Chapter 25

You may have noticed me referring to the Amazon as my wife. I proposed the moment she announced her pregnancy. Deciding where to wed preoccupied us until the old flapper recommended an outdoor wedding on the beach at the end of Long Island. As usual, our choice of seasons proved poor. The late November air chilled and blew and made the ceremony that much more memorable and the reception inside the Montauk mansion that much more appreciated. Mother called the minister, her first patron, and he agreed. He kept it relatively short and not very religious. We thought about writing vows, but realized words couldn't contain our love. The princess at the reception read a long poem communicating our love as well as any words could. Her skill and brilliance shone. Despite a half hour recitation, no one felt uncomfortable, embarrassed at the length or bored. She had us rapt, laughing at one moment and shedding tears at the next; not me, at least the tears part, but many others including my wife.

Who to invite to the wedding of an underage gigolo son of a mistress whose pregnant wife wasn't quite showing and whose in-laws on both sides disliked the new in-law? Nearly everyone actually. The Amazon and I made our list, the secretary attending and recording in shorthand and researching addresses for those difficult to track. The old flapper and my mom worked on a list as well. I delivered our list to the old flapper and a stack of cards created by my sister. We ended up needing more. My sister had them printed by her friends at the shop that had printed our Vase fliers and programs and would print her audience attracting gallery poster. The invitations turned out unique and gorgeous. We sent them to all the old patrons except the alderman asshole, all my clients past and present, the literary agent and the staff at the publisher who paid an exorbitant amount for a first time book, all my poet and artist friends including the fashion photographer and his current boyfriend and those my mother and I had posed for over the years, Grandma and the ranger of course, the Amazon's family, the family she stayed with in Woodstock, the woodworker and the Amazon's first mentor, my sister's mentor, the gallery owner and staff where the mentor and my sister showed their work, even the gallery owner in Paris and the sexy assistant, friends at Bard, including students and faculty and the old couple and their great granddaughter, my collaborators for the Vase and their families, the princess of course and her father, the eccentric professor, the heiress, the architect and the contractor. In other words almost everyone we knew and didn't hate.

Many didn't show. Being in a secretive business restricted availability. Some clients and patrons found excuses for the evening. The producer showed up with his wife since both my mother and I worked for him. Others had divorced and attended without threat. Surprise guests included the shy woman who had a shy man with her, making me happy and the matron who I made happy by being off the junk. Disappointments included the pixie who nearly cried when family obligations kept her away and the vixen who I hadn't seen for awhile and liked. She wrote a letter of apology, simple and heartfelt, wishing us a long and happy marriage. The blonde beauty would have come except her nosy, mean spirited daughter noticed the invitation and became suspicious despite the old flapper being a friend and she decided to not push her luck. Besides she was jealous. Only the dancer, the guide and the actor showed from Bard. The heiress represented the retreat rebuilding contingent. Most of my artist friends showed, an excuse to drink as did the poets for similar reasons. The drummer and his family came along with the mulatto. In fact they jammed with Negro friends Mother hired for the reception. The lighting kid showed, still mooning over my sister despite the lengthy separation, and they snuck off to fuck at some point during the festivities for old time's sake, turning mooning into a permanent smile for the rest of the evening. The great granddaughter attended, her mother in tow as a necessity, a sour presence more than made up for by the delightful teenager who threatened to join us at our nuptials. I wouldn't have minded, but it would have been wrong, alas.

Not having so many clients there had one good point. The fewer the Amazon met the better for her sake. I didn't invite the redhead for that reason and lied to her about it being small and family only. It bothers me to lie, and I told her the truth, but months afterward following her traumatic visit. The one threatening encounter occurred because of the most surprising guests. The gallery assistant and the owner came all the way from Paris. When I spotted the incredibly sexy assistant and my sister stood there with the Amazon, my wife noticed the smoldering stares between the three of us. She shook her head. "Keep it in your pants, darling. Tonight it belongs to me."

"It always belongs to you," I said.

"I wish," she said, shaking her head, but laughing and we kissed, reminding me why I chose her or her me or whatever.

As it turned out, the gallery owner and assistant remained in town through my sister's opening. My sister asked where they stayed and they said they rented a cheap room in the City. My sister insisted they stay in Montauk, dragging them in front of the old flapper and telling her the situation. Of course they had no choice and would choose the beautiful spacious mansion over sharing a bed in a smelly old hotel any day of the week. My sister had the presence of mind to inform me after my wedding day of our lusty assistant locating where we could have some fun. The opportunity came twice for us to share her, the last pushing me too far into the land of kink.

