Learning My Lust Pt 03

Over the next two years, I had several lovers, and the modelling continued, but just for Jamie. Her business was paying full time money for her within the first twelve months, and she had several distributors by the end of the second year with a few people under her who had their own parties and little events. The lingerie thing was fun for me, and we sold a lot of thongs and g-strings, but things always got interesting when one of the ladies heard that my pussy was shaved. I'd eventually show them, after a lot of goading and reluctance, but it never led to sex, just more sales. The shaved pussy show and tell always led to big sales on personal care creams and lubricants that were good for your skin. I ended up with an endless supply of the stuff, and never had to pay for it. I had daily care, pre-shave cream, after shave soothing lotion and enough lubricant to take a shallow bath in after two years.

Perhaps the rumours got back to Pete, maybe not. Regardless of that, I tried not to fantasize about him too much because nationalizations never worked out for me. Instead, I reminded myself that he was with Rita, and the only way to be near him was to get to know him, so I kept hanging out at the More Joe Cafe and talked to him whenever I had a chance, especially when it was just the two of us there.

I have always been a book a week girl, and I'd read anything. After a few months, we started lending each other books, since he was a book a week – often more – guy. The topics were wide ranging, from horror to fantasy to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance to Naked Lunch and everything in between. We could talk for hours, but when he knew Rita was going to be around, he was always more distant.

I suspected that she had a big jealousy streak, even though even a few months in I was sure she had nothing to worry about. Pete didn't talk to me much about her, but when he was really frustrated, I'd see how crazy she could make him. She didn't believe in the Cafe, and sometimes she'd just take money out of the cash register without telling him until that night or the next day. I made sure I kept my opinion to myself, it was Jamie's advice. Of course she knew I had a crush on him, and instead of telling me it would never happen, she would guide me, make sure I told her everything.

On the very rare occasion that he complained about Rita, Jamie's advice was to let him go on, not to take sides unless he asked me directly. When the cash register thing came up, I knew what to do. It was wrong of her to take money and not pay it back, so that's almost exactly what I said. It was pretty black and white, and I refrained from telling him what to do about it. According to Jamie, that's where the trouble could start. I tell him to dump her, or to lock the register, and I'm getting between them. Then I become a villain to Rita, and that's one step away from her convincing Pete that I'm just a little girl causing trouble. Whether it was the right thing or not, I followed Jamie's advice and I have to admit, Pete and I became surprisingly close. We were friends, and I gained a much deeper appreciation for him.

Even though I always had an eye in his direction, I didn't see that as any reason to stay single. I never had to look far for a lover. I grew into myself a little then too got modest hips, bigger tits, but they were still firm and sensitive, not great big boobs. I even made it a little further past five feet, but never past five foot three. My face grew out of a little of it's cute, baby fat phase into one that men began to find beautiful.

I really did look more womanly, if very petite, and when I was watching Much Music one day, I saw a video by Lee Aaron. She wore skimpy tops, had the same figure as me, and these black tights that I thought looked amazing. She was gorgeous, and more than anything else, she could sing so powerfully. I was transfixed, not even noticing that my roommate, Timothy, had plunked down on the sofa behind me, eating cereal.

The video finished, and I heard him munching behind me. "She is so hot, it's amazing she's not some kinda pop star instead of a rocker chick."

I looked over my shoulder and smiled at him. "I'm going to be the red-headed version of her."

"You're about ten years late, and you can't sing," he shrugged. "Sorry, I've heard you in the shower. Even the cat leaves when you start up."

"In every other way," I said. "That's how I want people to see me." So began my rocker chick phase, and the volume on my life was about to turn way up.

In the following year Pete bought the cafe from the owner, and I started to drop in even more. I made a point of trying to draw Rita into our conversations so Pete wouldn't keep me at arm's length when she was about to appear. She treated me with distant politeness, and after a while I gave up, unable to get past the shortest of conversations.

Pete was a different story. He always smiled and said; "Hey, red," when I came through the door, and I'd reply the same; "hey, red!" We were both natural redheads, something I offered to prove more than once even though I knew that if I tried to deliver on that I would end up showing him nothing but my bald pussy. Oh, yeah, a little flirting had started by then. I was having more fun than ever with him.

