The Craft So Long To Lerne

I've been writing elsewhere for a while. This is my first Literotica venture.

Recently, my writing has mostly been f/f and long series, but for my first effort I thought it would be better to begin simply, with a straight romantic stand-alone story.

However, though it's stand-alone, the characters and even the setting will become part of the world of subsequent stories that I hope to share here.

~~~~~

The Craft So Long To Lerne

I've been working on my sketch for a couple of hours. I should set it aside and buy another coffee, but I feel that I've been on a roll, and I don't want to interrupt the process.

I need to rest my eyes occasionally, or they'd start watering. Most times that I do, I see the two young women baristas talking to each other and glancing in my direction. They're probably griping that I'm taking up space without buying anything. I should get that coffee, but I'm not quite ready to take a break.

A flash of light catches my eye, making me look up from my creation's cleavage, which I've been shading with a soft pencil. I look up to see the blonde barista standing before my table, a large disposable coffee cup in her hand.

"Hey," she says. The name tag pinned to her brown coveralls says Dylan. "Mind if I interrupt?"

I sighed. "Yeah, I'm sorry," I say. "I guess I need to pay my rent."

The blonde girl frowns for a second. "Oh, no!" she says, understanding dawning. "In fact... on me." She holds out the styrofoam container.

I set my pencil down and take the coffee from her. "Uh, thanks?"

She flashes me a quick grin. Her eyes are a deep blue, and they sparkle. "Yeah," she says. "Cyndy and I wanted to see if you'd let us see what you're working on. We drew straws. You don't have to, drawings are personal, I know, but you look so serious, we figured we wanted to ask."

"Oh, yeah, of course," I say. "You'd be welcome." I turn the sketch pad around, offering it to her.

She takes it carefully, and I use the opportunity to study her. Her sapphire eyes seem especially intense in her pale skin. Even paler cream-to-white hair cascades down to the base of her back. Her face is diamond shaped, with a sharply-pointed chin. There's a blue opal stud in her right nostril. A floral tattoo in brilliant colors swirls up her left arm, disappearing under her short-sleeved black tee.

"Whoa, this is amazing," she says. Her eyebrows dip sharply into a frown. "Her face. Is that me?"

"What?" I ask, my eyes flicking to the pad. She's holding it facing herself, but I don't need to see it. My glance was automatic. The face I've created is clear in my mind's eye. "Oh, no, it isn't. You're right, it does look a little like you, but I'd already sketched her head when I arrived. It isn't you. Sorry."

"Huh," she says.. "Who is it?"

"Titania," I replied.

"I meant the face," she says. "Who's the model?"

"Oh, no one's in particular," I reply. "I've drawn a lot of faces. She's just how I picture Titania."

The girl grins. "Thanks. It's not every day I find I look like a faerie queen."

I find that I'm glad that she knows who Titania is.

She glances around the coffee shop. The other barista - Cyndy, I assume - is giving a customer his order. "Do you mind if I call my friend over to see?" she asks me.

"Sure," I say.

The girl waves at her co-worker. "Hey, Cyn, come here a second."

Cyndy, a short redhead, leaves the counter and skips over to us. She has a few freckles on the bridge of her button nose, and hazel eyes. "Oh, wow," she says, when the taller girl shows her my sketch. "That's awesome."

The door opens. Cyndy glances around, then looks back to me apologetically. "Gotta get back. Don't be too long, Dill."

"Okay," says the blonde. She turns back to me as her friend returns to the counter. "So, are you a professional?" she asks.

"Just a student," I reply. "I sell some work online, but it isn't enough to pay my rent."

"What does pay your rent?" she asks.

"Much the same as you," I reply. "I tend bar. O'Neill's."

"I know it," she said. "Maybe I'll see you there sometime." She starts to hand the drawing pad back to me, then stops herself. "Is there anything else here I could see?"

I think about that for a second before agreeing. "Sure," I say, not sure how she'll react to other drawings. There are several nudes from my art class. Women and men, both. Those are in black pencil.

My personal favorite drawing is also in the sketch pad, in colored pencil. It is of a dark-skinned girl lying on her belly, nipples hidden by her arm, but her full breasts otherwise sensuously on display, face turned up with an inviting, mischievous grin. I'm more proud of capturing the grin than the curves of her shoulders and lower back.

As if on cue, the girl's eyes widen. "This one doesn't look like a class project." She turns the pad around.

I shake my head. "No, that was done for her," I say, nodding towards the girl in the drawing. "She's an old friend of mine. I scanned it and turned it into a print for her. That's one I've never tried to sell. I'll be disappointed when I switch to a new sketch pad."

"I see why," the girl says. Then she opens the pad to Titania and hands it back to me. "Thank you for letting me see these. You're very good."

"You have some interesting art of your own," I say, nodding towards her left arm. "That looks like a masterwork."

The girl colors slightly. "Yeah," she said. "I think so too. I can't take credit for it, though, all I did was select the flowers."

"What are they?" I ask, curious.

She moves around the table so that I can see the design on her arm clearly. "This is wolfsbane," she says, indicating a cluster of purple, bell-like flowers. "Oleander." These are bright pink, delicate blooms with five petals. "Laburnum, fritillary." The first is a grouping of intense yellow flowers; the second a deep, mottled pink.

"Foxglove," she says, her right hand waving close to the collection of purple flowers that vanish up into her sleeve.

Without thought, I extend a finger to push her sleeve up her arm so that I can see the entire plant.

Then I realize that I'm touching the girl without her permission. Sliding my finger across smooth skin. "Oh, God," I say, snatching my hand away. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she replies. The color in her face has deepened. "I should get back to work."

"Okay," I say, watching her leave. Then I pick up the soft pencil and return to Titania's boobs.

