Brad's Gets an 18th Birthday Gift

This is a story about a sexually inexperienced young man, a virgin, being initiated sexually by an older experienced woman as an 18th birthday gift from his father. All characters are over 18.

Part 1

:

So my 18

th

birthday came. Then it went.

I still had no clue what my dad meant when he told me on the day itself that he had a gift planned for me. A big present, he said. But one he had to work to put together. And one I'd like a lot when he gave it to me, he said, grinning and winking.

What the heck was that about, Pops winking at me? He'd never done that in his life.

I was curious. I won't deny that. Was Dad going to give me a car? I was headed off to college in the fall. I'd need transportation.

Maybe a pre-college trip somewhere exciting? Was the delay in giving me the gift because he had to make travel arrangements?

I'm Brad, by the way, Bradley Hechinger. Dad's Bob Hechinger. My mom's Marsha. She didn't seem to be in on this birthday gift any more than I was. It was all Pops' doing. It was all his idea.

Because I was so sure Dad would be driving up one day with a new car for me or would walk in after work one day and hand me tickets for a flight to someplace like Paris, I was surprised—and I'll admit, puzzled—when he finally told me what the gift was.

He told me about the gift at a dinner he'd taken me out to, a steak dinner. A guys' night out, he said. Wanted to talk to me, he said. Man to man. About that birthday gift....

Pops loves to go to a little old school-type steakhouse across town, Blackie's. One of those dimly lit, polished wood and brass sort of places you don't find much anymore. Scotch, big man-sized t-bone steaks, baked potatoes slathered with butter and sour cream: the earmarks of a top-notch steakhouse as far as Dad's concerned.

Oh, and an obligatory tiny side salad—gotta have those veggies to be healthy, don't you know. What's not to like?

Because I had turned 18, Dad ordered a Scotch for me, my first time to taste the stuff. He downed his obligatory preprandial Scotch followed by one he knocked back while demolishing his big slab of meat. I've decided smoky Scotches are going to be one of those acquired tastes I'll have to work at when I get a few more years on me.

As we dug into our rare beef and potato, Dad started talking about the gift he'd put together for me:

"I know you're great at drawing, Son, and you're planning to study art in college. I also know your high school art classes didn't do everything they could to prepare you for college. So I've arranged a birthday gift for you that will help you fill in a big gap in your education."

"What I've done is arrange a session for you with an outstanding nude model who will walk you through the steps of drawing nude females. Name's Renate. I've known Renate for some time and she's the best in the field for this kind of thing."

What Dad

didn't

tell me as he chewed his steak and guzzled his Scotch and what Mom definitely didn't know was that Pops and Renate had a thing going. I'd find out down the road that Renate was Dad's bit on the side, as the Brits like to say, a side bit kept carefully hidden from Mom.

I never found out if Mom knew about Renate. If so, maybe she had someone, too. I hope so.

"Renate's got a cute little top-story apartment right in the middle of the city, old building, skylights in the top-level apartments," Pops said. "She's got everything set up in her apartment to use it as a studio when she models for art students. Several guys I know have sent their sons there as a birthday gift when they turned 18. Guys with sons like you who like to draw and want to study art."

"Renate's the best. She knows how to show the ropes to you artists-in-training guys. She likes doing that for young artists. I'll tell you right now, she's not hard on the eyes, either. She knows just how to pose to teach young guys like you some good artistic tricks."

As Dad said that to me, he winked. Again. What the hell was this all about? I wondered as I sat finishing my baked potato and trying to take this mysterious birthday gift in. Something just didn't pass the smell test. Pops had friends, other guys, who sent their sons to Renate to learn how to draw nude women when those sons turned 18? What in the heck?

Dad and I had had talks, more than one, about how studying art was totally fine for red-blooded men. Well, that was a point I had to make repeatedly with Dad, who was not convinced. As far as he was concerned, guys who liked to paint might as well hang a sign around their necks saying, "Gay guy here." I tried to tell him how absurd that idea was, to assure him that I'm not gay—not that there's anything at all wrong with being gay—because I like to draw and paint.

