Take My Picture?byGstack©
reetings Lords and Ladies of Literotica, it’s me, Gina and I am back with the second installment of my tale.
I wanted to thank all of you who read and responded to my first story. Thank you for the praise, comments and yes the occasionally criticism. It may not always be pretty, but I promise to keep it true. Well as close as I can recall on some things....;-)
Can I take your picture?
So this is something that happened to me about three months after my divorce cleared. ( Note- The divorce was the saddest portion of my life. I was no saint, playing an equal part in the break-up. But Daryl was by no means guiltless in our years together. Anyway, I wished him luck, he could have the house, I took off and shared an apartment with one of my coworkers from the bookstore.)
So my life now revolved around a few things.
1) Rekindling and nurturing my artistic side.
2) Living my life, on my own terms and on my own clock.
3) Meeting, dating, becoming intimate with or plain ole fucking men that were once unattainable to me.
Well my attempt at rekindling my artistic side ended up blending nicely into the last thing on my new list of “to do’s”
I attended an exhibit of Cambridge an other area artists one Friday night. It was fantastic group of writers, sculptors, painters and photographers. I was in the mix and felt woefully inadequate. I mean after years of not touching a single pencil I was taking baby steps back into the world of figure drawing and life studies.
Well I went alone, not too sure if I might meet someone. So I got all dressed up,( Guys pay attention- a tight sleeveless lilac colored sweater and a black silk mini) and arrived an hour after opening. The place slowly filled up and I waited on the edge of the groups forming. I used this time to take a spin around the galleries. Some of the stuff was fantastic, real emotionally driven sculptures, while there was abstract paintings that looked like a drunk monkey threw it together.
I wander into a series of prints, large digital reproductions in black and white. I was stunned. I saw lines of bodies, naked, fully revealed or partially clothed. Black, white, Asian. It was gorgeous. And the photographer waited at the end of the line surrounded by a small flock of friends and groupies.
So dare I describe him? No, I wouldn’t do him justice. But I will anyway.
He was a cross between Lenny Kravitz and the gorgeous guy on CSI.
hair was slightly grown out, a bit kinky, light coffee skins, he wore great jewelry around his neck, tucked inside a simple white button down shirt and perfectly baggy worn jeans. His foot wear, some freakishly large bowling shoes.
Anyhow, I manage to slowly nudge up to the group and introduce myself.
Oh I forgot to tell you his name, the photographer, Ashton.
Ashton Richardson, dad is Jamaican, mom an Italian, from what I read of his bio at the opening of the gallery. Hmm....something we have in common. The Italian blood.
Hey here comes one of the waitstaff. And there is wine on the tray.
Sure I’ll take one.
Ashton was a total charmer. So how do I compete with a room full of artistic women, me being the oldest woman in the room by eight years?
I push it.
After a long explanation about how he find models, male and female, I ask him would he consider me for a photo? I am sure he has had this type of badgering before, but damn I wanted to get him alone with his camera.
Night drags on, I flirt with another few guys, get hit by some others, but all the time I am waiting for Ashton to say something, approach me. Anything.
10 o’clock the show wraps up and women are giving numbers and email addresses to Ashton hand over fist. I am playing it cool, mainly because, I’ll admit it, I couldn’t figure him out yet.
I am heading out and who do I hear behind...Ashton.
“Gina, I am sorry I wasn’t able to talk tonight. Shows like this are so hectic..” blah, blah, blah.
“But you seemed genuinely interested in working with me. So I wanted you to know I think we might be able to do something.”
Ga-ga...I was drooling. Should I have played it differently...hell yeah. But after a night of basically being ignored, I swallowed the bait.
“I’d love to!” Tee-hee-hee. I was awful. Brain dead girl, pining for the handsome guy.
“If it’s not too late, maybe we could hang out, talk some more, in private.”
“Sure.” I said..again...completely bending.
“We could go back to my apartment. I’d love to show you some more of my work, the pieces I don’t put on display at public shows.”
I jumped on that invitation like I planned on jumping on him when I had my chance.
