Quicksilver

"You want to paint?" Nate asked. "Out somewhere, or around here, or in your studio?"

"Yes," I said, "anywhere. No, not anywhere; in here. You. I want to paint portraits of you. Put on your work shorts and Quicksilver tee, and relax. No, tense up. I'll splash water on your face so you look sweaty. No, get naked and fuck me hard so you're REALLY sweaty, then get dressed like I said. It's best if it looks real. Can you fake reality for me? Someone said that if you can fake sincerity, you've got it made. How fake can you be?"

I started crying. The clothed Nate held me.

"I won't ask — tell me what you can, when you can, if you want. But should I sweep you off to bed now?"

The clothed Nate squeezed me. I stood and led him, no, I dragged him to the bedroom. We left the door open. We undressed each other. He kissed my body. I swallowed his cock. He pulled me around to stroke me and lick into me. He was so strong. I was so needy.

He pulled me around again, and spread my legs, and fucked into me, into my heart, and soul, and uterus. He strained like a demon. We kissed. His sweat flooded my eyes. We merged.

We lay entangled. Clarity struck me like a mass-extinction meteorite. I pushed him off me.

"To the studio. NOW!" I ordered. "I want to paint you just like this, sweaty and goopy and everything... NO! Don't wipe off! Fuck fakery! You yam what you yam and that's all what you yam, sailor! C'mon now!"

I actually pulled his manly nose to lead him onward and he actually followed without complaint. I opened the studio door, set a minimal stool before the easel, and pushed him into it.

I set up my acrylics and brushes. We were both naked.

"Spread-em!" I ordered. He looked at me blankly. I pushed his knees apart so his soggy package swung freely. "Hold there."

I drew a quick pencil sketch. He was a good model; he barely moved. I painted his outline, softened only a little, and then concentrated on his structure and sharp musculature. His face came last, strained-sweaty-smilimg. Tired, happy. Well-fucked.

I tore that sheet off the tablet, wrote the date on the back, and started another, only a close-up of goopy balls, and dripping, gleaming, half-hard cock, and dark, thick, sparkling thick pubic hairs. Gleaming and sparkling with our combined juices. With physical evidence of our physical love. I wanted a vivid reminder, just in case.

I had him pull the stool forward so I could study him in detail. And to suck him. Only a little. I was not done yet.

"Okay," I said, "now move the stool back, sit up, cross your arms, and think about me, yeah, look straight forward. Ogle my tits. I want your face and posture. Stop squinting... no, keep squinting, you're bothered by the sweat in your eyes. Yeah, just like that.'

I finished that sheet, tore it off, dated it, and got ready for the next.

"Put that Quicksilver tee on now... no, only halfway, yeah, stop there." Another quick sketch; I would fill it in later.

"Pull the tee down now and think of surviving a hard day and you're ready to shower. Slump to your left a little. Don't worry, I'm not painting your hairy bits now. Yeah, stay like that."

This kid... no, this MAN, was my muse, I knew that now. Was I just using him? Hah! So sue me.

I painted him a dozen times that morning and did not splash one drop on him. Nothing for Figgy to lick off his body, hah! Almost none of these pictures were fit for display, only for me. I could part with a couple of idealized profiles that were not instantly, recognizably Nate Kramer. And maybe I should artistically copy the goopy-genitals painting since his face is not in the frame so he cannot be identified. I bet Argo would have buyers for THAT!

=====

Painting and posing are hard work. My skin was sticky. Nate was sticky under his work shorts and tee; they were bound for the wash. I left him sitting but I peeled his tee over his head and pressed my breasts to his face. He nicely licked my chest, salty sweat and all, and fingered my wet pussy.

I stood him in front of the stool, dropped to my bare knees, pulled down his shorts, and took his soggy, smelly, manly cock in my mouth. I tasted us. We tasted organic.

I let him pull me upright. We embraced and kissed, blending our sweat and spit. I pulled my head back. Our eyes locked.

"Let's squeeze into the shower and de-funk-ify and then have a little lunch and exchange bodily fluids again, unless you have another plan." I bit his neck and then fell into his eyes again.

"Sounds like a good start but how about this? After we get clean and pass taste tests and get dressed, we hop in your VeeDub and drive to the Quicksilver office, just past the city prison. We can borrow a couple of courier bikes — Quicky bikers don't work Sundays — and we'll go riding south along the bayfront. I know a great little beer-and-burger joint on the old Bayshore Highway. We can do Candlestick Point and maybe Potrero Hill if you have the endurance. Put your art bundle and gear in the bikes' baskets; you can paint scenes along the way.