He didn't take me up on it, but I got a laugh out of making him squirm when it came up, and I made sure I did every few weeks. It conflicted with a rumour I was certain he'd heard at least a few times – that I was as bare as you could be between my legs. I made sure to bend over in my black tights whenever I had the opportunity, and I caught him looking more than once, but he usually looked away. Pete was careful, but I knew he liked what he saw.

Jamie put her own touch on some of our flirting one day too, and I could have killed her. "So, are you guys brother and sister or something?" Lenny, one of my boyfriends asked.

"No, we just have red hair," Pete answered, he found the question a little amusing, but didn't even look at Lenny, focusing on loading the dishwasher with mugs.

"Natural redhead here too, and I can prove it," I boasted, directing Pete's thoughts to what might be waiting for him in my tights. I was driving Lenny a little crazy, adding to the fun. "Carpet matches the drapes."

"I've seen you changing," Jamie said, laughing. "You don't have a stitch of carpet down there, sweetie. It was torn up a couple years ago."

I blushed, Lennie looked like he wanted to punch someone – he was kind of a jealous idiot – and Pete looked like a gold fish he was so surprised.

"What you see in the change room stays in the change room," I told Jamie, laughing nervously. "You keep forgetting that."

"Sorry, sometimes I forget not everyone in the world is open and unsuppressed," she said. Her effort to get a mental image planted in Pete's head was pretty smooth, I have to admit, but that's a lot easier when you're not risking anything. She was married to Gary by then, so my flirtation with Pete was a spectator sport. Without missing a beat, she ordered a coffee and a muffin and moved the topic of conversation on.

While that light flirting went on, I dated. I may as well go see who was out there for myself, right? The list of boyfriends wasn't too long, but it wasn't empty by far.

Derek was very nice, but clumsy and he boasted about every little thing we did together to everyone who would listen. At first hearing about how well I gave head, or how long he went down on me (he wasn't actually that great, I faked every orgasm while he was down there just so we could move things along), or how long we fucked for got very old at one point. Even Jamie and Nina seemed to sympathize when he'd tell stories about us whether I was in the room or not. Our last fight was all about that, and how the whole world didn't need to hear him boast about how hard he fucked me, or how I screamed the other night – something that was amazing to him because I only had a screaming orgasm maybe three times when we were together – or how amazing I was at giving head. I actually wasn't that good then, I was just the first girlfriend to do it. Even worse, he'd repeat old stories when he didn't have new ones. I don't mind if my boyfriends share a few scandalous details with his friends, but he took it to an obnoxious point.

Lenny was super jealous, like I said, but also not that bright, and fucked like he was on fire, finishing by coming in whatever direction he was pointed in. If he were more fun to talk to, I would have worked on the physical stuff with him, but it was like talking to a sock puppet stuck on a fence post. Goodness, was he nice to look at though, probably the most gorgeous man I've ever seen, if I'm being honest. It wasn't enough in the end, and I wish I could be kind and say breaking up with him was hard, but when I told him it wasn't working out, he just stared at me open-mouthed for a minute before quietly shrugging then leaving. It was weird.

Pete – a different Pete – was nice, but quiet, and he dealt pot, which made him smell like a skunk and rendered him a lazy pile every weekend. He smoked a lot of his own supply. So, my friends called him 'Pot Smoking Pete,' and he loved it. I liked him, and he had a nice cock – a little bigger than average, and thicker than I was used to, so I'd ride on top, which he enjoyed, because he'd watch himself move in and out of me as I moved up and down. Honestly, I didn't know anything about being on top, or at least not how to please myself really well while I was there. I always had to rub myself so I could get off before he came inside me, because my only warning would be a look on his face, and he got me twice without a condom. I definitely didn't want to have a pot baby, so I'm happy the birth control was working. I'd usually hop off in time so he could come on his own belly. A single shot went up his nose once, and he actually screamed before running to the bathroom in a panic. I laughed as I listened to him try to snarf it out, not even caring that I was curled up in a giggling pile on one end of the sofa naked from the waist down.

