Cleaned 14 By timos111@hotmail.com Brad arrived the next weekend. Janelle had gone back to her auntie's place for a few of the intervening weekdays, but came up to Doug's apartment on the Saturday afternoon to find a gangly youth with crew-cut blonde hair lounging on the sofa before the TV, taking in a football game with Doug. "Brad, meet Janelle." Doug made this introduction without any further explanation of how Janelle fit into the scheme of things. Maybe explanations had already been given? If so, she'd be curious to know what he'd said. Brad had the makings of a heart-breaker, though was still at that funny teenager stage of being awkward around women. Especially around a sex-pot like Janelle. It was hard to conceal a bust of her size, even when she wanted to. Right now she had on a scanty summer dress with thin shoulder straps - of course this meant a certain percentage of black lacey bra was visible, along with goodly portions of the dusky brown bulges it struggled to keep under control. This was obviously not going unnoticed by Brad. She went to the fridge to grab a Coke, and slipped onto the sofa beside Doug. She made an attempt at conversation. "So, Brad ... how long are you in town for?" Oh shit, she was making it sound like she already wanted him to leave! "Coupla weeks, I guess. Wanna check out a few bands, find out what's what." This was speaking in riddles to Janelle, but Doug translated. "Brad's pretty good on guitar. He wants to see if he can make it in the music business." Aha! Another hick kid comes to the Big Smoke looking for fame and fortune! Well, he'd find there's an awful lot of folks already born and bred here who also want fame and fortune. Herself, for example. "What style do you play?" "Speed metal, thrash ... but I'll do other stuff to get session work, if there's any going." Well, good for him, Janelle thought - his finely-honed artistic sensibilities were obviously tempered by at least a dash of commercial realism. Personally she tended toward hip-hop, or anything with a danceable beat. To her, speed metal sounded like a bunch of chainsaws with the throttles jammed wide open. On further attempt at conversation, she got the distinct impression they'd both rather just watch the football. And that was fine by her - she was not completely averse to a good game of football herself. When it ended, Doug prodded her thigh. "Take a stroll by the Waterfront?" "Let's go." They did, leaving Brad to crack another beer and turn to a cable music channel. It was only two blocks to the harbourside promenade, an old wharf area made trendy by developments like yuppie cafes and dink apartments. They strolled slowly, holding hands. "Doesn't say much, does he?" "My male relations tend to be the strong silent type." "Certainly strong. Does he get to chop a lot of firewood out on that thar farm?" Doug laughed. They stopped at a kiosk to get icecream cones. It was a clear day with a slight breeze, and the Waterfront was full of strollers, skaters, joggers, and so forth. "So if I wanna tie you up or do stuff to you in the next few days, it'll have to be with the bedroom door firmly closed?" "I'll try to scream more quietly." "Seriously, I'll have to have it. I'll have to have you, sooner or later." "We'll work something out." She looked at him with a quiet intensity - a look he found chilling. "Sooner, not later. In fact, today." "So that's the reason you came over." She detected an underlying hurt in the seeming nonchalance of this remark. "Not the only reason." She slipped her arm through his affectionately. "You set me at ease in other ways too." He pondered this in silence. It seemed to satisfy him for the moment. "You could always come and rape me down at the office, like you used to do." "Mmmm ... nah! Guess I've got spoiled, now I've an entire apartment to hunt you down in." "Where there's a will, there's a way ..." "I guess." Presently they came by an art gallery, with big promotional banners for a new exhibition. "Shall we go and take a look?" Doug asked. "Wasn't your ex into this sort of shit?" "Yeah, but don't let that put you off." They gulped down the remainder of their icecream cones, then strolled inside. It was sculpture. Some in wood, some fired in clay, some a mixture of these two media. It seemed to have a mainly reproductive theme. Genitalia, and childbirth, and ghostly babes at stylised breasts. It soon struck them that female forms were predominant, and loomed large. Anything representative of masculinity in the