An Erotic Beginning

Chapter 1

I stood at the door to her apartment, debating with myself on whether I should knock or walk away. I wiped my sweaty palms on the back pockets of my skinny jeans and tugged my shirt down to try and cover the exposed flesh of my belly. I succeeded only in revealing more of my cleavage. (Why had I not worn something more comfortable?) Then I reminded myself I would be taking my clothes off anyway, so what did it matter?

I was here on a whim, with something to prove. I was tired of being the dull, prudish, small-town girl in a big city cliche. My friends teased me about this, not to be mean, but to urge me out of some shell they thought I was stuck in. Compared to what many college girls my age did, I was prudish and unadventurous. I didn't rage at parties, get hammered on alcohol or drugs, and hook up with a different guy every weekend. My friends liked me well enough but thought I should go out and have more fun. What some of them really meant was that I needed to get laid. I silently agreed with them.

I was a virgin, not so much by choice but rather lack of opportunity. I did grow up in a small town, and my options for worthy bed partners were limited. Even if I had found someone, my over-protective, very religious parents would have been an obstacle. The opportunity to be deflowered, a ridiculous term in my opinion, never presented itself.

By the time I got to college, away from my parents' observing eyes and into a bed of sexual opportunities, I found they weren't so easy to come by. Oddly enough, some guys seemed intimidated by my virginity once I told them. The guys I didn't tell assumed I'd be okay having sex in the back room at a party on a pile of other people's coats or in a drunken frenzy after a long sweaty night of dancing. I have no delusions on the religious or moral importance of keeping my virginity intact, but I've held onto it this long, and I'm a bit attached to the quality of the send-off.

So I let my friends have their jokes. They weren't all true, and some of the guys knew it. I had some experience with the fun play that leads up to taking a man's dick inside me. I just never felt like crossing that line with anyone yet. It seemed simpler to let my friend's tease than try to explain myself.

They could say what they want about my inexperience, but reading erotica was almost a hobby of mine. My friends probably don't even know a portion of what is out there as far as fucking goes. They just go out, get drunk, and settle for sloppy sex with whoever comes along first. Not me.

For all my talk about not being bothered by their impressions and teasing me, their jokes finally cracked part of my shell one day while hanging out on campus.

"So, who's going to Steve's party Friday?" Liam asked the group of us. We were piled onto the benches around a picnic table on the quad. A few people enthusiastically replied that they were.

"Does that guy even go here? I only ever see him shit-faced at his house?" One of the other guys asked.

"I think he got kicked out like a year ago but never found anything else to do. I'm gonna go for sure, though. Don't want to miss the jello shot contest, especially after that rainbow display of puke from last time." People at the table laughed and groaned and made fake vomiting sounds in memory. Amber turned to me and quietly asked, "What about you, Lani? Want to check out Steve's party with me?" Her smile let me know it was a friendly request.

"Gee, sounds like a fun time," I replied sarcastically and returned her smile.

Liam overheard her comment and teased, "Lani letting loose at a party? I'd pay to see that."

I playfully rolled my eyes at him.

"Yeah, right, she'd probably bring her homework with her because she wouldn't know what to do once she got there." Jackson, a guy who had not appreciated my outright rejection of his past advances, laughed too hard at his joke. A few people chuckled and nodded in agreement. "She'd walk in all wide-eyed and tripping over herself. Can you imagine Lani drunk? Talk about a babysitting gig!"

I was grateful to see I wasn't the only one annoyed by his comment. People shifted uncomfortably and looked at their phones to see how long before class.

"Leave off, Jackson," Amber came to my rescue, "At least Lani's going to keep her brain cells and graduate. You'll probably end up like Steve, throwing parties off-campus for under-aged drinkers just so you can relive some stupid glory days."

"Damn Amber, I was just joking."

"It's fine, Amber," I said quietly as I put my hand on her arm. "What's that about?" I pointed to the paper sticking out of her book, letting the conversation around us shift to other topics and fade into the background. All I could read was 'erotic life.'

"This?" She opened the book to show me the rest of the wording.

"Erotic life art. My art professor is looking for a model to pose for her. She's got some big gallery event coming up in the spring."

