Rain Falls Ch. 06

The party lasted through the night. It was after dawn before I went to the bathroom and came down the stairs to discover that the last guest, and my last chance for a ride, had left. I resigned myself to walking and headed towards the open door.

"Rain?" Eric softly called my name and I stopped half in and half out of the open warehouse door. He was sitting on the couch, just like in the drawing, with a glass of red wine in his hand. "Is that really your name?"

His voice was low and melodic. I loved the way it sounded but it made me a tad jealous. He was successful, beautiful, I assumed wealthy, and he had a great voice too. "Yes."

"I have a problem," he said, which I doubted. "I hear that you're a pro at solving these kinds of things."

There was only one kind of 'problem' that I solved professionally. I scanned his body. He was seated on the same plush couch that he still had so I couldn't easily tell if he had the kind of problem that I knew how to remedy. "I wouldn't think that you had the need for a pro."

"Need... Want... Six of one..." He took a drink from his stemmed wine glass without breaking eye contact. "What's the rate?"

"C," I advised, sure that he'd back down. Every girl that I knew wanted him. He didn't need to pay me.

He nodded once and set his glass on the coffee table. "Close the door."

He didn't fuck me that night. I just gave him head. After that night, I would see him about once a month. He would pay me one for oral and three for sex. Truthfully, it should have been the other way around. It was much easier for me to take him anally than orally.

The three other images on the page I was holding were all doggie-style but, in one, I had my upper body on the seat of the couch, in another, I had my head down, resting on my arms on the floor, the third, I was on all fours. The page that he was working on contained more of the same. There was one of us with me face down, flat on the floor, with him on top, one in missionary with my legs around his waist, one with me riding him, one of us in sixty-nine, and one with both of us upright on our knees, my back to his front. At first I thought they were memories but, as I looked over at the one he was working on, I realized that we had never been in that particular position. It was of me riding reverse, with both of us sitting, I assumed, on the couch.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Just putting thoughts on paper," he replied in a normal speaking voice.

"We haven't done that yet," I pointed out.

He looked up at me for the first time. His eyes scanned my naked and semi-aroused state. He smirked. "You're right." He arched his eyebrows suggestively at me. "Wanna?"

"Oh yeah."

I awoke to the sound of the door sliding open. Eric was coming in, carrying wide, flat pieces of wood.

"Do you need help?" I offered.

He set down the wood and grinned at me. "No. I got it. You stay right where you are. You're a vision just like that."

I had fallen asleep on the couch after a not-so-brief interlude and Eric had gone back to the drafting table. I arched and stretched my back. His couch was more comfortable than my bed. He watched me, with his head slightly tilted and a smirk on his face.

"Tempting." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Very tempting." Then he went back out the door and carried in more wood. There were eight pieces of wood, in total, all about six foot long and four foot wide. He set them in a rack and then came over to sit on the edge of the couch. "Now. It's eight o'clock. How do we go about getting a copy of your birth certificate?"

"Eight?" I asked. "Did you sleep at all?"

"No."

"Are you fucked up?"

"No," he grinned. "Just high on life. This happens when I'm caught up in a project. It's my normal, Baby. Don't fret."

"Are you caught up in a project?"

"Not yet," he replied. "I want to give the cherry time to acclimate. It was dried inside but I don't want to stress it."

"None of what you just said makes any sense," I admitted.

He chuckled, "The wood, Baby. I'm letting it adjust to the climate in here before I start working it."

"Is that important?"

"It can be," he told me. "Probably not in this case but I don't want to add more victims to the mausoleum."

"Mortuary," I corrected him and he chuckled again.

"If you say so." He grinned good naturedly. "I don't want you to get your heart set on it, Baby. It's probably never coming out of there."

"Probably means there's still a chance," I pointed out.

He skimmed his fingertips down my smooth chest. "Why do you want me to finish it so much?" he asked, his fingers circling my belly button.

"It's beautiful, Eric."

"Lots of things are beautiful," he countered, letting his fingers continue on their downward path.

My breath hitched as he lightly drew his fingers down my length. "Suck my cock, Eric."

"Hmm," he smirked. "Getting all dominant on me, are you?"

"Please," I added.

He laughed. "I liked it, Rain. Don't be afraid to tell me what you want."

"I want you to suck my cock, Eric. Please."

