by Rand al'Thor ©
This is a work of fiction. Art and Clarice are both fictional characters who represent two consenting 18 year olds. If you do not like erotic literature, leave now, but you probably wouldn't be reading this heading if you didn't. So -enjoy! Please send any responses to the above email address. It you would like to see another story using these characters, DEFINITELY let me know!
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"Why would I read a book about some stupid family moving to California?"
"Jesus Christ, you twit, The Grapes of Wrath is about survival and hope," the student in black replied.
"Well, Van Gogh, it seems like 581 pages of moving to me!" The girl in white definitely didn't like Steinbeck.
"That's because you are a moron - a moron with no taste and no brains." The boy wearing the black seemed frustrated, but there was an amusing light in his eyes. Something that said he was enjoying his torture of the poor girl.
That was how things were most days in the senior class' advanced English course. The boy in black, Art (short for Arthur), was quite intelligent when it came to literature, and he found a special delight in tormenting the girl in white, Clarice. They were studying American literature at the time. Art's favorites all belonged there-Steinbeck, Salinger, Twain.
Clarice just couldn't keep up with him, and since she seemed to be absent minded most of the time, Art amused himself by belittling her. Art might have liked to fuck Clarice if it wasn't for her apparent shallowness. The thought of dating her repulsed him, even though she was somewhat attractive. Art wanted someone as deep as he was-or at least as deep as he thought he was. Art loved literature, but he loved art even more, which of course caused many jokes about Art's art, and other little puns like that.
Art didn't care, though. He loved his artwork. He was especially fond of sketching people like the old romantics did in France. He had quite a portfolio going as a matter of fact. He never lacked for people to draw, especially girls. Art wasn't exactly handsome, but he wasn't ugly. He was 5'9" tall and weighed about 130 lbs. His face was nothing but sharp corners and was as thin as the rest of him. He wore very thin-framed glasses that hooked behind the ears. He was the spitting image of the starving artist when his already thin body was laid over with his artist's all-black clothes. It was this mystery that drew the girls of his class to him.
He always drew them in some sexy pose, but never in the nude-he wasn't famous enough for the girls to bear all. Nude was the best way to draw someone, since clothes and fads fade out, but the human body always looks the same. He had only drawn two nude girls in his life. One was a friend of his-a lesbian girl named Kat. They both knew that was strictly professional, because he had a better chance of becoming a pro-football player than getting into Kat's pants. The other was a drunk girl he met at a party. He felt really bad about drawing her afterwards, and even gave her that sheet from his notebook. Its not that Art was lacking in social skills, but he wanted someone on his level, and well, he just hadn't found her.
Clarice wasn't as absent minded as Art seemed to think. Oh, she let him torture her during class, but it was quite amusing, actually. Clarice was actually a very intelligent girl. She liked the things they did in the English class some, but she excelled at mathematics and physics courses. She was probably pound-for-pound smarter than anyone in the school, but she never let on. Her friends were few and far between, but that didn't bother her. She saw high school as something to pass the time before college. She did her share of student activities, though. She was the math tutor for the entire senior class. Most of her time there was spent trying to drill basic bath into the dick-swinging jocks that needed help.
Some of them tried to learn, but when most of them found out that a girl would be helping them, there minds' went out the door and all control went below the belt-buckle. Clarice wasn't a beauty queen or anything, but she was attractive and looked like a walking/talking pussy to most of the football players (that description fit most of the girls they came in contact with).
Clarice was 5'4" tall. She had a slim build and a nice body, when you got around to looking at it. Her breasts weren't tiny, but they were far from large. Her hips curved nicely, and her butt was just athletic-looking enough not to be considered fat-a perfect ass, in other words. Her face was not much to look at. She had a high forehead, and her shoulder-length dark brown hair was always parted down the middle and hanging loose. She wasn't noticed a lot because, well-she just didn't stick out in a crowd, and she didn't want to. She just wanted to get through her last year at school, get it over with, and meet some people like herself afterward.
How Clarice and Art ended up at the same party that weekend in March is a total mystery. It wasn't in either of their characters' to go to something as trivial as a high-school keg party at some rich kid's house. However it happened, they both ended up there and were eventually by themselves (as they thought would be the case), when something amazing happened.
Art was wandering around the house, looking for a place where he could wait for his friend, Craig, to get done drinking so they could leave. He finally found an unlocked door that led into some sort of a study. It was a big room, with wood paneled walls, a cavernous stone fireplace, and a huge oak desk stacked high with papers. There was a brown leather couch with its' back to him that faced out two high, French windows. This was the perfect spot to relax for a couple hours before driving Craig and himself back home. He walked around to the arm of the charge and fell down backward with what he thought would entail a sigh of relief and possibly a nap. Instead, he fell on something hard that kicked him as soon as he landed.
"What the fuck? Who the hell is here... What... Van Gogh? Is that you?" Clarice was as surprised at finding Art on her as she was that someone fell on her in the first place.
Art slid off the couch and onto the floor, holding his lower back in his hands. "Jesus Christ, Clarice, you scared the shit out of me. And I think your knee went up my ass or something."
