Portal 26

Nightlife, Archibald Mosley

My dear friend Alina, upon hearing of my portal adventures, expressed interest in giving it a try. “That would be so neat!” I exclaimed. “Visiting a painting or photo with you would be...” I didn’t know quite how to put it, but Alina said, “Let’s do it!”

“Okay. Where would you like to go?”

Alina mentioned a painting she’d seen called Nightlife. “It’s a jazz club from maybe the 1920s,” she said, “and it looks so fun, so lively! Lots of dancing and hot jazzy music. Gosh, I’m getting excited just thinking about it. So how exactly does it work, this portaling?”

I told her that I didn’t know exactly. “Basically you have to immerse yourself in the painting. Feel it as much as you can. And it sort of takes care of itself.”

Alina frowned. “Takes care of itself? That’s kind of vague.”

“I guess it’s more an art than a science,” I told her.

So we decided to give it a try. “You don’t actually have to be at the site of the actual painting or photo or whatever,” I said. “But the image has to be in front of you one way or another.”

“One way or another,” Alina repeated. She went to an art site on her computer and brought up an image of Archibald Mosley’s painting.

“That does look like fun,” I said.

Alina was concentrating. “Um, do I take off my clothes first?” she asked.

“Not necessary,” I replied. “The clothes just sort of disappear.”

“Do they come back? I’d hate to lose these shoes. They’re so comfy.”

“Better if you don’t concentrate on the shoes,” I suggested.

“Okay, but maybe to be safe I’ll take them off.”

“Fine,” said.

She handed me her shoes. “So do we go in together? Or...?”

“Maybe you should go first,” I said. “Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“I don’t know.” In the back of my mind I was curious whether I’d be able to see Alina in the scene while I was on the outside. “Once you’re in, I’ll join you.”

“Okay, here I go,” Alina said.

I don’t know why, but it didn’t quite work. Alina got almost halfway in and then got stuck.

“Keep going,” I said. “Go, girl, go. You’re almost there.”

But apparently she couldn’t hear me. And I couldn’t see the part of her that was in the painting. I could only see the bottom half of her. I wasn’t sure what to do. Whether to try pushing her in the rest of the way, or pulling her out, or waiting to see what happened.

For the most part, the people in the scene didn’t seem to notice her, or else they didn’t care. But it did seem to me the bartender cast a wary eye at her. I decided I’d better do something. Alina’s legs kicked, her bottom wiggled, but she wasn’t making any progress in or out. I touched her leg. She evidently felt it. Her legs opened. I could see her sex. He lovely sex lips. Her sweet cunt. I touched it. My fingers slipped inside. She was hot and wet. I finger-fucked her gently while holding one ankle. I sucked her toes and continued finger-fucking her. After a minute or two the convulsions of her orgasm began. Mid-climax she disappeared.

For a moment I thought she’d made it into the painting. I searched the scene side to side, top to bottom, but she wasn’t there.

“Emma, you tricked me!” Alina yowled. She was sitting on the floor behind me.

“I didn’t,” I protested. “I don’t know why you didn’t get in.”

Alina took two deep breaths.

“You were halfway,” I said. “Could you see anything?”

“No!” Alina blurted. “It was a blank. Except I could feel you touching me. It was you, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “You came so good.”

“I did,” Alina confirmed. “I came so good.” She took two more deep breaths. “But my dress, my dress is missing.”

It was true. And then I noticed. One of the women in the painting, the one sitting at the bar, was wearing a dress similar if not identical to Alina’s. I pointed it out.

“She stole my dress,” Alina exclaimed.

“It does look that way,” I agreed.

“I liked that dress. She’d better not spill anything on it.” Alina took one last deep breath. “At least I still have my comfy shoes.”