I'd given Dad the rundown of famous male artists widely known to be, well, some might use the expression "pussy hounds," macho men who went through women like crazy during their artistic career: Picasso, Diego Rivera, Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele. Those names were just for starters. Van Gogh had a thing for prostitutes and was in love with a working girl when he ended his life too soon.

Still, I knew that Dad had reservations about my decision to study art. He had hinted more than once that he hoped after I turned 18, I could come of age in every way possible, get to know more about women and what makes them tick. I could read the signals as Dad told me about the gift he had put together for me—a guys' night out, a steak and Scotch dinner, a woman doing nude modeling for blossoming male art students. They made me suspect that this "gift" had a lot to do with Dad's reservations about art as a manly field of study.

But though I had my suspicious, I won't say that I wasn't also very curious. This was a gift I might very well like, even if it wasn't the car or trip I had hoped for.

So I thanked Dad and told him I appreciated his late birthday gift to me and looked forward to studying with Renate and learning more about drawing the female form. The

nude

female form....

"You won't be sorry, Son," Pops said, winking again as he downed the last of his Scotch. "Renate has a lot to teach you. And I mean

a lot

. What she teaches you is going to stand you in good stead when you get off to college in the fall."

Then Dad gave me the address of Renate's apartment, told me the day and time he'd arranged for my session, and said I wouldn't need art supplies, a sketch pad, an easel, anything. Renate had all that arranged.

Curioser and curioser.

I went. And I came. But I'm getting ahead of my storyline as I say that.

Here's the thing. I had never been with a woman before when Dad arranged this nude modeling session with Renate. Still carrying my V-card and wanting to get rid of it. Fast.

I'm pretty sure Dad knew this. I'm also pretty sure he wanted me to get some experience in that arena under my belt. So to speak.

I'm pretty sure he wanted to assure that, if I was going to study art, I'd be one of those manly men artist types, and not the type he mistakenly assumed all male artists were.

Here's what happened.

Part 2:

I arrived at Renate's place on the appointed day at the appointed time. When I rang her apartment, she buzzed me up right away. She'd obviously been waiting for me.

Renate met me at her apartment door, and I saw right away what Dad meant when he said she was easy on the eyes. Curvy in all the right places, pretty, thick lustrous dark hair clipped up so it cascaded in a ponytail down her neck, warm brown eyes. Definitely eye-catching.

"Come in, come in," she said as she gave me a big hug (just meeting and already on hugging terms?). "Brad, right? You look a lot like your Dad. Handsome. Strong. You're both men's men, for sure."

When I walked into Renate's place, I saw that it was a typical one-room loft apartment with a big skylight over it. But a spacious room, with a big double bed in the middle and an easel and drawing supplies arranged at the foot of the bed.

First thing Renate did is tell me she wanted me to put on a smock she had ready for me. She said the European thing for painters to do was to strip off and then put on a smock before they started working at their easels. Taking your clothes off and putting on an artist's smock is a symbolic way to leave the everyday world behind as you access your artistic side, Renate told me.

This sounded to me pretty much like bullshit, BS that I'd never heard of before. But, hey, when in Rome... Or, when in Renate's apartment and she's getting ready to shuck off the robe she's wearing with nothing on underneath it....

The really strange thing was that Renate expected me to strip then and there with her watching. And not just watching, but

studying

. Especially paying careful attention to what popped out when I pulled my briefs down. Paying careful attention and smiling as she studied me and Mr. Happy when I let him out of my briefs. Fortunately, he was still behaving himself and not embarrassing me by poking his head up to look around.

The smock was not like any artist's smock I'd ever seen before. To call it skimpy would be an understatement. It covered me to just below my groin.

After I'd gotten it pulled over my head, Renate stepped towards me and said, "Here, let me help you smooth that smock out and get it arranged right." Funny that her arranging focused on the region right where my dick, which was now seriously threatening to get out of control and embarrass me, hung down to the bottom end of the smock. That region of the smock seemed to get special attention from Renate.

