Paint a New Scene by Deirdre O'Dare
Blurb: Artist Keely is not sure how to emerge from the isolation of her early widowhood and start living again. Her first step is to move from Tucson to southwestern New Mexico. When her landlady hires a couple of hunky handymen to do some much needed refurbishing on the house Keely rents, she discovers a new subject for her paintbrush and then a couple of friends with benefits who introduce her to the erotic pleasures of a ménage.
Jerry and Tim have been drifters, working their way around the west while trying to put their painful pasts behind them. In Keely they discover a reason to stop moving for awhile and perhaps put down roots in the colorful old mining town of Copper City as they ply their painting and handyman trade.
Jerry and Tim have been drifters, working their way around the west while trying to put their painful pasts behind them. In Keely they discover a reason to stop moving for awhile and perhaps put down roots in the colorful old mining town of Copper City as they ply their painting and handyman trade.
Excerpt: Note: Keely agrees to go out with both men to hear a band they describe as great performing at a local hangout. As a three-way date, it's a first for her and the first time she's been on any date since her husband's death.
By the time they'd played the first set, Keely had to agree Buddy Montoya's group had a good sound. It was somewhere between mariachi and pop, with a bit of traditional country western and a strong hint of Tex-Mex thrown in. Her feet were itching to get out and move to the infectious rhythms.
Keely sipped her beer and watched, not sure what the etiquette of the moment called for. Did she dare make the first move? She wasn't even sure if Tim was able to dance, especially not the more lively and complex steps. Whether Jerry would or not was another unknown. They both sat quietly, watching as she was. Finally, Jerry made the first move.
He stood and held a hand out to her. "Can't sit this out any longer. Come on, lady. Let's go polish that dance floor."
It turned out he was no slouch as a dancer. Keely wasn't sure if she was surprised to learn that or not. Mostly she was too busy remembering steps she hadn't practiced for quite a while, thankful her feet seemed to recollect what her mind tended to forget. Then there were the sensations, like how good it felt to have a man's strong arm around you, feel a muscled shoulder under your fingers and be guided through the complex moves by a confident masculine touch.
It's been too damn long, for sure.
A giddy delight flashed through her, followed by the unmistakable burn of desire, activated by the movements of the dance that brought her close to Jerry's muscled body, along with the beer, the crowd and the excitement of being out on an almost-date. A three-way date? Well, why not? Most of all, though, she had to admit it was the good-looking man who held her.
When the band segued into a slow, seductive tune, she was as good as lost. Jerry tightened his arm around her, one hand settling just above the outward curve of her butt. He slipped two fingers into the hip pocket of her jeans, a gesture somehow incredibly intimate. He brought her close enough her breasts brushed against his chest, while the scent of his aftershave fogged her senses.
Her nipples peaked against the soft fabric of her bra and stretched the clinging knit of her top. He had to feel them. God knew she did. Every touch they made against his solid heat sent jolts of liquid flame darting through her body to settle in her pussy. With every move, the seam of her jeans rubbed the sensitized flesh between her legs, adding to her growing arousal. Oh, my God, I feel so damned hot I must be glowing!
By the time the band took a break and they made their way back to the table, Keely was ready to drag Jerry outside and have her way with him in the bushes edging the parking lot. She cooled down a little as they sat and she downed a second beer. That was about her limit--much more and she'd get queasy instead of buzzed.
Mike had always laughed at her limited capacity for alcohol. He could put away a six-pack and just be started, but then he'd been a big guy, six-foot-two and about two-forty. At his death, he was still looking like the high school football star he'd been when they started going together. With a start, she realized she'd thought of him without the debilitating stab of pain this time.
He'd been her first love and would always have a special place in her heart, but she was still alive and deserved to live, not just exist. For the first time, she knew she really believed this and was ready to act on it. If living involved Jerry or Tim, or Jerry and Tim, or any of the miners and cowboys who had begun to eye her with some interest, that was all right, too.
When the band resumed after about twenty minutes, Tim stood and offered a hand. "I'm not good for the fancy footwork, but I can manage a line dance or a couple of slow numbers. Will you give it a try?"
