The Sculptor Ch. 01bycantdog©
"So Greg says, thanks for being the one person who knows me, but I'm thinkin', so I know him? I mean, what's there to know about? There's nothing there! He's so shallow, you know?"
"Well, what do you want, a secret agent for Chad? He's in high school! Give him a break!" Gina shut her locker, spun the dial, and shifted the books up to her hip. "You gonna break up with him 'cause he's not a serial killer or a war hero?"
"But Gina! He's always talking like that!" The two girls moved into the stream of humanity in the hall, toward their English class.
"Well, he's made a mistake! He thinks you give a damn, and you obviously don't. I think you ought to break up with him, myself; you're no more in love with him than you are with your cat, Bren."
"That's not fair; I like Greg a lot," Brenda pouted.
"He wants love, though, and you're not ready for that. I think you ought to tell him that."
"Why do I ever tell you about anything?" Brenda grumbled.
"I tell you the truth, that's why." A little silence followed this one, then Brenda became specific.
"But how do I get him to stop talking like that and not break up?"
"Try telling him, next time he starts in, 'Look, Greg, when you talk this way it makes me uncomfortable. I like what we have together, but I'm not ready to fall in love with anybody.'"
"Gawd, what'll he think about me if I do something like that?"
"He'll be hurt a little, but if you really like going with him, keep on saying so; he'll believe you after a while."
"Really?" Brenda considered it. "Yeah, maybe."
"I think you need to say that, or say something. For Greg's sake."
"What? For his sake?"
"Gawd, Bren! Just do it, okay? It'll work!"
"All right, all right!"
Gina sat in English class, bored out of her skull. To pass the time, she visualized the result of her little counseling session with Brenda...
"You're so perfect for me, Bren," began Greg that evening. "I can tell you anything..."
"Look, Greg." Brenda wiped her mouth, released his cock and turned on her knee, tipping her hips up. "I wish you didn't talk like that so much. I like going with you-- put it in, baby!... Oh, yeah!-- but I-- Oh!-- I don't think I'm ready to fall in love or anything, you know? Uh! Gawd, that's so good!"
The bright yellow condom disappeared and reappeared in the colored light. Greg clasped her hips with both hands and came in low and hard. He thought about it, pounding into the juicy warmth of Brenda's tight pussy. It came to him that she hadn't been confiding in him at all; it had all been one way. "I guess I was just projecting," he told himself.
"I'm sorry, baby. I hope we can still go out together?"
"Oh, sure, I didn't mean that!"
"Good! I like you a lot."
"Me too. Let's flip over."
It was clearly another triumph of relationship counseling...
Gina had a vivid imagination. Her daydream was interrupted by the English teacher.
"Gina? Number seven, please."
"It's a dangling modifier, the carved legs have to go with the chair, not the woman."
"Right. And your sentence?"
Grammar was so simple. It had to be after doing the same things for six years every time. Her sentence was the same one she'd used the year before when the same problem came up in the same place in the junior edition. It was right again this time, too.
Mr. Kelvin moved on to the next problem, and everyone's attention moved with him. "Joanie? Eight."
The mental playlet with Greg and Brenda had popped like a bubble, but it left a humming little sex buzz behind. Joanie was sitting up with her back arched; it pushed out her small bosom and also accentuated her butt. Sean was noticing, definitely.
Gina made the same move, a decided arch of her back, folding her hands on the book and turning from the neck to look at Joanie. And Sean switched over to noticing Gina. There was more on top for Gina to push out. The rest of senior English passed quickly, the bell rang, and everyone got up and made for the hall again.
"You look nice, today, Gina," remarked Sean, walking closer to her and smiling.
"I bet. How's Deanna?"
"I couldn't say; she was all right last month, but I don't see her much now."
"Long story. I'll tell it to you if you wanna hear it. I have season tickets to the Penobscot Theater; we could see Irma Vepp."
"To hear about Deanna?" she mocked.
"I'd rather not, but you seemed so interested!"
"Okay, then: Irma Vepp. What time?"
"Now we're talkin'. It starts at 7:30, which really means quarter of eight. I can come get you around seven or so if you'll tell me where to meet you."
Gina gave him her address, and they talked clothes for the occasion a minute. Sean had to move out, then, to make Bio class, and took his leave. On the way to Art, Gina considered Sean. He was okay, she concluded. He played bass in Bald Soprano, though. Bass players are always unscrewed someplace.
