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A Creative Challenge Ch. 01

By: Pvidal



I knew as soon as she walked into my studio that something was wrong. 

Of all the nude models I had hired over the previous couple of years, Amy was the most outgoing and good-natured. Always happy – even though starting at seven o'clock in the morning is something that some models don't cope with at all well – Amy would usually spend the first half an hour or so of our drawing session telling me some highly embellished but amusing story about what happened at some club the night before, or about what some eccentric teacher at her college had said. 

Steve, the art model agent, warned me the first time I booked her that some of the other artists found Amy's chatter distracting, but it never bothered me. My drawing routine is to warm up with about half a dozen one-minute poses, then five or six two-minute poses, then a couple of ten-minute poses, before tackling something longer and more considered. So a little banter and a few laughs help to loosen me up mentally at the beginning of a session. 

Trying to capture something worthwhile in 60 seconds with a stick of charcoal or a pencil is a real challenge, but Amy knows how to give an artist something interesting. Because she is a dance and drama student she is quite supple and graceful, and practising dance moves in a mirror means she can visualise the way her body looks better than most. Sometimes if she feels dramatic and creative she goes quickly from one interesting pose to another, other times she'll just slowly go through her dance stretch routines until I say "Hold that", and she'll freeze for one or two minutes.

Some models quietly count the seconds during short poses, then move to the next one, but Amy chats, so I have to keep track of the time for her. I used to draw with a group at the local Art Institute, which is a lot less expensive than having a model all to myself, but I found that very frustrating. On my own with a model, I can say "Can you hold that a bit longer?" if a drawing is going well and just needs a bit more time, or "Forget this, give me something else" if it isn't. Amy has no idea of time when she is talking, but that suits me fine, because then each drawing can pretty much take as long as it takes, if the pose is not too hard to hold.

I knew she was not her normal self as soon as she walked in. I have a dressing room next to the studio – well, it's the bathroom, really, but when I'm drawing it's 'the dressing room' - and most of the models say hello, then undress next door and come back into the studio in some sort of robe. When I'm ready, they get onto the little dais I have set up – which is just two small stacks of wooden shipping pallets with a small piece of carpet and a blanket over them – and then drop the robe. 

Amy never bothers with the dressing room. She breezes in, says something like "Hi. Guess what happened..." or "Good morning, Sam, I've just got to tell you this. My friend Donna and I....", and then peels off her street clothes in front of me while she launches into today's story. When someone is talking to you, it's rude not to look at them, not to make eye contact, so I always have to watch her strip off, I can't politely sharpen pencils or something until she is ready, I have to give her undressing my full attention. I don't mind this at all, because she does it so naturally and casually. None of the art models are shy or uncomfortable about being nude with an artist in a studio, but Amy is the sort of girl who only seems to be really comfortable when she is fully naked. Nude is her natural state, and she is reluctant to put her clothes back on again to go out into the street. Most models slip their robe on when we take a break, but I don't think it's ever occurred to Amy to bring one with her. 

On this particular morning, she just said "Hello", dropped her bag, and silently undressed, with her back to me. Then she stepped up on to the dais, said "Ready?" without looking at me, and when I said "Ready when you are", she struck her first pose and I began to draw. The first pose was not very interesting, so I made a quick attempt at capturing it, then asked her to change.

"Amy, what's wrong?" I said, as she repositioned.

"Don't ask."

"OK."

The next time I told her to change the pose, she looked directly at me and I could see she was red-rimmed around the eyes. I knew she didn't drink very much so it wasn't a hangover. 

"Amy, you've been crying – what's up?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do, you're not exactly an inspirational model this morning."

"True. Sorry. Craig and I broke up last night. I spent the night at Donna's, crying."

"Oh Amy, I'm so sorry. You seemed so happy with Craig, what happened? Was it something to do with your modelling?"

"Oh God, no, nothing like that, Craig doesn't mind other men seeing my body – well, not all that much, and as long as he's the only one who gets to touch it." She gave a little sigh, then paused. "Correction. Didn't mind."

"What, then."

"It was my own stupid fault. Do you remember about six months ago, I told you we had a row, and then made up again?"

"Vaguely, I don't remember it being a big deal."

"It wasn't that big a deal, but what I didn't tell you was that while I was angry at him for a couple of days, I had an affair with someone else."

"An affair?"

"No, that's the wrong word, it wasn't really an affair, it was just one fuck. Not even a very good one. You know I wait tables at La Belle Provence on the weekend, don't you?"

"Yes, you've told me."

"Well, the wine waiter, Tod, has been trying for ever to get me to go out with him, and I quite like him, so he got me at a vulnerable time. We closed up late that Saturday night, and he knew I was pissed off at Craig and he offered me a sympathetic ear, and he walked me home. He was very sweet, and I invited him in, and ...hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. The next day I felt really guilty and I went round to Craig's and said I was sorry I got angry and made it up with him and he asked me to live with him so I quit my apartment and moved into his place. I didn't tell him about Tod, though, I knew it would break his heart, and I told Tod that he could forget about a repeat performance, that was his one and only Amy-fuck. Tod took it OK, and Craig and I have been really happy and closer than ever since then."

I had stopped drawing by now, and she had stopped modelling, and was sitting on her hands on the edge of the dais, looking really miserable. I sat down beside her.

"So what happened?"

"Miranda, who also works at the restaurant, used to go out with Craig until he dumped her – it was long before he went out with me, but she doesn't like me much on general principle. Tod told her that he had fucked me. He was just bragging, but she couldn't resist the chance to stick the knife in, so she told Craig. Bitch. So Craig was devastated, more because I hadn't told him the truth than anything else. I told him that it meant nothing, that it was a mistake, and that it wouldn't happen again, and that I didn't tell him at the time because I knew how hurt he would be. I didn't know then how much more hurt he would be finding out about it from someone like Miranda instead of from me. Now he doesn't trust me. I should have told him. I wish I had."

She turned and looked at me, sad like a scolded puppy, on the verge of tears again, then she said, "Oh Sam, I'm so unhappy", and she leaned her face into me. I put my arm around her bare shoulders and patted her gently. It's what you do if you want to comfort someone when you don't know what to say. She was quite still, not sobbing, but I could feel the wetness of her quiet tears seep through my T-shirt. For the next minute or so there was an awkward silence which I needed to break.

"What will you do now?"

"Hang in there, and hope he forgives me, I suppose, but he called me a whore last night, so it could take a while."

"He couldn't have meant that."

"No, I don't think he did, but he was pretty mad at me, and it stung like a slap in the face. It was so unlike him to say something cruel like that, he is usually so kind."

She managed a half-smile for me, which I understood as "Thank you for listening to me", then she took hold of the sleeve of my grubby drawing T-shirt, leaned over and wiped her eyes with it. It was a very familiar and intimate thing to do with someone who was not a very close friend, but she did it to surprise and amuse me, and to break the sadness of her mood.

"I would have used my own shirt, but....", she tailed off and looked down at her naked body and shrugged with a grin. 

"You're very welcome", I said.

"Come on, let's work. You're not paying me $22 an hour to cry on your shoulder and I need the money". With that she jumped up on the dais and with her hands on her hips, gave me a 'hurry up' stamp of her foot, and then pointed at my workspace. "Easel. Paper. Draw!"

"Hang on, who's the boss around here?" She was almost herself again, and the rest of the session was more like normal, although by Amy's standards still a bit subdued.

After about an hour, I stopped to make a couple of cups of coffee. Amy sprawled on the couch behind the easel, looking at the last drawing I had done, while she drank hers.

"That's not bad. I think you're getting better."

"Well it's such a relief to know that", I said sarcastically, "but I'll have none of your lip, girl, you're just the paid help." 

"Seriously, Sam, I like that drawing. It might be because of the way I feel right now, but I think you've captured some of my sad mood. Can I have it?"

Amy had never asked me for one of my drawings before, but I don't keep most of the drawings I do, mostly they go in the trash. Three drawing sessions a week, 8 to 10 drawings each time, means I create more than a 1000 drawings a year. Only a few make it in to the plan chest where I keep the best of my work, and I only exhibit and sell a few of those. Amy had asked for one of the drawings that would probably have gone into the recycle bin at the end of the session, so it was easy for me to say "Sure, help yourself".

"Thanks. Now I have to find a wall to hang it on. I can't stay with Donna for more than a few days, her place is tiny and her folks are coming to visit. So, I'm homeless."

"You could stay here", I said.

"Yeah, right. Are you going to do some drawing now, or what?" said Amy, as she put her cup down and jumped onto the dais again.

I was a little relieved that she thought I was joking, because I had made the offer without thinking. I had plenty of room, but I enjoyed my solitude, and someone else in the house might be more of a nuisance than I was prepared to put up with. 

Towards the end of the session I asked her to lie down and get comfortable and keep the one pose for the last half-hour. Amy draped herself face down over some big cushions, beautiful bottom in the air, long legs splayed, almost like a dead body fallen from a window into a dumpster. I couldn't see her face, but she was so still after about 20 minutes that I could have sworn she had fallen asleep, so I was startled when she suddenly spoke.

"Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"About me staying here with you. For a few days."

"Of course. There's lots of room. Spare bed. Two bathrooms. Just until you find somewhere of your own, you understand?" The words were out of my mouth before I had really thought about it.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose."

"No problem. I could do with the company." This was a polite lie quickly made up by the part of my brain that controlled speech, which was now in charge and over-riding the solitude-loving rational part.

"Oh, Sam, that's great. Thank you so much. Sharing houses and apartments with strangers is always a bit risky, but I know I'd be safe with you."

"You don't know that for sure. I could be a maniac." This was a half-hearted attempt at discouragement, which Amy assumed was an attempt at humor.

"If you were an axe-murdering rapist, I think I would know by now. So I'll bring my stuff around and move in on Friday, if that's alright with you. You are a treasure, Sam."

"No, I'm a madman."

A Creative Challenge Ch. 02



When Jeannie died five years ago and left me to get Sally and Mike through their final year at High School – and beyond – I felt that life had been very unfair to both of us. I was without my childhood sweetheart, and she missed out on the rewards that years of struggle were just starting to bring us. All through those early years when the kids were young, I was working ridiculous hours trying to keep our software business afloat, dreaming of the day when the world had caught up with my vision and we would be on easy street. 

Well, the world did catch up, and we sold the company to our biggest multinational competitor and I retired the day before my fortieth birthday, when the twins were just starting University. I'm not what you would call 'Loaded', but I don't ever need to punch someone else's clock.

I had always wanted to be an artist. When I left school, I went to Art College to do a Fine Arts course majoring in Painting and Sculpture. I had enough talent, but I was too young and didn't have the discipline to develop it, so I took the easy way out and switched to graphic design. Starving in a garret for 'Art' somehow didn't appeal to me. Designers could at least make a living. Dreams could wait.

My best friend at college was a marketing major, and a budding entrepreneur. I showed Paul some of my design ideas for software interfaces and he talked me into setting up a company with him even before we graduated. Paul was a genius at hustling investors so that we could develop my ideas and turn them into innovative products, but we still nearly went under at least a dozen times in those early years. Eventually, we got what he called 'traction' in the marketplace, and the royalty money started to roll in.

Then Jeannie was diagnosed with a melanoma, and in a few months she was gone. Without my naive enthusiasm for the future driving the company, Paul knew we would eventually slide back into oblivion, so he polished the company up, found a buyer, and we cashed in our chips.

For a while I drank too much, and probably would have taken an overdose and really cashed in my chips if I hadn't thought to turn the rumpus room into a studio so that I could learn to draw and paint again. I was so lonely, and so depressed, but having something new to focus on saved my life. Drawing seriously again was like meeting an old lover after half a lifetime – still familiar and appealing but in a different, more mature way. Some mornings I was so low I could hardly face getting out of bed, which is why I made a regular booking with the model agency for 7am, three mornings a week. I figured if a model was going to turn up, rain or shine, summer or winter, the least I could do was get up, switch on the heater in the studio in winter, or the air-conditioning in summer, and be ready to draw.

At first, it was that fixed routine that kept me going. Now I couldn't live without it. I love my work. I have a solo exhibition twice a year, and I draw from life three times a week for the same reason a concert pianist practices his scales – it's the basic skill that is the foundation for everything else. My last two exhibitions have been near sellouts, and I now have a range of limited edition prints that are being distributed by the best in the business and selling well, too. Isn't that ironic? An artist who doesn't desperately need the money is now making more than he did for all those years when he was chasing commercial success!

Amy was late coming round on Friday night. I thought she must have found some other place to stay and I was just going to bed when she finally arrived, wet through from the rain and from unloading several garbage bags full of her stuff from a cab.

She looked exhausted. I showed her where her room was, where the bathroom was, and I strongly advised her in a fatherly sort of way to get out of her wet clothes, have a hot shower and go to bed. I didn't hear the shower running after I went to bed, but then I was pretty sleepy myself.

It was after nine am on a gorgeous sunny early autumn morning and I was at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when her bedroom door opened and I heard bare feet slapping their way down the passage. 

"Morning, Sam", she said as she opened the fridge door. 

I looked up from the paper and said "Holy shit, Amy!" to her bare ass, which was all I could see as she was bending down with her head in the fridge. 

"What on earth are you doing?" I said.

"Looking for a carrot for breakfast in this pitiful crisper drawer", she said. "Don't you have any fresh fruit or vegetables?"

"I'm more your coffee and raisin toast sort of person", I said, enjoying the close-up view of Amy's lovely rear. "Don't you usually get dressed before you have breakfast?"

"Nope. Does it bother you?"

"Not at all. I just wasn't expecting ..."

"...A naked house guest?" said Amy. She stood up and turned round to say "Hello". 

Although I had seen her in the nude many times before, this was different. This was my kitchen, not the studio, and it was very different seeing her so nonchalently naked in this different context. Amy was quite tall for a dancer, almost as tall as me, and although she was slim, she didn't have a scrawny ballet dancer's body, she was much stronger and more solid than that. And she had tits. Perfect Marie Antoinette champagne glass tits, small enough to sit up but big enough to bounce just a little when she moved, with slightly puffy pink nipples the tips of which turned into snap frozen peas if the studio was not quite warm enough in the winter. She stood and turned and moved like a dancer, but she was a beautifully proportioned real woman, and I loved looking at her and admiring her, and drawing her. The difference was, in the studio, she was a nude model, she was light and shade and form and line. Here, she was a very naked and very sexy young woman. In the studio, I would never get a woody, but here in my kitchen I was aware that it was a definite possibility.

"It's Saturday, we don't draw on Saturday morning", I said.

"I know that. I just wanted some breakfast before I unpack my stuff, and then I'll go out to look for an apartment."

"Breakfast in the nude?", I asked.

"Not just breakfast, Sam, everything. I don't wear clothes when I'm at home. This is me. It's how I am, its how I live. I'll get dressed if you want me to, but I certainly didn't think it would bother you of all people. After all, you've stared at every square inch of my hide for hours, even the naughty bits."

"It truly doesn't bother me, and what do you mean 'naughty bits'? You don't have any naughty bits. Or ugly bits. Especially from where I'm standing right now, and I'm an expert."

"Why thank you, kind sir" she said, with a little curtsey. "You can't tell me that you never walk around this house without any clothes on. Now be honest, Sam."

"Of course I do, quite often. But not when I've got guests."

"Well, you obviously don't invite the right sort of guests. I know it's your house, Sam, but I think we should change some of the house rules. I think we should call it Naked City and I think you should get your gear off, too." 

"No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm twice your age."

"And...?"

"Because I'm not as... perfect as you are."

"More flattery. But it's not a good enough argument. Off they come."

So saying, she took hold of the bottom of my T-shirt and lifted it straight up. I could have held my arms down and stopped her, but I raised them as she lifted hers and in one movement, Amy stripped my shirt off and tossed it over her shoulder. Then she undid the drawstring on my shorts and squatted in front of me, pulling them down around my ankles, and then tugging them sideways so that I had to step out of them. I hadn't long been out of bed, and the shirt and shorts were all I was wearing. Sitting on her heels, Amy's face was level with my now semi-stiff cock, and she looked straight at it while I stepped out of the shorts. 

"Doesn't that feel better?" she said, standing up and giving me a big smile.

"You're a difficult person to say 'no' to".

"I know. Infuriating, isn't it?" 

She turned and walked back into the passageway to her bedroom. Without turning round, she said,

"You're in better shape than you think. For an old guy who's twice my age!"

She skipped into the bedroom and closed the door before I could reply. This is going to get interesting, I thought to myself. Although I was genuinely a bit self-conscious at first about displaying my middle-aged body to this beautiful young woman, being naked around the house was fine with me. If that's the way she wanted it, so be it. 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 03



I didn't see Amy again till later that night. She was out flat-hunting all day, but without any luck. Finding somewhere that she could afford that was not a filthy dump was not going to be easy. Her feet were sore, her temper was frayed from arguing with letting agents and landlords, and she was hungry.

"What's left of a chinese takeaway is in the fridge. You're welcome to heat that up if you want," I said.

"I didn't get around to getting any groceries today, so that would be great, Sam, thanks."

"Don't worry about food, I'll do the supermarketing tomorrow morning, and I'll get enough for both of us for the week."

"You'll have to let me split the cost with you, I don't want to be a freeloader".

"You will not. You're my guest." I knew she had very little money, and she would need it all for a deposit on a flat. "But you can push the shopping cart if you want to make a contribution – and put the stuff away when we get back. I can't be bothered doing that bit, and food tends to just hang around the kitchen until it goes off."

"Eww, gross. It's a deal." 

Amy went off to take a shower, and I went to bed early. Sunday morning I made a point of not putting any clothes on when I got out of bed, and I ate my breakfast in the nude, feeling somewhat decadent, knowing there was a guest in the house. Although my morning erection took longer than usual to go down, I was a little relieved that it had gone before a naked Amy wandered into the kitchen, yawning. She glanced at me and said "Woohoo. Welcome to Naked City".

"It was your idea", I said.

"I know. It was a good one, too. You'll get to like it."

"I already do." She seemed very pleased with herself when I said that. 

"Are you sure you won't let me pay for some of the groceries?"

"Quite sure."

"Then I'll have to find some other way to repay you," she smirked. I had no idea what she was planning, but I had a feeling it would be interesting.

Dressed to go shopping, Amy wore a pretty pink sarong tied around her waist, and a thin loose sleeveless cotton top. The sarong was tied about as low on her hips as it could be tied, so there was big bare midriff gap between it and the short white top. I had seen her in similar clothes before, so the obvious lack of underwear was not a surprise. Very few of the models who work for me put on any underwear when they come to the studio, because most panties and bras leave red marks behind that take ages to go away.

When we stepped out of the house into the sunlight, it was immediately obvious how flimsy the cotton materials were.

"Amy, I can see right through those clothes when the light's behind you."

"I know, cool aren't they?"

"They certainly look very breezy, but they could also get you arrested."

"Not a chance, Sam. You worry too much. I know the sarong is a bit sheer, but I decided to wear it today just for you." 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, supermarkets are such ugly places, and you having such fine aesthetic appreciation, I thought if I pushed the cart you might like to walk behind and look at my ass instead," she said laughing at me very cheekily. "It's a reward for being nice to me."

"Very thoughtful of you," I said, still not convinced that some security guard at the mall wouldn't call the cops when they saw Miss Naked City walking around.

At the mall, Amy strolled around looking utterly gorgeous, as if she was oblivious to the fact that she was semi-naked to anyone who looked at her closely, which most of the men in the shopping centre did. Walking behind her as we went from aisle to aisle, I had a wonderful veiled view of her backside, just as she had promised, and her ass looked even nicer in motion than when it was relaxed and stationary posing for me in the studio.

At one point I stopped to read the list of ingredients on one of the products, but Amy just kept walking. She was half an aisle length ahead of me, when I whistled to get her attention. She stopped and turned and looked at me. There were several other people in the aisle between me and where she was standing, all looking intently at stuff on the shelves, but she paid them no attention at all. She smiled, then slowly and casually she lifted the front of her shirt up to her chin, showing me the whole of both bare breasts. An adrenaline rush hit the receptors in my brain within about 2 milliseconds but I tried not to show it in my face, and just waited for her to lower her hands and cover up again. But she didn't. Amazingly, no-one else noticed immediately, and I realized that she was playing a game of dare with me – the first one to move loses. 

One of the other shoppers, a middle-aged man in workman's coveralls looked away from the shelves and saw Amy's tits and he froze. She was aware that another pair of eyes were now staring at her as well, but she ignored him and kept her eyes locked on mine, still smiling, totally in charge. The man swivelled round, looked briefly at me, then stared lingeringly at Amy's breasts, then quickly back at me. I knew I was beaten and started walking down the aisle towards her. She slowly lowered her top down and let it go. 

"That got your attention," she said when I joined her.

"You can't do that in here", I hissed at her.

"I just did, and it's OK, no-one saw me – apart from you and Bob the Builder, and I think I made his day, he looks disappointed that the show's over."

I looked up towards the ends of the aisle and spun Amy round and pointed at the security cameras mounted above the shelves looking straight at her.

"Those? Don't worry about them. If anyone was watching that particular monitor for those few seconds, what's he going to do? I'll bet it was some spotty security guard who is hoping I'll give him a repeat performance. You know, if I was a shoplifter, I'd strip naked and dance in aisle 3, to get all the security guards clustered round that TV screen with their tongues hanging out, while my accomplice empties the cash register at the end of aisle 9. That could be the perfect crime. "

"I'm not your accomplice, and you can't flash your tits while you're here with me."

"Does that mean I can't do this either?" She reached down to the gap in her sarong, opening it up wide and showing the security cameras her pussy.

"Amy, put that away, I'm serious."

"Well, don't be. This is just a bit of fun, and flashing turns me on. Isn't it turning you on, too?" 

"No", I lied.

"Not even a little?" 

"No."

"Liar", she said.

"Of course I'm lying. I want to jump your cute little bones right here in household cleaning products, but I'm not going to. We are going to pay for our groceries and get out of here while we still have our liberty. You came here to push, so push." 

I put both her hands on the cart handle and one of mine in the small of her back and guided her towards the checkouts.

"At least we've established that you do actually want to fuck me. Even if you are behaving like a boring old man twice my age." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 04



"Amy, I need to straighten a couple of things out with you."

The morning's events at the supermarket worried me. Amy had been in a very playful mood, and she was being very provocative, pushing me to see how daring I was prepared to be – or how daring I was prepared to let her be. I felt sure that her over-the-top display was her way of over-compensating for being dumped by her boyfriend, and I didn't want her to start something with me that she would regret later. And, however tempting it was for me to take advantage of her openness and sexual teasing, she was young, I liked her, and I didn't want to lose her as a model, or to lose her as a friend. It was very flattering that she seemed to be flirting with me quite seriously, but to be really honest, I was also scared of getting too close to her and then losing her completely. I wasn't ready for unrequited love.

Nevertheless, here I was, sitting in my kitchen, without a stitch on, watching this beautiful girl, who was also stark naked, calmly putting my groceries away for me. And I had to admit to myself that I was becoming very fond of her and I very much wanted to fuck her.

"That sounds ominous," she said. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, but I don't want this to get out of control."

"You don't want what to get out of control?"

"You...me...this arrangement...where this is heading – because after this morning I don't know what you think comes next. I love it that you are so relaxed and open with me. I am happy for my house to be Naked City, because I love looking at you without your clothes on, and I have to admit it is nicely erotic to be in the same place as you when you're naked, and to be naked with you."

"But....?"

"But I am twice your age – and please don't say anything about that, it's true. And you have a boyfriend who you love and who loves you and who isn't very tolerant of you getting too personal with other men. And I'm not quite ready to get arrested with you just because you can't keep your clothes on in public."

"Had."

"I'm sorry?"

"I HAD a boyfriend. I think that's all over, Sam. I've called him lots of times in the last week, but he doesn't even want to speak to me. I want him back, but I hurt him badly, and I don't think he'll ever forgive me."

There wasn't much I could say in response to that. It sounded like she was probably right, and I didn't want to lose her respect by mouthing platitudes. She stood silently leaning against the kitchen bench for a minute or two, staring at her feet. When she spoke, she was much more subdued than she had been earlier in the day.

"Did I really embarrass you this morning? I used to tease Craig by flashing him in public like that, and it embarrassed him something awful, but the more he told me stop it, the more provocative I was. I couldn't help it. Now he thinks I'm a whore. I was just playing, Sam, just cheering myself up, but I won't do things like that anymore if you don't like it."

The right thing would have been to tell her that I would appreciate it very much if she behaved in a more responsible and restrained manner in future, because I was a respectable middle-aged widower with children her age and a reputation in the community. That's what I should have said.

"But I did like it. I liked it very much. It was...thrilling."

"Really?" Amy's eyes lit up. That was obviously something that her easily embarrassed boyfriend had never told her. I wasn't sure at the time if it was wise of me to have told her either, but it was the truth.

"Yes, really. When you so calmly lifted your top right up and then held it up, I couldn't breathe. I thought my heart had stopped. And you looked so...calm and... knowing and...." 

I wasn't expressing myself very well, but Amy seemed to understand exactly what I was trying to say, and jumped in.

"That's it, when I do something like that, I KNOW. I know everything that's happening at that moment. I knew what you were thinking, I knew exactly what was going through Bob the Builder's mind, and it's like the world has slowed down and I'm in complete control of it. It makes me feel so powerful. And you know what else?"

"What?"

"It makes my pussy wet like I'm about to cum. Like somebody is rubbing my clit. It's just the best feeling." She screwed up her face and looked at me. "Is that normal – I mean you don't think there's something wrong with me, do you?"

I wanted to laugh at the naivety of what she was asking me, but I knew she would be insulted if I did because to her it was a serious question.

"In what way? You mean physically?"

"No, mentally. Do you think I'm some sort of pervert for getting so turned on by letting people see my body?"

"Of course, not, you goose. Almost everybody has some sort of fetish, something they do or they fantasise about doing that turns them on more than other things. In my book it's a perversion only if it actually hurts people who don't want to be hurt, but pretty much anything else you can imagine is normal, whatever it is. Exhibitionism is very normal, and you're an exhibitionist. It's why you do art modelling"

"So, what's your fetish?" she asked.

