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From: Malinov <malinov@mindless.com>
Subject: {ASS} Faint Praise by Lord Malinov
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Faint Praise
by Lord Malinov

~~~

"Let me take that," Mark said, reaching for her coat.  

"Sure," she said, putting down her guitar case and glancing at the 
short shelf of tattered paperbacks along the near wall.  Mark tossed 
her wrap over the back of a tall rocking chair and putting down 
his black notebook, he leaned down to turn the switch of a lamp.  The 
light glowed a pale yellow through the cloth shade.  A slow rhythmic 
creak marked the fading reaches of black wool toward the wooden 
floor.  "Nice place," she said.

"Thanks.  Make yourself comfortable and I'll get us something to 
drink.  Can I get you a beer, or a rum and Coke?"  Mark glanced 
hopefully at his pretty companion as he started into the kitchen.

"Do you have any wine?" she asked, picking up a small indigo 
vase and then turning it over for a quick glance at the dusky 
underside.  No price.  She smiled at herself.

"I might.  I might," he called back from beyond the harshly lit 
doorway.  

Strolling along the sofa, her finger trailing along the rough 
fabric of the flowered upholstery, she listened to the echo of her 
heels on hardwood.  She fingered the leaf of a dry green ivy and then 
leaned over the table of plants to push aside a faded linen 
curtain, taking a quick peek at the view outside the small window.

"You're in luck," Mark said, carrying two fluted glasses glistening 
in pale pink.  "I had one bottle left."  She took the wine glass 
and rang it gently against his.  "To a beautiful performance," he 
said.  She blushed slightly.

"Thank you," she said, taking a sip of the tepid wine.  Her nose 
wrinkled slightly.

"You were really quite lovely," Mark said, beckoning her to sit down. 
 "I mean, it shouldn't really matter, but it does.  In this day and 
age, the image a performer presents is at least as important to her 
success as the way she sounds."  She sat down on the sofa timidly and 
took another sip of the wine.

"I didn't think my set went very well," she said.

"Nonsense.  I mean the acoustics of the club are poor and I think 
that made you sound a little tinny, just a bit, and well, the 
audience was really unworthy of the music, but a real ear can sort 
past the situation and hear the musical qualities that hide 
underneath."

"I don't like the place," she said, eagerly.  "Jeff lets me play and 
at this point, that's worth something to me, but the place is just 
gloomy and smoky and it all depresses me a little."

"I know it does," Mark said, softly touching her shoulder.  "But I'll 
bet we can arrange something more suitable.  A good review should get 
the attention of, maybe Ed at the Wilderness."  Her eyes lit up at 
the words.

"I would love to play the Wilderness," she said, her voice ringing 
with ambition and promise.  He smiled and nodded.

"I know I can at least get you a spot with Jerry at Serena's." 

"That would be all right," she said, thinking seriously as she 
considered the possibilities.  "I mean, I've played Serena's a couple 
of times, but still, it's better than the dump I did tonight."

"Absolutely.  A few good words in my column should go a long way in 
moving your career along."

"I know," she said.  "They do pay attention to you.  We all do.  Are 
you really going to write up tonight's show?"  She wrinkled her nose 
and frowned slightly.

"I have to write about something," Mark said, laughing.  "Why not 
your show?  You certainly entertained me.  I can probably think up a 
few nice things to say about you."  He put his hand over hers and 
squeezed.

"But I can sing so much better, you know, when I'm in the right mood. 
 I didn't even know you were there until I was almost finished."  

"Your honesty came through.  There was a magic to it all; a
beautiful girl baring her soul over the clatter of dishes and the
inconsiderate laughter of a bunch of sorry drunks."  Waving his 
arms, Mark acted out his vision of a rose blossoming in a tempest.

"It was terrible," she said, her eyes wide in remembering.  "I wanted 
to just pick up and go home, but I knew I had to keep singing."

"It moved me, watching you struggle to perform under those 
conditions.  But you rose above it and gave me a chill.  I kept 
looking at you up there, and I knew something good was going to 
