Chapter 36: A resurgence of creative juices

Art classes would be starting again soon. Janelle would be able to stump up the fees and other costs herself now, though it was going to knock a bit of a hole in her finances. They were to advance onto other media besides drawing. Oils, water-colour. Tapestry. Sculpture. An introduction to the techniques of each, and a historical rundown of the main innovators.

Sculpture was something Janelle felt she could really get into. She'd deliberately avoided it up 'til now because it had been Christine's main thing. But since the two of them were no longer on speaking terms after the Julie Domme Debacle, Janelle didn't feel so constrained anymore to stay out of her way artistically.

One evening later that week there was a ring on the doorbell, and who should be standing there but Robert.

"You haven't called me" he said with a trace of reproach in his voice.

"Don't worry," Janelle assured him from the doorway, "I will, when I need you."

"Can I come in?"

"Sure, but not for long. I got plans."

Robert sank into that portion of sofa not taken up by art books and paraphernalia.

"Coffee?" Janelle asked.

"Allow me! I can make it!"

"Whatever for?"

"I want to serve you anyway I can!"

"Down, boy! Hold your horses. I'm gonna fix us some coffee, alright? Quit yer snivellin' for a second."

"Okay." He looked chastened.

"How do you take it?"

"Cream, and sugar."

Janelle busied herself in her kitchenette, and returned bearing cups and saucers to find Robert leafing through a book on Monet. He put it down and took up his cup.

He got right to the point.

"I can't stop thinking about the last time I was here."

Janelle waited.

Robert lowered his voice to a confidential whisper.

"I even masturbated about it."

"Good for you!"

"Doesn't that merit some kind of penance?"

"Like what?"

"A punishment. Or a denial of rights."

"What rights? You got no rights!"

"Denial of the right to cum?"

"Would you like that?"

"No. But if it pleases you..."

"Frankly, I couldn't give a shit how often you cum. As long as you're there when I need you."

"And when will that be?"

Janelle reflected for a moment.

"Well, I been kinda busy this week. Classes are starting again, so I had to get organized."

"Tie me up. Slap me again."

"You mean, right now?"

"Please" he said plaintively.

"Sorry, I'm not in the mood. But thanks for stopping by."

Janelle stood and moved to the door, unlatching it.

Robert stood uncertainly, wondering what to say next.

"Don't you like me?"

"Sure I like you. Especially when you do as you're fuckin' told. When I'm ready to brutalize you some more, I'll call."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Janelle didn't call for another four days.

Instead, in her time-off from work she busied herself with a folio and pencil, roughing out ideas in 2-D for the sculpture component of her art classes.

Initially she'd been much influenced by the very political fem-domme themes of Christine's big exhibition. Except that her own thoughts soon strayed from that clinical, Man-as-Mere-Reproductive-Accessory school of thought. Not that she took all of that to be "man-hating", because there wasn't necessarily any hate in it. It was a more neutral thing than that. Christine and her ilk just had no regard, no time, no affection at all, for men.

Janelle, on the other hand, liked men.

She liked to boss them. She liked them to suffer. She liked them to go to extraordinary lengths for her.

But she liked them. She enjoyed a man's company.

And she liked cocks.

Strictly on her own terms, of course, but she did like cocks. What neat little toys for a woman's pleasure! Just gotta get them trained right.

And so a warmth emerged in the dominance concepts she was mapping out on paper. An underlay of kindness beneath the stern-ness. There was suffering in there for sure, suffering in spades, but also a respect for that suffering.

And eroticism. This was not going to be overtly political. Janelle's themes were going to champion sexual emancipation, by some very hands-on approaches. Real up close and personal, you might say.

Having taken this mother-lode of inspiration as far as it was going to go for now, Janelle decided to take a breather. Meanwhile her itch had been building, and it needed scratching.

She called up Robert.

"At last!" he gushed into the 'phone. "It's been FOUR days!"

Janelle froze slightly at this accusatory tone.

"You can come on over" she said a little stiffly, "but bring some six-packs."