"Same as yours, I guess."

"What," she laughed, "you like to flash your tits at strangers in supermarkets?"

"Amy, if I had tits like yours, I'd want the whole world to see them all the time." Now we were both laughing, and her face looked sunnier than it had since before she broke up with Craig. 

"Well, then it can't be the same for you as it is for me" she said. "I get off on letting people see me naked especially when they don't expect to. If you did that, you would be locked up for indecency. The closest I've come to seriously offending anybody is when some acne-faced fat-assed security guard wearing a 'What Would Jesus Do?' bracelet called me a 'heinous minion of Satan'."

"You're right, I don't have the urge to open my raincoat and wave my cock in people's faces, the idea of doing that doesn't turn me on at all. But I loved it when my Jeannie wore a sheer see-through top and no panties to a restaurant on a hot night just to please me. I loved it when a couple of hikers had to step over us while we were making love on a walking track in a national park. I love being here, nude, with you. I love you realising that I very much want to fuck you, even though it would change everything, which is why I don't want to fuck you. I love skinny-dipping with friends at beaches that are not supposed to be nude beaches. I love it when you wear almost nothing out in the street but behave as though you're fully dressed. I love the idea of making love with someone where we can both be seen, but where no-one knows that's what we're doing. I love..."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love the idea of fucking in public?"

"When you put it like that it sounds very basic and animalistic. I was thinking of something a bit more planned and discrete and tasteful. But...yes, I do."

"OK."

"OK, what?"

"Nothing. Just OK. Sam, I think you're more of a voyeur than an exhibitionist."

"I suppose I am. Yes. It's why I mostly draw nudes rather than anything else, I guess."

"I thought that was about art, not sex."

"That too."

"I like to flash. You like to watch. We could be the perfect couple."

"And we're also still artist and model, and tomorrow's Monday, and you're booked to sit for me at 7am. I'll wake you at 6:30."

"OK." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 05



I felt very different in my studio the next morning. 

From the very first drawing, I could do no wrong. Every mark I made was right, whether it was with a brush, a pastel stick, pencil or charcoal, each different medium seemed to want to do exactly what I asked it to. I drew quickly and fluently, and I felt that I had energy to spare. Amy could feel it, too, and my energy was charging her up. Instead of gazing at a spot on the wall, drifting with her own thoughts, she watched me like a hawk, trying to sense when I was ready to change and thinking about what sort of pose I might need next so she was ready to suggest something as soon as I grabbed another sheet of paper. It was wonderful, and quite unlike any other session I had had with any model.

When we took a break, I picked up all the drawings that I had flung onto the floor behind me in my eagerness to start the next one, pinned them up around the wall, and stepped back to have a look at them. Amy put a cup of coffee into my hand, and stood next to me, looking at our first hour's work.

"Wow", she said. "These are so much better than anything I've seen you do before."

"I know," I said. There was a tingling excitement in my gut, which I knew wasn't last night's Thai takeaway. The drawings weren't just technically more competent than usual, there was an extra spark to them. "Why do you think they're better?" I asked her.

She didn't answer straight away, but cocked her head to one side, chewing her lip while she found the right words to fit her thoughts.

"These drawings are all me."

"Brilliant. We should get you onto a TV quiz show."

"Ha-ha, very funny. You're not listening, Sam. These drawings are all ME. Amy. Not just the 'nude model of the day'. Not just a body seen objectively, with shape and form and proportions, like you would usually do only better usual. There's something else. There's a real person in these drawings. There's a connection. I think it's because in these pictures I'm looking at you looking at me."

"I think so too", I said. "It's the eye contact that makes them more personal, but there's something else coming through in these drawings, there's an erotic edge, a sexiness that I don't usually seem to capture."

"Perhaps you don't normally feel very sexy when you're drawing."

"I don't. I'm focusing on the surface, on what I'm seeing, and on my technique. Difficult though it might be to believe this, I don't hardly ever think about sex when I'm drawing, but I feel much closer to you today than before, and you are a much sexier person to me after the last few days than you were before."

"Do you want to make the rest of this session something special? Take that bloody old shirt off."

I always wear my favourite long and baggy t-shirt when I'm in the studio. It was white, once, but now it was permanently stained with ink and paint and charcoal dust. I normally wear some old loose pants as well, but today, I just had the shirt on, which covered me almost to my knees anyway.

"But I need this to wipe my hands and brushes on", I protested.

"No, you don't. You could use a rag or something. You could still use the shirt, if you like, as long as you don't wear the filthy thing. Come on, Sam, give me something sexy to look at, too."

"Let me go back 20 years and I'll get my sexy body. But in the meantime, you'll have to make do with the one I'm wearing now."

"Sam, you're a very hard man to pay a compliment to."

"Promise you won't give me a hard time if I ...you know, if I get a hard time."

"I'll be very disappointed if you don't. Get that shirt off. Now."

Amy was right, drawing her in the nude, in the nude, took our drawing session to another level of sensuality. 

In her first pose, Amy was lying back away from me on two large cushions with her knees in the air. Most of her body was obscured behind her legs and feet which looked much bigger than the rest of her and took up most of the picture because they were closer to me, but I could see her face peeping out from behind them and one breast and one arm. I was very happy about the way I had captured the soft, slightly amused expression on her face. I told her it looked like a 'Mona Lisa' smile.

" I know why she was smiling at Leonardo", said Amy.

"And why was that?" I asked. The grin on her face was like the one she had when she lifted her top at me in the supermarket.

"She was thinking about changing her pose to something like this". As she said this, Amy put the soles of her feet together, parted her knees and let them slowly fall to the dais, one each side of her, opening and showing me her sweet pussy with her thighs spread as far apart as they could be. Her inner lips were quite small and not usually visible from the outside, but her pussy was now more open than I had ever seen it, like a creamy orchid with a pink centre. Inside her lips her pussy was glistening, moist, and I could see her smooth round clitoris peeping out of the little pussy folds. I was conscious of not breathing, and I could feel my heart pumping in my groin, but I tried to sound like a professional artist.

"Very nice, Amy. In fact, more than very nice. But I can't draw that."

"Why not? You wanted erotic. Isn't this erotic enough?"

"It's too erotic. You look like a porn star."

"So what? If you drew me like this, it wouldn't be pornography, it would be art. Wouldn't it?"

She had a point. Why did I feel that some types of pose were 'art poses', but others were 'pornography'? Amy had been thinking about this before she opened her legs, and she was two steps ahead of me.

"If it's OK to draw my tits, my nipples, my ass, and every other part of my body, what's wrong with my pussy? It's part of me, part of who I am. Everything else about my body is supposedly capable of being art, so why not this?"

I didn't have an easy answer to that. I had to agree that every bit of her was very beautiful, especially including her pussy.

"Sam, please draw me like this, wide open. It makes me feel very vulnerable but incredibly horny, and it will be a beautiful drawing, I just know it."

"It will be my privilege", I said, giving her a polite bow.

"And later, I'll take care of that for you", she said pointing to my cock which was fully distended and standing straight out. "But not yet, you've got work to do, and you'll get better results if you stay horny for a while longer."

"I've been horny since Saturday morning", I said.

"Me too", said Amy, "but I'm willing to suffer for the sake of art if you are."

She was right about the drawing. I pinned a full sheet of heavy and expensive handmade Arches paper to the easel and quickly blocked out the composition of the figure with a grey wash - a large brush with some very dilute Indian ink. While this was still partly damp I used a long, fine, sable brush and black ink to sketch in her body and spread legs. This boldly captured the tension in her outstretched bent legs from her knees to her groin area, and focused the viewer's eye onto the holy of holies – her pussy. Amy took a quick break to stretch her leg muscles while this brushwork dried, then I drew some more detailed sections back into the ink base with terracotta, black, and white conte sticks. Her eyes looking straight at the viewer, her hands gentle and relaxed, her feet pressed together sole to sole like two hands praying, and her pussy, glinting with promise and then curving under and disappearing into the shadow of her ass. Some scumbled blue pastel to indicate the blanket and to separate the figure from the background and it was done. It was still rough and unfinished in places, but I had the good sense to stop at that point before I overworked it and ruined it. 

I asked Amy to unbend herself and come and tell me what she thought of it. I stepped back to look at it. It was a very strong piece of work, and incredibly erotic. 

"Wow", said Amy, joining me behind the easel. "That's so beautiful."

"That's because it's the real you."

"You say the sweetest things sometimes, Sam." She leaned her head against my shoulder and put her arm around my waist. I lifted my arm over her head and put it around her shoulders. Neither of us took our eyes away from the Amy on the easel gazing calmly back at us from the other side of her gaping pussy.

"Do you want to keep going, or is your cock going to burst? There was excitement in her voice, and I knew that she was being as turned on by this more exhibitionist style of modelling as she was by the possibility of what might come after.

"Are you trying to short-change me? I'm entitled to another $11 worth of your best modelling efforts, and I'm on a roll, so get your ass up on that dais and give me something a bit better than that last pose." 

"Yes sir, right away sir, coming right up."

This time she sat on the edge of the low platform, her left leg bent with her foot on the floor. Her right foot was up on the platform, knee in the air, so her pussy was again fully exposed to me. Propping herself upright with her left arm behind her, she slid her right hand down her belly and started slowly circling her clit with her middle finger. She leaned her head back and looked at me through half-closed bedroom eyes.

"Will this do?"

"Oh, yes, that'll do just fine. How long can you stay doing that?"

"I don't know, but don't draw slowly". She was already breathing very quickly, and the cheeks on her face were starting to flush.

She was a voyeur's dream and I drew at a frantic pace. She lightly moved her finger round and round her clit, stopping after every ten seconds or so to hold her breath, then gently breathing out and massaging her nerve endings again. The drawing quickly captured the coiled-spring tension in her body and throat.

"How much longer, Sam?"

"Hang in there, babe, I'm nearly done."

I put the final touches to the hand which was doing the business at her groin, letting her fingers smudge and blur a little, which captured the impression of small but urgent movements, and then I said "That's it. Done." 

She didn't respond, and I thought she may not have heard me, so I said "Amy, you can stop now."

"No I can't", she said through her clenched teeth. The middle finger of her masturbating hand pressed harder against her clit and rubbed faster. She had been sucking in little breaths until her ribcage was expanded as far as it could go, then she stopped breathing, her face was scrunching, her cheeks almost purple, veins standing up on her neck and forehead.

"Uh. Uh. Aaaaaaaaaah."

Her release deflated her like a punctured tire, and as the orgasm flooded through her, she leaned forward, slid two fingers into her pussy as far as they would go, and held them there with her other hand for a few seconds. Then she finger-fucked herself quickly with one hand while she rubbed her clit with the other until her stomach muscles convulsed with the next wave, and she hunched over with a grunt. She held her hand still for a few seconds, then fucked herself to another convulsion. Gradually, the intensity slowed down, and finally she sat still, breathing heavily.

It was one of the most exquisite things I had ever been privileged to watch. My hand was wrapped tightly round my cock, which was dribbling in anticipation, but I wasn't stroking it, because what was coming in through my eyes was so exciting I was afraid to distract myself. I didn't want to miss even the smallest bit of this intimate moment that Amy was sharing with me.

"You OK?" I asked softly.

"No, I want more", she mumbled. Looking up at me, she said "Bring that thing you've got in your hand over here, Sam".

'Are you sure about this? Do you want to get seriously involved with an old guy like me? You might regret it later."

"Oh, for goodness sake! We've been getting 'involved' as you so quaintly put it since you let me stay here. And I'm not offering you my heart and soul, I'm offering you sex. If you don't fuck me in the next thirty seconds I will scream until they come and lock you up for insanity." 

She shook her head in exasperation, smiled, then leaned back on her elbows and spread her knees apart. Her pussy was drenched and swollen and deliciously inflamed. If somebody had told me at that moment that fucking Amy was to be the last thing I would do on this earth, I would still have done it.

I knelt on the floor between her thighs with my hands on top of her legs. She was sitting on the edge of the dais with her pussy at exactly the right height. There was no need for either of us to guide my cock to the right place, as I leaned forward it seemed to know exactly where it wanted to go. We both looked down and watched as it eased slowly past both sets of lips then slid in smoothly as far as it could go. When our pubic bones met, Amy sighed and closed her eyes. I pulled out slowly, then pushed in again, enjoying the sensation of her tight well-lubricated pussy up and down the length of my shaft. I only did this three or four times before Amy started another orgasm.

"Don't cum yet, Sam... oh that's good....don't you dare cum yet... yessss."

Fortunately, I have never had a 'hair trigger' and over the years I have learned to control when I came. Jeannie liked to fuck, but she liked me to come at the same time she did, and she sometimes took ages to find her orgasm. Amy had no such difficulty and she wrapped her legs round my waist, her heels pushing my pelvis into hers as she exploded and gripped my cock with her pussy. As her second orgasm subsided, she lifted one leg up and over my head, and still impaled on my cock, spun herself round so that she was face down with her forehead on the dais, kneeling in front of me. 

"That was a very cool move, do they teach you to do that at dance class?" I asked.

"Shut up and fuck me, Sam, it's your turn now."

I obediently took hold of her hips and fucked her pussy from behind. She reached down between her legs with both hands – one of them was obviously rubbing her clit again, the other was caressing my shaft whenever I pulled back, and fondling my balls when I pushed in. She started to make what I was beginning to recognise as her little pre-orgasm grunting noises.

"Now would be a good time," she managed to squeeze out in a strained voice.

Her timing was perfect. It had been a long time since I'd had any really good sex, and I couldn't have held back much longer to save my life. My scrotum had tightened up like shrink-wrap under a heat-gun, and my spine was tingling all the way up to my scalp. I did not need to tell her that I was about to blow.

"Come now...don't pull out."

My hips were slamming into her buttocks and the feel of her pubic bone rubbing the sensitive underside of my cock was all that was needed to send us both over the top. As my ejaculating muscles went into spasm, it felt like my cock was suddenly twice as fat and three times as long as it really was and I had this illusion that I was emptying myself somewhere up into her chest cavity. Or maybe I momentarily lost consciousness and it was a dream.

I bent down and pressed my chest onto her back, still inside her, and reached under her to hold her tits, one in each hand. I had been looking at them for months, this was the first time I had held them. She put her hands over mine to hold me against her back and to stop me letting go or pulling out of her.

"You called me 'babe'", she murmured.

"Did I? When?"

"When you were drawing me masturbating."

"Did I?

"I thought it was so sweet. Was that what you called your wife?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that, because she had perceptively guessed the truth. I didn't deliberately call her 'babe', the word had just slipped out. I still didn't know Amy well enough to know how to answer that sort of multi-edged woman-question. I took a punt on the truth being the right answer.

"Yes." 

"I thought so. It's OK. It was still sweet of you."

"But I only called her that when I was drawing her masturbating", I said with a smile she couldn't see.

"You never drew her masturbating. You're a lying swine, Sam." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 06



"Do I still get my $44 for this morning's session?"

"Why not, you more than earned it," I said, "And I don't mean for what happened after I stopped drawing." I added quickly.

"No, I know you didn't mean that. I just thought that maybe because you're letting me stay here rent-free, in return you might be expecting me to model for you for nothing. I would if you wanted me to, but I still need money to get my own place, so...."

"Of course you still get paid." I interrupted her. "Actually, I was thinking of putting your hourly rate up. For the drawings I got out of this morning, $22 an hour is far too cheap."

"Really? That'd be great, Sam. Thanks. Most of the artists I work for are amateurs who aren't starving and I reckon they would all be willing to pay a bit more, but I don't think Steve is a very good agent because he isn't game to put our rates up. Trouble is, he's the only art model agent in this city, and he has some strange ideas."

We were still in the studio, sprawled on the big sofa against the back wall, feeling very relaxed and warm inside. Amy was lying back against me with my arm around her, and I was gently stroking one of her tits, which she seemed very happy to let me do. 

"Like what?" I asked.

"Well, for instance, one of his 'rules' is that to model for his clients, you have to have pubic hair. He says he had complaints about models who shaved their pussies because they looked like lap dancers or porn stars."

"I think that's bullshit." I said. "I can't imagine any artist complaining about a model not having enough body hair. If you study art history, you can look at any classical nude painted before the 20th century and none of the models had pubic hair. It wasn't just that artists like Rubens and Botticelli and Michelangelo pretended they couldn't see it, their models didn't have any. Men didn't shave their pubic hair, because you can see that in old paintings and sculptures, but bald pubes were fashionable for women for centuries, right up until the Victorians. I think Steve just likes hairy women."

"So do I, but if you want art model work in this town, you play by Steve's rules. When I first decided to model my way through college, he wouldn't book me for any of his clients until I grew some pubic hair back."

"Did you used to shave yours off before?"

"Totally. I was really pissed off about having to go wild and woolly again, but what can you do?"

Steve's personal little fetish helped to explain why most of the art models I had worked with went for the no-make-up and minimal-grooming hippy look. That meant a full shaggy bush of pubic hair, and in some cases, hairy underarms and hairy legs as well. Amy was more groomed than most, because she shaved her legs and armpits and kept her pubes trimmed fairly short. 

"What can you do? I don't know what YOU can do, but I'll tell you what I can do. I'll tell Steve that from now on I want 'classical' art nudes and I'll only book models that have no body hair at all. That should fix him."

"Would you do that?" She sat up, very taken with that idea. "But you won't have many models to choose from. None, in fact."

"I only need one model right now – you – and we can make sure you meet my new standards in no time."

"Sam, are you offering to shave me?"

"Is that all right with you?"

"If you want to. Now?"

"Why not? I'll go get a razor and some shaving cream, we can do it in here."

Amy looked very stern for a moment and said, "Show me your hands."

"Why?"

"I want to make sure they're not shaking too much after such strenuous activity," she grinned.

I fetched a couple of towels, a new Mach3 razor, some shaving cream, a shaving brush, and a bowl of warm water, and took them back to the studio. Amy was already laying back on the couch with her legs apart. 

"Now there's a pretty sight for sore eyes," I said, as I spread one of the towels underneath her and knelt down between her thighs. I squeezed some of the cream from the tube straight onto her pubic mound, and worked it into a lather with the warm wet brush. Amy closed her eyes and started breathing heavily almost straight away.

"Hey, don't get off again just yet, I can't do this if you're thrashing around," I said.

"Well, take it easy on my clit with that brush, then," she replied. "Sam, why do so many men love smooth shaved pussies so much?"

"Why do so many women?" I asked in reply.

"That's easy. Because it feels cleaner, and it makes the area more sensitive, which means sex feels better, especially when someone is eating your pussy. But that isn't what appeals to men, is it?"

"Yes it is, at least partly. Eating a hairy pussy is a bit like what I imagine kissing a man with a beard feels like – and I have never fancied doing that. Smooth pussy is so much nicer to eat. And you don't get pubes stuck in your teeth."

"OK, we agree that eating pussy when it's bald feels nicer for both of us, but there's more to it than that, isn't there? Some women say that all men are closet child molesters and a hairless pussy makes them sexually excited because it's a sign that the girl is still a child who has not yet reached puberty. I hope that's not true, is it?"

"Well, now that you mention it, do you have a little sister? Ouch!" Amy had quickly clouted me round the back of my head. "Joke, Amy, joke."

"You men are disgusting creatures, I've a good mind to grow my pubes really long and let them turn into dreadlocks. Sam, smoothness isn't attractive to men because it makes us look like jailbait, is it?"

By now I was carefully shaving down her pubic area, in the same direction as the hair growth, rinsing the razor carefully between each short stroke. The Mach3 left smooth skin in its path.

"I wondered about that myself. I've always been very turned on by a completely smooth and hairless pussy, and I used to think that maybe it was a sort of perversion and that it was somehow connected with being a paedophile. But now I know that's not true, at least in my case. When my daughter was born, I remember being a bit worried in case I became sexually aroused by her as she grew up, but that was such a ridiculous fear in the end. I learned pretty quickly that I am not at all turned on by pre-adolescent girls. A bald pussy on a woman is a huge turn-on, though."

"So, do you know why?"

"Not for sure, I don't, but I have some ideas about that. I know it's not hard-wired into our genes as an evolved human male physiological response, because not everyone likes the bald look, even though I know shaving and waxing is much more popular again these days. It's fashionable, it's part of the culture today, but it's still a personal preference. I had a friend in college who was amazingly turned on by extra hairy pubes on women, he loved it when a woman's pubic hair was a thick mat that grew out and up as far as her navel and down her thighs towards her knees."

"Oh, yuck. You're kidding."

"I'm not. Just the idea of that would make him go weak at the knees. Otherwise normal guy."

"But, on the other hand, you...," she prompted.

"But on the other hand, I go weak at YOUR knees."

Amy had a very pretty smile, and the room lit up when she laughed. 

"Very funny, but you're not answering my question."

Both of us found it very hard to concentrate on conversation at this point, because I had finished the actual shaving, and with soapy fingers I was carefully and slowly checking every inch of the skin around her pussy with my fingertips, a process which was obviously as pleasant for her as it was for me. I paid particular attention to the area just around and above her clit, and then I tidied up the few remaining bits of stubble I had missed, and wiped her now exquisitely bald pussy gently with the towel. 

"I think that's done. Make sure I haven't missed any bits, then flip yourself over."

"What for?" she asked, in obvious anticipation.

"If I'm to do the job properly I have to shave your ass-crack, too."

I could tell that was not the answer she was hoping for, but she did what I asked, feeling carefully for any stubble round her pussy, but not finding any. Then she knelt up on the dais, with her knees apart, her head and chest down, and her ass sticking up in the air. 

"OK," she said, "if you're sure you want to do that bit as well."

"Of course I do. When I do a job I finish it off properly." 

"That wasn't the kind of finishing off I had in mind."

"I know it wasn't, but you'll have to be patient." 

Amy had been doing a less efficient job of keeping the hair around her ass trimmed and neat, which told me that she must have been doing it for herself. Craig obviously hadn't been helping her, which told me he wasn't as keen on bald pussy as I am. I put some shaving cream on the brush and started lathering her up. Her pussy was glistening and almost dripping by now, and with my head so close to it she smelled of sex. My cock, which had been like a length of metal pipe since I first had the idea of shaving her, now felt like it wanted to explode. I knew I wouldn't get the job finished at all at this rate unless I could distract both of us mentally for a few minutes at least.

"What was the question again?" I asked.

"I want to know why men love smooth shaved pussies so much."

"Well, for me it's both a visual and a tactile thing. When I was at school, dreaming of being an artist, I read books and went to galleries to look at paintings by old masters. They painted lots of nude women and I don't remember one of them that was painted with hair anywhere but on their head. You couldn't ever really see their pussies though, because they always discreetly had their knees together, but I knew what a pussy should look like because we had detailed drawings in our biology textbooks, which by the way also never showed any pubic hair. So women's bodies to me were always smooth and hairless – men were rough and hairy creatures, and women were the exact opposite. Then when I saw my first photos of nude women in men's magazines I remember thinking how ugly pubic hair was and... just wrong. It was an aberration, to me it just didn't belong on a woman's beautiful soft round smooth body. Amy, can you pull your butt cheeks apart for me?"

"You have no idea how undignified this feels, with you peering right up my asshole."

I could tell that she was nowhere near as embarrassed as she was trying to make out, and that this very intimate display for me was just one aspect of her exhibitionism and it was really exciting her. I gently rubbed the shaving cream all round her little puckered asshole, and stroked the opening with my finger.

"But it's such a lovely asshole."

"Thank you. You said it was a tactile thing, too."

"What, your asshole?"

"No, your liking for shaved pussy."

"So I did. How can I explain that... hmm... Imagine we're both eighteen years old and we're dating. My parents are out and we're necking on their sofa. I want to get into your pants, but I don't know if you are going to let me or not, or how far I'll get before you stop me. So we're kissing, and I have my hand on your waist. I slide it up under your T-shirt and my fingertips stroke your rib cage, then it creeps round your side a bit higher and I stroke the side of your breast through the material of your bra, and then I brush your nipple and squeeze it gently. You don't stop me, so I reach round behind you and with one hand unhook your bra."

"But I never wear a bra," she interrupted.

"Whose fantasy story is this?"

"Yours, Sam."

"Exactly. Now I slide my hand under your bra and stroke your breasts for a while. You like this and you are getting hot now and your skin is so soft and smooth under my fingertips I think I'm going to cream myself. Pretty soon I slide my hand down your belly and I run my finger in and around your belly button and down inside the waistband of your jeans. Your pants are too tight to get my whole hand down there but now I'm pretty sure you want me to touch you so I undo the button and slide down the zip and now my hand is on your pussy outside your panties..."

"Oh, this is so exciting, I love it when I'm kissing someone and they are undressing me with one hand and feeling me up at the same time – go on." 

I had finished shaving her, and I had wiped the last bits of soap away, and was running my finger slowly up and down her sopping wet slit. Amy reached between her legs and rubbed her clit, breathing more heavily. 

"...so I lift the elastic at the front of your panties and glide my finger down your silky skin towards the holy of holies, and ....aaaarrrggghhh!"

I let out a sudden shriek, and Amy jumped off the dais, stood up and turned round to look at me.

"What is it?" she said, eyes wide in alarm.

"Shag-pile carpet!" I said. "A rug, a forest of bristly pubic hair meets my fingers, all rough and tangled and matted, a barrier I have to fight my way through before I can get to the holy grail. Will he ever find the poor lost and neglected pussy? Is there a lonely clitoris yearning for human contact somewhere in that impenetrable jungle? Stay tuned for next week's exciting episode, folks."

"You're crazy. Certifiable." She was trying to be annoyed with me for startling her, but I could see in her eyes that she was amused by the sudden twist to the story. "A hairy pussy couldn't possibly feel that bad."

"Perhaps that is a slight exaggeration," I conceded. I stood up and put my hand onto Amy's stomach and then matched my actions to my words. "But it feels so much nicer without any rough bristles when I glide my fingertips down the soft skin of your belly past here where your pussy crease starts, over and down both sides of your clit, beyond the first folds of your pussy lips and into this slippery little pool of heavenly delight." 