For weeks after that I would just be bicycling home, or at work, or at the Cafe and I'd remember that. It put me in stitches every time, and to this day I wish I asked him; "How's it feel?" because I'd had a little come up my nose more than once.

I do owe him some credit though. His stamina paid off. The first time I climaxed on a dick, I was straddling him, leaning in different directions, trying to find the best stroke, and I did! It was this angle where I could raise up on it then come down so the tip of him hit my g-spot then went on to fill me up. I just screamed; "ohmygod! ohmygod!ohmygod! ohmygod!ohmygod!" for about five minutes while it built up, had a great big orgasm on top of his dick, then fell on top of him. He was so high, he just laughed until he went limp inside me, and I couldn't help but laugh with him. I smelled like pot the whole time I was with him, didn't smoke much of it, honestly, it slowed me down too much, but we had a good time. I didn't find that position again, I don't know why, but I didn't have many more chances to either.

We broke up one week later when I refused to get stoned because I didn't feel like it. It turned out that he really believed that a couple that smoked together stayed together, and pot just didn't suit me. I always felt hazy and slow when I got high, so I guess he was right; we didn't smoke together, we didn't stay together.

Bruce kept calling me Amanda in bed. It happened five times before I found out it was the name of his ex-wife. One night, when I wasn't willing to let him choke me out before he fucked me, I knew our days were numbered. Then I met his ex-wife and three kids. He looked twenty, it turned out he was almost forty, and I looked like his eldest daughter. A lot like her. I said hello to the ex and the kids, looked at him, rolled my eyes and he just nodded. "Yeah, see ya," he said. He was all fumbling fingers and weird suffocation fantasies anyway.

I had a great time with Marty. His hands never stopped touching me, and he drew pictures of me all the time. We had so much fun as he tried to teach me to draw too, but I didn't have the talent – I may as well of had paws – we still enjoyed it though. He was very smart, and affection was always on offer. I loved having his hands on me, it's as if I was his massage toy, and a willing one. He had compliments for every part of my body, and I didn't mind at all. He was a skinny art student with dark, dark hair and pale skin who wore a lot of black and some of his goth rubbed off on me a little. It didn't take over, but black lipstick, some lace and silk definitely showed up in my wardrobe.

Our favourite play time together was in the bath or shower. I was also going through a phase where I was really into oral sex, so we'd take turns trying to teach each other. I'd show him how to make me come, and even though he never really got great at it, he'd get me there, and he'd show me what felt good when I was going down on him. He even started shaving, and I rewarded him with kisses, licks, and all kinds of attention on his bare sack before eventually taking him into my mouth. I got really good at sucking cock. I wasn't a deep-throater, but I didn't have to be. Advice, directions and a hundred hours or more spread over months of him loving my mouth taught me how to give head better than a fantasy. I could get him off in a minute if I wanted to by the end.

When he was accepted into a New York art school, we both knew it was over, but we also realized that we were great companions, but we didn't have that needful love both of us were looking for. Watching him go was sad, but we were able to say goodbye and good luck and mean it. I can't say that for most of my lovers. I still talk to him sometimes, but we don't play together like we used to.

Then there was Trent, who I had a crush on when I was in high school. I was reunited with him when Jamie roped me into going with her to a concert for a huge Canadian metal band. The band will remain nameless because I committed a criminal act during the concert, but they filled the place. My ticket was bought as an afterthought, so I was a few seats away from my friends, but then Trent came to stand right beside me. I squealed and hugged him, my low cut top almost slipping to reveal a 'just a hand full' boob.

I'm short, so everyone was getting a great peek that night anyway, so I made my adjustments when we finished hugging not too worried if a nipple slipped while I put things back into place. I had been modelling at Jamie's private parties for a while at that point, so my bashfulness was pretty worn down. The opening act started as soon as we finished saying our hellos. When they were done, we turned to each other with a flurry of conversation. "I haven't seen you since graduation!" he said, looking me up and down. I was in a low cut, skin tight top and black tights with a short leather jacket overtop. She was a short rocker, so it was easy to match her when I wanted to. The problem was finding boots for my tiny feet, but I had a few favourite pairs. I had knee-high leather boots with big square heels on that night.