Plein air without convoying with art nerds! And I don't have to fix lunch! A good plan.

"Sounds like a good plan! But let's hit the shower first."

We sudsed-up and scalp-massaged. rinsed-down and taste-tested. We hugged and kissed. We would have fucked in the shower but the stall was too small and daylight was wasting.

=====

We dried, and dressed for the sunny day, he in cargo shorts and a Quicksilver tee to show the bikes weren't stolen, me in a bright Islands blouse and skirt, easy on my legs. Yes, I wore undies!

I packed my art bundle and the folding easel and stool that fit in a bike basket. Nate brought his tenor 'ukulele. I drove us to the Quicksilver office slash warehouse. He introduced me to Josie, just finishing, for today, her endless maintenance work on Quicky bikes and trucks.

Josie's big boobs threatened to pop through her greasy overalls. A sweat-soaked headband restrained chopped gray hair and framed angry blue eyes. Holding a wrench, she looked deadly.

"You're not going to fuck these up for tomorrow, are you, dickhead?" she snarled as he picked two cargo bikes for us.

Did I sense an attitude thing?

"We'll dump-em in the Bay and you can fish-em out, bitch-ola. Don't want you losing your job, do we?" He patted her cheek.

She faked a punch to his flat belly.

"If you didn't have such a sweet body and a sexy lady here, I fucking would—"

"You would call it a day and go home to your houseboat," he interrupted, "which you will anyway. Say HI to Stella."

She patted his taut ass.

"So firm, so round, so fully packed. You'd make a nice pork roast, you male chauvinist hog. Watch out for this piggy," she told me. "Feed him acorns and he'll do whatever you want. Otherwise he just roots around mindlessly. Oink oink, Nate."

"Ook-ook-a-joob to you too, swine mistress." He patted her cheek again. "Stay away from the truffles; they go straight to your belly." He rubbed her gut through her denim overalls. She slapped his shoulder, not too hard.

Attitude? No, I saw a beautiful friendship.

We loaded the cargo baskets and rolled slowly across South-Of-Market's warehouse-industrial zone to the old Bayshore Highway, San Francisco's section of the El Camino Real, the royal route of Spanish imperial days. The Bayshore has long been supplanted by the US-101 freeway into town but is still a main road, redolent of decades past. We took cutoffs through funky residential neighborhoods with their modest shops. Beer and burgers were fresh and filling at the truckers' diner Nate insisted on, and the jukebox was crazy with local music.

We backtracked a little to stop on bayside piers not fenced-off. We both brought folding stools. I sat and painted; he sat, played his mandolin-sized tenor 'uke, and sang, not too distractingly except for some weird and obscene lyrics.

Ritual circumcision? To the tune of 'When Johnny Comes Marching Home':

  ♫   When I was eight days old, me boys, hurrah, hurrah   ♫   When I was eight days old, me boys, hurrah, hurrah!   ♫   The rabbi came with a big, sharp knife   ♫   And I surely thought he would take my life   ♫   But. All. He. Took. Was. A little bit off the top. Oy!   ♫

The brush in my hand shook a little with that one.

We reached Candlestick Point, looped around its windy baseball stadium, and stopped to watch and paint the view across the Bay, busy with ships. We climbed Potrero Hill and I appreciated the leg strength needed to pedal a heavy one-speed up a grade.

Then we were back on the bayfront flats, rolling easily in the salty sea breeze blowing over The City's hilly backbone, clouds nipping at Sutro Tower's antennas. Lycra-wrapped speedsters on racing bikes whizzed past us as if we were stationary statuary but hey, we were in no rush this lazy afternoon. Just a nice day out with the young man I... loved?

=====

We returned alive to the Quicksilver building. I loaded our stuff into my Beetle while Nate tended to the bikes: oiling, tightening, measuring, adjusting.

"It's the price I pay for borrowing them." He replaced tools on the workbench. "Mechanical failure is not an option."

A careful, responsible young man. Could an old broad like me keep him? I dared not ask about his plans. The Army? Really?

We were pleasantly sweaty when we reached my home. Figgy sniffed disdainfully. Showering, hot love-making, and further intimate showering refreshed and restored us. Figgy still stood aloof but kibble improved his mood

Almaden Chablis washed down dinner. I was proud of my wor wonton soup, as good as any I have tasted in better Chinese restaurants. My chicken noodle salad was fine, if I may brag.

