F5: Inspiration and Desperation

F5: 50% Inspiration plus 50% Desperation

(Author's note: This story is an entry into FAWC (Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge), a collaborative competition among Lit authors. FAWC is not an official contest sponsored by Literotica, and there are no prizes given to the winner. Every story for this FAWC begins with the exact same line. Where it goes from there is up to the author.)

* * * *

Upon the table lay three items: a handkerchief, a book, and a knife.

As I looked at my little index card again I sighed, What in the hell made me sign up for this class?

Looking past the edge of my blank canvas, I couldn't help but look at her. Ms. Polly Ann Young, without a doubt in this world the hottest art teacher ever to pick up a brush. Okay... not a stretch as to why I signed up, but why in the hell do I continue to torture myself and others with my feeble attempts at art? Why? Do I have some secret sadistic side of me that wants to inflict this level of punishment upon the world?

Glancing around, I saw that the others have already started. With a sigh I grabbed up my pallet and a number ten brush and begin to daub smears of paint in some feeble attempt to look busy.

"I thought we were going to be doing nudes?"

The unwanted interruption of creative energies was noticeable by the dire looks that were directed towards Gary Wells. I hid a smile behind my easel when Ms. Polly Ann walked over to him. As my eyes dropped automatically to her ass I wished we were doing nudes... with her as our model.

"When I believe that you have advanced to that skill level, Mr. Wells I will certainly move to full nude appreciation. But for now I think you need to stick to still life painting. Your work lacks the... maturity... to manage that level of art."

I smirked as I hear her say that. Not that I was much better.

Adjusting her glasses, she gave what he had done so far a grimace. Then to my horror turned towards my side of the room, catching me in mid-gawk from around the edge of my canvas.

Table, book, knife and... what was the other one?

Pulling back out the white card, I checked. Handkerchief! Of course. Okay, well... I guess start with a table.

Dipping into my Van Dyke Brown I proceeded to try and make a table-ish looking object on my big white board. Why, in the hell did this canvas have to be this big? I could have paint all of this on an eight by ten. I looked around the edge again, I really can't help myself. She was giving pointers to a young lady nearby.

"You know, if you had any kind of a spine you would just ask her for a date." Came the soft whisper behind me. "Of course, she will say no, but you might impress her that you had the balls to ask."

Turning to look at Cynthia Corison, with her ebony face already sporting a streak of Phthalo Blue, I blushed and turned back around at her wink.

Great. My table looked crooked.

Dabbing into the Dark Sienna I tried to correct that.

"Ms. Polly Ann?" I heard from behind me. My nonexistent spine tightened at Cynthia's next words. "Can I ask you about something on my card?"

"Of course my dear."

Gliding like Glenda from the Wizard of Oz, Ms. Polly Ann moved past me. I was caught in the hurricane of her scents, that lavender, and sandalwood smell she excluded like a aura of femininity. It trailed after her like the wake of a ship. I couldn't help it that I wanted to surf her wake.

"Yes dear? Oh. No.. no, no! That is not what you're thinking at all," She gave a laugh that is all giggly girlish and I felt myself tighten with desire. "Although, I must say that would make for an interesting painting. If you choose... use it that way."

Paint, must concentrate on painting. Ignore the hardon behind the curtain. Must paint.

"Interesting." The word was soft, right by my shoulder, and it carried with it a bedroom tone that nearly finished me. "I like where you're going with this. Have you been studying the Impressionist?" She asked, her hand on my elbow steadying my brush, as she looked past my arm.

"Ah, yeah. I like her work a lot," I said trying to make it not sound as lame as it came out. I also tried to ignore the snicker-snort from behind me.

"Hum... well" Ms. Young patted my arm,a gesture I might use on a person who can't master patty-cake "A little more detail here and you need a single light source. Not three."

As she moved away I noticeably wilted and in more than one way. I almost didn't even make the effort to take in the view of that fabulous ass. Almost.

"You would be pathetic," said Cynthia, quietly behind me. "But the pathetic people of the world sent a note. They don't want you in their club house."

The young lady next to me, I haven't learned her name yet, had to hide a giggle. When I looked over at her she gave me a sympathetic smile. Just what I needed.

I go back to trying to make my table look like a table. Maybe some titanium White?

"Nope. Not the white."

