A Love Song for Sara

The time before last, Ruth mentioned she and a friend had started up a smaller life-drawing group over the winter months, when the art shop's program closed down. They'd tried to contact me, to invite me along, but at the time I'd just changed jobs and had a new phone number. The invitation, therefore, went into the ether. No matter, for we had gotten together again. She showed me her drawings, and I commented, "We should model as a couple, you and I, since we're both comfortable in our skin, and familiar with each other." Ruth immediately liked the idea and said she'd suggest it to her friend.

Their little drawing group was between friends, less formal than the art shop, with the members taking turns to model, both men and women. They'd also invited two other women who didn't mind nudity, who said they'd pose, so they'd all become familiar with each other over time. A week or so later, I received a text from Ruth, asking if I still wanted to model with her, the following Tuesday evening. I replied straight away, yes, let's do it.

"We should get together first, to practice some poses."

* * * *

For Sara's next pose she sat in a chair, her long legs stretched out before her, crossed at the ankles. She turned with each of her poses, so Adam was treated to a three-quarter view of her, both breasts showing, the curve of her belly, a faint dark shadow of pubic hair. She rested one arm along the back of the chair, her fingers gently curled. She placed her other hand on a thigh, shadowing her sex.

Adam's curiosity from long ago, when she stood before him, was finally satisfied. Sara did trim the hair at the base of her belly, kept it neat and short, and it was dark. As Adam studied her closely for his drawing, he saw a faint darker trail of hair up to her navel, just a shadow, like a seam on her skin. He lightly shaded in the line, a promise of darkness for later. He turned his gaze to a nipple, and drew it a little more erect than it really was. An artist doesn't always draw exactly what he or she sees, but leaves part of their own desire on the paper.

After five minutes of blocking and shading, Adam felt ready to draw Sara's face. He looked straight at her, but her eyes were closed. He concentrated on her mouth, her nose, carefully measuring and shading. Perhaps she felt his concentration - after a moment she opened her eyes and looked straight at him. She had a distant, faraway look, not her usual intense gaze on his face while she played with her hair. Slowly her eyes focussed on his, and as she absorbed his look she replied with a gentle smile.

So Adam drew Sara while Sara gazed back at him. Eyes seeing eyes, seeing eyes. After a while it became too intense and Adam looked away, back to his page. She acknowledged his going with another tiny smile, and closed her eyes, not seeing.

"Five minutes to go," said Bronwen, and Adam let out a long breath. He looked back at Sara, and captured a shadow on the curve of her right breast. This time, her nipple was tighter, and Adam drew what was before him, both his arousal and hers. As he looked at her, studying every curve, shadow and crease, he was astonished to see both her nipples grow hard as he watched. It was an extraordinary thing to see, the dark pink flesh tighten and pucker, but no finger's touch on Sara's flesh. There was her arousal, clear to see; his eyes had touched her skin. Or it was suddenly cold. Adam couldn't feel a chill on his own skin, and his nipples, too, were tight. He quickly drew what he saw.

"One minute," said Bronwen. Adam took the last moments to go over the outline of Sara on his drawing one more time, hoping perhaps to contain her essence with a bold line. Knowing Sara's personality as he did, he knew that was futile. The girl couldn't be captured that easily, she couldn't be captured at all.

"Okay, thank you, Sara. A beautiful pose, thanks." Bronwen brought the first part of the session to an end. "We've tea and coffee, some biscuits. Please, help yourselves."

Sara reached down for her dressing gown and threw it around her shoulders, tying it closely around her with a belt. She went to see herself, to see how she'd been drawn by so many people. When she came to Adam's easel she whispered low under her breath, "Is that how you see me, am I what you expected?"

"Much more," he replied. "I didn't know you did this."

"I didn't know you drew," she replied, touching his arm. "I'll show you more in the long pose, if you like."

"I'd like that, yes."

"I won't be able to keep my eyes open for twenty minutes," she said.

"That's okay, I'll keep an eye on you."

Sara laughed, and moved to the next easel.

* * * *

Ruth opened the door and let me in. As always, she greeted me with an affectionate kiss and a warm hug, and our ritual began. This time, though, we'd agreed that we needed to work out some poses for the life-drawing class the following week, so we googled "life-drawing couples poses." We found a variety of sites, some coy and clothed, others with erect cocks and some with penetration.

