The Art of Lust Pt. 02

******Short and hot, stories in this series are meant for those of you ready to get off in about 3500 words.

John had never had a friend like Amanda. First, she was female. Second, she was like a seventh sister, but not a pain in the ass. Third, his body was fiercely attracted to hers, but his mind and hers seemed able to travel together without that complicating the relationship. So when he told Amanda about what happened that Sunday afternoon when he became an impromptu drawing model he was surprised by her reaction.

The conversation started simply enough. She'd returned from the holiday break to Princeton and they met at Roasters and enjoyed the warmth of the coffee and the booth. Outside was icy, winter having settled in for certain. A long, class-heavy semester lay before them. John learned more about her family back in Ohio; divorced parents, one older brother, her dog. There was pain there and not enough healing, he sensed from her flattened emotions.

John couldn't help but notice Amanda's cashmere turtleneck and how it smoothed over her high, firm breasts. He'd seen a lot of real breasts now in the drawing group and he could easily imagine her type; youthful, rosy, pert, firm, with small pink areola and nipples that, when engorged, would pull that peach flesh even tighter. Now he had a boner. And a fantasy to rub one out to later.

Amanda asked to see his work from the drawing group and he showed what he'd done over the break, then told the story of that Sunday. At first he was going to keep it PG.

"So...it was awkward since on the one hand I kinda have gotten to know these people. And on the other hand we all had practice pretending whatever it is we pretend to think about the naked folks we're drawing," he said, gauging Amanda's receptivity by the furrow in her brow, the glint in her eye.

"I bet you loved being gawked at by those women," the young girl teased, "You're just a man."

"You're gonna have to explain that to me. You've said it before and..."

"Oh, it means you all have the same drives. And you're not really aware of them."

"And women are?"

"We're all too aware of your drives, John," she looked irritated.

"I mean, are you aware of your own?" He noticed she was uncomfortable.

"They're none of your business," she said after the briefest hesitation.

"Look," he said, "I get it about consent and boundaries. I've got six sisters..."

"Yeah, but you're not trying to get in their pants.....Are you?!?!" Amanda looked shocked at her own train of thought.

"Hell, no," he said firmly, but it wasn't lost on him that he'd spent the last summer deep in his aunt Gloria's 'pants'. He wondered then about why his sisters didn't stir in him the same lustful attraction as his aunt, or Amanda, who was so like Maria. He'd have to consider that later...

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Amanda looked aghast.

"It's fair...it's...um...not an uncommon fantasy, I understand," he said, not needing to cite X-Hamster as a reference. Presumably her interest in feminist studies gave her a good overview of the adult industry and its complicated place in the lives of people their age. "It's not a fantasy of mine."

"Ah...," did she look a tiny little bit disappointed? "Well, that being said, you men are all about sending your DNA into the future, but it's all wrapped up in dominance and submission and who has agency and....stuff." Now she looked consternated.

"I'm not trying to win an argument, just to understand where you're coming from," he said gently and touched her hand. This in itself was a bold move. He'd refrained from any physical advances or any gesture that could be misconstrued.

She took a deep breath and without looking at him or removing his hand, said quietly, "Did you enjoy being naked in front of those women?" He decided to be honest.

"Yes, and...I was hard the whole time." He tried to sound bemused at his own behavior, as if it was outside of his control. It, his dick, did seem to be outside of his control.

Amanda didn't respond for a long moment and he said, with some trepidation, "I've got a photo of one of the drawings...if you want to see it." Then he waited. And she took several deep breaths and clenched her other hand around her coffee cup. Clearly she struggled.

"Oh, alright," she said simply at last. He opened his photos app and scrolled to the image he'd taken of Isabelle's rendering of his body, his rigid cock the clear center of focus. Could he see it through Amanda's eyes, any woman's eyes? He was proud of it, of course, being long, thick, dark and textured. He was a tall man with a tall penis, which would be enough to be above average, but his was curved and sculpted, like the marble David, but as a cock. Gloria told him it was particularly beautiful, if you could consider a cock beautiful. Would Amanda think so? He took the risk of turning the phone to her.