compositions had been simplified, distorted, reduced in size to the point of insignificance, then arranged in the compositions with an irrelevancy bordering on impotence. Janelle was intrigued. None of the pieces bore titles, only catalogue numbers. Then again, only an idiot would need the aid of titles to discern the take-home message from these works. A measly few sperm was the sum-total male contribution needed to generate this artist's particular world view. Womanhood could do the rest, thank you very much. Janelle stopped before a clay piece that particularly embodied this theme. The slumped form of a puny male was isolated behind grid-like bars, a pathetic misshapen erection poking through. Suspended in mid- air, a pair of strong yet obviously feminine clay hands held out what looked like a milking-machine suction cup toward the slender prick. "Pester me for any more blow-jobs" Janelle murmured, "and I too will get you a machine that really sucks!" "We are not amused." "Some of this stuff is alright, though" Janelle said begrudgingly. "You can see a lot of thought has gone into it." Doug consulted the catalogue. "Well, how 'bout that!" he breathed. "What?" "This one is listed at $3500." "Get the fuck outta town!" Janelle exclaimed audibly. Several other patrons glanced their way at this outburst. More quietly, she asked "People pay serious money for this kinda shit?" "Yeah. Why so surprised?" "I reckon I could do stuff like this with my eyes closed!" "Go on then, if you think it's so easy." "Yoo-hoo! Doug! Janelle!" Oh crap. It was that Christine woman - the gushing brunette Doug's ex-wife was now in romantic liaison with. She flounced up to them, as statuesque as ever, in a designer frock that accentuated her movie-star tits. "Hello Christine" Janelle said, in much the same way Jerry Seinfeld might sneer "Hello Neuman". "Thanks for stopping by! I'm so pleased to see some people I know come around to have a look." Strictly speaking, Christine didn't know them at all. She'd only met Doug half a dozen times, and Janelle a grand total of once. Janelle let it pass, however, as her thoughts dwelled instead upon the possible inference behind "have a look". "These are yours?" Janelle asked point-blank. "Just some stuff I've been dabbling in for a while now. Julie knows the owner of this place, and swung it for me to hold an exhibition." "I've never much been bothered about art" Janelle said candidly, "but I can see that some of this is quite good." She had a new-found respect in her voice as she said this. "Thanks" Christine responded. "Any particular favourites?" "I was admiring this one." Janelle indicated the caged-erection tableaux. "If you like it, it's yours!" "Unfortunately, I don't have $3500 on me right now." "Please, do me the honour of accepting it as a gift." "Oh, I couldn't!" Christine leaned closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't pay any attention to the prices - we have to put those kinda figures on them so the works get taken seriously." "Sounds like there are tricks to every trade, huh?" "You betcha sweet patootie." "How did you get into this art thing?" "Julie encouraged me. She'd been trying out a few things herself, and started letting me fool around in her studio. Now she's all but given up, yet she keeps on at me to do stuff. She reckons I'm the bigger talent out of the two of us." This was said matter-of-factly rather than boastfully, and Janelle was prepared to take it as such. "There's a particular theme running through all the things you've got here" Janelle observed. "Yeah, I've always been a kind-of Earth Mother. Is it to your liking?" "I can relate to it." There was a significant pause here, which was not lost upon Doug listening from the sidelines. Christine was regarding Janelle intently. "Let's have coffee sometime," she said suddenly. "Sure." "Call me." With that she glided on, patting Janelle affectionately on her upper arm as she passed. How Janelle was supposed to call she didn't know, since Christine had omitted to give any number. Presumably Doug would have it though, in the unlikely event he might want to contact Hurricane Julie. "What was that all about?" Doug wanted to know. "Only two possibilities, Douglas honey. Either she sees me as a kindred sister-in-art. Or, she wants to get into my pants." "How would you handle that?" "Cross that bridge when we get to it." Doug had a flash of deja-vu. He'd raised the same issue right after Janelle first met Christine in his apartment. On that occasion too, Janelle's response had avoided foreclosing any of her options in the matter. This made him nervous, yet also made his adrenaline pump. