A Creative Challenge

"Amy, tell me about fuck buddies."

"What about them?"

"Well, when I was your age, there was no such word, no such thing – and probably no such idea. To be honest, I'm not sure if I really understand what a fuck buddy is."

"Now you're showing your age, Sam."

I must have looked a bit hurt to be reminded like that of the big difference between us, although it was never far from my mind. Amy quickly leaned across the kitchen table and kissed me on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that in a nasty way."

"S'OK. I know you didn't. It's not like it's something I'd forget in a hurry, though."

"Sam, it really doesn't bother me. I shouldn't have said that. Do you want some more toast?"

"No thanks."

Amy stood up and busied herself at the kitchen bench with her back to me making toast and putting the kettle on for more tea. As she casually shifted her weight from one leg to another, I watched the dimples above each of her buttocks tilting first this way, then that. There was a small daylight gap at the top of her thighs, about two fingers width, just enough for me to see from behind the clear 'w' shape of her pussy lips. I felt at that moment there was nothing I would rather be looking at than the backside of this naked girl, and that there was no prettier sight in the world. Until she turned around. She leaned against the bench looking down at me, weight on her right leg, left knee slightly bent and turned outwards with her feet about 12 inches apart, her silky bare pussy smiling vertically at me, arms folded under her breasts. I had to consciously remember to breathe. It took me a while to work my eyes up her body far enough to make contact with hers.

"Not many men can pay a girl a compliment as eloquently as you do, Sam."

"I didn't say anything."

"That's the point. The way you look at me makes me feel better than any fancy words ever could."

"My pleasure, ma'am", I said. And it was.

She buttered her toast, poured another cup of tea, and sat down again at the kitchen table.

"Donna's brother, Alex."

"Don't know him. What about him?"

"He was my fuck buddy for a while. In my last year at school. You asked how I learned to suck cock like I did last night."

"I did. Was he your boyfriend?"

"No, we never dated. He was just a friend it was safe to have sex with. You know, no strings. No emotional involvement. That's a fuck buddy."

I understood the general idea of a fuck buddy, but it was not something I had ever personally experienced, so I was still puzzled by the mechanics of such a relationship.

"But if you never dated him," I said, "how did you ever get to fuck him? I mean, how did you manage to get undressed and into bed with him if you skipped all the getting-to-know-each-other part of building a relationship?"

"Sam, we don't have to dance around each other for ages these days, dropping hints and flirting until we accidentally fall into bed together. I think we are a bit more direct about sex than you used to be in Queen Victoria's day – oops sorry, Sam. That was a joke, honest."

She was laughing at me, but I couldn't do other than laugh with her. I knew I must have seemed very old fashioned to her in so many ways, but on the other hand, it was me she was sharing her body with and having sex with, not someone her own age, so it was hard to be offended by her gentle jibes.

"Actually, sharing Alex with me was Donna's idea. She learned how to deepthroat him first, and he was more than happy to let Donna's girlfriends use his dick to practice on any time, as you can imagine. The day Donna showed me how to do it, we took turns sucking his dick most of the afternoon, so he thought all his Christmases had come at once. By the way, the trick to getting it down without gagging is in pushing your tongue out and swallowing at the same time."

"I thought you said Alex was Donna's brother?"

"He is."

"Amy, that's... incestuous."

"Oh, Sam, don't look so shocked. All right, technically it is incest, but they knew what they were doing. It wasn't like they wanted to get married and have kids, they were just helping each other grow up. What, you think brothers and sisters don't do that? Who else would they trust more than each other? It happens all the time."

"But that means Sally and Mike...."

It had never occurred to me before that my own two children might have helped each other learn about sex when they were in their teens. Early on, they had shared their bath-time like all young kids do. They had lived in a house without any locks on the doors, in fact, for years the bathroom didn't have a door at all, not even a shower curtain, so it was no big deal for any of us to see each other naked, and we did almost every day, given the free flow of traffic in and out of the bathroom in the morning. Even when they were in their teens they skinny-dipped with Jeannie and me when we went to the lakes. They were good friends at school, and they are still good friends today. Had they been fuck buddies? I didn't know, but I guessed it was possible.

"I know what you're thinking", said Amy. "If you want me to, I could probably find out for you."

"No, I don't want you to do that, thanks."

"Is it because you don't want them to know about me?"

"No! It isn't that at all. I'm happy for them to know about you. I just don't want to know that about them. If you know what I mean."

"I wouldn't want to embarrass you. You know, if it's difficult to deal with the fact that I'm the same age as Sally."

"Yes, you are. I knew that. Yes."