Ruth commented that we should probably choose poses that were intimate but with me soft. We found several standing and sitting poses we thought might work and tried a few, standing in Ruth's lounge room. I said, "Let's not over-think this. Provided we've got some loose ideas, let's just react to each other on the night, see how we go."

She smiled at me, and replied, "I won't be able to kiss you though, will I? Because then you'll get hard."

"Probably." I kissed her.

She laughed, and said, "Let's go through to the studio."

It was a calm room, softly lit, with a space heater warming the air, scented with massage oils and light perfumes. We sat side by side on a low couch, and Ruth showed me some photos books of her last visit to India. We talked about this and that for five minutes, relaxing into each other's presence, both of us still fully clothed.

Then Ruth put the book down, turned to me, took my face in her hands, and kissed me, her tongue tangling mine, her hand finding its way inside my shirt. Usually, she would undress me first, standing up, and stop me from undressing her until she was ready to be undressed, all as part of her performance. But this time, she pulled her own blouse up over her head, revealing her full breasts with nipples hard already. "Take it off," she said, and turned her back so I could undo the catch of her bra. She was aroused, and wanted attention.

She turned back to present her bare breasts to me and I sucked hard on a tit, taking as much into my mouth as I could, knowing she'd want the other nipple sucked up tight and tongued. Ruth loved her hanging breasts being sucked, pressed, pulled, handled firmly however I liked, and would drop them, one at a time, to my mouth.

Her hand moved to the hard ridge of my erection, tight in my jeans. She swivelled down onto her knees, draping herself along my legs, her breasts pressing against my gut. She took the bottom of my shirt in her hands, pulling it up over my head. She nipped my tight nipple with her teeth, before dropping her fingers to my belt, unzipping the fly of my jeans. "I love seeing you hard," she said, before pulling the jeans down my legs, tossing them to one side on the floor.

She took my cock in both hands, and rubbed it against her cheek, looking up at me in an obvious pose. It worked. I took her face in my hands, pulling her up my body for another deep, long kiss. I slipped her skirt down her legs, leaving her in a small lacy thong, which I'd later remove. "Where do you want to go?" she asked.

She meant, on the massage table or on the low divan. I lay Ruth down on the small divan, lifted both her thighs up, displaying her sex wide. I placed my hot mouth over her neat little cunt, my tongue sliding between her wet lips then up over her clit. "Hmmm," she thrummed, as I licked her.

* * * *

At the end of the break Bronwen said, "Okay, two twenty-minute poses, Sara. However you like."

Sara looked around the studio, finding a pillow which she placed on the posing platform, then decided it was too small to lie down on. She pushed the platform away and placed the pillow directly on the floor. She stood still for a moment, then dropped the gown from her shoulders and spread it out wide. Looking down all the while, Sara lay on the gown, her head on the pillow.

She lay with her back towards Adam, the taut curves of her ass the focus of his drawing; the dip to her waist and the shadows of her ribs adding interest.

"Okay, Sara?" Bronwen asked.

"Yes, I'm quite comfortable. I might fall asleep," she replied.

It wouldn't matter to Adam if she did, as he couldn't see her face. He realised that she was still moving through quadrants on a compass as she posed, and had one more pose to offer the group. He remembered her words, "I'll show you more in the long pose, if you like." She was showing him her back, but had a final pose to offer.

Adam turned his paper to landscape, and started to draw Sara. Her body presented a single sinuous curve from her arms stretched above her head, through the dip of her waist, up over her haunches and down her long legs. The shape of her ass was familiar. Adam smiled at the memory of her tight jeans at the café. He knew that curve well, having admired it often as she walked away from him. It was easy to capture the essence of the pose in one long, fluid line. He whispered to himself, "Yes..." as he caught the perfect flow. "Got it!"

He lost himself in the drawing and found the pose ideal to fill his paper, edging the shadows on Sara's skin. His fingers caressed her, but it was charcoal on the paper, not fingers on her flesh. Her body was comfortable, relaxed and feminine, but not sexual, not from this angle. Her breasts were hidden from view, but that didn't matter, her bottom was lovely. There, one long sweep of shadow and Adam stood back, this picture done. He stepped back from his easel and studied both the drawing and the girl. He'd caught the curve of her body nicely, but she was anonymous, she could have been anyone.

