CONSTANCY
A sequel to 'Unsettled'
Connie strolled around the hall, weaving between the erratically spaced easels and tables used by the art club. A surprising number of people were in attendance, their ages varying enormously, but all of them were keen to learn from the words of advice that she offered and that always fell short of outright criticism. It was not in her nature to be harsh, but when she needed to be, it was reserved for truanting or misbehaving students at the college where she taught the history of art and technique. Now she was at a Thursday evening night session teaching and mentoring those looking at art as a hobby.
That was not the case of a former student, a young guy with prodigious talent and much more besides.
She had stopped at Matt Thompson's side, the young man working with just a charcoal pencil and who scrawled assuredly over pallid cream art paper that he had pinned to a drawing board that he held and was balanced on his knees.
"We missed you last week, Matt," she told him, smiling, and leaning in to do so and lowering her voice. "I wondered if I should ring and speak to you after the last class when you were here, but I thought it best not to do that."
"It would have been okay, and I would have liked that, but I reckoned it would be best to stay away and let the fuss die down after I had posed for that life class."
"You could have talked to me, Matt. We've known each other for quite a while."
She confided in a whisper as the others worked on their allotted subject for the week. Even after a couple of sessions not seeing him and going so far as to miss him, she remembered only too clearly what the young man packed and had refused to expose. It had not been for reasons of modesty, but rather that he was blessed in ways that had him believing he suffered from some deformity.
"But things changed that day, didn't they?" he said in a challenging tone and gazed up at her., one hand still holding the crayon and twirling it in his agile fingers as the other held the drawing board. Connie stood over him and feigned interest in his work. He was taken, and not for the first time, by the look of the woman beside him and the reason had been the 'life' class which she had supervised a couple of weeks ago.
For once, an artist's smock was not worn, and he took pleasure in the buxom woman's shapeliness as she stood by his side. Connie had understood his disquiet that had been sparked by the comments made about his appearance on the podium as those present in the hall sketched him, a young guy in good shape and wearing little more than pouch briefs. What they contained and shaped had been the subject of many ribald comments that he had tried to ignore.
"You're more relaxed than the last time I saw you," she told him, taking a small step away as someone passed by. The gap between them soon closed again. Perhaps they were talking for longer than usual, but she wanted to engage him for a few moments longer. "I...I worried about how you reacted to that class, but I see that you're relaxed, now, so I'm glad."
"Yes, I'm relaxed, and what you said to me that day helped, Connie. Now, I've brought something that I finished at work and that they're going to use in a client's TV advertising campaign. I wanted you to critique it even if that won't change things; it's gone too far."
"I bet you're pleased. Do you want to show me that now, or later, after we finish here?" She said it louder than she meant to, her hand again resting on his shoulder for a moment as if the shock of his success had made her lose her balance. She whispered but did not get too close, although the young man had certainly found a place in her thoughts recently and after the art class where he had posed. That day, and the sight of him, had been etched into her memory. "I saw the talent in you long ago and when I taught you. I'd like to see what you've done."
"You taught me so much, Connie. Now, I thought to show you where it's taken me."
Connie became aware of the others, nearby, looking at them and she wondered what had been said about her lingering at his chair. "Tell me after class and when we have more time, okay?"
The tilt of her head and soft look persuaded him to agree to her wish. He would have time with her as there was no need to rush back home. His mom, Nancy, was away on a rare business trip for two days and he had the place to himself. He also reckoned that with Connie things could get real, unlike what he had so passionately discovered with Nancy, his mom.
He watched her go, Connie's layer top, in cobalt blue, worn with white slacks so alluringly different from the shapeless artist's tunic that she usually wore to classes and kept her clothes from being splattered with paints or inks that those attending the class tended to use. She had been close enough to have him breathe in the faintest hint of a floral scent that he had applied to her skin, where he could only guess.
