Affairs/godfrict
                               Gregory Daniel Nikolic
                            Temple of the God of Friction
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                           Copyright (c) 1993 by Gregory Daniel Nikolic.
             This story may be freely circulated via electronic media, but only within
                the specific domain covered by Usenet. The author retains all other
             hardcopy and electronic media rights. Duplication and transmission therein
                        is prohibited by law and world copyright convention.
          -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                 Understated elegance draped itself in subtle forms all over her body.
                The word "dress" was too plain for the stunning outfit she wore with
                ethereal beauty. Sweeping folds of green and black implied that the
             designer had captured silk, velvet and liquid steel in one soft, shimmery
                                              fabric.
                    The beautiful material caught the wash of illumination from the
              chandeliers. Light danced across its dark surface in golden wavelets. In
               a spotlight of shadow, each subtle movement caused a brief spillage of
               light over the curves of her emerald green and matte black dress. She
             sported the marked hues of equatorial jungle: a patterned cross of vibrant
                                green underbrush in heavy darkness.
                   On that gorgeous woman, the dress lulled you. It said she was too
                beautiful to be dangerous, too soft -- too lush -- on the outside to
               possess a hard core. It took an adult jaguar out of the rainforest and
              transformed her into a curled up, night black Persian. Every deliberate,
           graceful gesture became the flowing gesture of a fairytale, virginal princess.
                 Her chestnut brown hair fell in soft waves around a classically lovely
             oval face. Naturally red lips bore no trace of lipstick; they drew the eye
                regardless whenever her smile lit up fully. Her unfurrowed brow and
              flawless skin implied that she was about 25 years old. The woman's deep
                brown eyes looked around attentively. She smiled often, lips parted
                slightly, teeth pearly as she breathed with soft and luscious ease.
                 The radiant woman stood by one of the ballroom's ornate pillars across
               a marble floor cluttered by VIPs. The crowd swirled and flowed like a
            muttering tide, content with lively chatter. When one whorl of people moved
            aside for a moment, Daniel glimpsed her then for the first time, and simply
            blinked. She was laughing with a small group at the opposite end of the far
                     room, making animated, airy motions with her gloved hands.
                 Most men would have been transfixed. Daniel patted his tuxedo absent-
              mindedly for something he forgot, then realized with surprise he needed
              nothing. He glanced at his elegant watch to check the time. Quarter past
              eleven: getting late enough to be comfortable with the light inebriation
             without feeling drowsy. When he looked up again the crowd had blocked his
           view. Without hesitation he started making his way toward her end of the room.
                   She spotted him at once as he slipped between a young couple and a
               gaggle of older wives. The middle aged women in their expensive finery
              looked back at him as he passed, his lean figure cutting a devastatingly
                                handsome swath through their midst.
                  Daniel arrived at the young woman's group unobtrusively. Holding his
              glass of cherry brandy, he paid casual attention to the conversation. A
               man in his early fifties, wearing a well tailored dark grey suit, was
                 speaking to the stunning woman who had taken over Daniel's vision.
                  "Whatever you may say, Lydia, I think our host and hostess were more
                surprised than they let on at the number of people who showed." His
             baritone voice flowed with the ease of a lifetime of conversation. Lydia,
             Daniel echoed mentally as he registered her name. He sipped at his drink.
                  She smiled at the older man. "No, I agree with you Jason." Her voice
                  was that of an angel spending holidays at a favourite pool hall,
            mellifluous yet strong. "Did you notice how they argued earlier? Must have 
             been a stressful evening for them." Lydia's moist, chocolate coloured eyes
              moved casually to the area around Daniel. She gently smoothed her dress.
                  Jason cocked a grin and inclined his shock of silvery hair. "Still,
              all in all, it's been quite successful so far. I've enjoyed myself quite
               thoroughly." He lavished a bright smile on Lydia. Daniel performed an
                                     internal roll of the eyes.
                 Lydia seemed to bypass the personal implication. "Yes..." she murmured
                   in her silken voice. "I've never seen so many of the Rich and
                Self-Important in one place before." Jason and Daniel both laughed.