"Bass players oughta be chained up somewhere," she said to herself.
Art class was a welter of conversations. Everybody was perched on the silly high stools all around the room. Mr. Lussac came out of the storeroom in the back with a rag, wiping his fingers, but the rag was making them redden with paint. He wrinkled his nose and cast the rag in the bin by his desk. He sat on his desk and surveyed the class.
People had closed down their talk when he'd appeared, and the turn of his head brought silent attention. Gina suddenly noticed that there wasn't a chair at the desk at all. No wonder he always sat on top of it!
"I want to start today by showing you these two sculptures on the table here," he said with the little flipping gesture he used instead of pointing. "I find one awkward and the other pleasing, and I wonder if you can see what I mean."
Lussac moved smoothly into a discussion of sculpture as an arrangement of masses, much like flower arrangement. Gina nearly always found art class engaging, and actually forgot herself for forty minutes.
After homeroom, with the pressure off and waiting for the bus in the wind outside, she went back to planning what to wear to the theater. She missed her name being called, and Brenda had to jostle her.
"Gina, the art teacher called you!"
It was Mr. Lussac in a big stiff-looking wool jacket and a scarf that seemed soft as a rabbit. His hair whipped a little in the breeze and he was smiling.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Gina; I hope it wasn't important." He didn't sound sarcastic at all. If most people had said that it would have been a jab.
Gina liked him, and she knew his work a little, too. His sculpture had been a one-man show in Boston, just this past fall. Gina and Roman had gone to see it with Kat Philips and Andy Searle in Andy's old Rambler. It had been a great day in the city for them, and the sculpture had been good, too, as far as Gina was concerned. She made light of his interruption and invited him to start again.
"I want a favor, but not as a teacher, just as myself. Please feel free to say no, in other words. You know, don't you, that this is my last year here?"
"I'm going to stop teaching and work full time."
"Teaching is very time-consuming if you do it right, and I always took a lot of time away from work to do it that way. But after graduation this year, I'll be gone, as far as the school is concerned. I'm not leaving in any other sense, though."
"I didn't know. I'll miss you; or, I'll miss your class, I mean."
"I could tell you found the subject absorbing." Lussac helped her to place the emphasis on the class. He was a gracious man, and missed very little within his sphere. "That's what gave me hope that I could ask this of you."
Oh, yes, the favor. "If I can, I'm certainly willing to help, Mr. Lussac."
"You are generous! I need a model, a young woman, for a figure in a group I'm doing for the Transit Authority in Boston. The figures are travelling and hopeful for the future. They plan to place it in North Station. But I'm afraid the only young people I know are my students. There is money available to pay you for your time, because it is a commissioned work. Do you think it's possible you could model?" Lussac had lost most of his accent after a decade in the United States, but he structured his sentences like a textbook; English was not his native tongue.
"I've never thought of myself as a model." Her brows knit. Lussac made his best guess about what was troubling her.
"When you think of models, you are thinking of glamor models, but this is not the same. We don't need to sell anything; the piece is supposed to represent people who can be identified with. Good looking people, certainly, but not otherworldly, not unattainably gorgeous or extreme. And I cannot use a hopeless person; I need someone who can look like she's headed for great things. Do you understand?"
"How much time would it take? How does it work...?"
"It is tedious, but never for very long at a time, because the model tires and the pose slumps. Half-hour sessions is the limit at first, although with practice you'll be able to go longer. With the budget I have, I can pay a hundred or so for each half-hour. It is not easy, you'll earn it, and I'm afraid it's not very glamorous, either."
"Wow. I'll have to talk to my mom."
"Your mother will ask if it's nude, but nude is not necessary for this. I have to start on it soon, though. Can you tell me yes or no by the day after tomorrow? I really would like it to be you for this."
Gina replied, "I never can tell when it's my mom. Yes or no sounds simple, but sometimes... I should be able to tell you then."
"I can't ask better than that. Thank you."
Gina acknowledged politely and Lussac left with the nod he always gave, like a little tiny bow. She was thinking furiously about what had just happened, but Brenda broke in on her as soon as the door shut behind Lussac.
"My gawd, Gina! You'll be in the station in Boston, like forever! D'you think he wants you?"