He had discovered incestuous and reassuring sex with Nancy, her curvy body and wasting ways bringing thrills that were ragingly new to him. Now, with the experience of taking her still sharp in his thoughts, he wanted to pursue Connie, his interest and hunger to know an older woman far from satisfied and without the complications that an incestuous relationship with Nancy inevitably brought.
That art class, two weeks ago, had its consequences that he was slowly adjusting to, and he sensed that Connie was uncommonly pleased that he had returned to be with them all and, perhaps, especially with her.
♥
She waited patiently for the class to leave until it was only the two of them left in the echoing studio. It seemed, from the glances that Matt kept casting her way, that he wanted to be alone with her so that they could talk. Since she had last seen him, so scantily dressed but revealing what he was blessed with, she had felt an uncommon longing for the young man who now stood close beside her.
How strange it was, crazy even and self-obsessed, for a woman of her age to think that a particular bond had formed between them because of the mayhem aroused after seeing him posing for such a short time as an artist's model and then, all too soon, seeing how
'monstrously well hung'
he was. Yes, those were the very words used by one of the female artists who had been present.
Henry, her husband, was on his bi-monthly business trip and she was relieved not to have the added complication of him being around when she sought to spend more time with Matt. Such dissolute thoughts had possessed her through many nights when she remembered the sight of Matt's cotton briefs deformed by his penis, what she imagined to be a love wand, the size of which she had never seen, let alone the experience of being possessed by such a length of flesh.
She now felt a pang of uncommon jealousy as she saw the object of her lustful interest engaged in conversation with a young woman. Becky Nolan, who was a comparatively recent addition to their numbers.
"She's heard about what happened two weeks ago," Matt snarled in evident anger when she was alone again with him. "I smiled at her, you probably saw that, but I was fuming inside."
"Come on, we'll go for a drink somewhere and I'll try to persuade you, again, to stop thinking about what others say where it concerns...you know?"
"Yeah, the guy's
well hung
, so be careful." As he spoke, Connie was making sure the room was as tidy as they had found it at the beginning of the evening. He clutched his portfolio of work under one arm and watched her for a moment, at the precision of each step that Connie took, the sway of her hair and, when she turned, the tightening of her blouse that flattered a fulsome figure. She smiled knowingly and he thought he had seen her lips tremble on meeting his stare. "A part of me wants to see and paint you..."
He blurted it out, but Connie was unconcerned.
"And a part of me is scared of what you're thinking and saying, Matt." She tapped his arm playfully. "Stop it...stop flirting with me. I'm old enough to know what a look like that means to a woman."
"And I'm old enough to know what you were feeling when we were here in this room the last time and you saw me."
Trembling in dismay, because of his honesty in telling her what he felt and knew was going through her mind that night, she walked away and waited at the door to the art room before she locked it. She then scurried away, her flats tapping on the hard floor of the corridor.
"I'll take the keys to the janitor's office," she told him over her shoulder.
"And then we'll go for that drink."
"Yes...we'll do that." Connie was left wondering how far her involvement with him would go. Matt had a life outside of her world now, and the ache that she felt for him was for a young, gifted, and unmistakably horny young man who threaded his arm through hers as they walked to her compact car. "Put the portfolio on the back seat. I'll look at it later, Matt."
"Where?" He asked it as an arm went about her waist and she was drawn against him, the impulsive slip of one hand in trying to caress her breasts denied to him.
"Don't, not here! There are security cameras everywhere and I don't want what's happening between us to be on film."
She had felt a flush of moisture in her pussy and a tightening of her tummy muscles as she thought of what he would bring to her and that she had seen shaped by his briefs as he posed. She would have to wait and now kept her arm threaded with his, but that was as far as their closeness went. The cougar woman that many would think her to be and was way off the mark, except where it concerned Matt, might get to have a young and well-hung lover before the night was out.
Now she needed him as badly as her thoughts of him had made her feel.
There had been evenings when she had gone to bed early, worn out after a day's work dealing with troublesome students. Her thoughts would turn to Matt and her pussy had started to leak as the wide handle of a hairbrush that she always kept in a bedside cabinet to brush out her hair had been put to a different use.
