Chapter 32 - Art III
My buddy is really artistic. Its undeniable. We were sitting there is his studio, and he had made several little examples already. Any of them, to me? Looked... artistic wow. But I'm a layman.
He said, he now needed to strike a pose. I asked what he meant. He said, he could ape a pose of a famous statue or painting or anything else he wanted to plunder that way. It was the easiest way, to be ground up... artistic.
Its how he said it, too. Ape the pose of the famous example. It doesn't sound like his normal vocabulary, he said he picked it up in the one year of art school he quit from. He showed home drawings from before and after his one year in art school. I couldn't tell a difference. He said there were slight differences, but they were minimal and slight.
He combed through the internet, and he finally found something he liked. One of the lesser known Roman statues to have survived essentially intact. He had to explain it to me, in art terms.
"See, the Romans? Would look to the Greek styles, for everything. The heroic poses of the Roman statues, is quite simply... Greek poses. So. I now look for a Roman heroic pose. Which by definition, has me looking for a Greek pose."
He finally found one he liked. It was a depiction of... some moment or another, in some Greek lesser known mythology story. The lesser known artist, had done well... and he copied that standing pose. He enforced that pose, onto the 50 something man in his photos. A three piece suit, with this pose and that man's head.
In the clay rendering? It did pick up some... extra heroic, artistic thing I had trouble defining as a layman.
He started measuring me for leg and arm bone measurements. I showed him how to use a grinder to cut through the re-bar. I'm no welder by any stretch, but I can spot weld a hot little mess that will make metal stick together. So, he had me weld little plates as band-aids to get the re-bar bones in place. We bent the final mock up, until he said the pose was about it.
I welded big steel plates, and long metal strips onto those big plates, that the re-bar bones were attached to. Structural integrity, I figured. He took box after box of the artist clay, ready to use. He put big mud balls of clay all over, until it got close to human size and he started smoothing it out.
I make this process sound quick, and please don't take any sort of impression that it was. It took nothing resembling a short time. This is final phase shit, he called it. Must be a real artist term, as I'm not artistic so I can't know. He has a grandfatherly overly patient voice he uses, to explain tidbits here and there. He's been obsessing for days now, over just the Greek heroic pose model for this.
"See how much detail I can get, on just this little statue in clay?"
"Yeah. You're taking days, to..."
"Right. All this detail? Is just... reference for me. When its scaled up? This one foot tall posed model, will become a six foot tall model. One sixth scale, exactly. Imagine how much more surface area I get, and all the detail I can put into that."
"A lot, I guess."
"Shit tons. At life size? I have the ability to do the fibers of the cloth, of the suit he's wearing. Every hair has to look good. I'm considering making the suit, corduroy. Because that allow me to do the lines and pull it off. So yeah. This is going to take... about forever."
And really, forever and whatever that exactly means? Is fine by this project manager. I know the secret to successful project management. Step one... first find an expert. I had. Step two... he who manages least, manages best.
My girlfriend's new little hobby is ramping up to her best version of her own rape, with substitutions for things that couldn't be performed. Practicing on me. She finally said her final performance, so to speak? Putting all elements together, would be her final piece of performance art in the series.
She didn't know when. Sometime soon, but it would be one of our big nights. We're both wracking our brains of where to go, to enjoy this. Which was when my lady lawyer called me out of nowhere. Would me and my girlfriend mind babysitting her house for her, while she took her girlfriend to what she described as wine and cheese country.
I understood enough to know. It was also a place where they could hold hands and go through shops they liked. My girlfriend decided why not do it there, as I described the place as "where rich people live on TV" to her.
She culminated her performance art rape on me. On the living room floor there, the second night they were gone. It was supposed to be the first night, but I was too nervous. I keep seeing scenarios where they come back, if only temporarily. We forgot thing X, sorry to startle you, and why is he all roped up like a baby calf about to get branded in my living room. So yeah, she made fun of me and we waited for the second night.
