Author's note: The following is a scene I wrote as part of my NaNoWriMo challenge. NaNoWriMo is a project that centers around National Novel Writing Month which is November. The challenge is to write a 500,000 word novel in a months time. The point isn't necessarily for all of it to be *good* but to get something workable completed. As we all know, everyone wants to write a novel- someday. NaNo is just the thing to turn *some*day into *to*day. In any event, the following excerpt stands on it's own and I offer it here for the curious and the horny alike. I hope you enjoy. --Amy Sweet.
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Zoë is one of my best girlfriends. I first met her when I was twenty, at a house party. Back then, her hair was pink and spiky, and I remember she was wearing these large dangly geometric earrings. The thing is, the 80's had been long over- but I really dug her retro look.
She wasn't the first girl I experimented with, but she was the first girl that I really had anything special going with. That night, I had no idea that she was even into girls. Especially since she was hanging on the arm of this lanky dark haired guy with an eyebrow piercing.
The two of them were going at it pretty hot and heavy, like some kind of high school make-out session. As it happened, I found out later that she had just graduated, and he had just dropped out of alternative ed. He was joining this local alt/punk band which she thought was totally cool. I could see that they weren't going anywhere- the band or the couple, but I kept my mouth shut. There was really no reason to do otherwise.
We didn't hook up that night, but we talked during the time that alternate-boy was hanging with his band-mates. I was in college, studying art and I told her that I would love to paint her sometime. She was kind of shy about that, she didn't feel that she was especially pretty and she felt sort of awkward. I let her know that I thought she had the perfect face for portraits, and that she wouldn't have to do anything other than sit still and keep me company while I painted her.
"You mean I don't have to sit perfectly still the whole time?" she asked me.
"Of course not, just when I'm sketching out a certain feature, and that's the shortest part of the process."
She agreed that it wouldn't be much different than what we were already doing and that she would do it, if I really needed her to help me out. I told her that I really did. What I meant was that I really wanted to, but she didn't seem ready to believe it.
In the weeks that followed, we came to know each other pretty well as I rendered her likeness onto the best quality canvas I could afford. She was frustrated by the fact that I wouldn't let her see it until it was finished, but she seemed to enjoy our sessions as much as I did.
We found out that we had a lot in common; similar values and politics, interest in the arts- Zoë was into photography and fashion design, similar taste in music (band-boy notwithstanding). One thing that we never discussed was my growing attraction for her. She never hinted at any tendencies toward bi-sexuality and I didn't want to take a chance of damaging our friendship or scaring her off, so I didn't say anything. But I felt the heat in the room whenever she was around. I knew the excitement whenever I thought about her, or the anticipation of seeing her again. Part of me didn't want to finish the painting; part of me had this irrational fear that when the painting was finished, I'd never see her again.
But I did finish the painting. I remember the day quite clearly. She came in that day with her pink hair spiked up and those same geometric earrings she wore the first time I had seen her. She was wearing head to toe green and it made me think of a nature spirit, the way her tiny body floated around the room and her musical little laugh echoed around in my head long after the sound had dissipated from the room.
At first she sat quietly while I added the finishing touches. She knew that I was almost done and there was something almost magical about it that we both understood. It was almost as if we were holding our breaths in anticipation, knowing that the finished product was so close so fragile that we didn't want to do anything to slow it down or break it at the last minute.
"OK," I finally said. "You wanna come see?"
Her eyes lit up. "It's ready?" she asked tentatively.
I nodded and she ran to my side. When she looked at the picture, I heard her inhale suddenly and then she was silent for a moment or two.
"You made me look so- beautiful," she said in awe.
"You are beautiful," I answered. She looked at me with her eyes shining. Something passed between us, I felt I know what it was but I was afraid to name it. A moment that seemed it could have gone anywhere if one of us had had the courage to seize it. But neither of us did, and the moment passed.
"Your very talented," she told me. I wondered if the moment had happened at all.
"I think this is my best work," I told her.
"Can I see some of your other stuff?" she asked, looking eager.
"Sure, let's do that while this one dries. It always looks a little different after the paint dries."