A short walk to his apartment in Central Square. Not bad, small, decorated OK. But his photos were everywhere. Lots of personal stuff, family, friends, still life. Just fantastic. As I write this I have a photo of his from Nova Scotia sitting above my computer.
Well he brings out some Australian wine, sip-sip. More courage Gina. Giggle, flirt. Gently slap his shoulder. I was either going perfect or a complete fraud and embarrassment to women everywhere.
Well it didn’t matter what I did next, Ashton was in total control once he brought out his portfolio. I won’t bore you with details of everything else, I’ll just simply say, Page 11.
There on Page 11, in black and white, on a sheet measuring 8x10, was a self portrait of Ashton.
As I turned Page 10, he stopped me and said if I felt uncomfortable with nudity I should stop. I laughed and boy was I God damn surprised!
Asthon Richardson stood there, completely nude for the camera. Broad chest, great shoulder, sinewy forearms, flat stomach, thick thighs and an amazing cock.
But what TOTALLY killed me was the definition reaching down to that marvelous “appendage” Ashton had those two defined muscles running from the sides of his stomach, in a V, down to the clean shaven base of his dick. I was stunned. I swoon at that alone.
I believe I did gasp. I do remember putting my hand up near my mouth in surprise and looking over at him right after. He had such a wicked grin on his face.
Ashton was a born exhibitionist I would come to find out over the coming weeks. Grew fast and large, and young. Always dated women older than him and knew early on his art and sexual life could easily come together at opportune moments. I was lucky enough to be there at one of those moments.
I can only hold my frustration in for so long before I just lay it all out. I recall a date with an Irish-Italian guy right after the divorce, Kevin, he was cute, shy yet hinted at his endowment. Well knowing what I know about Irish guys, I was interested if he was all talk. So I got him in the apartment, ordered him to kiss me and 10 minutes later I was being thoroughly fucked by a long ,WIDE cock. The largest white guy I have ever been with to this day. But that is another story for another time.
I digress. I basically did the same thing with Ashton.
I held his hand, put it on my leg, looked at him and said, “Stop fucking talking and kiss me!”
All right..time to dish the dirt on ole Ashton. Great to look at, great body, nice cock, but that boy could NOT kiss to save his life. What a huge let down. I cannot tell you how much kissing means to me. Very important.
I thought maybe it was me, maybe it was nerves, maybe we’d get to know each other. But the kissing was plain awful.
I was completely turned on though, I remember the flush feeling rushing over me and the electricity when his hands cupped my breasts. His tongue however played expertly on my nipples and when I opened my thighs to his tongue, in that case he did not let me down. I remember just having one little orgasm after another, I was so worked up and dying to consummate the deal. When I get like that I get totally crazy. I ruined his shirt, tore than damn thing off, yanked down his pants and found...to my surprise..one large penis and no underwear. Very sexy.
He was fascinating to me because he was very narcissistic and loved to look at his own cock as we fucked. I noticed when I would occasionally open my eyes, I would find him looking down at his cock entering me and smiling. Smug bastard. As he should be, he was a fantastic fuck!
What was a turn on for me was to see him reach into a drawer and pull out a lovely little gold condom package and see one blessed word, MAGNUM!
So I have my shallow moments....who doesn’t.
OK..on the issue of oral. I love it. I love to give and receive. I love the power and pleasure I can give to a man. I also love the feeling of some men in my mouth. What I noticed about Ashton....coffee. I would find out the next morning he LOVED coffee and consumed lots of it. I could tell then night before because cum tasted like damn instant coffee or something. So I am overstating, point being, I could tell. It was bitter.
OK, I am no doubt ruining the mood here.
What else can I tell you about me and Ashton right now...?
Hmm, I know. I did end up posing for him the next day. Bare ass naked.
Oh and the other thing, for you guys reading this. Ashton was the first guy I let tit fuck me. Was an interesting experience. More on his end than mine. but damn that was part of the turn on. Him writhing and arching into me....ooh boy...getting hot again.
That’s it for now.
Another installment coming soon.
Ta-ta and kisses
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