The Writing on the Wall (closed for Gr8chtr)

For the past 3 years, practically the name on everyone's lips in Dallas, and for that fact North America, had been Rodrick Renfro. The man had purchased up a large city block area right down near the center of downtown. The area was what was considered a depressed area, full of buildings empty or run down, where drugs and prostitution were the name of the game. The man had promptly closed down every flop house, cheap diner and ran out all the squatters and dubious elements in the area and proceeded to have the entire property razed. A tall fence was erected and the whole area was under high security as slowly the building rose to take its place in the city's skyline.

The grand opening of the Renfro Edifice was eagerly awaited and the crowds were quite impressive. The building was huge and beautiful and had been designed by the country's leading architect. In fact, there was already talk of the Renfro Edifice being included in the list of one of the top ten buildings in the country.

But, in the art world, what was even more important was the north wall of the lobby, a three story wall that had been designated for artwork. But not just any artwork. Mr. Renfro had placed requirement that the artwork be a mural depicting some part of Dallas: it's background, it's history, something that said 'Dallas'. And the artist must be a local artist.

Immediately, there was a rush of every local artist that would be able to paint such a work. Quickly, there were five artists that rose to the top of the list: Pam Green, H.H. Harcourt, Larry Anderson, Kayla Bennitt, and Bradford St. James.

Kayla Bennitt was a 29 year old up-and-coming artists that had worked hard to make a name for herself in the art scene in the city, being known for her colorful paintings. As soon as she heard about the competition, she was resolved to win. She had filled out the entry form and was made aware of the deadline when her rendering was due in the offices.

One of the first things that Kayla did was head to a bookstore to purchase a book on the history of Dallas. She was determined to get this commission, no matter what. She knew about most of the front runners. Pam leaned towards the more avant guard. H.H. was more of a minimalist. Larry painted using more somber colors. As to St. James, Kayla could not stand the man and couldn't understand why he had even made the list. The man was an ass. As far as she was concerned, there were only 4 front runners.

There were two things that everyone in the know knew about Bradford St. James: (1) at 32 he was already one of the top artists in Dallas, and (2) he always seemed to be ebullient. But, there was one thing that only his closest friends knew about him: He was very competitive, he loved winning, and despised losing to the point that he tended to almost personally hate his closest competitors.

He was used to winning. The St. James family was generations deep in Dallas, one of the so-called “leading families”, right up there with the Schoellkopfs, the Carpenters, the Exalls, and, of course, the Hunts. Old money never gives up power voluntarily; the St. James’ were scrappers, and Bradford had inherited every bit of it. As a high schooler he had twice one the Dallas-wide high-school artist competitions, winning the Texas-wide competition in his senior year. His talent and accomplishments garnered him full-ride scholarships for undergraduate study at Houston’s own nationally acclaimed arts program at Rice University followed by graduate study at the incomparable School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Returning to Dallas with heavy subsidies from the St. James family he started his own studio where he painted everything from portraits to large murals.

Now, the grand prize awaited him. The giant Renfro Edifice mural was just perfect for him, he thought. He was certainly qualified enough in terms of formal training and proven work, right here in Dallas and across the Southwest as well. And, who better to depict “something that said ‘Dallas’”, and “must be local artist” as the Request for Proposal had specified, than a talented, proven artist from one of the city’s leading families.

Once he had submitted his portfolio and rough design ideas to the selection committee, Bradford never doubted that he would be one of the five finalists. Preparing for the next level of review by the committee, which would include both individual interviews and group interviews with all the finalists present together, he studied the competition. Generally, of course, he was familiar with their work. Three of his four competitors neither surprised him nor worried him. Pam Green, H.H. Harcourt and Larry Anderson were, indeed, all “local artists”, living and working in Dallas. And, all were reasonably accomplished, he had to admit, but he considered them all in various ways to be unoriginal and unexciting. Sort of technocrats, lacking the truly creative spark that he had. Also, he noted, none of them had the connections that the St. James family could bring to bear on this decision.

But, one name both stopped him cold and really pissed him off. Why the fuck would the selection committee have included Kayla Bennitt? To begin with she had come to Dallas a mere five years ago. That qualified as “local”? Second, she was arrogant. Over the past few years they had been at the numerous showings at the same time. She had never failed to make little twisting-the-knife comments about other people’s work, and, especially, his work. God, he couldn’t stand the sight of her face. And, there was another thing that fed his ire. She would be the hardest to beat, he suspected. True, her technical skills weren’t as good as H. H. Harcourt’s, and maybe not even as good as Pam’s, but Bennitt had flashes of creativity that the other three did not have. For the selection committee to have chosen her as a finalist suggested that her rough design submission had something that had caught the judges’ eyes.

Bradford sighed, then gritted his teeth. There was only one thing a St. James would do in this situation: Crush your rival until she hollers “uncle”.

