Is it sleek black stockings in high heels, or a warm hug?

It started with a whisper, wine-red lipstick breathing into my ear at a crucial moment:

"Eric, I don't want you to see Martha anymore."

My hands were around her waist; she was sitting on my lap, squirming. Her green hazel eyes slithered over mine and her hand stole its way over my body, pausing over my ragged cheek before curling around my well-hidden cock.

It was hard to breathe.

"I don't want you to hang around Martha anymore. She's so... shoddy."

Shoddy? Martha was shoddy. But --

"And ugly."

Ugly?

"But why?"

"What do you mean but why?"

Green dragon eyes, loading up fire canisters.

"Why? She's just my friend."

"Was, Eric. She was your friend. I'm your friend now, Eric."

She licked my ear, pausing to nibble and then bite it. Suddenly the hand crawling around my cock was gone. She was standing up, the green and white jumpsuit gone, nipples hard and ready.

"Fuck your friend, Eric."

My hard cock pounded into her, toppling her onto the satin bed and plunging deep inside her. I cried out and kissed her, licking her lipstick and then tickling her soft curly breasts. She came hard, laughing. I pulled out and came all over her hips. She was on the pill, but she didn't want to take any chances.

Neither did I.

Before she left, she dug up one of my paintings from an old suitcase. She frequently made it a hobby to poke around my things. The paint was four months old, and fading fast. It was a woman, thin and tall with just a small shred of color wrapped around her.

"Who's this?"

"Nobody. Just a model."

She seemed satisfied, leaving my house with a beaming smile, and a promise to call.

Martha lived in the room opposite mine. I knocked on her door. And hearing no reply, I opened and entered.

"Martha?"

"I'll be there in a sec, plant yourself in the TV, will you?"

I couldn't find the TV. There was too much stuff everywhere. Unbroken pizzas, uneaten food, undrinkable coffee, underwear and bras, and little and big figures of clay were everywhere. Martha sculpted.

Brilliantly.

I made some coffee and plopped down on the couch. After a bit of searching, I discovered the TV, and after a little while, the remote. I polished the TV screen with my T-shirt and settled back down. Then I heard her call, "Eric, over here please?"

In the last four months, she'd only invited me into the 'studio' twice. I spilled the coffee over the couch as I scrambled to my feet and pushed the black curtain aside. She could change her mind very easily.

She was sitting on a high stool, watching me enter.

"Well, what do you think?"

It was a bust. It was my bust. It was breathtaking.

"I didn't know I was so handsome."

"Stop it Eric."

"Really, its good. Very good."

"Really?"

"Really really."

She bit her lip and her brown warm skin gave me a nice hug. I took a nice draught of the warm earth that always seemed to dangle about her. Like her, I loved the smell of work.

"Now you must show me your paintings."

I smiled.

"Maybe."

Maybe not.

We moved out of the dimly lit room and into the electric light outside. Martha squinted lightly, getting used to the light.

"I'll just shower and come back. Okay?"

"Sure."

I took my place on the couch and flicked channels. Somebody was coaching potential lovers. Somebody else was exhorting the merits of divorce.

She came back, having freshly showered and changed into a nice black dress. Her blue eyes twinkled in the bright light. I got her a cup of coffee, black.

"Nice," she breathed slowly relishing every drop.

"Thanks."

She leaned back on the couch, her tall lean body stretching over the cushions, her eyes closed.

"So who did you have over? Christine?"

It was only a week since we started trading relationships. It was still a very itchy topic.

I nodded.

"So... how did it go?"

"We broke up."

She choked on the coffee. I smiled.

"What happened?"

"Oh... nothing much, she was too pressy."

"Pressy?"

"Nagging."

"Oh..."

It was an awkward moment. I watched her trying her best not to meet my eyes, and doing a bad job of it.

"So, how's your love life going?" I asked.

"Okay, I guess."

She spent almost the entire day in this apartment.

"You've got to go out more, you know?"

Her eyes twinkled, "Maybe I'm waiting for the right man?"

"And maybe I'm waiting for the perfect girl too... brown-skinned, blue-eyed, and with clay on her hands."

She blushed.

"Oh, stop it Eric."

I didn't.