"Good," Renate then said. "This is good, Brad. Let's get this session underway. I'm sure you've learned how important it is for artists to learn to draw nude bodies. Especially female ones, which are everywhere in classical art. The nude female body has classic importance because of the many ways it offers an apprentice artist to learn to study contours and shapes, to understand light and shadow. And movement."

"What I'm going to do now is model for you, nude. I want you to study my body carefully as you draw it."

As she said this, Renate untied her robe and let it drop to the floor, and I saw her in her full naked glory for the first time. This was going to be a hard lesson, I realized, hard in every sense of the word. Hard to keep focused on the work, the task at hand, with those amazing voluptuous breasts and their prominent brown areolas staring me in the face.

Not to mention that alluring, mysterious valley between Renate's legs. I saw that it was shaved, and she'd left a landing strip shaped into a V to point to her clitoris above it.

As I say, this was going to be hard. Hard to keep my already growing cock from getting even harder and poking out of the front of this damned skimpy smock as I sketched the hot erotic sight in front of me.

When she had disrobed, Renate explained how the process of modeling was going to unfold. She was going to pose for me, she said, in various poses, and as she did that, she'd point out what was important for me to study in that pose. I was to sketch as she posed and as I studied her body carefully.

For her first pose, Renate lay in the middle of her bed and turned slightly to the side with her legs together. As she did that—repeating the movement several times so I could catch it—she told me to pay particular attention to her breasts and how they moved to follow the position of her body.

"Notice what happens to my nipples as I move each time I reposition myself, Brad," she instructed. "Look at how they move, too, as my breasts move."

Renate then invited me to come over to the bed and to look at her breasts close up, to lift and feel them so I could get a tactile sense of them as I prepared to draw them. She said it was important for me to run my fingers over her nipples, to play with them is the phrase she used, so I could learn how a woman's nipples react to touch, to being played with.

This is important information for an artist to know, Renate insisted. A female artist would already know this information from her own experience. But male artists needed to study how the female body responds and shows its responses, if they wanted to create convincing artwork featuring nude women.

Renate damned well knew, as she had me fingering her tits, that it wasn't just my eyes and hands that were studying her body. She could see that skimpy smock tenting out and demonstrating to her that she had my cock's attention, too. It was studying Renate as fast and furious as it could.

"Let's move on to the next pose, shall we, Brad?" Renate then said. "You can step back to your easel and try to capture this one, too, as you study and sketch me."

As she made that announcement, Renate arranged several pillows behind her back and lay against them, spreading her legs wide. "I want you to study a new part of the female body now, Brad," she said.

"I'm posing to give you a full, open view of my vagina. Or young guys like you may use words like pussy to refer to this part of a woman's body. As you study and sketch, think of my pussy as a valley of mystery, or, as some call it, the gates to paradise or the entrance to a beautiful hidden garden."

"A good artist needs to capture all those connotations, all that mystery and invitation to hidden places of delight, when he focuses on this part of a woman in his work," Renate concluded. Then she told me she wanted to give me an even closer look so that I could learn more about this hidden garden women offered between their legs.

Standing up from the bed, Renate then instructed me to lie in it on my back. She then got back onto the bed, spreading her legs and positioning herself over me and opening her special hidden place wide for me to study more closely. It's absolutely essential for a good male artist to learn everything he can about the female anatomy and how it works, she said.

Slowly and carefully, watching the expressions on my face, Renate then drew my attention to her clit, explaining its function and showing me how it responded when she made teasing circles around and on top of it. She drew back her hood so I could see the small pink pearl lying underneath it and told me this is the seat of female pleasure that most women have to have stimulated if they are going to reach orgasm.

"Artists need to know these things, Brad," she told me. "You need to have detailed knowledge of what makes women tick, how our bodies react to stimulation and pleasure, if you're going to create convincing representations of women's bodies."

Having said that, Renate then ran her fingers lightly and teasingly along her pussy slit to her opening, which she spread open for me to examine carefully. I could see that she was wet and obviously excited as she gave me this intimate lesson in female anatomy, and as she ran her fingertips over her labia, explaining the difference between her inner and outer lips and encouraging me to notice how her lips swelled and became rosy as her excitement increased.