Kayla had moved to Dallas only 5 years ago, but she felt as if she had lived here all her life. The locals were friendly enough, for the most part. That was, except for St. James. The man seemed to think that just because of his name, the local art world should bow down to him. If the man had talent, that would be a different story. But at best, she found his work more like childhood scribbling with a sort of frenetic character. He had lorded over the art scene but once she had arrived, she had refused to play suppliant to the man and she was not above telling him that to his face.

The Dallas Museum of Art was opening an exhibition of Cowboy in the Arts. The opening gala was scheduled for 8pm and she was sure that anybody that was anybody would be there. After carefully cleaning up the paint off her face and hands, she slipped on a simple navy cocktail dress before heading out to the museum.

There was a nice crowd and she was soon in the company of Pam and H.H.

"Getting ideas?" Pam teased her and Kayla laughed. As they walked along looking at the various pieces on display, H.H. pointed over to Larry across the way. "Well, we're all here except..."

"...Except his highness. Really not a great loss."

"Kayla, you really cannot stand the man, can you? Did he piss in your cornflakes or something?"

"That pretentious ass? Hardly. I hate people that expect their name to open doors for them. Since his talent is almost nonexistent, his name would be the only way that he would have to get into the running."

Pam stifled a giggle and turned to leave. Kayla didn't hear Pam's uh-oh as she continued. "If snootiness is the winning ticket, then he has it in spades."

Bradford was looking forward to the Cowboy in the Arts exhibition. Even though such topics were hardly his subject matter, he was, after all, a Texan born and raised. Cowboys went with the territory. He very much liked going to the Dallas Museum of Art. It was, after all, the premiere art museum in the city and had exhibits that covered almost every type and period of visual art. And, he was proud to say, the Museum had on several occasions included some of his work in their Contemporary exhibitions.

Aside from the pure joy of seeing art, Bradford was sure that the other four finalists for the Renfro Edifice mural would all be there. Except for Kayla, he enjoyed their company. In addition, though, this might be a chance to get a little insight into how they were approaching the competition. Artists liked to talk enough about their own work that secrets could slip out.

Although there were 200+ people in the main exhibit area it didn't take long to spot the other four. Not surprisingly, three of them were huddled together with Larry not too far away. From a distance he noticed Kayla talking animatedly with Pam and H.H. just before they broke off to wander over to talk with Larry. He joined the three person group, leaving Kayla off to herself.

Bradford chatted amiably with Larry, H.H. and Pam, all of them expressing various opinions about what they had seen so far in the Cowboy exhibit. Unfortunately from his point of view the mural competition topic never came up; he couldn't figure out a way to introduce it without seeming too inquisitive. After a few minutes, the other three major artists drifted each in their own way, leaving him to his own devices.

Bradford, though appearing to be meandering casually, made a beeline for Kayla who was now contemplating one particular piece of Cowboy art. "Hi, there, Kayla," he offered with an affected friendly, upbeat tone, "how's it going with you?" Before she could answer, he added, "I've been following the pictures of your recent works that you have been posting on your website. They're really quite lovely pieces that would grace many a home, if not exactly art gallery work. So, are these perhaps studies for your submission for the Renfro Edifice mural?"

Hoping not to show it Bradford was feeling very smug indeed. He had stuck the knife in hopefully just enough to rattle Kayla, take a little slice out of her self-confidence, maybe enough to cause her to slip just a bit off of her game. The only thing that bothered him just a bit was that the blue cocktail dress that she was wearing kept drawing his attention to her body, something that he hadn't really noticed much before. He couldn't afford to be distracted; too much was at stake.

Pam and H.H. wandered over to Larry and she noticed Bradford make a bee line for the trio. She turned and headed in the opposite direction. Kayla had absolutely no desire to even acknowledge that the man was here. Some of the art was okay, but she was drawn to the Remington pieces. Frederic Remington was a true artist and she always found herself breathless in the presence of his work.

Trust the moment to be spoiled by the asshole. Behind her, his voice all snooty, irritated her ears.

Hi, there, Kayla, how's it going with you?" As she turned around, he continued. I've been following the pictures of your recent works that you have been posting on your website. They're really quite lovely pieces that would grace many a home, if not exactly art gallery work. So, are these perhaps studies for your submission for the Renfro Edifice mural?

She stood for a moment, eyebrow raised as she looked at him. She waited just long enough until the worm seemed to begin to squirm before she answered him. Her voice was full of distain and though barely heard above the noise of the crowds, he had no problem hearing her.

"Not even a good try, linseed breath. So sad to have to depend upon your name instead of your actual talent. But your name will only take you so far. At some point, you're going to have to obtain some real artistic expertise."

She looked him up and down, as if some slug had crawled out from under the artwork, before turning and walking over to the next painting.

Bradford had half expected Kayla to respond with some subtly sarcastic barb like the one that he had launched at her. He was prepared for that, but he was shocked by her all-out, brazen personal attack on both his character and his artistic ability.

