Read Online A Matter of Love in da Bronx by Paul Argentini - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Argentini
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heels; plump, girdle-held buns, fleshy bare arms; and slightly heavy but shapely legs. The French would say "une belle tournure," the English voluptuous, the New Yorkers zavdic. For such a body, whatever it was called, it was going to waste. Mary knew that. The heat her body generated was dissipated as mere room convection. Even though she was paid no more for doing a rub-off, a job requiring more skill in the production process than being a sewing machine operator, it was fun to make soft patterns. It wasn't exactly designing clothes, but it was better than being chain-stitched to a sewing machine, which was infinitely better than what the boss tried to offer on one's own time, that is, after punching out for the day. Another shot at a proposition, no doubt.
She turned back to the too familiar chore of race-guiding materials under the foot and needle. Brrrrrrrttttttttt! Brrrrrrrttttttt! Boring! Vomitously boring. She used as little of her operating mind to concentrate on the task needed to make her wages more than something to ridicule. Petty wages. Piece work was unforgiving, one got paid by the amount of work done, and done correctly; one didn't get paid for what one didn't do--anathema for such as politicians and diplomats who were used to boring work. And, if one couldn't keep up with the rest of the workers to keep production flowing smoothly, one was asked to give up the machine and hunt for work elsewhere. Whatever. It was still boring. Brrrrrrrrrrrr...
...Golden illumination from the brilliant sun against a clear, cloudless canopy of skyblue comingling reflections with the frothy seawater green and sugarwhite sand of an endless shore. The majestic alabaster equine a chorale of pulsing muscles, arhythmically hoofpounding to deepchested snorts consuming hectares at each flowing rise to outspeed envious onshore breezes. Aboard, in a billowing, tenuous film of bright bridal lace around her florescent, heaving body, she strained to retain bareback control, her knees indigging the flanks of the surging, pumping beast between her legs, a handful of mane twistbraided through guiding artful fingers. In the distance, like the looming head of a charging lance, another royal beast and a fairhaired riding colossus swiftly seizing at the space of shore between them. Allo! Allo! To hide, unseen...somewhat! To the beached rocks there! Ahead! A dune's length alee. Wait! Stand 'til he passes! The stamping, quivering flesh beneath of her horse in frenzy at the frustrating interruptus, holds tightstring as a drawn bow until the acmatic mortal flows galloping by, is then totally released again to gain its unsighted goal upbeach. Allo! Allo! Notgone unseen! His steed rears; his call an imprecation to wilier senses. Reverse! Reverse! Now, in pursuit again, he. Let the chase be on! Swifter, and faster, and harder, and deeper go the prints of doublesets of pounding hooves. Closer he draws. No place to hide! Foamy animal sweat falls intermingling with shorefrothed failing waves in shorter and shorter gaps. Until! Alongside, thigh to thigh, he reaches across ecstasy's charged air to clamp her like an island to the shore of his eager arms. There! At last, together, near co-joined, they make for the multi-colored flappings of Araby's deserted tent. Her bosom to his breast, he dismounts, tenderly transporting his treasure inside, laying superheated flesh on welcoming, algid silken down. Pectorals tense, a loincloth untied, wild anticipation painting the air. Allo! Allo! The dagger found by her side, unsheathed rides forward more to preserve her honor than to fend him away. Not you! Not you! Earn your day! The lunge! How fast! The point brings a blood-spurt, the cry lost as open mouth covers open mouth. Caressing hands seek to bathe in erotic fountains of response. Push away! Push away! to prevent any gain, but her spirit hands lock themselves at his nuque as he rises above her, high, with a ready rush to impale, to invade, to imprison her soul
She turned back to the too familiar chore of race-guiding materials under the foot and needle. Brrrrrrrttttttttt! Brrrrrrrttttttt! Boring! Vomitously boring. She used as little of her operating mind to concentrate on the task needed to make her wages more than something to ridicule. Petty wages. Piece work was unforgiving, one got paid by the amount of work done, and done correctly; one didn't get paid for what one didn't do--anathema for such as politicians and diplomats who were used to boring work. And, if one couldn't keep up with the rest of the workers to keep production flowing smoothly, one was asked to give up the machine and hunt for work elsewhere. Whatever. It was still boring. Brrrrrrrrrrrr...
...Golden illumination from the brilliant sun against a clear, cloudless canopy of skyblue comingling reflections with the frothy seawater green and sugarwhite sand of an endless shore. The majestic alabaster equine a chorale of pulsing muscles, arhythmically hoofpounding to deepchested snorts consuming hectares at each flowing rise to outspeed envious onshore breezes. Aboard, in a billowing, tenuous film of bright bridal lace around her florescent, heaving body, she strained to retain bareback control, her knees indigging the flanks of the surging, pumping beast between her legs, a handful of mane twistbraided through guiding artful fingers. In the distance, like the looming head of a charging lance, another royal beast and a fairhaired riding colossus swiftly seizing at the space of shore between them. Allo! Allo! To hide, unseen...somewhat! To the beached rocks there! Ahead! A dune's length alee. Wait! Stand 'til he passes! The stamping, quivering flesh beneath of her horse in frenzy at the frustrating interruptus, holds tightstring as a drawn bow until the acmatic mortal flows galloping by, is then totally released again to gain its unsighted goal upbeach. Allo! Allo! Notgone unseen! His steed rears; his call an imprecation to wilier senses. Reverse! Reverse! Now, in pursuit again, he. Let the chase be on! Swifter, and faster, and harder, and deeper go the prints of doublesets of pounding hooves. Closer he draws. No place to hide! Foamy animal sweat falls intermingling with shorefrothed failing waves in shorter and shorter gaps. Until! Alongside, thigh to thigh, he reaches across ecstasy's charged air to clamp her like an island to the shore of his eager arms. There! At last, together, near co-joined, they make for the multi-colored flappings of Araby's deserted tent. Her bosom to his breast, he dismounts, tenderly transporting his treasure inside, laying superheated flesh on welcoming, algid silken down. Pectorals tense, a loincloth untied, wild anticipation painting the air. Allo! Allo! The dagger found by her side, unsheathed rides forward more to preserve her honor than to fend him away. Not you! Not you! Earn your day! The lunge! How fast! The point brings a blood-spurt, the cry lost as open mouth covers open mouth. Caressing hands seek to bathe in erotic fountains of response. Push away! Push away! to prevent any gain, but her spirit hands lock themselves at his nuque as he rises above her, high, with a ready rush to impale, to invade, to imprison her soul
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