I slipped two fingers slowly into her now completely hairless vagina as far as they would go, and she put her arms round my neck and held on to me as her knees almost buckled under her with pleasure. 

Straightening up, she pulled herself towards me and kissed me. My cock was trapped between us, pressed straight up against my stomach. I could feel the heat of her pussy on the base of its shaft as she pressed her hips into me. She had her feet and legs together, and hanging on to my neck she stood up on tiptoe and tilted her pelvis forward, trying to get her pussy over and onto the tip of my cock. She was not quite tall enough, so I bent my knees and lowered myself slightly. Amy opened her thighs just enough to let my cock between them a little way, then she closed them tight again. As she lowered herself back onto her heels, there was nowhere my cock could go except up into her pussy, which it did. When I straightened my knees again, we were face to face, chest to chest, and pelvis to pelvis with my cock fully inside her. 

It felt sensational. 

I hugged her to me while she rocked her hips slowly from side to side and then to and fro. You would not have seen much movement watching us together, but an inch or so either way felt like plenty. It was enough to start Amy making those little grunting noises, and as they got louder and more frequent, she held me tightly round neck and lifted her legs up, crossing them behind my back around my waist. I leaned back to balance her extra weight, which impaled her on me as deeply as it was possible for her to be. Using her arms and knees, she lifted herself up and almost off my cock, then lowered herself all the way down again with a long sighing grunt. All I had to do was stand still and support her with my hands under her buttocks. We both came very quickly and loudly, and afterwards Amy clung to me like a monkey while I held her, hoping my lower back would not give way. She squeezed my cock several times with her pussy muscles, which caused some of our juices to ooze out and run down my thigh.

"Hop off, Amy, we're leaking."

"No. Like it here." 

"And my back's starting to hurt."

"That's what I get for fucking an old crock," she said with a smile as she eased her feet back to the ground and pulled herself off my cock. "You know, that could be a problem."

"What, me being an old crock?"

"No, sperm running down my leg and dripping onto the ground. That could be a real giveaway."

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"I was just thinking we'll need to find a way to stop me leaking all over the place after the next time we fuck standing up like that."

"Why would it matter?"

"Because we'll be in a crowded subway at the time."



A Creative Challenge Ch. 07



"Voila!"

Amy had just walked back into Naked City after a shopping trip. From a sports shop bag she pulled two elasticised towelling sweatbands, and dangled them in front of me with a look of triumph.

"What did you buy them for?" I said.

"For us", she said

"But I don't play tennis."

"We're not going to play tennis, silly. We're going to fuck in public."

"You were serious about that?"

"Of course I was. Look."

Amy kicked her shoes off, dropped her jeans and stepped out of them. As always when she shed her clothes, the first sight of her beautifully bald and pantiless pussy gave me a small jolt of adrenalin, and I could not imagine ever becoming tired of looking at it. She took one of the sweatbands and pulled it over her foot and up her leg until it was round her thigh like a garter, about three or four inches below her crotch. Then she did the same to the other leg.

"See?" she said, looking very pleased with herself. "No more drips. And take a look at these!"

From an unbranded brown paper bag she took a pair of platform shoes, great clumpy things with cork soles at least two inches thick, and put them on.

"Oh, they're perfectly hideous", I said. "You're not going to wear them, are you?"

"They're not perfectly hideous, they're just perfect", said Amy, "I found them in a little retro clothes shop."

"Perfect for what?" I asked, pretty sure I knew what the answer was going to be.

"This", she said, clumping towards me as she whipped her t-shirt up and over her head. I had been in my studio working on a larger painting based on one of the first drawings I did of Amy masturbating, so I was wearing my dirty old painting shirt – but nothing else. When she was standing in front of me, she did the same thing to my shirt as she had done to her own, dropping it behind her with the other one. Now both naked, she put one arm around my neck and took hold of my cock with the other hand, firmly squeezing it and stroking it up and down. Even if I had wanted to, there was nothing I could have done to stop it from quickly stiffening at her touch.

"Attaboy", she said, letting go of it with her hand as soon as it was rigid, but holding it upright between us by pressing her stomach against mine. With the platform shoes on, Amy's beautiful hazel eyes were slightly above mine. She stood up on tiptoe, and kissed me on my forehead, keeping her abdomen pressed against mine. Just as she kissed me, her pubic bone slipped over the head of my cock guiding it up and into her pussy as she lowered her face to kiss me again, this time on the mouth. I was surprised how wet and slippery her pussy was already, and how hot it felt. I guessed that she had planned this little demonstration, and had been anticipating this moment since before she came home.

"What do you think of the shoes now?" she said.

"I think they're perfect", I said, feeling a little weak in the knees. "They put you at just the right height, although it's a good job I don't have a ten inch dick. You'd have to wear stilts."

"I wouldn't complain if you had a ten-inch dick. Besides, I could always have your legs shortened", said Amy with a smile, easing herself away from me and kicking off her platform shoes.

"Hey, I was enjoying that!"

"So was I, but we mustn't wear you out, you're in training for your first public performance."

"But Juliet, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?"

"What satisfaction couldst thou have tonight, Romeo? I have an evening lecture at college tonight, remember? Gotta go."

"Nay, tarry awhile. Parting is such sweet sorrow, let us say goodnight till it be morrow."

"Oh, all right, mister romantic. But you'll have to make do with this until I get back." 

Amy dropped to her knees and took the head of my cock in her mouth, then she put one hand on each of my buttocks and pulled herself gently towards me until my cock stopped at the back of her throat. She pulled her head back a little way and drew me into her mouth again, pushing harder this time against her throat. She opened her mouth a little wider, and pushed her tongue out along the base of my shaft pulling me in again. Then I felt her swallow, and the rest of my cock suddenly disappeared completely into her mouth and her face was pressed into my stomach. I had never had any woman do that to me before, and it felt different to a pussy, and different to anal sex, but at least as good as either of them. As she pulled back, her throat released the head of my cock and she let it slide out until her lips were just round the purple and swollen helmet, then she pulled herself forward again. This time my cock went right down into her throat with less resistance, and she flattened her face against my stomach again. I wanted to watch her beautiful face throat-fucking me forever, but it was so exciting I knew I would not last more than a few more strokes. Amy knew it too, and on the next out stroke, she kissed the tip of my penis, and stood up.

"Lectures. I'll be back later." 

I must have looked as dazed as I momentarily felt – overwhelmed by this wonderful new experience. Amy waved a hand in front of my face.

"Hallo-o. Anyone in there?"

"I don't think so. I think Sam just died and went to heaven. Where... how...did you learn to do that?"

"That's what fuck buddies are for, Sam. That's how you learn all sorts of tricks." 

"Are we fuck buddies?"

She laughed at that idea as she pulled up her jeans and slipped her top on again. "No, I don't think so. I think what we're doing has... consequences. Can't stop. Bye."

And she was gone. 

I stood there for quite a while, alternating between thinking about the best oral sex I had ever had, and trying to imagine what sort of consequences Amy was anticipating. Like her I thought that there were consequences to what we were doing, but I doubted that the ones I had in mind were the same as hers.



A Creative Challenge Ch. 08



"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."



A Creative Challenge Ch. 09



When you look at most artist's drawings or paintings of nudes you can usually tell if the artist and the model had a personal relationship that was more than just an hourly fee. 

Degas produced some wonderful paintings of nude women bathing and combing their hair – 'a la toilette', as they say in France. Yet they are all observed sensitively and with great subtlety from a distance, as if the women were unaware that they were being observed. They are beautiful and sensual, but objective and impersonal. Degas was a voyeur, someone who peered through keyholes, he was not a seducer of young girls. The pleasures of the flesh, for Degas, were best kept at arms' length, and experienced only through his eyes.

Modigliani's nudes, on the other hand, look like they are only being painted while the artist was taking a break from fucking their brains out. Even though the images of his women are simple and stylized, the way they are reclining, the way they are often looking directly at the artist, is very personal and intimate. There is one painting of Jeanne Hebuterne, who lived with Modigliani for his last few years, where you can almost hear her saying through her gentle smile "Come on, Modi, put that brush down, come over here and fuck me". Modigliani was a lover, not a voyeur.

I had always thought of myself as more the voyeur type of artist. My approach had always been much closer to Degas than Modigliani, yet the drawings Amy and I produced over the next few days were quite confronting in their intimacy. There could be no doubt in your mind when you looked at these images that the model was not trying to keep her sexuality a secret from the artist, in fact, quite the opposite. She was open and direct and available, wanting you to enjoy looking at the most intimate parts of her body, teasing you with her eyes, and seducing you with her attitude. 

I have to admit that I was a little concerned that the work I was producing had overstepped the mark that separated 'art' from 'pornography'. I worried about this because I wasn't sure that I knew where that line was anymore – or even if there was any such thing as either art or pornography. Amy's initial challenge to me, and her willingness to go beyond that and explore her own sexuality under my artist's gaze without any inhibitions whatsoever, had blurred my own flimsily-held notions of which was which. I worried that Greta's corporate customer was just a lone pervert and that no-one else would want to buy my new more erotic works. I worried that Sally and Mike would come to the exhibition and be horrified by what their old man was doing with a girl their own age who was obviously encouraging him into making a fool of himself with his art as well as his life. And I worried that Amy would get bored with her old fool of an artist and move on as quickly as she had moved in. I knew that whatever the consequences with everyone else in my life I would do anything I could to not let that happen.

"It's time we stopped this", said Amy, stepping down from the dais without my permission.

"Why do you say that?," I asked quickly, anxious that she had been reading my thoughts, or that my own thoughts had secretly tuned in to what was already on her mind.

"Because you've been standing there with a frown on your face staring at that painting, and for the last few minutes you haven't even glanced in my direction once", said Amy with a smile. "I think you've forgotten I exist and it's time I reminded you."


"Pleased to meet you," I said, offering to shake her hand. "What did you say your name was?"

"And fuck you too, Sam", she said slapping my outstretched hand away, but laughing as she did. 

"Sam, let's get out of this studio and go have some fun. You've been getting too serious."

"What sort of fun?" I asked.

"I need some new clothes. Let's go shopping."

I don't know many men, at least not heterosexual men, who would use the words 'shopping' and 'fun' in the same sentence without irony, but I had a feeling that clothes shopping with Amy was going to be a different kind of experience altogether, so I said that was fine by me, and we put some clothes on and drove downtown towards the city center. We parked underground near the big department stores. I would have thought that Amy would have been more the hippy boutique sort of shopper, but she wanted to go to the ladies wear section of the biggest department store.

It was late summer, not yet early autumn, but the shop was already full of winter clothes. I liked Amy in skimpy lightweight clothes, and wasn't too impressed that she was flicking through the racks of heavy woollen skirts and coats. She eventually selected a couple of what looked like very boring garments and disappeared into the changing room area. When she came out again, her low-cut jeans had been replaced with a knee-length fully pleated grey wool skirt.

"What do you think?" she said, twirling slowly. She was talking to me, but there was a middle-aged woman standing next to me, who turned and looked at Amy and the skirt like she would have as much trouble as me trying to find something complimentary to say about it.

"It would be a good look if you were my Aunt Bessie", I said, not hiding my disappointment.

"Really?", said Amy, grinning from ear to ear," I think it's great. Look." She turned around so that her back was to both of us, and for a few seconds she was obviously doing something to front of the skirt, but we couldn't see what. Then she spun around. The whole of the front of the skirt was bunched up and tucked into the waistband, displaying to both of us her smooth, bare pussy. 

I thought the lady standing next to me was going to have a coronary. She gasped and stepped back like someone had pushed her in the chest, and grabbed hold of the nearest garment rack, spilling some of the clothes onto the floor. 

"Very nice", I said, pretending not to be at all surprised, which wasn't very hard to do, as I had been expecting Amy to do something outrageous at least once while we were out shopping. 

"Nice?" said Amy. "It's a horrid colour and fabric and style, but it's perfect for what we need. See, I could tuck it up like this to fuck you, but because of all the pleats anyone watching from the back wouldn't have a clue."

Heart attack lady gave a little strangled cry and walked away from us quickly, looking over her shoulder at us as if we were about to kidnap her and involve her in our sinful schemes.

"I think my heavy breathing and your grunting will be a bit of a clue for spectators, don't you think?" I said. 

"Did you see her face?" laughed Amy. "I thought she was going to burst a poople valve." She paused as she realised what I had just said. "I don't grunt. Do I?"

"Like a feral pig. And what's a poople valve, for goodness sake?"

"I don't know, something people burst when they have a heart attack I suppose. It's what my mum says. And if you're going to be rude to me, we can go home now."

"Let me pay for the skirt first. Even an ugly thing like that looks totally sensational on you."

"That's better. If you're paying, you're forgiven."

"I think you should let the front of the skirt down now." Amy looked down at herself as if she had forgotten how exposed to the world she was.

"Oh, yes, I suppose I should." 

But she didn't. She undid the waistband, let the whole skirt fall to the floor, and stepped out of it, naked from the waist down in the middle of the department store. 

"Let's go get you a dirty-old-man coat," she said.

"I'd prefer it was a dirty-youthful-man coat", I said, but Amy was already on her way back to the changing room to get her jeans, watched by several other open-mouthed shoppers, and I was only talking to her rapidly receding bare ass. 

The selection of winter coats in the menswear section was not as good. The main winter stocks were not in yet. I wasn't even sure what type of coat we were looking for, but Amy was on a mission, so I just followed her around the racks until she eventually found a display of leather trench coats. She picked the biggest one she could find and held it out for me to try on. It fitted great, and I loved it. I had always wanted the sort of coat you only see Nazi Gestapo officers wearing in old war movies.


"Das is wunderbar", I said clicking my heels and trying to look sinister.

"Nein, mein fuhrer, das is no good at all", said Amy to my disappointment.

"I didn't know you spoke German. Why not?"

"I don't. It's not big enough".

"But it fits me perfectly", I protested.

"Exactly. But we need something that will go round me as well as you – well pretty close to it, anyway."

She moved down the racks again, and pulled out an oilskin riding coat. It was heavy and voluminous, and about two sizes too big, but I put it on. It came down to well past my knees and had all sorts of pockets and flaps, with a big double-breasted overlap at the front.

"Perfect," said Amy, stepping inside the front opening and putting her arms round my waist. I wrapped the two sides of the coat around her shoulders and back, and it almost completely enveloped her. Over her shoulder in the mirror I could see there was only a small gap at the back where you would be able to see her, and nobody would have any idea what was happening inside the coat.

"I should have kept that skirt on", said Amy, rubbing herself against my crotch.

"Good grief, you'd fuck right here in the middle of the menswear department, wouldn't you?"

"Bit tricky wearing jeans, Sam. Even for me. But I'll have a go at it if you like."

"I don't think so," I said, unwrapping her and taking the coat off before she had a chance to undo her pants, or mine, or both. "I'm not quite ready for that. I know why we are buying clothes neither of us would normally be seen dead in, but I still haven't agreed to actually... do it."

"You mean fuck in public."

"Yes."

"It's your fantasy, Sam, I'm just helping you carry it out. Because I don't think you ever would if I didn't organise it for you."

"No, I don't think I would. But that's the thing about fantasies, you don't have to make them real. You can still enjoy them as dreams."

"I think you've forgotten how to play, Sam. You've lost your sense of fun."

"Maybe I never had one."

"Well, it's time you did. Let's get the train home, I'm feeling horny."

No, Amy, let's not go home on the train. Not today. Let me buy you lunch here in the city instead."

I didn't like saying no to Amy, and I thought she would be disappointed by the change to her plans, but she didn't seem to be bothered by my refusal as much as I had feared. While I paid for the coat, she said she still had a little more shopping of her own to do, so we agreed to meet a little later in the coffee shop downstairs.

It bothered me that I could not let myself be as uninhibited as Amy was, as carefree and impulsively exhibitionist. The idea of going with the whim of the moment and following her in her provocative and erotic behaviour was physically thrilling, but half a lifetime of being a responsible breadwinner and an example to two young children had definitely taken the edge off my ability to be spontaneous. As I sipped my latte, I made a promise to myself not to be such a boring old killjoy when I was out in public with my lovely Amy. 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 10



I didn't see Amy come into the coffee shop, but as she slid into the booth beside me I turned to look at her and I could see that she had the devil in her eyes. She was smirking like the cat that had the cream.

"I'll have a latte and a caesar salad, thanks Sam," she said.

"What are you looking so smug about?" I asked her.

"I've just been talking to Greta."

"Greta my art dealer?"

"That's the one."

"Why did you call her?" I asked. I sounded a little suspicious, because I was. I thought that Amy was interfering in something that wasn't her business.

"I didn't call her. I bumped into her when I was buying this skirt and top. Do you like them?"

I definitely did like them. They hid very little, but in a casual rather than a slutty way, and I would have been happy to admire them on her, but now I was even more suspicious.

"I didn't know you knew her. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've never met her before in my life. Sam, don't get your knickers in a knot, SHE approached me. She thought she recognised me from your drawings and she wanted to make sure I really was your model, that's all. I thought she was very nice."

"OK. Did you tell her I'd been working hard on putting the show together?"

"No, I told her WE'd been working hard. Partners, remember?"

"I remember. Sorry. What else did she say?"

"She asked me to come to the launch. So I said yes. Well, you hadn't invited me, so I thought I might as well accept her invitation."

"She didn't have to do that, of course I want you to be there. I would have invited you myself. Eventually. Probably. Maybe."

"Beast!" said Amy, hitting my arm. "Just for that, I might not come at all."

"Not even if I did this?" I said, putting my hand on her knee under the table and slowly sliding it up her thigh. As my hand went higher, Amy opened her knees, making her pussy more accessible. When my hand reached her groin I lifted my elbow and twisted my arm so that my palm slid across her lower belly, my fingertips resting at the tip of her pussy crease, just above her clit.

"If you do that, I'll definitely come – whether you want me to or not."

"I do want you to come. Can you do it quietly?"

"No guarantees, Sam, but just for you, I'll try really hard not to embarrass you too much."

Slowly, slowly, I inched my finger tips down to the top of her clit, and just pressed on the base of it with the tiniest circling movements. Amy was breathing more quickly now, and her eyelids were drooping slightly but she was keeping her promise to be quiet. The waitress had finally spotted that there was someone else at my table and came towards us to take an order. I tried to take my hand away, but Amy had anticipated what I would do and brought her knees together and put her hand on my wrist, trapping my hand at her pussy. The table hid my hand from view, but from the angle of my arm there could be no mistaking where it was. The waitress looked at us when she got to the table and her eyes widened when she realised what we were doing. She was on the brink of saying something to us, but she stopped and looked around the café first. It was obvious that none of the few other customers were interested in us or had noticed anything, so she turned back to us, shrugged her shoulders and smiled, as if to say it was none of her business what we did. 

"Anything I can get you folks, or do you have everything you need for now?" she said, amused by the blissful expression on Amy's face and the big grin on mine.

"A Caesar salad and a latte, please." I said.

"No dressing," Amy murmured.

"OK, I'll get you one latte and a Caesar salad." said the waitress, "And the salad will be undressed as long as you two aren't." Laughing at her own joke she left, shaking her head.

When she was gone, Amy relaxed her knees and let go of my hand, leaning back in her seat. My finger tips slid lower into the wetness of her pussy lips, and gently stroked the opening to her vagina, bringing the wetness up and around her clitoris and back down again. Amy's eyes were now shut and her breathing was shallow and faster. I slid my middle finger down and into her pussy as far as it would go, then brought it out again to circle her clit, applying more pressure and increasing the speed. 

Amy was now in a world of her own, oblivious to anything except the nerve endings in her pussy, but I was watching the other customers in the café, hoping that we were not drawing attention to ourselves, grateful for the muzak and general shopping centre clatter that was drowning Amy's quiet little grunts. As she started to orgasm, her legs straightened and her thighs clamped my hand, my fingers still rubbing her clitoris as much as they were able to with their now very limited range of movement. Her foot kicked the chair at the other side of the table and several pairs of eyes swivelled to the source of the sound. One, a middle-aged man stared for a moment, then looked away with an expression of complete disgust. The other, a much younger man, casually dressed like a student, clearly approved of what we were doing, and watched the whole of the rest of Amy's performance, giving me a thumb's up and a big grin, as she reached the height of her orgasm. When the waitress came back with the coffee and salad, Amy was sitting upright again, her cheeks flushed bright red, and looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her. 

"You folks enjoying yourselves?" the waitress asked as she put down the food.

"It couldn't get much better," said Amy.

"No, I don't imagine it could", said the waitress. "You lucky girl."

The wistful way she spoke, and the fact that she barely glanced in my direction, suggested that her comment was not a sign that she was envious of Amy being with someone like me, but more that she envied Amy her freedom, her openness, her lack of inhibitions, and her obvious enjoyment of sexual pleasure – a pleasure she felt comfortable enjoying even in a public eatery.

I had to agree with her. Watching Amy come like that in public, completely relaxed and centered and unembarrassed by her exposure, made the rest of the people in the whole shopping center – including me – seem repressed and uptight by comparison. It was Paul McCartney who asked "why don't we d-do it in the road?", and I couldn't help thinking that he had a point. Amy's carefree attitude to displaying her sexuality in public was something to be envied not censured, and I resolved to try to be more like her. 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 11



"Sam, can I take a break? My back's hurting."

Amy was kneeling on the dais with her bum in the air, head and shoulders on the ground, and her back curved downwards, tilting her pelvis forwards and pushing her pussy backwards as if it was presenting itself to be fucked. This was a very beautiful and inviting pose, her puffy pussy lips pressed together and bulging outwards behind her, but my drawing was not going very well and she had been holding it a lot longer than I asked her to when we started.

"Of course. Sorry, Amy, I kept thinking I would nail this drawing in just one more minute and I wasn't being very considerate."

"Amy unbent herself slowly and carefully, obviously feeling a little stiff and sore.

"Ow...ow... you mean I put up with that pose for about twice as long as normal and you didn't even get a good drawing out of it? Sometimes I wonder why I bother."

"The chance of fame and fortune, I would have thought."

"What, 25 dollars an hour and my picture bare-assed in the paper? Sounds more like I got the fame and you got the fortune."

"You were a bit of a sensation for a while, I have to admit."

It was three weeks after the show, and the phone still hadn't completely stopped ringing. It had got so bad in the week after the show, that I disconnected it from the wall when we were in the studio so that I could get some peace and quiet. Greta was over the moon with the success of the show, and still couldn't quite believe that she had not only sold every single piece that was on display, but the exhibition was over and yet the list of backorders for new works was still growing. Which is why Amy and I were in the studio trying to work instead of lying on a beach somewhere.

I have to take some of the credit for the success of the show – after all, it was my artworks that people shelled out their hard-earned dollars for – but I also have to admit that the show would not have been such a commercial success if it hadn't been for Amy. She was the reason the show received so much free publicity and literally days of press and TV coverage.

Greta was very nervous in the days leading up to the show. She was still not absolutely convinced that the art market would accept such a blatantly erotic exhibition as valid and serious art, and if it didn't, she was worried about the damage to her reputation. Her instincts told her it would be seen as a bold and gutsy move for what was normally a fairly conservative gallery, and she was confident that the quality of the pictures would carry it through, but you can never tell with critics – many of whom have other axes to grind and are not always objective in their judgments.

I had never seen her so concerned with the layout of a show before. She must have rung me a dozen times while she was hanging it, rearranging it and making different pieces the focal point when patrons first walked in. Normally she never asks my advice at all, "you just produce the work, Sam, leave the selling to me", but this time she was unsure of herself for the first time. 

I was in the fortunate position of not being dependent on the outcome of the show. I wasn't desperate to make a bigger name for myself, so I was pretty relaxed about it. Sure, I wanted people to like and respect my work, but like Greta, I didn't know for sure if they would, and if they didn't... well, it wouldn't make much difference to me. Amy was the only one of the three of us who was utterly confident that it would be a big success.

On the night of the opening Amy and I were planning to arrive together at the gallery, after the first few rounds of drinks and canapés but before the official opening, when Greta usually made a little speech and then circulated amongst the more serious investors with her tiny black order book in her hand, and a sheet of sticky red dots to mark the pictures that were sold. 

By mid-afternoon even I was feeling a little nervous. I had a feeling that Greta was up to something and I was afraid she was planning to call on me to make a speech, something I have always hated doing, especially when it was to promote my own work. I'm not very good at self-promotion and public speaking always scares me. Me and a few billion other people. 

Amy had been sitting in the studio watching me work myself up into a lather.

"Sam, if you're going to pace up and down all afternoon, I'm going to treat myself to a couple of hours pampering. I'll meet you at the gallery later, OK?"

"I thought we were going to make an entrance together. Partners, remember?"

"It's your night, Sam. You've been too busy to notice because the last week has been such a rush, but I have been getting more than a little bit stubbly. I need waxing and a massage, and you're not very good company this afternoon."

"I have been neglecting you, haven't I? Promise you'll be there?

"I promise. You won't be sorry." 

Greta's gallery is quite a big space, but by the time I got there it was already more full than I had ever seen it. Fifty to a hundred people was normally a good turnout, but there must have been three hundred people in the gallery and standing in the street outside with champagne flutes in their hands. The caterers were frantic, scurrying about with trays of drinks and nibbles, but the guests waiting to be served didn't seem as impatient as they normally would. Art lovers can be very hard to impress, and most of the small talk at show openings is about what other people are wearing, or about who's up who, or how the champagne isn't cold enough, but at Greta's gallery, most of the guests were actually looking at the works on display and talking about them rather than talking about themselves. The hubbub of conversation was unusually loud, and Greta had a big grin on her face when she spotted me. My heart sank a little as she made a beeline straight for me through the crowd. Here comes the request to make a speech, I thought, but I was wrong. 

"Sam, the vibe is great", she whispered in my ear, "I've got buyers queuing up already for some of the bigger pieces, and I haven't even started selling yet." 

She could barely contain herself, she was so excited, and I suspect more than a little relieved. It didn't dawn on me until later that she didn't ask where Amy was, especially as the two of them had talked often in the last few weeks, and Greta knew how important she had been in keeping me on track and getting the show together. But unusually, Amy wasn't the most urgent thing on my mind at that moment. Better to know now rather than be taken by surprise, I thought, so I took my chance and asked the obvious question.