His shock lasted just about long enough to cover the time it took her to walk over to the next painting. Then he got really pissed. He wasn't going to let her get away with character assassination. Whatever her strategy might be, assuming she had enough brains to think about strategy, she had made a tactical error. She was standing in front of a painting with no one else around.

Bradford moved quickly to standing closely behind Kayla's left shoulder. He practically hissed as he spoke, "'linseed breath' isn't even a good fucking pun, you asshole. You want to see some real artistic expertise? Well, wait till you see my final submission for the Renfro Edifice mural that is going to leave your ass in the Texas dust."

By now he was so awash in his own anger that he was glad that they were in public view. He wasn't sure but what he wouldn't have actually struck her otherwise. He had, though, lost some self-control.

Turning to leave and get the hell out of anywhere that Kayla was, Bradford deliberately lightly bumped her left shoulder with his right one, as he sneered. "Oh, excuse me. I hope that's not the arm you use in your pretension to be an accomplished artist."

By this time, she really was not paying attention to the art around her. She was very aware of Bradford as he sidled up behind her. The man's anger fairly rolled off of him as he spoke through clenched teeth, his words hissing in her ear. When he turned to go, he bumped her shoulder and whether it was by accident or on purpose made no difference, the contact from his touch almost crackled with electricity.

She remained in front of the painting for another minute acting as if she had not even heard him. Slowly, she turned and headed for the ladies room. Stepping through the door, she walked towards the couch that sat along one wall. Standing in front of it, her shoulders began to shake as she collapsed on the couch, laughing. Several women passed through, glancing at her.

The women's lounge was where Pam found Kayla, stopping in front of her.

"Private joke or can anyone join in?"

"My god, it takes so little to make that pretentious St. James angry. I swear, I think that he wanted to strangle me."

"Why do you hate him so?"

"Because he thinks that Dallas is his personal domain. He thinks that because of his name, he should be chosen for everything, whether his work is drek or good. Some of his stuff is crap, but would he admit it? Hell, no! After all, he's Bradford St. James!"

"Are you trying to anger him?"

She wiped away the tears from her eyes. She had laughed until she was crying. Sitting on the couch, she didn't answer Pam's question but rather sat there grinning like the proverbial Wonderland cat as she looked at Pam.

"Well, pull yourself together and come outside. Larry and H.H. are in an argument about one of the artist. You might as well join in the conversation. Larry thinks you're mad at him.

Fixing her makeup, the two of them wandered back out into the crowds. Larry and H.H. were standing in front of a piece, pointing out various pros and cons of it. A quick glance told her that the asshole was nowhere to be seen. A smile graced her lips as the 4 artists had a lively discussion.

Bradford left the DMA a bit rattled. Kayla's nonchalant response to his angry taunt was not what he expected. It wasn't clear who was rattling whom. Returning to his apartment he decided that the needed a couple of days of R & R. He had gotten too wound up about the Renfro Edifice mural competition, and his anger at Kayla Bennitt was distracting him when he needed to be focused calmly on his work on his submission. A delightful idea suddenly crossed his mind.

Out of the corner of his eye while at the exhibition he had caught sight of Aimee Dylan. Aimee was a young faculty member in the Rice University art department in Houston, his alma mater. Last summer he had been invited to lead a series of seminars for the graduate students there. While at Rice he and Aimee had had a brief, but hot, affair. Neither of them thought that it was going anywhere, and both were completely OK with this. God, that woman could fuck!

Pulling up Aimee's number on his phone he hit "call" and was delighted to hear her answer quickly and with a very merry "hello". Within a few minutes of chatting they decided to go out the next evening for a luxurious dinner at the Mansion on Turtle Creek, arguably Dallas' best restaurant.

Bradford was delighted to find that all the next day his mind was clear, when not having fantasies about the the woman he was about to have a date with. He picked up Aimee at her hotel, almost bowled over by how stunning she looked in formal dress.

The couple settled into their table at the 5-star restaurant, prepared for a several-hour, relaxed gourmet dinner. No rush. Bradford felt as though nothing could tarnish this experience. It was exactly what he needed to clear his mind and get back to work.

Luckily the rest of the event was hassle-free, whether it was Bradford avoiding her or she avoiding him, she was not sure and really didn't care. On her way home, she got a text from Jeff, which she didn't answer till she reached the house.

Jeff Brandt seemed to be making a play for her. About 3 or 4 times a month he would contact her wanting to take her out. She just wasn't sure about him. He was nice but there really were no fireworks with him except on his side. Brandt was an investment banker with Jackson and Jackson and seemed well off. She really never asked him - it was none of her business how much money the man made.

Hey Beautiful. Dinner at 8?

Sure

I'll pick you up at 7:30.

Since he didn't specify, that meant fancy. Why not? She could use the break from the whoop-la of the competition.