Keely didn't hesitate. "Of course, Tim. It would be my pleasure."
Despite the small drag or pause when he had to turn or move on his bad leg, Tim danced well enough. His touch was as sure and comfortable as Jerry's had been and equally exciting. Before they returned to the table when the band switched into some quick salsa tunes, Keely would have been more than willing to go outside with him, too.
During the next several sets, a half-dozen of the other men in the place asked her to dance. They were all polite and made sure it was okay with Jerry and Tim, recognizing that she was with them. Most of the local men had a bit of old-fashioned courtesy she had to appreciate. Miners and cowboys were hard workers and most of them relied on one or more partners as they performed the dangerous and strenuous tasks of their jobs. You didn't want to make any enemies by not treating someone's lady with respect because tomorrow he might be your partner. It made sense, but it was nice to be one of the ladies!
In between the others, she danced two more times with Jerry and once more with Tim. Finally, people began to leave and the band started to pack up their amps and other gear. There was a jukebox, one of the traditional kinds, but it wasn't the same as live music. The evening was clearly at an end.
They walked out as they had entered, three abreast, with Keely in the middle.
Tim handed her into her seat and scrambled in behind her. It took a couple of tries before the engine fired, but Jerry seemed to know the tricks to make the vehicle start. He only said a couple of cuss words before it began to rumble.
"Wanna come over to our place for a bit and look at the etchings?" In the dash lights, Jerry's expression bordered on diabolical. Keely smiled to herself. He's testing me. Am I up to the challenge? Damn straight!
"Sure. Why not? Heck, it isn't even two o'clock yet."
The men rented an apartment in a rustic old building that surely dated back to the early mining days in the community. She suspected it might once have been a row of cribs, the tiny, cell-sized rooms where streetwalkers took their johns back in the wild days when the rich mining district was in its heyday. It looked as if smaller rooms had been connected and walls shifted to make regular apartments.
"We did the paint job on this place," Tim said with a touch of pride. "It was our first job in the area. The ole coot who owns the building liked it so well he rents to us for half the usual price."
In the headlights, as Jerry pulled up to park near their door, Keely could see the bright colors. Had anyone told her the color scheme she would have shuddered, but it actually looked good--the walls were deep hunter green with Chinese red and gold for the gingerbread and other woodwork such as porch rails, shutters and banisters.
"Wow," she said. "It's really unusual, but kinda cool. I like it. Did you guys come up with the colors or did the owner?"
"I guess these were the original colors," Jerry said. "That's what Mr. Busich said anyway. We went a little darker than the old hand-tinted postcard he had, but I think it came out pretty good. Looks a lot better than that faded, pukey pink and lilac that it was, anyway."
He made a production of opening the door with an ancient brass skeleton key and switched on the lights.
Keely stopped and took a moment to absorb the room. The furniture was old, or at least looked old, and no two pieces matched, but the room was neater than she had expected. Through a doorway, she could see a bedroom, where a huge bed dominated the confined room. Another open archway led to a small kitchen. To call the place quaint was almost an understatement, but it did have a peculiar charm.
Well, my house isn't exactly twenty-first century either. So long as there's heat and cooling and running water, I think I'm okay with it.
"Where are the etchings?" Keely posed the question with a giggle, determined to play along with the game Jerry had begun.
Jerry twirled an imaginary moustache and leered. "We have you in our power now, me lovely. What should we do with you?"
Keely fluttered her lashes and glanced coyly back and forth between the two men. When she spoke, it was in a quivery falsetto. "Oh my, I'm afraid you're going to have your wicked way with me. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?"
She had not had that much beer, but the whole evening had been intoxicating until she was giddy and silly with it, hot nearly to the point of melting and far past any wish to back out or change what seemed the likely outcome. "But I'm prepared to hand over my virtue..." She began to laugh then and could not go on. "Oh, hell's bells, one of you better come over here and kiss me!"