Adam wanted the next drawing to capture the essence of Sara. Something was missing, but he wasn't sure what it was. If he hadn't known Sara, he couldn't have told it was her. Perhaps she was looking the other way, but he wanted her to be looking at him.

* * * *

Something is missing from this story. Someone. It's Sara. There's been a gap in the writing, a gap of several months since I started this little experimental piece, and during that time Sara's left the café and taken another job in the city. I've not seen her since just after Christmas, and coming back to the story after my own absence reinforces her absence. Sara's gone, I doubt I'll ever see the girl again. That's a shame, I liked her.

But I won't become maudlin. I'll write a final voyeuristic scene for Adam (and myself - and any reader who chooses to indulge me is invited along); we can all imagine Sara quietly, and quite deliberately, displaying herself for our collective eyes. Our gaze will be captured by a pretty girl's sex, her plump lips, or a fine slit - I don't know how I'll write the description of her labia, her clitoris, maybe the dark shadow of her asshole, a twirl of starred flesh. I've never seen the real Sara naked, and Adam has yet to see between her legs. That view, obviously, is the promise Sara has given Adam for her last pose, and in my slow writer's way I'll get to it, Sara's centre, eventually.

But the structure of this story alternates not only between Adam and Sara, but also between Ruth and me in the comfort of her studio. I need to take up from where I left off, my mouth on her sex.

Ruth is wet from my tongue and her own arousal - sometimes she doesn't mind when I seek her sweet cunt straight away, and she'll lift her ass from the low bed to help me slide the thong down her legs. Other times, though, she's slower and makes me wait. It depends how hungry she is, I suppose, how soon she wants to come. She reads me too, and slows me down when I'm too fast. We stretch it out now, in long sessions which alternate between a massage on the table and intimacy on the little day bed.

We don't fuck cock in cunt, that's not part of the arrangement, but Ruth will suck me when she's in the mood, and she always likes my fingers inside her. One finger at first, then two, sometimes three. Two, mostly, my fore and middle fingers. When she's on her back I find her g spot and watch her writhe and twist as automatic reactions set in. Ruth takes her pleasure as I finger her, and she'll cry out when she comes. She lets me sway the base of my cock and my balls up against her wet lips so we're almost fucking, but not quite.

When it's my turn and I'm on my back, we've discovered that I like it when she fucks hard up against me, my legs spread wide. She fucks her cunt hard up against my groin, and if she had a cock I'd want it inside me, thrusting hard, filling me up. It's a feminine thing for me. Ruth senses it; and even though she's much smaller than me, she's stronger then, and tops me with a little smile on her face. It's why I go back, the main reason, I think. No other woman has discovered it, how I like to be fucked wide, but fucked only by a woman. I've no desire to be fucked by a man. But to be taken like that? I enjoy it, I really do. It's something I've discovered only recently. A little late, but I'm still exploring.

* * * *

Sara lay down before Adam, and her dark eyes caught his in a direct gaze. "Look at me," she mouthed, and Adam did. She'd arranged herself on the floor in a pose that technically was an exercise in fore-shortening (a difficult perspective to draw), but for Adam her sex was in the centre of his page. She parted her legs so he could see down a smooth thigh to the delicate lines of her lips, darker against the paler flesh of her legs, the small convolute of her labia rising like a curled leaf. Her hand rested on a hip with fingers pointing towards her sex.

Adam didn't need directions to focus there, but he quite liked the little smile Sara gave him, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, exactly what he wanted - and Adam was sure that she did. They'd flirted long enough. What he didn't expect to see was a single freckle, high up on the inside of her thigh. How did the sun get there? He'd have to ask her, with a smile on his face, the next time he bought coffee.

"I ran everywhere naked when I was little," she'd say, "when I lived up north by the sea."

"You must have fallen over a lot, for the sun to find you there," he'd reply. They'd laugh.

Adam gazed at her sex, imprinting it in his mind, knowing he'd probably never see it again. What he really wanted to do was take Sara's legs with the inside of his elbows under her knees, to bend her legs to open up her body for his mouth, to lean down between her thighs and cover her lips with his own. He wanted Sara to hold his head gently in her hands, guiding him with just a hint of pressure; or insisting he suck hard, her finger tips drilling into his skull. He wanted the room, miraculously, to become a bedroom with just him and her on a bed, to love her hard then fall asleep in her arms.

