Stolen Moments (30 page)

“See you guys later!” I called cheerfully after them when they left.

*

“Make yourself at home,” Alex said from the kitchen.

I glanced around her studio apartment. Light filtered in through the large windows, casting a dreamlike quality to the simple furnishings, making it all seem even more like a fantasy than it was already.

I took a deep breath and made myself continue looking around the small space. A textbook-and-artbook-laden bookshelf stood against the same wall that held the entry door, with only a closet separating them. The kitchen, really a room in the upper corner of the studio, was hidden from view by swinging doors.

She was behind those doors, just out of my view.

The other side of the room had a couch and chair at one end, with a wooden folding chair between the two and a stand-up screen with a robe tossed over it at the far end of the couch. Several yards down the room was an easel with a canvas on it, situated next to a large table covered with paints, pencils, brushes, chalk, and charcoal, a palette, and various other artist’s implements.

I took a deep gulp of air. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I was in a strange woman’s apartment, about to take my clothes off.

Maybe I should just leave? Get away from here and not let anything happen. I could meet up with the gang at the mall, sit between gorgeous women drooling over Leonardo.

Well, that option wasn’t the most appealing thought that had crossed my mind in the recent past.

I sat on the couch, demurely crossing my legs, and pulled the hem of my miniskirt down, as if it could actually go any lower. I pulled out my compact and ran my fingers back through my mousy brown hair, wishing yet again that I were blond and thinking about bleaching it.

What would be the point? I’d still be plain. I’d still have the same nondescript features and the same okay-but-bland body.

I’d still be me.

Regardless, I’d never have the guts to do it anyway. Granted, it wouldn’t be a permanent thing, like a nose job or tattoo or anything, but… I still couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be anything but what I was.

Maybe that was why I was here—I was simply trying to run away from myself—be someone I wasn’t.

But I knew exactly what it would feel like to be naked in front of this ever-so-sexy woman. How it would feel to do a slow striptease for her, shedding each article of my clothing till I was down to just my bra and panties, and then…and then I’d take them off…revealing myself to her. Showing Alex how hard my nipples got for her…

Even the thought made me wet.

Down a bit from where I sat were a number of canvases, but I couldn’t help noticing the bed against the far wall, right out in the open. Talk about teasing. How could she have something so significant right out in the open?

I had a quick vision of Alex’s mouth and beautiful hands on my naked body.

My knees were weak. My legs could barely withstand my weight…

“Can I get you anything?” Alex asked from the kitchen, all too suddenly, abruptly pulling me back to reality.

“A…A glass of water would be great,” I replied, suddenly noticing the dryness in my throat. I turned from the bed to start looking through the canvases against the wall. I couldn’t look at her because I knew I was bright red.

I studied the canvases. They were good, very good. And mostly nudes. Both male and female. And I knew I had fallen out of the frying pan and into the fire.

I recognized Alissa among the stack. She was with me when Alex approached me at the coffeehouse about modeling for her.

*

“Don’t worry,” Alissa told me when we sat down to enjoy our lattes, “she’s really good, makes you feel really comfortable, and doesn’t try any funny stuff.”

“‘Funny stuff’?” I repeated, unable to find any words of my own as I stared across the crowded room at the lean figure debating some point with a mixed group of people I just knew were writers and artists.

“Yeah, you know what I mean,” Alissa said, leaning back and sipping her drink. “Some of these so-called art students figure it’s a good way to get people to take off their clothes for them. As if I’m gonna have sex with some jerk just because I took my clothes off for him!” Alissa and several of her friends modeled for a wide range of people and classes—because, they said, it was the quickest and easiest way to make money. Almost as good as stripping or topless dancing.

“Well, I know I couldn’t model for a guy,” I said, feeling a tingling between my legs at the very thought. I knew that just below Alex’s too-large clothing was a firm body with nice, soft curves. My eyes trailed over her breasts as she turned away from her group to meet my eyes. I wondered if she was getting as turned on as I.

I could melt into her green eyes, but instead I flushed, wondering if she would follow through on the look she was giving me.

Alissa laughed. “I don’t know for sure which way she goes, but I do know both men and women who’ve posed for her, and nobody’s had any problems.” She tilted her head to follow my gaze across the room. “I really think she’s a dyke, though. Not that it matters to me—to each her own.”

After Alissa left, when Alex came over on her way out to reaffirm her invitation to pose for her, I figured it would be the easiest hundred bucks I ever earned, and took her up on her proposal.

After all, sometimes long shots do pay off.

*

“She was a great model,” Alex said, walking up beside me and handing me a glass of water. She had a cup of coffee. She took the painting from me, pulling it out of the stack, as if I looked at naked women every day of the week.

“She has a very nice figure and posed quite naturally, but I didn’t quite do justice to her eyes.” She put down the canvas and flipped through others till she came across one of a beautifully sculpted, well-hung man. “Now, I got his eyes right, but I had a bit of a problem with the shadows and skin tone.” We both studied the painting for a moment. The man had well-defined features, a broad chest covered with a thick mat of curly, black hair, thick legs, dark chocolate skin, and a thick, long penis that would’ve made any horse proud.

If I had questioned where my interests lay, this should’ve answered them—the painting did nothing for me.

I don’t know if it was Alex’s nearness, the musky smell of her skin, or the pictures of naked women so casually displayed in front of me, but I knew I wanted to feel Alex inside of me. I wanted to taste her, and for her to taste me. I wanted everything, I wanted to go all the way for the first time in my life, and I wanted it so badly I wanted her to take me down, right there and then.

