Message-ID: <7901eli$9801281427@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7901.txt>
From: bronwen@anon.nymserver.com (Bronwen)
Subject: New: "The Minimalist" (MF cons humor) by Bronwen
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: bronwen@anon.nymserver.com
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <34d17801.1248280@mail.clara.net>
WARNING: This is adult reading material. If you aren't, don't!
Copyright BronwenSM 1998. Not to be used without permission. BTW,
there's not a lot of sex in this one....
--- The Minimalist ---
(MF cons humor)
(c) BronwenSM 1998
@---}---}-----
I'm not a refined girl.
You ever noticed those articles women's magazines run every Christmas?
Every year it's the same rhetorical question. "Why, oh why," they ask,
"Do men give us black 'n' red trashy lingerie when we women crave
well-cut cream silk?" Those articles pass me by. Fuck that, I say.
Give me trashy, give me luminous, give me vinyl.
I like having my nipples poke out of stuff. Preferably in public. I
like amusement parks, flashing lights, loud hot music and avalanches
of hot sweaty vanilla sex. The only quiet thing about me is my voice,
a teensy baby drawl. Makes men come *real* close to hear what I'm
sayin'. I'm one of nature's show-offs. Hot pink's my color. I'm a
Gemini.
Last summer a gust of wind swirled my cotton skirt as I teetered down
the steps outside my lawyer's office. For a coupla seconds I was left
naked from the waist down apart from a thong and heels. No one in
sight so, forcing my skirt down with one hand, I swiveled to see who
might be following me. A pair of gray suits in their 50s were a few
steps behind. The expression on their pudgy faces made me hot and
giggly all afternoon. You have no idea how much fun it is being
gorgeous. I love my long golden legs and my high firm bum. I knew they
wouldn't forget that eyeful in a hurry.
But, like most of us, I don't always like who I am. Sometimes I get a
yearning to be tasteful. Austere. Subdued. Chic. That's when I blow
half a month's salary on the perfect camel trenchcoat.
Of course when I get it home I realize I haven't any of the other
stuff to complete the look. No silk scarf (apart from a leopard
print), no boots (unless you count the only-for-bed ones with the 5
inch spike heels) and no cashmere sweaters. No sweaters at all. I like
things that cling and outline my great tits. I like everything to
cling. Apart from men.
I like men like I like steak and fries. Hot and to order. I get them
too. Just ask, that's my motto. I don't usually have to say much, just
look up under my eyebrows and glitter a bit. They get the message
fast.
@---}---}-----
One Saturday I'd just thrown all my Japanese stuff out. About three
months ago I'd decided to simplify my life. I'd bought all sorts of
things to give my home that tranquil Oriental feel but it just hung
around collecting dust. Have you ever noticed that? You buy something
to simplify your life and you just end up with more stuff. Expect it
would have worked better if I'd got rid of some of the other stuff.
Who can tell. It's all in the bin and long gone now...
But that was my frame of mind. Yet another attempt at streamlined
style had bitten the dust. I felt too fussy, too cluttered - too me. I
was in the mood to be somebody else. I was walking downtown to meet a
friend, thinking all the way that I was over-the-top, and too dramatic
and probably just fuckin' coarse. I was castigating myself over my
lack of Zen serenity. By the time I got to The Jolly Hobnob my bottom
lip was sticking out.
"Fucksakes, Antonia, what's the matter with you?" squealed Gloria as I
pushed open the door. Gloria sounds like a Cockney off the telly.
About as subtle as a parakeet, and as tactful as a monkey. "You look
like someone's asked you to suck a dead horse's dick!" And she
screeched this charming little quip at me from about 15 feet away. The
whole bar looked round, grinning. It's not a small place.
I'd have laughed normally, but there was a man in the bar. Fuck,
there's always a man in the bar - men in the bar - but this one was
drop dead, wet pussy delicious. "Hush, darling" I cried brightly.
"How's work?" I nipped over, climbed on the barstool she'd saved and
started chatting very quietly, very fast. This had the effect of
making her lean towards me, at which point I hissed "Shut it, you daft
cow. Have you seen what's over in the corner?"
"Yes, of course I've seen, but he's spoken for."
"?"
Don't ask me how I'd clocked him so fast but I had. Tall, crisp blond
curls off his forehead, noble brow, face like a god. Most noticeable
of all: his perfect, perfect body. And so cool. Snowy t-shirt, perfect
jeans, boots, slight tan. Nothing else.