When Jeff pulled up out front, she was ready. Opening the door to his doorbell garnered her a wolf whistle as he took in her in her dark blue dress. She had let her blonde down from its typical bun that she usually kept it in when she painted. It shone as its ends brushed against her shoulders.

"I'll take that as approval." She smiled at him.

"If you're not sure, then let me clarify." He quickly took her in his arms and kissed her. She broke it off before it got too hot and heavy.

"I get the picture. Uh, knowing you, we have reservations. Let's not be late." He grinned before kissing her again.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of The Mansion at Turtle Creek. The maître d' recognized Jeff and they were escorted to the table that he had reserved. She looked forward to a nice carefree evening. Jeff leaned over and whispered a joke in her ear and she gave a soft chuckle, shaking her head at his cheekiness before perusing the menu.

The evening at the Mansion was going very well, and was just what Bradford thought he needed. Of course given that he and Aimee were both Texas artists, the Renfro competition came up in their conversation, but they wandered across topics and mostly chatted in the way that former lovers often do. On top of that the two of them, either knowingly or unconsciously, were subtly playing a low-key game of footsie under the table. Bradford's mind was moving in a very particular direction that was entirely separate from any of his recent obsessions.

As he and Aimee continued their relaxed, playful interactions over some of the best food that either of them had ever had, Bradford casually noticed a couple enter and take seats two tables away from them. They were seated such that the man was facing him, while he could see the woman only from the back. He noted that the guy was strikingly handsome, but otherwise he took little note. He didn't recognize him at all. But the woman, even from the back, looked vaguely familiar.

Just at the main course arrived for him and Aimee, the woman at the other table twisted a quarter of a turn in order to cough into her elbow, thereby offering Bradford a view of her in profile.

There was only one thing that could ruin Bradford's otherwise wonderful evening. And there she was, his nemesis, the object of his scorn. Bradford's emotional state changed with the speed and ferocity of sudden storm. Fuck! Fuck her anyway!

It was several minutes after they were seated that Jeff happened to glance over and saw him. He was 90% sure that it was Bradford St. James. Kayla had practically torn the paper to shreds the time that she had seen his picture in it, ranting about the man and his imbecilic work, how the man's only talent was that he came from an old Texas family whose progeny was a paint-by-numbers artist. The paper had been torn to shreds but on his way home, he had stopped and bought a Dallas Morning News. There in the arts section was a photo of Mr. Bradford St. James himself and an article about how he had produced a mural for the lobby of the Carter-Davis Petroleum Company's new headquarters in Plano. The story was almost a half page article about the man and his family and he was standing beside the mural. Some time later Jeff had actually seen the thing in person when he had to visit a client in the building. He would never admit it to Kayla, but he had actually liked the work, with its bold, masculine brush strokes.

From the way that the man was looking at Kayla, it had to be St. James. Which meant that Kayla couldn't know that he was here. The tone of the meal would quickly deflate and he wanted her in a good mood. He was hoping to spend the night, and it wouldn't happen if she was angry.

She turned to cough and his heart started pounding. Thank God she didn't see the man but when he noticed her start to look around the room, he sprung into action. He took her hand that rested on the table and began to lightly stroke it with his finger, drawing her eyes back to him.

It worked. Now, if he could just keep her eyes from wandering, he stood a chance of bedding her. The gentle swells of her boobs were calling to him, and the idea of maybe finally getting a chance to peel that dress off her body and fuck her made him determined to keep her eyes on him. He had yet to have a chance to get between Miss Kayla Bennitt's legs, but he hoped that tonight would be the night.

He nodded to the waiter as the man refilled Kayla's wine glass.

If somehow he had been alone in this fancy restaurant, he was sure that he would have gone over and confronted Kayla in some way. He was suddenly so angry that it was almost impossible to put a good face on his interactions with Aimee. Indeed, he could see that she saw a cloud brush over his face.

But Bradford had an over-riding self-serving motive. He ached to get Aimee in bed. Since the end of a short-term dating relationship with another woman, he hadn't had sex in nearly 6 months. He didn't want to hurry the dinner though. It was a fine dining experience, and he knew that anticipation was often the best aphrodisiac.

Finishing their dessert and coffee, Bradford casually paid the bill, made knowing eye contact with Aimee whose toe of her high heel was now resting solidly on his shin, and said, "This was a great evening with you, Aimee, but I don't want it to end quite this soon. I have a nice bottle of Remy Martin cognac at my place. How would you like to spend some time sipping away on that?"

After Aimee's ready acceptance of his suggestion it took no more than a half hour for them to drive back to Bradford's apartment. Quickly pouring the glasses of cognac he joined her on his couch, sitting close enough that their legs and shoulders were nicely pressed against each others.

Aimee could tell that something was bothering Bradford but she was sure that if she tried hard enough, he would get over it. Perseverance helped as she slipped off a shoe and managed to slide a stocking-covered toe under his pant hem and rub his bare leg above his sock.