Glancing back at Cynthia, I saw that she now had a splash of Sap Green by the Phthalo Blue. She was looking past her canvas at my table. "Use a blend. This isn't paint by numbers. Get a bit of several and try to make it look like wood... or wood-ish if you can't manage anything harder."

Her eyes dropped to indicate my crotch, even though she couldn't see the front of me, then she grinned, winked and went back to painting.

Embarrassed, I stopped, took a deep breath and tried to go back to work. Over the next hour I did manage to get my table to look like a table. Say, one you might would buy at a thrift store, or maybe in a yard sale. Alright, it was a dump find table, are you happy little miss "anything harder"

I was noticeably relieved when I got to roll down the paper cover over my canvas and go clean up. I felt like...

"How about a beer?"

Looking up from rinsing my brush in thinner, I blinked a few times at Cynthia.

"A beer?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes, it's a yellow adult beverage. They sell it in bars, say like the one two streets over, on Fillmore." She looked at me and slowly shook her head. "Would you like to go with me and get a drink. You, look like you could use one."

I wanted to be angry at the way she said everything so slowly but the fact that the words got through to me that way made it just wrong to be angry. I nodded.

"Yeah, I would like that," I said wiping out my brush, on a clean rag.

"See. Just that easy," she sai.

Looking up at her sharply, I felt a burst of fury to have been made fun of that way. Then that she was trying to make a point came across. Then I got the point and calmed. Nodding, I put my brushes back into their case. Closing up my sketchbook, pencils in their full gradient glory, the little pad I had no idea what it's for, and all the rest in the wooden case they all came in, I looked back at my covered canvas.

"Come on, I really do want that beer." she said, taking hold of my sleeve and giving it a tug. Then she looked over at where out instructor was closing up supply cabinets for the night. "Good night, Ms. Young."

"Oh, good night. Drive carefully." She waved at us with a brush. "See you tomorrow."

I hesitantly lifted a hand to wave but she had already turned around.

"Oh, for pity sake. Come on." Cynthia took my elbow and all but dragged me out the room, down the few steps and out into the street, and then across the parking lot, at which point I started to protest.

"Ah... Ah." I pointing towards my car.

"It's two blocks. We can walk it easier than trying to find two parking spots over there." She hooked my elbow completely. "Don't worry, I protect you from the things that prowl the streets at night."

I had to laugh at that.

"Well, let me put my case in the car." I turned us back a bit.

"Oh, very well, delays, delays." She bumped my hip with her hip, every step till we were beside my car. "What convinced you to buy a Prius?"

"Four dollar gas." I popped the locks and sat my case inside. "It's a lot easier to park than my old car."

"Yeah, but it's too small to have sex in."

Looking to Cynthia, I cannot believe...

"You're almost cute when you blush. Now, come on," she said.

With her at my side, leading us, more often than not, we made our way over to Fillmore Street. She was softly humming a song I don't know. The sudden feeling of tranquility that descended over me as we walked made me reluctant to enter the bar. I would almost rather have just walked with her fro awhile. Just the feeling of a woman on my arm... was nice.

Looking at Cynthia, as we walked through the door, I couldn't help but speculate. Of course she was not at all what I looked for in a woman to take out on a date. With a head full of braids to make Whoopi Goldberg envious, and never dressed in anything nice, those round mirror glasses that make her look like she had two coins over her eyes. Her cheek was still faintly Phthalo Blue, her fingernails bitten to the quick,they had the look of never having been polished.

I watched her as she orders for us at the bar.

Her skin was nice. A soft brown, coffee mocha.

Her body... well.

"Do I have paint still on my face?" she asked, when she noticeed me staring.

"A little," I said quickly to hide that I was checking her out. "Just on your cheek."

She shruged. "I'll get it latter. Now. Oh, thank you." She took the sweating bottle from the waitress. I took mine. "So, what has you all in a dither over Ms. Young? Is it her artistic talent, her ability to teach or the fact she has an ass and a pair of tits?"

I took a slow sip to hide the slight discomfort. I was not use to women talking this frankly about sex.

"I'm not sure." I shrugged "I just like her. She's is very talented, she is a wonderful instructor and yeah she is... smoking hot. I know she's out of my league, but I can't help the way I feel."