A couple weeks after the wedding, my sister and I journeyed to Montauk specifically to fuck the assistant. We both wanted to renew the passion we found briefly in Paris. Her image kept racing through my mind, and my sister's as well, who tortured me by reliving those moments after my wife left our bed in the morning to work in the basement. She'd describe the Paris evening while we gently masturbated, but inevitably left before either one of us climaxed.

When we arrived at the mansion, our lust fully magnified, we had dinner and drinks with the assistant and her boss, then sat sipping cognac and coffee in the family room, getting to know more about the woman. Waiting for a signal from her, it took too long, but when we saw a wicked smile, we pulled her away from the gathering and up to her room.

That first reuniting became a basic ménage a trois. Being overly horny, I fucked my sister as soon as we got naked hard and quick while I kissed the assistant's amazing lips and my sister ate her pussy hovering above her. The fuck didn't last, but my cock remained hard and the assistant, as excited as us and thrilled by our violent quickie, pulled me onto my back and rode me and continued kissing me while my sister watched. The wild ride lasted longer than we thought possible what with the level of excitement in the room. She rode at a gallop for several minute, working her torso down until it slid against mine, her heavy breasts rubbing while I helped with the thrusting. Finally she squealed her orgasm and her twitching pussy drew forth mine. I stepped out briefly to flush away the overfull condom and returned catching the two French women kissing and rubbing their pussies together. Settling the assistant on her back, my sister and I slowly covered her with kisses and sucks and rubs until her second orgasm arrived. Then I spooned behind her and slipped my cock into her pussy for a slow sideways fuck while my sister licked and sucked at our conjunction and the assistant tongued my sister's pussy. We stayed this way for awhile, building to a plateau and sustaining it. When the thrill lifted to unrestrained passion, I fucked her doggy style, pulling at her hanging breasts and nipples while my sister rubbed her clit vigorously until she followed me into oblivion.

The second encounter followed a day of playing tourists. Spending the day around the sexy creature got us worked up, so as soon as we arrived at the mansion we rushed to her room. This time however, she pulled out her strap on dildo and had me fuck my sister while she greased up my anus. The build up to the fuck created another quickie, but my sister and the assistant shared duties on my penis and restored it to fuckable hardness.

I returned to my sister's depths and the assistant drove the fake cock into my asshole. We kept it slow until she became embedded, but once inside me deep, we sped up to a wild counterpoint of thrusts. Then I felt silk tickling my skin. The scarf wrapped around my neck. Her legs wrapped around my thighs. She rode my ass and pulled on the scarf like riding a bridled horse. My sister started screaming about how thick and hard I felt. My body expanded painfully beneath the neck tourniquet threatening to pop. The intensity of pain and pleasure mixing finally set me off, and the orgasm made my entire body throb. Every pulse of ejaculation seemed to come from my entire innards: my heart and my lungs and my stomach, everything pulsed out fluid. I wouldn't be surprised if blood shot from my penis or any and all liquid inside me. When the assistant released me in mid cum, I shook. Collapsing onto my sister, the dildo escaping my rectum, I lost consciousness. When I awoke I immediately withdrew my penis and checked the content of the condom to make sure the liquid was colorless cum, and felt relieved it was. I survived but decided to let them have the rest of the evening for their fun and escaped to the old flapper's room. Looking up from her book, she asked what was wrong. "Too much fun," I replied. When I lay down beside her, she saw the slight bruising around my neck and asked about it. "Too much fun," I explained.

My sister enjoyed the assistant a few more times. She stayed with us for a week in Barrytown. I never joined them, and not just because of my wife. I discovered kinkiness would never be my forte.

A most important guest showed up at the wedding with his wife. In many ways he led to my mother's acceptance of the Amazon. Their relationship began when she visited him as a patient. The old flapper heard of his quality as a psychiatrist and set up the session. As doctor and patient they failed. Within minutes after the session began, the psychiatrist admitted he lusted after her and couldn't be her doctor. She told him he could be her patron. The rest of the session consisted of negotiations. His wife liked women to share their bed and my mother fit what both the husband and wife desired. However, unknown to the wife who tended to be controlling and manipulative, he rented an apartment in the City for him to visit her alone, and since he spent the majority of the week with less affluent and more damaged patients, they made use of it often. Staying with the regimen, she had improved enough physically and somewhat mentally for her to have a couple days off from it to fuck her new patron. Being a mistress again also helped her well being. And though not officially a patient, she used his skills to help with her depression and part of that involved acceptance of the Amazon.

