by Giselle Fox
“And what sort of deep desires have you had fulfilled lately?” I grinned.
Candy looked at me and pondered her answer. “I’ve recently met a gorgeous woman that I’m wildly attracted to.”
“Really?”
Candy nodded. “She’s an artist, actually, and incredibly talented with her hands. In fact, the first night we were together, she let me hold her hand with my pussy.”
I held my hand over my mouth and burst out laughing. “That sounds pretty interesting.”
“Oh, it was. The funny thing is, I think she might have been living out an old fantasy while it was happening. Isn’t that strange? We’d only met a few days before.”
“Very strange,” I agreed.
Candy shrugged playfully. “Who am I to question the universe, though? It obviously has a plan.”
“Maybe it does,” I smiled.
“So, Rochelle. Talk to me about this graffiti thing you do. Have you been doing it for long?”
I couldn’t tell whether she approved or disapproved of my clandestine activities, but I decided to be honest.
“I’ve been doing it for about fifteen years,” I said. I watched her face for a sign of disapproval.
“That’s a long time,” she said.
“It’s not nothing.”
“Did your ex know about it?”
“No.”
Candy’s eyes widened in shock. “Really? You never told her?”
I shook my head. “It’s not that she would have had a problem with it. She just can’t keep secrets. She says she can, but she gets too excited and has to share it with someone. Within a month of telling her, half her clients would’ve known.”
“I see the problem there. So you’d just sneak out at night and do your thing? Or did you lie and say you were working late or something?”
“Sometimes. She worked late a lot too, so I didn’t really have to lie. She used to like imagining me working in my studio until late anyway. It sort of turned her on in a way.”
“Hmm,” Candy said.
“She preferred the idea of me more than the real me, I think.”
“Sexy tormented artist with a secret? I can see the appeal there. But I think the real you is much more interesting.”
“I’m glad,” I said.
“So, I’m going to assume some of the other writing on that wall down the street is yours too?”
“Yes, some.”
“Where are you? I can’t find you. That looked fresh.”
“I did it last Sunday night,” I admitted.
Candy nodded. “And the haiku about love and being forgotten?”
“That was awhile ago. I’m not as depressed as I was then.”
“Good because that was heartbreaking.”
“Well...” I said and looked down at my feet. “Usually my work is more interesting to look at. Everything on that wall was just me trying to figure things out. I call it my Burning Question series”
Candy watched me closely. “She broke you.”
“A little, yes.” I agreed.
“I’m going to put you back together,” she said softly.
“Can you make me better, stronger and faster?” I asked trying to take the conversation in a lighter direction.
“I’ll do my best,” she whispered and kissed me. “You just need more fun, more sex and someone to do it all with that thinks you’re the bomb. That’s me.”
“Okay,” I said. It sounded wonderful and charming and sweet, even if it seemed a little over the top.
“But tell me, why graffiti? How does a woman of your age and economic standing end up doing what you’ve been doing?”
“I like the universality of anonymous messages. I figure that when I’m thinking something, someone else is probably thinking it too. If that person sees it on a wall, they’ll feel a connection at a time when they might feel isolated. It’s a way to unite people, either politically or simply, through the heart. I like seeing the responses that other writers put up on the wall. Like yours and the silver one below my where are you? question. Closer than you think. You didn’t do that did you?”
“No, that wasn’t me.”
“So right there, at a time when I was feeling really confused, this anonymous answer appeared. It’s addictive, I guess.”
“I can see that,” Candy nodded. “But, it’s vandalism right?”
“Well... some might see it that way, but I don’t. This building is going to get ripped down in a week or so. A little paint isn’t going to stop that.”
“But what about private property and keeping the city clean and all that?”
“Well, I don’t believe in the destruction of private property. I would never spray on the side of someone’s fence or store or anything like that. That’s just inconsiderate. Plus, a part of what I enjoy about it is the impermanence. I only use spray paint when the site itself is going to be torn down. In public spaces, I use impermanent materials, like paper and paste or water based paints that will come off. It’s different for me because I’m not trying to leave a permanent mark or a signature with my work. I already do that in my professional life. I’ve always been fascinated by Tibetan and Navajo sand paintings for the same reason. Where a huge amount of effort and skill goes into something that can be erased simply by blowing on it. It doesn’t make the work any less profound or meaningful because it’s temporary.”
“True,” she said.
“For example, I was part of a piece several years ago. A group of us got together and cleaned sections of dirty bricks along the Turner underpass with power washers. We selectively removed dirt and grime and the chemical residue of exhaust fumes and left the words Peace and Unity.”
“I remember that. It was on the news,” she grinned.
I smiled back at her. “But the city cleaned the remainder of the bricks the next day so they were all a uniform color again. The words were too subversive, I guess.”
“That’s… sad.”
“Meanwhile there was a billboard for a movie called Maximum Death on the other side of the road that starred a known wife abuser. It’s okay to bombard people with messages of violence and inequality as long as there’s a corporate backer, but the minute a group of citizens get together to clean some bricks, there’s a problem.”