~~~~~

My shift at O'Neill's today is seven to two. I had Titania more or less where I wanted her when I left the coffee shop. I headed to my apartment, took a nap, and showered. Now I'm walking to the bar, which is just around the corner.

When I see a blonde girl sitting at the bar, I do a double-take.

"Hey, Dylan," I say. "You found me."

"You know my name!" she says. "And you even remembered it!"

I make a circle over my chest with my finger. "You were wearing a name tag," I say.

She glances down at the matching location at her breast. She isn't wearing the tee shirt and coveralls now. She's wearing a navy blue camisole top, and the place where her name tag was earlier is the junction of a narrow strap with a neckline just low enough to hint at the curve of a small breast. "Oh, right," she says. "And you're Austin."

"I am," I agree. "Credit card receipt?"

"Mmhmm," she says. "I cheated."

"What are you drinking?"

"What's good, and not too much alcohol?" Dylan asks.

"Mimosa?" I suggest. "Americano? That's pretty good."

"I'll try it," she says, taking her wallet from her purse.

I mix the drink, set it before her, then shake my head. "On me," I say. "You bought my coffee."

A brief smile flashes across her face. "Thanks," she says. She lifts the glass, gives me a small salute, then tastes the cocktail. Her sapphire eyes glow appreciatively. "Oh, that

is

nice."

"Glad you like it," I say. "You said you'd find me, but I didn't think..." I almost say "I didn't think you would," but I caught myself. "I didn't think you'd do it so soon."

"You seemed disturbed earlier," she says. "I wanted to tell you that it was okay. So I called the bar to ask when you were working."

"You didn't seem upset," I reply, "but touching the serving staff is verboten. If anyone did that here, they'd be having a private chat with the bouncers. Well, the female serving staff. I doubt they'd give a shit if it was me."

The smile appears again. "Yeah, maybe it's not a great idea, but you were looking at my ink. If you'd asked, I'd have said okay." The smile turns roguish as she adds,, "Hell, if you'd asked, I'd have taken my shirt off so that you could see the whole piece."

"That would have entertained the patrons," I say, with a grin.

She shrugs, eyes still alight with amusement. "But you can see it all now," she says, "so the opportunity isn't lost, and I don't even have to take my top off."

"True," I say. I stare at her shoulder for a moment. "I figured out what the common theme between the flowers was." I point to the purple flower and dark berry woven in among the leaves. "I'm going to guess that that's deadly nightshade."

"Atropa belladonna," Dylan agrees. "Got it."

"You're an interesting girl," I say. "Loveliest tattoo I've ever seen, I think, and all of the flowers are deadly toxins."

"Please don't make a joke about how it means I'm looking to keep people at

arm's length

," Dylan says. "I will be very disappointed in you, and may have to dust your underwear with poison ivy."

"You have a very twisted mind," I reply. "But I wouldn't dream of making any such comment. If only because I hadn't thought of it."

One of the waitresses approaches the bar. I leave for a few minutes to prepare the drinks she needs. When I return to Dylan, her drink is almost gone.