The doorbell buzzed less than half an hour later. Frail, beautiful Robert crossed the threshold bearing four six-packs in his arms, and a shopping bag full of party snacks.

"I got Bud. Is that okay?"

"Bud's fine. After all, you'll be drinkin' 'em."

"Do you have a party planned?"

"Nope. Jes' only you and me."

He brightened at this.

"Puts me in mind of a joke!"

"Do tell."

Janelle cracked open a Bud and handed it to him as he sank back into the little sofa. He took a hefty swig, then began.

"This guy buys a farm out west, miles from anywhere. On the day he moves in, he stands on his porch and he sees a little dust cloud on the horizon. It gets closer, and closer, and turns out to be a truck, which stops in front of the house. A huge, grizzled, butt-ugly, inbred hill-billy type gets out and says "How ya doin'! I'm Jeb, your closest neighbour, from 50-mile that-a-way." "Howdy, neighbour" the guy says. The neighbour says "I want to make y'all welcome into the neighbourhood, by invitin' ya to a party at my place ter-night." "I'll be glad to come", the guy says. "But first," says the neighbour, leaning closer, "I hope yer don't mind heavy drinkin'." "I reckon I can hold my drink" the guy says. "I hope yer don't mind if there's a bit of fightin'." "I like to see a good fight" he replies. Leaning even closer, the hill-billy says "I hope yer don't mind if there's lotsa SEX." "Nuthin' against sex" our hero replies, "but anyway, how should I dress up for this. What do folks around here wear to parties?" The hill-billy looks puzzled for a second. Then he says..." Robert paused for effect, "... you kin wear what you fuckin' please, it'll jes' be the two of us!"

Janelle pursed her lips somewhat. After a few moments she permitted herself to smile.

"Good one! And one thing I can guarantee, yes there will be SEX!"

Robert looked pleased about his little ice-breaker.

"So, what do you have in store for me this evening?"

"We just gonna hang for a bit, enjoy a few beers, and then I got some bondage in mind for you."

"Oh goody!"

"And some humiliation."

His brow furrowed a little at this, but he didn't enquire further. He ripped the tab from another can and offered it to her.

"You have it. Bud gives me a sore pussy."

"Huh?"

"You put me in mind of another joke."

"You gonna tell it?"

Janelle opened a can of salted peanuts and tipped some into her palm.

"This girl from England is a tourist visiting New York City, and she wants to visit a pub one evening, just like they all do back home in Essex. So she finds a bar in the Lower East Side not far from the backpackers place where she's staying, and she sees that they have Miller, and Bud. So she asks some of the patrons, which is better? Miller, or Bud? They tell her "We drink Bud", so she does the same. And she yarns with them, and she drinks, and she yarns, and she drinks some more, and at the point of being only-just still capable, she says "Toodle-pip, everyone!" and totters out the door. And most of the guys in the bar immediately get to their feet and follow her out. Next evening she's back, and says "Gimme a Bud", which she gets, and then another, and another, and then she finally staggers out, and this time the entire clientele get up and follow her out. Third evening, she comes back to the same bar, and she says to the barman "Gimme a Miller." "I thought you drink Bud?" "I'm gonna switch to Miller," she says. "That Bud has been giving me a sore pussy!"

"Touche'" said Robert, in a tone of grudging respect.

"Bottoms up! Sooner you get through those beers, the sooner we can start!"

"I gotta drink all of them?"

"Not all. But I'll tell you when you can stop."

Janelle reached to her CD player and changed the disk. Green Day. Not bad for a bunch of white-boy pop musicians.

Then she opened her folio and continued embellishing one of her sketches, while Robert swigged on at a succession of Buds, nodding in time to the beat, and watching her while she worked.

"Neat straight-jacket!" he commented, looking at the designs Janelle had marked out in one margin. "Very stylish!"

"I try," Janelle responded drily.

"Is that what you have in mind for me?"

"Nice idea, but unfortunately, I don't right now have a straight-jacket. Maybe sometime we could go shopping for one?"