Jerry moved first. He closed the distance between them with one fast step and caught her by the shoulders. The next moment he angled his head just enough not to bump noses as he sought and found her lips. He tasted of beer and the nachos they'd munched, smelled still of the piney aftershave, and kissed like a consummate professional. Not too much tongue or too little; not too much wetness or pressure, or one single thing that did not feel absolutely right. She grabbed at his arms to steady herself as the world began a slow spiral beneath her feet. A small moan escaped her lips, muffled by his. Yes, oh, yes!
A moment later she felt another hard male body close behind her and a second set of hands clasped her waist from behind and then began to explore, one slipping under her top to approach her breasts and the other fanning across her stomach, the heat of it burning through her jeans.
Keely sipped her beer and watched, not sure what the etiquette of the moment called for. Did she dare make the first move? She wasn't even sure if Tim was able to dance, especially not the more lively and complex steps. Whether Jerry would or not was another unknown. They both sat quietly, watching as she was. Finally, Jerry made the first move.
He stood and held a hand out to her. "Can't sit this out any longer. Come on, lady. Let's go polish that dance floor."
It turned out he was no slouch as a dancer. Keely wasn't sure if she was surprised to learn that or not. Mostly she was too busy remembering steps she hadn't practiced for quite a while, thankful her feet seemed to recollect what her mind tended to forget. Then there were the sensations, like how good it felt to have a man's strong arm around you, feel a muscled shoulder under your fingers and be guided through the complex moves by a confident masculine touch.
It's been too damn long, for sure.
A giddy delight flashed through her, followed by the unmistakable burn of desire, activated by the movements of the dance that brought her close to Jerry's muscled body, along with the beer, the crowd and the excitement of being out on an almost-date. A three-way date? Well, why not? Most of all, though, she had to admit it was the good-looking man who held her.
When the band segued into a slow, seductive tune, she was as good as lost. Jerry tightened his arm around her, one hand settling just above the outward curve of her butt. He slipped two fingers into the hip pocket of her jeans, a gesture somehow incredibly intimate. He brought her close enough her breasts brushed against his chest, while the scent of his aftershave fogged her senses.
Her nipples peaked against the soft fabric of her bra and stretched the clinging knit of her top. He had to feel them. God knew she did. Every touch they made against his solid heat sent jolts of liquid flame darting through her body to settle in her pussy. With every move, the seam of her jeans rubbed the sensitized flesh between her legs, adding to her growing arousal. Oh, my God, I feel so damned hot I must be glowing!
By the time the band took a break and they made their way back to the table, Keely was ready to drag Jerry outside and have her way with him in the bushes edging the parking lot. She cooled down a little as they sat and she downed a second beer. That was about her limit--much more and she'd get queasy instead of buzzed.
Mike had always laughed at her limited capacity for alcohol. He could put away a six-pack and just be started, but then he'd been a big guy, six-foot-two and about two-forty. At his death, he was still looking like the high school football star he'd been when they started going together. With a start, she realized she'd thought of him without the debilitating stab of pain this time.
He'd been her first love and would always have a special place in her heart, but she was still alive and deserved to live, not just exist. For the first time, she knew she really believed this and was ready to act on it. If living involved Jerry or Tim, or Jerry and Tim, or any of the miners and cowboys who had begun to eye her with some interest, that was all right, too.
When the band resumed after about twenty minutes, Tim stood and offered a hand. "I'm not good for the fancy footwork, but I can manage a line dance or a couple of slow numbers. Will you give it a try?"
Keely didn't hesitate. "Of course, Tim. It would be my pleasure."
Despite the small drag or pause when he had to turn or move on his bad leg, Tim danced well enough. His touch was as sure and comfortable as Jerry's had been and equally exciting. Before they returned to the table when the band switched into some quick salsa tunes, Keely would have been more than willing to go outside with him, too.