Cynthia picked up a napkin and wrapped around her beer. Then, when she looked up at me, she grimaced.

"I hate to be the one to break this to you. She's not just out of your league she doesn't even play that sport." Cynthia took a sip, then seeing my expression smiled around the end of the bottle. "She catches for the other team."

"What?"

"Little Miss 'hot as hell in those tight pants' is not going to be interested in you. You're male. Now do you feel better? It's been a lost cause from the start." Cynthia smiled, no more of a smirk.

"How do you know that?" I demand.

"Well I had her didn't I. Duh. Man let me tell you that pussy is as sweet as home made ice cream. I could have licked her all night. Come to think of it I did do that."

My jaw hit the table. For a good several second I just looked at Cynthia unable to believe what I had just heard, even as my brain was giving me a fantasy, techno-color rewind. Then I saw the hint of a smile peek from around the edge of her beer as she took a sip.

"You're fucking with me! Cynthia you lying little..." I sputtered to a halt as she began to laugh.

"Yeah, but I had you going there. God the look on your face! Do you need to go check your tighty whities? I swear you just came yourself." She laughed at me all the harded, then ducked as I threw a pretzel at her. She retaliated and very soon the other patrons nearby joined in, till the waitress came over and put a stop to it. She threatened us with the bag they use to fill the bowls.

Shaking my head, I sat back and looked at Cynthia, she was still chuckling softly. I sighed to tried and let the desire to throw more pretzels vanish.

"I can not believe you had me trying to believe that Ms. Young is a lesbian." I wiped a drip from the bottom of my beer and held up my hand to order another round.

"Oh she is." Cynthia insisted. "All I was lying about was sleeping with her. And about what her pussy tastes like. She could taste like unsweetened Greek yogurt for all I know."

"Would you cut it out. The joke was funny but only the first time." I paid the waitress and handed Cynthia her bottle.

"Ah, not joking there. I've been taking her classes for two years now. She has never even mentioned a man's name. I've heard her talking about several women and have seen at least two come pick her up from the studio at night." Cynthia looked at me and slowly shook her head. "Damn, you have it bad for her don't you?"

Sitting back I looked around the bar. The place was not packed but there was a nice crowd. When my eyes passed one of the nearby tables I shared a smile with the guy sitting there. He had the bowl of pretzels pulled right in front of him, ready for the battle to rejoin.

"Going to avoid the question now?" I hear asked. She smirked when I turned back to look at her, but didn't answer. "Okay then, what is your painting suppose to be, other than a table?"

"The index cards were private." I popped the top on my beer, as I heard a song I know come up on the sound system. "We're not suppose to tell, remember?"

"I'm painting behind you. All I have to do is look." She reached over to get a pretzel but bit into it instead of throwing it. I heard a clearly disappointed sound behind me. "Come on, what is it? I'm trying to help. You have some talent, but I want to pull my hair out half the time I'm watching you paint."

Looking down, I made a decision. Sure why not.

"I have to paint a table, with a handkerchief, a book, and a knife on it." I shrug. "Simple still life."

"No. No, not at all." She shook her head. The beads in her braids rattled, calling my attention to them. "There is nothing simple about that. What kind of setting do you put that into? It can vary in hundreds of ways. What type of table, what kind of knife? Those things matter. Is it a big knife like a Bowie? Or a delicate one for opening letters? Is the handkerchief a ladies, all lace and silk or a man's just folded cotton? You have to ask yourself those questions before you even start to paint." She bumped my bottle with her beer. "What's the book?"

"I don't know. It's just a book." I shrugged.

"See that is what I'm talking about. Is it a new book? Is it some ancient tome? You have to decide these things. That table, with those items, has to exist in your mind. As solid as if you just saw them. You should be able to reach out and touch it. Then all you're doing with the paint is copying what you see. Do you understand what I'm saying?" she asked.

"Kind-a, sort-a," I mumbled.

She sighed.

"Okay, lets test your imagination. What do my nipples look like?" Cynthia sat back in her chair and pushed her breasts forward. "Come on best guess. Here's a clue they are not pink."

I looked from her face to her chest and back. Then tried not to look back down, feeling it was rude to stare at her somehow.

"Come on come on , my tits are down here. God I've never had to say that before. Look, it's simple. What do they look like. Give it a guess."

Sitting back, I let my eyes drop to her chest. Damn, she had nice...