                  Daniel smoothly took the opportunity to join in. He held the amused
               tone of a popular radio DJ: "The important thing is that they know we
             commoners respect and admire them for showing up en masse for us. It's the
              personal touch, you know." Lydia grinned at him; Jason managed a polite
              smile. Daniel guessed by the handsome old guy's appearance and demeanor
                                   that he was old money himself.
                   Jason lifted a cufflinked hand at Daniel in mock accusation. "It's
              nice to know even the peasant masses can afford gold Rolexes," he said,
                            waving at Daniel's wrist with an evil grin.
                  Daniel mimed surprise. "Oh? This? A gift from a distant admirer. I'm
              just an artist, I don't have enough money to be counted among the Rich.
              And I don't have the looks or personality to match the arrogance of the
              truly Self-Important." Which was a lie, of course. The melting, kitchen
              fire looks women had been sending him since he was 16 would tend to make
               most guys haughty. But his easygoing, down to earth charm was no act.
                Lydia's bright face smiled up at him. It struck Daniel with the force of
             blazing floodlights. It took an effort to maintain his composure and smile
                                               back. 
                         "So what else do you do, Mr..." Jason inquired gently.
                  "Just Daniel." He shook the older gentleman's hand firmly. He turned
             to face Lydia, who was standing like a vision of glory in streaming green
                and black. "Daniel," he repeated softly, taking her hand in a slowly
             pressing handshake. He felt the warmth and smoothness of her palm through
                       the glove, lingering for a moment. She didn't protest.
                  Regretfully, Daniel released her magnetic warm hand and returned his
             partial attention to Jason. "I dabble a little on the stock market. Well,
             sometimes with futures too." He grinned shamefacedly. "But mainly I paint:
             landscapes, impressionistic pieces, portraits..." He glanced meaningfully
               at Lydia. "I'm trying to learn to sculpt but it's hard going so far."
                  Lydia looked interested, so he decided to press on. "Actually, right
             now I'm completing a collection on summer themes. Rivers, lakes, fishing,
                   Venice, beaches, the city in August; things along that line."
                 Lydia smiled coquettishly. "Things that are hot." Then, surprisingly,
             she winked. Daniel coughed and covered up with a drink of his brandy. The
              world temporarily narrowed to just the two of them, with Jason far away
              behind an opaque wall. Daniel blinked and awoke again to the noisy room.
                 "Ummmmm. I like to think my works describe the season metaphorically.
                I've already done something like this with Fall, which is really my
               favourite season. I guess I'm in a rut." He smiled apologetically and
                                  raised his glass for a tiny sip.
                   Lydia took the opportunity to discreetly study him. Tall and well
             built, he cut a fine figure in that tux, she had to admit. Sea green eyes
               were framed by dark, almost feminine lashes. Stylishly short hair on a
             chiselled face, capped by a slightly rounded chin. He held his drink with
             casual confidence and exuded a friendly non-threatening air. His interest
                       in her was more than polite, she knew. She liked him.
                     "Tell me," Lydia said slowly. Daniel listened attentively. She
                continued, "If you were going to do me... how would you approach the
                     painting?" Daniel unfroze his smile and genuinely beamed.
                  "It'd be a pleasure. I find that a lovely subject just lends herself
              to portrayal on canvas." Not necessarily true...confirmed by the neutral
             expression in Lydia's eyes. Daniel hurried on. "But in terms of procedure,
               well -- skip terminology. I'd focus on the eyes to set the tone of the
                                             painting."
                      He began imagining the scene in his mind's eye, Lydia seated
                comfortably in his studio, ready to pose. Helplessly he pictured her
             wearing a crimson and black frilly teddy emphasizing a high bust and tight
             curves. Her crossing and uncrossing a pair of legs sheathed in thigh-high
             black leather boots. Leering with intense wanton lust. Licking her lips at
              him... Daniel locked away the image and stuffed it back in the hormonal
                                        closets of his mind.
               "The eyes," he started over. "I'd have to check for the dominant feelings
            there, and pick one to set the whole mood." Daniel looked into her eyes now.
            Soft, warm, open, melting, innocent, sensual, aware, unassuming, caring... a
           rush of superlative adjectives tumbled over each other in his head. "Then I'd
             draw the face around the framework of emotion. The hardest part is getting
             the eyes just right." He knew he'd never get her eyes wrong. "If the eyes
                work out, everything else just falls into place," he added quietly.