A woman came back through the swing door from the loo and sat by him.
She touched his face possessively. I could have smacked her. Smooth
black bob, perfect understated style. Fuck the bitch.
I'm brilliant at watching men without them noticing. When I start
taking an interest in a man I keep it quiet until I've made up my
mind. It's only when I've decided I'll have 'em that they ever notice
me looking. Because once I start looking it's not long before they
come over.
I've always gone for the pretty ones. I like their silky skin. I like
having something nice to look at. I like people noticing how
gorgeous we look together. Someone once told me that's why I get so
many disappointments. I always go for the packaging, and I never check
the contents until much later. She was probably right, though the
silly bitch never doubted her own boyfriend until the skinny little
runt fucked off with her best friend. Who was a bloke, as it happens.
So she wasn't exactly the world's expert on character reading. Anyway,
this guy in the bar was mouth-watering. He looked really deep and
soulful too.
After Gloria and I'd been chatting a few more minutes I slipped off my
stool and walked as elegantly as possible round towards the loos. I
chose a path that took me as close to his table as possible. Fuck, she
was Italian. I could hear her speaking in the most sexy accent.
Italian. Elegant. Her clothes were all black and camel. Her shoes
must 've cost a fortune. I should have been a detective. I can notice
so much in one glance when I want to. She should be dead. Fuck her.
Not that I'm competitive or anything.
But it was clear I wasn't going to get anywhere that day. So I forgot
him, had a great afternoon with Gloria going round the bars and popped
back late in the evening alone. There they were again. They were with
a man I knew. YESSS! So I mooched over, ever so chummy: "Hello, Stevie
-- who 're your friends?" - you know the sort of thing. Within a few
minutes I was sitting with them and we were all mates. Their names
were Zach and Louisa. Zach hardly said a word -- Louisa did all the
talking, in her irritatingly pretty accent. She was an international
consultant. He was some sort of designer. Turned out Stevie wasn't
the only person we had in common. I'd guessed that. I can be very
sweet when I want to be, and I wanted to be. By the time we parted
they would have to say hello when we met again. Which was just what
I'd planned.
Now *I* knew who *they* knew I could find them easily. The weeks went
by and every time I saw him I drooled over Zach. He always wore the
same thing. Perfectly cut white t-shirt (new every day, I suspected)
and one of a selection of pairs of classic jeans. They all fitted
delectably, showing his magnificent body while never so tight as to
look sleazy. I used to play with my clit in bed at night just thinking
about his tight bottom in those pants. I used to want to lick his
perfect forearms with their light tan and blond hairs. I was having
fun stalking something I couldn't get straight away. I was bored with
men being so fucking easy.
I quickly worked out something about Zach and Louisa's relationship.
It
might be pretty serious but it was very volatile. They fought
viciously, though briefly. Tantrums and reconciliations, on her side
mainly. She flared up, she snuggled up. At least that was the
impression I got. They didn't fight in public. Until one Saturday
night, late and drunk (unusual for her) the Italian girl slapped him
and walked out. That was your big mistake, Louisa.
He was leaning on the bar, rubbing his cheek and smiling a little. I
moved closer, using the press of people as an excuse for a lot of body
contact.
"You poor old thing, Zachy! Does it hurt?" I cooed, smiling. Men love
to be babied. Take their aches and pains seriously and they'll follow
you anywhere.
"It's Louisa. She never stops nagging," he said. "I think she's going
to drop me."
For the first time I gave him the full-on headlight fuck-me gaze.
"Sweetheart," I said, "If she's fool enough to drop you, believe me I
won't let you hit the ground."
It didn't take more than a second or two for him to get the message. I
smiled. I have a smile I use for this. It involves a very clear mental
picture of sucking the guy's cock. Somehow it seems to transmit. They
definitely get the right sort of idea. Can't tell you how often it's
worked. When your lovers move into three figures it seems a bit uncool
to keep counting....
As he realized what I meant, he slid an arm round my waist. I shifted
my hips slightly to emphasize my narrow waist and warm flesh. I
widened my eyes at him again. "She has no idea what she's missing," I
murmured. "You must have known I like you."
"No, but I couldn't help noticing you. I mean you know Louisa's really
special to me, but she was always complaining. I can never do anything
right. You're always having a laugh. And you know you're gorgeous...."
he trailed off as he nuzzled against my neck. He was a bit drunk too.