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They finished their tour of the gallery, and left to complete the remainder of their stroll. "So what are you going to do with a statuette of an Auschwitz boner?" "Make a great center-piece on your coffee table." "Over my dead body!" "That can be arranged ..." Darkness was falling as they returned to his building, and the exercise had left them both a bit sweaty. Back inside, they headed to the bathroom. He showered first, and was quick about it too, while she seated herself on the throne for a pee. She rose as he finished toweling himself. He caught her staring, with that familiar gleam in her eye. A ferric gleam, like the first onset of transformation into a werewolf. She didn't bother pulling her knickers back up, but rather shucked them off onto the floor. He noticed a slight yellow stain on the gusset. Her dress went up over her head and tumbled to the floor as well. She stood before him with just her black bra on. It was like a dam, trying to hold back swelling floods of brown flesh. She spoke softly, but firmly. "Clean me." This was self-explanatory. He'd been there and done that before now. He'd have preferred for them to just go to bed and fuck like bunnies, as regular folks would. On the other hand, although his sex with Janelle was almost always intense, it had to be admitted that it was not all that frequent. By accident, or by design? He wasn't sure. One thing he did know, the irregular nature of their encounters served to keep him in a constantly heightened sense of awareness of her. And made him take whatever he could get, without argument. He knelt before her, and she arched her pelvis toward him with feet spaced apart. He could see a few drops of urine still dangling from her pubic hair. He hunkered down on the floor and buried his face in her, spending a couple of minutes nuzzling her muff. But he couldn't get himself down low enough under her petite frame to gain proper access to the real inner essence of her. He succeeded mainly in getting just a face full of fuzz. Having to bend himself back like this was making his neck ache. She sensed his predicament and pulled away, turning around to lean forward with her elbows on the washstand. Perfect. Her entire vulva bulged back at him, framed by those gorgeous tapered thighs and heart-shaped buttocks. He got his face forward and sucked, licked, nibbled, performed every oral maneuver in his repertoire. He got totally lost in her, quickly eliminating the tart urine taste and drawing forth instead a slick muskiness that issued from the very depths of her. His hands grasped the silky peaches of her dark buttocks, drawing her to him to maintain the pressure his face could bring to bear on her soft pink folds. Sliding upward, his tongue tried to penetrate her asshole. He spent a couple of minutes thrusting at it, then thoroughly rimmed her anal sphincter. It'd be the closest he'd ever get to using this particular passage, and he made the most of it. He french-kissed it's puckered border tenderly for a few more moments, before returning to the pinker portions below. He couldn't resist lowering a hand to his crotch to play with himself while he sucked at her, but she noticed. Next her hands went back to his scalp and pulled his hair hard. He yelped, more in surprise than anything, though it did cause real pain. "Don't touch yourself. Concentrate on me." He didn't answer, but rather re-doubled his efforts at her snatch. And was soon rewarded. He felt tremors run through her thighs, and her hips bucked slightly. She emitted some soft, rhythmic "Uh, uh, uh" noises, which ebbed and died in her throat. She pushed his head away and stood up straight again. Next, her bra landed on the floor alongside her knickers. She climbed into the shower stall, boobs bouncing and swaying as she turned on the faucet and reached for the soap. He was still kneeling where she'd dismounted him, and he had a hard-on as conspicuous as the Eiffel Tower. "May I assume that some DIY handiwork is now called for?" he enquired. She peeped around the edge of the shower curtain at him. "'Fraid so," she replied seriously. "Unless, of course, you want to go fuck the sofa again." Her face went suddenly mischievous. "Just ask Brad if he'd mind getting up and moving to an armchair for a few minutes!" Ha ha, he thought. Very funny.