"So why is it called 'erotic life art'?"

"The model has to be nude. I don't know, maybe provocative positions or something. I'm certainly not going to offer my services. I've gained like ten pounds in the last year, and I don't need to share that with everyone."

"You look great," I said automatically, meaning it as well.

"Yeah, well, still not my thing. I like to have my weekend nights free, and that's the only time she has to work on this. You should do it. You're curvy and sexy, even if you don't know how to use it." She nudged me to show she was joking, but the comment stung.

Is that what people thought? That I didn't know how to be sexy or erotic? In my mind, I disagreed with her. I often felt very sexy and thought I came off that way. Apparently, I did not.

Amber had joined the conversation again, and I let my mind fall down the rabbit hole of how people must perceive me. I didn't feel prudish, and even for all their teasing, I hadn't thought my friends actually saw me that way. I was beginning to see that I was wrong; they really did think of me as a bore.

It was almost time for the next class, and people started gathering their bags and heading off in different directions. Amber picked up her pile and turned to me to say goodbye. I spoke first.

"Hey, if you don't need that paper, can I have it?"

Amber looked confused for a moment. "Oh, this one?" She pulled the scrap of paper out of her book. Amber raised her eyebrows as I took the paper and looked at the phone number.

"Does she want art students, or is it open to anyone willing?"

"She just needs a willing model with free weekend nights. Are you serious, Lani?"

I began to stutter out a response, suddenly insecure and unsure of drawing this kind of attention to myself.

"I think you'd be great! You should totally do it. And I want to see those pictures." Amber winked at me and leaned forward for a quick parting hug.

As she walked away, I looked down at the paper, my heart already racing at the thought of posing naked for a stranger. Somewhere though, a voice cried out, 'yes, do this!' as a thrill of anticipation swept through me.

That had been two days ago. Now I stood there, full of nervous excitement, urging my hand to knock. I was grateful the artist was a woman. I would not have come had it been a man.

I looked up at the classy façade of the apartment building. (Condo.) Yes, she had called them condos. (I do not belong here.) That thought slammed into me, and I instinctively turned to retreat before anyone saw me. I didn't make it far before the door opened, and light from the condo slid out and engulfed me.

I braced myself as I turned towards the opening, giving one last tug on the bottom of my shirt. In the doorway stood a stunning woman. She was alluring—subtle, delicate curves, sexy with a seductive arrogance to her stance.

Before saying a word, she leaned against the doorframe and let her gaze slowly roam my body, lingering on my breasts. I felt a sizzle of anticipation, and my nipples grew hard at her perusal. (What was this feeling? Nerves?)

She finally spoke. "Lani, I presume?" Her voice was a deep, sultry invitation. I thought of the safety of retreat at my back, but the pull towards this woman was strong.

"Yeah," my voice cracked. "Ahem, yes, ma'am, we spoke on the phone." I moved towards her with my hand outstretched.

"Oh, darling, please don't ma'am me. I'm barely mid 30's, not quite old lady status yet. Just call me Madeline." She clasped my hand in a caress and pulled me towards her as she stepped back into her condo.

"Please come in. Let's get you comfortable."

I walked into an open room made cozy with tossed about pillows, blankets thrown across the backs of lounge chairs, and overstuffed couches. Paintings cluttered the walls, displaying a variety of styles and subjects. They ranged from juvenile looking shapes and painted splatters to detailed landscapes and realistic portraits. A propane fireplace helped with the soothing ambiance.

"Please have a seat. Can I get you a drink? Whiskey? Sparkling Water?"

"Uh, no, thank you," I sat on the edge of a couch and scanned the paintings on the wall. Among the collection were beautifully painted nudes, men perched on stools, and women draped across couches. I assumed this was 'life art' and felt a little more relaxed. Madeline came to sit on the chair across from me, carrying a glass of amber liquid over ice.

"Quite a collection, no?" she asked, noticing my perusal of her walls.

"Yes, it is. Did you paint all of them?"

"Oh, goodness, no. This collection represents a wide range of artists. Many of them are gifts..." she paused then to sip her drink. "So, tell me, Lani, what inspired you to respond to my call for models? Do you know what life art is?"