She threw him out next morning, and he simply turned up on my
doorstep. It'd been Louisa's flat. All he seemed to own was an
expensive leather holdall containing the t-shirts, the jeans and some
beautifully polished designer boots. He didn't have either socks or
underpants. He had no books, no CDs, nothing. He was so minimalist.
His cool was everything I'd ever wanted. I was blasted by him.
I live in a one-bedroom flat filled mostly with me, make-up and my
clothes collection. The best thing about my flat is the woman who
cleans. Three times a week she clears the clutter of perfume bottles,
eyelash curlers and lingerie from my floor. Oh, well - at least she
hasn't got to do much in the kitchen. It's a lavish little kitchen,
but completely clean. I don't cook.
But over the last three years she's found so many unmentionable things
in the rest of the flat I've worked out she must either be planning
blackmail or just getting some sort of education. Once it was a tube
of lubricant and some second-hand carrots under the bed (he wanted to
explore his female side), another time *two* pairs of men's
underpants, one time she even found a man... He was too hung over to
move and I had to get to the airport. She looks at me as if she'd like
to say "I hope you realize you're a slob, you overpaid, promiscuous
slut." But she hasn't dared say it yet, and she's incredibly reliable.
So I keep her.
She was the only thing Zach liked about the flat. The first day he
arrived she'd just left. It was a Friday. The place looked neat and
shiny. It always does after she's left. The effect usually lasts half
an hour after I get home. Zach hated this. Order was his god. He never
said anything, just composed his limbs and sat stiffly in the tidiest
part of the room like a cat in a sulk.
The first day he didn't say anything much. Over the weeks I'd hung
round him and Louise I'd heard her voice all the time. He mostly sat,
looking inscrutable, thoughtful. but I was getting used to his
intellectual silences. He stood there by the sofa looking round
approvingly at the clear surfaces and spotless floors. I flung my arms
round him and kissed him. With both hands he tilted my head and
started to kiss me with velvety artistry. His tongue was cool, his
kissing expert. He smelt so clean, my tongue could even feel how
spotless his teeth were. As perfect as a god. But our kissing didn't
progress. He broke gently away, t-shirt still crisp.
"I'm hungry," he announced, pleasantly. "Let's go out to eat."
But as we were strolling to my nearest nice place, the one where they
know me, I suddenly realized this wasn't a good choice. Because where
they know me they know I'm not minimalist. Let alone chic. I mean it
wouldn't be quite as bad as "Hi, Antonia, you lush. Your usual rare
steak, quart of chocolate ice cream and two bottles of house white?"
but my reception there might not make the impression I'd like.
So I went all breathy and asked Zach to choose the restaurant. We had
lunch in a place that looked like an operating theater. We ate stuff
that looked like buttonholes. We drank water which came in a pretty
bottle. And I paid. Fortunes, I paid.
I chattered on, he gazed at me and we went to the flea market. Later
we went to a pub. Just before we went in he touched my sleeve. His
voice was deep but quiet, flatteringly intimate. "Antonia, I must 've
left my cards at Louisa's. I'll pick them up when the dust's settled.
But would you mind lending me the cash now? I'd hate people to see you
paying for everything. I have my pride." And he looked it, too,
perfect nostrils and upper lip sculpted like a Renaissance prince.
"Of course, Zach, I understand." I glowed at the thought of my noble
soul. Louisa had been so harsh towards him. I'd show him what a real
woman was like...
Lots of people I knew were there that night. I glowed. I chinked and
giggled. I talked non-stop. And then it was bed time. Zach took my
hand as we walked home. His was curiously cool and limp. I was so
over-awed by him. No sweaty palms, no clutching. Just that cool hand.
Back at my flat it felt like a wedding night. Even if Zach didn't know
it, I'd been courting him for weeks. Longest time I'd ever spent
getting a guy. "I'll just have a quick shower," I said.
While he sat, totally relaxed, channel-hopping, I went into the
bathroom to get ready. I even took off my make-up. My normal pattern
with a new guy is half my clothes off before I get the key in the
door, so you can tell how special Zach was to me.
I climbed into bed, feeling virginal. For me, that's virginal. Softly
I invited him to join me. "Coming," he replied, laconically.
I nearly went crazy waiting for him to finish in the bathroom. Just
how clean could anyone be? Just how clean could anyone *want* to
be?How could he be so cool about our mutual passion? Clearly I was in
the presence of a master. I would learn something tonight.
I looked up at the sound of the bathroom door opening and watched him
pad across the room. He was as pale and perfect as a unicorn. Nothing
so exquisite could ever have walked this earth before. His erect penis
(it was too classical, too elegant to call a cock) was worth a
sculpture in its own right. I was breathless.
