Geoff and Marie’s Good Life: Part 10

Technology and Medicine.

Advancements can be good and bad.

Based on posts by Only In My Mind, in 15 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

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I
was standing in front of another of Lucy’s works, 'The Girls', trying
to decide which element was Marie when I felt an arm slide around my
waist. I looked to find my favorite artist alongside me. I bent down,
intending to kiss her forehead but she had other ideas. Her arm snaked
around my neck and pulled me into a full on passionate kiss. Marie
looked on from across the gallery, amused.

"There,"
Lucy said, sounding slightly frustrated. "I suppose that will have to
keep me going until Wednesday." She strode off to talk to my wife.

Jen,
who had been admiring the work next to me gave me an old fashioned
look. "I'm definitely not going to ask, but if you ever feel the need to
explain?"

"I'm
not sure that I can," I admitted. "If you really want to know, then ask
the artist," I pointed to Lucy, still chatting to my wife. "to explain
the meaning behind that work." I pointed to the one I'd found so
compelling. "Be sure to tell her who you and Peter are first though."

I
moved on. Now that I'd realized the symbolism behind the older
paintings, I found the dystopian themes of an abusive marriage
disturbing. Great for a goth student bedsit. Not for our living room. I
loved the other stuff though, and tried to find one that was still for
sale.

I
found my wife examining some of the other artists' works on display.
Even to my untrained eyes, none were in the same league as Lucy's. I put
my arm around Marie's waist and kissed her cheek. "Hi. I'm an artist's
muse. Fancy a coffee? If I ever get any etchings you'll be the first to
get an invitation to come up and see them."

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she protested. "You're wearing a wedding ring."

"It's
fine. My wife is a beautiful, successful, confident woman. She knows
that I'd never abandon her for an art gallery groupie.

She
checked her watch. Yes, we're both that old. "Well this groupie wants
her caffeine fix, and you're paying. Let's round the others up and we'll
go. I'll see if Lucy wants to join us too."

She
did, and fifteen minutes later found the five of us round a table in
our favorite little café. Lucy was fascinated by pictures of First
Nation art that Peter had taken in Toronto. I could see her absorbing
the way the indigenous artists portrayed movement and space. I suspected
that a disentangled Lucy might be open to expanding her geographical
horizons shortly.

Then
Jen asked about 'that' picture, Friday, four thirty. Lucy looked to me
and then Marie. "They know," she said quietly. "It was the day and time
of my release." Marie and I both saw the double entendre, even if Lucy
didn't intend it.

Lucy
looked at my wife, who just smiled and nodded. She took a deep breath.
"My husband has changed. He drinks, gambles and lies to me. He treated
me like his whore for a while but at least I got laid. Now he can't even
have sex with me. He blamed me for being too old and wrinkly, you know,
down there, to be sexually attractive." Jen gasped in surprise. Today
Lucy was wearing heels, a mid-thigh skirt and a blouse that only just
hinted at uncontained tits beneath it. In short, she was a knockout.

Our
son looked at her in disbelief. "Your husband says that You are the
reason he can't get it up?" Lucy nodded. "Then the man's an idiot,"
Peter concluded.

"But what does that have to do with the painting?" Jen asked, still confused.

Glancing
at me, Lucy explained. "I told Geoff, in the pub, what Eddie had said
when he rejected me: 'Who'd want to stick their cock in a wrinkly old
snatch like yours?' And Geoff told me to show him and he would tell me,
honestly, if it was true. So I did; I showed him. He told me that my
snatch was perfect and then he touched it. And he cuddled me, and I
came. All my best friends were there and they saw me have the best
orgasm I can remember, just sitting on Geoff's lap as he touched me.
That happened one Friday at four thirty. That's what I painted."

Jen
stared open mouthed for a full minute as she unpacked Lucy's story.
"Jesus!" She eventually exclaimed, "I'm going to the wrong pubs."

"Lucy omitted to tell you we were with a small group of friends in a private room," Marie explained.

"Then I need new friends," Jen decided out loud. Peter just laughed.

He
looked at me. "In a way, I can understand. She was hurting. You knew it
wasn't her fault. You did what you needed to do to make it better.
Weren't you worried that mum would;” He stopped in mid-sentence. "But
she was there; wasn't she? She could have stopped you. But she didn't
because;” He thought it through. "Because she doesn't care. No! That's
the wrong word. She does care about you and her friends but she isn't
threatened by Angie or Lucy so she just didn't mind."

Jen
broke in. "That explains the kiss in the gallery. You were aiming for a
platonic kiss and Lucy turned it into a full-on lip-smacker. But I saw
Marie had seen you and wasn't a bit bothered. I did wonder."

My
wife added her contribution. "I didn't want to have to tell him, but I
suppose he ought to know: it's his super-power. He just likes women; not
lusts after, he just genuinely likes them, and most women respond. He's
so used to it that he's never really noticed. For example; when we went
to any of his company's staff parties, leaving do's or awards nights,
all his female colleagues would hug him. No-one else really, just him.
Not 'making a point in front of his wife' hugs, just real affection. So,
when Lucy was sad, he had to help. It took nothing from me and he made
my friend happy. It was actually quite moving."

I
find, at times like this, silence is an effective strategy. Apparently,
Lucy doesn't. "My husband had rejected me," she said, wistfully. "My
friends were there for me, but Geoff just held me. He treated me like a
person. Not damaged, but lied to. He showed me that I was still
desirable, but not in a predatory way. I fell in love with him then."

I
admit to being a little taken aback, even though Marie had told me how
much Lucy, and the others, had appreciated what I'd done. But looking at
Lucy, I couldn't reject her the way that Eddie had. I reached across
the table for her hand. "I love you too, Lucy," I told her, truthfully.
She squeezed my hand and smiled in reply

"Bloody Hell, mum." Peter laughed. "Just how many of your friends has he worked his super-power on?"

Marie
looked thoughtful. "Well, Angie and Lucy obviously, there's Jo and
Samantha, not Kate so much, or Megan; probably Sue and Margie and of
course Jane." She looked at me for confirmation. That sounded about
right. "That would be seven then," she concluded.

Jen
and Peter shared a stunned look. Our son recovered first. "I have so
many questions that I honestly don't know where to start.

Jen butted in. "I've no idea who these women are, but why not Kate and Megan?"

Marie
looked at me for support. I just held my hands up. After all, I'm only
the empath with a cock. My wife replied thus, "Well, Kate admitted that
while she really enjoyed the spooning afterwards, mainly it was the sex
that made her day rather than romance; and Megan's already happily
married."

Peter was struggling to catch up. "You mean you've actually had sex with all seven of these women?"

"Not exactly," I protested. "I've only touched Lucy that once and I've done nothing with Jane."

"You
kissed her in the sex shop," Marie pointed out, unhelpfully to my way
of thinking. "And again in the car when you dropped her off at home. I
think you suggested that it was to give her some motivation when she
tried out the polyurethane cock you bought for her." I cringed at the
look Peter gave me.

"Oh,
yes." added Lucy as I winced in anticipation at whatever she was going
to contribute next. "I've already agreed to do a cast of his thingy so
that Jane can have a full size replica. We thought a signed limited
edition run would be fun. I'll definitely want one too. I can make the
initial mold when it's my turn on Wednesday." She squeezed my hand. "I
could feel it in your pants when I sat on your lap. I can't wait to
actually see it," she added, excitedly.

I
looked up and noticed the café was starting to fill up. So far no-one
appeared to have noticed the bizarre conversation at our table but that
was unlikely to continue, so I suggested that we leave before we were
evicted. Of course, Pete and Jen needed to see the painting again, now
that they understood its gen