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.