During the next several sets, a half-dozen of the other men in the place asked her to dance. They were all polite and made sure it was okay with Jerry and Tim, recognizing that she was with them. Most of the local men had a bit of old-fashioned courtesy she had to appreciate. Miners and cowboys were hard workers and most of them relied on one or more partners as they performed the dangerous and strenuous tasks of their jobs. You didn't want to make any enemies by not treating someone's lady with respect because tomorrow he might be your partner. It made sense, but it was nice to be one of the ladies!
In between the others, she danced two more times with Jerry and once more with Tim. Finally, people began to leave and the band started to pack up their amps and other gear. There was a jukebox, one of the traditional kinds, but it wasn't the same as live music. The evening was clearly at an end.
They walked out as they had entered, three abreast, with Keely in the middle.
Tim handed her into her seat and scrambled in behind her. It took a couple of tries before the engine fired, but Jerry seemed to know the tricks to make the vehicle start. He only said a couple of cuss words before it began to rumble.
"Wanna come over to our place for a bit and look at the etchings?" In the dash lights, Jerry's expression bordered on diabolical. Keely smiled to herself. He's testing me. Am I up to the challenge? Damn straight!
"Sure. Why not? Heck, it isn't even two o'clock yet."
The men rented an apartment in a rustic old building that surely dated back to the early mining days in the community. She suspected it might once have been a row of cribs, the tiny, cell-sized rooms where streetwalkers took their johns back in the wild days when the rich mining district was in its heyday. It looked as if smaller rooms had been connected and walls shifted to make regular apartments.
"We did the paint job on this place," Tim said with a touch of pride. "It was our first job in the area. The ole coot who owns the building liked it so well he rents to us for half the usual price."
In the headlights, as Jerry pulled up to park near their door, Keely could see the bright colors. Had anyone told her the color scheme she would have shuddered, but it actually looked good--the walls were deep hunter green with Chinese red and gold for the gingerbread and other woodwork such as porch rails, shutters and banisters.
"Wow," she said. "It's really unusual, but kinda cool. I like it. Did you guys come up with the colors or did the owner?"
"I guess these were the original colors," Jerry said. "That's what Mr. Busich said anyway. We went a little darker than the old hand-tinted postcard he had, but I think it came out pretty good. Looks a lot better than that faded, pukey pink and lilac that it was, anyway."
He made a production of opening the door with an ancient brass skeleton key and switched on the lights.
Keely stopped and took a moment to absorb the room. The furniture was old, or at least looked old, and no two pieces matched, but the room was neater than she had expected. Through a doorway, she could see a bedroom, where a huge bed dominated the confined room. Another open archway led to a small kitchen. To call the place quaint was almost an understatement, but it did have a peculiar charm.
Well, my house isn't exactly twenty-first century either. So long as there's heat and cooling and running water, I think I'm okay with it.
"Where are the etchings?" Keely posed the question with a giggle, determined to play along with the game Jerry had begun.
Jerry twirled an imaginary moustache and leered. "We have you in our power now, me lovely. What should we do with you?"
Keely fluttered her lashes and glanced coyly back and forth between the two men. When she spoke, it was in a quivery falsetto. "Oh my, I'm afraid you're going to have your wicked way with me. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?"
She had not had that much beer, but the whole evening had been intoxicating until she was giddy and silly with it, hot nearly to the point of melting and far past any wish to back out or change what seemed the likely outcome. "But I'm prepared to hand over my virtue..." She began to laugh then and could not go on. "Oh, hell's bells, one of you better come over here and kiss me!"
Jerry moved first. He closed the distance between them with one fast step and caught her by the shoulders. The next moment he angled his head just enough not to bump noses as he sought and found her lips. He tasted of beer and the nachos they'd munched, smelled still of the piney aftershave, and kissed like a consummate professional. Not too much tongue or too little; not too much wetness or pressure, or one single thing that did not feel absolutely right. She grabbed at his arms to steady herself as the world began a slow spiral beneath her feet. A small moan escaped her lips, muffled by his. Yes, oh, yes!
A moment later she felt another hard male body close behind her and a second set of hands clasped her waist from behind and then began to explore, one slipping under her top to approach her breasts and the other fanning across her stomach, the heat of it burning through her jeans.
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