But Gina didn't think so; she thought he wanted a good model for his public art piece. Nothing would stop Brenda from believing whatever she wanted to believe, though.
She listened to just enough of her talk to be able to respond, and tried to determine how she felt about Lussac's offer, besides flattered. It is very nice to be told so decidedly that you looked like a person who was headed for great things. She already wanted to agree to it, and turned her attention to how she was going to approach her mother.
"Not until I see Mr. Lussac myself," replied Hannah Noble. "I can see you want to do this, Gina. But we agreed. Remember?"
"If we need my judgement, then I have to have enough to go on."
"He wants to start soon, though. He says he wants to know if I can do it by the day after tomorrow."
"I'll call now. Are you coming with me if I can see him tonight?"
"I told Sean seven! That was before I knew about this! Oh, man!"
Hannah let her work it out. Gina went for Sean and the play, and her mother called the art teacher to arrange to see him that evening alone. She was reassured that her daughter seemed more interested in the boy her own age than in the older man. In the end, the man was probably a danger only if Gina had some kind of thing for him.
Lussac was urbane on the 'phone. He neither mocked her concern nor seemed nervous about it. Consequently she almost told Gina to go ahead right then, but she felt it was best to make sure, anyway. Hanging up, she wondered how one dressed to see a sculptor about such a thing.
Gina had a good imagination, but she couldn't have known how close she'd come to the reality. Greg had been taking Brenda out most of senior year. They had a real routine. As soon as they set eyes on one another, they felt the lust rising; as soon as they were alone, it was time to fuck!
Driving along, only minutes after he'd picked her up, his hand went to her thigh. Their eyes met, and her hand stroked him.
"The Chevy lot?" he asked. Eagerly, she nodded, and gave him a squeeze. His hand rubbed the crotch of her chinos and she kissed his ear and teased his nipples through the polo.
Before long, they were parked in the back lot of the car dealership, sliding their hands into each other's clothes and kissing madly.
His Chevy blended right in with the cars which had already been seen in the service department, and the strong lights of the car lot made each exposed inch of fine teenaged flesh excitingly visible! She took her pants off while she suckled him; she removed his shorts and boxers while he stripped off the shirt. Strong lights from two directions made sculptural shadows across their naked young bodies.
They didn't pause to drink in the lighting effects, though, only for the inevitable condom.
Brenda met his eye, cupping and rolling his hefty balls. "I feel really oral tonight, Greg!"
"I got a lollipop for you right there, babe!"
"I'll start there, but I feel really really oral!"
"Ooh, I love that! Let me roll over right now!"
Greg pulled the lever which dropped the front seat and arranged himself on hands and knees for her. She licked his balls and took his cock into her mouth before settling in to work his ass.
It didn't happen often, but once in a while she wanted to abase herself, and she'd lick him all over, building to an anal fuck with her stiff tongue. After a little mouth work, she came back out to turn under him and suck.
"You're a teacher, and I have to be really good to pass art," she told him.
"That's very nice the way you suck cock, but I want real devotion, Miss Auclair!" responded the Teacher in a baritone much like Lussac's.
"I'll take it into my throat, Sir!" she said.
"Very well, but you have to be convincing!"
"When I get deep, push my head deeper! I want that A very badly, Sir!"
"Show me how you throat a man, Miss Auclair!"
She suited her action to his word, and throated very abjectly. He held the back of her head and fucked heartlessly into her, then backed out to allow her to recover and breathe. A few rounds of this, and he took her hair in his grip. While she was getting control of her gag reflex, he snarled, "Lick my balls, Miss Auclair! I want devotion!"
"Oh, yes!" She sniffed, wiping her streaming eyes. She swallowed a time or two and then started in. She was very good. The Teacher ordered her to stroke him at the same time, which she did. On his request she throated him again, then came back to his balls, licking.
The Teacher was sneering, triumphing over his student, clutching her hair in his fist and applying her slave mouth wherever he liked, pulling her back and pushing her in again. Deeply onto his hard cock, all around his hairy crotch. Nothing was too nasty for her-- then he thought of a new wrinkle.
"There is more you can do, to show me devotion, Miss Auclair!" he said, in a stern tone. He released her head. He wanted her to tongue him voluntarily. With finger and thumb, he lifted up his cock, indicating with the other hand where she should place her sweet teenaged lips next.
