Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque


Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque

Sophie’s Story

Odalisque in Grisaille Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres  (French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop
Odalisque in Grisaille
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres
(French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop

Gumby Lover

“I Know that I’m not much to look at but I used to be the Crown Prince of Manhood, the Courtier of Cum among Royal Lovers.”

This laughable boast came on an exultation of foul and fetid breath akin to human waste lying in the bottom of a sewer emitting from this wizened and emaciated corpse like figure with a red bulging knobby doorknob on the end of a shriveled pecker. How it managed to stand at attention was a miracle from the saints or gods of nonstop porn.  His face was a veritable road-map of lines, wrinkles, valleys, pitted scars with a bird beak blue veined appendage masquerading as a nose jutting forth from sunken cheeks.  Above the beak nose were two rheumy eyes topped by beetle brows which looked more like two warring caterpillars wrangling for domination of an egg shaped skull sprouting tufts of errant hairs growing from the beak nose, elongated ears and the various moles on his scrofulous person.

Then it began. I closed my eyes and did my best to disengage all my senses as this old bag of bones began his pitiful assault upon my body.  I tried to drown out the sound of the Click-Clacking of false teeth in rhythm with hurried asthmatic prods that gradually became more pathetic and feebler though he put his hairy back best with his pecker pushing.  Thankfully he was done in under four minutes.  The way he panted and gasped for air I thought he was having a heart attack and about to cum and go at the same time!

Four minutes of torture and hell. Because I have Scoliosis I had to deal with the runts of the litter. Yup I get all the Gumbys and Pokeys.  Though we are fed, housed, clothed and housed like Renaissance Odalisques there is still a pecking order of beauty.  My face, my sun-kissed umber skin, my small perfectly round breasts and long curly wavy chestnut locks got me a reprieve from just being another filthy dirty street urchin but this curvature of the spine has relegated me to servicing the worst of the many Geezer patrons who pass through these palatial doors.

Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets men were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us an Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.

I saved my favorite costume for my only true Lover, Semper Fi.  It was a beautiful blood red silk satin with lace trimming with velvet calf length skirts. However as joyful as I was when I donned the frock what pleased me even more were the Bordello Shoes—Red Velveteen Victorian button-up Boots with a two inch heel. My long thick Chestnut hair was caught up in a chignon ala Gibson Girl but I captured the Bohemian spirit of the Flapper.

Few and far in between are opportunities to be with my Beloved Semper Fi a robust man in his late 40s. Mattered not to him my twisted spine as he guided me gently onto his massive bull staff. Skillfully bringing me to numerous orgasms complimenting me on my long curly chestnut hair, my perfect A Cup breasts gifted with large sensitive raisins that grew even larger as he sucked and licked me into ecstasy. What gave me even more pleasure than his substantial endowment was that he chose me. Semper would call at least two or three days in advance specifically requesting my services.  I felt honored to be chosen by this man among men…………………………………………………………………………….

 

Sophie’s Origins

I came to this Bordello from a rural backwater village that held onto the 19th Century in custom, culture and values long after its demise, after a disastrous arranged marriage. From my birth I was considered “Damaged goods”. Upon seeing me after I was born my father was ready to throw me to hyenas and rabid dogs that fed on discarded garbage in the town dump.  My mother, grandmother and aunts stayed his hand. So ashamed of me was him I called father that he kept me within the compound as much as possible and I was only allowed outside on infrequent shopping excursions with my female relatives for food, house supplies and to buy enough fabric to make clothing which would covered the misshaped hump that dominated my form.  Around the ages of 14 and 15 when most young women were making suitable marriages I had no suitors. Every young man in the village knew of my deformity though I rarely made an appearance in town.  Bad news travels fast.  My family was fairly well off and we lived quite comfortably so I had a somewhat considerably dowry, yet I still had no takers.  No man wanted to love me.  Eventually as I approached my 18th birthday having resigned myself to being an Old Maid my father finally found a match in a far flung outpost where no man knew my embarrassing truth.  Negotiations began. A Wedding date was set and I was delivered to my betrothed.  The Festivities nearly two days and my future husband was eager to retire to our luxurious tent to consummate our union.