                       Lydia stared at him attentively. Big beautiful browns, the
               alliterative phrase popped up. "Of course, it also depends on what the
               subject wants to do. It's up to her to be the artist's silent partner,
                  helping him shape the entire evolution of the picture. A really
              outstanding subject is a treasure to find, at least for me." He finished
                                 somberly and stared at his glass.
                  A moment passed in silence. "Would you like to paint me?" she asked.
               Another moment floated away. "Definitely," he smiled. "Is that an offer?"
                  "Yes. Maybe." Lydia tossed her shoulders in confusion and they both
               broke out into laughter. When they looked back at each other both were
                                              smiling.
                 She turned her head and started. "Where's Jason?" Daniel looked at the
              empty spot where the man had been. In fact, the whole group had drifted
               off like pampered kelp on a ritzy sea of hard marble, and neither had
                                              noticed.
                 "I guess he had to leave," Daniel murmured. Lydia nodded. "Listen... I
             was just showing the Jacobis a little painting that I recently finished. I
                 think it's in that big study upstairs. Would you like to see it?"
                  Lydia nodded again. Daniel took her hand softly, lightly, and began
               moving through the crowd in the direction of a very wide, red carpeted
              stairway spiralling up to the second floor. He didn't looked back before
            reaching the foot of the opulent stairs, yet could feel definite threads of
                  contact between him and her. Looking back at her, he wasn't too
                 surprised to see her face conveying thoughtfulness and curiosity.
                    "Up here," he said. The crowd was a million kilometres away. She
               nodded like a pretty schoolgirl, beautiful waves of brown hair curling
               over and around her now unreadable face. They took the stairs two at a
                time. Their pace grew slow as they proceeded down the tapestry lined
                                       hallway holding hands.
                 They saw a few couples gazing at the rich tapestries. Others passed by
             them on their way back downstairs with curiously satisfied smiles, silent 
              or whispering to each other. Daniel smiled inwardly without breaking his
                                  external look of preoccupation.
                    They turned left at a branch and ended up in a large but nearly
              deserted room filled to excess with leather furniture and plush wall to
              wall carpeting. Two young men sat talking in the corner beside busts of
             Cervantes, Donatello and Da Vinci. The sculpted Italian masters imparted a
           sense of dignity to the room. Lydia let go of Daniel's hand and looked about.
                   "Nice study," she commented wryly, brushing wisps of hair from her
                                             forehead. 
                "Yeah." He pointed at his painting, recently hung over a real fireplace 
             of enormous dimensions. They strolled over to the picture. It was a small
             portrait of a nude blonde woman reaching up on her tiptoes for the highest
            level of a kitchen cupboard. Something flickered briefly across Lydia's eyes
                           before vanishing. Daniel wondered what it was.
                                        "Is she a real person?"
                    Daniel paused. "Yes. She -- I knew her. We lived together for a
              while." He affected an air of insouciance and shrugged ambivalently. "It
              didn't work out." That was putting it mildly. He'd almost lost his balls
             to a pair of pinking shears when Angie caught him in bed with his pretty,
                                 dark haired Portuguese neighbour.
                    It wasn't that he'd meant to cheat; the temptation was just too
              irresistable when the Portuguese woman came over in her brief nightie to
             "borrow" something. When she reached for the third shelf, her flimsy white
                        nightie rode the luscious curve up her tight ass.   
                  Hypnotically, Daniel submitted to the driving urge in his brain and
             followed the divining rod of his erect cock right up to that perfect butt.
                           His cock poked hard against her soft rear end.
                   Her outstretched hand froze along with the rest of her body. Then,
              very slowly, she began grinding her rear end in slow circles against his
              cock. Daniel thrust forcefully against the crack of her ass through the
              thin nightie. His hands moved to her sides to steady himself as he heard
                   her mutter something quietly in Portuguese. Something de dios.
                   Daniel moved his hands around to her chest and clutched a pair of
               delightfully heavy, dark nippled breasts against the sheer fabric. He
                squeezed rhythmically while dry humping her rear with slow, powerful
                thrusts. The woman bent over until her breasts flattened against the
                counter and turned her head to rest on a mane of dark flowing hair.
