Warning: The following is a sexually explicit story intended for mature audiences. If you are offended by stories of such nature, do not read it. All characters are fictional and not intended to resemble any real people.
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My name is Linda. I am a twenty-six year old woman who lives alone in an old house I recently inherited from my grandmother. The house is a large Victorian style almost big enough to be considered a mansion, located in the outskirts of Orlando, Florida. My dearly departed grandmother used it as a winter home to get away from the frigid, icy conditions of West Chicago. It was an escape for her - a way to get around the demanding Chicago winter.
I moved into the house six months ago. The first thing I did was to move out my grandmother's old things. I would not stereotype her as being old fashioned, but my dearly departed 87 year-old grandmother and a 26 year-old granddaughter do not exactly share the same interior decorating ideas. Out went the tiny 14-inch television set to be replaced with a big screen. Away went the porcelain bathtub, replaced with a modern shower so I could stop washing my hair in the kitchen sink. And I certainly had to get rid of her old phonograph player. I mean, who listens to records any more in the age of the CD?
I live in the house as a single woman who has never been married nor do I have any immediate plans to get married - or at least there is no one special in my life right now. It is not because I am ugly or because I have anything against men; it's just that I can't find the right guy. I actually like men very much and I really enjoy the sex, but my relationships never last. As soon as a guy gets me into bed a few times, he starts to change and then leaves me for someone else. Men conquer me as though I am a prize filly, and then toss me aside for another.
The problem is my boobs. They're too big. I am a short Hispanic woman with a large set of tits, and I know it is my boobs that initially draw men to me. A guy will notice the bulge in my blouse as I sit at the bar or he passes by me at work. I can tell what they really want by the way their eyes inevitably roam down to my chest or glance at my cleavage. Men often look at me as though they are trying to imagine what is under my clothing, picturing me in a bra or perhaps in the nude. As they politely hold the door open for me to pass through, I know they are actually imagining their hands wrapped around my ample melons instead. Men try to capture me like I am some sort of rare object they need to add to their collections.
It starts simple at first. The guy will set a subtle trap with his words and actions. He will say nice things and will act very polite. He might compliment me on what I am wearing for the evening or maybe take me to an expensive restaurant to show off his bank account. Basically, he starts out treating me like royalty.
I never let a guy to have his way at the start. I am not an easy girl. I was raised proper and will not allow a man to take me to bed on the first date; or even the second or usually the third. Despite his best efforts, I will force him to wait until we at least get to know each other. And if I don't like what I see, I may not allow him to take me at all.
Eventually, after I go out with a guy a few times and I conclude there is a potential for something between us, I'll go to bed with him.
The sex is always really good at first. Men seem to like the extra excitement a big pair of tits adds to the sexual experience, as though my boobs take their immediate attention away from my pussy. As a consequence, the foreplay lasts a long time and the excitement really builds. Men have a fun time squeezing my melons and teasing on my big nipples, and I like it too. The experience really gets them aroused and ready to fuck by the time we finally get around to doing it.
The problem starts after we have sex a few times. Some hold out longer than others. One guy may wait until he gets me in the sack a few times while another will be more interested in trying out a couple different positions. But inevitably, they all turn out the same. After the guy discovers what it feels like to lift the weight of my big tits in his hands or pucker up to my inflated nipples, the novelty begins to wear off. He doesn't complement me as much and refuses to take me to nice places (except when he can show me off to his buddies). He begins to treat me more like a bimbo, like an object rather than a person. At the same time, he no longer works as hard at hiding his own faults. His true personality begins to show through the facade. Most of the time the guy turns out to be a real jerk.
The sex is always good, but after awhile I get tired of it. One guy after another! It is always the same. I wish I could meet a man who would take me for who I truly am. That's what made it all the more frustrating when the tables were turned.
As I said, I live in an old house that I inherited from my Grandmother. It is a large Victorian house that is really much too big for me. Along with the house, my grandmother also left me some money. In fact, she left me quite a bit of money. It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to quit my job as a secretary and pursue a dream I had since childhood. I was always quite good at drawing and wanted to be an artist. I didn't expect to become a famous artist, but it was what I liked. I had always hoped that I was at least good enough to perhaps teach it to others some day.
