Unknown - Posed For Pleasure

Or, more accurately, that redundancy has lost its charm, since what could be more redundant, even exquisitely well done, than multiple paintings of the same subject, however fascinating she might be, in and of herself or as Armand chooses to depict her?

But the book, now, that is a sure-fire success-if properly done, of course.

Because the book will shine, will glow with the reflected glory of three smashingly successful exhibitions to rave critical and popular acclaim, as well as the continuing popularity of the three pictorial tomes commemorating them.

So that the book can’t miss-nor can anyone connected with it.

And she thinks of another reason he could find her useful.

What about the book’s distribution?

And she experiences a wave of apprehension that the university will see fit to publish the book for sale-at the university book store itself, or at best those around campus.

But she, she! can and will see to it that that doesn’t happen.

She will fire up Armand with the desire to spread his words nation-wide, internationally, even. She will appeal to his vanity to see to it that the book is a best-seller, that it sells better than the hottest fiction, better than the most well done non- fiction.

She could do that for him, for herself, for them as a team.

And she remembers herself, last week, feet bicycling awkwardly in the air above and on either side of Armand’s humping, bumping body as he plowed away, his rampant ramrod pistoning juicily in and out of her now sucking, responsive pussy as both of them became hotter and hotter, each about to get off on a private fantasy, Armand’s an ego trip of the ultra- lascivious, hers that of the super-ambitious.

Tonight, she tells herself, snapping back to the present, to the momentarily incongruous vision of Armand, fully clothed in sport coat and tie, gesticulating, emphasizing, being both witty and pedantic, driving home his points, imparting new insights, new perspective to his entranced audience.

Not, Jessica reminds herself, not that she is not a true believer as well, but that she must keep her faith in its proper context.

Which is not that of personal enlightenment but of personal gain-a tool and a device, her understanding of and belief in what Armand is propounding, tempered by the use she intends to make of it.

“I didn’t see Steve in the audience tonight,”

Jessica says, pointing out this act of infidelity~ “No, you didn’t. He’s doing some guest posing out west. Part of a big membership drive for the Buck’s franchises.

“We talk daily, matter of fact. He always calls me from the road.”

Telling her, in no uncertain terms, that her allegation of abandonment could not be more untrue, that they are the best of friends and perhaps even something more.

“Well, good that he recovered from our night together.

Reminding him that they have been, could be again, a threesome, a trio, if necessary a mnage trois.

“Wore his ass into the fuckirtg ground that night, didn’t I?” he asks, grinning wickedly. “Mister Galaxy! Eat cher fucking heart out!”

She smiles, trying to ignore the tawdriness of his unique habitat.

How the hell can he stand to live like this?

No wonder he spends so much of his time at the gym, she tells herself; it’s certain nobody would want to pass any more waking hours here than they absolutely had to.

Armand tosses his briefcase onto the cluttered plane of the open roll-top desk, en passant.

“How’s the book coming?” she asks.

“What book?”

“The one to come out of the lecture series.”

“Oh. That’s just.an idea. Well, an idea and a commitment to the university. I don’t have to start working on it until after I finish the lectures.”

“Have to? What a strange way of putting it. It’s not as though someone assigned it to you, after all.”

“I assigned it to me,” he tells her, as they undress.

And in his tone she reads the compulsion, the obsession-and her opening. “If you need any help-” she begins. And he laughs, cutting her off. “I’m sorry,” he says, “it’s just, just-never mind.”

She looks at him for a moment, puzzled, before comprehension strikes.

“Oh! You thought, you thought I meant-don’t be ridiculous! “I meant if you need any help with getting stuff typed, edited, revised-that kind of thing.

“It wouldn’t be all that unusual, you know. Many authors use the services of graduate students in fields related to their expertise for that sort of thing.

“And I’d be happy to do it for free.”

“Well, that’s very generous of you, I’m sure, and I really do appreciate the offer; however, I have the services of staff and faculty at the university for that sort of thing, and I’ll be conferring throughout with your dean, matter of fact.”

“Yes, but that’s not very convenient, I don’t imagine.”

“You’re absolutely right, Jessica; it threatens to be a pain in the ass, having to go back and forth to campus and all.”

“Plus,” she adds, “it’s going to mean considerable delay in publication. I should think you’d be most anxious to-”

“No, no, no. I really don’t care about that. The important thing is that I get it all down on paper eventually.”

“I see. Still, as you say, it’s not going to be all that convenient for you.

Maybe I could serve as a sort of runner for you, back and forth.”

“Yes,” he sighs, lying back naked in the bed with her, “but then, how would I confer?”

“By telephone?”

“Now, there’s a thought,” he says, but goes at once to sucking a tit, fondling a breast, obviously not interested in continuing the conversation.

Low priority, she thinks, stroking the back of his head absently. Something that never entered her mind. Not only is he not anxious to publish for the sake of publication, of fame and fortune, but he has no real need of her services.

Some typist in the faculty offices is going to have more to do with the great work than is she.

“I can’t wait to see you in print,” she murmurs.

And he stops sucking her breast, stops squeezing it to look up at her and ask, “Why are you so interested in the book?”

“Well, I’m certain that it will be an amplification of the lectures, won’t it?”

“If you call headnotes and footnotes, bibliography and index amplification, then yes, I suppose it will; but you see, that’s the part I don’t look forward to, the part I look to the dean and his resources to handle.

“He’s going to get an ‘in collaboration with’ out of it.”

“And a royalty share too, I suppose.”

“Well, the university is; that is, I’m taking a big cut on that part, sort of a gift to them. Like I say, basically, I just want to see my notes in order, in the academic sense, all properly illustrated.

“The computer people got a big kick out of the part I let them play in the whole affair, on that score.

“But, forget about it. Got nothing to do with you and me.”

I see that, she thinks, as he resumes his attentions to her breasts. She sees as well that her and the book on the same planet is a dead issue.

Because there is simply no way that he is going to let her have the most miniscule piece of the action.

And she was to be everything from his muse to his secretary?

Forget it! Dead issue.

And yet, here she is, physically speaking the closest person in the world to this dynamo of creativity.

Who is creating nothing, nada, zip.

Who is resting on his laurels, even as, at the moment, he rests on her body, on her breasts.

Who is wallowing in his fame and fortune, even as he now wallows in her flesh.

Who is tasting, enjoying to the fullest his existence, even as he tastes her pussy, even as he plunges his tongue into her juicy depths.