She put the painting back down and turned toward me. “We should get started. You can change behind here,” she said, indicating the screen, “and put on that robe.”

She turned and walked toward her easel with its fresh, clean canvas.

She turned away from me, telling me only that she wanted me to get naked.

I walked nonchalantly behind the screen. Or at least, I tried to walk nonchalantly behind it. At least I didn’t trip.

I took off my shoes, unzipped my skirt, stepped out of it, and unbuttoned my green silk blouse and dropped it onto the floor.

I tried to focus on the chill I was suddenly feeling, hoping it would calm me. Distract me.

I reached behind me, undid my bra, and let it drop to the floor. I slowly caressed my breasts, imaging what Alex’s touch would feel like. My breath quickened as I squeezed my nipples.

Then I realized that I didn’t want her to think I was so turned on, but nonetheless, I couldn’t calm myself. I stepped out of my lacy white underwear.

I tried to forget that a gorgeous woman was just beyond the screen and that I was completely naked. I tried to focus on neatly folding my clothes and placing them in a pile on the floor. Everything had to be perfect. I breathed deeply, trying to focus my center, trying to make myself calm down…

“You ready?” Her voice came over the screen like…like the voice-over on a commercial. A used-car commercial.

I reached up, grabbed the robe, put it on, and walked out from behind the screen.

She looked at me. Her thick, black hair fell behind her like a mane, and her white, collarless shirt was open enough to reveal the tops of her luscious breasts. She had the sleeves rolled up, revealing her muscular forearms, and I suddenly realized that she must work out.

The glasses perched on her nose, covering up her expressive green eyes, were the finishing touch on her sweet and innocent look. She looked like an ingenue. Well, she did except for the tight jeans that showed off her nice, firmly rounded ass.

“Good. Very good,” she said, giving me a quick once-over. “Now, take off the robe and make yourself comfortable.” She indicated the areas in which I could make myself comfortable—the couch, chair, or floor. “You can sit or lie, just realize you’ll have to keep the pose for a while.”

The black man in the portrait had sat on the overstuffed chair, confidently spreading himself out. I couldn’t pose the same way a man had. I also didn’t want to have to worry about how self-consciously I could stand.

I also could only think of the more classic nudes I’d seen of late, like Alissa’s.

I turned away from Alex, dropped the robe, giving her a nice view of my butt, the only part of me that I really liked, then sat on the couch. I desperately wanted to cover myself up, but still managed to lean slightly back against the pillows, then bring my legs up onto the couch, relaxed, but still somewhat self-conscious. I laid one arm along the back of the couch and the other hand on my thigh.

I was glad I was sitting upright, because then my breasts didn’t flatten out against me; instead they appeared somewhat perky.

The air still caressed my private parts, and heat started coursing through me.

“Good, I like that. Except… Can you bring yourself a little more my way?”

I inched my hips forward a bit, looking to her for guidance.

She smiled. “No, move your hips back and open yourself up a bit. Don’t be self-conscious. Know how sexy you look.”

This direct reference sent energy running through me. Her gaze sent electricity through me. I knew she was watching me.

I wanted to blush, or cover myself, and I hoped she couldn’t see how turned on I was getting.

“Just relax,” Alex said. I heard the scratch of pencil on paper. “Breathe normally and forget I’m here.”

She was trying to calm me, relax me, with her soothing tones, but she did the opposite. Her words proved that she was seeing me, seeing me as a woman, a woman who could be taken advantage of.

I tried to relax and think about other things. I tried to leave my body behind, ignoring all of the electricity that was pulsing through me, but my eyes kept wandering back to her. I studied the length of her fingers, imagining what they would feel like inside of me. I noticed the sure way she moved, comfortable with her body, and then thought about what her skin would feel like against me.

I just knew her body would be muscular, yet soft. That she would have curves my fingers would love, yet she would be sure of herself in bed. She would take what she wanted. I wanted her to take me and make me scream.

I had never even gone all the way with any guy I’d known. I’d let them feel me up occasionally, and kissed more than a few in my day, but it had never felt quite right, I had never been really tempted to let them do what they wanted to with me.

But with Alex, I wanted her to take me out of my mind. I wanted her to do
whatever
she wanted to with me. I wanted her to use and control me.

I didn’t notice the passage of time, but I did suddenly realize just how wet I was. I was so ready for her, I’d come if she just touched me. Just the thought of her touching me, stroking me, sucking me, licking me…

I looked over to watch her and the way she would look at me, then move her brush over the canvas. The hours had already ticked away. I hadn’t even noticed when she moved from pencil, or whatever, to brush and paint.

I suddenly hoped she could see how wet I was. I opened my legs just a little bit more, hoping she could notice how turned on I was. I felt as if I could come. If she only just touched me I knew I’d have a screaming orgasm.

For hours I had been getting wet and ready, feeling my nakedness throughout me—and she had just been watching. A voyeur beyond belief. She was watching and enjoying it, I was sure.

She’d look up at me, then use her brush on her canvas, occasionally licking her lips. I wanted that tongue on my clit.

I was exposed to her artist’s eyes, and she was enjoying it. I opened my thighs up a bit more, under the excuse of stretching. I left myself open, allowing her to see my swollen lips.

I thought about touching myself, about squeezing my nipples, stroking my clit, dipping my fingers inside of myself. I wondered if doing so would drive her into action, would make her come over and take me.

I wondered if she’d like to see me masturbate, see me touch myself intimately.

The thought of touching myself in front of another person made me begin to involuntarily arch. I wasn’t sure if she had seen it. But I was so turned on I could feel the ache in my abdomen, I could feel it in my stomach.