She blinked rapidly and said, "Oh!" then squinted and furrowed her brow and licked her lips. "The, uh, the drawing's really good. Life-like. Your teacher's very talented."

"Isabelle isn't my teacher."

"Not your teacher..." Amanda seemed confused even though he'd explained this about the group before. Maybe she sensed something in his tone. John decided to be honest again.

"She's my lover."

"Well, that's news!" the young woman said, sitting up straight, pulling away her hand and looking him hard in the eye. "You buried the lead, John!" She looked a little hurt and a lot surprised even as she tried to appear happy for him.

"Well, with me being naked like that for three hours and her being divorced and one thing led to another..." Now it sounded kinda tawdry even to himself. But when Isabelle had offered him a thinly veiled 'ride' after that astonishingly arousing session, and her reminding him of Gloria, and him knowing so well how to treat a mature woman, he was sailing pretty high on the affirming nature of it all. Isabelle was his second and he'd become as aggressive as she had been, unlike how Gloria'd set the pace last summer. His sexual world had doubled suddenly and through his own agency, if you wanted to use those terms. He wanted to brag to his friend because of his competence and confidence as much as anything. Maybe Amanda was the wrong friend to brag to.

"You like older women?" Amanda asked, seemingly genuinely curious. "I mean, to put it delicately, their bodies aren't the same as, as, well, a younger one." Her hand gestured toward her own cashmere-hugged torso.

"Neither is their experience." He said frankly and she looked concerned.

"Mileage," she said as she took in the information, "It's not the years it's the mileage, kinda thing? And I bet you're quite the prize for someone old enough to be your mom." Now she sounded angry.

Amanda started to gather her things and slide out of the booth.

"Too much information?" John asked, trying to sound apologetic. But it was too late. For the first time they were having a disagreement. No, that wasn't right. Her feelings were hurt. And now he wondered how true his earlier question was...did she know her own drives?

"I've got to prepare for classes, John," she said tersely. "I'll catch up later." Then she hurried from the place and he was left to wonder if he'd shared too much.

********

What really surprised John about Amanda's reaction was that at the next Sunday drawing group she showed up ready to participate. She hadn't told him and still he felt obliged to introduce her to Isabelle as a friend from school. The two females had an instant and palpable energy between them. If it had been two cats he imagined he would see two sets of hackles raised and hear some low yowling as they paced around each other. Oh, boy, he wasn't expecting this.

So while that day's model, a heavy black woman, exposed herself to the artists, his mind drifted between imagining what creative way Isabelle would suggest they make love later and the realization that Amanda apparently thought she had some kind of territorial claim on him. Had he misconstrued her dismissive comments about men? Had she suddenly woken up to her own desire? Why didn't she just say something? What did she look like naked? Oh wait, that wasn't a new thought, just suddenly maybe more realizable.

It was a tense session and at the end Amanda and Isabelle had a brief conclave over in one corner. He wanted so badly to listen in, but could just go around admiring and commenting on his fellow artists' work, which, as usual, showed variety and levels of skill he still aspired to. That day's disappointing work was affected by his distracted thinking.

Amanda asked him on the way out if he'd like to meet at the Roaster's again that evening. He jumped on the invitation.

********

Amanda was late. John fiddled with his coffee cup and wondered if he smelled of sex. That afternoon Isabelle had dragged him upstairs in her old Georgian house, the house her philandering husband had been guilty enough to cede to her in the divorce but wasn't entirely wiped of his presence. He appeared, bearded and bespectacled in a couple of family photos with Isabelle and their two daughters. Once, John'd asked about the breakup and her terse response was enough to end the conversation. "Oh, it was as painful as it was commonplace. He traded me in on a younger version, a student of his. It lacked any unique quality to make it dramatic. And here we are..." And she pulled at his belt until he was naked again.

Just an hour ago he'd been face down in Isabelle's sex and using his tongue as Gloria'd taught him and to good effect. Her cries echoed in the big house. Then she'd pulled him up by the hair and guided his manhood into her and cried out some more, draining him of his seed with delighted and especially enthusiastic greediness. As they lay sweating after he collapsed beside her she asked, "so you've fucked this Amanda?"