He was so excited to see me that he led the conversation, telling me that he was working for a logging company up north in the bush. He flashed me his tummy muscles – a washboard that I touched like the rare thing it was with a giggle – and passed me the first of a several beers. "We have nothing to do up there but work and think about the girls we want to see again.'

"Like me!" I practically squealed over the din of conversation around us. I was kidding, but he nodded with a smile. Then Jamie tapped me on the shoulder, realized who I was talking to and attacked him with a hug. By the time they were finished saying hello, the main act was coming on, and she had to get back to her seat.

Trent. He had nearly white hair. He was thin, tall, had a bum that was so perfect that I wanted to take a bite. I won't lie, it was so exciting I don't know if I could explain it. In that moment I was about to see a band I didn't think would ever visit my town, standing beside my only high school crush who just said he was crushing on me, and my heart was hammering. By the end of the first song, he was taking care of me. He bought me beer after beer, checked on me constantly, and tried to talk to me several times when there was a moment of silence between songs. I didn't mind, it was Trent. I would have given an ovary to get that kind of attention when we were in school together.

Every time he tried to talk to me, asking something like; "So, what are you doing these days?" or "Do you still live in town?" or "Do you want..." the rest was drowned out as the next song started. He asked that question three times. The first two times, he was asking about beer, because there was one in my hand a few minutes later. The third time I had no idea what he asked, because I already had a practically full beer in my hand, and nothing else came. My confusion didn't matter anymore when one of the only ballads the band played came up, and I took a chance.

It had been a couple months since I'd had a boyfriend, and my stomach was filled with butterflies and beer, but I bravely slipped in front of him and leaned against his chest. He was much taller than me, so he could see over my head. His thick arms went around me, and I guided one of his hands onto my bare belly. It wasn't a brick wall like his, but I was in shape – I walked to and from work every day and swam in the summer – and his warm hand was happy to remain there as we began swaying together.

I sang along to the music, the waves of sound pulsing at us as dire power chords emanated from the giant Marshall amplifiers. Trent was all around me, and I was happy leaning against him, moving with him to the music. I was also so turned on that I felt like I was about to pop.

I opened my eyes again to watch the band and looked left to see Jamie leaning out so I could see her. She was grinning, mouthing; "You slut!" I just nodded and nestled deeper into him, pushing his index finger into the waistband of my tights just a little. I could feel him grow against my butt and my back, and couldn't help but be impressed.

The song was about to end, and I could feel him leaning down. I looked up at him so I could hear what he was about to say, but he kissed me instead. I was frozen for a moment, my lips pressed against his, but then he licked my bottom lip and my mouth was open. The last minute of the song was spent in tongue-duel heaven. They twirled around each other in an intense kiss that ended for only a second when the song did. I hopped on my toes and caught his lips as he tried to retreat, and he was back with gusto. His hands were at work this time too, running down my hips then grabbing them. I bumped my bottom into him several times, following where my desire took me, and he moaned against my mouth. I was the wild girl, taking control and giving him a memory that would follow him to his bunk in the woods. This, after I practically cooed at the sight of him in high school for years. It was the first time I'd come on to a guy, and he was losing his mind. It's also important to know that I was also a very drunk girl. I was always able to hold my liquor, but I've never had that much body weight, so one beer per song was an awful lot of alcohol for me.

"Enough of that soft shit," the lead singer shouted into the microphone. "You came to bang and mosh! Here we fucking go!" They led into the last leg of their set with one of their heaviest songs. We missed half of it.

I loved the feeling of his lips pressed against mine, his tongue jousting, and his calloused hands against my bare skin. No one was watching, and I wanted to push the daring even further, so I took his hand and slipped it down the front of my tights just enough so he could feel I was shaved. He gasped and broke our kiss. "Come home with me tonight," I said against his mouth, slowly pulling his hand back out so it rested against my belly.