My name is Linda. I am a twenty-six year old woman who lives alone in an old house I recently inherited from my grandmother. The house is a large Victorian style almost big enough to be considered a mansion, located in the outskirts of Orlando, Florida. My dearly departed grandmother used it as a winter home to get away from the frigid, icy conditions of West Chicago. It was an escape for her - a way to get around the demanding Chicago winter.
I moved into the house six months ago. The first thing I did was to move out my grandmother's old things. I would not stereotype her as being old fashioned, but my dearly departed 87 year-old grandmother and a 26 year-old granddaughter do not exactly share the same interior decorating ideas. Out went the tiny 14-inch television set to be replaced with a big screen. Away went the porcelain bathtub, replaced with a modern shower so I could stop washing my hair in the kitchen sink. And I certainly had to get rid of her old phonograph player. I mean, who listens to records any more in the age of the CD?
I live in the house as a single woman who has never been married nor do I have any immediate plans to get married - or at least there is no one special in my life right now. It is not because I am ugly or because I have anything against men; it's just that I can't find the right guy. I actually like men very much and I really enjoy the sex, but my relationships never last. As soon as a guy gets me into bed a few times, he starts to change and then leaves me for someone else. Men conquer me as though I am a prize filly, and then toss me aside for another.
The problem is my boobs. They're too big. I am a short Hispanic woman with a large set of tits, and I know it is my boobs that initially draw men to me. A guy will notice the bulge in my blouse as I sit at the bar or he passes by me at work. I can tell what they really want by the way their eyes inevitably roam down to my chest or glance at my cleavage. Men often look at me as though they are trying to imagine what is under my clothing, picturing me in a bra or perhaps in the nude. As they politely hold the door open for me to pass through, I know they are actually imagining their hands wrapped around my ample melons instead. Men try to capture me like I am some sort of rare object they need to add to their collections.
It starts simple at first. The guy will set a subtle trap with his words and actions. He will say nice things and will act very polite. He might compliment me on what I am wearing for the evening or maybe take me to an expensive restaurant to show off his bank account. Basically, he starts out treating me like royalty.
I never let a guy to have his way at the start. I am not an easy girl. I was raised proper and will not allow a man to take me to bed on the first date; or even the second or usually the third. Despite his best efforts, I will force him to wait until we at least get to know each other. And if I don't like what I see, I may not allow him to take me at all.
Eventually, after I go out with a guy a few times and I conclude there is a potential for something between us, I'll go to bed with him.
The sex is always really good at first. Men seem to like the extra excitement a big pair of tits adds to the sexual experience, as though my boobs take their immediate attention away from my pussy. As a consequence, the foreplay lasts a long time and the excitement really builds. Men have a fun time squeezing my melons and teasing on my big nipples, and I like it too. The experience really gets them aroused and ready to fuck by the time we finally get around to doing it.
The problem starts after we have sex a few times. Some hold out longer than others. One guy may wait until he gets me in the sack a few times while another will be more interested in trying out a couple different positions. But inevitably, they all turn out the same. After the guy discovers what it feels like to lift the weight of my big tits in his hands or pucker up to my inflated nipples, the novelty begins to wear off. He doesn't complement me as much and refuses to take me to nice places (except when he can show me off to his buddies). He begins to treat me more like a bimbo, like an object rather than a person. At the same time, he no longer works as hard at hiding his own faults. His true personality begins to show through the facade. Most of the time the guy turns out to be a real jerk.
The sex is always good, but after awhile I get tired of it. One guy after another! It is always the same. I wish I could meet a man who would take me for who I truly am. That's what made it all the more frustrating when the tables were turned.
As I said, I live in an old house that I inherited from my Grandmother. It is a large Victorian house that is really much too big for me. Along with the house, my grandmother also left me some money. In fact, she left me quite a bit of money. It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to quit my job as a secretary and pursue a dream I had since childhood. I was always quite good at drawing and wanted to be an artist. I didn't expect to become a famous artist, but it was what I liked. I had always hoped that I was at least good enough to perhaps teach it to others some day.
I tried to pursue my dream out of High School, but with no success. I enrolled myself in a private liberal arts school for two years in attempt to try it, but I soon discovered it was a waist of time. There isn't much money in being an artist, and the tuition bills were beginning to mount. Even the most famous painters in history- Michelangelo, Salvador Dali, and a lot of others lived in poverty for much of their lives. Ironically, most of the most famous artists did not become famous until after they died.
It took me two years, but finally I came to my senses and decided to be more practical. I dropped out of school to get a real job. My dream had to put on the back burner, left sizzling as a hobby as I pursued more practical matters on the front burners.
I got a chance to change things after my grandmother died and she left me most of the inheritance. I was her favorite, as she always said, and now I got to reap the rewards. Despite the high electric bills for the poorly insulated house in the summer and the constant need for maintenance of the old house all year round, I owned the place free-and-clear. And there are not many 26-year olds who can say they own a house without a mortgage. Furthermore, I had enough cash left over from the inheritance to buy a nice compliment of stocks, bonds, and a rather healthy savings account. It was enough so I could quit my job and pursue my childhood dream.