We cleared the dining table, tidied up, and returned to the table to pursue our interests. I surveyed the afternoon's paintings, and pencil-sketched some alternate views. Nate hummed and wrote notes, tablatures, and lyrics in his sheet music notebook. Figgy filled his lap. Was that inspiring?

We yawned and finished, smoked a mystery joint, took to my bed, and made gentle love. We lay side by side in post-orgasmic glows. Nate touched my face. He was not smiling.

"Lydia, m'lady, we should talk."

"Not now, lover, not tonight. Can it wait a day?"

I feared what he might say. Was he another friend to drift off?

"For a day, yes. For you, yes."

I held him. I did not shake. I slept holding him. I prayed it was not the last time.

===== Monday, week 5 =====

The damn alarm roused us; I hit 'snooze' and we made fast love. We dressed, ate a fast breakfast, and walked to the bus stop. Riding, we talked of nothing. We only stopped touching when he got off to transfer.

Anthea the Quicksilver Girl arrived early for a drop-off and pick-up. She had time for a tall sugared coffee.

"I heard you met Josie yesterday, ma'am," she said between careful slurps. "She was in a fine mood when she checked the bikes and pickups this morning. Thanked Nate for tending the bikes, said you and he are welcome to borrow them any weekend. You're an artist, right? Nate mentioned that you do scenes and portraits. I bet Josie would pose for you. Got an interesting look to her, doesn't she? Woops, time to go." She sounded more caffeinated than usual.

The packet Tracy brought went into Anthea's shoulder satchel and the drained paper cup went neatly into the trash basket. She was back just before noon, and in mid-afternoon when she passed me a message from Nate.

"He said to tell you 'usual bus, usual time'. Have fun, ma'am!"

Nate was in his usual seat munching a deli sandwich when I boarded. We touched, talked of nothing, greeted all at the gym, exercised, swam, and took a little steam room to talk behind its closed door. The heat was not uncomfortable. But I was.

"Okay," he said, "it's talk time and no, it's not goodbye; I see that question in your eyes. But you know I can't stay with you forever. There's no room in your place for me to build devices, not unless you sell all your wonderful paintings and break down the shelves they fill.

"And besides my day job — I'll be back on a bike in a few weeks — my evenings will be full for the next couple months with classes and homework at my electronics school. In fact, I need to get over there pretty soon for the intro session." He paused.

"Lydia, m'lady, I really love being with you."

He said 'love'. But I feared the 'but'.

"I really do. But I have a path to follow. I'll still see you many workdays, and we can spend many weekends together. I want to take you tenting down the coast; we can rent you a road bike and I'll pace you. We can do a lot. But I need to move back to my room at Suzie's. And right now I need to get on the bus to school."

So it's not goodbye, I thought. It's sometimes. But how long?

We sat close in our swimwear, touching. I held him and kissed him. I looked into his face. I thought of what to say.

"Nate. Lover. I want you in my life. I am happy with you. And you don't have to rush to the bus; I'll drive you to school tonight. You can take the bus back home when it's over."

"Okay, that'll work. We have a few more minutes here."

He kissed me. I held him, and looked in his eyes again.

"Yes, I know I can't chain you down. I'm astounded and delighted that you have time for an old broad like me. I'm almost twice your age."

He glared. "Hey, quit that! By my calculation, it's been six years since you were twice my age, and I'm catching up on you fast! So stop that 'old broad' shit. You're beautiful, sexy, educated, smart, talented, accomplished, and you make coffee almost as good as Suzie's hand grind. And Figgy likes me."

So it's my coffee, is it? And my pussycat?

He kissed me. "And I like you. A lot. But my path. It's there."

He kissed me again. "And we should get going now. To the showers, m'lady!"

We talked more on the drive to Polk Gulch, a few blocks above the civic center. I had a plan.

"Come back to me tonight. Stay with me tonight. Pack up your clothes, guitar, camp gear, everything. Well, leave a few clothes for when you stay over again. We'll bus to and from work as usual tomorrow and instead of the gym, I'll drive you and your stuff to Suzie's, and then to school if you need time."

I stopped by the three-story storefront with PACIFIC COLLEGE OF ELECTRONICS painted in fake gold leaf on a blacked-over window. Nearby storefronts indicated tailors, vacuum cleaners. accountants, booze, used records and books, cobblers, rental agents, ethnic clothing and foods, cosmeticians, dance lessons. All the usual.

