The Art of Longing

His touch was different from others, she couldn't explain why so far as every inch he touched tingled with joy, she tingled with anticipation...how long before he took her to bed and made love to her the way she had imagined so many times, tonight, it had to be tonight!

They had met in a still life art class. Clichéd, she knew, but was long past caring. The class was made up of 8 students, 3 women and 5 gents. Gents, she had discovered, was not a word that could apply to two of them, who left after the first sessions drawing of a large man with an embarrassing erection. She guessed it wasn't what they had been expecting, no supermodels. She let out a giggle thinking back to their faces, they wanted everyone to know they weren't gay so much they walked out, pathetic.

The remaining six students took it in turn to draw one of the others, so each week a different student acted as the model. She was dreading her turn from the minute she joined but knew this was cheaper than paying a model each week.

Her dread was drowned by his entrance into the room. He wasn't some steroid-filled, hair gelled, mirror carrying fake. He was just average but an average that for some reason had her blushing, she started to count the weeks till he was the model, and she giggled then blushed again at his enquiry for her laugh.

Two weeks had pasted and other than the weekly awkward moment of seeing one of your friends in the nude, the group had become close, well as close as they could in two weeks. She got on with him better than she had hoped for. She had noticed something that intrigued her, the week before had been the turn of Bryony to model, she was in her Thirties and though not perfect she was in good enough shape to catch the eyes. He had looked at her, not as if he wanted to take her and ravish her but in wonderment, as though every curve and muscle in her body was the focus of his entire desire. It was a look that she had wanted him to give her, not bryony. And she knew her chance would come.

She stood behind the curtain, only the bathrobe and her shyness stood in the way of 5 people seeing her in nothing but natural form. She had prepared herself to how she thought he would like to see her. Though she was almost 30 years old she had never shaved between her legs, until now. She admired the smooth mound that had been hidden behind pubic hair for so long; she decided both looks were to her liking. Her breasts were a modest c-cup but she had never wished for anything bigger. She wasn't in the shape she may have liked ideally, a small belly but not flat (she never could be bothered with exercise). She turned away from the mirror and looked back, her firm but rounded bum was her personal nemesis, huge in her eyes but she kind of had to accept it had a nice shape to it. It was time.

She took her place on the stool in the middle of the room. The pose was to be of her leaning forward with her head in her hands and her elbows resting on her knees, to the right eye it was a very appealing pose. She swallowed her nerves and tried to avoid his eyes as she disrobed. Suddenly she was aware of all her flaws, her bum, her less than Flat belly, surely he would be as repulsed and she felt repulsive. But nowhere to hide now and the other students were depending on her. She took up her pose as another student positioned a lamp off to her side, she knew the light would create enchanting shadows across her arms and breasts and face. She also knew it was at an angle so as To gently light her sex, she didn't know where to look, looking straight out meant looking just to the left of him, eye contact wouldn't be difficult to achieve.

It had taken almost 2 hours for everyone to finish, the evening had drawn in and it was time to go home. She did up the last of the buttons on her top and went to admire the other student's interpretations of her form. Each had its charm, some were abstract, some slightly less flattering than she would have liked, but all quite unique. Then she saw his drawing. Drawn with pencil it was like nothing she had imagined. It was beautiful, every detail had been thought out and studied, every detail! She felt as though he had been touching her from behind his pencil, but his touch was different.

She had his image in her mind that night as she watched a documentary of some sort. Her finger slowly stroked her neck and she slipped into fantasy, her night would be with herself and her longing.

She awoke, not knowing when she had fallen asleep but aware that the time was closing in on her next class, she couldn't wait, she knew it was his turn to model, she wanted to draw him as well as he had drawn her, but a part of her, a part she tried to repress, wanted to see him naked. She couldn't shake the thought of him and her in an embrace, his beautiful form within her; she gave herself a slap on the wrist and told herself to act her age. She put on her coat and left for the class, a full hour early.

He was posing in a similar position that she had, except he was leaning back and resting his hands on the back of the stool. His gaze did not wander from her, not once. She couldn't help her hormones; she hadn't felt like this since she was 17. She blushed every time she looked at his flaccid penis, but couldn't seem to help herself from looking. She admired him so much, his stomach was gorgeous, just the beginnings of a six-pack and plenty of muscle without there being too much. The muscular lines that ran down to his groin, following the hips, she knew that couldn't be the only women who loved those lines. And his penis, though flaccid she guessed at it being just above average, certainly bigger than some lovers of the past. It was beautiful; she longed to feel it grow in her palms. She snapped her attention back to the class, back to the drawing. But her mind soon wandered back to his "touch", she tingled with joy. Tonight she would have him, it had to be tonight.

The class finished for the year and after he had admired her drawing (and to her surprise allowed his hand to stroke her back) they all went out for a celebratory drink. That drink soon became a drink too many and the group was pleasantly tipsy. As though possessed by confidence she sat herself beside him and flippantly put her hand on his thigh, she did not meet his surprised gaze, but smiled to herself. The seed of thought was planted in his head. She let her finger gently move up and down on his thigh, and with that she continued to chat to the others.

She didn't know where the time had gone, though another drink or two later it was closing time. Her hand had been greeted by his hand on the back of her neck, he had traced the line of her spine with his finger, teasing. She knew the feeling. Nothing had to be said between them, they both knew each other was willing to go further, now the awkward moment of getting one another into bed. She hoped he would take control and invite her back to his.

She fell asleep in the taxi, how embarrassing a site she must have been. but when he awoke her she felt a new air of soberness within her. She was not drunk but new her inhibitions may be weak. She recognized the building, it was her apartment block. She must have told him her address. He had taken her home.

He lay her down on the bed and went to get her some water. They chatted for a while, about each other and the class, how much they had admired each other all this time, neither willing to ask the other on a date. He stroked her hair as she ran her finger down his back and then under his shirt, his skin was warm and firm, she felt herself become more and more aroused. She looked into his eyes for an acceptance, his acceptance for her to take his shirt off. At last: at last. Her desire was upon her, the night would be her every secret desire, her fantasy.

To be continued?