The original fun time she went through had taken a couple to several hours, she never did learn exactly how long it had lasted. So mine lasted a couple hours. I secretly feel guilty, because I get to enjoy this in the form of kinky sex. She didn't have that option. The loose sharp rocks that had cut her knees and shoulders and backside up so bad, I had carpet burns. When she got punched and kicked, I got pinched and tickled.
She ominously told me, that certain things she had never done to me yet? Would get sprung onto me and I would be forced to comply. I was waiting on these surprise extras, the whole time. Dreading them. I was already taught to be her fuck toy, basically. What else could she do to me. And what was more, how bad was it that she couldn't even talk about it first. The first I detected? He must have spit on her ass and pussy, because she did it before entering me with her lubed rubber dick.
I was waiting on something devastating. She had practiced the other stuff in humiliating little installments to prepare for this. I guess when it was her first time all at once, certain things stood out. I guess she cried when he spit on her for whatever lube it made for, and humiliation. Talking filthy and down to her, while spitting on any orifice he was about to violate. I thought that paled in comparison to being tied up, beat up, raped. Hit with a stick for an interlude, while he recharged his dick. She got a little frustrated and even mad when it didn't seem to bother me. There was something cute about her talking filthy while spitting on my ass. She claimed she would have to fuck me harder to make up for that.
When she was all done with me, she had "left" me. I was finally "discovered" and let go. Then... mauled and made over. She was so soft and sweet then, it was unreal. I got thanked for indulging her. Thanked for putting up with her. How crazy she was and I overlooked it like nothing. She promised me, she wanted to show me that she appreciated it all. The more I told her no, that it was all fine... the more she went half nuts.
I never measured her, but she's 5'8" or 5'9". Solid for a little girl. Those tight little girl muscles under the frail weak looking thing. The aggressive confident girl is vanished now. She's replaced by a quiet, begging little sprite. Cute or pretty girl next door. She's a jeans and T shirt girl, sweatpants and sweatshirts sort of girl. Very little makeup, and often enough none. Jewelry very little or very basic. What I call hippie beads, and hippie rope. It all makes for this cute, sweet, innocent thing she's got going for her. In my book, anyways.
She's laying sprawled over me now. This new apologetic, begging personality. Now I'm feeling guilty. She doesn't have to beg me like this, I should be begging her forgiveness and the fact she indulged me. She had the ability to bootstrap herself and punch the reset button on her desktop computer. She had rebooted herself. I'm a computer guy, in my parlance? Rebooting didn't solve it. She had to kind of wipe her hard drive. She became basic install, brand new. I used this language with her, trying to gently talk her out of apologetic, what I call "pick me Penelope" mode. She picked it up.
"Okay. So I got my hard drive wiped, and rebooted for the last time. You want to know what... packages didn't get downloaded and installed?"
"Sure."
"Hair 1.0 only. Nails 1.0 only. Makeup 1.0 only. Clothes? 1.0 only. Noticing a trend? Swimming and bikini got deleted. I tried swimming, a long time later? No. What if he was there, watching. What if someone else was watching."
She bit her thumb, while I waited.
"After a bad rape? You don't want to look your best, not anymore."
When I had met her... I thought her off the shoulder length, light mouse brown hair. Mixed with a dirty dark blonde, was pretty. She kept it but grew it longer, while with me.
"I used to be normal. A girl picks up things, trying to look her best. Just because I'm not a cheerleader, doesn't mean its not normal that I finally settled on a few things. Like my hair. What makeup and how to put it on. So it made me prettier when I used it, and didn't make me look like a hooker. Ask me what kind of clothes I used to wear."
"Please tell me how you used to dress."
She eyed me up, studying my face intently.