"No! Please, you can't mean it!!" The whole idea was demeaning! Wasn't she humiliated enough?
"Lick my ass! Now, you slutty girl!"
"Oh, God...!" But the Girl did it, a little.
"You are not serious. You don't want the grade at all; you might as well dress and go," the Teacher sneered.
"Oh, no, please, Sir!"
"Then you know what to do, Miss Auclair!"
"Yes, Sir! Oh, yes, please forgive me! I'll do it right now!" The Girl plunged in, red with shame, and swirled her tongue around his anus. There were black hairs around it! The Girl thought about her mother-- what would she think of her little girl now?
Her tongue licked the man's asshole. The Girl felt so degraded. As the Teacher called for more, she gave more and more, ultimately pounding her face into his ass, holding her tongue out stiff to penetrate, and then licking inside him as deep as she could go...
She straightened up. "Fuck me, Greg!"
She repositioned quickly, her pussy already puffy and swollen with lust. Her erect clit caught and slid along her lover's cock as he fucked. Greg rewarded her with power and intensity. He'd been levered up by her abasement into a state of high rut, and he took her harshly in the rocking car until he couldn't hold back any more, and jerked deeply into her waiting hips, back arching, grunting like an animal. His come amazed him by its shocking soft explosive quality. It left his belly and thighs tingling like needles.
She came almost upon his first thrust, and helplessly flew from come to come, a little one, a hard one, over and over. When he moved in and licked her after his own climax she came very strongly.
The two relaxed, cherishing each other gently, recovering their breath and luxuriating in their well-earned afterglow.
"Do you ever think about raising kids?" Greg inquired. He was speaking into her pussy, and he went right back to kissing it while he waited for her answer.
"Greg, I really like you... but really, you can't keep on talking like that, you know?"
"I'm not ready for falling in love or anything. I hope you understand, I just want to go out and have a good time and stuff."
"You do? I... I see. Okay. I'm sorry, babe. You're not mad at me?"
"No! Are you all right? I don't want to hurt you, I just want us to keep on like we are. Okay?"
"That's cool." He cast his mind back to the things he'd told her over the past weeks. How much of a fool had he made of himself? Greg drew in a big breath. "In fact, I guess it's a sweet thing!" He puffed it out. "Wow. Look, thanks for telling me, okay?" To Brenda he sounded very disappointed.
"Sure! Look, I brought something tonight, in case you were upset. It's kind of a special extra I wanted to do for you. Hold right still a second, I gotta get my purse." She stretched and slid, and fished a little bottle out of the handbag. "See if you can figure out what I got in mind! Can you see it in the light?"
"Okay... personal lubri... Holy shit. You want me to do your ass?"
"Yeah! Get a new condom on it!"
"Okay, but you gotta lick it first to get it all soft and ready."
"Yeah, to get it ready. When I--"
"Get up. Get on your hands and knees! I got this! This is easy."
"When I do yours, it--"
"Shh! Oh, what a sweet ass. You're so pretty, babe. Here I come."
"Don't you want the new condom?"
"Oh yeah, but let me do this a bit first!"
In just a few minutes, Greg was jacking his ribbed purple cock into a new and tighter place. Brenda was so glad he wasn't hurt or upset, and got confirmation that they were still going to go out. Greg was quite definite that they were still going out.
Brenda got off her bus and circled behind the school early the next morning. The art teacher's car, a Honda gas and electric hybrid, pulled quietly in and shut down as she approached it.
"Do I know you, Miss...?"
"Mr. Lussac? I'm Brenda Auclair. You don't, I mean, I don't have any art classes, but I'm a friend of Gina Noble's. She says she's not doing any nude modeling and--"
"Please, Miss Auclair! There was never any question of nude modeling in any case; it is not needed for this project."
"Yes but you might have other projects! You might need one sometime, right?"
"I must prepare for homeroom, Miss Auclair. Please, talk again with Gina, you seem to be worried for nothing. I do not plan to have her model nude."
"I know, but don't you ever need a nude model?"
"Why do you want to know, Miss Auclair?" Lussac frowned at her. "I am not teaching after this year; you can't cost me my job, you know. There is nothing scandalous about it in any case! I hate this kind of questioning--!"