I took her over to my cupboard and we started looking through my canvases. I didn't have many yet, most of the pictures I had painted in high school where in boxes painted on heavy paper. Most of the canvases, even, were from school assignments. We flipped through my meager collection. Zoë seemed impressed with every one.
"Wow!" she told me, "I don't think I could ever be that talented."
"What are you talking about?" I asked her. "You're a photographer! And you design clothes."
"Yeah, but that's different. Photography's not really a talent like painting. I just take a picture of what's there. You create."
"We all have different talents Zoë. You use your eyes to see and capture beauty just like I do. You shouldn't undervalue yourself."
"Don't hide your light under a bushel huh?" she laughed.
Our friendship was cemented that day. Rather than being the last, it was the first that really mattered. It was the day we went from being people who knew each other to being real true friends. Zoë liked my fairy pictures the best, and I sometimes wonder if that isn't the reason that I've painted so many since then.
Zoë became my model, and secretly my muse. She would sit for me whenever I needed to do a painting for class, or even if I just wanted to practice sketching features. One day when I was preparing to do an assignment she said something that made the hair on my arms stand up.
"Do you ever do- you know, nudes?" she asked quite shyly.
"Sure, in class I've done a few," I told her trying to be nonchalant.
"Would you want to- I mean, well. I think it would be a cool thing to have, you know a once in a lifetime- Or do you think that would be too weird? You know, since we know each other so well?"
"No, not at all. I mean, if you were ok with it. I know some tricks to help you if your uncomfortable."
"Sure- like wearing a sheet, keeping the room warm, stuff like that."
"Oh," did she blush? "That's thoughtful."
"All in the name of keeping the model happy," I told her with a smile. "And if you decide you're uncomfortable at any point, and don't want to continue- I just stop. I'll paint over whatever work I've already done and re-use the canvas for something else. I don't want to do anything to make you uncomfortable."
"I feel totally comfortable when I'm with you," she assured me.
There it was again. Something between us. What did she mean? Was it something more than the sum total of the words spoken? I had just told her that I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, so I was afraid to ask, to pursue it further.
She mentioned the nude painting a few times again, but whenever I asked if she wanted to do it, she said she wasn't sure yet. I was patient. I tried not to let it show how eager I was to see her body naked, laid out for me to caress with my minds eye and stroke over the canvas board with my brushes. How often I had imagined it and dreamed about it, hoping that somehow she might feel the same way about me. Alone in the night I let the fantasy take me away, to heights of pleasure. But when she was in the room, standing so near me I could feel her body heat and smell her shampoo, I would say nothing of the desires that burned within my heart.
Finally the day came. "I'm ready," she told me resolutely. I didn't have to ask what she meant. It had been on my mind for so long, and I could see that she had steeled up her courage to take the plunge.
I led her to the room, turned up the heat to a comfortable temperature for the clothing-impaired and left to let her take off her clothes and cover with the sheet. "It's just like the doctor's office," she said, giggling nervously.
She called out when she was ready for me.
"The doctor can see you now," I said with a chuckle. I could see she was tense, but relaxing. "The next thing we need to do is decide on a pose."
"I thought I would just lay on a..." she looked around, realizing that there was no couch in the room. "Hmm, what do we do now?"
"I could draw you standing, or sitting. In fact, I have a couple of pose ideas of you sitting down under the window sill. Would you like me to show you?"
"All right, you stand here, behind my easel where I would be. That way you can see how you'll appear from my point of view."
I went to the window and showed her several sitting positions, including one where her knees were over her breasts and her hands down by her feet. It's a good pose that looks fresh and sensual without showing too much detail. The one she choose had her legs together and bent so that the bottom half of her anatomy would be covered, but her breasts exposed. Then she leaned at a 50-60 degree angle on her hand and faced forward toward me.
Zoë seemed to have no problem shedding the cloth. It seemed to me that she had been building her self up to do this for a long time, and now she was determined to do so without showing any fear. It made me like her even more.
Now she sat in front of me, naked at last. "Breathtaking," I said, not even realizing that it was out loud. Her breasts were round and firm with large put pale areolas and pale pert nipples. I sketched her quicker than anything else I had ever drawn and when I reached for my brush, even she was surprised.