"Another?" I ask.

"Sure," she says. "Just one. I'll be leaving soon."

I feel a tug of disappointment. I'm enjoying speaking to her. But she has a life to live, and the bar will be too busy soon for me to be able to spend much time talking. I mix her drink, and present it to her. This time I run her credit card.

"Anything exciting planned?" I ask.

"Mmhm," she says. "Going out with a couple of girlfriends. I'm opening tomorrow, though, so my night will probably end before yours."

"Thanks for taking the time to stop by," I say. After a beat, I add, "Would you like to get together outside of work sometime?"

"What do you have in mind?" Dylan asks.

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead," I admit. "We could get coffee at some place other than your café, or drinks, if it's not my bar. We could decide then if we have any interests in common. Unless... would you like me to paint your portrait?"

She narrows her eyes. "How much would that cost?"

"Nothing," I say, with a shake of my head. "I wouldn't offer you something and ask you to pay for it. But I would like to ask if in return I can use your likeness on other projects. I have an idea for another faerie queen that you'd be perfect for. You don't have to say yes, I'll paint you anyway, but it would be cool."

"Hmm." Dylan's still frowning. "Nude portrait? Like your friend?"

"That's up to you," I say. "I have an idea for a pose that would focus on your ink, which would definitely be risqué. But it doesn't have to be."

"Okay," she says. "Yeah. I'm not sure about the risqué part. Maybe I'll decide when you tell me what you have in mind."

"Okay," I say. "Bring a selection of clothes if you aren't sure. Tops, anyway. What you're wearing now would be perfect for what I have in mind."

"Huh, it would?" she asks. She took a large sip of her drink. "Okay, when?"

