Kevin Harding - Twice As Nice Nymph

I take care of Armand's paintings at the Square while he goes to the dentist. It is sunny out and he has expected it to be a good day but no one buys anything from me, not even a sketch. I get impatient sitting on the bench smoking and watching all the people going by. I want to get up and walk along with them. Go somewhere. Anywhere…

A man comes by and stops to study the paintings. He is tall and wears dark glasses. He seems interested in the painting of the old woman and the vases. He examines it carefully, holding his hand to his mouth. Then he looks at some portraits Armand has done. He says he likes them and asks me if I will paint his.

I smile. "I'm not the artist," I say. "I'm just here to help sell things. Come back tomorrow if you want to be painted."

"I'll be gone tomorrow. I'm alone in town… staying at the Holiday Inn. I'm only here for tonight." He turns to study the painting of the old woman again but now I know he is just faking it.

I light a cigarette.

He tries to pick me up. He isn't very subtle about it. He even tells me how much money he has with him. I turn him down, say I can't leave the paintings.

"You could at least have a drink in the bar across the street with me," he says finally. "We'll sit by the window. You can watch the paintings from there."

"I don't need someone to buy me a drink," I say. I flip my cigarette into the gutter even though it is only half gone. "Did you want to buy a painting or not?"

He moves on. I watch him shuffle down the street. He stops again in front of someone else's paintings. I wish Armand would come back. I'd expected this to be enjoyable. But the time passes slowly. I smoke more cigarettes. I am bored and tired of it. I begin to wish that I'd gone with the man in the dark glasses.

It is late afternoon when Armand finally gets back from the dentist. We quit for the day and carry the stack of paintings back to his room. His jaw begins to hurt when the Novocain wears off. He opens some wine. I haven't eaten since breakfast and the wine makes my head hot even though I only sip it. Armand drinks the wine by the glassful but it doesn't help his jaw much. He lights a joint and asks me if I want some. I shake my head no. He smokes it down all the way and flops on the mattress. In minutes he is sleeping and I am just sitting there alone.

I make myself something to eat, then stand at the window staring out. I can hear the music and the shouting coming from Bourbon Street where the crowds are gathering a few blocks away. The room is stuffy. I wish we had a balcony so that I could sit out in the cool night air. I begin to feel shut in, imprisoned. The noise of the crowds and the music in the distance grows louder, beats a din against my ears.

I put on a tight black dress that hugs my breasts and go out. I wear heels but no stockings. When I reach Bourbon Street I mix in with the crowds and move along rapidly with them. It feels good to be away from Armand's room at first, to breathe in the fresh night air, to be a part of the crowds.

I walk on several blocks. Two soldiers try to pick me up but they look drunk and I ignore them. I gaze at the faces of the people coming the other way, hoping to see someone I know. But the faces all look alike. Eyes, noses, mouths pasted on white skin. Sometimes the eyes turn to stare at me. The crowds grow thicker, the music and the laughing louder. People keep bumping into me. I can't stand the bustling, the noise. It all presses in on me.

I turn at the corner and walk down to the next street, a block from Bourbon. It is quieter there. The crowds are smaller. There aren't so many cars, so many neon lights. I go into some of the antique shops and look about. In one place I play the music boxes until the clerk comes up and asks if I'm interested in buying one. I shake my head and go back out onto the street.

I walk on. I light a cigarette. At the next corner I catch a man's eye while I wait for the traffic light to change. I smile. He smiles back. Our arms brush as we cross the street. The shock feeling hits. Surges through me. We walk on together. We don't speak but there is no awkwardness. It just happens. He takes my arm and we walk back to Bourbon Street. He tells me his name is Jacques. "I'm Carrie," I say.

We go into a seafood place and order two plates of cold shrimp. They taste delicious. We each have a mug of beer. The waiter who brings our order is black and strikingly handsome. Jacques' knee presses against mine beneath the table. We eat the shrimp. I keep glancing at the black waiter as he moves about the restaurant. I push my leg back against Jacques, It is settled.

Jacques finishes his beer. "Do you want more shrimp?" he asks.

"Another plate? I couldn't.".

"Shall we go then?"

"All right."

"To my place?"

"Yes."

His room is small and dark. It has a bluish oriental rug. The head of some animal sticks out from a plaque on the wall. There is a lamp with an opaque green shade that casts an almost eerie glow across the room.

Jacques brings me a drink. It tastes bitter at first but the whiskey feels good on my throat. We share a cigarette. It is quiet in the room. The black velvet sofa we are sitting on is very soft. It relaxes me to be away from the crowds.

We kiss each other a little. Jacques feels my breasts. I rub his thigh, moving my hand almost all the way up to his prick.

"Would you rather go on the bed or stay here?" he asks.

"This is nice," I say.

"The bed is wider… it'll be more comfortable."

"All right."

"… you want to undress first?"

"Yes."

We stand next to the bed and strip off each other's clothes. I cling to him, push my breasts against the hard warmth of his chest. His cock presses against my stomach. It feels large but not very hard. I pump it with my hand for almost a minute, trying to put some stiffness into it. I don't have much luck but still it excites me to be holding a strange new prick. I rub it against the curls of hair on my mound, pull the tip down to the soft moist folds of my pussy. Still nothing happens.

"I'd like to have you inside me," I say, "but I don't think you're hard enough yet."

"No…"

"Do you have trouble that way?"

"Sometimes…"

"Often?"

He nods. "But I didn't think I would with you. It was all right until everything started. Then I just…"

"Is there anything I should do°"

"Just what you are… keep rubbing me against yourself like that."

I do. I fit the head of his prick between my pussy lips and move it up and down as tantalizingly as I can against my skin. It seems to stiffen some. "We could try it now," I say. "Maybe if we could just get the end of you into me that would take care of the rest."

I pull the pillow out from under the bedspread and slide it under my buttocks. I spread my thighs wide, opening my pussy to him as much as I can. He kneels over me. Together we try to stuff him into me. It doesn't work. We manage to get his cock almost halfway in but then it bends and softens and he shrinks out of me.

I give it up and let go of him. "Maybe we should rest awhile," I say. "Try it again later."

He nods and moves away from me. He sits on the edge of the bed and smokes a cigarette. He doesn't offer me one. He doesn't even look at me. He is obviously miserable, unhappy, frustrated. I am only frustrated.

"I think you worry about it too much," I say. "Probably thinking about it and all just makes it worse."

He doesn't answer. He stares straight ahead.

I sit there for a minute feeling helpless. Then I have an idea. I slide up next to him on the bed until my cunt is pressing against his ass. "Maybe I should eat you," I say.

He turns, looks at me. He doesn't say anything but his eyes brighten. '

I keep it up, make it stronger. "I'd like to suck you. You have such a nice prick to look at. It would feel so good in my mouth. I'd kiss it, suck it. Your balls too. All of you. Let me feel your cock now. Mmm, it's a nice warm one. I like men who feel so warm and smooth. Come on, slide over here next to me so I can eat you… make you big and hard. You can eat my cunt too if you want. I'd like to feel your tongue way up inside me."