"Greta, are you expecting me to make a speech?"

She look at me like I was crazy. "Do you want to?" she asked a little hesitantly.

"Hell, no." I replied quickly.

"Thank goodness for that. You can relax, Sam, you're not the main attraction." 

Two well-dressed guests were waiting to talk to Greta, so she stopped wasting precious selling time with me and disappeared with them into the crowd. I picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray, feeling much more relaxed about the rest of the evening, and was about to take my first sip when I became aware that the noise was dying down behind me near the entrance to the gallery. It seems funny to say you can hear a 'hush' spreading, but that is what happened. By the door, all the guests were now very quiet, and I could see that people were edging backwards away from the door. Others on my side of the room were now also aware that something was happening and heads were turning and necks craning to see what it was. I could sense that a path was opening up in the crowd, and between some of the other heads and shoulders I could see that they were making way for someone who was stopping to look at each picture in turn as she moved round the gallery. I could only see the back of that person's head, and although her hair was carefully piled up quite differently to her normal casual look, I knew that it could be no-one else but Amy. As the corridor in the crowd moved towards me, it opened up enough to reveal to me that Amy was beautifully made up, her hair was sensational, she was wearing a three-string pearl choker round her gorgeous neck, a pair of simple but elegant strappy heels that I had never seen before, and absolutely nothing else. Not a stitch covered her naked and newly waxed body. I had never seen any sight more beautiful in my entire life.

She paused in front of each picture, occasionally consulting the catalog in her hand, then moved to the next, seemingly oblivious to the several hundred people around her, all of whom were probably staring at her as gob-smacked as I was, and all of whom were by now completely silent. You could have heard a mouse fart. 

Amy was looking at one of the bigger pieces on the main wall, when she cocked her head to one side as if suddenly remembering something. She turned around and looked at the crowds of people as if she had only just noticed them. She smiled at and made eye contact with the guests nearest to her, then spoke in slightly puzzled voice to no-one in particular. 

"They said there'd be champagne."

One of the men closest to her began to laugh, which broke the tension of the moment, and Amy started to laugh with him. Another guest further back started to clap, and the applause spread quickly until it was like a standing ovation at the opera. It had been a fabulous piece of theatre, and very appropriate given the theme of the show.

Amy knew she had pulled the stunt off beautifully, and beaming, she looked around until she saw me towards the back of the gallery. The applause slowed down as the path widened in front of her, but it resumed even louder when Amy walked up to me and kissed me, gently but full on the lips. I was as mute as a stunned mullet, but Amy was relaxed and completely in control, as she always is when she is at her exhibitionist best.

"That should get you noticed," she said quietly.

"They're noticing you more than me. As they bloody well ought to. You look fanTAStic."

"Wait till tomorrow, Sam, you'll be the talk of the town. And thank you, that's what I wanted to hear you say."

Greta was by now shepherding the members of the art press in Amy's direction, and the guests were turning back to their champagne with a new hot topic of conversation. The event now had a more relaxed mood to it, somehow, and judging by the expressions on their faces, most of the guests had been amused and entertained by Amy's stunt. 

The art critics and social column hacks had realized that Amy had given them the chance of writing more than a couple of column inches in the weekend art review column, and they were keen to talk to her. One of them had a camera, and was taking pictures of Amy, Amy and me, and both of us with Greta. Amy was so relaxed and comfortable, and did a wonderful job of bringing all her answers to their questions back to the drawings and paintings on the wall. She was a natural at it, and if she wasn't standing there stark naked, you would think she was running for some sort of elected office. 

Somebody must have phoned a tip in to one of the local TV stations, because within about 15 minutes a news crew was in the gallery, and Greta and Amy were persuaded to let them film a re-enactment of Amy's naked entry into the gallery among several hundred fully dressed up guests. Greta never lost sight of her main reason for being there, and tirelessly worked the room, writing names in her book, putting up red dots all over the place, and picking the key investors out of the small crowd of people waiting to talk to her.

When the press finally left her alone and went off to file their stories, Amy wandered about, casually chatting with the guests as openly as you like, as if she was as fully dressed as they were. Most of the conversations she was having were with the women guests, who seemed to be fascinated by her. Everybody has had a dream at some time of other of being naked in a crowd of people, but here was a beautiful young woman living out that fantasy nightmare right in front of them, totally comfortable with the situation and completely uninhibited, and they all wanted to know how she could do that and what it felt like. The men, on the other hand, were quite happy to stand nearby and just look at her. 

Amy was smiling and talking, and pointing at me, and then pointing at some of the pictures, and sharing a joke with them, like the perfect hostess. On the walls were some very graphic images of Amy on display – reclining with her legs wide open, playing with herself, washing and shaving her pussy, looking out at the viewer seductively, sweaty and dishevelled after an orgasm – yet she was talking about them and showing them to people without any embarrassment at all, as if they were paintings of very nice bowls of fruit, not of her in her most intimate and erotic moments.

As Greta scurried by, I caught her arm.

"You two cooked this up together, didn't you?"

"Guilty as charged, Sam. Amy thought you might not approve, so we didn't tell you. But it was quite something, wasn't it?"

"She is, as you say, quite something."



A Creative Challenge Ch. 12



If I had known about the stunt that Greta and Amy had planned I probably would have tried to stop them from staging it, because I would not have been sure that it would work as well as it did. But I would have been underestimating Amy's confidence and her ability to get away with almost anything she did, and it certainly worked out well for Greta and me. In the days following the show, Amy's performance was the hottest topic on local talkback radio, one that kept on coming up again and again. The community was divided between the people who said, "Good on her, I wish we could all be so uninhibited", and the ones who said she should have been locked up or said she needed her sinful soul to be saved. Amy was interviewed by both radio and TV, and the newspapers carried pictures of her and some of my artworks. 

Now, three weeks later, the novelty of being the center of attention was wearing a bit thin for both of us, but especially for Amy, who was starting to feel a bit hounded, and her comment about me getting the fortune while all she got was 25 bucks an hour and her bare ass in the paper was true. This had already been bothering me before she said it out loud, and the last thing I wanted was for Amy to feel resentful and lose her enthusiasm for what we were doing. The money wasn't important to me, but my artistic development was, and my work had improved out of sight since Amy had moved in with me. For that alone I was extremely indebted to her.

"Did you see what came in the mail this morning?" I asked her, as she was about to kneel up on the dais and take up the pose again.

"No, you know I don't read your mail."

I handed her Greta's cheque for all the pictures she had sold. It was minus the gallery's commission and expenses of course, but it was still a very substantial amount of money. Amy's eyes widened when she saw it.

"Wow, is this all yours? That's wonderful, I'm so pleased for you."

"No, it's not all mine. Here's your half", I said, handing her another cheque, this time one signed by me.

"You're kidding me, Sam. You know I can't take this."

"Why not?"

"Because... it's yours. Because I didn't earn it. Because you already paid me for my bit. Because it's not right."

"But I think it is right. Look at it this way, Amy. Greta would normally sell about half the works on display. She sold all of the current exhibition for three times what my stuff usually sells for, so this cheque from her is about six times as much as a show would normally bring me. Even if I give you half, I'm still well in front, and I wouldn't have any of it if it wasn't for you."

"But..."

"No arguments. We were partners in this project, remember. It's yours. I insist."

Amy looked at the cheque in disbelief. She shook her head, then smiled at me.

"That's great, thank you, Sam. But you've got a problem. You'll have to get another model, now, because I quit. I'm rich enough not to have to work for another 12 months." She saw my face drop, and nearly wet herself laughing. "JOKE! You goose, Sam. If you think I'd stop modelling for you now, you must be crazy."

Amy was sitting on the edge of the dais and she reached forward and took hold of my balls and gently pulled them towards her. When someone pulls on your genitals, you can be sure your legs will follow in the same direction, so I stepped forward towards her as she put the whole of my still limp cock in her mouth. The effect of her quickly-moving tongue on the sensitive underside of my penis was immediate and within seconds her mouth was full of my favourite part of me.

When Jeannie and I were first going out, she was reluctant to give me a blow job, and this used to puzzle me because she was not at all inhibited in other ways. Finally, I managed to get her to confess why, and the reason was simply that because she wasn't used to doing it, it felt like a very strange and awkward thing to do, and therefore she thought that it must also make her look ugly and undignified. It took me a while to convince her that a woman could never look more beautiful to a man than when she has his cock in her mouth. 

The truth is, her face will never look more beautiful to you than when your cock is all the way down her throat as far as it will go, and that is exactly what I thought about Amy's lovely face as she swallowed all of me and pushed the lower part of her face into my stomach, her smiling eyes looking up at mine and twinkling with mischief.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on giving me the best blow job in the world. As she pulled her head backwards, her tongue massaged the bulb of my penis, and as she pushed her head towards me again, her tongue came forward, opening her throat to me. She began quite slowly, and as she gradually increased her speed, she left one hand on my buttocks and with the other she gently massaged my balls. I opened my legs slightly and stretched one hand out to lean on the wall behind her so that I was braced and better balanced. Saliva was dribbling out of her mouth and on to her hand, making my balls wet as well. The middle finger of her massaging hand worked some of that wetness around my asshole, teasing it with gentle pressure. Soon she had a solid rhythm going, and her face was slapping into my belly with every stroke. I stood motionless, there was nothing I needed to do except savour every moment, wishing this blissful experience would last forever but knowing that what was left of it would only be measured in seconds not eternities. Amy could feel the skin of my scrotum tighten even further as I gathered momentum towards my orgasm, and she could sense me arching my back, and feel me standing up on tiptoe as my calves tightened. Just before the explosive moment, I made a gentlemanly attempt to pull out of her mouth, but she was ready for me. Her hand on my buttocks pulled me firmly towards her, so that if I moved backwards, her head came with me, and she pushed her finger into my asshole and then crooked it back towards herself, massaging my very excited prostate which could do nothing else but explode, emptying its entire contents into Amy's throat. She stayed pressed against me, unable to breathe, until my convulsions had completely subsided, then she let me go, gasping for breath, giggling and putting both hands round her throat as if someone was choking her. 

The emotional and physical release of an orgasm manifests itself differently in different people. Jeannie would sometimes burst into tears in the middle of a great orgasm, which worried me a lot at first until she reassured me that she was not unhappy, but just the opposite. Me, I tend to laugh during extremely pleasurable moments, and this was one of them. Amy's antics, and the intensity of my orgasm had me roaring with laughter, tears rolling down my face.

"That's the first time I've done that," said Amy.

"What, swallowed?" I asked.

"No, of course not. If I like a man well enough to suck his cock, I'll usually swallow his cum. I meant that's the first time I've ever DT'd someone while they came so that I swallowed it all without actually tasting any of it."

"DT?" I asked.

"Sam, wake up! Taking it right down like that is called 'Deep Throating'. Sometimes I wonder what rock you've been hiding under for the last few years."

"I knew that," I said. 

"Yeah, right. Come on, I'm rich, I'll buy you lunch."

"Are you still hungry? You only just had a protein thick shake."

"Sam, I have a hunger that goes way beyond that."

That could have been an innocent remark, but it was loaded with alternative meanings. As she went to put some clothes on to go out, I wondered if I was being too sensitive, or whether I was underestimating this complex young woman.



A Creative Challenge Ch. 13



Amy came back into the studio wearing the pleated skirt and platform shoes, with a sweater. The weather had been getting cooler over the last few weeks, so they were not inappropriate clothes to be wearing. It was a fairly eccentric outfit for a girl like Amy to be wearing, but it wasn't as attention-grabbing as whatever she would normally go out in. It was obvious what her intention was, but instead of trying to talk her out of it as I might have done before, I remembered the promise I had made to myself in the coffee shop and decided to go with the flow.

"Where's your raincoat?" Amy said.

"I didn't know I'd be needing it."

"It's now or never, Sam. Let's go get a train."

The station was empty when we got there, but we didn't have long to wait for the next train to the city. Amy lifted her skirt to show me the sweat bands round her thighs.

"Like my underwear?"

"You always wear the sexiest panties," I said, pointing at her deliciously bare pussy, "but I'm not sure we'll be needing those other things today, not after what you did to me half an hour ago."

"You're not that old, Sam, and anyway, better safe than sorry."

"That's never been your motto," I laughed, feeling a little nervous in anticipation of what we were about to do.

"There's nobody about," said Amy disappointedly, "I hope the train's not as empty as this station."

"Well, I'm relieved about that, I'm glad this isn't the rush hour."

"You know me, Sam, I always like to have an audience if I'm giving a performance. Come on, let's get into character, the train's coming."

So saying, she put her arms round my waist inside my coat, and I kissed her, at first gently, but more passionately as the train squealed to a halt. Kissing like that in public was something I had not done for a very long time, and it felt great. It was like being a teenager again, taking a girl home after the movies.

When the train had squealed to a halt and the doors had slid open, we reluctantly unlocked ourselves and stepped onto the train.

"More," said Amy, pushing me against the corner between the seats and the doors on the other side of the carriage and kissing me again. Her lips were soft and liquid, and tasted as sweet as her pussy. The platform shoes put her face at the same level as mine, and we kissed as real lovers do, easily and intimately and unashamedly. I would have been happy just to do that for the whole journey, but that was not our plan. 

"I'm still wet from before," Amy whispered into my ear, "but I think you should know that things are getting real slippery under this skirt. You're a good kisser."

"Thank you. So are you."

I focused on the rest of the carriage for the first time. There were only four people who were able to see us, a businessman reading a newspaper, a woman with her back to us staring out of the window, and nearest to us, a young couple sitting holding hands. As I looked towards them, they both looked away. Amy and I had obviously been the most interesting thing to look at on that train at that moment.

"We have a very small but attentive audience," I whispered.

"Goody," Amy said, kissing me again. I wrapped my arms and the coat around her and concentrated on enjoying her kiss. Her hand began to rub my cock through my jeans, and to my surprise the effect was immediate. I thought it might take me a while to get stiff again, after such a recent blowjob and because of my nervousness, but I was wrong. Amy pulled my zip down and slid her hand inside, and then started giggling.

"What's up?" I whispered.

"You are," she was still giggling. "I should have taken it out of your pants before I started rubbing it. How am I going to get it out now without breaking it?"

She had a good point. My cock was now like a short piece of metal pipe trapped against my leg inside my jeans. There was no way to get it out quickly and discretely, but Amy was not to be deterred. She undid the waist button of my jeans and slid them down towards my thighs.

"You can't do that!" I said as quietly as I could.

"I just did," she said, freeing my cock with one hand and holding my pants up with the other. The grip of her hand sliding up and down my cock would have made me forgive her anything, and she knew it, smiling at the expression on my face as she slowly masturbated me. I knew getting the pants done up again would not be easy, and I was right. She needed both hands to do the button up again, so she let go of me and I sucked my stomach in as far as it would go. Even so, it was an awkward thing for her to do and the longer it took her, the more she giggled. I couldn't help her, because I needed both arms to keep the coat from flopping open.

Over her shoulder I could see that the boy seated opposite was beginning to realize something unusual was going on under the coat. Amy's elbow movements and her giggling would have made it pretty obvious. He nudged his girlfriend and nodded in our direction. She looked puzzled, he whispered in her ear, her eyes widened, and she grinned. They both looked me straight in the eye and I knew the game was up.

"Our audience just figured out what we are doing," I said, expecting Amy to stop doing it.

"Well, then let's give them a show to remember," she replied, "because I'm insanely horny."

Before I could get the words "no, I think you're just insane" out of my mouth, Amy had pulled up the front of her skirt, stood on tiptoe, pushed her pelvis forward, slipped my cock into her wet pussy and settled back down onto her heels. My cock slid up into her with no resistance at all, just that wonderful warm enveloping feeling that you always get when you first enter a woman who is wet and ready to fuck.

The expression on my face as Amy lowered herself onto me confirmed for our young couple what had just happened. I had always thought that the phrase 'his jaw dropped in amazement' was just a cliché, but at that moment the girl's and the boy's mouths both gaped open in wide-eyed astonishment. It looked so funny to see them both do exactly the same thing that I almost laughed out loud, although I just managed to suppress the sound because I didn't want to attract any more attention than we already had. They both looked at each other and then back at me, with 'holy-shit-what-are-you-going-to-do-now' looks on their faces. I shrugged, and nodded my head towards Amy, in an attempt to say 'don't-ask-me-I'm-not-the-one-in-control-here'. Something like that must have got through to them because they grinned back at me, and the boy gave me a quick thumbs-up. They both sat up to watch the show.

Amy had shut her eyes and had settled into the rhythm of the train, rocking no more than an inch or two backwards and forwards on me in time with the swaying of the carriage, tilting her pelvis as she did so that the base of my cock pressed against her clitoris every time she rocked back. If you didn't know where my cock was, a casual observer would probably not realise what we were doing, but our audience was in no doubt at all. Watching them watching us, while I was being fucked by this wet, warm, and beautiful young woman, was a very strange and unsettling sensation that I had never experienced before.

"Fuck, this feels good," whispered Amy into my ear. "Do you know how hard it is for me not to jump up and wrap my legs round your waist?" Her breathing was getting heavier, and I knew she was not far from an orgasm, but the train started slowing down for a station, so she stopped moving against me and put her head on my shoulder, with a quiet little "damn!"

I was hoping that no-one else would get on, and to my relief, no-one did. Even better, the businessman folded his newspaper and got off without even a glance in our direction. The woman with her back to us and the young couple opposite were the only passengers left in the carriage as we pulled out of the station again, and I whispered the good news into Amy's ear.

As the train gathered speed again, Amy put her arms around my neck, both her feet on the outside of mine and opened her knees. I leaned back against the door and we started to fuck with urgent intensity, no longer bothering with any attempt to conceal what our movements meant. The coat and skirt still covered us but that was all. Within only a few seconds, Amy was grunting quietly in my ear, and then she convulsed, her whole body tensing, holding on so tightly round my neck that she smothered the lower part of my face so I could hardly breathe. Another couple of strokes and she hooked both her feet behind mine and convulsed again, and then again. This time she lifted her face and kissed me, her cheeks flushed pink and alive, and as we fucked towards another final wave of orgasm, she sucked my tongue into her mouth while her pussy gripped my cock, her wetness trickling down my balls. 

I held her tightly while her body slowly relaxed and unwound, enjoying the little after-shock shudders left over from her orgasm. I wasn't aware that she hadn't breathed for a while until she let out a long-held breath with a soft and expressive "Whooooooo....". She raised her head from my shoulder to look at me and smiled a very happy and contented smile. As always when she had just had an orgasm, I thought her face was as lovely as it could possibly be, and I smiled just as happily back. 

Our timing had been perfect, because the train was just coming into our station. As Amy reluctantly eased herself off me and stepped back her skirt fell down in front, as she had said it would. I was left with a problem I hadn't anticipated, which was a still stiff and rather obvious cock sticking out in front of me. Amy was, as usual, thinking ahead of me and had already figured out what to do.

"Put your left hand into your coat pocket and hold Mr Happy down, and I'll do up your coat buttons," she said. Which is what we did. Problem solved.

I had almost forgotten about our audience of two until Amy turned round and looked straight at them. She said hello, then gave them an exaggerated and very theatrical bow. In turn, they responded as a good audience should, and clapped in applause. The other passenger turned round at the sound to see what had been happening, but she had completely missed the show. She had no idea what she had missed, but she had a very sour and disapproving look on her face anyway. 

Amy took my hand and we jumped off the train as soon as the doors opened. The woman on the train glared at us, and was still glaring as the train moved away. Amy turned her back, bent over and flipped the back of her skirt up, mooning the departing train. I will never forget the startled look on the woman's face as the train disappeared into the tunnel at the end of the platform.

"You can't help yourself, can you?" I said, laughing at her naughtiness.

"Of course I can. But I choose not to. I'm hungry, let's eat."

It might have been the adrenalin of our live performance, but we were both starving, and it took two large plates of Mario's taglietelli and a carafe of vino rosso to make us feel better and to help us relax. Neither of us had spoken of what happened on the train until we were mopping up the last of the sauce with some crusty bread.

"We need to get you some new jeans", said Amy.

"I've already got enough jeans", I replied, a little puzzled by her remark.

"But they all fit you. You need some looser cut fat-ass jeans so we can get Mr Happy out of your pants a little quicker next time."

"So there's going to be a next time, is there?"

"Of course. What we did this morning was more for me than it was for you. I get off on being watched, and no-one else has ever watched me fuck before, so I thought the ride was just great, and I wanted those people to know and to see what we were doing."

"I would have preferred it if no-one else had any idea what we were up to. I think for me it's having that incredible secret knowledge that is such a turn-on. To be honest, Amy, what we did this morning was more blatant and riskier than I was comfortable with."

"Exactly, so we need to practice being more discrete about it. I will try, honestly, but for me that won't be easy."

I was touched by the considerate way she was trying to help me fulfil my fantasies, and her excitement was infectious. We had achieved something this morning that to me was very daring and just a few months earlier would have been unthinkable. Even so, I was still a little afraid of how far she would go, and at what point I would have to back out, but for now I was determined to choose the 'path less trod', and see where it led us. 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 14



"These aren't as good as the earlier ones, are they?"

I couldn't argue. She was right. In her typically blunt way, Amy had stated no more than the simple truth. She was looking at the drawings I had been doing in the last week or so and they didn't have the same energy, the erotic edge that they had when we first threw caution to the winds. When we first became lovers, right here in the studio.

Greta hadn't complained. She was still selling everything we delivered to the gallery, but what Amy said while she drank her coffee during her modelling break was what I had been thinking for a while. My work was starting to get a little stale and repetitive, and although someone seeing it for the first time wouldn't know that, Amy could see it, and so could I.

"I think your technique is still getting better, but I don't think these are as exciting as the first porno ones you did of me."

Amy and I had talked a lot about the difference between art and pornography, and we still hadn't come up with a definition that we couldn't immediately shoot holes in. We were both comfortable that just because an image was sexually explicit it wasn't automatically pornographic, and even if it was pornography, that didn't automatically stop it from being art. Ironically, because we couldn't define what pornography was, we had started calling the recent work I had been doing, my 'porno period', just to separate it from the more conventional nudes I had been producing before.

"What's missing, then?" I asked her.

"I'm not sure. I was going to say a certain sense of urgency, you know that 'fuck me quick' feeling, but I remember that some of your early pictures were very gentle and relaxed but still had this wicked sexual electricity oozing out of them."

"Perhaps you are just more familiar with them now. They aren't so unusual, and the novelty has worn off, which makes them seem a bit ho-hum?"

"Do you think that's it?"

"No, Amy, I think you're right. The spark isn't there – at least not as much. Maybe subconsciously this approach doesn't feel so new and daring to me and it shows in the end results."

"You know I have to ask the obvious question, don't you, Sam?"

"What question?" I asked, because it wasn't obvious to me what she was going to say.

"Is it that you are tired of me?"

"NO!" I said immediately. I didn't have to think about the answer, it just came out as a gut response. Yet, when I started to reflect on the question half a second later, I wondered if my response was really true, or was it just what I wanted Amy to hear, or maybe it was simply what I wanted to tell myself? In another half second I had realised that my response was from my heart and that my feelings for her hadn't diminished, but then it occurred to me that I wasn't even sure what her question actually meant. 

Amy hadn't said "Do you no longer think I'm attractive?" or "Are you tired of drawing the same model all the time?", or "Do I no longer inspire you artistically like I did?". All of these were valid interpretations of her words, and all were quite different in meaning, and I was now sure that there would be many other possible interpretations if I stopped and thought about it for long enough. But I wasn't in the mood to play 'guess what's in my head' with this naked woman. The distracting beauty of her body had a tendency to blur rational thought.

"No, I'm definitely not tired of you, but I'm not entirely sure what you meant when you said that."

"I know. That's one of the good things about being a woman. It's really easy to confuse men sometimes."

She was standing almost under the skylight behind my easel, side on to me. The light left her face in shadow, but picked out the shape of her shoulders and highlighted the tips of both breasts. I noticed her nipples were a little puckered and I made a mental note to turn the heater up a notch of two because it must have been chillier than it should be in the studio.

"Hello? I said it's easy to confuse men sometimes."

"I'm not confused. In fact, I am quite sure that those are the sweetest tits I have ever seen."

"Sam, sometimes I'm not sure if I'm talking to you, or having a conversation with your dick." She was smiling, even though she was trying to sound serious

"I know, it's one of the good things about being a man. You can always switch off and let your dick do the talking. And right now, mine wants to say 'hello kitty," I said, reaching out my hand and gently stroking down one cheek of her buttocks, letting my fingers slide down her asscrack towards her pussy. As my fingers closed in on their target, Amy put down her cup of coffee and walked back towards the dais.

"You're in a rut, Sam", she said

"Well, I was hoping to be in the next few minutes."

"Ha, ha, funny. I wasn't talking about 'rutting'. I meant you're stuck in a groove, and we need to find a way to get you out of it."

"I've an idea," I said.

"So have I," said Amy

"It couldn't be better than the one I was just starting to have."

"Sam, do you ever think of anything but sex?"

"Do you?"

"Yes, I think you need another model."

This was what I was afraid of. I had been looking for the signs that Amy was beginning to move on, and not modelling for me anymore was what I was expecting would be her first step away from me.

"Amy, I meant it. I'm not tired of you as a person, or tired of you as a model. I don't want anyone else." 

"I didn't mean INSTEAD of me. I think we should get someone else to model WITH me."

I was a little relieved but not immediately comforted by that idea. The intense eroticism of our art would certainly crank up a notch or two if the subject of the work was no longer Amy on her own, but I didn't much like the idea of drawing her with another man. Amy read the expression on my face and with her typical almost telepathic intuition realised what was going through my mind.

"Sam, I was thinking of asking Tracey, one of my college friends, to come and model with me. I wasn't suggesting getting another man in here. At least not yet." 

"A woman?" I said, somewhat stupidly, wondering about the significance of 'not yet'.

"I think most people called Tracey are women, Sam. Of course she's a woman."