The imminent wedding crystallized her anger and with the doctor's assistance ended it. Being with child and married to me, rejecting the Amazon severed Mother's and my relationship unless she confronted her bias, sat down with the Amazon and found out who this woman was and why I loved her. It took a couple days neither felt comfortable experiencing, but by the end, they found themselves abandoning the schism and embracing. They became friends and called each other at least once a week. Seeing them together smiling brought more joy than anything I can imagine.

The blending of people at the wedding proved interesting. Many of them only knew the core group and usually only one or two of us. Socializing created new acquaintances across a broad spectrum of people. They shared intelligence, and they discovered respect for people never in their circle.

The Amazon's two brothers found amiable conversations, but the young brat and the parents had a more difficult time. Her aunt helped her mom move into the diverse crowd and made sure she had fun. That left the Amazon's father and sister pouting in the corner. Even the great granddaughter's infectious gregariousness didn't infect the only girl near her age at the reception, and her attempt to bring some life to the girl being shunned, she shrugged and skipped off and socialized and danced with the artists who embraced her enthusiasm. The Amazon spent as much time as she could with her father and sister, but when they left early, she felt unburdened.

Most stayed late and ended up being chauffeured back to the City, the ostentatious limousines becoming a private shuttle service. The heiress spent much of her time in the company of artists and enjoyed their drunken insanity while getting drunk herself and pawing the amused secretary. The secretary reported on the ride into the city, calling it the most raucous fun she'd had and loved seeing the heiress loose and out of control. They ended up having the best of the artists join them in a threesome, but she doubted either of them remembered much of it.

My sister doesn't drink to excess, not liking drunkenness, and the Amazon had stopped any drinking when she became pregnant, worrying that the fetus would drink too. I had a couple glasses of champagne and stopped to stay equal to my housemates. The young poet proved the exception to a sober Barrytown contingent getting as crazy as his fellow poets. The princess and her father joined them, one of the few times they got drunk together. Us sober few stayed in the eye of a hurricane, the drunken throng whirling uncontrolled around us. Even the old flapper, almost always a moderate drinker, celebrating the end of painstaking planning of the wedding, and the plain woman, who shunned alcohol except a glass of wine sometimes, but used the reception as her moment to celebrate her new wealth and freedom, entered into the revelry full bore. Eventually the madness got to us and my sister joined our escape into the wedding bed, the flapper's bed, where we laughed heartily over the insanity and gradually calmed until we exchanged kisses. A slow metamorphosis of sex enraptured us while the party remained a dull roar beyond the closed door.

Before continuing, you might notice the princess and my sister rarely together. My sister and the princess never stopped loving each other, but separation cooled emotional attachment. Whenever my sister visited the City, she stayed with the princess, but those visits became infrequent. My sister accompanied me sometimes when I headed into town on Thursday for my date with the beautiful blonde, mostly to store her canvases in the mentor's studio when she finished a couple and to help build stretchers out of habit and respect for her mentor. Loving the environment of Barrytown and the house and finding the air refreshing and invigorating and full of her muse, my sister preferred staying there. When her gallery show approached, her visits increased, but that became the exception. Sexually ambivalent, the nights shared with the Amazon and me and those occasional nights in the City with the princess satisfied her needs.

After the wedding I got busy creatively. When not working on my sister's gallery film, I worked on my piece for the Bard church, and the projects meshed. I invited the drummer up for a week, giving him a ride from Harlem so he could haul recording equipment his father gave him on his graduation. The mulatto being still in school joined him at the end of the week. That weekend I invited the actor and the dancer and any of their friends and fellow performers, along with the princess for her third trip to Bard to a first rehearsal at the Bard church. The young poet and my wife attended as well. As usual, my sister sketched. Far more students than I had anticipated showed up, the students apparently eager to try something crazy for a change.