                  Daniel unbuckled his belt and pushed the jeans down, quickly kicking
              out of the pant legs. He didn't bother with his socks, slowing only long
               enough to hike the woman's nightie. Her underwear was pink and equally
                                              sheer. 
                  He pinched her butt hard. She yelped. Daniel slipped his hand inside
               the back of her panties and moved to lightly squeeze her vaginal lips,
                rubbing them slickly. His hand descended abruptly in a karate chop,
              snapping the panties down to the woman's knees with a resounding elastic
                                               THWAP.
                 Holding her nightie up, he guided his cock to her entrance and rubbed
              against it with his hard length. Daniel could hear her heavy breathing.
                 With deliberate slowness he eased into the tight stretchy world of
                pleasure within the woman. The slow deep entry caused him to exhale
                                              softly. 
               With his right hand he reached around her leg to touch his balls. He idly
               played with her pubic hair as he finally finished the entry. He paused
                there, lodged inside her, no movement but for the shallow tremble in
                                 their chests while they breathed.
                  Daniel slowly pulled out, feeling her wetness guide his way. On the
              way back in he kept his thrust marginally slower than glacial. Gradually
              he built up a rhythm, keeping it going with smooth habit as wet friction
              gave him its pleasure. His movements relaxed and steady, he took time to
             fondle the girl's breasts, to lick the back of her neck and bury his face
                                        in her thick hair. 
                   The Portuguese grunted as he began thrusting fully. His extensions
                were smooth and quick. Images of a thousand ceremonial steel swords
               whisking in and out of smooth sheathes filled his head as the pleasure
              mounted. Desperately now Daniel reached to finger the woman's clitoris.
             Rubbing quickly, furiously, and in time with his thrusts, Daniel elicited
               a long series of gasps from the woman's panting, wide open mouth. They
                                            were close.
                  He kept pounding her until he felt something twinge in his balls, a
                 clicking gate that took a slight second to open. And then he came,
             flooding her with his come, his mind seizing up with pleasure and burning 
             in the orgasmic joy. He wrapped his strong arms tightly around her stomach
              and squeezed. His cock rammed itself in as far as it could while he came
                and came and came, jetting silent rainbows of essence into her open
                       depths.

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 The world lost focus and slipped off its axis.
                 A slight awareness prickled his consciousness. He slowly became aware
             that he was collapsed over the beautiful gorgeous wonderful woman and must
             be hurting her. Limply he pulled out of her cunt and rolled off her back,
                        sliding weakly to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
                   Splayed out on the floor, Daniel felt the Portuguese lower herself
             beside him as he recovered from his tremendous orgasm. He drifted sweetly
             down a meandering, calm creek after those explosive rapids of passion. The
                 gentle afterglow rafted him over a wash of utter satisfaction and
            contentment. Daniel smiled beatifically, his green eyes glinting in shadow.
                  The woman put her hand in his lap and softly played with his flaccid
              penis. It was still wet with drying come as she rubbed it between thumb
             and index finger. She leaned over to kiss him for the first time, a french
              kiss with tongues playing slippery tag. He broke off to plant a kiss on
              the hollow of her neck. Daniel rested his tousled head against her ample
                     bosom with a sigh as she continued to play with his cock.
                  It was only later, when the two got frisky again and decided to take
              it to the bedroom, that Daniel's live-in girlfriend came home early from
             work with the flu and a serious headache. She was looking for a hug, some
              warm blankets, and a mug of hot chocolate. What Angie found instead was
              Daniel on his knees receiving an elaborate and very enthusiastic blowjob
             from the Portuguese in the bed the two of them had shared for over a year.
                Angie blew up. She tore through the place, destroying enough of Daniel's
             artwork to occupy months of his time repainting. With the Portuguese fled
             and Angie's blonde strands matted against her face by tears and sweat, she
              turned on Daniel. "HOW COULD YOU?" she'd shrieked. The relationship had
                                            ended there.
                  Daniel shuddered at the memory and stared hauntingly at the painting
                he'd done right after the split, hanging now in the vast study. The
               painting he gave away to purge off his guilt and sadness. To this day
             Daniel wasn't quite sure why he'd painted his former girlfriend stretched
             out in the exact pose taken by the Portuguese girl. Angie looked beautiful
           in the picture even with her back facing you. If only he could see her eyes...