I began my adventure by turning the downstairs sunroom into a studio. I now spend most of my days doing sketches, drawings, and the occasional painting. My primary specialty is pencil and chalk drawings. I am also pretty good with cartoon figures and once tried to start a little cartoon column in the local paper. It only went on for five weeks, though, until the Mayor didn't like my particular rendering of his likeness.
Brush painting with colors is still difficult for me, although that is where most of the money lies. I notice most shoppers at the weekend art shows seem to want large, color landscape scenes. They want paintings to put over their fireplace mantels. Some are willing to spend thousands of dollars for one, even from an unknown artist! I've tried the big time myself, but I prefer the black-and-white medium. The most I ever made for a drawing was $200.00, which I guess means I am talented but far from famous.
I began with landscape scenes, drawings pictures of seagulls flying across the beach or the structure of an interesting buildings in town, but lately I moved on to the more difficult subject of the human form. For this, I needed models; so I started hiring models and made a number of figures. It was strange at first. I mean, it felt strange to have another person standing in my living room as I transferred their image to the canvas, but I gradually got used to it. Most of the models were art students themselves and therefore understood my passion. Most were also female because I didn't want some strange guy looking back at my bulging chest. One model in particular, Lisa, eventually became a good friend of mine. She gave me many compliments and said she liked my work - and she didn't say it just to humor me or because she was being paid. She came over many times for free just so she could learn some of my techniques. We even exchanged places a few times and she drew me instead. I have to sadly admit, though, she was not very talented herself.
My first drawings of the human form were of the face and upper limbs. I found it difficult in the beginning. It was hard to properly capture the subtle color change in the fleshtones of the human form, but my eyes were gradually able to pick out the details. The more I practiced, the better I became. It was as though the circuits between my eyes and fingertips slowly started developing in my brain.
My first drawings were all of clothed models, but as any good artist will tell you, it is more important to paint the nude form. I knew this all along and really wanted to paint a nude model, but was too embarrassed to ask. I would never pose nude myself, and I therefore didn't think it proper to ask someone else to do it for me. Besides, I figured models would ask for a lot more money to pose nude.
I didn't draw a nude until Lisa made an offer to pose herself. "Why not?" She questioned with reason. "It's art! It's not slut."
I agreed and we went ahead. Lisa posed nude for me in my sunroom.
I must admit, it felt strange having a nude woman lying down in the couch in my house. But like before, I gradually got used to it. I soon went into a trance and could ignore the fact she was nude. I drew for the shear pleasure of drawing the human form and capturing all the sulitaries of the human muscle structure. Lisa later talked some of her friends into posing nude for me also, and I found that I really enjoyed it. My work visibly improved.
"Now you should try a man," Lisa told me one day. "Forget about painting woman all the time! You should try experimenting with the more dramatic and corrosive muscle structure of a man."
"In the nude?" I questioned back. "I don't think so! It would feel too awkward."
"Why not?" Lisa asked back. "You're a professional and I know a few male models who are also professional. You should expand your experience. I think it would improve your talents."
So far, all my nudes were female, except for the time when one of my old boyfriends allowed me to draw him, but the drawing was now in ashes. I burned it right after he suggested a threesome with one of his old girlfriends.
Still, Lisa had a point. It would be a real challenge to do a drawing of a nude male. I thought about it a long time. After a few more proddings by Lisa, I finally gave in.
The next afternoon the phone rang with a prospect. "Hello," I answered.
"Hello. I'm a friend of Lisa and I'm calling about a modeling job. She said you were looking for an undraped male model."
"Yes," I choked. Undraped in the language of an artist meant nude. I wasn't quite sure how to respond to a man offering to pose nude for me.
"Am I speaking to the right person?"
"Oh yes," I came to my senses. "I'm Linda. Lisa told me she would give out my number, but I wasn't expecting a response to soon."
"Sorry!" He graciously apologized. "I can call back later if you want."
"No, that's fine," I felt like she was tripping over my own words. "That's fine. The sooner the better, I guess."
The line was silent for several seconds.
"Um, what do you pay?" He finally took the initiative.
I hadn't thought about pay yet. Most models earn near minimum wage. Undraped female models usually wanted a little more, and I figured a guy would want even better pay. "Fifteen dollars an hour," I took a wild guess and then added the single word "undraped" under my breath.
"That's fine!" He accepted enthusiastically.
By the tone of his voice I realized my estimate was too high, but it didn't matter. I had the money and could always lower for the next time - if there was a next time.
Then I thought about what I was doing and realized I forgot to ask him any questions. I felt stupid. I was practically offering him a job without knowing anything about him.
"I know you are a friend of Lisa and you are probably acceptable," I told him. "But could you tell me about yourself? I mean, do you have any previous modeling experience?"
"Oh yes, quite a bit over the last two years. It helps pay for tuition."
"You are a student then? What's your major?"
"At the moment, undeclared," He answered almost shamefully. "I came in under a soccer scholarship and play on the football and baseball teams, and I am still taking classes in several areas to search for what I really want. I met Lisa in one of my art classes."
