Clay Cats

It had been an hour, and I still had no idea if we were on a date or not. For most of the afternoon, Faith wore that usual look of hers, like she was deep in some conversation with herself that she didn't especially want interrupted. But when she did look my way, it was with that beautiful, cupid's face with those pale blue eyes that could change shape so completely with the expression on her face. Even in the weird light in the art gallery, the peachy color of her lips stood out against her fair skin. It was hard not to stare. So, maybe one bonus of asking her out to a gallery show that it wasn't too strange to just stand and look at her. Someone I knew from the neighborhood was showing a few new paintings, and the rest of the gallery was someone local I didn't know, but Faith said she knew the artist from a show they'd done together. Anyway, it was my best guess for an excuse to ask her out. And now we were there, and I couldn't tell if 'asking her out' had actually happened or I'd just imagined it. Faith had a way with quiet that could be endearing or infuriating, I guess, depending what you wanted from her. That day, it was driving me up the wall. She had no problem at all standing a foot away from me in perfect silence for whole minutes, just staring at some piece of artwork, thinking whatever she was thinking. Not talking, not touching, and not even acknowledging me (or anyone else, for that matter) except for an occasional, serene smile. I was having a good time, okay? No complaints. A stroll through a gallery with a gorgeous, artistic friend-of-a-friend was more romance than I'd got from anyone else lately, anyway. And I admit that sometimes there was something intimate about being let in on that silence with her. But not for the first time, she had me wondering if she was the awkward one or I was.

Faith had been renting a room in a friend's house not far from my neighborhood, and staking out as much garage space as she could in the process. Faith was a sculptor. I saw little bronzes and ceramic things of hers all over town, once I learned to spot them. The animals and figures she did always had this half-dreaming look on their faces, like they were just about to wake up from something. Once you'd seen a few, you started connecting that look with Faith herself. When you really looked at her sculptures, it wasn't hard to imagine her at work, hours without any words or distractions, mashing and smoothing a block of clay into what she wanted it to be. Not hard to believe that was where she felt at home.

And, if we're really talking about why it seemed so important to ask her out, I should also mention the last time I'd seen her. We were both at a party, at the mutual friends' house where she was renting. She left the too-crowded living room around midnight, vanishing through her garage door to the peace of her studio. I happened to notice, because I'd 'happened' to be watching her all night, not that she made any sign that she noticed. I stepped through the kitchen a minute later and snuck through into her studio, where she knelt down beside a slab of clay. The form of a big cat was taking shape in it, but something about it didn't satisfy her, I guess. Her body postured and stretched to mimic the form she was sculpting, maybe trying to find the balance in it, and she smoothed the line of its spine and hips with her hands. She bent down low, forcing her round hips and her narrow back to mimic the posture of the cat, and... well, I was watching every move she made. There's no other way to say it. Even her lips pursed and drooped to match whatever mood or form she was looking for. The light tunic she wore over her peach-colored tights untangled from her the more she ignored it, and her braid had come completely undone, leaving her long, light hair dripping to the floor. There was no sign she'd even noticed I was in the room -- unless, of course, the show was all for my eyes. Which was hard to believe, but I didn't know what to think. I sat and watched her for long, long minutes while she arched her back and rolled her shoulders, swishing her ass languidly from one side to the other. I almost expected her to purr. But she only struck poses, swayed to feel their mass, and watched the sculpture as if she were hunting it, or daring it to pounce on her. I wished I could have been the block of clay. Just to feel her stare, and to lie so very, very close to her body. And just her style, she did it all in perfect silence, never giving me even a glance to settle any of the questions racing through my mind.

I escaped from the room without even looking back, and walked the six blocks to my house with an ache that ran from my cock to the center of my chest. The memory is still burned into my mind, of the smell of clay and the sight of her body posing in that garage. I'd called her a few days later to ask her out, but I got her voicemail and she texted back a little later. No mention of that night, whatever it had been. We made plans easily enough, but there wasn't much else to it -- I invited her out, she said yes, we met up, and there we were.

When we'd seen everything in the gallery, I asked if she wanted to get a cup of coffee, but she said she had to get home. She also said we should meet up again soon, so I didn't want to assume she was brushing me off. But what can you do?

"Yeah," I said, "we should get together again soon. I'd like to see you again." That's clear, right? She just said 'yeah', and we did a kind of awkward side-hug. I held onto her hand for just a second during the last goodbye, but if that didn't tell her that I was interested, then I didn't know what else to do. I texted her the next day to say it had been fun seeing her, and when her 'me too' didn't come with any follow-up, I pretty much wrote it off. I could spin my wheels forever trying to figure out what she wanted, but I've been there before. Better to move on than to stick around where you're not welcome.

