the storeroom," she told him. "Want to come along?" Dean put out his cigarette and stood up, towering over Mario. He looked down at her, unable to keep his eyes off the twin bulges of her breasts and the buttery valley between them. "Lead the way," he said.
The storeroom was filled with canvas and frames and other assorted artist's and collector's materials. Mario busied herself with several framed collages which leaned against the wall. "I have to get these ready for hanging tomorrow," she explained. She bent over to string a wire on the back of a frame, and Dean could see the brief black panties stretched taut across her buttocks. He felt a surge of excitement as he moved impulsively up behind her.
"Can I help with anything?" he asked.
"No, I don't think so," she replied. She turned her head and looked up at him. "Your company is all the help I need," she added, her voice turning quiet and husky as she surveyed his handsome form and noticed the bulge which betrayed his interest rising in his Levi's. She turned, as if to continue her work. Dean, stooping slightly, caressed her rounded buttocks through the silk panties. A shiver ran visibly through Mario's body, and she moaned softly as Dean's hand moved over her sensitive bottom. Then she straightened up and faced him. Their eyes met in a gaze of understood desire, there in the basement stockroom filled with art objects, where no one could interfere. Dean bent and kissed her upturned mouth, running his tongue tantalizingly the length of her smooth, white throat. Mario sighed and fumbled with his belt buckle, as Dean pushed the purple dress down off her shoulders and kissed the revealed breasts, letting his tongue linger over the nipples until they stood out hard with desire.
Mario finished undoing his pants with trembling hands. Then she pulled them down with his shorts, letting them fall around his ankles. She pulled down her own panties quickly and kicked them off.
Dean reached down and felt her cunt. It was hot and already wet with need. She grasped the thick, livid staff which stood out proudly from his flat belly and squeezed it admiringly.
Just then, the phone rang upstairs. Dean and Mario froze, startled. Mario, quickly recovering her composure, smiled. "Don't worry," she told him. "There's an extension right here." She reached behind her on the work table and grabbed the receiver.
"Good afternoon, Pumpkin Eater Gallery. Oh, John. Yes, I'm working in the storeroom. I definitely think you ought to come back for the afternoon. There's someone waiting to see you. Dean Ryder. I think you'll be interested in his work." There was a pause as the party on the other end replied. "A half hour? Okay, see you then. Bye." She hung up the receiver and turned to Dean, who had watched his erection wobble, then wilt during the interruption.
"Was that Thomas?" he asked her, feeling a little silly standing there with his pants down around his ankles.
"That was Thomas, all right. He was going to take the rest of the day off, but I changed his mind. You should've heard how he perked up when I told him you were here!"
She looked down and smiled when she saw his limp affair. "That call was certainly a rude interruption. Let's see, where were we?" She smiled suggestively. "I think we'll have to do something for this poor, startled fellow," she said, indicating Dean's cock.
Without another word, she sank to her knees and took the large, soft tool in her mouth. The pressure of her lips on the yielding flesh was exhilarating, and soon Dean's organ stood out quivering and ready. Still she teased it with her tongue, sliding it in and out of her tender lips, meanwhile running her fingernails tantalizingly over his sensitive scrotum.
Finally Dean, unwilling to wait any longer, pulled Mario to her feet, lifting her off the ground and setting her down on the tip of his waiting lance. She twined her legs about his thighs, hooking her feet behind for support, and let herself down slowly on his cock until it was buried to the root in her heated sex.
Dean held her by the quivering globes of her ass and moved her around while she sank her teeth into his shoulder and groaned. He lifted her and set her down again and again, as his prick touched her everywhere inside, setting fire to the quick fuse of her passion.
"On the floor," she whispered hotly in his ear, "finish it off on the floor."