He kissed me and hopped out. I drove home, ate a heavy salad, drank wine, and pondered. Nate arrived a bit over three hours later. I fed him wine and leftover wor wonton soup (there was plenty). I squeezed us into the shower, dragged him into bed, and fucked him nearly unconscious. I wanted to remind him what he would miss.

Sleep came slow to me. I stared at the ceiling and listened to him breathe, felt his radiant warmth, his aura if I believed in such stuff. His presence.

I did not cry.

===== Tuesday, week 5 =====

Morning arrived eventually. Nate packed while I made omelets. We bused to our jobs and parted for the day. Anthea made several stops and Nate had an airport run after my lunch with Tracy.

Nate was just finishing a deli sandwich when I got on the bus and sat with him after work. We had time for a few laps in the gym pool before we walked to my home, changed to non-work clothes, and loaded his belongings in my Beetle. I drove to Suzie's and helped him carry his stuff upstairs. We lay clothed on his bed, hugging and kissing, until it was time for me to take him to class.

I drove home for another thick salad and a bit of wine. I thought about this last month. Yes, it was four weeks ago tomorrow that I first took Nate to lunch, and we have seen so much drama, and fun, and growing-closer since then. My head would spin if I allowed that.

Figgy was sympathetic but I would rather have Nate in my bed again.

===== Wednesday-Thursday, week 5 =====

Nate was back as a bike courier! He, not Anathea or Loralei, came in Wednesday morning for the usual deliveries. He sugared a tall coffee and we talked while waiting for Tracy to run up with a package for Caldwell.

"Mr Kramer!" I exclaimed professionally. "It's so good to see you here! But without a truck?"

"Good and not so good, Miz Barnes. They hired Mahmoud, a driver from Speedy's, so I'm back on the bike and I'll be here most every day. My pay drops from a driver's to a biker's so I'm back to slowly saving-up again. I have an option for when I finish tech school and test for FCC licencing, but I can't tell you yet. Hey, here's Tracy! Gotta go for now. Cheerio!"

I knew what that option was: the Army. I feared what he would say.

Thursday was as usual, working all day and dreaming all night. But I had a nice surprise when I scooped-up my mail slot's droppings: picture postcards from Lori and Larry! With messages praising their nice visit and how they liked me and Figgy. Good kids!

===== Friday, week 5 =====

Figgy acted confused at breakfast, as if looking for Nate. I had no answers.

He came to the office just before noon. We lunched at Wang's. He ate well. I ate nervously.

"Nate, lover, can you stay the weekend with me? Figgy misses you. *I* miss you. I wish you could skip class tonight but I know you can't. Argo Phratos is staging a 'new artist' show at his North Beach gallery. He says it could be lively till after midnight. If you're not too worn out by work and school, I'd love to have you there. I could get away to pick you up after class. They might not miss me for a few minutes."

His eyebrows narrowed. My nerves tingled. Did he have 'commitments'?

He finished his sweet-sour pork. "You don't have to skip out just for me. I can bus to the gallery. But yes, I'd like to stay with you. And with Figgy. Do you have ideas for the weekend?" He attacked his Shanghai chicken.

He was going for it! For me!

"Argo's having another showing for me at his Sausalito gallery Saturday night. He said it could be a more exuberant crowd than who he expects tonight. If all goes well, he plans shows at the Piedmont and Hillsborough galleries next Friday and Saturday. He's providing rides and lodging for those nights. I'd make him have you taxied to Piedmont after class. Sound like fun?"

I did not tell him that I had delivered many of my older paintings and some new ones from last weekend. Argo was enthusiastic and wanted fresh-painted almost-copies of some explicit nudes, like fingering myself with legs spread wide and face obscured, and especially Nate's goopy cock and balls to hang in each gallery's 'restricted' nook. I would work on those next week. I hoped Nate would be pleasantly surprised.

He drank cooling jasmine tea. "Sounds good to me. I'll be clean and casually dressed. Should I be hungry? Will Argo provide abundant snacks?" He attended to his Szechuan beef-broccoli.

"Come ready to eat. I'll tell him to have a take-out feed from Vespucci's waiting for you. Wine should be plentiful and we'll taxi home afterward."

I reached over and stroked the hand without a fork. "I really look forward to this. And we'll find more to do during weekend daylight."

I stroked his hand harder, and his arm. He swallowed, put his fork down, and took my hands in his.

"I want you to know this," he said. "I won't deliberately do anything to hurt you. And I'll be with you when I can. But I won't ask what you do when we're apart and I hope you won't, either. You offer a very tempting weekend. I gladly accept. I may be back couriering this afternoon but I'll definitely see you this evening."