It sounded as though he was a real athlete. Linda liked that, for it meant he probably had well toned muscles that would add to her experience. She also had a momentary thought about how exciting it would be to see him in the nude, but she quickly dismissed it. This is art, not slut, she reminded herself.
"What kind of modeling experience do you have?" She quickly forced her mind to look in different direction.
"Commercial photography and posing for artist like yourself. An ad agency first picked me off the street. They said I had the perfect face for one of their layouts. I've been doing modeling ever since and I really like it. It's one of the few jobs where I can fit around classes and soccer practice."
He sounded pleasant enough and already had some experience. His mention of an add agency picking him off the street started me thinking that he probably had a very handsome face. It looked as if Lisa picked out the perfect candidate.
"You're hired," I offered him the job. "When are you available?"
"Tuesday and Thursday mornings are best for me. I don't have any classes until the afternoon on those days. And I'm an early riser."
I laughed. "I'm afraid I am not an early riser myself. How does 9:00 AM sound?"
"Sounds good! I'll be there."
"By the way, my name's Linda." I suddenly realized I hadn't given him my name yet.
"Oh, sorry, I'm Roberto."
I gave him my address and we finished the call.
* * * *
Tuesday morning was hot and humid. Roberto arrived at about a quarter to nine. I opened the front door and was pleasantly surprised.
Roberto was young and finely muscled. He wore shorts and a tank top that nicely displayed his large biceps and muscular chest. I should of known what to expect, but I pushed it out of my mind instead. A guy going to school on a sports scholarship would naturally be well built and muscular. He was a fine specimen of a man and looked perfect to practice and fine-tune my drawing skills. I couldn't help but think he was also a fine specimen for a girl to do many other things with as well.
"Morning, I'm Roberto," He greeted at the door, interrupting my pleasant thoughts.
I couldn't help but fantasy what he would look like without the shorts and tank top to get in the way, and then suddenly realized I would. This male body was going to pose for me in the nude! I couldn't believe it.
"I take it, you're Linda?" He questioned.
I came back to my senses and tried to put the picture of his nude body out of my mind. "Oh yes! You have the right house."
We shook hands. I noticed his grasp was hard and raspy. His hands were callused. He almost crushed my tiny fingers.
I invited him in and walked him back to the sunroom where I had my studio set up. Right away he showed interest in my drawings that I had stuck up around the studio walls. "These are great!" he said enthusiastically.
"Thank you," I replied, not really sure if he really meant it or not.
"Wow, you really understand the human body! You show great promise."
I figured he was just bullshitting, brow noosing like a will oiled politician, but I appreciated the compliment anyway.
We talked for about ten minutes before getting started. I asked him a few questions about school, and he asked me a few questions about my work. He seemed intelligent and was a good conversationalist. He mentioned something about a chemistry lab he had to finish up after lunch. He didn't sound like the typical jock.
I was a little scarred of him at first. He was a big guy, especially compared to my small stature. I think my eyes only came up to his chest. He looked to be nearly six feet tall and probably weighed in at about 220 lbs. - and there wasn't much in the way of fat on his body. It looked as though he did a lot of weightlifting to keep himself healthy.
He made me feel nervous. There were butterflies in my tummy, making me feel as though I was about to give a speech in front of a large audience. I tried to hide it. I didn't want him to know that he was my first male nude model, even though Lisa may have told him anyway. I don't know if he noticed it or not.
His words slowly put me to rest. I would have preferred to talk to him a lot more, but he said he needed to finish up by 11:30. He suggested we get started, so I pointed to a folding screen in the corner of the room that Lisa liked to use. It seemed strange at the time, to offer an area for privacy to a guy who was about to take off all his cloths, but it seemed like the pilot thing to do.
Roberto disappeared behind the screen to re-emerged two minutes later wearing a plain silk robe. I continued talking the whole time, telling him the poses were up to him. I think the talking helped me to relax.
"I first want to get accustomed to drawing your form," I told him. "I have nothing special in mind. I figured a couple of ten to fifteen minute drawings each. You can decide on the poses and when to change," I offered. "If you find a pose too much of a strain, just change."
I saw him in the robe and he looked even better. The knowledge of the lack of clothing underneath began to get me excited.
"You can stand or there is a couch and stool," I spoke to get it out of my mind.
Then he did it. He simply nodded and removed his robe. He undressed like it was nothing out of the ordinary.
I liked what I saw! He had long, muscular legs and a tight backside. His physic was excellent. And best of all, he looked like he was rather well hung! I tried not to look too close, but his dick looked to be a little longer than what I considered average.
For the first drawing, he simply sat on the arm of the couch and leaned back. He faced me at an angle and gave me a profile, which made his dick look even bigger. I started drawing just to keep my eyes off it, but it remained very impressive and I couldn't stop looking down at the thing. I began to fantasize what it would look like when it was proud and erect. And the more I looked at it, the more I started realizing how big he was. He was definitely more than the average six incher. This one was at least seven; maybe even eight or nine. Occasionally it seemed to swell slightly, but I think this was only my imagination.
To be continued...
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Posted by ATCFNM at 12:07 PM