I don't know why that wasn't the first thing I had imagined when Amy suggested getting someone else in as well. Why did I automatically think it would have to be a man? Was I becoming possessive and a little jealous? Maybe I was.

"OK. Fine." I said. "Have you already asked her? Will she do it?" 

"No, but I'm pretty sure she will. I can be quite persuasive."

"Amy, what we do is not what most models expect to have to do for $25 an hour. She would have to be prepared to be very intimate with you... with us. Does she model for other artists?"

"Not as far as I know. She's in my dance and drama class, so I think she would be good."

"What makes you think she would cope with the sort of things we would want her to do?"

"Sam, Tracey's a lesbian. She's let me know a few times she would like to get into my pants, and I admit I've been tempted to let her. Here's her opportunity. I think she would jump at the chance, even with you in the room at the same time."

"I didn't know you were bisexual."

"I'm not. At least, I haven't been up till now. But I might be. Would it bother you?"

"Only if you started to prefer women."

"Mmmm... soft breasts and warm wet pussies. Sounds attractive. But no more men? No more stiff cock, ever? I don't think that's likely." 

When Amy has been fucking, or even when she masturbates to an orgasm, the lips of her pussy swell, and flush bright red. Twenty minutes later, when we finally got around to drawing again, we finished our morning session with a close up drawing of her swollen and fiery and now dribbling pussy. It was a ferocious drawing in swirling black charcoal and red ink and it had all of the original intensity of the ones in the first exhibition, and I was pleased that I hadn't lost the ability to be inspired by the moment. On the other hand, it highlighted how stale some of my work had become, and Amy's suggestion of getting another model in was as good a way as any of adding some more excitement. How long we could keep raising the level, I didn't know, but it was going to be fun finding out. Amy was right, it was time to get out of the rut.



A Creative Challenge Ch. 15



"Sam, Tracey. Tracey, Sam."

Tracey shook my outstretched hand a little tentatively, as if she wasn't sure what I might do with it next. She was holding herself stiffly, obviously a little nervous, and in an almost inaudible voice she said hello to me and then turned to look at Amy, seemingly for reassurance. 

"I've told Tracey all about you, Sam, so you'd better be on your best behaviour."

"In that case I'll try not to fart while she's here."

"See? That's what I have to put up with. I did try to warn you what he was like, Tracey, but you wouldn't listen."

Amy had a knack for putting people at ease with her light humour, and she brought a little smile to Tracey's face, which helped to relax the tension of her posture.

"Show her some of your drawings, Sam, I'll get some coffee before we start". Amy busied herself with the espresso machine at the back of the studio, leaving me to introduce Tracey to the sort of modelling we wanted her to do for us. As I pulled some of the recent drawings from the plan chest and laid them out on the floor in front of her I saw her eyes widen and her mouth dropped open. She had clearly never seen any artworks like them. I deliberately said nothing, waiting for her unprompted response, but Amy as usual felt obliged to fill the silence.

"Good, aren't they? How do you take it?"

"Mmm... black no sugar, ta. They're... amazing."

"That sounds tactfully non-committal", I said, "but it's OK. You don't have to like them. Not everyone does."

"No", said Tracey quickly, "I do like them. I'm just a bit surprised at how ...explicit they are..." Her words tailed off, and I could sense her unease.

"And...?" I prompted.

"I'm not sure I could... do that, for instance." She pointed to a drawing of Amy lying down with her back arching up, half her hand buried in her pussy.

"We don't expect you to do exactly that," I said. "and you won't need to do anything you're not comfortable with." 

Amy jumped in to help. "That's not the sort of thing we asked you here to do. Those are all about me being an exhibitionist, about the connection between me and whoever is looking at the image. They are very demanding, they insist that you are involved in what I am doing. See, in most of these, I am looking straight at you."

"I think that's what makes them so confronting," said Tracey.

"It is," said Amy. "But if you and I are both in the picture, then it's what's going on between us that becomes important, so it won't be like these at all. Mind you, we still want them to be erotic."

"OK. What do you want me to do," said Tracey, taking a deep breath.

"Just sit down here and drink your coffee," I said, indicating the dais. "I'll let you two know when I'm ready."

Amy and I had talked about how we would gradually introduce Tracey to what we wanted from her. It was important that she got involved in the process, but we didn't want to scare her off by rushing her. I took my time selecting some nice paper, pinning it onto my easel board, and sharpening some pencils, while Amy took over.

While Tracey drank her coffee, I casually kept my eye on her. She was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt with low-slung jeans, and although she was not quite as tall and a little heavier in the chest than Amy, she had a dancer's long waist and long legs and was obviously fit and supple. Tracey was watching Amy, looking at her very much like I would, enjoying her relaxed grace and beautiful proportions. It was not hard to conclude that she was as attracted to Amy as I was. She didn't seem to be all that aware of me and what I was doing, which was exactly what I was hoping for. 

Amy stood in front of her and untied her hair, letting it fall down over her shoulders. Calmly and deliberately, she tossed her hair out of her eyes, then lifted her T-shirt and peeled it up and over her head. This made sure that she had the undivided attention of the new girl who was motionless, absorbed in watching her friend undress. Amy untied the drawstring in her track pants, pulled them out from her body to loosen them and then dropped them to the floor. Naked, she stepped out of them, and took two short steps forward so that she was standing right in front of Tracey, her silky smooth pussy almost level with Tracey's wide eyes. Tracey looked up at Amy's face as she bent slightly at the waist, put her hands on Tracey's shoulders and kneeled up onto the dais, one knee on each side of Tracey's lap. Shuffling forward, she wrapped her arms round Tracey's head and pulled it towards her to rest it on her breast. Tracey put her coffee down and wrapped her arms around Amy's waist in a hug, and she closed her eyes.

"Ready?" I said quietly.

"Ready," said Amy. "Hold it just like this, Tracey. Ten minutes enough, Sam?"

"Should be plenty," I said, drawing quickly. 

It was a new and different experience for me drawing the relationship between two figures rather than just trying to capture the essence of one. I realized immediately that I didn't have the freedom to exaggerate and distort any part of one of them without affecting the proportions of the other one wherever the two intersected, so I went for a simpler treatment, where the actual proportions of the figures were more accurately but coarsely rendered. It was then a couple of details of the two hugging bodies, one naked, one clothed, that became the focal points of the whole image. Amy's head was turned away from me and shielded from view by her hair, but most of Tracey's face was visible to me, pressed against Amy's slightly squashed right tit and framed by the soft spikes of her short blonde hair. I tried to capture her facial expression because it was obvious Tracey was happy to be just where she was, with Amy's nipple pressed against the corner of her mouth. She had a gentle half-smile on her face, like some martyred saint blissfully floating to heaven in some baroque Italian ceiling fresco. The other main detail I emphasised was the strong S-shaped curve formed by Amy's lower back sweeping down and around her gorgeous buttocks as she sat on Tracey's lap.

"You OK, Tracey?" I asked when we had about two minutes of the pose to go.

"Oh yes," she said with conviction. "I'm just fine."

There was an oddly incongruous feel to the picture, because it was an intimate embrace, yet one of the figures was fully clothed while the other was fully naked. I was very pleased with the result I managed to achieve, and finished it quickly, within the ten minutes we agreed.

Amy slowly unwound her arms and stretched backwards, but she was still seated with her legs apart on Tracey's lap. She took Tracey's face in both her hands, bent down and kissed her on the lips. Tracey was as surprised as I was by this move, but it did not take her more than a second or two to respond, and happily kissed her back. I took the drawing down and pinned it on the wall, and put a new blank sheet on the easel in its place.

I knew Amy was in control of what she was doing, so I didn't interrupt her, as the two young women gently tasted each other for the first time. Their faces parted, both of them smiling at the other.

"Yum," said Amy. "Wanna get naked?"

"OK," said Tracey.

Amy stood up, pulling her friend up onto her feet. They stood close, almost touching. Amy lifted the bottom of Tracey's shirt and pulled it up and over her head. As she had been asked, Tracey wasn't wearing any underwear, and after she dropped the shirt Amy stroked her hands slowly down over Tracey's breasts and down her belly to the waistband of her jeans. She undid the button and the zip and pushed them down Tracey's thighs as far as she could reach without bending down, then taking hold of both of Tracey's arms just above the elbow, pushed her gently back and down so that she was sitting again on the dais. Reaching down, she pulled Tracey's feet up and slid the jeans all the way off, leaving the now naked Tracey leaning back on her elbows with her bottom on the edge of the dais, legs straight out in front of her.

Tracey's pubic hair was light mousy brown, like the hair on her head would probably have been without the blonde streaks, and it was thick and bushy. Amy reached down and picked up a small tuft of the curls, pulling it up between her fingers. Out straight, the hair was between two and three inches long. Amy looked Tracey in the eye, and raised one eyebrow.

"I know," said Tracey, screwing her face up. "They've got to go, haven't they?"

"You bet they've gotta go. Girl, yer a real shaggy bitch." Amy had put on a broad southern drawl. "We gotta give y'all a goddam haircut." 

"I think Sam's ready to do some more drawing," said Tracey momentarily looking over to where I was standing, hoping I would rescue her. "The grooming can wait, can't it?"

Amy looked at me quizzically. I was keen to see Amy shave her friend's pussy, but I thought it would be better if Tracey was more comfortable with us and more used to being naked in front of me before she let us do that, so I mimed some drawing movements at Amy, and she got the message. 

"Yes, it can wait. What would you like us to do, Sam?"

I set them down together with Tracey leaning against the wall, Amy leaning back against her, sitting between Tracey's thighs. Amy's knees were bent and open, and Tracey had one arm draped over Amy's shoulder with her hand holding and gently stroking one of Amy's tits. It was a very casual but intimate pose, and they looked like two people who had just finished making love. Neither of them was looking at me, but it was still a very erotically charged scene, partly because I could see how much Tracey was enjoying this close embrace with my lovely Amy. They were very comfortable, so I made this a long pose and did two versions of it, working a lot of good detail into both of them, before letting the girls take a break.

For the last pose, I threw a couple of quilts over the little platform with some pillows and made them both lie down, face to face, with their legs intertwined, Amy's arms enveloped round Tracey's, like two lovers asleep. This looked wonderful, but was less successful for me, because Tracey's hands were trapped between the two bodies and one of them was in just the right place to stroke Amy's pussy, which of course she did. Amy tried to keep still, but being expected to play dead when someone is stroking your clitoris is a big ask. The session ended with the two of them giggling and squirming so much I gave up trying to draw.

Amy was keen to get the shaving kit out, but for me, this had been a fairly short but intense session. I definitely wanted to draw Amy shaving Tracey's pussy, but I needed to be fresh for it. We agreed that's how we would start the next session, and Tracey put her clothes on again ready to go.

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" I asked her as I gave her $50 for the session, even though it had been a bit less than the normal two hours.

"No, it wasn't," she replied, "I wasn't really keen to do this, but Amy is a very difficult person to say 'no' to, and it was better than I expected. I thought I would be more nervous and embarrassed than I was."

"That's funny, I once said the same thing."

"What, about being nervous and embarrassed?"

"About it being hard to say 'no' to Amy."

Amy jumped into the conversation at this. "Sam, do you want me to move out of here and go live with Tracey?"

"No."

"There, it wasn't hard to say at all. I don't know where you two get such strange ideas."



A Creative Challenge Ch. 16



Tracey was late for the next session, so Amy and I started work without her. I left my old painting shirt on, just in case she eventually turned up, but that was starting to look very unlikely. We had finally come to the conclusion that Tracey didn't want to do any more nude modelling, even though it was a golden opportunity for her to get close to Amy with no clothes on, when in she walked.

"Sorry I'm late," she said. "Do you still want me?"

"Of course", I replied, "we're glad you could make it."

She stood in the doorway, not quite sure what to do next. She didn't have Amy's easy confidence about being nude in front of strangers, and Amy sensed this. She had been lying on her back on the dais, but she quickly swung her feet to the floor and walked naked over to the doorway, taking Tracey by the hand and leading her into the studio.

"You can put your bag down, you know. We won't steal it", said Amy.

Tracey had been clutching the strap of her shoulder bag very tightly, but she smiled and put the bag down beside the dais. Without asking her permission, Amy undid the buttons of Tracey's coat, slipped it off her shoulders, and handed it to me. I put it on the coat rack near the door, while Amy undid Tracey's jeans. Tracey was now helping the undressing process and lifted her top up and over her head, tossing it behind her. When Amy squatted on her haunches to pull Tracey's jeans down to her ankles, Tracey slipped her hands inside her thong panties and pushed them down, too. Her pussy was now as bald as Amy's, and Amy whistled when she saw it.

"When did that happen, Trace? Nice looking job", she said appreciatively.

"That's why I'm late. It took longer than I thought it would."

"I would have helped you," said Amy, sounding a little disappointed. "That was the plan."

"I know, but I felt more comfortable doing it myself. It's a very personal thing to do, you know." 

"Oh, I know," said Amy, "That's what makes it so much fun when someone else does it for you."

"Yeah, well. I wanted to do it on my own," said Tracey. "At least the first time."

"May I?" said Amy, not waiting for permission, but reaching out immediately and feeling the skin all round Tracey's pussy. At first it was obvious she was checking the smoothness of the shave, but her fingers lingered as she felt for stray hairs round the opening to Tracey's vagina, and when her middle finger disappeared and she murmured "Nice", it was no longer clear whether she was still referring to the quality of the shave, or the feel of what had just been shaved.

I cleared my throat, to get Amy's attention. "Are you two ready to do some work?"

Tracey had been engrossed in what Amy's fingers were doing, but jumped at the sound of my voice, like I had caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. Amy shot me a dirty look, to let me know that she didn't think I needed to be such a killjoy, then, for Tracey's benefit, tried to sound enthusiastic.

"Sure. What do you want us to do?"

"I think it would be nice to get the two of you lying down, entwined, all tangled up in each other so I can't see whose arms and legs are which. Can you do that?"

It took a minute or so to get some big cushions onto the dais, and to throw a brightly coloured piece of African fabric over the whole thing. I wanted them to get comfortable, because I thought that what I had asked for would be visually very interesting, and I was prepared to spend a bit of time trying to get a decent result from it.

I had imagined them cuddling somehow face to face, with their legs wrapped up and round each other's body, but when Tracey swung herself onto the dais, Amy walked round to the opposite side and laid herself down in the opposite direction, so her legs would be up and around Tracey's shoulders, and vice versa. OK, I thought, this could be even better. 

Amy lifted Tracey's leg over her shoulder as she lay down, resting her head on the inner thigh of Tracey's lower leg, her face only about a foot away from the light pink pussy. She wrapped one of her legs over and around Tracey, whose hand was now resting on Amy's buttock, her trunk twisted and leaning back. Tracey's head and shoulders were a little further away from Amy's pussy, but she was still able to look straight at it, and it was still very accessible to her.

"That looks... interesting," I said, taking a piece of thick vine charcoal and quickly blocking out the main shapes the two young women made.

"It looks pretty good from here," said Amy, looking straight at Tracey's open crotch.

"The view's not bad from this end either," said Tracey, obviously starting to relax and lose what was left of her inhibitions.

I had a feeling that neither of them would be able to hold this pose for long, and I was right. It wasn't that it was awkward, on the contrary, they were both nestled in very comfortable positions over and around the big cushions. But I knew from what Amy had said about her preference for women that Tracey would surely be getting very turned on by the closeness of her naked friend, and I knew that Amy's bisexual curiosity and her love of exposing herself would be having a similar effect on her. It seemed that every time I made some marks with the charcoal, and then glanced up from the paper at my models, Amy's head looked like it was just a fraction closer to Tracey's pussy, and Tracey's hand looked like it was sliding slowly down Amy's ass crack towards Amy's. I quickly realised that it was not my imagination and the two models were not holding themselves as still as I wanted them to be. I tried to draw more rapidly while I still had a chance, but I would have had to be a lightning sketch artist to have captured the pose before it completely disintegrated. Within minutes, Amy's face was within a tongue's length from her friend's pink and glistening pussy, and she was breathing in deeply through her nose, savouring the scent of its slippery wetness.

"Hang on, Amy, I'm not finished drawing yet," I said.

"Sorry, Sam, your needs aren't my highest priority at the moment. And I think you should know that this cunt smells sinfully tasty."

"That's more than I needed to know, girl, I'm trying to concentrate here."

"Me too," said Amy, as she closed her eyes and moved her head the last few millimetres towards the source of the olfactory stimulation. Just before her open mouth locked itself onto Tracey's pubic mound, I caught a glimpse of Amy's pointed tongue sliding into the already wet vaginal opening. 

Unable to do otherwise, Tracey's back arched and she pushed her hips towards Amy's mouth. She looked across at me, not wanting to hold back, but not sure what I would do or say next. She didn't know that I was expecting something just like this to happen when I put them close together, and although I really did want to draw them, I was more than happy to be an appreciative spectator for a while.

"Don't let me stop you, Tracey," I said, "but if it's all right with you, I'll just sit over here and politely wait till you're both done. Amy likes to have an audience."

Amy momentarily came up for air. "And you love nothing better than to watch, so don't you pretend otherwise, you hypocrite."

"Guilty as charged," I confessed, as Tracey smiled and shut her eyes, surrendering to the sensation of Amy's tongue on her clit.

"Omigod," said Tracey, "that is deep-fried heaven on a stick." With her mouth full, Amy could only grunt what seemed to be her agreement, and reached for the toy basket that these days was always somewhere on or near the dais.

Watching the two of them was pretty close to my idea of heaven, too. I don't know any heterosexual male or female who would want to watch two gay men fucking each other, because it just doesn't work aesthetically. It's not what men's bodies are supposed to do. On the other hand, there is something universally erotic about two women making out with each other. 

Tracey may have felt very self-conscious in our studio at first, but as her sexual response systems kicked in she quickly seemed to become oblivious to me, and was totally focussed on what Amy was doing to her. Amy, on the other hand, was enjoying the sensation of being watched at least as much as she was enjoying the girl-girl sex, and even when her mouth was clamped over Tracey's smooth and slippery pubic area, she still kept looking up at me – eyes smiling – to make sure I was paying attention. Paying attention? I couldn't have prised my eyes away from the two of them with a crowbar.

Both of them were ready for the novelty of no-holds-barred sex with each other, and they came within a few minutes, first one, then the other. They took turns swapping mouth-tongue-finger-dildo orgasms for a while, then both of them came together, very loudly, clamping each other's head and shoulders in a thigh-vice. I was so engrossed in the new experience of watching Amy make love to someone other than me, pleased to be enjoying it and surprised to find that I was feeling more than a twinge of jealousy, that it took me a while to realize how explosively loud both of them had become. Amy's normal grunting and heavy breathing had become full-throated shouts, and Tracey was squealing like a very large suckling pig about to be slaughtered. By the time I had the presence of mind to think about shushing them down a bit so the neighbours wouldn't complain, they had come down the other side of their climaxes and the noises had tailed off to almost nothing.

The damage had been done, however. The doorbell rang about ten minutes after the last joint orgasm, while Tracey was looking for some tissues to mop up with and Amy was getting a couple of cold drinks from the kitchen fridge. I slipped some track pants on and went to find out who was at the door. It must have been a slow day at the precinct, because it was two policemen in uniform, responding to a complaint that someone was being hurt. I assured them that no violence had been occurring in my house, but they politely and firmly advised me that it would be in my own interests to invite them in to see for themselves. I wasn't about to stop them, and I figured they would have been trained to expect all kinds of unusual situations, so I was curious to see how they dealt with two flushed and sweating naked exhibitionists. 

The door to the studio was open and I waved them in, following close behind. Tracey was leaning back on the dais, with one leg raised, wiping her groin with a tissue. I don't know who jumped the most, Tracey or the two cops, but the cops stepped back as if someone had punched them both at once, the big man banging back into the wall, the younger one almost treading on my bare toes. Tracey leapt off the bed, looking around her frantically trying to remember where her clothes had gone, while I squeezed past them into the room.

"It would be good if you would tell these officers that I haven't been beating you up," I said to Tracey. 

"Where's my shirt, Sam?" she hissed, with her back to the door, trying to shield herself with a tissue.

"You seem to have us at a disadvantage," I said to the police officers, who were regaining their composure and trying to look officially unfazed, but both were having some difficulty giving any attention to anything but Tracey's bottom as she pulled on her t-shirt and untangled her pants.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but we need to ask you if you are OK," said the younger of the two cops, "we have a report that someone was screaming in here."

Tracey was still trying to get dressed and get some dignity back, so she didn't reply right away, apart from muttering "Shit, shit, shit" to herself because she had started to put her pants on back to front.

"Can I help you?"

I used to think that the idea of the 'double-take' was invented by Warner Brothers for Loony Tunes and it only existed in comics and movie cartoons, but at the sound of Amy's voice coming from the doorway behind them, the two cops turned around and did another synchronised double-take. This time the older man backed into the dais which caught him behind the knees and made him sit down very suddenly and heavily. Amy was standing in the open door with her weight on one leg and her hands on her hips. Even a celibate priest would realise that her livid and inflamed pussy had been recently been fucked with some enthusiasm.

"Oh goody, are these our new playmates, Sam?" Amy asked me ingenuously.

"These are real police officers, Amy, I think you should be polite."

"Are they? They don't look real."

"They definitely are."

"Did you ask them to bring the handcuffs like you promised you would?"

"Amy, these are real policemen."

"Sure they are, Sam. Guys, the changing room's through here, if you want to go and get ready."

The older policeman stood up and stuck his thumbs in his belt. For a moment, I thought Amy had gone too far, but then he couldn't help smiling before he turned towards me trying to look a bit more serious. 

"I think you should tell your lady friend that we're broadminded and we don't mind a joke, but that she shouldn't push her luck. OK?"

"Yes, officer," I said, trying to sound suitably contrite. The two policeman started to move towards the door. The older one nudged the younger one in the ribs to get him to tear his eyes away from Amy's very accessible body, and they both somewhat reluctantly left the room and headed for the front door. I made what was supposed to be a threatening expression and mouthed the word "Behave!" to Amy, but I could see from her expression that the devil was in her, as I followed the visitors into the hallway.

"I didn't see any whips, Tracey. Why didn't they bring the whips?" I heard Amy say loudly enough to be clearly heard in the hall. "No restraints, either." Tracey was fighting a losing battle with her giggles, when the older cop turned and spoke to me for the last time.

"Try to keep the noise down, sir, if you don't mind," he said to me in a quiet and friendly voice. Then even more quietly, he said "You lucky bastard," and left, shaking his head.



A Creative Challenge Ch. 17



"Sam, I do believe you're a bit jealous."

"Yes, I think I am."

"That's so sweet. I never promised you fidelity, though, did I?"

"You never promised me anything." 

"I know that. So what's your problem?"

"No problem. You just asked me how I felt about you having sex with Tracey, that's all. So I told you."

I was beginning to wish I hadn't told her the truth. I should have lied, and said I didn't care that she seemed to really enjoy fucking Tracey, and that it didn't bother me at all to watch her orgasming in someone else's arms. But she had asked me almost as soon as she had arrived back at the studio, and I hadn't had time to think about doing anything but giving her an honest answer.

"It's just sex," she said. "It doesn't mean anything."

"It always means something, Amy, you know that."

"OK. Yes it does. But sex with Tracey didn't mean anything important as far as you and me are concerned, if that's what you mean."

I wasn't sure how much sex with me meant to Amy, either, but I didn't want to open up that can of worms. Tracey had come to the studio and modelled for me with Amy – really modelled – several more times since the visit from the police, but Amy had been spending a lot more time with her away from the studio, and some nights she had gone to Tracey's place and not come home.

"Any way," said Amy, "I won't be seeing Tracey any more. Except at lectures and tutorials, of course." 

"Now you're trying to make me feel selfish and guilty. You don't have to stop seeing her if you want to. Don't do that on my account."

"I'm not. Tracey dumped me."

"Oh. What happened? You two seemed to really like each other. "

"We do. But not in the same way. Tracey realised that I was never going to become the long term partner of her dreams, so she decided to cut her losses and quit before it got messy – messy for her I mean, not for me. She knew that to me she was an adventure, not a real lover. And she wanted someone to ... love, I guess."

"Most people are looking for love, Amy."

"Most?" She gave me a puzzled look. "We're ALL looking for love, Sam. Even you."

Like most men, the idea of Talking About Our Relationship is about as exciting to me as contemplating root canal surgery, so I changed the subject quickly. 

"I'm not going to say 'what do you mean, even me?' because right now we have a problem. I was going to tell you about it as soon as you arrived, but you distracted me."

"Well, you're very easy to distract", said Amy, lifting each of her arms up to its shoulder and taking hold of the little straps of her top. In one unhurried but fluid movement, she slipped them off her shoulders, put her thumbs under the fabric at the side each breast and pulled her top all the way down to her waist. 

I tried, for what seemed a long time but was probably more like two seconds, to continue to look her in the eye and not at her naked torso, but by the time her top was down to just past her nipples, my eyes were drinking in the perfect shape of her breasts and then they were caressing her revealed belly. Any other thought in my head was now gone completely.

She undid the waistband of her jeans, slid down the zip, then pushed them down, dragging the top down over her hips with them. When the pants were down far enough to just see the beginning of her pussy crack, she paused, and waited.

"What problem?" she said, enjoying the power she knew she had over me.

"Huh?" I reluctantly looked up at her face, knowing from her tone of voice that she had asked me something, but clueless about the meaning of the sounds. She was smiling, but shaking her head.

"Sam, you are SO predictable. I said, what problem?" 

For a moment I felt like a daydreaming schoolboy who had been called on by the teacher to answer a question that he hadn't heard being asked, and then I remembered.

"Greta rang just before you arrived. She's been arrested."

"When? What for?"

"This morning, about two hours ago. For indecency."

"You're kidding me. Greta is straight, she wouldn't do anything... oh, it's about the pictures of me and Tracey. Right?"

"Unfortunately."

"Where is she now?"

"Back at the gallery. They questioned her, and let her go. But they told her they are going to have to charge her under the statute that they use to close down porn peddlers."

"Is she upset?"

