When I woke up, it was getting dark out. The last remnants of sunlight were coming through the skylight. Tristan was still asleep. I glanced over at him, studying his face as he slept, noticing the way his nose curved, his lips, his long grayish hair and beard. Having a man in my bed was so strange after all these years. Four or so hours ago he was a stranger. Now, what was he? What would he become, if anything? What was happening to my safe, quiet life?
I got up, slipped on my jeans, but not my top and climbed down the ladder to go to the bathroom. I threw water on my face, looking at my eyes, my tousled hair. I was excited by what was happening, that Tristan was up in my loft and that I had the nerve to invite him here to listen to my erotic stories. "I don't believe this is happening," I said to myself, looking into my eyes in the mirror. I brushed my teeth and leaned over, spooning water into my mouth with my hand as I rinsed and then spit it out. "Where is this heading, Sharon?" I asked myself. I often talk to myself like that. Just then I heard his footsteps in the loft. I heard him coming down the ladder and within a minute he was standing at the entrance of the bathroom.
"Mind if I join you," he asked, glancing around.
"Sure if you think both of us can be in here at the same time, it's pretty tiny," I said.
He stepped in and kissed me. Both of us had on only our jeans and no shirts. He put his arms around me and my tits crushed against his chest.
"That was a nice nap we had," he said. "We really conked out."
"We did," I nodded and paused looking at him. "This is pretty weird. I've never done anything like this before," I said.
"It's weird for me too," he said. "When I took off this morning with no idea where I was going, I never thought I would end up with someone like you."
"I'm usually very shy," I said. "I keep to myself and live a quiet life—this is so unlike me."
"Me, too," he said.
We looked at each other, not quite sure what to say.
"Hey, how about a cup of tea?" I suggested.
"Great! I could go for a cup of tea," he responded.
I squeezed by him and went into the kitchen area to put on the tea. I grabbed a flannel shirt from a hook near the back door and put it on but didn't button it. Tristan was on the other side of the cabin looking at some pictures on the wall. He then came over to me and put his hands on my hips.
"I feel lucky that we met," he said.
"I think we're both lucky," I responded, smiling at him.
"Well, it might be luck, but you also have to make what you want to happen actually happen when opportunities present themselves," he said. "Seize the day!"
"Well, Mr. Philosopher, it's not always easy. It's scary to do that," I said.
"I know," he said and nodded. "I was just thinking how my life has changed suddenly by taking off this morning like I did. I just took off with no idea where I was going. I just drove and ended up in this town and that café and we met."
The teapot whistled and I poured two mugs over the tea bags.
"Yes and now here I am with a stranger in my cabin with my tits exposed. I never thought this would happen. I think I write erotica because it's safe. I can fantasize about things that would never happen and then look what happened today."
"Right, life's little twists and turns," he said. He then paused and looked at me. "Your story surprised me," he said.
"Wait until you hear some of the other stories," I responded. "My imagination is much wilder than I am," she added.
"But does that mean you want to be that wild?" he asked.
I took a sip of my tea and looked him in the eyes. "Yes, I think I do, but I frighten myself."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I don't understand why I write what I do? Why do I fantasize about being picked up in a bar or ravished? What does that say about me?
"Those are honest questions," he said.
"The story I read to you, "The Pickup," I wouldn't dress like that or do what she did to pick up a stranger."
"But you did. You picked up me in the café."
"Hmmmm--that's right, but it's not the same. I didn't dress up in order to lure a man," I answered.
"You looked pretty sexy in those tight jeans and tee shirt without a bra," he said. "Maybe you do try to seduce men with your body and don't realize it and the way we looked each other was definitely sexy."
"I like how I look and feel in tight jeans. I like to feel sexy. And maybe you're right. I was attracted to you and I was writing an erotic story. I was turned on by how you looked at me, but it was very hard for me to invite you to my cabin. I've never done anything like that before."
"You followed your urge and overcame your fear and went after something you wanted," I said. "Maybe you are tired of living a fantasy life and when we met, you grabbed the opportunity."
"You're right. I am tired of fantasizing and wanted something to happen." I paused, looking at him. "Something clicked when I saw you but it's still hard to explain."
He smiled. "Well, I'm glad I just happened to stop at that café and you decided to be brave and offer to read me your story." He took a sip of his tea. "You made this happen, didn't you?"