                 Daniel looked away to catch Lydia wandering about the other paintings.
             He drained the last of his brandy and set the glass down on an oak table.
               His head buzzed slightly from the alcohol. Lydia glanced his way as he
                                            approached.
                       "They have one other painting have mine. Like to see it?"
                     Lydia nodded. Daniel took her wordlessly down a silent maze of
             hallways and corridors until he himself was almost lost. Lydia felt sleepy
              and lulled from all the walking, down the same white halls over and over
            it seemed. Her eyelids fluttered and then she found herself in... a bedroom.
                  The room was huge. A four poster bed with gorgeous black and purple
                satin sheets fit comfortably in a single corner. A mountain of silk
             pillowcases, gold and black, depicted scarlet dragons dancing with winged
              angels. The rest of the palatial bedroom was filled with potted plants,
             expensive dressers, and a multitude of arranged mirrors. A jacuzzi bubbled
                quietly near a walk-in closet the size of a garage. Lydia gasped in
                                           astonishment.
                 Daniel went over to the wet bar tucked in another corner of the room.
              He poured himself a fresh drink and took the liberty of fetching Lydia a
             Long Island ice tea. He sat down on the bed, a trip in itself, and patted
             the covers beside him. Lydia obligingly crossed the distance and sat down.
               "Look up and forward," Daniel said simply, handing her the ice tea. Lydia
                                              looked.
                Covering a square area of the ceiling as wide as Lydia was an amazingly
              detailed painting of the ocean. White frothed waves roiled terrifyingly
             over midnight blue and grey depths with amazing dimension and realism. It
                was impossible not to feel the power of the waves, the unsteadying,
                eternal sway of the water. The sense of loneliness and of longing. 
               And beneath the waves, vaguely outlined like a whale cruising the depths,
               was a startling blue-green woman. She lay asleep, arms at her side, an
                enormous, veiled presence tugged minutely by the currents. Floating
              forever in a bed of dreaming waters, perhaps rolling once a millennium,
               perhaps shifting with the change of the seasons. And this he had done.
                                   "It's beautiful," Lydia whispered.
                Daniel nearly blushed. Never had a compliment affected him so strongly.
                 He opened his mouth to say something. Lydia looked at him with her
            captivating dark eyes, staring, staring as if hypnotized by a mirage in the
               desert. They leaned forward and brushed lips with electric gentleness.
                  Lydia kissed Daniel lightly as wrapped his arms around her, pulling
              her close for a soft hug. When he opened his eyes again they lay face to
               face, side by side, on the smooth welcoming bedsheets. She was peering
                 deeply at him. "Your eyes are so beautiful," she murmured, lightly
                         skimming his dark eyelashes with an index finger.
                   Daniel didn't say anything. She traced a long slow path around his
              clean shaven face with her finger, staring so intently Daniel felt as if
             she were absorbing his whole image for all time. He half worried he would
             be sucked up into her pinning gaze. She tilted his chin and moved to kiss
              him strongly on the lips. Daniel felt a strange langorous ease hit him;
                          his eyes slipped shut as his whole body relaxed.
                 Lydia slowly undressed him with great excitement. With the tux jacket
             and shirt off, she paused to survey his still form, bare to the waist. She
              couldn't help herself as she reached out to stroke his chest across the
              pectoral muscles until she was caressing his nipples. She bent her torso
                 and brought her mouth to a soft nipple. Greedily she sucked it in,
             smoothing his sides with her hands. She heard him give a resonant sigh as
                                          she worked him.
                  Automatically her hands moved beneath to his firm back, to knead and
             caress repeatedly. She glanced for an instant at his face. With shut eyes
             and still expression you might guess him asleep but for his very slightly
                parted lips which shook and deepened along with his breathing as she
                                         nibbled hungrily. 
                  Heart thumping, she ran her slippery tongue down the crevice between
             his pectorals, tasting him, giving him pleasure. She heard his breath slip
              a notch when her tongue did circles around his flat stomach. He laughed
             helplessly when she tongued his belly button. Lydia giggled and suppressed
                                           an evil grin.