"Bradford, honey, you called me, remember?"

He was once again the proverbial Southern gentleman. As the dinner was winding down, he made his play.

This was a great evening with you, Aimee, but I don't want it to end quite this soon. I have a nice bottle of Remy Martin cognac at my place. How would you like to spend some time sipping away on that?

"Among other things? Why, honey, that sounds peachy to me." She had noticed the stormy glances that he had occasionally shot over to another part of the restaurant. Whether it was a woman or a deal gone bad, she didn't care as long as he remembered that she was there.

His apartment was just as she remembered it - all flash and class. Soon they were ensconced on his couch, with a glass of cognac and very little space between the two of them. She took a sip and set her glass on the coffee table. Slipping off her shoes, she tucked her legs underneath her, turning to him.

"Bradford, honey, I've missed you."

*****

Jeff was very attentive tonight. He had shown interest before, but tonight, he seemed more so.

The meal was superb - the Mansion never did anything halfway. The service was impeccable. By the time they finished the meal, she was feeling much more mellow than she had for the past couple of days. The ride back to her house was relatively quiet.

Her house was a renovated little number in the area of Dallas known as "the 'M' streets. It was an older part of town where several of the street names started with an 'M'. Not too fancy and not too run down. Perfect for her. She had a two bedroom house with a small little cottage in the back that was her major studio. She had decorated in the craftsman style, which actually fit well with the design of the house.

Jeff followed her in and she offered him a nightcap. She had a feeling that she knew what he was wanting. And it might not take too much coaxing to convince her that she wanted the same thing.

Bradford, honey, I've missed you.

Aimee was hardly being subtle. Bradford didn't need to be asked twice. Always the Texas gentleman, though, he did return her affection with an honest statement of his own. "Aimee, I have missed you too. Last summer was one of the best times in my life, even if we each decided to go our separate ways."

But they both knew that they had not come back to his apartment to spend much time talking. Firmly sliding his hand around Aimee's neck Bradford pulled her into a kiss. He didn't bother with niceties; he remembered how she liked to start off. As he began to tease her lips with the tip of his tongue, he placed his hand on her knee and slowly began to slide it up the inside of her bare leg.

*****************

Jeff watched Kayla as she poured the nightcap that she had offered and he had accepted. God, she looked hot! But, although she had invited him in, he wasn't sure that her invitation was synonymous with an invitation for sex. This was, after all, their first date, and she had turned down all of his previous offers. And, in the context of the #MeToo movement a guy had to be pretty careful.

Jeff quickly scanned the small living room area and discovered that it held two wicker chairs and a small upholstered, two-person loveseat. If he had been more sure of what was up, he would have sat on the loveseat and beckoned Kayla to join him. But, he held back. Instead, he decided to wait and see where she sat.

Taking the nightcap from her, Jeff made sure to stroke her hand as he accepted the drink. Smiling he said, "Thank you, Kayla, for a lovely evening. If I haven't said it before I want to say now what a pleasure it has been to share the evening with such a beautiful woman."

Bradford pulled her in for a kiss and she gave a moan as his hand found her knee and began to slide up. His tongue teased her lips and she opened her mouth to let him in. She really had missed the scoundrel and he certainly remembered the quickest way to turn her on. Damn, he knew how to fuck. With their lips locked together and his hand traveling up her leg towards the crotch of her very wet panties, she knew that he would soon know just how much she wanted him. If he had not already figured it out. Bradford had never been slow on the uptake when it came to sex.

In between kisses, she spoke breathlessly, her drawl soft and needy. "Damn, honey, you always know how to rev up my engine." Another kiss. "I think that I remember the way to your bedroom." She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him.

*****

For some reason, Kayla was nervous. Not that she was a virgin. She just wasn't one to have sex just for the sake of sex. Or was she. After all, Jeff was good looking. He was attentive, had never forced himself on her. Now, perhaps, she should give him a chance. After all, maybe he was the one. Maybe not. Maybe she should just wait and see if he was really interested.

His hand stroking hers made her heart beat faster as he told her, Thank you, Kayla, for a lovely evening. If I haven't said it before I want to say now what a pleasure it has been to share the evening with such a beautiful woman.

"Jeff, I have enjoyed myself tonight. Dinner at the Mansion is always a special treat." She crossed and sat down on the loveseat. "I can certainly see why that place is a 5-star restaurant. I really needed a night like tonight to take my mind off of all this competition stuff.

She smiled at him as she took a sip from her drink. "And you have certainly been very attentive. You know how to make a woman feel wanted."

Their passionate kissing revved Bradford up full speed. Before Aimee said anything his hand had made it all the way up her thigh. It didn't take much to see how turned on she was; her soaking wet panties were a clear give away, if he had even needed one.

I think that I remember the way to your bedroom.

