Resolved-Sex in the Art Room

A crusty, old man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a purple-haired emo twenty-something, and I waited in the hall with our fellow students as the custodian unlocked the studio. Echoed footsteps and murmurs surrounded me standing in this tobacco laced space. I had never pictured myself with these students. I scheduled this class because I was bored and lonely and I hoped to meet a sex partner. If this was my pool of potentials, then the class may cure my boredom, but the people possibilities would not cure my loneliness or aid me in locating a sex partner.

After month one, interest in basic drawing techniques for still life replaced boredom. Our instructor moved us on to live models, and we studied the body’s form and architecture. We began with a female model and Rubenesque curves. The grumpy man in my class livened, as did the purple-haired woman. Their appreciative sighs filled the room as we worked. I was glad somebody received sexual gratification. But for me, drawing continued to be a technical and rote process eliminating boredom until body model, Samuel Livingston arrived. I bid farewell to lonely and greeted horny with an open mind.

The model sat on a stool, shirtless and motionless, as the instructor walked around him dissecting his upper body into elements of art. Every single thing about him screamed, “Sexy.” Lust, yes, lust took over.

“Ms. Stevens, did you hear me?”

“Pardon me, no, sir.”

“Come note the cord of Mr. Livingston’s bicep. I’ve watched your work improve, but I think if you feel the muscle it will be easier to draw.”

“You want me to touch him?”

“Yes, Ms. Stevens.”

Touch his muscle? Can I touch a different one? I walked around our easels and stood in front of the model.

“Do a study, Ms. Stevens. Take all the time you need.” The instructor left me and went to check on other students.

Mr. Livingston observed me with a penetrating stare and a mouth that sported a smirk.

“May I place my hand on your arm, Mr. Livingston?” I shook a little realizing that my voice cracked.

“I wish you would, Ms. Stevens. Then we can be on a first name basis.”

A heated expression moved across his face.

“What does that mean?”

“When you look, it’s Mr. Livingston, but when you touch, it’s Samuel.” He leaned in and whispered, “And when you fuck me, it’s Sam.”

I turned to see if the others heard him.

“And what makes you think things will go that route, Mr. Livingston?”

“You’ve been fucking me with your eyes all session. Touch me, and you’ll see, Ms. Parker.”

He was right, I been in sex mode all night. What I saw was tight, thigh muscles under his jeans, laugh crinkles at the corner of his eyes, and an expanse of chest and shoulders that could indeed hold up the world. He smelled divine. I was afraid to touch him because I might jump his body in front of everyone.

“I smell peppermint.” My words blurted out of nowhere.

He sucked on a mint, and I watched him swipe his tongue across his bottom lip. What would he taste like laced with peppermint?

“Is peppermint going to stop you from feeling my muscle?”

“Ah, no.” I stepped to his side while he flexed a bicep and posed for me to explore him. Gingerly, I placed my hand on his arm. Inventory: Hair. Heat. Thickness. Hard. Width. Length. I had closed my eyes and lost myself fingering him. It was as if I became the instrument sketching what I touched. My fingertips and palms memorized the structure and pliability of his bicep. He caught me off guard when he released and pumped the muscle again. How would I translate that to paper?

“The other muscle jumped, too. My hardness is pressed against my pants now.” I looked directly at him filled with desire and then cast my eyes to see the evidence of his words. The instructor turned his attention to us.

“Ms. Parker, I’d like to see you get the general outline on paper tonight.”

“Yes, Professor.” I moved to my seat and started drawing. The last two students completed their sketches, and the instructor dismissed them.

“Mr. Livingston, I want to get an initial rendering to begin next week’s class. Would you mind slipping your pants down and laying in the recliner? Ms. Parker, you don’t mind if I sketch while you finish up, do you?”

My entire body vibrated.

“No problem, Professor.”

Samuel stood up and moved to the recliner. The snap on his pants clicked open, and my nipples hardened. The zipper-pull eked down the teeth as if they were moving south unzipping my hot, wet, sex. I snuck a quick glance and viewed one hot ass, as he pushed his pants to his knees.

“That’s good enough, Mr. Livingston. Take a seat.”

My face flushed as the room soared to mid-summer Florida temperatures. I reached for my water bottle and took a sip. As I leaned over to sit it down, I stole another peek, and I understood why he was the model. His large, erect penis was a work of art. I had no clue how I was supposed to focus and draw his arm now. I fumbled with my pencil attempting to complete the assignment while I steadied my breathing as the instructor sketched. I was elated when I heard his drawing pad close.

“Ms. Parker, I’m headed to my office. Stay as long as you need to finish up. I’ll check your work next week. Good night, Mr. Livingston.” He closed the door when he left.

The gravelly, deep voice caught me off-guard. “You could start your next assignment early if you want.”

“I could.”

“You’ve already had your hand on me. What’s checking out one more muscle?”

He flirted so well. Ready to be closer, I walked to the recliner.

“Come on. Don’t be shy. Just reach out and touch my man muscle like before.”

“Are you going to pump it up, too?” I grinned.

“Auto pumping is engaged as we speak.”

His cock was rock solid. I wanted to feel it, even if we were in the studio. The pulse in my temples elevated as I consider that the instructor might come back? He’d probably give me an A for doing research on next week’s form. Yes, that was what I’d tell myself.

Samuel had the body of a rock star, athlete, and he invited me to know him for art’s sake.  I wanted to experience his male appendage with every part of my body. Like before, my hand hovered over him. Take the Inventory: Heat. Girth. Length. Velvet. His penis bobbed reacting to my hand, and Samuel chuckled.

“It likes you. Go on.”

With the mind of an artist, I explored the erection length, the curve at the ledge under the head, and the slit, now leaking with fluid. I slid my fingers to cup his testicles and noted the skin texture difference and squeezed. Samuel’s breathing had changed, and I opened my eyes.

“You are a dedicated student, Ms. Parker. Thorough.” I continued stroking him as he repositioned the back of the chair a little more upright.

“Ms. Parker. It’s past time for you and me to be on a first name basis. Don’t you think? You have touched me twice now.”

“Yes, Samuel.”

“I’d like you to call me Sam.”

“So it’s fucking time?”

“Well, you do have my cock in your hand.” He held my gaze and arched an eyebrow, waiting.

With my body humming, I felt vibrant and ready to fulfill my third objective.

“Margie. My name is Margie.”

“Ever made 3-D art before Margie?”

“No, not like this.”

“Lose your panties, and you can start the process.”

“I like the sound of that, Sam.”

Writing for MASTURBATION MONDAY and WICKED WEDNESDAY. Click on those words for more sexy stories.