                 Her hands moved surely to his zipper. She tapped the firm bulge in his
              pants like a craftswoman surveying her work and flashed an impish grin.
               Suspense and tingling excitement jostled within her supine form as she
              unzipped his pants. Daniel lay there motionless, hers to do with as she
               pleased. He shifted his lower body to make it easier for her to get at
              him. Lydia took care to remove his pants without touching the underwear.
                                              Not yet.
                  When he was naked except for briefs, she examined him. "Daniel," she
                                              giggled.
                                    "Yes," he breathed, eyes closed.
                 "You have a good body, Daniel." She placed her warm palm over his face
                and smoothed it down the length of his body, detouring mischievously
                around his groin on the way to curled toes. Lydia briefly considered
                 sucking on his feet then thought better of it with a private grin.
                Crawling back to his crotch, she bit down on the plain white underwear.
            She mentally damned him for not wearing boxers. Not very considerate of him,
                part of her pouted as she dragged the underwear down with her teeth.
                    Daniel's erection sprung up and brushed her cheek stiffly as she
              backed down his legs with briefs in tow. Lydia stopped at his ankles and
             nonchalently tossed it away. When she turned back to his erection, Daniel
             was peeking back at her between a scissored hand which hide a broad smile.
             Lydia moved up to his face, her vibrant dress brushing seductively against
                his naked skin, and delicately shut his eyes without saying a word.
                  Quickly she undressed herself down to bra and panties. Lydia leaned
             over his chest and rubbed her covered breasts against him. "Undo it," she
             commanded. Without looking Daniel fumblingly released the catch and pulled
               the bra away. She shivered at the feel of her bare breasts against his
             chest. Daniel silently opened his eyes and looked into hers. Their hungry
                                moans were muffled by questing lips.
                 Daniel kissed her without pretense, a deep close kiss that sealed the
             two together passionately. Lydia parted her mouth and let his tongue slid
             in. She rubbed her panties against his thigh, feeling herself getting wet
             and wanting him badly. Daniel's hands snapped off the underwear. He rolled
                        her over so that in an eyeblink he straddled her.   
                    Naked together, the two made a startlingly beautiful picture as
                Daniel's finely wrought body hovered over Lydia between her shapely,
               welcoming thighs. He pushed himself up and looked down on her, at the
             swell of her rosy breasts, their pink nippled alertness; the way her hair
             lay about her head in a wavy corona; the extraordinary smile she shone on
             him; her pert nose and suckable earlobes; and the eyes, oh god her oceanic
                                               eyes.
                  Lydia grabbed him and rolled him back under her. She lifted her hips
                off his thigh, leaving a patch of thin wetness, and hovered over his
             penis. He raised his hips slightly to touch her labia. She firmly gripped
             his cock and then lowered himself onto him, grunting once when she was in
                                              place. 
                 Daniel's hands reached out for hers; she took them and thus began the
             most exquisite movements of Daniel's life as she rocked back and forth on
                  his straining cock. Drops of pre-cum were lost in a sea of moist
                           lubrication; he thrust back at her, groaning.
                    Bump and grind: rolling, seaworthy motion that had them panting
              heavily, sighing, spinning in this special dance. Her above him, moving
             with the utmost grace and eagerness, him below and pumping upwards to meet
            her. Groaning desire expressed each time she rode the wave of his cockhead,
             tickling her clit, spiralling pleasure up and down his length. The sharp,
                wet, slick thrusts, the confusion of lust in the heat of contact. So
                                         smooth, so good...
                 "Yessssss," Lydia purred growlingly, pumping him back down against the
              sheets with her powerful pelvis. Daniel turned his head away and groaned
                plaintively. She saw with distraction he was near coming and started
               bucking faster. With an evil look of pleasure she raised her hand and
             slapped his cheek HARD in mid-thrust, her breasts jiggling with the force
                                            of the blow.
                  Daniel gasped, knocked fifteen feet off the plateau he had so nearly
               scaled. He lay there in shock, still erect, experiencing the delicious
           pleasure as it diminished in pulses. Lydia continued to slide up and down his
              stiff cock, her vagina viselike around him in its slippery grip. Slowly
                                  he felt the pleasure returning.