"Ahhh, no, no I have not. Though I'm not sure I should say..."

"Don't freak out, John. It's obvious you haven't," Isabelle lay a hand on his chest, raised up to look him in the eye, dragging her nipples in his chest hair. "She's got an interesting...hmmm...agenda, I guess it might be."

"I don't get you," he couldn't think post-coitus anyway. Why were women energized by sex and he just wanted to sleep? Gloria thought it was so our hominid great-many-great grandmothers could have multiple partners and the males would be too sleepy to fight over them. Seemed plausible.

"Amanda asked to be a model next week," Isabelle smirked and watched his reaction. John's eyes widened and his sex-befuddled brain ground slowly through the implications.

"Model?" he said out loud.

"You'll be able to look but not touch," she said, "But you'll be fucking me afterward."

John's recollections were interrupted as Amanda joined him in the booth with her own cup of steaming cappuccino. She smiled at him tentatively, which was an improvement, and slipped off her down coat. She revealed a different sweater, but it still hugged her lean body. She wore a heavy, pleated plaid skirt and high, knitted black leggings. Thick soled boots. A tartan cap that she pulled aside to allow a cascade of straw-blond hair across her shoulders. He watched her fuss with pulling at the hem of the sweater, which only made it obvious that her nipples were erect. That was something new. She was the kind of girl to keep them demurely hidden with a bra. John supposed she didn't normally want to provoke any of those male 'drives'. No bra tonight?

"I enjoyed drawing with you today," she said, sipping her coffee, "I guess you don't need to show me your work since I saw it in the flesh...uh, so to speak."

John wondered about her warming attitude, decided not to probe about its causes. "Not that great today, though."

"Neither was mine," she said, fidgeting in her seat.

"Keep at it, you'll get better," he offered and it felt trite. Was she going to tell him about her desire to model? He wouldn't let on that he knew.

"True of most things, I suppose," Amanda sighed. "Practice, practice, practice." She pulled at the hem of her sweater again. The silence was awkward. The small talk was worse.

Looking at her John could tell she was holding something back. She fidgeted, kept touching the hem of her sweater, was turning a little pink in her nervousness.

"What's going on with you?" he asked. She hung her head for a minute.

"I need to tell you something," she whispered without looking at him. Her breathing was a bit ragged. She seemed really upset. She fiddled with her sweater again.

"OK," John said, "we're friends still, I hope."

"Why haven't you made any moves on me?" She looked up at him then, pleading, "What's wrong with me?" He was nonplussed. She'd seemed so confident and happy and she'd set a clear boundary, or so he thought.

"Amanda," he said carefully, "you're a beautiful girl, I mean, woman, and I've been respecting your boundaries as I understand them." Now he sounded more like a lawyer than a friend.

"I picked you," she said, looking him in the eye, "I picked you back in September."

"Picked?" he asked, puzzled.

"To be my first..." she looked intently at his hands. "Don't you ever have conflicting impulses?"

"I suppose..."

"I knew I'd take lovers in college and still I was scared. Of being out of control, I guess." Amanda smiled wryly. "So now we're friends and you've already got a lover."

"I confess that I'd like to..."

"But I'm too 'inexperienced'? Not enough mileage?" She seemed bitter.

"My aun...I mean, I was taught to let the woman make the first move," he said, "and honestly, Isabelle is only my second. She, and my first, they both took the lead."

"When you showed me your junk then told me who was getting it, I realized I'd been too cautious," Amanda looked conflicted. "You want me to beg you? To be a slut for you?"

"No! Of course not, no..." he assured her, "I'm sure you know it's not just either virgin or whore?"

She was silent, fiddled with her sweater again, hung her head and, surprisingly, chuckled, "I've got a silver bullet inside me right now."

"Silver what?"

"I got it on Amazon. It's got a power wheel on the battery pack and I ran the wire up my panties to my waist." She patted her sweater again. Squirmed again.