Bradford said nothing immediately in response. Instead, he grabbed her hand, stood up, and practically ran the two of them down the hall to his bedroom. Once there, he grabbed Aimee by her shoulder, turned her around to face him, and pushed her against the wall. He took the time to plant another heavy kiss on her hungry lips before quickly starting to unbutton her dress. His breath starting now to come as pants, he whispered, "And I think that I remember that you like to get your clothes off as quickly as possible and start out in the top position riding me hard."

*****

When Kayla sat on the loveseat Jeff started to become aroused so quickly that he was afraid that it would show enough that she would see it. If sex wasn't what she had in mind, that might be embarrassing for both of them.

He casually walked over and took the seat beside her. Given the size of the loveseat it would have been impossible for their sides to not be pressed together at least lightly. He decided, though, not to take too much advantage of that just yet. He joined her in taking a sip from his own glass.

You know how to make a woman feel wanted.

Kayla's line, though perhaps sincere and not a come-on, couldn't have offered Jeff a better opening. Turning slightly to face her he said, "Kayla, I can't imagine a man who wouldn't want you." With that he slid his hand around to cup her neck and pull them into a kiss. His kiss was firm and inviting, though closed-lips. He knew, and he figured that she knew, that how she responded would be a signal for how they should have the second kiss.

As Bradford quickly undressed her, she in turn remembered well how quickly she could undress him. With passionate kisses fueling them, it would be a wonder if all their buttons managed to stay sewn onto their clothes.

He had her stripped about 30 seconds before she got him naked. His cock strained the zipper on his pants and he did the unzipping of it, probably for fear of it getting caught in the zip's teeth. He barely had time to step out of his pants before she hungrily backed him up, kissing as they walked. His bed hit the back of his legs and she grinned before placing a hand on his chest and giving a shove. Bradford was grinning as he fell back, bouncing on the mattress.

For a moment she stood, naked, watching him center himself on the bed. "You must need a good fuck just as badly as I do. Yeah you remember me well." Climbing on the bed, she crawled to him like a panther stalking her prey until she reached where she could straddle his cock on her knees. It was standing at attention, calling to her and she could see the need he had for her. There was a drip of wetness from her sex, falling from her puffy labia to plop on his cockhead.

She grinned before took hold of his cock to steady it, lining it up and quickly sinking on it, sliding him deep into her hot hole.

"I feel the need to ride my trusty steed!" And with that, she began to ride, her ass furiously pumping up and down like a mad nude jockey. Her breast bounced merrily along with her.

"God, I have missed fucking with you, Bradford!"

*****

Jeff joined her on the loveseat. She was a bit unsure. Unsure of him. Unsure of herself. And even though they were sitting practically in each other's lap, she was still nervous. So when he turned to her, saying Kayla, I can't imagine a man who wouldn't want you.

His hand was behind her head, pulling her into a kiss. She knew Jeff. This wasn't the first time that they had been together. It was, however, their first actual date. She liked him. She kissed him back, relaxing to allow herself to enjoy the moment. This was nice. She rested her hand on his chest, feeling the heat of his body through his clothes.

Maybe this was just what she needed.

As they quickly undressed each other in between their passionate kissing, Bradford felt his cock swelling with excitement. Seeing Aimee's light-brown, rock-hard nipples and her shaved mons as she straddled him nearly caused him to cum before they even started to fuck.

His memory wasn't exaggerated. No other woman had ever ridden him as hard as Aimee did when she was really hot, and really hot she was at the moment. Bradford steeled himself to keep from cumming as she pumped up and down on him like the cowgirl that she might have been if she hadn't taken up art.

He returned her expression, "Oh, and I have missed fucking you, Aimee" Pulling his legs up so that he could plant his feet on the bed, he prepared himself for what was to follow. "And, I promise you the kind of ride that I know you like." With perfect timing he bucked up against her downward thrusts, causing the room to be filled with the sounds of her ass and his thighs slapping together hard. After a few thrusts he began to roll his hips left and right as he bucked, imitating the action of the bull trying to throw off his rider.

*****

The feel of Kayla's warm hand on his shirt and her return of his kiss, though not aggressively, emboldened Jeff. He decided that being direct probably would not offend her, even if she rebuffed his advance. Drawing her in more closely he kissed her on her cheek, allowing his tongue to tease her skin while he whispered in her ear. "I'm a businessman; I hate to start something that I can't finish, but I'm also not into forcing someone into something that they don't want to do. So, I'm going to continue unless, or until, you say 'stop'".

With that he returned to kissing Kayla on the lips, this time brushing her lips with his tongue, asking for entrance, while moving his hand down slowly to cup her breast as they kissed.

Oh, and I have missed fucking you, Aimee. And, I promise you the kind of ride that I know you like.

Suddenly, he was thrusting back up into her, sending his cock hard and deep into her. "Yee-haw!" She hung on as she rode him hard. "A bucking bronco!" The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. He would buck her to the left, then to the right. She grinned at him as she rode, her ass bobbing up and down.