                 When Daniel reached up to caress a breast she finally lost control and
               orgasmed shudderingly, the ecstasy slamming her hard enough to drive a
               grunting cry from the depths of her belly. She squirmed about Daniel's
             cock and gasped shockingly as ecstasy shook her sleek, sweat-sheened body.
               Daniel felt the impact of the orgasm as a wave of intense empathic and
                                         physical pressure.
                  Two steps away, he thought madly, pumping furiously as she collapsed
               over him. He felt her breasts squish him delightfully and smelled her
                particular intoxicating odour under the musty blanket of their sex.
               Something was building in his cock as it rode strongly within its wet
                                            enclosure. 
                 Daniel thrust unceasingly, then pulled out abruptly, sticking straight
              up in the open air and groaning as he unloaded a sudden arc of sperm on
             Lydia's softly trembling backside above him. Again he came and cried out,
               squeezing out more of his seed. Squeezing, coming, jerking up, bucking
                         heedlessly in thin air, unthinkingly whimpering. 
                  Grunting with delirious passion, he at last subsided into oblivious
               murmurs. His spent cock still jerked softly as the last of the orgasm
               faded like a supernova imprinted on the back of his skull. He moaned,
             lolling his head until it knocked against Lydia's, sudden but dulled pain.
                                      "Ouch," she sighed happily.
                 "Uhmmmmmnn," he groaned in agreement while his hands clutched and ran
            through her perfect hair. She patted his cheek affectionately and licked an
            earlobe. Daniel stayed on his back, gathering Lydia in his arms to hold her
                                               close.
                    Slowly his head turned until he was looking up past Lydia's soft
             shoulder at the stange undersea woman he'd once painted. Daniel stared at 
               the ceiling and reassuringly stroked Lydia until he slipped fully into
                           unconsciousness, to sleep. Perchance to dream.
                                     by Gregory Daniel Nikolic
          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
           "Rhythm is a dancer, it's a source companion. People feel it everywhere. Lift
              your hands and voices, free your mind and join us. You can feel it in the
                  air. Oh ohhhh... it's a passion... " - SNAP, 'Rhythm is a Dancer'
          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                        AUTHOR'S AFTERWARD:
                  During the last four months of 1992 I worked as a telemarketer for a
            company which sold medical and corporate software globally. Towards the end
           of my contract, the only people who had any authority over me left me without
           work for a week while they jetted to Vegas for a computer conference, despite
                         my repeated warnings that I was out of work to do.
                   I spent two days being a helpful aide to a low ranking secretary.
             After I exhausted that work, I was left to sit in front of my terminal and
            toll free phone without ANYTHING to do. The endless, insufferable tedium got
           to me. Finally I bowed to the urge to do _something_ with my brain, anything.
                         I wrote a story, this one you've finished reading.
                However, in my foolish youth I underestimated the Gestapo atmosphere at
                the office. Someone dittoed my screen, copied the file, and ended up
                       showing it to my boss. This is the e-mail he sent me.
               Oh, by the way, my efforts netted the corporation more than $11500 in less
            than three and a half months. Better than a 200% return on their investment
                                               in me.
                                              *  *  *
                              1 from john            17-Dec-92  9:37 am
                                               Greg:
             I have been made aware of your most recent novelette ("God of Friction").
            I have taken the liberty of reading it -- and it is actually very good. I am
               impressed with your language skills and creativity. I think you have a
                            potential future as an author in this genre.
            But I am supremely distressed at the fact that this has been done on company
            time, especially since we have had at least two conversations where I warned
                   you about this kind of activity, and you promised to refrain.
                A hint for the future. Try to apply the same level of creativity and
            energy to your job, as you do to your writing. That's what you are paid for.
             Given you short time remaining here, I am uncertain as to what my response
           will be. To be fair to On-Line there has to be some form of just reaction. Do
                                     you have any suggestions?
                                                John
                                              *  *  *
               Considering the time I've invested in this story and the trouble the damn
            thing has caused me (!), I'd be gratified to receive any comments you might
           have regarding it. Mail can be sent to me at gdnikoli@descartes.uwaterloo.ca.
                                        Thanks for reading.
                                                -- 
                                                  
                                                   
                                                  
                                                  
              
                                                  

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