"I scared you? How do you think I feel, seeing that someone stranger in black landed on top of me while I was resting?"
"Good point... What are you doing here anyway? I thought you'd be out with the rest of the Neanderthals."
"Me? The last thing I want to do is run around drinking until I puke with a bunch of ignorant assholes who think high school is life."
Art's opinion of Clarice was changing greatly after those few words. Clarice had moved over to one side of the couch, so he helped himself to the other. "I guess I had the wrong impression of you then, Minny." (Minny was the name that Art used for Clarice during English class when she was being especially air-headed)
"And what about you, Van Gogh? Don't you have some adoring bitch to sketch?"
"Me? The last thing I WANT TO DO is be around a bunch of ignorant assholes who think high school is life."
"Well, Van Gogh, I guess your not the only one who had the wrong impression."
They both got a good laugh out of their discoveries about each other. Since neither of them was leaving for a while, they talked about life in general. Their dreams, personalities, homelives, and became quite impressed with each other. The conversation went from Clarice's "number-stuff", as Art called it, to Art's "scribbles", as Clarice so affectionately called them. After an hour or so, they were getting more comfortable with each other, and Clarice was joking with Art about his starving artist image.
"I can't believe those holier-tan-thou bimbos chase you around for you to draw them," Clarice said.
"Well, the football players seem quite "hot for teacher", if your description of them says anything."
"They'll do that to anything, as long as its female... I'm not even good-looking, but some still try.
"What? You're a beautiful girl. If one of those guys could be so lucky." (Art's charm could be deadly when he turned it on)
"Right. I see you drawing girls like me all the time. Bullshit." She gave him a flirtatious smile just to reinforce her point.
"Wait a second-I'll be right back." Art left the room to Clarice's surprise. She thought he was just tired of listening to her. That was not the case. In fact, Art was going out to his car to get his art-bag and folder. On his way back in, he grabbed a condom from some stumbling drunk. He thought anything could happen, and Clarice was becoming quite interesting. He stuck the condom in his pocket and returned to the study.
"What's that you got?" said Clarice
"Just some supplies. I'm going to draw you." Art said this quite matter-of-factly (like he wouldn't take no for an answer).
"You're what? No way... Not me."
"Yes, I am. Now, lay down on the couch. I'll turn on some lights so I can see." She didn't know why she did it, but Clarice took off her shoes, laid belly-down on the large couch, and propped her head up with her hands. She bent her legs so her feet were in the air. Art pulled up a chair and got out his drawing-paper pad and his pencil set. He began to work.
They went like this for several minutes in silence, before Clarice spoke. "Can I look at some of you're drawings while your doing this?"
"Sure." Art pulled out his full drawing-pad and handed it to Clarice. She was thumbing her way through it, admiring some of his work.
"You really are talented, Art." Art smiled at not being called Van Gogh, but said nothing. "I mean it, some of these people look beautiful."
"Thank you," was Art's only reply.
Several more minutes passed before Clarice spoke again. She had been looking through a section of drawings that had some of the girls half-clothed and less. "Some of them are a little... Revealing. Do they all do that?"
"Some do... It is better to draw someone with less clothes, because clothing styles fade out, eventually. But since most of them are just high school students, I just tell them to pose however they like most."
"That makes sense... Do you want me to take off my coat?" Art hadn't noticed her coat before, but became all-too aware of it then. He began to get a little nervous, since he Clarice was sort of an enigma to him after the night's conversation.
"You can do what you like. Whatever makes you comfortable." At this Clarice leaned up and slipped off her coat. She was now dressed in a light blue blouse that had sleeves half-way down her bicep and hugged her body comfortably. Her pants were a pair of black blue-jeans that were quite tight, and hugged her ass nicely. Art was all-too aware of this. But he always saw things like that when he drew someone.
Before long, Art was done with the initial drawing of Clarice. He moved to the couch so she could see it. It was a sketch of her on the couch, looking directly at the viewer. Her surroundings were dark like they had been during their conversation, but her eyes lit the picture like a fire.
"Its... Its... Beautiful." Clarice was stunned by seeing herself on the page. The pad was still in Art's hand, and while she held the pad, she was holding onto his hand also.
"No... You're beautiful." Art didn't know what to say. Clarice had always been so foreign to him, but after talking with her, it seemed like she was a part of him.
"Art... Art... I don't know what to say. Thank you." Clarice had always found Art interesting, but this gesture was the most personal thing anyone had done for her. She looked up at Art beside her and thanked him again-Their hands never left contact.
Art didn't know what to say at this point. He wanted to do something, but this was CLARICE he was thinking about. The girl he always thought was so absent-minded, but had come to find out was just like him. He had to do something. "Clarice, are you going to get mad at me?"
And then he kissed her. He just slowly bent down his head and placed his lips on hers. It started out slowly, but their arms wrapped around each other and their tongues tasted the kiss. It went on for an eternity that lasted only a minute or two. The kiss broke and they just looked into each others' eyes.
