The next morning, I received an invitation from Laura over social media to an art gallery event on campus that was supposed to be an exposé on subverting Anime tropes. It was at Fusselman Hall, a beautiful old Art Deco building with a balcony overlooking the trees and bay beyond. In the background, miles away, I could barely make out the sailboats crisscrossing the distant waters, soon to be concealed by a fogbank rolling in. In the foreground were dozens of awkward looking kids clad almost exclusively in sweatshirts with different Anime and video game logos, adorned with various accessories of fox-ears and plastic katanas swinging from their hips. They perused the art lining the walls and jabbered on about their favorite Mangas and Animes. I recognized a few people from Japanese class, but didn't want to get pulled into any conversations that usually led me to questioning my choice of hobbies. The walls were lined with an array of student art in various Manga styles drawn by students. Most were rendered in that certain uncanny-valley way,: huge eyes, over-exaggerated muscles and spiky hair, some not even in any sort of pose or action but just standing there facing you. A few pieces were actually pretty good; at the level I would expect to see from a professional studio. I realized that one of these, a rendition of a Japanese school-girl carrying a flaming sword, surrounded by a group of zombie-Nazis, was Laura's.
Another piece by her was very different. It was of a young sexy pale girl with dark red hair and freckles, an Anime caricature of Laura herself, suspended in the air by tentacles wrapped around her legs, arms, and belly. One of the tentacles had forced its way into her mouth. Another drawing was a profile, x-ray view of the tentacle all the way down her throat and esophagus, spewing white goo directly into her belly, which was almost full. My jaw hung open looking at these, and I grew hard despite my shame. My attention enrapt in the drawings, I almost jumped when I felt a small hand brush my cock through my jeans. Laura was looking up at me, smiling.
"You like my pieces?" she started. I did my best to maintain my composure, and offered whatever limited insights I could into what the pieces represented, and how they subverted Anime tropes. She looked me up and down while we talked. I was just wearing just a plain t-shirt and jeans, but she seemed to approve. We reached a lull in the conversation.
"Hey, Mark, can I talk to you about something?" her voice took a curious raise in pitch, like she was trying to be agreeable and candid.
"Sure, Lar."
She motioned for me to follow, and we walked around out to the balcony. A slight breeze tousled her hair back and forth. I enjoyed watching her hips sway her nice plump bottom back and forth. We didn't speak; she had a serious air about her, like she was going to confer a witness testimony to me or something. We came to an unused loading bay.
"I just want you to know, I'm not mad at you," she said, her back to me. I loved how plump and soft her arms looked.
"I didn't think you were mad at me," I said. She turned around. By the look on her face I could tell this wasn't what she wanted to hear. I shrugged. She wore more makeup than usual, her lips a dark rouge, her mascara drawn into little points off the corners of her eyes. Around her neck clung a black satin choker with embroidered leaves.
"Meredith Schlepper, you've heard of her, right?"
"No."
"She's very well-known voice in the feminist blogosphere, trust me."
"Ok."
"Well I was reading her latest post and she was saying how it can be ok for women to give up control, in the bedroom."
"Oh yea?"
"Yes, women can enjoy being submissive to men in privacy and still retain their self respect and dignity."
I looked at her, trying to keep a neutral expression on my face, but my mind was going wild at the implication.
"So, I just want you to know, uhm, if you want to," she trailed off.
"Want to what, Laura?" I stepped closer and caressed her jaw.
"If you want to-"
I grabbed her by the waist, pulled her in and kissed her. She sighed in relief and pleasure, draping her arms over my shoulders. I slapped her ass and she squealed, but her mouth was sealed by mine. I moved my right hand up under her shirt, and felt the lacy fabric of her bra underneath. I wedged my hand under it and pulled and squeezed her nipple. I broke the kiss. "Give me your bra." I said, upward palm displayed. She reached behind her back, looking up at me. As she pulled it free from her chest the true outline of her breasts was revealed underneath her thin t-shirt. She held her lacy lavender bra out to me, legs together like she was handing me back a toy she had stolen. Her nipples grew hard in the foggy afternoon.
I leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then gently pinched one of her nipples through her shirt. "I'll see you tonight," I said, stuffing her bra in my back pocket and turning to leave. I grew even harder at the thought of her walking around braless at the exhibition and all the greasy nerds ogling her, staring at her breasts and nipples only concealed by a ratty t-shirt. I left the exhibit to go work out.
The rest of my day was spent in seemingly endless anticipation. I hadn't felt that excited since I was a kid. There was something fun waiting for me: I had a new toy to play with after I went to school, finished my chores, and brushed my teeth. I spent a good two hours in the gym and sand pits. I worked up a good sweat. It was leg day and I did squats till I felt like I could barely walk. Sometimes after doing squats I feel really horny, like all the blood rushing to that area wakes everything up. In my post-workout shower, I absentmindedly began to stroke myself. I couldn't believe I had two girls willing to do whatever I wanted, and here I was jerking off. After toweling off, I tucked my still-hard dick uncomfortably into a clean pair of jockey shorts.
The idea to send Laura a picture of my erection popped into my mind. It wasn't something I had ever done before. It was something only sleazeballs and weirdos did. Still, I toyed with the image in my mind of her being in class, and her phone buzzing and my cock appearing on the screen, causing her to blush and cup her hands around the screen, gawk at it and cream herself.
With no further thought, I pulled the waistband down of my jockey shorts and let it spring out, taking a few snapshots with a slightly off center, head on view of my cock. I was proud of myself for considering a better angle than the plain directly overhead or profile shot most bozos probably opt for, not that I've looked at lots of pictures of dicks or anything. After considering which snapshot was the superior one- number 4- I sent it off. I had joined the ranks of millions, if not billions of guys who had sent a dick pic through their phone. A kind of sleazy pride swelled within me. What kind of person was I becoming?
My phone buzzed. Laura answered with a selfie of her, in class, licking her lips, wearing a bashful puppy-dog expression. I told her to come over, and not to wear a bra.
I thought no one was home, but when Laura arrived Hiro answered the door, again. Laura was wearing the same beanie, which I thought made her look really cute. She sidled past him and he let his hand brush against her bare hip in her low cut jeans. Her braless breasts noticeably wobbled beneath her thin shirt. An image flashed through my mind of her on her knees with Hiro's small, robot dick shoved into her mouth, and him giving me a thumbs up as he fucked her face. For some reason I found the mental image arousing, but I did my best to discard it.
In my room I kissed her slowly and passionately, biting her lip, savoring her taste. I reached into her jeans and brushed against her soft, fluffy pubic hair.
"Wait, wait, wait," I said breaking the kiss. "What made you change your mind?"