He climbed in beside me and kissed me slowly, beautifully. As I sank
back in expectation of miracles he straddled me and, moving one hand
quickly but roughly, shoved his cock between my thighs. The tip grazed
my entrance, but no more. Just as I was wondering what great peaks we
might reach he thrust once, twice, three times and came. He fell on me
like a sack, rolled off and gazed dotingly into my eyes.
"Thank you, darling," he said, soulfully, and fell asleep.
I lay awake wracked with angst. It was nerves, I told myself. Tomorrow
would be different.
But it wasn't. It was exactly the same. This was what he did. This was
his repertoire. I never found out what he did while I was at work. He
didn't have a job of his own. He definitely didn't do anything round
the flat. He might as well have gone into suspended animation. He was
as beautiful and useless as a vase.
And within two weeks his silence, his disgust for muddle and color,
not to mention my mounting pile of credit card slips had taught me to
hate the slimy little bastard.
Well, to be absolutely truthful, the first few days I hated myself. I
was too big, too loud, too coarse, too horny. His way was the cool
way. But then my natural bounce started to slowly re-assert itself,
pushing brassily through my attempts at self-deception.
"I must 've left my cards at Louisa's. I'll pick them up when the
dust's settled." That's what he'd said. Awful lot of dust in the city
for a wet month, I thought grimly. And none of it seems to be
settling.
Friday came for the second time -- could it have only been a
fortnight? It seemed like a long bitter lifetime. Zach and I dressed
up and went to the Jolly Hobnob. I put on a hell of a front. All my
girlfriends knew about the wonderful Zach, my hero of cool. I'd chased
him with such concentration. I wasn't going to let on what a total
disappointment he was.
I was fooling all of the people, all of the time, as long as I stayed
out of reach of Gloria. It's a very big pub, so I was managing to stay
well clear. But I was just nipping off for a pee when she got up to go
to the bar. I had to walk past her.
"Stop fucking about. I know you've seen me," Gloria grabbed me as I
went past pretending to look in my handbag. "I've got a riddle for
you, Tony, sweetheart."
"What?" I asked, tersely.
"Fuck, you're grouchy. Or rather no fuck, you're grouchy."
"Piss off, Gloria. What's the riddle?"
"Why is Zach like a Chinese take away?"
I knew the answer to that old one. "Because an hour later you're
hungry again," I answered drearily. "And they're expensive," I added,
with feeling.
"Got it in one, sweets," Gloria twinkled. "Though the second part's
not in the original."
"Aaah, come on," she continued, tilting her curly head at me. "I can
see how pissed off you are. Louisa told me about him. He lived off her
for nearly three months. Do you really want to beat her record? I
think it's really nice of her to warn you. Is he as lousy a fuck as
she says he is?"
"Worse," I said, gazing round to look for Louisa. "Almost
unbelievable."
Finally I spot her, my sister in suckerdom, in a noisy group by the
far door. Louisa catches my eye, grins, winks, raises her wine glass
in a toast. She's a better woman than I am. I smile over, warmed by
her
generosity.
"So what 're you going to do?"
My head is clear. "I'll demand he takes *me* out for dinner. He'll
make some excuse, I'll pick a fight and I'll kick him out. No come
back. Jerry can borrow my spare key -- get Zach's stuff out tonight
while we're out. He owes me one from that thing last year..." Gloria
grins at me reminiscently. She was there. She knows why Jerry will be
happy to help this damsel in distress. That *was* a night.....
"Poor darling Zachy-baby can find some other mug. After all, it's not
closing time -- he's got two hours yet! Piece of cake for an operator
like him.... You and I'll go clubbing. Find a pair of nice
uncomplicated blokes and go back to my place. Party time. Best cure
for falling off a horse and all that. You up for it, Glo?"
"Game on," grins Gloria. "Go get 'im, kid. See you back here in --
what -- half an hour?"
"If that, Gloria," I smile nastily. "If that. Bugger minimalism."
@---}---}-----
If you enjoyed this, please let me know at bronwen@anon.nymserver.com.
Remember Celeste's blow-job principle! <grin>
All Bronwen's other stories, plus a wacky tour of the life of her
wicked slut-twin Bikini-Barbie-Bronwen, are at
http://www.cyber-mall.com/Bronwen, courtesy of Joe Parsons. Thanks,
Joe!
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/><http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>