"A lot like you see now. Jeans, T shirts. Tie dye shirts. What I call tie dye jewelry. A hoodie. But, one or two days a week? I dressed up, and did my make up. I mean, a girl has to make her own thing? Mine was, I wanted to show that I thought I was pretty, but... that I was down to earth, too. And on a weekend, or to meet boys, or go on some date? I might dress up, I might go tie dye and hoodie. Depends."
I wanted to say something nice. But I don't want to screw up, either. And who knows what that might be. I went for neutral Merlot, thanking my lady lawyer friend in my head silently but copious. For another angle to view things from, and derive yet another analogy and point of view.
"You let your hair grow. Its pretty."
I like running my fingers through it. Its soft. Wavy enough its a little fluffy, but not a kinky mess.
"By the time I graduated high school? I was a blonde. I mean, what girl wouldn't be blonde, given the chance, right?"
"You're half blonde already. You're not missing much. I think you're very pretty, just like you are."
"But, you wouldn't enjoy seeing me all... dolled up?"
"I guess I would."
She was sitting on top of me, on the big expensive white couch. My lawyer friend surprised me, by having different leather covers for her overstuffed wraparound giant room dominating couch. This new white theme I had been hit with on this trip out to house sit? I got tied up and raped all over it for a couple hours. Aggressively, shamelessly. White, the purest and most virginal color scheme possible. The background for an aggressive rape. Now that the storm has passed, she's stuck in this new and as I said, "pick me Penelope" mode. I feel guilt, but also turned on.
"I used to be... completely normal. I dressed up, I liked being pretty."
"I understand. Its fine."
"Well. What was your... girlfriend math, you called it?"
"The girl friend accounting procedure. Birthday, Valentine's day, minor holidays. 100 dollar minimum. Christmas? Major holiday. 200 dollar minimum. Birthday went to major holiday, too. On my own initiative? I made Valentine's into another major holiday."
"Trying to be nice?"
"Not just that. I was curious how good of a dinner I could get, for 200 dollars."
"Girl friend accounting."
"Hey. That's just accounts payable. I was the boyfriend. I had an accounts receivable, too. We got to pick out 200 dollar gifts. Three times a year, on the three major gift holidays. Christmas, birthday, Valentines day. It was fun both ways. We're researching the next 200 dollar gift we put in for and finalize on. If it sounds really anal, I guess that's because it is, but... it was fun."
"You just said anal was fun."
"I did not!"
I blushed, and she pointed and laughed and enjoyed teasing me for it.
"Okay, I'm done torturing you. I know what you mean. You said, you get out of 600 dollars in presents a year with me."
"Hmm. More like 900 to an even thousand. With three 200 dollar purchases a year, and I had a good job? I used to always toss in, an extra 300 to 400 surprise gift, like once a year, every 18 months. Yeah, you're a bargain. I feel guilty. The sex is way hotter? And you cost way less."
"Well? How long have we been an item. I got a couple grand built up, huh."
"You do. You feel... again, just a word. If you feel more... normal, enough that you think you'd enjoy something... normal, girly, like that? To celebrate. Tell me."
She pouted and looked like she might shed a single tear at any moment, yet never did. She had a nervous but genuine looking little smile that tried to blip on and cover it. Between little lip puckers she tried to replace with the plastic little smile.
"I should have a fantasy ready for this moment, but..."
I smoothed her hair, and she nestled into me sitting across my hips in the middle of the overstuffed white couch.
"So. Develop one. We have all week. You're in the city, even if its technically a little city. Which is girl heaven, right?"
"Hmm. Nail and hair and clothes girl heaven. I guess."
"You got your hair done in high school?"
"Not, like, all the time or anything. Mom got hers done sometimes. Again, not all the time. Mom taught me to save that occasional trip to the hair store, as she called it."
I couldn't miss such low hanging fruit.
"Listen to you. You made fun of me, for girlfriend accounting procedure. But you... wait for it... save up the hair trip. Same language."
"Maybe."
"So. What was saved up for. What was a good hair store trip."
