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Archive name: poetry.txt
Authors name: Lord malinov (malinov@mindless.com)
Story Title : The Poetry Reading
Date:	98-01-02 11:42:07 EST

========================================================
*This story was written for me and my friend Kim by Lord
Malinov. I liked it, so added it to my personal archive.
========================================================
The Poetry Reading

 I had been struggling all afternoon with a composition
 when the phone rang.  Tension gripped my shoulders as I
 rose to answer the phone.  I knew the rhythms were weak
 and I still hadn't decided whether to fix the verse
 with rhyme. As the metal bell clanged again, I realized
 I should jump to the heart of the story and look for
 patterns there. Sometimes the beginning is no place to
 start.

 My publisher droned when she talked, word after word in
 an endless, often meaningless stream of syllables.
 After ten minutes, I finally figured out the gist of
 her call; a poetry reading for a club at a small
 university; three hundred dollars, transportation,
 lodging and food.  My first impulse was to just refuse
 and get back to work on my poem, but I knew I couldn't.
 Marge had only agreed to go to the expense of publish-
 ing my book of poems after I promised to do whatever
 support engagements she could arrange.   I tried to
 come up with an excuse, but my imagination has a way of
 failing at just such moments.

 "No," Marge said emphatically.  "I've let you out of
 speaking engagements for your novels, despite Ray's
 complaints.  Your romances sell enough to give you some
 clout.  But the poetry was a self-indulgent project and
 you begged me.  We're still seven thousand away from
 just breaking even, and if the reading sells twenty
 more copies, you're damn well going to read."

 I packed my bags, cursing and lost in swirls of images
 of three beautiful girls in a bedroom while a moron
 hefted a shotgun authoritatively. I wondered if I could
 capture the absurdity of that party moment in a poem.  

 The plane ride was quiet, and I spent the greater part
 of the flight scribbling lines in my notebook.  The old
 woman beside me kept sneaking peaks and I was tempted
 to scrawl obscenities to see if I could make her blush,
 but I wanted to work on the tale of the idiot, three
 girls and a gun before the reading.  For three hundred
 dollars, they should get at least one virgin piece.
 Throwing them a bone just seemed professional.

 As I marched off the plane, I caught a glimpse of a
 sign held aloft marked "Malinov."  No one had ever met
 me at the airport like that before. I felt really cool.
 Better yet, the placard was held by a rather striking
 young woman.  I pointed to the sign.

 "That's me."

 "Yes.  You look just like your book jacket photo. You'd
 be suprised how many authors look nothing like their
 covers."

 "Really?"

 "I'm Kristen," she said, holding out a hand.  "This is
 Kim," she gestured to the woman beside her, who was
 equally attractive.  I smiled at the good fortune.  I'd
 expected blue-haired old ladies. "We've organized the
 reading.  I'm so glad you could make it."

 "I'm always eager to please my fans," I lied.

 "Glad to hear it," she said with a purr.  I looked
 ascant at the beauty.  I hadn't expected that.

 "We'll drive you to the hotel, check you in and then
 get the reading underway."

 "Where will that be?"

 "At the hotel.  It's a small club, but we're eager to
 hear you read."

 We drove to a nice hotel near the airport.  Kristen
 handed me a key and led me straight to my room.  I
 raised an eyebrow as the ladies followed me in.  They
 told me we should go over my schedule.  I put my bag on
 the dresser and sat down.  Kristen jumped onto the big
 king-sized bed.  Kim slipped comfortably beside her.

 "What time's the reading?" I asked slightly shaken by
 their casual approach to our intimate environment.

 "Any time you're ready, lover."  Kim smiled provoca-
 tively.

 "What?"

 "Read us some poems.  That's why we brought you here."
 My heart began to race.  The girls gave me a wicked
 look.

 "We're the club," Kristen hastened to explain.  "We'll
 pay you three hundred dollars.  You read us some
 poetry."

 "Really?" I asked, quite flabbergasted.

 "Why not? I hope you don't mind if we get comfortable."
 Kim pulled her sweater up over her head.  Kristen
 laughed as I blushed and unzipped her skirt.  I swal-
 lowed hard, completely shocked.

 "Um," I said.

 "Start with something sweet," said Kristen, shimmying
 out of her panties.  Kim turned over to kiss her
 friend's freshly exposed vulva, lifting her still
 pantied ass high to wiggle before my eyes.

 Not knowing what else to do, I pulled out my notebook
 and flipped to the first poem I'd marked for reading.
 I cleared my throat and started to speak the rhythmic
 words.  Kristen moaned to the supple beat of words and
 tongue and my prick began to hurt, swollen stiff
 beneath the straight-jacket of my jeans.

 "I told you he'd probably only want to read us some
 damn poetry," said Kim, looking back as I tried to
 read.  I threw down my notebook and tore open my jeans.
  
 "Fuck that," I said hungrily.  

 "Yes," said Kim, wiggling seductively and turning back
 to lick Kristen's pussy.  I pulled the white lace over
 her full bottom and exposed the thick lips of Kim's wet
 cunt.  My prick slipped hard inside her sex.

 "Mmmm," said Kim as I rocked into her.  Kristen scooted
 from beneath Kim's moan and embraced me from behind,
 kissing my neck as she ran her hands over me, kissing
 me hungrily, deliciously.

 "I wanted you," she whispered in my ear as I fucked
 Kim.  "I'm sorry we had to trick you, but I wanted you
 so badly."  I twisted to squeeze Kristen's breasts
 while kissing her and Kim pulled away.  Kristen lay me
 down on the big bed and sunk my cock into her moist
 cunt.  I groaned to see this beautiful woman astride
 me, the gleam in her eye, the fire across her full,
 bouncing breast.  Kim knelt over my face, setting her
 dripping pussy over my lips, tempting my tongue to
 tease her swollen lips and bulging clitoris.  Rhythm
 overtook us and we melted in a fleshy poem of bawdy,
 naughty rhymes.

 I gave them autographed copies of my poetry book, and
 a handwritten copy of the one I wrote the next morning
 before they took me to the airport.  I felt funny
 taking the money, but they insisted and besides, that
 was the reason I had come.  I don't know what that
 makes me.  A poet, I guess.

 When I got home, I gave Marge a call.

 "How'd it go?" she eventually asked.

 "All right," I said.  "I have to say I enjoyed myself.
 If you have any more . . ."

 "Why, Malinov, this is a change of heart.  Sure.  I
 can put you on a plane this afternoon.  This woman
 from a small reader's club in Pheonix has been begging
 me to get you for a reading."

 "Thanks, Marge."  I said.  "I won't even unpack."

			 ~~~

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