Clarice loved him-she had known art for years, but only really known him for little over an hour, but she loved him. As she looked into his eyes, she knew it. She had to do something. She took her hands from around At and put them on his stomach. The rubbed them there for a minute, never breaking contact with his eyes. She then moved her hands under his shirt and up onto his chest. This caused his shirt to pull up some, and when her arms were up to his neck, she finished pulling his shirt off. She was still looking at his eyes when she tossed the shirt across the room. She kissed him again. First on the lips and then on the neck. She moved her mouth lower and onto his chest. She ran her tongue along his nipple-ring before climbing back to his mouth.
Art was stunned. When her tongue ran across the ring in his left nipple, leaving a glistening trail behind it, he thought he would die. She was at his mouth again, but he broke the kiss. He looked in her eyes for a moment, and then placed his fingers under the bottom edge of her blue blouse. He leaned down and gently kissed her before pulling the shirt over her head. She was magnificent. He kissed the bare part of her breasts that was lifted up by her small, white bra. As his mouth enjoyed this pleasure, his hands reached behind her back, but he couldn't get the bra undone.
Clarice giggled and pulled away from Art. She leaned back and grasped the clasp that was on the front of her bra. With the clasp undone, the bra fell loose behind her, revealing her small (but well rounded) breasts, in all of their young sweetness. She saw the stunned look in Art's eye, so she grabbed his hand and placed it on her right breast. He didn't need any more encouragement.
Art leaned down and started kissing each breast, moving from one nipple to the other. Clarice's breathing became a bit more labored, as Art was sure his was. To move on, Art slid to the floor on his knees, between Clarice's legs. This let him kiss the soft flesh of her stomach and the underside of her perfect breasts. She held the back of his head firmly, while he kissed her young skin and his hands moved toward the button of her pants. They unclasped easily, and he slid the zipper down without his tongue losing touch from her warm body. Clarice reluctantly gave up her hold on Art's head. He wrapped the tips of his finger's in the lining of her jeans and panties and leaned back. The pants and panties easily slid off and dropped to the floor. Art resumed his place between Clarice's naked legs. This time his kissing moved down to her lower stomach and finally reached her inner-thigh. She was just inches away from him. He could smell her scent and feel the warmth. It was the sexiest sensation he had ever felt. He was in Heaven.
Clarice shuddered when she felt Art's breath so close to her most delicate place. She had to have him. She knew it. Clarice then grabbed Art's head and pulled him up to her face. She kissed him for another eternity before roughly pushing him to the floor. He landed on his ass, and the look on his face was quite amusing. She giggled at this, but the slid to the floor and took hold of Art's pants. Her quick finger's had them unbuttoned, unzipped, and half-way down his thighs before he could even move. She had to stop for a minute though, and take off his shoes. The were those big black boots with a thousand buckles on them, and it was Art's turn to laugh when she couldn't get them off. Of course, he helped her take off his own shoes and socks, and when they were gone, she pushed him back over and practically ripped his pants the rest of the way off. His underwear were next, and they didn't last look. The hungry look in her eyes probably could have scared them away had either of them been willing to wait that long. Now they were both naked. Clarice wrapped her hands around Art's manhood and leaned forward to kiss him. She then leaned to his ear to whisper, "do you have any... uhh... protection?"
Art didn't answer, but he pulled his jeans to him and grabbed the condom from the front pocket. It took him a minute to unwrap it, in his excitement, but he got the job done, and was about to place it on his dick when Clarice put her hands on his and they did it together. She looked into Art's eyes again and kissed him. Their tongues were alive in each others' mouths. Clarice leaned back, and Art followed her, down onto the carpeting. Art propped his body up with his hands placed right below her arms.
Their breathing was hectic through the kiss, and finally, Art pushed his cock next to her sweet opening. She spread her legs a little wider and her heels came together between his upper thighs. Art broke the kiss to look into her eyes and urged the tip of his dick into her. Both of their lungs quit for a split second, and then they removed the kiss and Art thrust the rest of the eager dick into Clarice's hungry pussy. They both gasped, but caught their breath and began kissing again. Art fucked her very slowly at first. Partly because he wanted it to last forever and partly because she was so fucking beautiful at that moment. He wanted to devour her with his eyes.
The breathing became even heavier. The deep kiss broke, and Art's thrusts became deeper and more frequent. Their eyes were locked on one another as both of their orgasms built. Clarice started to moan, which almost seemed like a whimper, and Art's thrusts became even faster and harder. This increased toward an explosive climax as Clarice gasped for breath and Art filled the condom with himself. Clarice was shuddering and Art was in a state of near-unconscious. Art's dick went limp in her. He pulled out and disposed of the condom, but laid beside Clarice, arms intertwined, for over an hour. They kissed and talked, but the time came when they had to part ways for the night.
Art said, "I love you," at the door, and the funny thing was-he meant it. Clarice smiled and kissed him. They spent the next day together in town, just enjoying each other. The made love again that night. It was just as good as the night before.
The hardest part was not laughing when their English classmates were stunned to see Van Gogh and Minny wrapped around each other and kissing when they came in class. Art and Clarice didn't explain. They didn't need to.
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