"It's gonna take more than that to knock me off, honey!" She grinned with a gleam in her eye as she rode him hard.

*****

Jeff pulled her closer, kissing her cheek and nuzzling her as he whispered in her ear.

I'm a businessman; I hate to start something that I can't finish, but I'm also not into forcing someone into something that they don't want to do. So, I'm going to continue unless, or until, you say 'stop'.

His tongue lightly licked her lips and she licked back, leaving her mouth open for his tongue. His hand was warm as it found her breast, cupping it in his hand. It felt as if her heart was pounding in his hand. This was nice. And it had been so long since she had been with a man.

She was tempted to ask if he wanted to spend the night, but she didn't want to look cheap in his eyes. But she also didn't want him to leave. Finally she said it.

"I won't say stop."

With her riding his cock as fast as she could and him responding in kind, Bradford could now only speak with panting breath. Somehow he managed to spit out, "If...I...can't...knock you...off...then I ...can...at least...make your....ride...worthwhile."

Without stopping his bucking up against her he took his left hand and reached up to grab her bouncing right breast, kneading it roughly, making sure to get his thumb and forefinger around her nipple so that he could squeeze it hard. He planted his right hand on her bare mons, anchoring the heel of his hand so that he could keep it there despite her moves. With his hand so anchored he used two of his fingers to stroke her wet clit, as much as possible mimicking the same rhythm as their fucking.

*****

As she licked him back and opened her mouth to him, Jeff took full advantage, sliding his tongue into her mouth, hungrily searching for her tongue so that they could start the lover's dance that presaged what the rest of their bodies might soon be doing.

I won't say stop.

The question for Jeff now was only one of style. Should he proceed slowly step-by-step or dive in and push her to follow, assuming that she would. He decided, again, on directness. He kissed her hard, once, and upped the pressure of his hand on her breast. With his other hand he slowly started to slide the top of her dress off of her shoulders, seeking to gain greater exposure to her delightful body.

Breaking the kiss while continuing undress her, Jeff whispered in her ear, "I enjoy either slow and sweet, or fast and hard, or something in between. We're in the lady's house. It's the lady's choice."

Aimee grinned mischievously at him. He was bucking furiously but she managed to stay on. He was out of breath when he spoke.

If...I...can't...knock you...off...then I ...can...at least...make your....ride...worthwhile.

"You're out of shape, ol' boy! Before, you would have already had me bucked off, on my back with my legs over my head and fucking me all the rest of the way home. Honey, you're not gettin' enough sex!"

She kept her ride up, leaning into the hand that he had on her breast.

"Honey, at least you still know how to fuck."

*****

Jeff was a good kisser, and he proved that he could multitask as he increased the pressure on one breast while the other hand began to slide her dress strap further down her arm.

I enjoy either slow and sweet, or fast and hard, or something in between. We're in the lady's house. It's the lady's choice.

She smiled. It was nice being asked instead of being groped like a couple of sweaty teenagers in the back of a Chevy. And she told him so.

"Well, this lady, for one, appreciates the gentleman's manners. Though there are infinitely more comfortable and definitely easier places to do this." She kissed him before she continued. "That is, if a gentleman was interested."

She stood and held out her hand for his. His grasp was firm and warm. With her leading the way, hand in hand they headed down the little hall to a door at its end. She opened it and they entered the master bedroom. Not an enormous room, she had flicked on a switch that turned on a torchiere standing by a chair over to the side of the room. The lamp threw its light towards the ceiling, giving light but also casting plenty of shadows around the area. Here too the furnishings were craftsman, with a queen sized bed the focus of the room. The colors were blues and greens. Through an open door, a closet/dressing room was seen.

She stopped and turned back to him.

"Is this more of what the gentleman had in mind? Oh, and if you need it, the master bath is through the door in the dressing room." She smiled. "And in answer to your question, different situations call for different tactics. Though I have to say, the speed that the gentleman was going was perfectly fine with me."

She didn't know if she had just shot her chances with him. Some men hated women that took charge.

You're out of shape, ol' boy!

Bradford was never one to not take up a challenge, especially one that was an outright taunt. On Aimee’s next downstroke he did a quick half sit-up, wrapped his strong right arm around her neck, pulled her down on top of him, and rolled them over, him coming out on top. And, all of the time without letting his cock slide out of her sizzling hot, wet pussy.

Once in the on-top, missionary position he pulled back as far as he could without falling out of her, assuming that, as in the past, she would wrap her legs around him. With a rough grunt he thrust into her so hard that he actually heard her hips crack. “Match that, cowgirl”, he hissed, “if you can.”

*****
And in answer to your question, different situations call for different tactics. Though I have to say, the speed that the gentleman was going was perfectly fine with me.