"No, she's delighted, believe it or not. I'm the one who's upset."

"Why wasn't Greta pissed off, too?"

"Because she – we – will get lots of publicity and the demand for my work will go up again. And if it ever goes to trial, she thinks we'll win big and then she'll sue for defamation, and it will all be great for her business."

"You know the press will be all over us again, don't you?"

"That's why I'm upset. I'm tempted to switch the phone off so I don't have to talk to them."

"You'll have to deal with them sooner or later."

"Then it can be later. You still have some more distracting to do."

"I've got a better idea."

"Better than taking off the rest of your clothes and fucking me?"

"Who said I was going to fuck you? I might have just been playing with you."

"The tabloids would love that story – "Famous artist confesses: I was just my nude model's plaything."

"I wish."

"Do you? Really?"

"Of course not. Sam, that was a silly thing for me to say. I like us the way we are."

"And what way is that?"

The words were out of my mouth before my brain could censor them. I had, quite skilfully sometimes, been avoiding any discussion of 'Our Relationship', but there it was. I had asked a question for which I didn't already have an answer. It would serve me right if it bit me.

"You know. The way we are," said Amy, pushing her jeans down to her ankles but not looking at me as she stepped out of them and folded them up, as if what she had said was a good enough answer, and was all she needed to say.

"And what way is that?" I asked again, not having the good sense to recognize that I was being offered a way out on a plate. I think part of me was experiencing some residual and long-buried Catholic guilt because I had been enjoying far too much the way my life had changed since Amy had entered it , and if I was to lose her it was better to force a confrontation now rather than later. If she was just toying with me, I should know now. 

Amy stood and faced me now, and although I was tinglingly aware of her deliberate attempt to distract me with her nakedness, I was able to look her firmly in the eye, because I felt that what happened next between us was more important than the immediate visual pleasure of exploring her body, however exquisite the experience. Amy was quiet for a moment or two, thinking. She was clearly as unsure as I was about what she was going to say.

"We're... close." 

She could tell from my immobile face that wasn't good enough either.

"OK. We're... very close. I don't mind that we're so different in so many ways, I truly don't think that matters. I like the way that together we are open to anything, that neither of us is judgemental. I love the way we encourage each other's sexual fantasies and don't play ego games. And I really loved the way we were happy not putting pressure on each other... until right now."

"But?" I pushed, not making any apology for the pressure.

"But I don't do commitment very well, Sam. And, frankly, I don't want to do it very well. I tried it. It hurts. I know I said that we're all looking for love, but I'm not ready to find it, so don't ask me if I love you and please don't tell me you love me."

I thought I had maybe pushed her too far. These last words had come out hard, like a threat, and for a moment I felt myself withdrawing from a tension between us that I had never felt before. Then, as if someone had thrown a switch somewhere, she smiled me her warmest smile. Her shoulders relaxed, her head cocked to one side, and the palms of her hands down by her side turned towards me. Her whole body was saying "OK?", and that was fine with me.

"OK," I replied. 

"Are you going to answer that?", said Amy.

Until that moment I was indifferent to the fact that the phone was ringing. I had heard it but as if it was in the distance, somewhere unconnected with where we were at that moment. When Amy drew my attention to it, it muscled its way into the foreground of my consciousness, and I had a sudden impulsive thought.

"No. I don't think I will. Amy, let's go away."

"I've only just got here."

"I don't mean this minute, I mean let's go somewhere else as soon as we can. Somewhere away from all... this." She knew I didn't mean the studio or the house, but away from the notoriety and the press and the phones. 

"A vacation, do you mean?" 

"A vacation. Yes. We'll go and lay on a beach somewhere. Until the fuss with the gallery dies down."

"That could take a while."

"Then it takes a while. By the way, what were you going to say earlier?"

"When?"

"When you said you had a better idea than distracting me by taking the rest of your clothes off?"

"Believe it or not, I was going to suggest we went away somewhere else for a while."

"Why didn't you say so. Somewhere warm?"

"Definitely. Sun, sand, sea..."

"Sex?"

"I thought you'd never ask," said Amy, getting down onto her elbows and knees on the little platform, presenting her beautiful bare ass towards me. "Pretend this platform is a sand dune, and you can practice distracting me on the beach." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 18



"Two more minutes? Pleease?"

I knew that the arching pose Amy had got herself into was beginning to hurt, but my drawing was going well and I just needed to firm up some of its key details. Amy grunted at me through her clenched teeth, but nodded and held the pose. The window light was wintry and gentle as it shaped her smooth white body into soft highlights and smoky shadows, contrasting with the stretched tension of her torso leading up to her head which was flung back as far as it would go. I tried to draw quickly, but I didn't want to spoil a good start.

So where are we going, Amy? For our holiday."

"I'm not telling. You left the arrangements to me, so it's going to be a surprise. Does it matter to you? It's not like there's anywhere in the world we can't afford to go."

"I'll go wherever you want to go, I already said that. I was just curious."

Amy was being very secretive about the destination for our vacation. All she had told me was that we would have plenty of time to join the mile-high-club on our way there, so I was pretty sure we weren't going on a cruise. Which was just as well, because I am not a very good sailor, and just the thought of being locked in a floating motel for several weeks while it's rocking backwards and forwards and up and down was enough to make me feel like throwing up. 

"Done." I said.

Amy slowly unwound herself, then collapsed onto the cushions and changed the subject as she loosened herself up and stretched like a cat..

"Has Greta got a court date for her hearing, yet?"

"Not when I spoke to her this morning, but you and I won't have to be there, it's only a preliminary hearing. The charges might get thrown out, anyway."

"She'll be disappointed if that happens."

"You're not kidding, she's been milking this for all its worth. She told me this morning she's been approached by some German art book publisher about putting out a big coffee table book on my work."

"Do you mean a real art publisher, or an ART publisher?" said Amy, giving me a 'nudge-nudge, wink-wink' sort of look.

"No, I think they are a real art house. I think the Germans like that sort of thing."

"They like lots of things, Sam. Not all of them very wholesome."

"Well, they like my stuff, anyway. And Greta's just about finished checking the contracts on the poster deal she put together, too. They agreed to that huge advance on royalties, by the way."

"You can definitely afford this holiday, then", said Amy.

"WE can afford it. Half those royalties are yours, too."

"No, Sam. Not this time. I'm happy to split some of the cash with you, when it comes in, and I'm really grateful for it, but I can't be part of any royalty agreements. No contracts."

"Why not?"

"Because one day I might not want to be here, and if I can't leave until we have sorted the finances out, then it will be worse than getting divorced."

She was right, of course, and although I knew that one day Amy would be just a warm memory, that day could be tomorrow. Or it could be a long way off.

"And before you ask, I'm not planning on leaving here – you – just yet, but I can't say I won't ever. And when it's over, it's over. OK?"

Facing away from me, Amy flopped backwards on the dais so that her face was closest to me, but upside down. She raised her legs up and over her shoulders, head between her knees, so that her ass was pointing at me, and her face was framed by her upper thighs and her pussy.

"I think I can hold this for about twenty minutes, if you want it."

"It's novel, I'll give you that, but I definitely want it."

I had been this close to dozens of naked women in this room before, but with Amy the experience was always fresh and different, because no other model had ever been this uninhibited or creative. But even when you know someone's body so well, it's a particularly disconcerting thing to be staring into a woman's eyes when they are only inches away from her bare pussy. To have her watch your eyes while they look over every inch of her most intimate places. Watching her, drawing her, watching me.

Twenty minutes later I let Amy uncurl and she came behind the easel to look at what I'd done with her very unusual pose. What I had ended up with was a very unusual drawing. I had drawn it as a big close up, to try to focus the viewer's attention, but there wasn't one main focal point, there was two. The first thing you noticed was Amy's gorgeous pussy, top dead centre on the paper, but almost immediately you then catch the eye of the pussy's owner who is directly below the pussy upside down but looking at you with an almost quizzical expression, as if to say "what are you staring at, then?". The challenging look on the face completely captures your attention, so that when you look away from her eyes and back again to her pussy, you almost feel guilty, like you should be pretending you hadn't noticed it. Like to look at anything but her face was disrespectful, and an intrusion on her privacy. It was quite confronting, and even made me feel a little uncomfortable.

"This is a winner." Said Amy. "This one should go for at least double your normally inflated rate."

"Don't be so greedy." I said. "I'll see what Greta thinks."

"Sam, it's time you started taking some control of this opportunity you have. Greta is lovely and I really like her, but she doesn't think big enough. Your talent should be managed by someone who really knows how to exploit it without compromising your integrity."

"And that someone just happens to be right here, I suppose?" 

Amy looked at me, puzzled for a moment.

"You mean me? You think I'm volunteering for that job? Hell, no, Sam. I meant a REAL manager. I have done enough marketing course units to know that you have a unique product, that just happens to be fully tapped into the zeitgeist, and we have no idea yet how much the market could be willing to pay for it. You could be HUGE, Sam, I mean MASSIVE. And if you're massive in the art world, we're talking serious dough."

"I didn't know you were so mercenary."

"I'm not, or I would already have talked you into signing a professional services contract with me that would fleece you rotten. And I could get you to do it, you know. If I wanted to."

"Do I have to be massive?" I asked, hoping that she wouldn't answer straight away so I had a chance to get back to my favourite subject, which I did. "I'd settle for big right now rather than huge. And as I get older, I think I'd settle for just getting hard every once in a while." 

"It always comes back to your dick, with you men, doesn't it? You're so predictable."

"Yeah, right. If I'm so predictable, what am I thinking about right now?"

Amy sighed and rolled her eyes towards the heavens.

"You're thinking you want to fuck me, of course."

I pretended to be amazed. "Wow, how did you know that?

"I'm psychic. But I'm horny, too."

She flopped back onto the dais cushions, legs wide apart, and her arms stretched out to her sides.

"OK, paint boy, show me MASSIVE."

"On one condition."

"Which is?"

"Please don't call me 'paint boy'." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 19



I could sense that Amy had been bursting to tell me where were going for our vacation but she kept it a secret right up until the night before our flight out of the country.

"Amy, you have to tell me where we're going."

"No, it's supposed to be a surprise."

"I promise I'll be just as surprised tonight as I would have been tomorrow, and I have to know eventually so if you don't tell me now, how do I know what to pack?"

"We agreed we'd go somewhere warm and sunny, and that's where we're going. So pack for warm and sunny. "

"But knowing you, I could get to the airport tomorrow and find out that your idea of a surprise is going snowboarding in Alaska, and I'll only have three T-shirts and a pair of Speedos in my bag."

"Sam, please tell me you're not really going to wear Speedos."

I had no intention of wearing any type of swimwear that I had once heard referred to disparagingly as 'budgie stranglers", but I pretended to be disappointed to find out that Amy thought this would be a major fashion faux pas.

"And I always thought Speedos were so stylish, too."

"Don't bullshit me, Sam. You did not."

"Wherever we're off to, I'm not travelling blindfolded the whole way so I'll find out when we check in at the airport, anyway."

"Oh, alright." She paused for effect, and then her eyes widened with excitement. "We're going to the Caribbean. To Jamaica. What do you think of that?"

In truth, it didn't really matter to me where I went as long as Amy was with me, so Jamaica was fine, and I was pleased that she really had booked somewhere tropical and romantic. 

"Sounds great to me. Can't wait. What made you choose Jamaica?"

"It wasn't so much Jamaica itself as the swanky new 'adults-only' resort we're going to. It's called Fantasia. It's only been open a little while, but the pictures I saw on their website looked wonderful."

"Adults-only means...?"

"It means most of the people in the pictures on their website looked like they were have a great time and most of them weren't wearing any clothes. This place is a five-star Naked City, Sam, with about ten bars and a beach."

"I was wondering why you only bought one small bag and how you were going to squeeze all your stuff into it, but it's because you're not taking much with you, are you? You're not planning on wearing clothes much at all except to get there and come home." 

"Got it in one. Luxury with complete freedom. It'll be fantastic, Sam. " 

When you fly coach you have to line up with all the hundreds of other people at the regular airline check-in desks but we weren't travelling economy this time. When we arrived next morning at the airport we went straight past all that melee and put our passports down at the airline club counter. All we had between us was carry-on bags, so checking in was easy, except I thought for a moment that the woman behind the counter had given us the wrong boarding passes.

"Excuse me, I think there's been some mistake. These are for Business seats, and we're travelling First Class."

The clerk took the passes back and tapped a few keys on her terminal.

"I'm sorry, sir, but your booking is for Business, not First."

Amy had not been looking round the Departures hall, not paying much attention to what was happening at the desk, but before I could say anything else, she jumped into the conversation.

"You're quite right, we are travelling Business Class," she said to the clerk. "Sam, it's not her mistake."

"But we decided we could afford to make this trip First Class all the way."

"We did, and we can, but Business has better seats."

"No, it doesn't. The seats in First are much bigger, AND they fold down so you can lie flat like in a bed."

"Like in a single bed, yes."

"Ah," I said, after a moment's pause for the implications of that to sink in. It had dawned on me where this conversation was heading and I was now more concerned about the clerk's reaction to it, because she had no idea what was coming next. Amy turned towards the puzzled counter clerk to explain.

"You see, the First Class seats are big but they are all separate. In Business they are next to each other in pairs, with an armrest between them that you can fold up out of the way to make one big seat for two. That's much better, because this is our first flight together and we want to join the Mile High Club before we get to Jamaica."

The clerk started like she had just got an electric shock from her keyboard and then looked closely into Amy's face to see if she was being serious or not. Amy was smiling innocently back, giving no hint at all that she had been joking, which of course she wasn't.

The clerk looked down at Amy's passport, then back at her face, then she checked the passports again and looked hard at my face.

"I saw some of your artwork in the paper a few weeks ago, didn't I?" she said to me. "And I saw you in nothing but your birthday suit on TV, didn't I, miss?"

"Very likely," said Amy, pleased to have been recognized. The clerk leaned forward and lowered her voice.

"After we read the story in the paper, my husband and I went to that gallery to see your show. He thought the pictures were wonderful - and so did I, to be honest - but I don't mean to offend you when I say that I couldn't put any of them on my wall at home, if you know what I mean."

"That's alright. I understand," I said.

"Mind you, they certainly had a positive effect on my husband, so I'll pretend I never heard the bit about the... the m.h.c.", said the clerk conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a whisper to make sure no-one could overhear what she was saying. "That's one of the more ridiculous things listed under 'security risks' that I'm supposed to report. Please don't get caught."

"But that's half the fun of...", Amy began to say before I grabbed her arm and started to walk away.

"Thank you", I said, "we'll be very discreet."

We were extra early for our flight because you never know how long the different security checks will take these days, and we had time to go to the club lounge for some breakfast. Amy sat with a croissant and a cappuccino watching the other waiting passengers with her back to the main window. I sat opposite her so I could look at her and see the planes behind her out on the runway taking off and landing as well.

By Amy's recent standards she was fairly modestly dressed, although it was very obvious that she was on vacation and not on a business trip. A double layer of brightly tie-dyed sarongs was knotted round her hips, so unless she was standing directly between you and the sun, they did a reasonable job of concealing her bottom half down to her ankles. It was a sunny day outside, but as a concession to the chilly autumn breeze she had chosen a longer waisted and longer sleeved top than she normally wore. Consequently, there was very little of her midriff showing, but the over-enthusiastic air-conditioning in the club lounge was keeping her headlights on high beam, so that two snap-frozen peas seemed to have been trapped inside her tight white top halfway between her neck and her waist. With her hair loosely clipped up, she looked casual, relaxed, and incredibly sexy. 

I was not the only male in the club who had noticed that last fact. Glancing sideways, I could only see a few of the many business suits in the lounge, but those that I could see were all looking in Amy's direction. Amy could obviously see many more of them behind me, and I would have been very surprised if she wasn't the center of attention for most of them as well. As she looked around the large room, an amused smile grew on her face. As always, I could sense that she was drawing power from the many eyes that were on her, and that she would very soon use that power in some way. 

She looked me in the eyes and her smile broadened into her special 'I know what you're thinking' grin, and I bathed in the affectionate warmth of its glow. Casually, she raised her right foot and placed it on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of her. As her knee lifted, the sarong went with it. Where there was formerly an overlap in the layers of thin skirt material, between the two edges of the fabric there was now an opening pointing directly at me. From somewhere behind my right shoulder, I heard a clatter and a splash as what sounded like a full cup of coffee hit the floor, and a sotto voce "Holy shit", presumably voiced by the person who had suddenly lost his grip on his beverage.

Even though my peripheral vision was trying its best to tug my gaze downwards, I grinned back and kept my eyes locked on hers for a very long time. At least several seconds. When I finally looked down, the sunlight from the window behind her was being diffused through her now suspended sarongs and streaking the underside of her right thigh and the top of her left thigh with soft blues and pinks, all the way up to her lower belly. As I looked into the shadowy area where her legs came together, she slowly illuminated it by moving her left knee sideways. It was like a shaft of sunlight through a stained glass window in a cathedral, revealing to me – and to anyone else in a fairly narrow range of sight – the whole of her holy shrine, the inner sanctum, the high alter at which I worshipped.

I eventually looked back to her face, and as she lowered her right foot to the floor and pulled her skirts back over her knees, she slowly mouthed the silent words "just...for...you". I raised one eyebrow at her, meaning "Oh, really?", and her giggle told me she had got the message and was admitting being caught in a lie. 

I wondered if, in the world of air travel, there was another organization known as the 'Ground Level Club' for people who made themselves too horny to wait for the plane to take off. I knew the club lounge had some very nice bathrooms, mainly for tired incoming passengers to freshen up in when they have to go straight from the airport to a business meeting, so I fantasised for a while about getting a towel and toiletries pack from the reception desk and fucking Amy under running hot water in one of the shower cubicles.

I knew that the chances of us hearing the boarding call were pretty remote if we did that, so I just enjoyed the anticipation of what was probably going to happen in the next few hours at 30,000 feet, and waited. 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 20



On board the aircraft, the Business Class cabin crew had a glass of champagne in our hands almost before we had sat down, and I was very happy at the extra leg room that I knew we would both appreciate on this long flight. Amy had done her research well, and the seats were exactly as she had said, and the wide armrest between us flipped up to make two very comfortable seats into one short semi-reclining sofa. There were two rows of seats next to the windows on each side of the cabin, and one row down the center, with an aisle down each side. The trouble was, we were in two seats in the middle of the middle row.

What Amy obviously hadn't been expecting was how crowded the business section was going to be. There was not a spare seat anywhere, and we might have our own sofa, but there were people all round us and there was no chance of any privacy to go with it.

"This m.h.c. thing is going to be a bit tricky sitting here, Sam."

"No it's not", I said, "it's going to be impossible here. We'll just have to use the toilet, like most civilised mile-high-club members."

"But that's so obvious and unimaginative," said Amy. "I was hoping to do it in a way that was a bit more..."

"Public?"

"...classy, I was thinking. Yes, and more public." 

Her disappointment was written on her face. I could never get used to seeing that face unhappy.

"Amy, choosing this section so we could have the best seats to fuck in was very clever of you, and we could get away with it under a blanket if this was a night flight. Why don't we change our return flight so that we come back at night? Then I'm game. But you know we can't do it here, not now."

Amy nodded her agreement to this compromise and she brightened up a little. About an hour later, after the mid-morning snack trays had been cleared away, Amy unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned towards me.

"Wait a couple of minutes and follow me. I'll leave the door unlocked." 

Before I could say anything, she was walking towards the toilet block at the front of the business section. I waited for a while, and was just about to get up, when a man in the row in front of ours beat me to it. I got up quickly but he was already halfway down the aisle and I had to follow him. I knew there would be more than one cubicle free, and I thought the odds were pretty good that he would choose one of the empty ones. 

I was right behind him when he pushed open the folding door of the first green 'unoccupied' toilet. Inside, smiling, and making no attempt to cover herself up was Amy, naked, and leaning nonchalantly against the washbasin.

"Whoa!", said my fellow passenger, stopped in his tracks.

I tapped him on the shoulder and said quietly, "I think that's mine. Why don't you use this one?" I pushed open for him the door to the next empty toilet. He looked at me and smiled, then looked back at Amy.

"Hello," said Amy.

"Hello," said the man. He turned back to me. "I'm happy to swap. If you like."

"I don't think so."

"You'd be crazy if you did," he said, closing the door of his cubicle behind him.

"What kept you?" said Amy, as I locked the door.

"I had to wait until someone else could 'accidentally' find you first", I lied.

"How thoughtful of you. I love the expression on their faces when that happens. That was so cool, and now I'm even hornier." As she was speaking, she undid my pants and pushed them to the floor. Then she kissed me as she quickly massaged my cock to full attention.

"You'll need to give me your pants," she said.

"Why?" I said, stepping out of them and trying with some difficulty to bend down and pick them up in a cramped tiny room designed for only one person.

"I'll have to sit on the washbasin, and the edge of it's cold and narrow. I need some more padding for my ass."

She took my pants from me and rolled them up with her sarongs and shirt to make a cushion which she put on the edge of the basin. She turned round and as I tried to help her up onto it, the plane suddenly lurched and she fell forwards onto me.

"Uh-oh. Turbulence. We'll have to be quick, Sam."

This time I stood between her legs as she hopped up backwards onto the hand-basin, leaning back against the mirror with her feet flat against the wall behind, one leg on either side of me. I had to stand up a little on my toes to get the head of my penis at the right angle against her pussy, but I slid straight into her much more easily than I was expecting, given the circumstances. She put her arms round my neck and pulled me towards her, so that she could put her mouth to my ear

"I hate to tell you this, Sam, it wasn't just the thought of fucking you. Getting caught like that made me extra wet in a big hurry."

"Whatever, it feels just as good either way," I said, moving my hips backwards and forwards with a slow steady rhythm. 

The plane bumped and lurched a few more times, but Amy was braced against the mirror one side and the wall on the other. gripping me with her knees, and I had my palms flat against the mirror either side of her shoulders, so we were not about to be interrupted even if the aircraft bucked and pitched like a rodeo horse. 

"Ladies and gentleman, this is the first officer. Please return to your seats immediately, and fasten your seatbelts. We will try to climb above this patch of turbulence, but it could get very bumpy."

"Faster, Sam, I don't care if the wings fall off, you're not stopping now."

It was almost as if the turbulence was trying to help us enjoy this part of the ride, because the plane's wild lurchings were slamming us together and bumping us sideways, intensifying the pleasure of the well-oiled friction that was happening at groin level. I pumped in and out more and more quickly as Amy made her little grunting sounds and I felt the tingly heat rise up to my scalp from the base of my spine. Amy is not a screamer but this time she couldn't stop herself from squealing very loudly in my ear as we both hit the peaks of our orgasm at the same time. I wondered if everyone down in economy had heard the unmistakeable sounds of a climax as clearly as I was sure all the Business passengers had.

There was no time for blissful post-coital reflection. The turbulence was getting worse, as the flight crew knew it would. I helped Amy down off my cock and off the bench. As she unfolded our clothes we could see they were soaking wet, and we realised that our rolled up clothes had been pressed by her ass down onto the cold water lever which had been pouring water into our makeshift pillow all the time we were humping on top of it. 

I shook my pants out. They were all but wet through, but I had no choice except to put them back on. It is not easy trying to get dressed in a pair of wet, cold, pants while you are standing up in a rollercoaster, and I was getting very frustrated and pissed off. Amy, on the other hand was doubled over, laughing hysterically from both the aftershocks of her intense orgasm and the ridiculous situation we were now in. 

"We can't leave here like this," I said.

"We can't not," said Amy, half sitting, half falling onto the toilet seat. "We don't have any alternative. It's so bumpy now we haven't got time to leave separately, we'll just have to brazen it out together."

She was clearly enjoying this. I finally managed to get my pants on, then helped her, still giggling, into her clinging wet and now very see-through top, and she tied the soggy sarongs back round her hips. With a deep breath, Amy paused at the door for a moment, then said "Showtime" and unlocked it, walking boldly but unsteadily back into the cabin. 

I tried not to make any kind of prolonged eye contact with our fellow passengers, but most of them weren't looking at me at all. I could see their jaws drop and their eyes widen when they saw what looked like a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest coming towards them. Amy was doing the opposite to me, looking everyone in the eye, nodding and waving to them whether they looking shocked or were smiling in her direction. When she got to our row, several of the passengers gave her a little round of applause, which she acknowledged by bowing to all four corners of the cabin, while trying not to fall over in the still bumpy plane. I wanted very much to get out of the spotlight she was creating around us and get my seatbelt on, so I pushed her firmly across my seat and into her own and quickly sat down beside her. 

As we fastened our seatbelts, one of the cabin crew appeared in the aisle, with two blankets. 

"I think you'll need these," she said. "I can get you some hot towels if you like."

"Thank you. That would be nice," I replied, not looking her in the eye either, but gratefully wrapping one of the blankets round Amy's shoulders and hiding myself underneath the other one.

Amy was rummaging in her handbag for what turned out to be a small mirror. She held it up and looked at the reflection of her flushed and dishevelled face. 

"Was that rather dramatic way of joining the mile-high-club classy and public enough for you?" I asked.

"I look frightful," she said, ignoring my question.

"No, you look fucked." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 21



By the time we arrived at the Norman Manly International Airport in Kingston it was early evening and already dark, but when we stepped outside the air-conditioned airport we knew we had arrived somewhere deliciously warm compared to the city we had just come from. The sweet tropical scent of frangipani and jasmine was heavy in the air, along with the chirruping of crickets and cicadas.

Although security in the laid-back Caribbean was less obtrusive and paranoid than it has become in most places in the world, it had still taken us longer than we expected to get through customs, mainly because we were carrying so much less luggage than most tourists would for what was supposed to be a two-week vacation. They insisted on very carefully searching what few possessions we had, although neither of us could imagine that they were looking for drugs on the way in. Jamaica's reputation for easy access to home-grown 'erb made it unlikely that many people would bring their own recreational substances with them to these islands. 