"Oh. That was our big chance. We could keep our hairstyle. Get a trim, and if we wanted a touch up perm. Color job time, if we wanted. I let my hair grow some, and went blonde. Maybe, my last year and a half of high school. I was a blonde at college, too. Until. I never... just let it grow out, and, it slowly trimmed away. Being raped? It has some component of looking good, and asking for it that way. I guess any fantasy? My hair grew out some. You think you'd still fuck me, as a blonde?"
"I would definitely still fuck you, but you don't have t---"
She mauled me with her face and lips and tongue so insistently, it shut me up.
"Take me to get a haircut, perm, blonde slut color."
"Clothes?"
"You think you'd know the difference, between cheap heels and real heels?"
"I'm a straight white male. I highly doubt it."
"Well. I told you. I used to dress up, and I had my own thing. A girl tries to do her own thing. Do guys try to nail a look?"
I grinned.
"As a teenager. I was aware I wanted certain jeans and jogging shoes. I thought my whole jean jacket, hoodie under the jean jacket for winter... was me calculating that I was functional, but decidedly masculine."
"I about died when I saw you in your suit. For work."
"I figured it would be a kick for you. I used to work in an office all week, writing computer programs. When I do it a couple times a year now? I do it at home, in my pajamas. I only put a suit on, when I go at the end a little. With my agent, meet the clients and demonstrate it."
"So. Your agent is a female?"
"Yes."
"Hmm. And she gets to see you, all handsome and dressed up, in your expensive looking suit. Other people, too."
I wagged my head.
"I admit. After college was over? It was exciting to suddenly wear a suit all the time. It wears off, it becomes a chore. I tried to make my suit wearing time... different."
"How."
"Some guys wear expensive cowboy boots instead of dress shoes. I liked it. I only wore expensive cowboy boots with my suits, after that."
"You rebel."
"Eh. Then, I had always went for a retro leather tie. I just liked it. I normally lost the tie, and went with a brand new black T shirt, it went with my suit colors. I had seen comedians and musicians and people like that do it, so I knew it was some style thing that was possible. That was my look, for work."
"Well. I was blonde. You know how I dressed, when I usually dressed casual. I, kind of saved my dress up outfits. You sure you want to hear this?"
"Okay."
"I was in some stupid play once. I wasn't any good at it. But, my outfit for the play? My costume was a school girl outfit. Skirt, stockings, dress shirt, tie, sweater. Very... upscale and cute. I was supposed to be playing the rich bitch. Expensive private college."
"I'm imagining this? I'm about to start beating off."
She giggled.
"So. I got to keep my couple of real rich girl private college uniforms from the play I sucked eggs being in. Once every two weeks? I wore one of them. How, stupid and girly is that."
"Its cruel and inhuman punishment, that I have to wait to beat off to imagining this."
"In the course of the play? I had one for the private high school the rich bitch attended. Then three different private colleges, the play took place every so many years. That was my costume changes, to show it was years later each time."
She paused.
"I'm pretty sure the outfits are super expensive, and required? For the girls that go there. But, when they sell them and get new ones? The outfits are pretty and cute, but... that skirt, dress shirt and sweater, even the tie? Is so... thick and durable, I mean, I couldn't buy clothes that would last and stay new looking so long like that. I already had bought four of them. It didn't matter exactly which high school and three colleges I bought them all from? It was just that they had to all be different colors. The auctions said they were dry cleaned and perfectly fine looking. Used? They don't go for twenty dollars. I looked it up? That skirt, sweater, shirt... it was all super expensive shit."
"So, you bought more?"
She was smiling and excited. Actually remembering what it was like to be a 17 to 20 year old girl again. She nodded quick little nods.