"Yes, but it still feels strange, but I think I like it," I said.
We were both quiet, sipping out tea and then I remembered a story I thought he would like.
"This reminds me of a story I wrote. Would you like to hear another story?" I asked.
"Sure, but if it's like the other one, I'm not sure you'll get to finish it."
I laughed then picked up my folder and thumbed through the pile. Before I read, I got up to pour both of us more tea. I glanced at him while I was at the stove and noticed how he was looking at my body. My tits were barely covered by my flannel shirt and I know how my ass looks in the tight jeans. When I came back to the table, I smiled. "I like how you look at me," I whispered, leaning close to him.
He smiled but I could tell he was surprised by what I said. "I like how you look," he whispered. "You're very sexy."
I laughed when he said that and I may have blushed, but I liked hearing he thought I was sexy.
"So what's the name of this story?" he asked.
I took a sip of my tea and looked at him. "I'm almost embarrassed to read it but I want you to hear it."
"Don't be embarrassed. I won't judge you;in fact I am fascinated by you."
"Fascinated?" I responded.
"Yes," he answered, smiling and motioning his hand for me to read the story.
I looked at him and then down at my story. "Okay, this is about what we were talking about—getting what you want." I paused. "Here it goes….Wanting to be Ravished."
=============
Caroline was in her senior year at the College of Art and was a painting major. She had access to the studios at anytime and spent most of her waking hours in the cozy corner of the big studio next to a large floor to ceiling window. It was on the north side of the building and she loved the light that came in. She also spent a lot of time in her studio because she had a huge crush on her teacher, Jonathan Lockhart.
He also spent a lot of time in the studio since his divorce. He was a developing a good reputation as an artist and was preparing for a show at the Peterson Gallery, a prestigious place to have a one-man show.
Though he had a studio at his house, since the divorce, he could not afford another studio so he used the college. Caroline loved being in the studio with Jonathan and valued his comments on her painting but more than that she wanted him. When he stood next to her looking at her painting, she wanted him to grab her and fuck her on the floor. They would talk about color and shapes and how the lines intersect and what were her plans and how much talent she had, but everything was intellectual. She suppressed her lust and pretended that their relationship was teacher-student, nothing more, but the more she suppressed, the hornier she got. He was in his forties, graying slightly. She was twenty-two, a student, someone teachers were not suppose take advantage of.
Caroline was determined, however, to have him cross over the line and fuck her. She became obsessed and could not wait to get to the studio every morning, knowing he would be there working on his show. She stayed late at night and he was impressed with how serious she was as a painter but had no clue at how serious she was about seducing him.
She knew she had to be more aggressive to get beyond the platonic, intellectual relationship. She started wearing sexier clothes--short mini skirts with low cut blouses, tight low cut jeans with tee shirts without a bra. When he stood next to her, she stood closer than usual and brushed her tits against his arm. It was late spring and the days were getting hotter. She wore tight cut off jeans or short shorts that barely covered her ass and her bikini top which barely contained her tits. She caught him looking at her body a few times and smiled at him, letting him know she liked how he looked at her. She thought she was breaking through his reserve but knew she he had to be brazen and daring to get him to take her.
=============
I stopped reading and took a sip of tea. We smiled at each other then he took a breath. "Interesting story," he said. "It gives me insight into how some women think." He was tugging on his beard as he thought. "I like the story," he added, "I think I'm a lot like Jonathan—kind of reserved."
"Really?" I questioned. "Reserved?" I laughed. "I don't know about that after this afternoon."
He shrugged his shoulders and nodded.
"That's interesting, because though I'm not like Caroline I would like to be," I said.
"You'd like to be more daring and seductive," he asked.
"Yes, but I'm too afraid," I answered. "Well, here's more of the story," I said and continued reading.
============
One night Caroline brought a bottle of wine to the studio, got two glasses and walked over to Jonathan's side of the studio. All the other students were gone.
She wore a short tight denim skirt that covered very little of her thighs, a small peasant blouse that was low on her shoulders and revealed a lot of cleavage. She wore no bra and knew her tits were visible through the blouse. "If this doesn't get him to fuck me, nothing will," she thought.
Jonathan was painting and Caroline stood next to him, holding the wine. "Let's get drunk," she said.
Jonathan stopped painting and looked at her. "Caroline!" he said. "What are you saying?"
"I said, let's get drunk and fuck."