But there was no consummation because once my betrothed removed my clothes, he screamed in disgust that he had been saddled with a hunchback for a wife.  He refused to do his husbandly duties and angrily return me to my father’s tent.  My father ashamed and now disgraced in not one but two villages sent me packing out from our tribal home into what I perceived as an unknown and dangerous wasteland.  So great was his fury and so hurried his dismissal that I hurriedly left with only the clothes on my twisted back and what few personal possessions I could carry, rushing to escape his stormy anger.

Good Fortune did smile on me as I traversed pock marked, poorly lit, rubble strewn road leading away from the only home I had ever known.  Angels in the form of my mother, aunts and sisters had extinguished my father’s fiery rage through liberal applications of wine spiked with sleeping potions. They then saddled horses from his stables and intercepted my wilderness journey.  We hugged, cried, and mourned the passing of me, Jephthah’s daughter cast out like Hagar from those she loved traveling who knows where.

They had also bargained with the disgruntled groom and his family to win back half my dowry which gifted me along with one strong but sway back donkey, an animal who mirrored my disability and fortitude.  I a prodigal daughter who had committed no sin in my youth and innocence only to be rescued by the House of Sin…………………………………

 

Semper Fidelis

Semper Fi never removed his spectacles even in the heat of desire. His pince-nez caught, captured and dispensed salty yearning drops of sweat upon whichever passion princess he had chosen for his evenings of lust.

His bull powered thrusts accompanied by violent shakes and heaves of the Brass headboard threatened to crash through the plaster thin wall and into the adjoining room. Fellow patrons and madams nicknamed him the Bull in the China Shop for his furious jackhammer prick pounding he gave to Ladies of the Evening with his equine sized crimson member.  His broad face with flaring nostrils and rather full lips rendered him some animistic qualities which he gladly played out in the boudoir.

His sonorous speeches gave way to primal grunts, groans, and growls that increased with intensity of each hammer G-Spot driven plunge. At the crescendo when he could no longer hold back the volcanic force surging inside he withdrew to spew his semen eruption over his mistress rounded abdomen, full firm breasts and thick thighs.

During the week he was a respectable Antique Bookshop Owner dealing with annoying customers and fickle publishers and shady book collectors. By the weekend it’s like all that ferocity wrapped up inside he was ready to be released in the Ultimate Weekend Fuck Fest. Sometimes he was able to release building tension with whichever out of town female research bookseller/collector was in town for a convention or a project.  He was usually able to win them over with his humor, charm and dinners at the finest restaurants in town.  Fortunately for Semper Fi his begetter though rich in seminal fluids was totally devoid of sperm otherwise he would have sired legions offspring with the many young fertile women he serviced on a regular basis. On first glance his dangling appendage had ample girth but seemed to lack length but that assumption was quickly falsified during arousal.

Such was his reputation that every Friday when he made his grand entrance into the Pussy Palace Bordello all the Ladies in Waiting vied for his attention by wearing their most entrancing scintillating garb so that they would be the chosen mare to be rode hard and put out wet.

Semper Fi with his musician fingers explored every nook, cranny, crevice and grotto of the selected woman’s body blessing her with multiple orgasms before entering her moist dark chambers with his elephantine rod of steel.

The aromatic oils that he liberally anointed his body daily provided powerful pheromones when mixed with his natural man musk scent.  Sometimes his spurting semen cascaded over the woman like golden glistening raindrops against a window pane.  Other times he ejaculated copious white cream which sprayed over flaming hips and thighs like a profuse foggy mist mixing with her fragrant perspiration murky perfumes.

His favorite of the entire harem was Sophronia  or Sophie as she was generally called whose twisted back gave him a thousand pleasures in mind and body while away from her or when tracing his fingers along the S-shaped curve that she desperately tried to hide with elaborate costumes……………………

(To Be Continued)

 

 

50 Ways to Leave Your Lover and Enjoy the ID Channel


Dumb Shit that Men Over 50 have said to me on dates or Why I Stop Dating Men and Started Dating the ID Channel.