We agree on the following Monday, which is her first day off, and my second. I take a business card from my wallet. It has links to my online store and my DeviantArt page. I don't use many cards, since almost all of my few sales are online, but they're useful to have. I scrawl my address and phone number on the back and hand it to her.

~~~~~

Dylan shows up at my apartment at ten a.m. precisely. I offer her substandard coffee - at least compared to the gourmet brew at the café - hot tea or a soft drink. Somewhat to my surprise she chooses hot tea, so I make two cups.

"So describe this pose you're considering," she says, "so that I can decide."

I set her tea down on the coffee table and motion her to a chair. "What I'm thinking is to have you looking down at your tattoo, with your right hand lowering your shoulder strap over your arm so that the ink on your shoulder is unobstructed. The top will slip down. How far is up to you."

"You want to paint my flat chest?" Dylan says, her tone challenging.

"I'd like to show your left breast," I say. "But I could make a PG version, too."

"Huh," she says.

"I'll take a photo with my phone. You can see how it will look, and I'll use the photo to finish up once we're done today."

"If you're going to take a photo, why do I need to be here at all?" she asks.

"If you're here I can get a better sense of you as a living, breathing person," I reply. "Once I've captured your expression and position, I can use the photo to remind me."

"It sounds a little mystical to me," Dylan says. "Was the drawing of your friend live?"

"I couldn't have gotten her expression right from a photo," I said. "There's something about being there that lets me share the experience."

She shrugs. "I'll try it."

I ask Dylan to try the pose, pulling down her shoulder strap while I watch critically. I reposition the chair a couple of times so that I have the view that I want from my desk. I suggest that she lowers the strap another inch. The cami top peels further away from her left breast, exposing her dark nipple. She isn't wearing a bra.

Dylan doesn't seem uncomfortable with my seeing her like this. I snap a couple of photos with my phone, including one in 3D.

I show her how the pose looks, holding my fingers over the screen to indicate where the boundaries of the painting will be. Dylan's eyebrow rises. It seems she's pleased with the effect.

"And I have to say, in my semi-professional opinion," I say, "that you're not flat-chested."

She grins quickly, taking my words as a compliment, but objects. "Yes, I am."

I shake my head. "Your breast isn't huge, but it's very well shaped. The shadows are going to be perfect."

"You really think so?" She sounds a little dubious.

"Speaking as a guy rather than a semi-professional," I say, "it's fucking hot."

Dylan huffs out a laugh.

"You could try making your nipple harder," I say. "It would make the view a little sexier."

"Why don't you do that?" she asks, with a sparkle in her eyes. "For efficiency."

I laugh. "Okay," I say. I extend my left hand, not too quickly, in case the suggestion was a joke, and I missed the point. When she doesn't stop me, I cup her breast. "And to think, last week I was feeling guilty about touching your arm."

"I don't think I'd want you to do this at the café," Dylan says, as I squeeze.

Taking her nipple between finger and thumb, I pinch it lightly. I can feel it swelling. "I don't know how you can say you're flat-chested," I say.

"Well, not

completely

," she says.

I lick my thumb. Lightly I press it to the center of her nipple, then circle it around. Dylan twitches slightly. Her eyes seem darker than they were.

"I should just bring you an ice cube," I say, "but this is more fun."

"It is," she agrees. She licks her lips.

I lift the fabric of her cami so that it's just below her nipple, rather than leaving her breast completely exposed. Then I step back and take a couple more shots.

She nods. "That looks way sexier than I was expecting," she says when I show them to her.

"The painting will be sexier still," I say. Then I sit at my desk. I have a 4K monitor and digital drawing tablet hooked up to my notebook. I start to sketch on the tablet.

"Can I talk?" Dylan asks. "Do I have to stay perfectly still?"

"You can talk," I say. "Stay more or less where you are, unless it's uncomfortable, but you don't have to hold the pose exactly unless I ask you to."

"When you said paint," she says, "I thought you meant, you know, paint."

"I could, I guess," I say, "but I think you'll like the way this turns out." After a moment's consideration, I add, "I have an idea."

I had planned to pull up the photo on the notebook display, but while Dylan's here I don't really need it. I tweak the display settings so that the displays are duplicated rather than extended. Then I turn the notebook around so that she can see what I'm doing. There's only a rough outline so far, but she can see my intention.

"Oh, that's neat," Dylan says, as I get back to work.

"So what do you do when you're not baristing?" I ask.

"English," she says. "I want to write."

"Move your hand up a little," I say. Dylan's arm is starting to tire, and her fingers have dropped too low. I want them higher so that the strap is in view, but her wrist needs to be lower so that her nipple isn't hidden. When she has it where I want, I sketch her fingers and arm, then shade her breast, darkening her nipple.

Dylan looks over to the notebook display as I'm shading. "Are you enlarging it?"

"What?" I ask. "Your boob? No."

"Are you sure?" Dylan asks.

"I'm drawing what I see," I say.

"It feels weird to know you're studying my body so closely," Dylan says.

"I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable," I tell her.

"That's not it," she replies. "It feels..." She pauses for a moment, then says, "Do nude models get aroused?"

"I've seen guys get turned on," I say. "It doesn't happen often, but it happens. Students politely ignore it. Having a half dozen girls staring at your naked body... well, I can see why they would. I don't know about women. I guess they must, but it isn't as easy to tell."

"Huh," Dylan grunts. "I'll just say having your hand down my shirt again wouldn't be unwelcome right now."

"For me too," I say, with a sigh. "But I want to capture as much of you as I can before you get bored and lose your enthusiasm."

I finish the neckline of her top. Her right breast is mostly hidden behind her arm, but the slight swell at the junction with the right strap needs to be shown. Then the outer edge of her left arm takes shape. The tattoo will come later, since it's going to be its own small project, but I mark in the locations of the various flowers.

"I'm going to change the color of your top to a royal blue satin look," I say. "I want the focus to be on the tattoo and your elegance. A rich blue will contrast the first and complement the second."

"Elegance?" Dylan almost snorts. "Ell oh ell what?"

"Elegance, yeah," I say. I mean exactly that. The length of her neck, the thickness of her long, long hair, the intensity of her eyes, the perfect shape of her small breasts. "It's why I think you'd be a good Mab."

"Mab? She's the faerie queen?" Dylan asks. "Titania's enemy, right?"

"Depends on the mythology," I say. "Maybe more like frenemy. Her opposite number. She's grown into something very different from Shakespeare's Mab. She's the Queen of Air and Darkness, the Winter Queen. Sometimes the Queen of Air and Darkness is Titania's counterpart but she isn't called Mab. The monarch of the Unseelie Court. She's cold and cruel."

"You think I'm cold and cruel?" Dylan asks, amused.

"I think a girl who proudly wears aconite and belladonna can do cruel," I say. "But you noticed the resemblance my Titania has to you. The similarity would work."

Taking a critical look at how the drawing was progressing, I nod, pleased. "You can sit up," I say. "I'm going to touch this up a little while you're still here, so you can see it, but then I can do the rest from the photo."