Jeff followed Kayla to her bedroom trying, with mixed success, to not let his erotic desires overcome his ability to move at the pace that she seemed to want. As hot as he now was, if they were an established couple he would have just thrown her on her bed and fucked her senseless. But she had, effectively, chosen the middle path. His pace so far – the one that she endorsed – was not merely soft and sweet, but it was not quick and hot either.

Once in her bedroom he lined them up facing each other, while resuming their passionate kissing. Kicking off his own shoes Jeff slid off the rest of her dress, letting it drop to the floor. She stood there before him, bare-breasted with only her panties remaining as her clothing.

Replacing his hand on Kayla’s bare breast he again kissed her, this time raising the intensity a notch. With his other hand he took her hand and placed it on the top button of his shirt. “I’m a little ahead of you, my dear,” he said, “we can just kiss some more while you catch up.”

Aimee was one minute riding Bradford like the pony express and the next minute he had flipped them over and rammed his dick home in her holster.

"All right, honey. I knew that it was just a matter of time. Like riding a bicycle, I knew that it would come back to you." Her hands reached up to run along his chest as her legs wrapped around him, helping to pull him in nice and hard. Her heels were digging into his ass.

"No one could ever fuck as good as you, Bradford honey."

*****

The cool air brushed lightly against her nipples as he removed her dress, causing them to pucker. The average woman is always a bit unsure about her body. Too short? Too tall? Boobs too big (is there such a thing?)? Boobs too small? Too fat? Too thin? So she felt a bit unsure of herself as she was now standing before him with only her panties between her and Jeff and he didn't run off screaming into the night. Instead, he was smiling and kissing her as he encouraged her to strip him.

As his hand kneaded her bare breast, she began to unbutton his shirt. His tongue danced with hers in her mouth: her fingers shook a bit as she unbuttoned his shirt. For a quick second, he turned loose of her breast so that he could unbutton his shirt cuffs before she slid the shirt off of him.

Her fingers found his pant waistband and she was going to undo his pants, but she could feel his bulge against her hands and hesitated.

"Perhaps I should let you do that. I'd hate to catch something in a zip and do damage to something important." She smiled at him.

No one could ever fuck as good as you, Bradford honey.

Aimee's compliment urged him on. Over and over he drove into her, slamming his hips into hers, causing them both to moan or groan loudly with each movement. By now both of their bodies were gleaming wet with sweat, only adding to the sights and smells of wild sex.

Bradford had stopped kissing Aimee. He loved to kiss and fuck at the same time, and he knew that she did too. But, the only way he could keep from cumming was to clench his jaw tightlly closed.

Finally, he could hold off no longer. On one final slam he exploded into her, causing him to scream her name, AIMEE!!, at the top of his lungs. Nearly immediately, he collapsed on her and rolled off so as to not crush her with his weight.

As exciting as this all was, it also seemed so familiar to him. As he had done so many times before, with only a few words as he held her hand in his, Bradford fell fast asleep, sleeping soundly for the rest of the night.

*****

With them both bare-chested now Jeff felt his heartbeat increasing rapidly. He continued kissing her. He was delighted to find that they were developing a truly excellent tongue dance, with each taking turns leading or following. Jeff's heartbeat took another upward turn as he felt her fingers on his waistband, as his cock strained against the cotton of his BVDs.

Perhaps I should let you do that. I'd hate to catch something in a zip and do damage to something important.]

He wasn't worried about a zipper accident; he just didn't want her to stop. Sliding one hand down to Kayla's inner thigh he moved his hand up to tease her pussy through her now-wet panties. As he did, he returned her smile, "Not to worry", he whispered loudly, "I'm sure your hands will know how to handle this situation."

Bradford was fucking her hard and fast and from the way that he slammed into her, she hoped that he wouldn't knock her head into the headboard of the bed. The smell of sex permeated the room and a chorus of grunts and groans filled the air.

When he stopped kissing and fucking and just concentrated on fucking, that usually meant that the end was near and sure enough, there was soon a hard thrust and as he shouted her name, he came deep inside her. Just as quick, he collapsed and rolled off.

He gave a few mumbled bits of praise and then fell asleep, holding her hand as he snored. Aimee looked up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling so alone in the dark.

"Ah, Bradford, now I remember why we broke up." She rolled over, looking at the man asleep beside her. "I have really got to get out and meet some new guys." Soon she was asleep too.

*****

Jeff ran a finger along the outside of her panties, teasing where her slit leaked wetness on the crotch of her undies. Between the tango that their tongues did, he managed to tell her, Not to worry. I'm sure your hands will now how to handle this situation.

"So nice to know that I'm trusted with something so valuable." Slowly she unfastened his pants, moving the zip carefully down. As she peeled his pants down, she held them while he stepped out of them. Standing back up, she ran the back of the finger along the bulge in his underwear and felt it twitch.

"I think that he wants to come out and play."

With her fingers in the waistband, down came his underwear, letting his cock spring free. She looked down and then back up to Jeff. "My my, look what I found. Any ideas on what we do next?"