50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

http://www.aarp.org/home-family/dating/info-03-2013/6-reasons-to-date-women-your-own-age.2.html

I want a woman who’s young and firm.

How you want a young woman who’s fit and trim when you resemble the Pillsbury Doughboy? And even if you have kept up your body with exercise, what happened to that Big 70s Afro you had back in the day? Hmmm…. I believe a little thing called balding has caught up with you. Looks like a job for Minoxidal. Oh yes can you do something about the nose and ear hair while you’re at it? Seems like the hair on your head has migrated to your olfactory and auditory systems. By the way did you notice you face has gotten a little craggy around the edges. I dare say most 20 & 30 somethings would find those things repulsive.

As for these Super-Size females in their 20s who are between 5 feet 1 and 5 ft 5 inches who weigh 200+ lbs at age 25 I daresay I’m more fit than they. Plus size is only cute until you hit 40 and find yourself weighed down by diabetes and on a respirator. Mickey D’s is a way of life for many 20 somethings who have never seen the inside of a kitchen except to step to the refrigerator and over to the micro-wave.

More Kids

Moron. You could barely afford the 3 or 4 crumb snatchers and rug rats you had during the 80s, why in the hell would you want more kids? You can’t even go up a flight of steps without breathing hard much less try to chase a toddler through the house. Heck if you really want to hear the pitter-patter of little feet I’m sure that those kids you had during the 1970s and 1980s will oblige you with grandchildren. At least you can give those little monsters back when you get tired of them.

Strutting down the street with a woman young enough to be your daughter or grand-daughter might seem good for a while until the young bimbo gets tired of your Geritol using, Viagra needy ass and moves onto men her own age who can actually satisfy her and will live longer.  In the evening before what you think will be a wild night of passionate love-making, seeing you take out your dentures to soak them in Polident will put the kibosh on any romantic endeavors.

And By the Way bubble head heifer will probably use Texting, Twitter or Facebook to break up with you. However as my beloved parents used to say, “There’s No Fool like an Old Fool.”

Conversations with the young hussy will only result in long drawn out explanations.  If your Reality Show Girlfriend does not remember or has not actually experienced the following, you’re in trouble.

Transistor Radios — portable and cool

Earth Shoes

S&H Green Stamps — Too much licking and sticking

Drive-In Movies — Dr. Zhivago

Ed Sullivan — I only really recall the little mouse Topo Gigo

Mitch Miller — Everyone in my neighborhood watched just to see Leslie Uggams.

Lawrence Welk – hated him, but my parents loved him so I had to watch

Records: 78s, 33 1/3rds, 45s

RCA Magnavox TV with the tubes

Ralph Kiner and Lindsey Nelson

Rheingold Beer

Schaffer Beer

Wattstax

The Automat

Stick with me Mature Man we can Walk Down Memory Lane together with our Bifocals and I’ll laugh at your corny Laugh-In jokes.

 

 

Geezer Magnet


Geezer Magnet

Moms Mabley
Moms Mabley

Yesterday I finally came to grips with the fact that I’m a Geezer Magnet. Every man attracted to me is in the 65+ category. I blame the overuse of Viagra and his brother Cialis. The discovery of these medications has given dirty old men a new weapon in their limited arsenal.

My 78 year old neighbor Ms. Ruby and I were enjoying yesterday’s R&B music concert at our housing development. Good turnout. Great soul music. There was a 90 year old man sitting in front of us who kept trying to hit on me. Wanted to dance. For almost the entire concert he kept turning around trying to touch me. At one point I smacked his hand away. Ms. Ruby says he can’t do nothing. She says his dick probably like a dried up chili! Ms. Ruby also let me know that he was a widower who took up with five women after his wife died. One of his girlfriends’s wound up in a nursing home.