“Ironic.”
“Truly. So I realize not everyone will understand it. I can only speak for myself and how I choose my spaces and what I write. But I feel it takes back a certain degree of freedom and voice that can otherwise feel lost. At the heart of it is my belief that parts of our system, not all of it, but some very integral parts, are broken and that good people need to stand and speak up for what is fair and ethical.”
“Okay,” Candy smiled. “I get it now.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t do it that often anymore,” I said. “My days of scaling buildings and posing as a city worker are numbered.”
“I don’t have a problem with it at all. I just don’t want you to get caught.”
“Well for whatever reason, I haven’t been yet. Perhaps the universe is conspiring for me to succeed,” I grinned.
Candy picked up my hand and kissed it.
“You won’t rat me out to the cops will you?” I asked.
“No, and I actually know how to keep secrets. I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“How about we go make out on the couch while the cake cools.”
“Okay,” I said happily and followed along.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We woke to the sound of heavy rain against the windows. We’d spent more than an hour making out on the couch and had fallen asleep in each other’s arms under a warm wool blanket. Candy stirred. She stroked my chin with her fingers. It had been awhile since breakfast and I was hungry.
“It smells good in here,” I said.
“Let’s go frost the cake,” she whispered.
I took a seat on a barstool and watched as she whipped up two complimentary batch
es of pink icing. When she was done she handed me a spatula. “You work on the top. I’ll do the sides,” she said. So I did as I was told and scooped some of the light pink whip onto the top of the cake while she spooned a heap of the darker pink icing into her icing bag. I finished my job as she watched and then she got to work on hers. She wrote something on the side of the cake, then spun it around so I could see it.
“Does that say pussy?” I laughed.
“It does,” she giggled.
Candy came around to my side of the island and stood behind me. “Okay, now you try.”
She handed me the icing bag and I wound it around my hand. I squirted the word eat in front of it and not gluten behind her inscription.
“Eat pussy not gluten,” she read out loud. “Nice! We work well together.” She ran her hand down my back and I shivered a little. “Put your hands behind your back, Rocky.”
“Why?”
She looked at me and grinned. “Because I’m going to handcuff you.”
“What?” I looked down and saw the pink fuzzy handcuffs in her hand. “Where did you get those from?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, I guess. I just didn’t see them in your hand.”
“Magic,” she whispered and drew my hands behind my back. She clasped my wrists into the cuffs and tightened them around me.
“Do you trust me?”
“I’m not sure,” I said and laughed.
She looked at me seriously and asked the question again with her eyes.
“Okay fine,” I said. “I trust you.”
She stepped behind me, reached around and unfastened the button of my jeans. Then she pulled them down quickly until they were on the floor. “Step out,” she instructed as she bent down to free my legs.
When I did, she flung them behind her onto the leather couch. Then she ran her hands up my back and clasped my breasts. “Nice tits, Rocky.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Then she patted me softly. “Nice ass too,” she said.
“Glad you like it.”
“But my favorite...” she said as she slipped her hand down the front of my briefs, “…is this.”
I tried to say thank you but the words got stuck in my throat. Candy slid her fingers over me as she spread my legs with her knees. Then she bent down behind me and pulled my briefs down with her.
“Bend over,” she said. She placed her hand on my back and gently guided me down.
The cake was no more than a few inches in front of my face. “It smells good down here,” I said.
“You want a little lick?”
“If you feed it to me,” I said.
Candy swiped her index finger down the side of the frosting and hovered it in front of my lips. I leaned forward and pulled her finger into my mouth.
“Mmm, that’s delicious,” I said.
“Would you like to try some cake?” she asked mischievously.
“Maybe just a small nibble,” I said hoping that she wasn’t planning to put my face into it. She jabbed her fingers into the side of the cake and scooped a large piece into her hand. I watched as she pulled it up to her mouth and took a big bite.
“It is good,” she said. “Here, have some.” She held it under my chin and I ate from her hand.
“Yeah, that’s a good cake,” I said.
Candy pulled her hand behind me and smeared the rest of the piece down my back and over my ass. I sort of knew it was coming, but I groaned anyway.
“I feel like I’ve been caught by the baking police. What’s the charge, Officer Candy?”
Candy laughed. “Well, I see you’ve been writing subversive messages on brick walls, Miss Hayes.”
“Guilty as charged,” I said.
“Seems you’ve been asking the universe for a good fuck.”
I laughed. “Well, I’m not sure that’s exactly the message I was trying to convey, ma’am.”
“No? Are you questioning my authority?”
“No ma’am. Or maybe I am. What happens if I am?”
“This,” she said and plunged her tongue into me.
I moaned and pressed my chest against the counter. “Ohh-kay, I’m definitely questioning your authority.”
Candy spread me with both hands and moaned against me too. With the smells of fresh baked cake and icing wafting under my nose and a world of pleasure happening behind, I thought I’d gone to heaven.