It was late at night about a week later when I got a text from her number. (All of the texts we'd sent each other, to that point, fit on one screen.) The message was 'May I ask you a kind of a weird favor?' I sat considering my phone for a minute. I thought I was in for the night, but I couldn't resist finding out more about that weird favor.

'I need someone to model for me.' her next text said. I raised my eyebrows and felt a grin creep across my face.

'That'd be a new one.' I texted back with a smilie. 'But, yeah, I guess I'm up for it.' I immediately had second thoughts about the phrasing, but I guess it didn't matter.

'Can you come over?' she said in her next message.

'What, tonight?'

A longer pause, then 'Yes.' I was picturing her face, lit up by a phone screen, wearing that patient, cat-and-mouse look.

'Yeah, I guess.' I sent back. 'Anything I should bring?'

'Do you have a space heater?'

I didn't. And the playful banter wasn't quite as playful as I'd hoped, to this point. But in a few more messages I'd agreed, and by midnight I was parking outside the house. I knocked quietly on the side door into the garage.

"Hey, Faith," I smiled at her.

"Thanks for coming over." she whispered through the door. She invited me into the garage. She was wearing a white bathrobe over a t-shirt, probably an absentminded pick to hold off the cool in the room. I watched her ankles flex as she tiptoed through the mess to cross the floor. She'd rearranged things since the last time I saw her studio. There were worklights clamped to the beams in the garage's ceiling, and a big, beaten-up rug rolled out on part of the floor, with all of her tools and sketchbooks scattered across it. Water bottles and a half-empty bottle of white wine shared a coffee table with a heavy slab of clay. You could tell it was a figure, a man lying on his side, but only in the broadest strokes, so far.

"Can you come over here?" she motioned. "I want to check out your collar bones."

I followed, and let her unbutton my shirt and angle a light at me. Her hands were covered to the elbows with wet, gray dust, and it didn't take a thing away from the porcelain perfection of her skin. With a sudden heat, it struck me that her body was inches from mine, shifting to match the distribution of my weight. My blood ran faster at the sight of her posing, absentmindedly, to my body. "Just stay there for a minute." she said.

"What are you working on?" I asked her, trying to catch her eye.

"Collar bones." she said again. Then she caught the repetition herself, and smiled. "It's a new sculpture. I wanted to do something bigger." The words weren't getting her full attention, but they came out, little by little, while she moved around the space staring at my shoulder. "I haven't done people in this position in a long time, so I wanted to look at someone up close." Then, "thanks again, by the way."

I turned to look at her over my shoulder. Probably something real art models aren't supposed to do, but I couldn't resist. She looked at my face, and saw me smiling at her. Was she smiling back? Or just trying to mimic the expression on my face, to feel its stresses?

"Glad to." I said. "Maybe you can model for me, sometime."

"Oh?" she played along, "What's your medium?"

"I guess there's only one way to find out."

She smirked. "Hey, 'what is done in love is well done', right?" I didn't recognize the quotation. But the way she said it made my breath catch in my chest. She moved close and held a tense, I-dare-you moment of eye contact. My skin tingled. And, I guess, that was the moment something between us just clicked. I reached for her.

"Take this off." She said in a whisper. Her hands had already clasped around my wrists. She put my arms around her back and undid more of the buttons on my shirt.

I either said 'yes' or her name, moving to kiss her. She shrugged out of her bathrobe and pulled her t-shirt over her head, without a bit of help from me. When she finished with my belt and zipper I slid my thumbs into the waistband of the gray cotton pajama bottoms she was wearing, and they came off to leave her naked. Naked and eager, with a suddenness that left me spinning. I pulled her in, a hand on her back and a hand on her hip, and let her head fall back to expose her long, graceful neck to my mouth. Her body was a work of art — smooth, fleshy but lean, powerfully curved and feminine. She huffed breath as I kissed my way down to her breasts.

"My god, you're..." I started, and she let the word I was searching for disappear, guiding her nipple into my mouth with one hand. I petted the curve of her stomach down to the short blonde tangle of her bush, and felt her just as shockingly soft and warm there as she was everywhere else. Her dusty hands slid over my back and through my hair, guiding me to her other nipple then down, down onto my knees to kiss along the curve of her thighs.

She let me cover her stomach with wet kisses, then turned her ass to me, not at all shy to feel my hands pull her cheeks apart, bend her forward, and seek out the center of the wetness between her lips. Her dirty hands reached back to grip my hair and steer my probing tongue, feeding herself to me as my hands kneaded her ass. She ground herself against my mouth, tasting as clean and fresh as warm milk.