"I had a couple hundred dollar skirt, and a couple hundred dollar dress shirt, with each outfit. I could wear just those out of those cheap kits? And, I guess play the rich bitch. Girls at college, couldn't believe I had this shit and wore it. I didn't tell them how I had these things. For under 20 dollars, each one? I got this expensive skirt and shirt. For less than the cost of a new T shirt at the department store. So yeah. I must have had about 20 of these outfits. They were my dress clothes. I could skimp on heels and stockings and cheap jewelry, but... girls thought I dressed like a rich cunt."
She paused.
"So. How... rotten was I. How shallow."
I shook my head no.
"I don't think y---"
"I loaned girls couple hundred dollar skirts and shirts sometimes. For special occasions. I got what mileage I could, out of my rich bitch duds. Kept that shit a secret. Had a discount salon back home. I did my own nails? I'm pretty sure I just let the girls think I went somewhere and got.. pampered. On account of my clothes I wore, when I got dressed up one day a week in college? Well. You see what it got me."
"We both know, that what you wore, did not get y---"
"In a way? It did. I was wearing sweatpants and sweatshirt that night. My favorite old ones, with holes in them. But a rapist does pick one girl out. For whatever reason he picks her out. Could be anything. If he was looking to... what. Punish, a rich cunt? He could have seen me in my supposedly expensive skirts and shirts. I know not to think like that? I can still see it, though."
"How much is this rich cunt makeover going to cost me."
She giggled.
"My height and weight haven't changed any. I have the clothes in a box. I just grabbed a couple. In case I got my nerve up. In case you didn't know, cheap heels and cheap stockings? Are a couple bucks, and pretty much disposable. So I already got all the clothes. You? Would get off with just one hair store trip. Toss in nails and dye job."
"You want me to take you there? Sure. Definitely."
"Hmm. No. Just... send me. I'll leave? In my usual tie dye and sweatpants and joggers. I'll have my shoulder bag with me, though. I'll just show up home again? Dressed up. I do my own makeup? But, they always do it once, while you're there once you get nails and haircut and dye job. Part of the package, the makeup while you're there getting gone over. Like a wrecked car in for scratch and dent pulling. You get it painted, too."
"If that's what you want."
She shrugged, and pouted. Sitting up on me. Explaining. In her new "pick me Penelope" mode I was beginning to wonder if I had to get used to that. I'm well used to her ordering me, telling me, informing me, if politely. Discussing like equals, at the very least. I'm not used to being begged and pleaded with like this.
"Like I know. What I really want, and really need. I know I used to be... normal, and a certain way. I know that got destroyed. I want to try to imitate that, if I only do it once. To prove... I could do it. I don't mind who I am now, at all. But, I just want to know that... I could."
It was no snow job to get something. She just had a fantasy, of seeing if it was possible to have a snapshot of what her life had once been. Could she do it and not go to pieces, maybe even enjoy it. Some triumph of some kind.
"I'll play along. And, what exactly would a quality slut cost, anyways. In the way of, you know. Maintenance."
She giggled.
"What's my budget."
I paused, then handed her a debit card. I showed her the piece of paper that had the 4 digit holy code on it.
"There's a grand on there. This is a one time thing? Do it right."
She disappeared in jogging shoes, sweatpants, and one of her old tie dyes. When she came back in? I got a disembodied voice. She wanted me to close my eyes, do that whole thing. She would tell me when to open them. So I heard her come in, and settle down on the couch, I was pretty sure where she was in general.
When I took my hand away from my eyes, I about had a heart attack.
She asked me what I thought. I sat there, sort of dumbfounded. She fidgeted and made a face.
"I feel silly."
"Please, don't feel silly. You look, gorgeous."
She whispered now. Nervous.
"Please. I haven't, dressed up, since t---"
"Are you okay?"
She gulped slow and nodded yes. She thought so, it seemed to convey. All the bravado, confidence, the free easy spirit I knew? All gone for now.
"Maybe its not all bad, what came out of being raped, though."
I just cocked my head at her, but didn't know exactly how to answer that. I was going to try. She held her hand up, palm towards me.