He wanted to take his clothes off and kneel over Sara, easing the tip of his cock between the blooming petals of her vermilion sex, the plum red head of his cock velvet smooth and the shaft aching hot in his hand; and slide straight into her. She'd be wet for him already because this was his dream, and he'd sink himself into her heat because she'd be hot for him and aching too, and she'd spread her legs wide and welcome him in, sighing, "Fuck me, Adam, fuck me like I know you want to."

And Bronwen would say, "Yes, fuck her, Adam, so we all can see; and we'll all draw you both, because we're all aching to fuck every time someone takes their clothes off in this room. We just want to fuck each other, not draw."

Bronwen's enticing too, with high breasts and a deep cleavage and a ribbon in her hair. She bent down low to see Adam's cock thrusting into Sara, and she used an ink pen to draw them both in her little sketch book.

Her eyes were open wide, and opened wider as Jeremy pulled the cloth of her skirt up over her waist and tugged her knickers down, they tangled on her foot. Jeremy was an oils man and came prepared - he tickled Bronwen's asshole with a soft sable brush, and admired her dark umber star. He fucked Bronwen hard, her breasts swaying against the floor as she pushed her body back onto his shaft. He was enthusiastic, and thrust his thick cock back and forth, and Bronwen's ass cheeks shuddered with his rhythm. She squealed with delight.

Adam smiled, he'd let his imagination run away. The studio didn't turn into a frenzied orgy, Bronwen didn't get pleasured by Jeremy, and Adam didn't get to fuck Sara. Wanting someone is one thing, making it happen, quite another.

Instead, he carefully shaded the shadow on Sara's thigh and captured the soft curve of her belly. He could see her labia like two twisted petals and drew a good likeness, but she was quite discreet, her sex more in shadow than exposed to the light. He couldn't see her asshole at all.

* * * *

That was a sudden surprise, illustrating the joy of words when a writer runs a story without a plan or a plot - a couple of delightful but unexpected encounters in the studio. I was inviting the reader to see Sara through Adam's eyes, and suddenly there's a vision, very quick, of another woman. Bronwen, the woman behind the art shop counter, is older than Sara and perhaps has her own story to tell. That's how my writing works - a new character will suddenly appear, and might interest me as much as the first. But this little piece can't carry the weight of three women, so Bronwen will have to wait.

Ruth, meanwhile, has come twice; and now it's my turn, long and slow. It's no wonder the sex in my stories is languid and relaxed, it's how it always happens with me. I often write about Adam taking his time, his gentle patience, and the women who taught him. I'm really writing about myself long ago, and the women who taught me to care for their lust first. My pleasure never mattered as much as theirs. Perhaps I taught myself that, my fingers slow on their skin - that's how I remember them all, caressed oh so slowly; and their closed, remembering eyes.

You will have gathered by now that I write nostalgia and wishful thinking, the memories and fantasies of an older man. The women I writer are younger, but all ages; and I've got some older women in mind to write about, to celebrate them as well. Until Sara, the only teenagers I've written were my own, teenage girls when I too was nineteen or twenty, when the age difference didn't matter. Now that I'm older, the youngest women I've written have been in their early twenties. Even that seems too young.

But Sara, being a real person and therefore not governed by my sensibilities, is different. In reality, she's a lovely young woman just beginning to make her way in life; and I suppose that's why I've adored her in this story from a distance. It would somehow seem wrong if Adam enjoyed sex with her when I can't, so I've written this gentle little fantasy instead. It's not even a masturbatory fantasy - whenever I imagine Sara naked, she always turns into someone older, more experienced, and I imagine someone else when I come.

It would be nice if she remembers me as the older guy in the café she chatted to, and gave me her phone number and email one time. That would be enough, wouldn't it?

Ruth and I did end up posing together for the little suburban drawing group in Mary's lounge room, on a Tuesday evening late last year. Hamish said, "You two must know each other really well, that was so intimate. Thank you." The heads of the artists bobbed up and down like pigeons, looking up at us and down at their page. I smiled at the absurd thought. An erection was the last thing on my mind.