This is a true account of a few hours in a weekend some years ago, when Ellen (my wife of 20 years) and I visited an old high school friend in his studio in downtown Dearborn, Michigan. It was easily the most thrillingly erotic experience of my life up to that point, so much so that I am actually afraid that our lives will change somehow. After 20 years of the same old thing, an unexpected event such as I will shortly describe can be like an earthquake in a relationship, even though we have no plans to repeat the experience, even if it were possible.
Ellen isn't a prude, she's just very inexperienced. Raised a Catholic, she rejected all those trappings as a teenager, but it's hard to escape how one has been reared during childhood, and her sexuality has remained subdued, despite a wild youth. I love her tremendously and have always been a good husband to her. Oh yes, she is very pretty, even at 45, with large breasts and big nipples that subtly change their appearance in accord with her hormones, the temperature and, of course, her level of stimulation. She is not readily orgasmic, which makes the rare occasion of her cumming very charming and almost celebratory. She is also a "gusher," as they say, for when she has an orgasm she spurts a little fluid.
We went to the same high school, Sacred Heart, in Dearborn. We live nearby and sometimes visit Dearborn on the weekends where we still have friends. During our last visit we ran into an old schoolmate, Mike, whom we both knew from school. We always like him and had not seen him since well before we were married, in fact it had been almost 30 years ago since we had last seen one another. Mike was a good artist back then, and a professional portrait painter now. He was making a good living and traveled a lot. We met on the street in front of a bar we used to like to go to back when it was legal to drink at 18. He was as skinny as he had been in high school, but still handsome, and his greying hair was the only indication that he had aged at all.
"You both look great, too!" Mike said, shaking my hand, then he gave Ellen a kiss on the cheek. "Let's go in and have a drink. I'm buying."
We agreed and soon were sipping drinks and rehashing old times, and this we did for almost two hours. The light was fading as evening neared and Mike suggested that we go up and see his studio. "Yeah, I still keep one here in town," he said, holding the door for Ellen as we bundled out into the cool autumn night. "But now I have one in Manhattan, too." This he said matter-of-factly with no boasting, just information. It was his lack of hubris that was one of the things Ellen and I always like about Mike.
"Do you live with anyone?" Ellen asked him as we neared the commercial center that contained Mike's little studio.
"Nope. Never married," he replied, shuffling through his keyring for the right key. He put it in the lock and turned. "I like the ladies, but still haven't found anyone really, you know, special that way."
The door swung open and it was clear that Mike still indeed liked the ladies. We walked to the center of the studio and as Mike turned on the lights we saw that all four walls had drawings hung on them, but one of the walls had about two dozen charcoal sketches of the female genitalia, close up and in various states of arousal. He must have noticed the unnerved look on my, and especially Ellen's face.
"Oh, those." Mike waved his hand dismissively. "I like to do nudes but I have trouble with, you know, that part of the anatomy."
"A real fascination with it, anyway!" Ellen said, then put her hand to her mouth and blushed a bit. She had two glasses of wine and was perhaps a bit giddy.
"Well, I am a man," Mike said with a chuckle.
"Do you know these ladies?" I asked.
"They're models," he said. "Well, mostly, anyway." He opened his refrigerator and selected a bottle of white wine. "Let's have more wine."
And we did. As the evening progressed we looked over Mike's portfolio, and Ellen especially was fascinated by the number of nudes in his work. I think, looking back, that she was amazed that art and eroticism were so well-melded in Mike's work. Women don't usually get off on the porn images that men often enjoy, but these were different. These images, well, I think they "turned her on," enough so that the evening took a most unexpected turn.
"Wow," Ellen said, putting the last portfolio down and picking up her wine glass. "You sure like drawing pussies!" She sipped from her glass.
I was startled by this comment. I don't think I have heard Ellen refer to the female parts as "pussy" since her teenage days. Even Mike was a little jarred by her comment, and looked defensive.
"It's actually a good part of my living. See, I'm in demand for certain types of glamour paintings and drawings. Like the stuff in the portfolios. Lots of women are interested in that sort of thing. Women you wouldn't imagine."
"Like who?" I asked.
Mike smiled. "I can't say. Discretion is why I'm so heavily booked. All of my best and most beautiful stuff aren't in those books. It's in my contract -- no copies, not even for me."
"It's not just discretion, it's talent, too," Ellen said, pointing to the works on the wall. "These are beautiful."
"Thanks. Very much," Mike replied. He was moved by her praise as he sensed, I believe, that this was all a first for her.
"God," she blushed. "It's hot in here."
I myself had not noticed.
* * * * * * * *
Halfway through the second bottle of wine I had noted that Ellen had been quiet and thoughtful for many minutes. It was not yet 9 p.m., and there was no sense that we were overstaying our welcome at Mike's, for he seemed to be enjoying seeing us again and all of our conversation. Finally I asked Ellen if there were anything wrong.
She looked startled. "No."
"Well, you're so quiet." I said.