"Stop. I know how that must sound. Let me explain first, before you tackle me and put me in the straitjacket."
I shrugged.
"Okay."
"I had years. To think about stuff. Stuff, I'm sure I never would have thought about. I can compare how I was, after it happened? With how it was before. I was like night and day. Even after I recovered, if you want to call it exactly that. But, I think I was normal. And a normal girl? Was a little shallow. Even getting to, go back? I wouldn't choose now, to be that shallow again. But I was."
"Its okay to be a little selfish, honey. A little shallow. I mean, if you aren't at least a little bit selfish and shallow? You would come off as... trying to be too noble, or something."
"Well, like I said. Anything that wouldn't have normally happened, before the rape? Me, being self aware that I was a little shallow. Isn't that technically, something good that came out of it?"
"If you say so, sure."
She smiled.
"Would you want me to be more of a shallow cunt? I could try, if that really gets it for you."
I just stared at her.
"You know what I thought, when I opened my eyes?"
"Something to really scare the mice away."
"Ha ha. I'm here, in the rich person's place. Babysitting the house. I get to pretend I live where the rich people live for a week, right?"
"Sure. Isn't it fun, staying here?"
"It is now. If I'm pretending that I'm the rich lawyer? I opened my eyes, and... you were my trophy wife. I was impressed."
"Really? You're making me blush."
"I know its technically just a change of clothes, hair and makeup? You look like a different person. This is what you looked like once a week, in college. When you dressed up."
She nodded.
"Yep."
"I can't believe you're slumming it with me."
"Hmm. Told you, I'd have probably went out with you in college. You seem nice. I'm sure you got good grades. Wouldn't you have worn a nice shirt, to try to impress me when you talked to me?"
"It was a style then, to leave a nice dress shirt not tucked in. Kind of a casual thing. Maybe a jean jacket, over that."
"You ever used to shave smooth?"
"Not really, no. Its not a fashion statement on my part, to just use the trimmer with no attachments, get the nice even buzz on my beard. Looks like I'm trying for five o'clock shadow. Truth is? If I shave with a razor, I get what they call... shaving bumps. I insist on shaving with a razor? No matter what technique, no matter how much I really try... my face ends up looking like I ate out a twenty dollar hooker and have face herpes. So I do this."
"There's different kinds of handsome."
"I'm not the underwear model kind, am I? Damn it."
She giggled, as I gave her my best fake stare. I imitated the vapid male model look in all the advertisements I could remember.
"Girls also like a sort of, they call it the rough and ready look. A little macho, but you're not trying to look macho. You just... are. That's your kind of handsome. The rough and ready look, handsome."
"You being a girl and all, you would be the expert in that department."
"What about me."
"What about you. I always thought I was lucky to have a cute, pretty, girl next door. Now? Its like unwrapping a Christmas present. I definitely don't feel like I'm the one doing you the favor, being with you. Am I supposed to be begging, or what."
She smiled, and really was blushing. Pretty dark cheeks and rolling eyes and nervous little tics. She whispered to get it out, closing her eyes with embarrassment.
"I feel silly. But no, you don't have to beg, trust me. Well, I mean just a little for fun now and then? Fine. But that's it."
She sheepishly insisted on not going over her budget, though I to no end told her it was fine. I thought the 200 odd dollars was fine, given I was able to provide an almost fantasy level present, in a way.
"Well. If I'm coming in cheap, I allow you to take me out to eat. You know that was always a fight with me, right? Like everything else. Just the once."
Before we actually left, she tossed her favorite chunk of rope at me.
"Just so you know. If I'm going to try everything else at least once? Well. Doesn't a girl kind of owe a guy something, in return for a nice dinner. Hmm? I expect to get tied up and raped six ways from Sunday, when we get back."
My lawyer called me one night, and said they were taking another week where they were, did we mind staying another week.
I agreed.