“Your pussy tastes like candy,” she said.
“That makes sense, she’s been down there recently,” I moaned. Suddenly, I felt something else. “What is that?”
“Eyes forward,” she said sharply. She ran her hand up my back and pressed me down. “I’m going to fuck you now,” she said as she pressed her hips against me. “I’m going to fuck you deep and slow.”
“Holy shit,” I whimpered.
“Do you trust me?”
“I don’t know, should I?”
“Yes.”
“Then okay, maybe I trust you.”
“This is my favorite toy. It’s made of hand-sculpted glass. I like this end,” she said as she held it up in front of me. “I like it because it hits my A-spot and makes me come hard every time I play with it.”
I swallowed nervously as I sized the thing up. “Oh?”
“I noticed yesterday that you have a very responsive A-spot too.”
“Wow, I’ve gotten lessons in baking and female anatomy today. I never even knew I had an A-spot.”
Candy laughed. “I bet you do know it. I’ll take off the handcuffs if it will help you relax but I thought they might make our game a little more fun.”
“No, we can leave them on. I think I can reach the latch anyway.” I felt around my wrist for it just to make sure.
“Bravo.” She bent down and flicked her tongue over me again.
“Keep doing that and you’ll be able to do… whatever… you like,” I groaned. Her tongue and fingers felt incredible, just enough but not too much pressure. I barely noticed the soft, slippery tip of her toy slide in until I felt the tapered end hit the depths of my body in a familiar place.
“Ohhhh-kay,” I moaned against the counter. “I do know that spot.”
Candy giggled. “It’s my favorite. You hit mine in the elevator.”
I moaned something about being a good girlfriend and Candy bent and whispered in my ear.
“Are you mine now, Rocky?”
“Uh-huh,” I nodded. It was a weak moment.
“Good,” she said. “Because I really, really want you.”
Candy didn’t leave me pressed against the bar for very long. Once the blunt tip of her toy reached its target, my legs began to buckle. So she gently unlocked the handcuffs and pulled me into her bedroom.
“Lie down,” she whispered. I was a hot mess at that point wearing nothing but a stretched bra covered in icing and cake crumbs. I had icing in my hair. Candy had icing on her abdomen and her pelvis, which meant I had it all over my backside. I would have laughed if I wasn’t still orbiting Candy Land. She’d wound me up so expertly that being covered in cake was no big thing.
The bed had been pulled into the center of the room like a focal point. There were only sheets and no blankets. On a chair in the corner sat a suitcase and a box of colorful toys peeking out like little friends waiting to play. The only thing I recognized about the bedroom, from poking my head in once at a dinner party, was the long mirror on the far wall. I understood why Candy had left it in place and why the bed was positioned where it was.
Through the mirror, I watched her crawl up the bed. She slid between my legs and sat back on her knees. Then she ran her hands up my body and then caressed my face. She supported herself on one hand and with the other, slid the tip of her glass friend over me.
“You’re fun to play with,” she whispered. “You let me do everything I want.”
“So far everything you want feels really good,” I said. I smoothed my hands up and down her arms and glanced over at the suitcase on the ch
air. “That’s a serious box of toys.”
“I take self-love very seriously,” she said and smiled.
“Self-love? As in...”
“As in, I use them all on myself.”
“Oh.” As the images of all of those colors being inserted, writhed upon and clutched between Candy’s soft thighs flooded my mind, I smiled. “That’s really something.”
Candy chuckled. “I like sex, but I don’t always like the complications of partners.”
“What about me?”
“You... are different,” she smiled gently.
“Why?”
She held her fingers to my lips again. “I’ve been drawn to you by powerful forces beyond my control,” she said and smiled. It sounded like something from a movie, but I wondered if it was true.
I propped my head up on my arm. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Why do you ask?”
I watched her eyes watch mine. I watched her lips begin to speak and then hold back. I watched both of us as if I was standing in the mirror looking down as we danced around something we both wanted, but couldn’t yet say.
“It’s weird,” was all I said in the end.
“What is?”
“Coincidence.”
She nodded and then slid into me.
***
The light was fading outside. I could tell from the sounds Skip was making in the living room that it was almost dinner time. The icing on our bodies had dried and crumbled. My head lay between Candy’s breasts. I palmed one gently and watched the ripples shimmy down to its base like water in a pond.
“This is better than watching a fire,” I said.
I was wearing a harness. The toy between my legs was a thick looking fellow. I’d never been into toys much, but Candy’s had felt different. She knew them all by name, the effects they could administer and the exact way to use each one. I’d paid close attention like the keen student I was and did my best with my instructions. I’d learned the difference between an A-spot and a G-spot and new ways to move my hips and angle my body to deliver the most pleasure. It was the most fun I’d had being tutored in my entire life.
“You know,” I said softly, “we’ve skipped past all the awkward getting-to-know-you sex and gone straight for the good stuff. This has been the most eye-opening weekend ever.”