She told me that it excited her to display her body in this way to a young man just learning about the treasures women's bodies have to offer. And she also told me that she could see that I, too, was responding with excitement.

"I can see clearly that it's not just your eyes that are studying my body, Brad," she said, smiling. "Another part of your anatomy is doing its own study along with your eyes. This should not embarrass you, not at all."

"Women adore knowing that men appreciate us and respond sexually to our beauty and our bodies. For the rest of our session, I don't want that smock to stand between us. I'm naked and I want you to be naked, too, as you work. Please take that smock off."

I stood up from the bed and did as she had just ordered me.

As I stood at the foot of the bed trying my best to resume sketching with my hard dick standing proudly in front of me, Renate said, "You need to know that that beautiful cock is an artistic tool, too, young man. Pay attention to it. It will tell you what to appreciate as you study and paint women. And it needs experience with women, too. Let's let it get some of that experience now."

Then here's what Renate did after making that announcement: she got onto her knees at the foot of the bed, ass lifted up and back arched, and she invited me to study her pussy closely from that new angle. "I want you to study it with your cock now, Brad," she said.

"I want you to take that gorgeous hard young cock and let it feel the contours of my pussy as it rubs along my lips and teases my clit. Let your dick learn what a woman feels like as you prepare to fuck her."

"Then you're going to put that beautiful tool inside me and let it study a cunt from the inside for the first time. Yes, I know you're a virgin; your Dad has told me this. Let your cock feel what a hot, wet, inviting pussy feels like, what it can do for an aching hard dick. Fuck this pussy."

"You should know that women need attention first to get them ready to have you penetrate them. Lots of kissing, licking, teasing, lots of careful attention to how they respond. It's not just stick it in and thrust, Brad. You want that pussy to be ready to receive you, wet and longing to be fucked."

"We haven't spent time with foreplay because I'm already very excited seeing you hard and ready to fuck and from showing myself to you. The first time you go inside me, you won't last long. You shouldn't worry about that. We'll do more after that, and I'll teach you more about foreplay then."

"Right now, what I want you to do is get your first taste of thrusting your cock inside a warm, welcoming cunt that's eager to receive it. Then when you're ready to cum, let yourself go. After that, we'll spend some time kissing and cuddling, and we can go again as many times as you're able."

Renate was right on the mark. I didn't last long at all that first time, especially when, as I started thrusting hard in and out, Renate ordered me: "Fuck that horny pussy! Make her yours. Make that big cock own that cunt."

At the word "cunt," I shot. And shot again, volleys of hot cum as my pecker thickened and lengthened and as Renate's delightful hot pussy seemed to try to suck it inside as far as it could reach....

"You're a man now, young Brad," Renate said as I collapsed onto her back, legs weak and trembling. "You've lost your virginity and fucked your first woman. And I'll be just the first. There are going to be lots more down the road."

"That's a talented cock you're carrying around. If you fuck other women as well as you just fucked me, if you pay attention to their needs and give them lots of consideration, you're going to have women lining up for you to fuck them. Word about talented studs gets around quickly among us women."

"And now that you're soft and you've pulled out of me, here's what we're going to do: we're going to spend some time lying here, kissing and caressing each other. And when Mr. Happy gets ready to be happy again, you're going to fuck me all over again. You're going to do that today as many times as that gorgeous cock can fuck."

"Then you're going to get dressed again, go back home, and thank your generous dad for giving you this 18

th

birthday gift."

And that's what I did when I got back home, so exhausted from what Renate had taught me and done with me that my legs could barely carry me. As I shook Pops' hand and thanked him for his birthday gift to me, I winked.

And he smiled. And said, "I knew you'd like my 18

th

birthday present to you, Son. Don't forget what you learned today. Put it to good use. You'll make me proud."

Renate proved right when she told me I have a talented cock. I've now heard that from more than one woman. But I won't ever forget the first woman who ever said that to me and taught me how to put that artistic tool to the use for which it was designed. I'll always be grateful to Renate.