happen."

"I saw you writing.  It made me really curious.  What were you saying 
about me?"  She looked over at the black notebook on the table.

"Just notes, reflections, details to help me recreate the feelings
you inspired."  Mark smirked, remembering his florid descriptions. 
 "Like the way your eyes gleamed when you sang the chorus to, what 
was it? Riding?" 

She leaned forward, excitedly.  "Can I see what you wrote?"  The 
faint outline of her nipples pressed through her tight blouse.

"Um, I'd rather not.  You'll see when I put the article together," 
Mark said, taking hold of her hand.  She frowned, disappointed.  
"It's just that my notebook is kind of personal," he said.

"Did you say anything mean about me?"

"No," Mark said, playing with a loose thread in the flowered 
upholstery.

"Tell me the truth," she said.

"Not at all.  I just, well, I started writing about how beautiful
you looked, while you were singing, and I wrote about how much I
would like . . . to . . . see more of you." Mark's voice trailed
off, suggestively.

'How sweet," she said.  She paused, waiting for the kiss she knew 
would follow.  Mark obliged her gently.  

"I wrote that you were the most beautiful performer I had seen since, 
well, ever."  Mark whispered as he drew her closer, bringing her into 
his grasp.  He fondled the swell of her breast, teasing her nipple 
through the fabric.  She seemed to melt into his kiss, responding to 
his touch with a ready eagerness.

"I knew you could hear me," she said, as Mark kissed her neck and 
slipped his hand under her shirt.  "I could tell you were really 
listening."  Mark pushed the underwire up over her breast and pinched 
the stiffness of her nipple.  She moaned softly.

"I wanted to see you perform," Mark said as she kissed his strong 
jaw attentively.  He pulled at her shirt, until she lifted it over 
her head and shook her fine whitened hair loose.  "Mmm," he said with 
a lascivious grin as he took a tit in his mouth and sucked as his 
hands slipped back behind her, and squeezed the fullness in her 
skirt.

"You're so good," she said, running her hands over his back 
through his shirt.

"I want you so bad," he murmured, lifting her black skirt.  She 
squirmed uneasily as Mark worked a finger around her panties into her 
the tight crevice between her thighs.

"Oh," she said as Mark struggled to unzip his pants and push her
panties down her thighs.  "Wait," she said, twisting herself
slightly to let the thin fabric out from under her.  She started to
lean forward as he pushed his rigid prick between her pussy lips. 
"Oh."

"I wanted to fuck you so bad," he said, shoving his cock deep and she 
let her eyes close as he gave her an eager pounding, the sudden wild 
blows of impatient, anxious lust.  He watched her titties bounce as 
he stroked steadily into her tight cunt, a stunning vision of beauty 
that touched his hungry core.  "Incredible," he said with a glimpse 
of her soft blue eyes.  "Give it to me," he demanded.

"Ooh," she moaned almost ecstatic, "Fucking me good."

Mark pulled his prick free and squirted his appreciation onto her 
pale muff, groaning in happy release.  She reached down to rub the 
juice over her hairs, teasing her pale clitoris with a few rapid 
turns of her agile fingers and then sat up, pulling down her 
black skirt.

Mark leaned over to kiss her and then stood to zip himself back up.
"You are fantastic," he said.  She pushed her arms through the straps 
of her bra.  "Mmm," he said, leaning over to kiss the last glimpse of 
her breasts.  She picked up her blouse.

"I'm anxious to get started on your review," he said, laughing.  "I 
think I can find a few good words for you."  She picked up the wine 
glass and downed the warm alcohol in three long gulps.  

"You're sweet," she said.  "Just fabulous."

"I'll even give Jerry a call in the morning.  I'll bet we can get you 
onto a better stage."

"That would be nice," she said, standing.  "I should probably go.  
You have some writing to do."

"Yes," he said, picking up her coat and walking toward the door.  She 
picked up her guitar case and he handed her the thick wool cloak.  
"You are so beautiful," he said, kissing her softly.

"You're incredible," she said, opening the door.  "Really 
just incredible."

~~~

Malinov

-- 
Power belongs to those who dare. . . Sapere Aude

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