The customs officers were extremely polite and happy as customs officers go, and they were very amused by Amy's explanation that we intended to spend most of our time in Jamaica stark naked, which is why we had so few clothes with us. Sometimes I was sure that Amy says things like that just to shock people, just to see their reaction as she jerks them out of their comfort zone. At other times, like on this occasion, it seems as if what she says is completely innocent, and that planning on being naked for the next two weeks is a perfectly ordinary reason for arriving in a country with next to no spare clothing.

I was pleased to see the 'Fantasia' stretched limo waiting outside the main entrance as Amy had been promised, with the door being held open by a very large and very black driver who introduced himself as Jimmy. He wore a truly enormous floral shirt and a big smile.

"You folks make yourselves comfortable. We'll be at Fantasia in about half an hour," said Jimmy, as he helped us into the limo and closed the door. He pronounced every part of the word 'com-for-tab-le' in that uniquely West Indian way, as if each syllable was a separate word that deserved the time to be appreciated on its own.

When he had stowed our bags in the trunk and settled into the driver's seat, Amy tapped on the window behind him, and Jimmy lowered the glass barrier and twisted round towards her in his seat.

"Was that half an hour of our time, or half an hour of 'island time'?", asked Amy.

"Island time is all we got 'round here," said Jimmy, still smiling. "But there's re-fresh-ments in the cabinet. Help yourselves."

We were not in desperate need of anything alcoholic, we had already had more than enough to drink while we were strapped into our six-mile high metal tube, so as Jimmy put his window back up and pulled away from the curb, we both settled back into the very comfortable seats with a mineral water, and stretched our legs out. The journey so far had left both of us crumpled and tired, not surprisingly, and we both wanted a shower more than anything else.

Amy knelt forward and tapped on Jimmy's window , and it swished down again.

"Jimmy, we're not stopping anywhere else before we get to the resort, are we?"

"No, ma'am. You're the last to arrive tonight, and the next stop is Fan-tas-i-a."

"Goody, then do you mind if I get naked now? I'm in holiday mood."

Jimmy paused for a moment, then said, "That's fine with me, but you'll need to check in when we get there, and the re-cep-tion is not a clothing optional area."

"What do you mean, not a 'clothing optional area'? I thought the whole place was clothing optional."

"No, ma'am. Just the beach and the pool bar. And in your own villa, of course."

"That sucks! It didn't say that on the website. It had all these pictures of naked people."

"That's right. But not in the restaurants and bars and the other com-mon areas."

"I think that's false advertising, Jimmy, but thanks for letting us know."

Amy was peeved by this news and slumped back in to her seat.

"Sorry, Sam. Looks like I didn't do my research as well as I'd thought."

"It's OK. I'm sure we'll have a good time anyway."

"Oh, to hell with it, I've been dying to get out of these things since they got wet this morning," said Amy, peeling her top off and unknotting her sarongs. "Damn, that's a relief. I can't remember the last time I wore clothes for that long, and they were really starting to irritate my skin."

I could see Jimmy's eyes widen in the rear view mirror, and his cheeks told me his grin had widened still further, but he was a professional driver, and we stayed firmly and smoothly on the road. Once we were out of the city, we could see very little of the countryside except what was illuminated by the big headlights of the limo. The roads we were travelling on became narrower, and then the bitumen ran out, and we were cruising more slowly on winding dry dirt roads through thick trees. 

Amy rested her head against my shoulder. Inside the limo was almost as dark as the countryside outside, so I slid my hand across her thigh and down towards her pussy. My searching fingers found that her own hand was already doing what mine had intended to do. It was gently massaging her clitoris. Amy softly giggled and moved her hand out of my way, using it to unzip the front of my pants instead, and opening her thighs a little to give me better access. If it hadn't been such a long day already, we might have been tempted to both get naked and give Jimmy something to really tell the other resort staff about, but we were both tired. Without saying anything, we snuggled into each other and just enjoyed the closeness two people can get from being able to share the most intimate caresses just for their own sake rather than as foreplay. Amy's hand was inside my fly, gently squeezing and stroking the head of my penis. My middle finger was slowly circling her clitoris, sliding down between her pussy lips from time to time to bring up a little more of her slippery aromatic wetness. If there is such a place as heavenly paradise, for that fifteen minutes or so I was sure that it would have to look just like the inside of a Jamaican limo.

The gates to the resort seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, but once we were through them, we were on a smoothly paved driveway leading to a large reception area, completely covered with a thatched timber roof but open on all sides, so that the limo drove right inside and pulled up in front of the check-in counter. Amy yawned and then kissed me as she zipped up the front of my pants.

Jimmy opened the door for her, and Amy stepped out, still naked, and stood at the counter with her clothes in her hand. Behind a computer terminal was a beautiful island girl with very long and very fine corn braids, and incredibly white teeth. 

"I'm sorry, madam, but...", she began to say, but Amy raised her hand to stop her.

"I know, I know. Jimmy told us already."

She handed me her shirt and one of the sarongs and tied the other one around her, knotting it in front just high enough to cover her nipples. While she was standing still, the material hung straight down, covering the rest of her body down to mid-thigh level, but I knew that as soon as she moved it would open up at the front and flow behind her, concealing very little.

"Will that do?"

"Yes, thank you, ma'am. Welcome to Fantasia. We have all your details already, so if you will just sign here, I can give you the security keys. I hope you enjoy your beachfront villa. The train is here to take you to it now." 

When we turned round, Jimmy's limo was gone, and instead a small electric train looking like an old fashioned steam locomotive was pulling up inside the reception area. Behind it were half a dozen golf-buggy sized two-seater carriages. The train driver put our bags onto a tray behind the engine and motioned us into the first carriage.

As I suspected it would, as Amy stepped forward, her sarong stayed where it was at first, then followed behind her, billowing out as she climbed on board. As she sat down, she deliberately made no attempt to close it around her and it stayed where it was, behind her on the seat and wide open from her sternum down. 

"This could be even more fun than you thought," I said as I sat beside her.

"In what way?"

"Well, if there weren't any rules, you wouldn't be able to enjoy breaking them."

The train slowly pulled us through a patch of thick rainforest. Through the trees, we could see lights coming from some of the other villas, and soon we could hear surf, and waves breaking on sand. Salty spray was now part of the heady scent of the place, and the treetops were alive with the sounds of the nocturnal fauna going about their nightly chores of finding food and finding a mate.

We couldn't see the sea from the front door of our palm-leaf thatched villa, because of all the coconut trees on each side, but when we walked through what appeared to be a very large high-ceilinged one-room hut and out of the big sliding glass doors on the opposite side, we were suddenly looking out onto a 180 degree vista of moonlit bay, with the beach below us, standing on a deck that was cantilevered out and above the last sand dune before the edge of the water lapping gently on the shore. It was breathtaking, and we both took deep lung-fulls of the clean sweet tropical air.

"Not bad," said Amy, untying and dropping her sarong. "And you're right about me and rules. Tomorrow morning let's find out how many they've got here and try to break them all."



A Creative Challenge Ch. 22



"Wake up, Sam, it's a beautiful day."

I felt something land on the bed next to me and opened my eyes just as a naked Amy swung one leg over me to sit kneeling astride the tops of my thighs, taking my morning erection firmly in both hands at once.

"Mr Happy's up early this morning, even if you're not," she laughed. "Come on, sleepy, it's gone nine, and breakfast is on its way."

I rubbed my eyes so I could see her beautiful body better, and tried to juggle two important thoughts in my head at once – not an easy thing to do only seconds after waking up. The first thought was that I should remember once again to count my blessings carefully because I could not believe my good fortune, being here in paradise and waking up with this gorgeously uninhibited young woman who, incredibly, seemed to want me right now as much as I wanted her. The second important thought was 'Fuck, that feels good'.

Amy pushed my cock down flat against my belly and shuffled her hips forward. She put her palms on my chest, and slid her super-smooth pussy forwards against the underside of my penis, holding me down with the front of her pubic bone, not quite letting the opening of her vagina get to its tip before pausing and sliding back down its whole length. She teased me like this five or six times, long enough for her wetness to get both of us nicely slippery, and then she slid that extra half an inch forward. My cock sprang up against the sudden softness of her pussy lips and as she slid backwards, it disappeared inside her.

Both of us exhaled loudly at the same time from the sheer joy of this amazing sensation, which started both of us giggling. 

"Breakfast!" said a loud male voice from the doorway.

"Come in, Buckingham," called Amy looking back over her shoulder, but making no move to get off me or pull a sheet over us.

"Buckingham?" I said, rather weakly. "Amy, get off."

"That's what I was about to do, before breakfast arrived."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"I know, but don't worry about Buckingham, working in this place he's seen worse, I'm sure."

Behind Amy I could see a tall and very fit looking young man dressed in just a pair of white board shorts pushing a trolley into our villa. His skin was the colour and silky texture of the finest melted Belgian milk chocolate, and he had long dreadlocks tied back into a ponytail. When he saw us, he stopped pushing.

"Good morning. Would you like me to come back later?"

"No, it's OK, Buckingham, we've got all day to finish what we just started, and I'm starving," said Amy, pulling herself off me with a faint squishy 'plop' and standing up, leaving my upright pole glistening in the mid-morning light.

"I have no say in this decision?"

"Not this time, no. Sam, this is Buckingham, Buckingham, this is Sam."

Buckingham stepped forward smiling and bent down, offering me his outstretched hand. I tried casually to throw a sheet round me as I shook his hand, but the bedclothes were tangled up in my feet and I only succeeded in making myself look and feel even more awkward than before.

"Welcome to Fantasia," he said.

"Thank you. Whoever you are," I said.

"Buckingham's our butler, Sam. Not just ours, he looks after four of the beachside villas. Whenever we want something, Buckingham will get it for us."

"Like privacy?" I said.

"Oh Sam, don't be a miserable curmudgeon. Buckingham's very nice and he's made us a beautiful breakfast."

It was true, he had. On top of the crisp white linen covering the trolley was fresh orange juice and a fruit salad with mangos and papaya and lime juice, and yoghurt and warm-from-the-oven croissants, and a pot of hot strong coffee. There seemed little point in me getting dressed, and it was clear that Amy had no intention of doing so either, so I followed both her and the trolley out onto the deck where Buckingham transferred our breakfast to the table.

"Can I ask you something before you go, Buckingham?" said Amy, leaning against the railing with her back to the sea.

"Sure," said Buckingham, not pretending to look anywhere but at Amy's gloriously naked body.

"Why do we have to keep our clothes on in most parts of this place? It's supposed to be 'adults-only' and when I booked to come here I thought we wouldn't need to wear clothes at all if we didn't want to."

Buckingham thought for a few moments and then was careful how he answered this question. I assumed he didn't want to appear to be criticising his employers.

"This place is not really for people who are sexually liberated. It's for people who aren't. Most of the couples who come here are Americans, and most of them are much more uptight about not wearing clothes than you two."

"So why do they come here?" she said. "Why not go to Coney Island or Hawaii instead?"

"It's moistly the husbands who book the vacations here, hoping that a more relaxed atmosphere will encourage their wives to lose some of their inhibitions and spice up their sex lives. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Most of the womenfolk wouldn't come at all if this place had naked people everywhere. Some of them spend a whole week here without plucking up the courage even to go topless for five minutes on the beach."

"How sad," said Amy. "They don't know what they're missing. Thanks, Buckingham."

Buckingham turned to leave, then stopped.

"Would you like some advice?"

'Yes please," said Amy.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this, because it's not resort policy, but it's really OK for you to be topless anywhere in the resort. None of the staff will stop you, and the management know that in Jamaica they can't legally discriminate between men and women. If men are allowed to go around without a shirt, then women have to be able to as well. Some of the more conservative female guests may not like that, but perhaps this is not the right sort of place for them anyway."

"Thank you for telling me. I'm so glad you did," said Amy, walking over to him and kissing him on the cheek. "You're a legend, Buckingham, and this place would be even better if you didn't have to wear those shorts all the time."

"I agree, that would be much more fun." 

Buckingham seemed to walking on air when he left our villa. Amy had made another friend, and I knew we would get sensational service for the rest of our stay. I thought for a moment that she was going to insist on pulling his shorts down like she did to me so long ago when she first moved into my home. She didn't, but I had a very strong impression that the thought had crossed her mind at the same time as it crossed mine. Give it time, I thought, and Amy's impulsive thoughts sooner or later turn into actions. 

"How did you find out we had a butler?" I asked.

"I was up hours ago, while you were still snoring. Buckingham saw me come back from checking out the beach and he introduced himself. That's when I ordered breakfast."

"Unusual name," I said.

"His mother calls him Desmond because that's his real name, but his family name is Pallas, so everybody calls him Buckingham. For obvious reasons."

It never ceased to amaze me how easily Amy won new people over. Within minutes of meeting her, people were telling her their life stories, because she is so open and such a good listener. When she switches on her charm, someone like Buckingham doesn't stand a chance.

When we finished breakfast, I thought we would complete our interrupted and unfinished business on the bed, then go for a swim and a stroll up the beach, but Amy said she wanted to explore the resort first, and pick up where we left off earlier after lunch. I guessed she wanted to see if what Buckingham had said was true, and also that she liked the idea of provoking some repressed American housewives. I knew that being nude in public always made her even hornier than normal, so I was happy to wait till later.

Amy picked out her lightest and flimsiest sarong and tied it in a single layer round her hips, knotting it to one side, so that when she walked in it, one leg was bare right up to the knot. That was all she wore, except for a small necklace of wild flowers which was on her pillow when we arrived the night before. The semi-transparent wrap was very low on her hips, emphasising the length of her beautifully fit and slender torso. Her skin was very white, so I insisted on rubbing some SPF30+ sunscreen into her back and her shoulders and especially into her precious breasts and sun-sensitive nipples before we left the villa. The only difficult thing about that particularly pleasurable job is eventually forcing yourself to admit that you've put on more than enough cream, and massaging no more.

The resort map in the villa showed us that there was a path through the forest that would get us to the main part of the resort on foot almost as quickly as the train, so we decided to walk. Amy was right, it was a beautiful day, deliciously warm and sunny, but not uncomfortably hot, and walking through this very different terrain hand in hand with this almost naked young woman was another in a long list of new experiences that I had been privileged to enjoy since being with her.

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes. 

From somewhere in the dusty decades-old archives of my mind suddenly came these lines from a poem that I could not recollect ever learning, but I knew these few words from it with certainty and I knew that Lord Byron must have written them about the woman whom I was now equally certain that I loved more than anything else in the world.

She walked with Byronic style and effortless grace, like a cheetah, her back straight, and her hips tilting from side to side. As always, she looked like she was never meant to wear clothes, and was completely comfortable in just her skin, wherever she happened to be.

Behind the reception building was a big entertainment area with a café and several different restaurants and bars around its shaded edges. Outdoor tables with comfortable chairs encouraged al fresco drinking and dining, and towards the middle of this area sunlounger beds and coconut palms surrounded each of the different plunge pools and waterfalls and spa tubs. 

About a dozen couples were relaxing in this area, all of them either casually dressed or wearing swimsuits or bikinis. As Amy walked slowly through towards one of the bars on the far side, all heads turned and all eyes were on her. Some of the women and men watching her smiled in appreciation, but some of the men stopped smiling when they received an elbow in their ribs from their less amused partners. As Amy passed one middle-aged couple, perspiring in neck-to-knee 'resort wear', I saw the woman glare at the man by her side as if to make sure he wasn't enjoying the scenery too much, and as I passed, I heard her go "Tch, tch" quietly. 

But not quietly enough. 

Amy stopped and turned back to face the woman, with a broad smile on her face. 

"Hello", she said sweetly, "did you say something to me?"

"No, I didn't say anything. But since you mentioned it, I do think you should have the courtesy to be properly dressed in this part of the resort."

Amy's smile didn't falter, and her tone became even friendlier.

"Oh, but I AM properly dressed for every part of the resort. Really I am. And I guarantee you would feel much more comfortable in this climate if you were dressed more like me."

"I don't think you're right. You can only be... like that," she waved vaguely at Amy's bare tits, "on the beach or in the pool bar."

"I'm afraid you're wrong." Amy turned to me and patted my bare chest. "If my man can walk around like this, then so can I. That's the law on this island."

'My man'. I liked that. Behind Amy on one of the loungers was a young woman in a very small and tight bikini. She sat up when she heard what Amy said . 

"Is that true?" she said. "It's OK to be topless anywhere?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank goodness for that," she said, undoing her bikini top and taking it off. 

Her husband or boyfriend on the sunbed next to hers whistled softly and clapped his hands in appreciation, and she bowed to him. As the word spread, several other women in the sunning area took off their bikini tops or rolled down their one-piece suits.

"Can I sit down with you for a minute?" said Amy to the tch-tch woman, and then sat at her table without waiting for permission. She spoke to the woman's husband who had so far made no comment at all.

"Tell me honestly, does my body offend you?" She looked him straight in the eye with a smile. He hesitated for a moment and then smiled back and said "No."

"Would I be right if I took a guess from your accent that you're from New York?" Amy addressed this question to the woman.

"Yes, we are," she replied.

"Did you know," said Amy, "that in the whole of New York State, there is nowhere where it is illegal for a woman to be topless? Did you know that you could walk down Broadway topless and not be breaking the law?"

"Is that true?" the woman turned to her husband and asked. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I never heard that. If it's true. It can't be," he said.

"I assure you it's absolutely true. You can check it out when you get home. But in the meantime, why don't you get into the spirit of this place and let some of this wonderful air and sunshine nearer to your bodies? I promise you'll like it if you do."

Before they could respond, Amy stood up, still smiling, took my hand, and started to walk on. I was impressed with the way she had made her point without making enemies.

"Is that true?" I asked her. "About New York and how it's not illegal to be topless?"

"Of course. Same as in Toronto. Would I lie?"

"I don't think so. How did you know that?"

"When you like to get naked as much as I do, Sam, it's handy to know when you're actually breaking the law and when you're not. Anyway, there's lots of things I know that you don't."

"Such as."

"Such as how thirsty I am right now. Let's go get a drink." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 23



Over the next week or so, Amy raised the general level of nakedness around the resort.  

Her open enthusiasm for not wearing clothes was infectious, and whereas before, the Pool Bar and the beach were supposed to be 'clothing optional' areas, now they almost became 'naked obligatory', and the rest of the resort became 'topless expected'.  Not everyone joined in, but most did.  A couple of more conservative guests left midweek even though they had booked for longer, but several men and even a couple of women quietly said a grateful thankyou to me or to Amy at various times for helping to lower their inhibitions and be more open to new experiences.  

The stories of these women were strikingly similar.  Once their initial barriers were down and they had experienced the joys of a little nudity and a little public exhibitionism,  they felt more liberated, and their whole attitude to the resort, to their husbands, to their sex lives, and even to their own life in general relaxed and improved.

 The beautiful weather and the now more erotically charged environment kept Amy in a state of almost constant wet horniness, and we made love several times each day, in all sorts of places, on the beach, waist high in the sea, on our deck, even late one evening in the pool of the Pool Bar with a mango daiquiri in our hands.  We were always fairly careful about it, but sometimes we had a small audience and just didn’t care.  My fantasy had always been to make love in public in such a way that nobody could see or knew it was happening – secret exhibitionism – but now that element of secrecy seemed less important.  I was becoming more exhibitionist than before and I now felt, like Amy did, that it was a real buzz to have someone watch you fucking, especially when both you and the watcher – or watchers – know what's happening.

I was still in the bed one morning, doing what I most loved to do, which was looking at Amy without her clothes on.  She was in profile to me, standing silhouetted in the doorway between the big main villa room and the deck, leaning back against one of the architraves.  One of her feet was on the doorpost behind her at about knee level, and her head was leaning  forward  with her hair tumbling over and obscuring her face.  At that moment., I desperately wanted something to draw on, but I had decided this was to be a real vacation and I hadn't brought even the smallest of sketch books with me.

"Amy, I don't think I can cope with much more of this.  You are so beautiful I am in physical pain over here," I said, drinking in the silhouette that was the curve of her breast and nipple against the light, savouring the taut sweep of her buttock behind the tucked up leg, and enjoying the smile I had brought to her face with my compliment.  "What wouldn't I give for a pencil and a drawing pad right now."

Amy pushed herself away from the deck door, walked over towards the front door, and pushed a button set into the wall.

"What did you just do?" I asked.

"I called Buckingham.  That's the butler call button."

"Why did you call him?"

"He said he would get anything we want.  Well, you want a drawing pad and some pencils.  And if you do, so do I."

I had no idea where our butler was going to get those things, but I thought there was no harm in asking.

"What do you think of Buckingham?" said Amy.

"He seems very nice.  Why?"

"I meant what do you think of his body?"

"He's in fine shape," I understated, not wanting to risk being physically compared with Buckingham, even theoretically.

"FINE shape?" said Amy scornfully.  "That's like calling Hurricane Katrina a 'light shower'.  Sam, I think he may have the best body I have ever seen on a man.  He's HOT."

There was nothing much useful that  I could say about that, so I didn't say anything, and waited.  I had a feeling that she had been thinking for some time about what she was going to say next.

"Sam, I want to get him naked, and I if you want to do some drawing that gives us a great excuse.  We talked about getting a man to model with me one day, and I can't think of anyone better."

"Did we talk about that?  I don't remember any discussion.  When you wanted to get  Tracey to the studio I recall you said that you weren't thinking of getting a man to model with you."

"I said 'not yet'.  And that was then, Sam, this is now.  What do you think?"

"He certainly is beautiful.  We'll ask him if you like."  I thought for a moment whether to ask the obvious question, but I decided it was better to know the answer. "Do you want to fuck him?"

"Sam, are you kidding? Of course I'd like to fuck him.  Will I fuck him?  I doubt it, if that's what you're worried about."

"Well, it's an idea that's not without its potential dangers from my point of view.  I wouldn't want to fly home from here alone."

She looked at me in some surprise and laughed.  "Like I might drop out and come and live with our butler in some tropical jungle hideaway?  I don't think so."

She made it sound like a foolish idea, but I didn't think that some scenario like that was as impossible as she was suggesting.

"You wanted me?" said Buckingham from our open doorway.

"Come in, Buckingham.  Yes we do," said Amy. "Come and sit out here with us for a minute."

She took him onto the deck and we all sat round the timber table.

"You probably don't know this but Sam's a famous artist, and he wants to do some drawing.  We would like to get a drawing pad and some big soft pencils and maybe a few sticks of charcoal and stuff.  Can you do it?"

"I'm sure we can.  If we don't have anything like that in the resort Jimmy could buy supplies for you in Kingston when he does the airport run later this morning."

"See, I told you he could get whatever you wanted," Amy said to me.

"Buckingham, are you interested in earning some extra money while we're here?" I asked.

He was not quick to answer this question.  Working at the resort was probably a good job by Jamaican standards, and he wouldn't want to jeopardise that, but the Jamaican dollar was not a high-value currency, and he probably earned about half what a bus-boy at McDonalds would earn at home.

"It depends what you want me to do.  The rules here are very strict about engaging in 'personal services' with any of the guests."  The way he said the words 'per-son-al ser-vic-es' left no doubt at all what he was talking about.  "That's completely forbidden, but you would be surprised how often I get that sort of offer."

"Oh no, I wouldn't be at all surprised," said Amy with a smile.  I suspected that inwardly she was disappointed that Buckingham was making it clear from the beginning that fucking any of the guests was out of the question.

"It's up to you, and I don't know how they define 'personal services', but all we want you to do is model for me for a few hours while I draw you.  Amy will model for me as well, and the standard rate is twenty-five dollars an hour.  What do you say?"

"Jamaican dollars or US dollars?"

"Whichever you prefer."

"How about English pounds?" he said, not expecting me to say yes, but I knew that Amy was very keen to get Buckingham buck naked, so I thought 'what the hell', and nodded.

His eyes widened.  I could tell that was extremely attractive to him.

"That's more than I make in a whole day.  What's the catch?"

"It's not a catch, but you have to lose those board shorts."

"Model nude?"

"Of course."

"That's all?"

"Model nude for me, with Amy, that's all.  Twenty-five pounds an hour.  When can you do it?"

"I'm on call for you and my other guests 24 hours a day, but unless someone calls, most of the day is my own.  As long as I can answer my pager and take a break if someone else wants me, I can be here almost anytime."

"If Jimmy can get the art supplies, how about this afternoon?"

"First I need to talk to Marlee, my fiancée, make sure she thinks it's alright if I do this."

"Your fiancée?"

"You've met her already, the night you got here. She was on reception."

"I remember her," said Amy. "Beautiful girl. Do you think she'll mind?"

"No, I don't think she'll mind.  Neither of us would work here if we had a problem with nudity.  She also told me that you made quite an entrance when you arrived.  She said I would be seeing a lot of you."  

"She was right. In fact, there's not much of me that you haven't already seen."

Buckingham stood up and headed towards the door. "Jimmy's leaving soon, I need to get your art supplies organized."  And he was gone.

"I was hoping to get him to audition for the job first."

"You mean you wanted him to drop his pants."

Amy was more nervous than I had ever seen her before, anticipating modelling with Buckingham.  She wasn't expecting him to risk his job and have sex with her like she did when she was modelling with Tracy, but the erotic possibilities of both of them being naked and spending some time skin to skin with him, turned her on more than she was prepared to admit.

We had some brunch at one of the cafes first, then we went for a pleasant quiet stroll along the beach, plunging into the surf a couple of times just to cool down, before going back to our villa for a shower and a nap.

The beachside 'villa' was really one large airy hut, with a huge bed with a mosquito net at one end, open beams with a palm leaf thatched roof, polished wooden floors with a sofa and some beanbags in the middle, and a shower at the other end.  The shower was just a big metal disc with holes in the bottom of it hanging from the ceiling over a small grate in the floor.  A chain attached to a valve in a pipe above the disc turned the water on and off and there was no screen or curtain around it at all.  It sounds very crude, and was designed to look rustic and primitive, but for all its simplicity it was surprisingly effective.  I liked it more than any other shower I'd seen, partly because it gave me an uninterrupted view every day of Amy bathing herself while I was lying drowsily in bed.