How this old coot wanna touch or dance when he can barely walk and if I pushed him hard enough he’d be crying, “Help me I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” Limp dick, bald head, spotty hand mofo still trying to get coochie! Damn shame!

Old Folks finally left the show around 7pm. Whew!! I could finally enjoy the rest of the show in peace & quiet. Mr. Age Spots almost got smacked in the head by one of my Muslim neighbors because he was trying to touch her butt as she was talking with us! Never mess with an African-American Muslim Woman. We had to hold her back. Shoot! Neither Allah nor Jesus would have been able to help that old coot if my Muslim neighbor had started whaling on his wrinkled behind.

Ms. Ruby told me he had buried one wife and put some girlfriend in a Nursing Home. One day that dirty old man will come and go at the same time! Viagra has made him overconfident. There is no way I’d want to see a man old enough to be my father naked.

Thankfully we were able to enjoy the final hour of the concert and our Kool & the Gangs favorites from the band. Next week is Gospel. Hopefully he won’t be there. Oh well as my parents used to say, “There’s No Fool like an Old Fool.” Rochdale Village seems to have an overabundance of dirty old men on the prowl. Go figure.

Another only in New York Geezer hit man story.  A couple of Thursdays ago my friends and I boarded the Downtown M3 bus. Naturally we took seats close to each other near to the door. Paul was reading a story in the New York Times about the passing of author Gore Vidal. Next thing we know the drunk in front of Paul turns around and starts talking to Paul and Keith about another author Tennessee Williams. Paul and Keith are doing their best to ignore this idiot when after Cora and I began to talk he turned his ugly gaze upon us or rather upon me in particular.

I was trapped. He went on and on about how beautiful and natural I was, if I was married…. I told him that I was taken. He asked me what sign was my husband. I said Scorpio. “Hey, I like Scorpio men and they like me.” However this began to lead to sex talk. I told him I was a Christian. Then this demented beat up elderly excuse for Leon Spinks starts telling us or rather me that he used to be a pimp but now he’s a Christian. Meanwhile Paul and Keith have gotten very quiet. Every time we try to talk among ourselves, Old Folks Leon Spinks would chime in. After several tense moments Cora and I are praying that this guy gets off the bus. Our prayers were answered but not before he asked me to go with him to the liquor store. Damn that Negro had way too much Ripple or Thunderbird already.

Mr. Rotten Teeth also gave me a speech on his days as a Pimp along with his pleas for me to join him. When Raggedy Man realized I was moving he got off the bus but not without giving me a broken teeth leer.

Paul, Keith and Cora were relieved as well as me when he finally left. Dear God I don’t know why I attract idiotic good for nothing worthless men. Then to make things worse they all want to touch me and/or take me somewhere like the 75+ old coot who came to the museum talking trash to me about how I’d make a good slave in this play he was producing in North Carolina. I asked him, “Why I gotta be the slave?” Then he added insult to injury by asking me how to get to the New York Public Library. I informed him that the downtown buses; M2, M3 or M4 would happily take him there since I would not. Just get off at 42nd street. By this time he was getting desperate and saw that he was getting nowhere with his corny lines so next he implored me to escort him to the 19th Century Art section within the museum. Once again I refused his request stating that my supervisor who was in plain view through the glass doors would not allow me to do so. He looks at my supervisor then lets loose with the final insult. “Oh he looks like Obama.”  My, my, my….  How white of him. Jackass.

At this point I’m totally disgusted and said Sir now go out there and tell my supervisor what you just told me. He and his cane hobbled through the doors over to my supervisor. After gaining his attention he thought better of his statement and just asked directions to the Impressionists.

Hopefully the next time I see Cora, Keith, Paul or my neighbor Ms. Ruby we can all laugh but hopefully we will not see this kook or any of his horny brethren again!  Nursing home rejects. Nutty dirty old men in the museum, in the park, on the bus and in the subway!

Ladies I’m like Moms Mabley. As Moms used to say, “The only thing an old man can do for me is to show me where to find a young one!”

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