Finally she turned, knelt down in front of me, and raised her ass in to the air, beckoning. I slipped out of my jeans and brushed the lips of her pussy apart with my fingertips. Her body was stretched out, back arched and knees wide. I let the tip rest on a drop of her wetness. Then we pushed together and she gave a delicious, loud gasp. Her pussy crushed my tip into its narrow channel and took a long, gentle push to accept the first inch, her breath timid and her teeth pinching her bottom lip. But in a few rythmic pushes, it swallowed up every inch of my cock. I gripped her ass and groaned.

"Faith, your pussy is so tight." I told her. She arched her back and pressed against me even deeper.

"It's been a while." she whispered with a push. Kneeling on the floor in front of me, she ground herself up and down the whole length of my dick. I felt her push herself all the way down to my balls, just for a few seconds, and the hot, slick pressure made my head swim.

Soon she crawled on top of me and started riding me like she wanted to come. I propped myself on my elbows and let her tease her nipples against my mouth. My dick disappeared inside of her, and I felt her body fall into a rhythm.

"Don't stop." she whispered. I kept doing everything I was doing, from stroking her back to sucking on her tit to grinding against her, and she rode me with an intense focus. Her eyes were closed and her mouth sucked breath. Our bodies made a scuffing noise against the rug on the concrete floor, and soon it was the only sound. We both held our breath.

"Yes." her voice came out a whisper, but I felt her entire body pulse as she took me all of the way in. "...yes." She squeezed her hips and angled herself to push her clit closer against my body, pushing and grunting without another word. I tried not to come, for no other reason than that I wanted to watch her. I wanted to see every little bit of the way she brought herself off with my cock inside her.

When she'd ridden out the last few shivers of her orgasm, her eyes rolled open, lazy, and she looked at me like she'd half forgotten I was there.

"Faith." I panted. She resumed the pace of her grinding, angling herself for a little less direct stimulation. Her eyes closed again, and she let me pull her face to mine. My fingers wrapped up in the messy hair where her braid started. She kissed almost absentmindedly, repeating the same soft, wet kiss on my lips half a dozen times.

"I'm going to come." I whispered. She felt my fingers dig into her back. She'd been rocking gently into me for the last few moments, but something made her double the pace. Deep inside, I could feel her wet flesh slipping against the tip of my cock, coaxing out an intense beginning.

I groaned a breathless 'oh' and tried to pull her closer and deeper as I started coming — I wanted to be as deep inside her as I could. But she had plans of her own, and she was now pounding herself against my lap. She came a second time with more shudders, her mouth twitching like the feeling was edging between too much and just enough. I was still coming when she finally went slack and sank on top of me, letting my hips buck against her weight as the last spasms spent themselves.

"Oh, my god." I groaned. "Faith, you're fucking incredible."

She was wiping dust off of her face — or onto it, really. But she nodded her head enthusiastically.

"You can last." she said. Probably the only pillow talk I'd get, I thought. But then I felt her breath on my ear, just a tease for a long, quiet moment, then finally more words.

"Hey. I really needed that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know I'm not the easiest person to get to know."

"Don't say that." I argued.

"I just mean dealing with people doesn't come easily for me." She said. Hey eyes traced something faraway. "I like you. Sometimes it takes me a while to say it." I didn't have an answer except "I like you too," but something told me she wasn't really fishing for an answer. Just to be heard.

She found her bathrobe within arm's reach and pulled it over both of us. It was getting chilly, but I don't think either of us wanted to move, just yet.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asked later. I moved my head to catch her gaze, and nodded. "Always." I said. "I have always wanted you." She gave me a big smile, started to kiss, but paused to say "Now we know" first. I held her close in that kiss.

"Do you do this with all of your models?" I joked. Faith laughed, quietly. "Well, 'all of my models' is you, me, and my cat, lately. So... kind of?"

The hot shower afterwards ended up with Faith sitting on the tile floor under the spray of water, stroking me off with a fistfull of her shampoo. Then it was Faith on her back on her bathroom rug, holding her knees open while I tongued her. Then her lips on my cock, then my mouth on her tits, then her body wrapped in a towel, pinned to the door while we fucked and grinded against each and whispered all the things we wanted to do next. I woke up to a low moon rising in her bedroom window, silhouetting a line of trees on a far hill. And next to me, lying across my arm, was Faith, naked and perfect and dreaming. I let my eyes wander over the hollows and curves of her body for as long as I could stand it, then slipped out of bed and started gathering up my clothes. But before I could get dressed, I caught her watching me, awake. She lay in the bed with her comforter pushed onto the floor, eyeing me up and down. I did the same to her, searching for something to say. But what's the best thing words can do? She patted the empty side of her bed, and I climbed back in.

"Don't go yet." she whispered.