I tried to pursue my dream out of High School, but with no success. I enrolled myself in a private liberal arts school for two years in attempt to try it, but I soon discovered it was a waist of time. There isn't much money in being an artist, and the tuition bills were beginning to mount. Even the most famous painters in history- Michelangelo, Salvador Dali, and a lot of others lived in poverty for much of their lives. Ironically, most of the most famous artists did not become famous until after they died.
It took me two years, but finally I came to my senses and decided to be more practical. I dropped out of school to get a real job. My dream had to put on the back burner, left sizzling as a hobby as I pursued more practical matters on the front burners.
I got a chance to change things after my grandmother died and she left me most of the inheritance. I was her favorite, as she always said, and now I got to reap the rewards. Despite the high electric bills for the poorly insulated house in the summer and the constant need for maintenance of the old house all year round, I owned the place free-and-clear. And there are not many 26-year olds who can say they own a house without a mortgage. Furthermore, I had enough cash left over from the inheritance to buy a nice compliment of stocks, bonds, and a rather healthy savings account. It was enough so I could quit my job and pursue my childhood dream.
I began my adventure by turning the downstairs sunroom into a studio. I now spend most of my days doing sketches, drawings, and the occasional painting. My primary specialty is pencil and chalk drawings. I am also pretty good with cartoon figures and once tried to start a little cartoon column in the local paper. It only went on for five weeks, though, until the Mayor didn't like my particular rendering of his likeness.
Brush painting with colors is still difficult for me, although that is where most of the money lies. I notice most shoppers at the weekend art shows seem to want large, color landscape scenes. They want paintings to put over their fireplace mantels. Some are willing to spend thousands of dollars for one, even from an unknown artist! I've tried the big time myself, but I prefer the black-and-white medium. The most I ever made for a drawing was $200.00, which I guess means I am talented but far from famous.
I began with landscape scenes, drawings pictures of seagulls flying across the beach or the structure of an interesting buildings in town, but lately I moved on to the more difficult subject of the human form. For this, I needed models; so I started hiring models and made a number of figures. It was strange at first. I mean, it felt strange to have another person standing in my living room as I transferred their image to the canvas, but I gradually got used to it. Most of the models were art students themselves and therefore understood my passion. Most were also female because I didn't want some strange guy looking back at my bulging chest. One model in particular, Lisa, eventually became a good friend of mine. She gave me many compliments and said she liked my work - and she didn't say it just to humor me or because she was being paid. She came over many times for free just so she could learn some of my techniques. We even exchanged places a few times and she drew me instead. I have to sadly admit, though, she was not very talented herself.
My first drawings of the human form were of the face and upper limbs. I found it difficult in the beginning. It was hard to properly capture the subtle color change in the fleshtones of the human form, but my eyes were gradually able to pick out the details. The more I practiced, the better I became. It was as though the circuits between my eyes and fingertips slowly started developing in my brain.
My first drawings were all of clothed models, but as any good artist will tell you, it is more important to paint the nude form. I knew this all along and really wanted to paint a nude model, but was too embarrassed to ask. I would never pose nude myself, and I therefore didn't think it proper to ask someone else to do it for me. Besides, I figured models would ask for a lot more money to pose nude.
I didn't draw a nude until Lisa made an offer to pose herself. "Why not?" She questioned with reason. "It's art! It's not slut."
I agreed and we went ahead. Lisa posed nude for me in my sunroom.
I must admit, it felt strange having a nude woman lying down in the couch in my house. But like before, I gradually got used to it. I soon went into a trance and could ignore the fact she was nude. I drew for the shear pleasure of drawing the human form and capturing all the sulitaries of the human muscle structure. Lisa later talked some of her friends into posing nude for me also, and I found that I really enjoyed it. My work visibly improved.
"Now you should try a man," Lisa told me one day. "Forget about painting woman all the time! You should try experimenting with the more dramatic and corrosive muscle structure of a man."
"In the nude?" I questioned back. "I don't think so! It would feel too awkward."
"Why not?" Lisa asked back. "You're a professional and I know a few male models who are also professional. You should expand your experience. I think it would improve your talents."