"Wait, you're vibrating yourself here in the booth?" John glanced around the dim room. Just a couple of others scattered around this late, eyes on their laptops. The barista was loading the dishwasher.

"It's almost like having sex with you." Amanda's eyes glistened. "Which I'm not ready to do, actually," she laughed, grimly. "But I'd like to kiss you."

John took a long moment as the meaning of what she'd said sank in, and without speaking their eyes slowly confirmed that they would soon cross that boundary with each other. It was a pact between friends, a commitment of trust, a promise to grow together, a hint of an exciting odyssey. He said, "I have a refrigerator magnet that says Life Is A Thrilling Adventure Or Nothing. Hellen Keller, apparently." Then he leaned to her and gently pressed his mouth to hers, tasting the very good cappuccino.

She shuddered and stiffened and opened her mouth as he barely nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth. Her hand went to her hem again and her knees rubbed together. Amanda moved a hand under the table to his chinos and found his hardness. He sucked in a breath and his cock twitched. Amanda moaned into his kiss. Her tongue probed. As she gently squeezed, his blood rose thundering in his head. The room got dripping hot.

John put an arm around her and cradled her in the kiss and she relaxed, surrendered to his exploring tongue. Still he went slowly. Images of her sliding down onto the bench with him over her lit his mind. That soft wool skirt would ride up and show the pink flesh of her thighs above the stockings as she spread her legs. She'd pull the gusset of her panties aside and reach for his zipper.

Amanda was pulling at his cock now through the fabric. He wondered if she was seeing Isabelle's drawing of it in her own imagination. Was she thinking of getting it flesh-to-flesh with her fingers? With these same pliant and wet lips that he was kissing? What did she want?

John remembered her erect nipples and now it made sense. She had been aroused when she sat down. He oh-so-gently placed his palm over her sweater-draped breast. It was just palm-sized, but firm and capped with that hard nub. He swirled his palm and she moaned into his mouth and shook. Her hand clamped on his pole and pumped. The boxers burned a little but not as much as the rising lust and the urge to thrust. He was making a wet spot on his pants.

John made a tent of his fingers on her chest as he pulled them to pinch at her nipple. Amanda squeaked. He hoped no one cared enough to watch. Or maybe he hoped they would. Along with the images of him sliding down over her spread legs as she struggled in her passion to pull his cock out, he imagined the other patrons setting aside their laptops and coffee cups to watch the horny couple. Did it make him a better lover to imagine he had an audience? Would they raise panels with their scores at the end like in the olympics? Appreciative cheers would be nice.

Amanda's hand found the wet spot on his chinos and she worked her fingers in it. "Ohmygod..." she mumbled into their kiss.

"Yeah, I'm nearly there, too," he whispered. The soft fabrics over the girl's taut, athletic body made him impatient. He wanted to unwrap her right there in front of everyone, lay her back in her pillow of messed blond hair, pinion her to the bench and put his spear where the silver bullet was silently driving her upward. Dominance and submission, indeed.

She grabbed his hand and pressed his palm hard to her breast. Her body arched, pressing against his, her hand jacked his cock insistently and she groaned low and long, holding her mouth to his to drown her strangled cries. John felt his spunk drawn from his core, his own body stiffening and shuddering as she pulled at him. He imagined his tongue spreading her red lips as his cock would, to burst there and fill her mouth with hot, syrupy seed. They clung to each other for a long time as the waves passed through them, trying to be discreet and probably failing. He didn't dare to look around them.

Amanda looked with amazement into his eyes as she relaxed again and pulled her sticky fingers away. John looked steadily back, took those glistening fingers and placed them in his mouth to suck them clean. She shook again and sighed.

"I'm going to pretend we're alone here," he said. "Let's act like nothing just happened."

"But something incredible just happened..."

"And it will again, if I understand you now." There was a question in it.

"Yes, John. I have a plan." Amanda smiled conspiratorially, "I think you're going to like it."

If you've made it to the end, may I ask for a comment, please? The benefit to you is that I'll be much more encouraged to write and to write more often. Your feedback makes my stories better. Thanks for reading. (If you have constructive criticism, please be specific)