I did know, but I had half forgotten that Amy and Sally were the same age, almost exactly. We had established that months ago one morning in the studio, soon after Amy started modelling for me. So it was no surprise to me and no secret. But when Amy made that simple statement it was suddenly more real, and it made me feel a little uncomfortable. I thought about some of Sally's friends when she was growing up. Amy could have been any one of those sweet and innocent little girls, and the idea of fucking any of them just didn't seem right. I was barely used to the idea that my own little girl had grown breasts. Again, Amy was very sensitive and perceptive about what was going through my head.

"Sally's a woman now, Sam, and so am I. We're making adult choices for ourselves. One of my choices is to be with you and make love with you. It's not... wrong."

"I could be your father."

"You're not my father, I've already got one of them, and I don't need another. But you're more than a fuck buddy."

She was expecting me to ask her how much more than a fuck buddy she thought I was to her, but I was a little afraid of any of the possible answers to that question. Part of me wanted to just enjoy this opportunity as a temporary interlude in both our lives and not get too involved with her, but part of me was beginning to dread the day when Amy would find a new place of her own and move on with her life in a way that didn't include me. There was an awkward pause while I tried to decide what I could say that wouldn't force her to define our relationship, because I wasn't ready for her to do that. Amy defused the situation in her typically tactful way.

"Yes, you're more than that," she said, with a grin. "You're a housemate. And let me tell you, a good housemate is a lot harder to find than a fuck buddy."

"Thank you," I said, grateful for her good sense and for her sense of humour. I tried to sound nonchalant as I changed the subject.

"Have you found anywhere else to live that looks promising yet?"

"To tell you the truth, Sam, I haven't been looking very hard the last few days. There's not much around at the moment, and it's so boring looking at crappy flats."

"To tell YOU the truth, Amy, I'm very glad. Don't be in a hurry to move out. You can stay here for as long as you want to."

"Thanks, Sam. I was so hoping you'd say that. Promise me you'll tell me if I outstay my welcome?"

She was leaning sideways on one elbow, which was resting on the kitchen table, her head propped up by her hand. Her left breast was resting gently on the table, squished slightly higher than the right one. I could not imagine a time when I would not want to have such a beautiful sight in my house.

"I promise."

"You can stop staring at my tits now," said Amy, getting up from her chair and clearing away the breakfast plates.

"Not a chance," I said.

The phone rang and I answered it. I wasn't doing much of the talking, so while I was on the phone I kept watching Amy walking around the kitchen, putting things away in cupboards, sweeping crumbs from the table, and stretching her naked body and limbs like cats do when they wake up. Cats do it for the exercise, but Amy was aware that I was watching her every move, so although she pretended otherwise, I knew she was doing it more for my benefit than her own. From listening to the few words I had said she could tell that it was a really good phone call, so when I hung up, she asked me who I'd been talking to.

"That was Greta, she runs the gallery that handles my work. She calls herself an art dealer, but to say she's 'my dealer' sounds so sleazy, so I don't usually call her that."

"I agree, it makes it sound like she sells drugs, not art. What did she say?"

"The other day I took in those two last drawings we did to show her. She was a bit negative because they were so erotic, not my normal style, but she hung on to them anyway. She thought they were good drawings, but told me that it was unlikely they'd sell. Anyway, one of her best corporate clients was in the gallery first thing this morning, and she showed him the drawings, and he just loved them."

"I knew it. I told you they were good."

"Anyway, when Greta saw his eyes light up, she gave him a price that was double what she would normally ask for. And he bought them both on the spot!"

"That's wonderful!" said Amy clapping her hands in delight. "What now?"

"What do you mean, what now?"

"Well, she didn't just ring to tell you about selling two drawings. She wants a lot more, doesn't she?"

"How did you know that?"

"Sam, you're an artist, and she's a dealer. It's bloody obvious she'd want to cash in on something like this that's new and hot. She wants a whole show, doesn't she?"

"She wants me to have a solo exhibition. In the main gallery space."

"That means a big opening, real champagne, all the major newspapers, magazines – sex is always a good topic, so an erotic art exhibition will probably get TV coverage too, wouldn't you think?" She was ticking off a mental list, like she was organising it all herself.

"Probably."

"How many pieces?"

"I don't know. About thirty, I guess."

"Then you'll need at least forty good pieces to choose from. You did say yes, didn't you?"

"No, I said, first I'll have to talk to my partner." That surprised her, and stopped her for a moment, as I knew it would.

"I didn't know you had one," she said, a little hesitantly.

"I mean YOU, Amy. You're my inspiration. If I do this, I need you to help me. We have to be in this together."

"Come on then, into the studio. We've got work to do."

"Now? Damn, you're a bossy woman. But when we're in the studio, you work for me, remember?"

"That's funny, I thought we were partners."