"They're round and dark," I said, as I looked quickly back up.

She looked at me for a second, then leaned in.

"Are you a virgin?"

"No!" I looked around to see if someone heard. "I've had my share."

She looked at my face even after I looked away.

"The hell you have," she said softly. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not going to post it to your Facebook page or anything. Look... I want you to do something. Alright, close your eyes. Just close them. Now, think about Ms. Young, that hot little art teacher you want to be your first piece of ass. EYES CLOSED!"

I snapped them back shut.

"Okay, now picture what she would look like if you could unbutton that blouse she was wearing. Is the bra she has on all lacy or if it silky?"

"White cotton," I said without thinking about it.

"Okay, just simple and plain then?" She asked.

"No. No, it has a little silk bow in the front." I felt myself want to harden, as I imagined that curve of white topped by that freckled crest of just slightly dark skin. "It's kind of got lacy around the top edges."

"Oh yeah, I know just the one you mean. Those are nice. Now unsnap those tight pants. Do her panties match?"

"Yes," I said softly, now almost fully hard.

"Don't you wish you had a picture of that? Her... is she standing or laying down?" She asked, me her words just a whisper.

"She's laying down."

"Oh, she is ready to be naughty then. You want that image forever don't you?" I hear a hint of a laugh.

"Yes."

"Then paint it," she said, her voice back at normal volume, snapping me out of the daydream. I looked up at her to see her smiling at me. "So just what kind of table? Knife? Book?..." She frowned.

"Handkerchief."

"Yeah, handkerchief. What kind is it? I promise you those will be a lot easier to imagine than Ms. Polly Ann Young."

Sitting there sipping at my beer half listening to the music, I thought about what she just said. Could it be that easy? Could my problem be that simple? Old songs old tunes. I looked up and smiled when I hear Cynthia softly singing along with one. She saw me looking and winked. I watched her smile as she took a sip.

"Well Lover boy, I think I need to be heading out. One more of these and I have to find a cab. Walk me to my car?" She asked

"Of course." Finishing my beer in a gulp I dig out my wallet and leave a five under the bottle."

"Oh, a big tipper." Cynthia chided me.

I shook my head and put my wallet away. I didn't want her to see that I only had two more fives in it to my name. As we walked out she slid in next to me and linked into my arm again. The sounds of the bar followed us down the street. Other clubs were open, even one that was a small restaurant. I was tempted to ask her if she was hungry, but I didn't do it. For more than monetary reasons.

"So... why are you still a virgin?" She asked, when the cars were in sight.

With my hands in my pockets and her arm wove through mine it was easier to simply shrug.

"You can tell me. I promises I wont tell. Cross my tits and hope to never orgasm again." Cynthia nudged my ribs with her elbow. "Come on, fess up."

"I don't know." I looked down into her dark eyes. I'm glad she took off the round silver glasses. Those 'coins on a dead man's eyes' were starting to give me the creeps. "The opportunities were there, I just never took that last step."

As we reached her car she suddenly turned me and pushed me back against her car door. The warm weight of her body pressed against me. I could taste the beer on her lips as I found myself suddenly being kisses. Shocked and surprised I paused for several seconds then began to kiss her back.

She had a taut, wiry body I discovered as my hands found comfortable spots to rest. Cynthia had some tight muscles along her lower back. The curve of her ass wanted to draw my hand but I didn't let it. I just did run a finger along the top edge of her pants. The small of her lower back was a little damp when she lifted herself up to kiss me harder and her shirt rose up.

Then she broke the kiss. Turning us she rattled her keys.

"I've got to go Lover boy. Long day tomorrow," she said.

"Sure," I mumbled, unsure of what just happened.

"See you tomorrow night." she smiled, winked and turned away.

Cynthia opened her car door, slid inside then pulled it shut. When the engine cranked the window rolled down.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" I turned around.

"You need to learn when to take that step. You just missed another of those opportunities." She waved goodbye.

As her car drove away, I figured out what she meant.

* * * *

All around me I heard the other students turning back the paper covers on their easels, reveling wonderful beginning to what would no doubt be true works of art. I left mine covered till the last, and even then I didn't want to uncover it.

My poor, sad table. I didn't have the heart to place even the handkerchief on it for fear that it would collapse.