I asked them who could sing. Mostly the actors could, but a couple of friends, including the guide, raised their hands. I had them join the drummer at the organ. All those who danced I brought to the other side of the church and told the dancer the sections of the performance, giving him a sheet of instructions with images to work with for choreography. Then I handed out pages to the rest, giving the actors monologues while the remaining students interjected lines. I didn't have enough pages and asked them to share, embracing in the instant the idea of lines being read by two or three people. Last I gave several pages to the princess. She narrated. I had the people familiarize themselves with the text.

Wandering around, I made myself available for questions. "You shouldn't tell us what not to do," complained the dancer.

"I was afraid of clichés," I explained. "You know the Indian powwow sort of thing. I don't think the Indians in the area did that. Too much forest. I wanted to make sure whatever part gets communicated becomes representative and yet without clichés. If you want, cross out the negative stuff. Just keep in mind my desire to resist clichés." He nodded.

After an hour of noisy chaos, I silenced everyone and had the princess read. The words sounded like a dry narrative spoken by a history professor or a documentary narrator. She told the history of the land on which the church sat and the church being constructed and used variously until the present. Her subtle technique helped enliven it. When she finished, I had the young poet read his poem created for the occasion. Personal and visceral, it expressed his present existence and his presence in the church speaking poetry. His voice gradually got louder until it reverberated in the space, making the walls vibrate. Then I explained what I wanted.

The dancers continued movement throughout the performance, enacting the time period and the transitions. Speakers got cues through the princess's monologue and echoed her words or denied them. Each had a partner across the room echoing them or responding with other words. After each section or time period, the princess paused and a playlet or song or a mini musical occurred. The organ, beginning loudly with a cluster, played throughout, sometimes using conventional melodies, especially when singing happened, and other times playing expressive sparse notes or threads of notes. The finale, while the young poet recited, the organ built to a crescendo, ending as the performance had begun, with a loud cluster.

With everything else going on that fall, I researched whatever I could find concerning the human population in relationship to the church, invoking various languages including the native Indians and French trappers and so forth. The playlets and songs reduced stories to moments, partial glimpses, a fraction of a continuum with no legitimate or theatrical beginning or ending, only the actual beginning and ending of the bit.

After my explanation, I assigned leaders for the speakers and actors, sectional directors I guess. The singers had the drummer, who agreed to another week at Bard, and the dancers had the dancer, and the actor led the actors. I asked them to schedule as many rehearsals as they felt they needed to have the performance ready the following Saturday. Each leader received the narrative text to work off of. Each script cued when the performers performed. The first rehearsal of the complete piece occurred Friday and Saturday afternoon became the second and last. I made it clear raggedness need not be a problem, but asked everyone who decided to stick it out to do their best. After several questions, everyone left except the young poet, the Amazon, the mulatto (those two being the audience throughout the crazy rehearsal), my sister, the drummer and I. We spent the rest of the night recording music and voices for my sister's gallery film.

The next day we recorded the sounds of rushing water and water gently moving against the sand and rocks and the trees rustling and any animal sounds available in winter. I accompanied the drummer to the City and we recorded the sounds of the East Village. Then we went to a small recording studio uptown and with the timing notes in hand I combined the sounds and music into one reel (assisted by the studio engineer who the beautiful blonde paid well along with renting the time. Otherwise the film stock and development I funded.). The next morning I gave the film laboratory the tape to transfer to film stock to synchronize with my visuals. The technicians also answered my many questions and demonstrated on similar equipment to mine in Barrytown. We headed back to my house and rested before the drummer had his first rehearsal with the singers.

My sister accompanied us to the City, and when we picked her up, she had finished the poster for the performance at Bard. Red and black on white, it depicted the church as a heart in the middle of a landscape torso, a remarkable and beautifully rendered drawing. "A Church," and underneath, "A Performance" and the date, time and place my sister wrote freehand at the bottom. The other side had my name under "Conceived by," and the dancer as choreographer, the drummer as composer, the actor as director and Princess as narrator. Listed under their various purposes were all the people involved the first day whether they remained or not. My sister and I spent the evening when we returned placing posters throughout campus.

The remainder of the week I worked on the film for my sister's gallery show. Thursday night the great poet had a showing of film and I showed the sunset film and a nude study, explicit but beautiful at least to me. Remarkably crowded, many familiar faces from the rehearsal attended. Afterward, while putting my films away and everyone but a core few remained, the great poet led me to the photographic studio and shut the door.