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Sharons legs once again, her head bowing down to Sharons nookie.
The sun was cracking the horizon with false dawn when we surrendered to the fatigue from the sex; we slept in Sharons king-sized bed, all of us wet around our mouths with pussy juices.
~
By the time we finally awoke, had a morning swim-more like a noon swim-and munched on some left-over canapés, it was nearly three in the afternoon before we left Sharons home.
Waving us goodbye, Sharon did have that freshly-fucked look about her, we thought.
"That was fun, hon, dont you think?" I said to Ali.
"Sure was; Sharons right, you know, she is really into having sex with us, and I also think her munching abilities improved quite a bit, dont you?"
"Oh yeah, I noticed that right away; dont know who shes been practicing with but shes been working on her skills, thats for damned sure," I agreed.
"Wanna fuck when we get home, slut?" Ali asked just before she gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek.
"You bet, whore," I responded, "Ill show you what eating pussy is all about."
"Promises, promises," Ali said, laughing with me afterwards.
Well, I did.
~
"Wanna sit for me after lunch?" Ali asked me over coffee, sitting on the back patio.
"Sure, Ill be back by eleven at the latest," I told her, "Im only going to shoot a few different angles."
My errand that morning was to shoot one of the gigantic Live Oak trees that peppered the grounds at one of the local Universities.
For the past few weeks, I had been posing (sitting) for Ali as she painted a nude portraiture of me. Actually, reclining would be more accurate as opposed to sitting.
She said she had been toying with the idea for a while, since we had met, and decided that she did indeed want to do a nude of me. Itd be my body but with my face hidden behind a Mardi Gras Mask, which I would hold in one of my hands.
She really was talented I had long ago decided when I saw some of her works, but this nude of me was beyond anything she had done before.
"Are you sure thats my body on that canvas," I said that afternoon when we ended the session.
"Absolutely, who elses would it be," she replied, with a hint of indignation.
"Well, its just that I dont see my own body as being that hot or beautiful," I honestly said to her.
"Well, honey, maybe you dont love yourself as much as I love you," Ali responded, her eyes melting my heart with the love she expressed when she looked at me that way.
I love her so fucking much, and I told her so again that afternoon, as I got dressed.
~
We were off that evening to a new show at one of the galleries in the Quarters. We would return to the big house afterwards, rather than the apartment a few blocks away, at least thats what we had planned to do.
The plans changed when we met Di
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at the show.
We were enjoying the paintings as we sipped champagne and walked the gallery, nodding to familiar faces when we saw them; yes, even me, for I was starting to recognize some of the same people wed seen at other events.
Di was new, and Di was a gorgeous Black woman with skin the color of mocha chocolate. Shes tall, probably 510 or so, with a runners body; hard, firm ass looking deliciously tight in her slacks, firm arms and flat stomach, and what I assumed to be, D-cup sized breasts.
We kept returning to the same large abstract repeatedly over the evening and more often than not, Di was there again as well.
"Looks as if we like the same thing, doesnt it ladies?" Di said to us on our fourth or fifth return trip to the large, wall-sized piece.
"If only we could be that lucky," Ali piped up, her voice full of innuendo.
Di looked at Ali with a bit of confusion in her eyes but the smile didnt leave her face.
"I was talking about a mutual attraction to cannabis, perhaps," Ali covered her tracks by saying, "I mean only a lover of the bud could appreciate this piece of stoned imagination," laughing as she said it.
"Damn," Di said, "do I smell like reefer or something?" Di said, sniffing at her blouse sleeves.
"No, no, honey, I was just thinking that Id have to be stoned to paint this myself, and as much as weve seen you admiring it as well, I just made a quantum leap, like I do about most things," Ali said further.
"Well, Im busted, regardless," Di said to us, laughing, "I did a bone before I walked into the gallery and I though the smell might have stayed with me."
"Just the dope paranoia," I offered, "happens to us all the time."
"Must be," she said, "well, thats the last of my weed anyway, so I wont have to worry about it for a while."
We introduced ourselves, and sat on a viewing bench, chit-chatting, feeling the vibes of which there were plenty. I asked Di if shed like to walk back to our apartment and join us in a little bud therapy. Ali smiled when I did so, almost as if I had beaten her to the suggestion.
We kept a bit of bud at the apartment at all times, for convenience, and for moments like this, spur of the moment urges, etc.
Looking at us both, realizing that we were serious with our invite, she nodded a bit and said that she thought it was a fine idea, and off we walked, heading to the apartment, laughing at what we were about to do.
Di was a local, but had spent the last ten years of so on the west coast, gigging with different groups. She returned to New Orleans to rediscover her musical roots, playing a solo gig at an established downtown hotel, in one of the smaller bars. Mostly, she said, she played Blues, Standards, and Jazz Classics, singing, as
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