"You've finished the sketch already?"
I stopped what I was doing and looked at her carefully. I searched her face and found no fear, I decided for myself to be brave as well. "It's like I was born to paint you like this."
The words fell into the air. There was no tension in the silence, only understanding. The room was infused with a soft kind of energy. A glow of mutual respect, caring, and something else. Dare I even call it love?
I painted like that, in silence. The sun moved down the sky and the shadows in my painting moved to. They were fluid, almost surreal as if the viewer could hear them whispering. Something was different now. Zoë felt it, I felt it. She looked at me differently now. She was waiting. Waiting for me to finish; waiting for me to make my move.
When the last bush stroke was laid down, I nearly dropped my brush and pallet. I didn't run to her, but moved with a fluid motion as though pulled by some force beyond my control. I stopped just in front of her without touching her. Now we looked into each others eyes and calibrated out breaths to one another. The air was thick with anticipation, I could feel our souls being drawn toward one another.
I leaned toward her, taking her in my arms, wrapping myself around her. I didn't kiss her lips, but her cheek near her ear lobe. I kissed her neck and felt her melt into me. I nuzzled her neck, feeling filled with joy. I had painted her so many times, but I had never been able to touch her like this, to capture her in this way. She was like smoke in my arms, like a dream only I knew this was real. I had dreamed this so many times and this was different. I heard her moan softly, accepting me as I slid my hand down between her legs.
She pressed into me as I massaged her moist outer lips. Her moans were like soft mewing, a beseeching sound begging me to take her but to take her gently. I knew instinctively that this was new for her, yet she was willing because she knew me, trusted me. I took my time coving her neck with kisses, blowing softly across her ear, and stroking her gently between her legs. I waited to go further until she was sure she wanted it, until she wanted it so badly that her body was begging. Her head was tipped back, her breaths long and steady.
"Do you want me inside you?" I whispered; our cheeks pressed together.
"Yes!" she moaned back. "Yes."
I pushed two fingers up past her external folds. Her body opened to me as I slid into the velvety flesh and she cried out again. Very slowly I worded my fingers in and out of her, in time with her hard and steady breathing. In and out I slid past the sticky entrance to her cunny. Her breathing quickened and so did my thrusts. She moaned her pleasure as if in a dream, saying my name and calling yes, yes, and please.
"Oh, god Nicole- yes! Oh yes, please. Just like that, baby. Just like that." She was lost in the ecstasy of the moment. She seemed almost possessed my some medieval sprit of sexual rapture, the way she rolled in my arms and pleaded for more.
I brought her up, all the way up so that she was so close- her moans deepened, her cries edged toward screams. My fingers flew in and out of her, bringing her close to the edge, but then backing off. I slowed and now she went back to the moans from before. I could tell she was wondering why I had not let her come, but what I was now doing felt so good that she quickly forgot to complain.
My arm was wrapped around her back, and I now leaned her back on top of the sheet on the floor and slipped out from underneath her. Continuing to work my fingers over her g-spot, I used my other hand to lift her knees and spread her thighs open. When I leaned down and reached my tongue out to touch her, she gasped in shock and pleasure.
I liked her inner lips evenly, tasting the condensed sweetness of her juices. Her pussy-juices continued flowing in response to the generous tongue bath I was providing and together we slicked up both her sweet nether regions and my mouth with a mix of our fluids. Her sweet taste was encouraging to me as I continued to stimulate her g-spot while I flicked teasingly at her clit off and on.
Zoë's head was now thrashing back and forth, and the words and moans that emanated from her mouth were all gibberish. But each time my tongue danced over her protruding little nub, a high pitched squeal would escape amidst the lower earthy tones of lust. Each flick was followed by more attention to her lips and then another flick or series of flicks and then back between her lips. I used my hands to pull her inner labia apart, finally releasing hr g-spot with some protest from her. That quickly died down when I pressed my tongue up inside of her, fucking her wet pussy with my driving thrusting organ.