"I believe so."

"To put it simply, it's nude modeling. In a bit, I'm going to ask you to take off your clothes, I will pose you, and then I will sketch you. The painting comes later. It takes me about a half-hour to get a good enough sketch down so I can come back to it with details and paint. This whole project will take a few sessions. I hope that you are comfortable with this?" She said this last as a question.

"Yes, I, uh, I think so." (Was I?)

"Okay, great. I have a form for you to sign, nothing too technical. Just a standard consent form stating that you give me permission to create your likeness, through drawing or painting, for the purposes of art; inherent in this is that these pieces will be displayed for the public. Your name will not be attached to the works unless you would like it to be?" She paused a moment for my response.

I shook my head, "I don't think so."

"Okay then," she said as she went to a shelf and brought over some sheets of paper and a pen. "There's also the compensation that we spoke about on the phone. You're alright with getting paid the sum at the end?"

"Uh, sure, that's fine." The details were not helping me relax. If I signed this paper, did that mean I had to make it through three sittings? What if I hated it and was too horrified to come back? What if I was so bad she didn't ask me to return? The money was not an issue; my dignity was.

Madeline studied me from her chair, again surveying my body with a scrutiny that warmed my blood. She stood and came to me, her hands reaching towards my hair, pausing to ask, "Do you mind?" I wasn't quite sure what she was asking for, but I simply responded with a shake of my head.

She reached towards my bun, gently pulled out the hair tie, and let my thick, dark hair fall. She ran delicate fingers into the mass of tendrils and brought my hair to rest around my shoulders. I caught the hint of a provocative perfume and noticed the smoothness of her skin. I wanted to slide my tongue along her neck and collarbone. (Where had that come from?) She arranged my hair alongside my breasts, fingers brushing their sides, another exciting jolt of touch. Her face was close to mine. For a moment, I feared she might kiss me, but when she pulled back, I was slightly disappointed.

"Your hair is stunning, so much life. I've always envied women with lustrous hair like yours. I don't even remember what color mine is supposed to be anymore," she laughed. I thought her dyed black straight bob a sophisticated look and began to tell her so. A knock on the door stopped me.

"Ah, that must be Jeff."

I sat there, confused, as she went to answer the door. Perhaps Jeff was a delivery guy or some friend dropping off supplies. I heard the voices at the door, saw Madeline's back as she greeted whoever was there, and frantically thought of how I would explain my presence here if need be. I looked down at my clothes to make sure everything was in place. When I looked up again, Jeff was walking into the room.

Jeff, the attractive, charming guy from my philosophy class and the reason I got excited about going when the topic was too dull to hold my attention. The guy with the shaggy mop of brown curls my fingers itched to play with—the well-built athlete with a friendly smile and penchant for philosophical ramblings. Here was the stand-in body of my erotic fantasies, the guy whose cock penetrated my thoughts as I rubbed myself to climax.

(What in the hell is he doing here?) And how was I going to explain my presence? I watched in horror as he made his way confidently into the room, scanning the paintings and décor. He stopped when he saw me, a puzzled look on his face, but smiled.

"Hey Lani, how's it going?"

He knew my name. That was a shock in itself, but then the casual way he came around to sit near me on the couch made me flustered. I stuttered out some return greeting and looked to Madeline as she sat in the armchair across us.

"So, you two know each other? That could make this interesting." Neither of us said a word. "Are you friends? Lovers?—"

"Classmates," Jeff cut her off before she could continue.

Madeline looked at the two of us with amused scrutiny.

"We have a philosophy class together," he continued.

"Hmm...well, have either of you ever sat for an artist before?"

We both shook our heads.

Madeline bit her lip. "Have you ever been naked in front of people you weren't intimate with?"

I thought about the one time my friends tried to get me to skinny dip with them and how horrified I was of my parents finding out that I kept my clothes on.

"No."

"Yes."

Jeff and I responded at the same time. Madeline apparently thought this was interesting and paused in contemplation before replying.

"Jeff, turn and look at Lani. Tell me what you see."

Jeff shifted nervously. I could tell he was trying to be polite. I looked at him and offered a friendly smile. He studied me for a moment and let the corner of his mouth raise playfully. I wondered if he knew how sexy that movement was.