He slid down the couch and pushed one of my feet onto the floor. Then he leaned over between my spread legs and swallowed my entire length without even getting it wet first. I love blowjobs. I get lost in the feeling of a warm wet mouth around me, the sensation of being caressed by the strong slick tongue, and, if I'm sensitive enough I think that I can feel the slightly rough texture across my head. I even enjoy the occasional reminder of teeth. I love getting it and I love giving it. The first time I willingly had a cock in my mouth I knew that I was a born cocksucker. It was that good. I was powerful and desirable and needed. Even after all the times I had been on my knees in the years that I was hooking, I was still not indifferent to the rush of power that sucking a man's cock gave me.

But, having Eric's mouth on me was different than anyone else. I didn't get a great deal of head, hardly any, but I knew that Eric had less experience giving it than I did getting it. I could have given him pointers but I didn't. While he didn't have the skill that comes with practice, he had a great deal of enthusiasm. He enjoyed using his mouth on me as much as I did. Admittedly, some of my pleasure was just the tactile but, a majority of my pleasure was from watching him, knowing it was him.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Eric," I gasped. "You are so fucking sexy."

His eyes locked with mine and he almost grinned around my shaft. I threaded my fingers in his thick hair but didn't try to force him. I just needed to touch him. His tongue was snaking back and forth across the underside of my dick while his lips slid up and down the length. At the top of the upstroke he'd circle around my glans and at the down stroke he'd push me down his throat and swallow, massaging my head with his throat muscles. He was making me insane with the need to come and the desire to make it last forever.

I started to climb. I was losing all control as I clutched at his hair and the leather of the couch cushions. "I'm gonna come," I warned him but he already knew. He always knew.

He didn't stop. He didn't drag out my torture by delaying my orgasm. He loved to make me come. He swallowed every drop of my seed and sucked on me until he was sure that he got it all. Then he crawled over my spent body and kissed me passionately, sharing my essence with me.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," I panted. "For you."

He grinned. "Later. I mean breakfast."

"No?" He didn't want to come? I was dumbfounded.

"I know this doesn't make sense to you but I need the sexual tension. It's driving me right now. As soon as I'm happy with the design, it's on. Ok?"

"You're right." I sighed. "It doesn't make sense but I don't want to do anything that might take away your muse. I like you happy like this." I ran my fingers through his luxurious hair.

"Having you naked and in my arms makes me happy." He smiled at me.

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," I told him.

He smiled again and crawled off me. "Come on." He held out his hand to assist me upright. "You need to cover that pert little ass or I'm going to be distracted by it. Why don't you go shower and dress and I'll make some breakfast."

I took his advice and, when I came back downstairs, he was back at the drafting table with a cup of coffee and a cigarette. "Did you eat?"

"Yes." He didn't look up from his work. "It's in the kitchen. Help yourself and then make some calls to find out how we go about getting your birth certificate."

Turns out, not so easy. I was advised by social services that I would have to go to Austin and apply for it in person. After that, there would be a six to eight week wait for it.

"No problem," Eric mumbled when I informed him. "After I finish this, and get some sleep, we can head down. It's only a three hour drive."

The two pages from the night before had multiplied. There were at least a dozen pages now, all of the same theme. A lot of the drawings were of the same act as seen from multiple points of view. "Can I ask?"

"Yes," he replied without looking up.

"Why are you doing the same scene from different angles?"

"Perspective, Baby," he corrected. "I'm trying to find the right perspective for the image to say what I want it to."

"What are you trying to say?"

"What do you see?" he answered my question with a question. Usually that annoyed me but, in this case, I wondered if he was insecure.

"Passion," I replied.

He looked up at me and smiled. "Good."

"Eric? Tell me to shut up and butt out if you want. I won't be offended. I know nothing about this but I had an idea."

"What's your idea?"

"Maybe this would be easier if we setup a mirror," I suggested.

"That wouldn't bother you?" He seemed trepidatious.

My mouth turned up in a half smirk. "I'm a guy. Don't all guys like to watch?"

He grinned at that. "I just don't want to turn what we are together into a project."

I held up several of the sheets of sketches. "Little late for that."

His brow furrowed. "It's not like that. I don't want you to feel like I'm using you."

"I don't," I assured him. "I'm actually quite proud. It's quite a compliment that I'm inspiring you like this. Unless you start wanting to dismember me. I'd have to draw the line there."

He laughed. "I don't think you have to worry about that. I like your body parts right where they are."

"Me too."

"Well, I'll keep the suggestion in mind." He turned back to the table. "I don't have a mirror that big but I can get one if I need to."

"Even if you don't need to," I responded. "It could still be fun."