Slowly Dean kneeled down, holding her tightly against him, until his knees touched the floor. Then he rocked forward and he was over her, feeling her legs locked over his waist as he drove into her with renewed vigor. She bit him wherever she could reach, moaning insistently in his ear. "Fuck me, oh fuck me . . . harder . . . faster . . . now . . . it's coming, coming . . . oooOO!" She arched her back and pulled up hard against him, mashing her breasts against his chest. Their lips met in a searing, searching kiss as Dean felt his own crisis approaching, and they rose and fell together with desperate urgency. Mario's nails tore into his back, and he pumped a hot stream of his seed into her gaping hole. They clung tightly to each other, then lay back together in delicious exhaustion.
A few moments later, Dean kissed the drowsy girl on the lips. "Don't you think we ought to get upstairs before Thomas returns?" he suggested.
Mario regarded him through heavily lidded eyes. "Yes, I guess we should," she replied ruefully. She turned and kissed his cock as it lay softly against his thigh, as if in thanks for the pleasure it had afforded her. Then she arose and picked her purple dress off the floor. As she shook it vigorously to rid it of dust, her pink-tipped breasts bobbled invitingly. Dean watched with appreciation, and his penis rose jerkily to a fresh stand. Mario noticed and scolded him. "C'mon, now, Dean, you said yourself that we have to get upstairs. . . . "
But in a moment Dean was on his back, gasping like a fish out of water as the receptionist kissed the inner tenderness of each thigh, then sank her warm, soft mouth down firmly over the end of his cock. His pulse pounded so hard that he feared his veins and arteries would burst as she sucked down vigorously on his inflamed organ. . . .
John Thomas was friendly and positive. As the three of them sat in the gallery smoking and talking, Dean found himself wondering why the man's marriage to Marty had broken up. The man was handsome enough, a little taller than medium height, slim and well groomed. His face was thoughtful and sensitive. Still, thought Dean, there was no telling why some people just couldn't get along.
"Well, Dean, Marty tells me it would be worth my while to consider showing some of your work here in the gallery. Do you have anything you can show me that's ready for display?"
"Sure, John," replied Dean confidently. "I've got a number of pieces that are all set up."
"Where are they?"
"At my studio on Brady Street."
Thomas reached for his coat. "Shall we take a look, then? Do you want to come along, Mario?" Mario shook her head. "No, I think I'll just close up the gallery and go home. I'm pretty tired, for some reason."
"All right," said Thomas, "we'll see you later. Do you have a car here, Dean?"
"Yeah, right outside."
"Well, the best thing would be for me to follow you to your place, then. Ready to go?"
Dean held the door open. "Ready," he answered. t
When Thomas left the studio, Dean sat on the edge of a mattress, lost in thought. His mood was one of mixed feelings: he felt triumphant and elated about his upcoming show at the
Pumpkin Eater, but he was somewhat depressed due to his recent revelation about John Thomas. No wonder he hadn't been able to maintain his marriage to Marty the man was homosexual!
After Thomas had prowled the loft inspecting the sculptures, they had discussed the prospects of a one-man show over whiskey. Dean was flattered and pleased, and a bit lightheaded from the booze, but when Thomas edged more closely on the bed and began to stroke his thigh as they talked, his elation had turned to discomfort. "Listen, John," he said, "I just don't play that game, and I'm not starting with you. Now if you want to change your mind about the show, that's just the way it'll have to be. Now what's the story?"
Thomas had gulped down his drink, somewhat taken aback. "No, Dean," he replied, "the show isn't off, unless you want it to be. I offered you the chance because I think you're a fine sculptor, not as a ploy to get you into bed. No hard feelings, I hope. How about it?"
Dean thought for a moment, then smiled. He admired the gentlemanly honesty of his new friend. "Okay, John no hard feelings."
"Good. Now listen, I see about a dozen pieces here that we could use just as they are. Can you get them down to the gallery?"
"No," said Dean, "I don't think so. How about picking them up in your panel truck?"
"Fine, I'll send someone for them," replied Thomas, getting up to leave. "In any case, there's no hurry on the other pieces, because we can't schedule the show for at least a few weeks.
See you later, then, all right?"
After he left, Dean called Marty and asked her to go to the country with him the following weekend.