"I see a beautiful young woman with gorgeous hair," his voice softened.

"And..." Madeline encouraged.

"And comforting brown eyes, and sexy full lips." Jeff stopped then, possibly thinking he had gone too far.

My cheeks were flush with the attention.

"Nice, Jeff. Now Lani, tell me what you see when you look at Jeff."

I was so nervous that I responded with the first thing that came to mind, "Masculinity." My stomach dropped. (What the hell kind of response was that?) Madeline, however, seemed to approve.

"Perfect answer. Now," the shift in tone drew our attention away from each other, "you're both here because you responded to my call for a nude model. I thought it would be interesting to sketch you both together. These pieces will hang in a local gallery this spring, but they have been commissioned by a client with a particular taste for the erotic. The poses will be provocative, but this is art, not porn. I will be asking you to get very close and intimate, but tastefully so. Are you both comfortable with that?"

She said this last as a question, but I took it as a challenge. Would I give up now? Was I going to tuck my tail and run, flee from the scene of an attractive naked man and prove my friends right? I thought about it; I really did.

The ice in Madeline's glass clinked as it shifted. My body started to tremble, and I could easily imagine the movement of getting up and walking out of the condo. My feet twitched in expectation. My heart thudded loudly in my ears. I chanced a glance towards Jeff and saw he was watching me intently. When he caught my eye, he smiled. "I'm game if you are."

As terrified as I was about sharing this experience with Jeff, I quickly realized that I would never forgive myself if I didn't see this through.

Chapter 2

Once Madeline walked us through the consent form and details on how to be an effective model, she turned on some music with a slow but distinctly Latin feel. My hips longed to gyrate to the beat, shake off this building tension in my body. I stuffed down the urge and sat silently with Jeff, watching Madeline. I wondered if he was as terrified as I was, but when I glanced at his relaxed posture, I imagined not.

Madeline shifted furniture and moved a few lamps over to what I thought of as an old-timey reclining couch, something with a French name that I could not remember. It was emerald green with rounded support at the head and a low side that stopped almost at the midway point. She tucked that side into the corner at an angle, so the backrest was near the wall. A person could move around the couch and stand in the corner, behind the arm, leaving the open side towards the focal point. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling.

"Ideally, I would lower the lights to help you feel more comfortable, but alas, I need the lighting. I'll have you both here on the chaise." Ah, so that's what it's called. She said this as she rotated a few large umbrella-looking lamps towards what I now knew was the chaise. She laid a blanket over the backrest, arranged it to look discarded, and called Jeff over.

"Now, typically, I would have you remove your clothes in private and walk out in a robe. However, this being specifically an 'erotic' sitting, let's get right to it. Jeff, remove your clothes first, please."

Jeff paused for a moment, seemingly insecure, but then gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Before I had time to fully appreciate the tanned skin stretching across a well-toned back, he flipped his shoes off and dropped his pants.

If he felt self-conscious, he didn't show it. I looked away the moment he bent to retrieve his clothes, trying to be respectful of his nudity. When I looked back, Madeline was holding what he had discarded, unabashedly looking him up and down. Her gaze rested on his cock, and she said, "Well, I imagine that gives a good ride when he's ready."

A surprised laugh escaped Jeff as he brought his hands to cover himself. "You get right to it, don't you?"

Horrified flames crept up my neck.

"I apologize if that was too forward," Madeline sounded less than apologetic, "I thought I'd be frank since this is business. I will be studying your body quite intensely."

"By all means, study away." Jeff removed his hands in what I thought was a confident display of his willingness.

My friends were right about me. I wasn't adventurous. I didn't belong here with these two. They were a different, sexier breed than me. I thought again about fleeing. I would never have to see Madeline again, but Jeff, well, I could always drop out of philosophy.

No, I would not back out of this. It wasn't sex or anything. It was art.

I tried to slow my breathing as Madeline directed Jeff's reclining posture on the chaise. She had him drape an arm over the back, legs outstretched on the cushion, his chest and pelvis turned towards her point of view. I looked quickly away from his cock, impressed at how comfortable he seemed and feeling all the more anxious for it.