He groaned and dropped his head onto the table. "Go away," he mumbled into the crook of his arm. "You're making me dicksick."

I walked away with a self-satisfied smile.

Eric spent the rest of the day at the drafting table and I did laundry. The washer and drier were in the mortuary. I discovered, when I got inside it, what I thought was a metal shed, was actually a brick shed with siding. It was odd. Who puts siding on brick? Either way, the building was probably an oven in the heat of the summer. The machine only had cold water but that was fine. I didn't mind washing my clothes in cold. It also gave me a chance to poke around in the discarded art. Along with the mannequin parts that we had stacked in there, it held an assortment of other mediums, glass, stone, wood, and plaster molds. There were no canvases but that didn't surprise me. What did shock me was that everything that seemed to make it into the shed was sensual, erotic, and gentle. None of it, with the exception of the stuff we had added the day before, was violent. It was as if Eric had been trying to capture love but was always disappointed when he did. I wondered if the project that he was working on would find its way into the shed.

After I did my laundry, and Eric's, I stripped the bed and washed the bedding. I also cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom before I ran out of stuff to do. If I had been at home, at this point I would have gone out or read a book, if it was raining. Eric didn't seem to have any books. He didn't have a television either. I went and sat down on the couch.

After an hour or so Eric looked up. "Are you bored? You have to be bored. Why don't you go out?"

"Without you?" I asked.

"If you like."

"Where would I go?"

"Anywhere," he replied. "Take my car."

I laughed. "And do what with it? I can't drive."

"I know you don't have a license but I trust you. Just don't get pulled over."

"That's exactly what would happen, Eric," I smirked. "I can't drive."

"Not at all?" His eyes narrowed in confusion. "How is that possible?"

"I've never had a car," I explained. "Or access to one. I get the idea, break, accelerator, steering wheel, but I have no practical application."

He glared at me playfully. "I'm going to have to write this list down. It keeps growing."

I shrugged.

"What would you like to be doing?"

"Reading," I admitted. "You don't have any books."

"Oh but I do!" he exclaimed and got off his stool. I followed him into the kitchen and he pulled a cookbook out of the pantry. "Here."

"This is a cookbook," I snickered.

"Consider it a homework assignment," he suggested. "It's your first lesson on cooking."

I grinned at him and took the cookbook to the couch. It was one of those white and red checkered, Better Homes and Gardens ones and I guessed it to be about twenty years old. Sure enough, when I opened it, it was dated 1965. It actually had a lot of good information in it. It had conversion charts and explanations of techniques. There was a section on meal planning and nutrition. It had tips and tricks to organizing a kitchen. It even had instructions on how to chop, slice, boil, stuff, baste, and, test. There was even a glossary of terms.

It also had recipes, of course. It made cooking seem easy instead of the dangerous chemistry experiment that I had thought of it as. It inspired me to get up and see what I could make for dinner. A lot of the recipes were for baking and canning and candy making. I skipped that stuff. I was just looking for something basic. I found a recipe for scalloped potatoes. It looked pretty easy. It only had seven ingredients and the first five were a sauce that you poured over the last two. I could do that. It took me about ten minutes to make the sauce. It took me longer to find the measuring cup and spoons and peel and slice the potatoes. I had it baking in the oven in hardly any time at all. It had to bake for an hour so I moved on.

The only meat that Eric had not frozen was pork chops. The book said that all I had to do was brown them in a skillet and then stick them in the oven for an hour. The potatoes were already in there so it was no trouble. So that's what I did. It seemed too simple and I hoped that I didn't poison us. Vegetables seemed too easy too. All I had to do was wash them and heat them. I didn't even have to do that but it didn't seem right to leave them cold.

So here's how it turned out. The broccoli and cauliflower were done way before anything else and they ended up being a little too soft and too cold. The pork chops were dry but that's probably because the book said I could add water if it was necessary. I didn't think it was so I left it out. I made a note to add it if I ever tried that again. The scalloped potatoes were great. I was proud of myself.

"I can't believe that you did this." Eric looked at his plate.

"Don't get excited until you try it," I warned.

He tasted a little of everything and pronounced it very edible. "I figured you out," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yes," he smirked. "All I have to do is get you books on everything. I'll get you one on driving the next time I'm out."

I ended up going to bed without him, which was weird but didn't prevent me sleeping. I drifted off in Eric's very comfortable bed with the sound of Robert Smith's distant voice at a level just loud enough for me to be able to differentiate between songs.