Now I could feel her fluids gushing down my tongue and onto my chin as I searched for the tender g-spot with my bending stretching tongue. Her hands gripped the sheet on the floor and her body began to tense again. I jabbed at her frantically, hopping to bring her off in my mouth and catch a flood of sticky girl come to gobble down. She moaned and thrashed and seemed so close, but just continued on like this rather than exploding in orgasm as I had intended. It didn't seem to bother her, although her moans grew more and more frantic and she bucked her hips into my face almost violently. She felt she was close, but for some reason she just couldn't reach climax.
I decided that I would need to slow down again, to ease her into this process and seduce her body into letting go. I held her hips still and slid my tongue out of her gushing pussy, and pushed my wet fingers back in. "It's ok," I reassured her. "I want to try some other thing."
I brought her up in my arms again and looked into her beautiful face. I couldn't believe that I was so lucky to be hear with her, holding her, fucking her on the floor of my studio. I wondered if she would accept her own juiced on my lips as I moved in to kiss her.
She sucked my tongue hungrily, reveling in her own taste. I could feel another gush of excitement down below as my come drenched tongue touched her own. She sucked my tongue into her mouth as though it were a man's cock, performing her oral delights with enthusiasm. My own pussy was drenched now and begging for attention.
I broke the kiss to tear off my clothes, wiggling out of a pair of overalls and a plain t-shirt. I had no bra on, as I sometimes feel more comfortable without one when I'm painting. My bikini cut underwear where simple and unglamorous and I tossed them aside without much thought. As soon as my clothes were out of the way, Zoë pounced back onto my mouth with a ferociousness that took me by surprise.
I slid her inexperienced hand down between my legs and she quickly figured out what to do. She stroked my wet folds as I had stroked hers, encouraging my already copious flow of lubrication. I slid my hand back into her and we continued to manually stimulate each other for some time while she licked and sucked at my tongue.
"Are you sure you've never done this before?" I asked her as she nuzzled my sensitive neck area.
"How did you know!" she gasped. "Have I done something wrong?"
"No my dear, you've done everything right."
"But I can't- what if I can't-" there was a tear and a catch in her voice. I knew I had to make it go away.
"You will," I assured her, brushing her damp bangs from her face. "I am very patient. You just relax and it will happen. I want you to enjoy yourself, that's what's most important, ok?"
"Oh, I am! I really am. Nicole, you are amazing. I've been wanting this for so long. But I was afraid."
She had been wanting me too, all this time. The thought filled me with tenderness and deepened my desire. This amazing girl had wanted me. It was not my imagination or wishful thinking. I had not pushed her into anything she wasn't ready for, I hadn't influenced her to do something she didn't want. There was relief, there was pride, and there was determination. I would make her come if it took the rest of my life. In fact, I didn't mind spending the rest of my life like this, wrapped up in each others arms, bringing untold pleasures to each other for all eternity. In fact it sounded like heaven to me.
"You don't need to be afraid anymore," I told her. "I'll take care of you."
"Can I- I mean..."
"What is it? You can ask me anything."
"That taste of myself, on your lips. It was like nothing I've ever tasted before. It was such a turn on."
"I know," I told her with a smile.
"Could I- you know?" she asked nodding down at my lap.
"Of course darling. I would love that."
"Love," she whispered with a hint of a shy smile."
"We can talk about that later."
"Of course, now lay back sweet heart."
She called me sweet heart, and she wanted to taste me, to lick my pussy like I had done to her. The girl could not stop amazing me I thought as I did as she told me, and leaned back with a smile on my face.
"Oooh!" I gasped as she licked me experimentally. I noticed she stopped to explore the taste.
"Your sweeter than me," she told me.
"You'll have to share with me later, so I can judge that for myself," I told her.
She laughed, "You naughty little vixen."
"Yes I a-A-A-AM!" I gasp as she descended on me disentrance. "Oh Go-od! Oh yeah, Oh, Oh, Oh!" It was my turn to thrash my head back and forth as she slid her wet tongue into my intimate folds. Her method was more exploratory than mine, tracing over my lips and burrowing into the valleys and folds of the inner and outer labia. She hit my clitoris, on accident I think, for she seemed as surprised as I was. I howled and begged her to do it again.