|
|
Stimulating
Stories About Couples Sex
A Compilation of Literate
Erotica
We Proudly
Present:
Art and
Life
- a
gallery of
vignettes -
by Harry Merkin
This short
story is a work of
fiction. Names,
characters, places and
incidents either are the
product of the author’s
vivid imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual
human beings, living or
dead, business
enterprises, events or
locales is entirely
coincidental.
Part 3
Early in our Junior year DD has lunch with
some art students. She hears their lament that
the models all look so feminine. She goes to
the Art Department office to ask about my
becoming a model. The people in the office
know both of us. They ask her my waist size.
DD tells them and is given a package of the
thin, white bikini briefs worn by many of the
models. The plain plastic bag has no label or
other markings, just the waist size in
centimeters.
…
As we undress for bed, she places the package
on the bed with one of my Speedos. She tears
open the package, takes out one of the
bikinis. I look at her intently, wondering
what is going on. She places it side by side
with my Speedo.
“Ruairi, look at this.”
“I’ve been looking at you for the last
minute.”
“This bikini brief isn’t that much smaller
than the swimwear you’ve told me you’ve worn
since the summers when you were a lifeguard.”
“And your point is?”
“Put it on.”
“Why?”
“I want to see how my man looks wearing it.”
...
“You look virile and fuckable.”
“What’s up DD?”
“I had lunch with some of the girls taking the
figure drawing class this year. They’re tired
of drawing the same slim girly-boy models with
minimal musculature.”
“So?”
“I asked at the Art Department office. They
said they always need more models. They gave
me this package in your size.”
“Did you sign me up?”
“Of course not.”
“Let me think about it.”
…
I come out from behind the curtain wearing
that cotton/lycra bikini. I move around slowly
and almost mechanically. I squat. I sit on the
chair. I sit on the stool. I stand with one
foot on the chair. I flex my muscles.”
The professor asks if I could take off the
bikini for the last third of the class.
“Sure, why not.”
Within a minute I notice a girl on the front
row. She is wearing a white sundress with a
hibiscus-flower print. Her left foot is up on
the adjacent empty chair. Her drawing pad
rests on her thigh. She is concentrating on
her drawing.
She looks up and smiles. Oh, shit. I’m doomed.
She looks so much like the first girl with
whom I was naked. As she shifts her position,
I can see a hint of her hibiscus-red panty. My
dick responds. Boy, does it respond.
Had I foreknown sundress-girl would be there,
my dick would still be in the thin, white
bikini brief.
I remember that summer when I had the keys to
our neighbor’s house so I could water their
houseplants while they were on a cruise. I
remember the little angel I met at a pool
party. I remember our ending up in the
neighbor’s house. I remember our first kiss. I
remember we dropped our towels on the hardwood
floor. I remember she let me unbutton her over
shirt. I remember her removing her bikini top
and then her bikini bottom.
I shed my Speedo. We embraced. She
giggled when my erection touched her between
her legs. She liked that. She really liked
that. She wrapped her fingers around my dick.
I touched her breasts. I kneaded her breasts.
I kissed her breasts. My dick got huge.
We ended up on the hardwood floor. We left our
sweat on the blond-oak hardwood floor. My
enormous erection dripped pre-cum on their
expensive floor.
We kissed and kissed and she let me place a
hand on her blond-haired mound. My fingers
found her and unfolded her and exposed her. She said,
“Wow.” She repeated, “Wow.” She whispered,
“Oh, wow.” She moaned. She
shuddered. She lifted one thigh. I went in
deeper. I went all the way to teen-boy heaven.
The professor brings me back to the present
with a tap on my shoulder. He thanks me for
modeling.
I dress behind the curtain. I come back out
and SHE is there.
“Did I remind you of someone.”
“Oh, yes.”
She touches my zipper-zone.
“You were great. You also remind me of
someone.”
She pats my zipper-zone, winks, turns with a
swirl of sundress and sashays out of the
studio.
…
I tell DD. I tell her everything. She can’t
stop laughing. She laughs so hard she wets
herself.
“DD, do you need a panty-liner or a diaper?”
“Shut up.”
...
DD comes to bed wearing a red, sexy panty. She
snuggles close. Her eyes are red.
"I was suddenly afraid and intensely jealous.
I had to laugh to displace my fears. I had to
laugh even harder to banish my feelings of
insecurity. The harder I laughed, the more my
jealousy grew. I'm so sorry I put you in that
position."
We fuck with an uncommon intensity.
We hold each other afterwards. We cling to
each other. I speak first:
"Dierdra, you did nothing wrong. You
encouraged me to leave my comfort zone. Thank
you for nudging me in that direction. You have
no clue how liberating it was to shed that
bikini brief, to stand naked on that platform,
and to become so flagrantly erect, and to do
so with no shame. I already signed up to model
every couple of weeks."
"I want to be in that studio when you model."
"No. No. You must trust me. You must learn to
trust me. I shall have you and hold you,
forsaking all others, for better, for worse,
in sickness and in health, until death do us
part."
My DD is radiant. She cries so softly. She
holds me so tightly.
…
Sundress-girl is not late for class for the
next two times when I pose, naked from the
get-go. Her name is Molly. She is funny,
earthy and is gregarious to the tenth power.
She is studying to become a minister in a
joint program with the theological seminary.
She is married; though I couldn’t tell because
she wears so many rings. She has started to
write children’s books and intends to
illustrate all of her own books, thus
explaining her taking art classes. Molly has
known DD all this time. They have taken two
classes together. Their first one covered the
Puritans in Britain as well as in America. The
other was an Introduction to Philosophy.
DD meets us after class. We have a dinner-date
with Molly and Samuel. I can tell immediately
that the four of us will become life-long
friends.
…
The figure drawing class commissions one their
own to create an oil painting to give to me
when I pose for the final time. It depicts me
in a Herculean pose, wearing (Thank God) an
animal-fur loincloth, standing among Doric
columns (Phallic symbols?), somewhere in the
Peloponnese. DD insists that it be displayed
on the wall behind our dining table. It
becomes a great conversation piece.
...
Part 1
Part
2
Part 3
Part 4
Part
5
.
(additional images coming soon)
----------
Not The End
Harry Merkin (a nom de guerre) is a
dick-brain who is more articulate than an
arthropod and has many ways with words. He
tries desperately not to write like Edward
Bulwer-Lytton, but often fails.
NOTES
A. This short story is a fabrication.
B. Harry is familiar with ...
|