Amy soaped her whole body, washed her hair, then carefully made sure her pussy was shaved smooth as silk.  Her fingers went from checking for stubble to massaging her clit in about ten seconds, and by the time she came out of the shower, she had had two orgasms, and her pussy lips were swollen and flushed a brighter pink than the rest of her body.  She told me later that she thought I was asleep, and that she would have put on more of a show for me if she had known I was watching her every move.

When Buckingham returned he was carrying a small sheet of plywood and two large cartridge paper drawing pads.  Marlee walked into our villa behind him, carrying a small plastic shopping bag which turned out to be full of pencils and charcoal sticks and erasers.  

I could tell Amy was not expecting this new development and was somewhat taken aback by Marlee's presence at first, but she was careful not to show her annoyance, welcoming them both.  Marlee didn't seem at all surprised to find neither of us wearing any clothes.

"You understand we don't want to lose our jobs, so we have to be careful," said Marlee. "When Buckingham told me he was going to model for you, I googled your names on the office computer.  Whooo, you two have done some HOT stuff.  You're famous people."

She said this in an admiring rather than critical way, fanning her face expressively with her hand to emphasize 'HOT stuff'.

"If you don't mind, I would like to watch you work.  Just to be safe.  Is that OK?"

"Of course," I said.  "I am sure there are some things that you wouldn't want your man to do, and we respect that."

I couldn't see any reason to object to her staying around.  She was a very lovely girl, and I hoped that Buckingham might be less inhibited with his woman in the room at the same time.  I threw all of the cushions from the sofa onto the bed and put two chairs face to face at the end of the bed.  I sat on one of the chairs and propped up the plywood board on the seat of the other as a makeshift easel.

"Ready?" I said.

Buckingham stood somewhat awkwardly next to his fiancée, not sure what to do next.  I knew Amy would take control of the situation and she did.  She calmly walked towards him.

"I think we should get  rid of these first, don't you?" she said, taking the waistband of his shorts in her hands and squatting in front of him, taking his pants down with her.  Marlee stiffened, her eyes widened, and her hands clenched into fists.  Her body language said that in any other circumstances, Amy would by now be on her back in the process of losing several clumps of her hair and possibly a couple of teeth.

Amy's face was now level with Buckingham's cock, which was gracefully arching forward and straight down.  It was not spectacularly long or unusually thick, but it was almost perfectly cylindrical, and very smooth.  It was also shinier and darker than the skin on the rest of his body, so it looked like it had been carved from a piece of fine-grained ebony, then polished.  Amy paused in front of it admiring its unusual beauty, then stood up.  She turned and looked at Marlee, whose eyelids had narrowed into slits and were shooting daggers back.  Amy quickly pursed her lips as if to whistle and fanned her face in an exact parody of what Marlee had done when she said 'HOT stuff' to us earlier, and both of them burst out laughing, Marlee shyly bringing her hand up to her mouth and giggling behind it.

Having very successfully broken the tension of the moment, Amy took Buckingham's hand and stepped up onto the low bed, leading him with her.

"How do you want us, Sam?" she said.

I wanted to start slowly and gently to get both the newcomers comfortable with what we were doing, so I sat Buckingham down leaning casually back against the wall, his legs straight out towards me with his feet apart.  His cock fell casually to one side resting on the top of his thigh.  I sat Amy next to him in profile, hugging her knees, her back against his arm, but facing away from him.  I thought she might be unhappy at not being able to look at him, but she didn't show it, and patiently did what I asked.  Together, they looked like two lovers who were not talking to each other, and I quickly tried to capture some sense of their isolation despite their proximity.  The tonal contrast between their bodies was dramatic, and I knew that this was going to be a fun and productive session.

Ten minutes later, I tore this first sheet off the pad and tossed it behind me.  From the corner of my eye, I saw Marlee pick it up and look at it.

Next, I asked Buckingham to sit up, one leg tucked sideways under him, leaning with one elbow on the other knee.  I placed Amy kneeling up to one side half behind him, her arms around his neck, her head down beside his cheek, her hair flowing down his chest.  From there, she would be able to feel every beat of his pulse in his neck, be able to smell his skin, and see the slightest twitch in his cock.  His body language was immobile and indifferent.  Hers was clinging and pleading.

I started to get excited at the ease with which these two contrasting beautiful bodies could be made to communicate powerful emotional relationships.  I began to wonder how far I could push this capability, how much erotic electricity I could spark between them. 

I dropped the second finished drawing in the same place as the first.  Marlee had moved closer to my shoulder just behind me so that she could see the figures as I could see them and see my drawing as it emerged from the whiteness of the paper.   

This time, I asked Amy to lie on her side, curled up but facing me, and I positioned Buckingham behind her, spooned into her back, with his arms round her torso, enveloping both her breasts and arms together.  I brought his upper leg over her hip so that his foot was on the bed in the space at the center of her curled body.  I knew that his cock would now be nestling intimately in the crack between her buttocks, but the pose looked so good, with Amy so diminished and vulnerable wrapped up by this big, strong, man that I was prepared to risk the consequences of pressing them together in this way.

I looked over my shoulder at Marlee to see how she was handling this new level of intimacy between her man and my woman, but I needn't have been concerned.  She was entranced, her breathing quickened like someone whose heartbeat was elevated in the middle of a brisk walk, her eyes wide and active, looking with an intensity she was probably unused to.  As I turned in her direction she looked at me.

"I wasn't expecting…. I had no idea what…"  She was having some difficulty expressing herself clearly, so she stopped and took a deep breath.  "I mean, some of the newspaper reports I read called your work pornographic, but this is not like that.  This is beautiful."

"Yes it is, Marlee," said Amy without moving from her cocooned pose, as I started drawing again. "But then it's a helluva turn on as well, isn't it?"

Marlee giggled again behind her hand, nodding, then said "Uh-huh.  Sure is."

The pose was beautiful, but I could tell Amy was finding it difficult to remain still.  I had my suspicions why this was so, and several minutes later, Amy confirmed them and offered a perfectly timed solution to her problem.

"Marlee, there's a part of your man behind me that seems to have a mind of its own.  I don't mind it knocking on my back door, but I am in serious danger of breaking one of the rules.  I'm so wet, he'll slip in by accident if I stay here much longer.  It should be your ass down here for this one.  What say we swap places?"

"Oh, no… I couldn't…" said Marlee, but she was not saying it with conviction and Buckingham knew it.

"Will you pay the same rate for Marlee, too?" he said to me, sensibly sorting out the business side of the relationship first.

"Of course," I said.

"Come on, baby.  You can do this."

Amy uncurled herself and separated from her posing partner.  Marlee made up her mind, then started to shed her clothes, slowly at first  and then more quickly. Amy turned to look at the source of her discomfort which was now fully engorged and a lot bigger than it had been when she pulled Buckingham's pants off.  She gently reached down and felt it carefully with her fingertips, then she cupped it in her hand to feel its weight, holding it tenderly for a moment or two before somewhat reluctantly letting it go.  

She stood up and turned to face a now also naked and very beautiful black woman.  Marlee was similarly proportioned to her in overall size, but more voluptuous, noticeably bigger in both her buttocks and her breasts, despite having both her arms crossed in front trying to conceal as much of her chest they could. As they passed each other on the bed to change places, Amy reached up and took Marlee's face between her hands, then closed her eyes and kissed her on the lips, not like a lover would as much as how a very close friend might.  As her hands left Marlee's face, she took hold of the more bashful girl's hands and gently but firmly uncrossed them and pulled them away from her breasts, so that she could unashamedly admire them.  Amy gently felt the shape and heaviness of one of them with a slow caress which finished with one fingertip stroking the very end of an excited nipple.

Marlee knelt down and took up the same position in Buckingham's arms as Amy had, snuggling her backside into him.  She reached one arm behind her and felt his erection with a smile on her face.

"Damn, boy.  Did you let some white woman do that to you?"



A Creative Challenge Ch. 24



I was very proud of Amy.

Even though I knew she had been hoping to seduce Buckingham while they were both modelling for me, she had coped very well with the sudden change of plan when Marlee turned up unannounced. I thought the way she respected their relationship and Buckingham's concern for his job at the resort showed great sensitivity, especially when she was in no doubt that he was as hot for her as she was for him. I was sure that had she wanted to, she could have charmed both Marlee and her man into letting her fuck them both at the same time. Instead, she channelled his lust towards his fiancée, and Marlee's towards him, managing to enlist her in our undertaking at the same time.

When she convinced Marlee to strip and swap places with her, she introduced a whole new dimension to the tableaux that I had been setting up. I had been concentrating on the visual and emotional contrasts between the dark powerful maleness of Buckingham and the pale elegant femaleness of Amy. They say opposites attract, but they don't easily meld together, and no matter how closely I pressed these two beautiful nude bodies together they remained distinctly separate, like oil and vinegar in a salad dressing. 

But when Marlee curled up inside Buckingham's cocooning arms and legs, they became one, each an extension of the other, their shadows blending so that I could no longer easily tell where one body ended and the other began. That is how I drew them, dissolving together into one multi-limbed shape, just glimpses of sheen on curved flesh hinting at the boundaries of the individuals' shapes .

Marlee was as comfortable with Buckingham's cock resting against her ass as Amy would have liked to have been – and would have been had she not relinquished her place to the other woman. Marlee also seemed to understand and appreciate the effort that Amy had made in sacrificing the opportunity to take advantage of her man, because she looked up at her, nodded, and silently mouthed "Thank you".

Amy came and stood behind me with her hands on my shoulders while I drew the two spooning Jamaican lovers. There was an easy familiarity about the way they touched and held each other that you couldn't fake, and it made them easier to draw because they were not coy or shy and they had no awkwardness with each other.

"I'm a good girl, really," Amy whispered in my ear.

"I know that," I whispered back. "And I'm glad you chose to remember it."

For the next pose, I put Amy back into the scene, with her and Marlee entwining themselves in a full body embrace, their heads on each others shoulders, their legs twisted together, Marlee's thigh pressed high into Amy's groin. I had them both lean back against Buckingham who wrapped his arms round both of the women. This made a very interesting ménage a trios, and put the embrace of the two women in a different context. I drew this pose as big as I could so that their combined bodies filled the page and spilled over the edges. 

Then I put Buckingham in the middle on his back with his arms outstretched, Marlee to the left of him and Amy to the right lying on their sides with their heads on his shoulder, and their free arms across his chest. I was hoping to depict a very gentle and relaxed relationship between the three different people, and it would have been fine if the central figure didn't have a club you could break rocks with sticking straight up in the air from his groin. Buckingham's hard-on had not subsided for a second since it had first appeared when it was up against Amy's asscrack, but we had all been ignoring it and in the other poses it was not so visible as it was now. Both the girls could not help but look at his cock as they laid down, then looked at each other and started to giggle, which in turn set Buckingham off laughing too.

"I hope that's just because of me," said Marlee, tongue in cheek. 

"Of course, baby. You know I don't like white women," said Buckingham, still laughing.

Marlee gave his cock a quick slap, knocking it down but not hurting it enough to stop it from springing upright again. 

"You're a lying sonofabitch, Desmond," she said.

"One of you three needs to do something about that," I said, gesturing at what, from where I was sitting, looked like a rubber covered steel truncheon, "or we won't be getting any more work done this afternoon."

I saw Amy start to reach out for it, almost without thinking, then stopped herself, hesitating. With an 'after you' gesture, Amy deferred to the other girl's prior claim.

Marlee accepted the responsibility to fix the problem and wrapped her right hand around the base of his cock, then slowly slid her fist up and down its shaft. Buckingham closed his eyes with a sigh. Amy watched, wide-eyed, leaning up on her elbow to get a closer look at what Marlee was doing. Marlee also leaned up on her elbow and increased the speed of her hand movements, going right to the top now, squeezing and spreading the drops of lubricant oozing from its tip. Amy was breathing heavily, and her own free hand was now down and busy in her own groin.

"If you don't sit on that thing soon, I will," said Amy quietly to Marlee, looking her straight in the eye to make sure that the other girl took it as a joke and didn't take offence.

Marlee's hand didn't break its rhythm at all while she absorbed what Amy had said and decided how to respond. The response surprised me as much as it did Amy.

"You can. If you want."

"I meant YOU should sit on it," said Amy.

"I know that's what you meant," said Marlee, without withdrawing her offer.

Now it was Amy's turn to figure out if the other person was joking or not. She made up her mind very quickly that Marlee really was giving her permission to fuck her fiance, then she leaned over Buckingham's torso, put her arm round Marlee's neck and kissed her on the lips. At the same time, she swung her leg over his abdomen and under Marlee's masturbating arm, positioning herself for impalement. With her lips locked on Marlee's, and leaning on her shoulder for support, she slowly lowered herself onto him, every inch downwards shortening Marlee's hand stroke, eventually forcing her to let go and take her hand out of the way, as the black and white pubic bones came together. Amy's mouth fell away from Marlee's as she exhaled with a groaning sigh.

I had tried never to let myself get attached to any illusions that Amy was exclusively mine. I knew that her feelings for me – whatever they were – would not necessarily be damaged by a sexual adventure with someone else, which I had always accepted was ultimately inevitable. It didn't make it any easier to watch, though. I had seen her make love with Tracey several times and I had felt some chunky lumps of jealousy then, but that was never quite the same threat as watching her have sex with another man. I had never before watched another cock slide in and out of her pussy, I had never heard her orgasm build, or listened to her unique little grunting sounds, or seen the familiar contortions in her face and the flush rise in her cheeks when she was fucking a man without being one of the active participants in the process. It was disturbingly painful.

Rather than dwell on my own vulnerability, I drew quickly, forgetting about the subtleties of form and tone, just whipping the shapes and the rhythms of the key lines down onto the page, grabbing key details like the angle of her wrist on his knee or the scrunch of his closed eyes, trying to capture the moment when she threw her head back and pushed herself down onto him as far as she could, and the moment when she dropped her head towards her knees and almost vibrated her ass up and down over the very tip of his cock, tearing out each page of the pad and flinging it aside as I captured some new aspect of what would have been, under other circumstances, a fascinating and enjoyable spectacle.

Marlee was very close to Amy and her man, touching both of them at once without making any connection with either of them, and at the height of the action she turned towards me and our eyes met for just a second or two. We did not speak silent volumes, but there was a momentary recognition, a link of fearfulness and regret that shuttled between us which we both felt and which dulled the undeniable excitement that both of us were also experiencing.

The show was over very quickly, and explosively. When Amy rolled off Buckingham, and then just flopped back over his thighs, her legs splayed, her throat exposed, and her tits facing the ceiling, the two of them looked like they were posing for an 'after the orgy' photo. I told them to stay where they were and asked Marlee to join them by falling on the bed and just letting her legs and arms stay where they fell, like she was either drunk or unconscious. If two of the bodies hadn't happened to be female, the final scene could have been out of a Mathew Brady post-battle Civil War photograph.

All three of them seemed comfortable so I took more time drawing this group than all of the others, but it was worth it. The result had an intriguing post-coital languor about it that was not wholly invented by me.

This last drawing was all any of us had any more enthusiasm for, so we decided to call it a day. Marlee was particularly interested in looking at the collected results of the session, and she helped me spread the sheets of paper out on the floor at the bottom of the bed so that we could all see them. Amy, who had actually dozed off with real post-orgasmic fatigue during the last drawing, stretched herself awake and handed Buckingham his shorts, coming to stand beside me with her arm around my waist. This little togetherness gesture pleased me, and I put my arm round her shoulders and we both gave each other a reassuring squeeze.

"Unfortunately, these are the best ones," said Marlee, with a smile, pointing to the four quick sketches of Amy and her man in the middle of their brief passionate union. She was right, although I was quite pleased with the more formal first and last drawings which were less sexually charged, but visually very interesting. Together, the whole group of drawings made an interesting series, a documentation of a brief sexual journey. 

Although we had agreed to pay in pounds sterling, I didn't actually have any British currency, so our two extra models were just as happy to be paid in the equivalent amount of local money rather than wait till later. It looked like a big wad of notes, and it was, but that was only because there are more than a hundred Jamaican dollars to the pound. Still, one hundred pounds worth of local dollars was a worthwhile amount of cash to this young couple, and they were very pleased to have earned it.

Buckingham's pager beeped, he checked it, and with a wave at us all, he started for the door. 

"And where do you think you're going?" asked Marlee.

He stopped, as if that was a silly question, gesturing at his pager. She crooked her finger at him to get his ass back over to where she was standing with her arms outstretched expectantly, which he sheepishly did. As he went to hug his fiancée, Amy held out her free arm as well, hanging on to me with the other one, and suddenly all four of us were in a naked group hug. It sounds like a hippy commune type of moment, and that's a bit like how it felt to me, which made me a little uncomfortable. The other three were too young to have experienced much that resembled a hippy scene, so they shared each others' hugs with less embarrassment.

"I hope we haven't compromised either of you this afternoon," I said to our model guests, "I mean with the resort, and your jobs."

"There's always gossip in this place, but It will be OK as long as we don't tell anyone what happened," said Marlee with a smile. "Having sex with guests is a big no-no, and having that rule makes it easier for us to say 'no' without offending anyone. We've always said 'no' before, but after I read in the papers what you two did, I wanted to see for myself how good you are. This was the first time anything like this has happened with either of us."

She looked at Buckingham, who was pretending to look at his pager. 

"At least it was for me, and I sure hope it was the first time it's happened to my man here," she said pointedly. Buckingham smiled sweetly and reassuringly at her, then he turned to Amy and kissed the back of her hand.

"Same time tomorrow, then, miss?" he asked hopefully. 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 25



"Let's go home, Sam."

"We've only a few more days. We'll be home soon."

"I mean now. Today."

"I thought you liked this place. I thought you were enjoying it."

"I do. I am."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't want to get to like it too much. I want to get out of here. You know me, Sam. Impulsive is my middle name."

"OK. If you want to go home, we'll go home."

Amy was sitting next to me on the sofa later that afternoon, with her head on my shoulder. She had been very quiet, but I knew it wasn't just that she was blissed out after a sex-induced dopamine high, she seemed more thoughtful somehow. When I agreed to do what she asked without arguing, she leaned back and looked at me quizzically, as if she had been expecting more resistance. Then she leaned forwards and kissed me, very tenderly.

I didn't argue with her, because I didn't want to make her explain her reasons. As soon as she raised the subject of going home early I immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. If I was right, and there was no other way to explain it, then getting both of us out of there as soon as I could was as much in my interests as it was in hers.

I had quickly realized that it wasn't this place that she didn't want to get too fond of, it was one of the people in it. Something had clicked between her and Buckingham. She knew it, he knew it, and I was pretty sure Marlee knew it. I was the only one who hadn't been conscious of it until just then, and it was bothering Amy enough for her to want to conceal it from me. 

I guessed she could feel that something powerful was happening between her and our butler, and the fact that she wanted to run away from that meant that she wasn't able to just play with him any more, she wasn't able to enjoy the experience with him as just another wild impulse. It meant that she was afraid of becoming committed to this other person, of losing control of her emotions and her independence. 

I was less bothered by her attraction to Buckingham than by the fact that she had no such fear of commitment while she was with me, and still wanted me to take her home. The foundations of my current happiness were crumbling, but perhaps the façade would stay up a little longer if I could turn my back on the earthquake and pretend it didn't exist.

I had my reasons for not wanting to talk about her sudden change of plan, and Amy had hers. And neither of us wanted to talk about why we didn't want to talk about them.

I got us onto the first flight I could get that was going in our direction, and we left early on the morning after our intense drawing session. I signed and dated the eight drawings, and left them on the bed as a gift to Marlee and Buckingham with an apologetic 'goodbye and thank you' note. Greta would have been mortified, but I really didn't want them, and I had no intention of going to the trouble of trying to get them home in one piece.

Jimmy took us to the airport, and was somewhat surprised that Amy didn't do anything at all embarrassing during the journey. She had become something of a legend among the resort staff, and a subdued and pensive Amy was not what he was expecting.

"Did you folks not enjoy your stay at Fantasia?" asked Jimmy as he helped us out of the limo.

"No, we had a fine time. We really did," I assured him. "We have some urgent business to take care of at home, that's all."

That was a feeble lie, because Buckingham knew that we had no phone or computer with us, and the other resort staff would know that they had received no messages for us of any kind, but I was not inclined to offer any other explanation to Jimmy. I told him we would be back for another vacation as soon as we could. Another lie.

During the flight, Amy pushed the armrest up and snuggled in to me for most of the flight. She was making an effort to be her usual affectionate self, but her provocative, mischievous edge wasn't there.

"We said we'd come back at night, so we could join the mile-high club right here, didn't we?" she said at one point.

"I'm already a fully paid up member," I said. "And I don't know about you, but I think we earned our membership in the MHC Hall of Fame on the way over."

"It will be getting cold back home. Soon be Christmas," she said without enthusiasm.

"Overcoats and thermal underwear. What fun."

"I don't think so. Central heating and bare bodies as usual indoors, pleated wool skirt and riding coat whenever we leave the house."

"You still want to make my tired old fantasies a reality, then?"

"Of course." Amy said the right words but they didn't seem to me to have the same joyful naughtiness they would have before.

Home seemed much colder than before we went to Jamaica. We had become very used to the comfortable freedom of tropical warmth in only a few days, and by comparison our part of the world was that much more wet, and cold, and grey. Greta was happy we were back, but it still took both of us several days to find the energy to heat the studio up and get back into the everyday routine of doing some work. Neither of us talked about what happened in Jamaica.

I wanted to find a way in my art to go past the exploration of the erotic games that Amy had been playing out in front of me on her podium. I wanted to include other facets of her personality besides her sexuality, which had been our entire focus for some months. I wanted to capture more of what I loved about her, which was not visible on the surface of her at all, but was in the goodness of her heart, the kindness of her soul, and the freedom of her spirit. I didn't have any idea at first how to do that, but all my work with her so far now seemed trivial. It was full of erotic energy, but as my feelings for her had deepened, the art we had produced now seemed shallow in every other way.

I felt a pressure to capture the essence of her quickly, as if it was about to disappear.

I found myself concentrating on her face, so that every piece I started, no matter what the physical pose, turned into a portrait. Her face became for me a window to her inner nature, and I wrestled more and more with the subtleties of the meanings in the fleeting expressions that crossed and recrossed her countenance. Her nakedness in these portraits was almost incidental to the main subject. Her lack of clothes only revealed her body. It was the other less visible masks that I was trying to peel away. I wanted to reveal everything that made her who she was. 

The problem with trying to achieve subtle and ephemeral goals is that it is very hard to tell when you are successful. I could look at our earlier work and the excitement in my genitals would tell me how well the piece worked. With the newer, more observant and contemplative works, it was more difficult to judge how close I was getting, or even if I was making progress at all, so I found the task very frustrating.

Amy tried to understand what I was doing, and she tried to help me find a way to do it, but she was less of a creative participant now than she had been before, because I was on such a subjective path of discovery. She sensed how important she had become to me, and was pleased to be held in such high esteem, but the intensity of my determination was spooking her a little, and working with me in the studio wasn't bringing us closer together as it had in the past. If anything, it was making her more distant, and was becoming a barrier between us. 

My search for a way to represent how I saw the real Amy was like chasing a butterfly. The harder I chased it, the more it eluded my grasp. If I could have been more patient, the solution may have simply presented itself to me, like a butterfly that comes and sits on your shoulder when you stop chasing it, but my sense of urgency drove me to keep up the pursuit. 

Amy had gone to lectures at college one morning when Greta rang me to ask if she could stop by the studio to see me. She had a publishing contract for me to sign, and I was keen to get her opinion of my latest work so that was fine with me.

I had only completed about six pieces since we had been away that I was happy to show her, and she looked at each of them in turn as I brought them out, carefully, and in silence.

"Oh dear, Sammy, you have a bad dose of it, don't you?" she said sadly.

"Are they that bad?"

"No, they're brilliant. I don't know how well they'll sell, but they're ....different. 

"Greta, you know Amy pretty well. Do these pictures really get who she is? Don't bullshit me."

Greta thought carefully before answering this difficult question. 

"They're very intense, I'll give you that. The thing is, Sam, do YOU really get who she is? Amy's a free spirit like neither of us have ever known before, and here you're trying to analyse her and define her, and nail her to your canvas. It's like you're trying to possess her emotionally."

"Is that what she told you?"

"Not in so many words. But that was the general drift. She dropped in at the gallery yesterday."

"She's always been able to talk to me. Why didn't she say something?"

"Perhaps she did. Maybe you're not listening."

Had I been so wrapped in my own obsession with Amy that I was no longer receptive to her real needs? Was I trying to own Amy through my art without realizing what I was doing? Perhaps Greta was right. 

"You can't possess her Sam. Let her go. If she comes back, she's yours..."

"... and if she doesn't, she never was. I know the saying. Greta, I never thought I'd hear you of all people sound like a fifty cent greetings card."

"Don't laugh at me, Sam, clichés are clichés because they're true. Do you want my honest advice?"

"It's why you came to see me, isn't it? You didn't come to see the new pictures."

"I came because I care about both of you. You make Amy happy because you let her be provocative and outrageous, you give her the courage to push her own boundaries, you don't judge her or censure her or try to control her, and your appreciation of her makes her feel better about herself. But now she's starting to feel smothered and possessed. If she ever starts to feel trapped, you'll never know about it, because I'm telling you now, she'll be long gone."

"What should I do?"

"Sammy, I think you should lighten up. You're taking her... this... everything too seriously. Play more."

Greta was right. Thinking back, Amy was at her best and happiest when we were just playing, especially when she was deliberately flouting the rules of conventional behaviour just for the hell of it. My work was also a form of play to me, but lately it had just been work to her.

By the time Amy came home, I had been out shopping and I had a couple of surprises for her.

"Are you hungry?" I asked her, almost before she had stripped off her college campus clothes and dropped the worn old jeans and t-shirt in the laundry basket.

"Starving," she said. "but I don't want to cook. Let's get a takeaway delivered."

"You just want to give some poor delivery boy a treat when you open the door naked, don't you?"

"I have to admit, I do love to see their faces."

"I heard that the delivery boys at Pizza Napoli had a fight in the carpark over which one of them got to deliver our last order."

"Did they?" The thought of that brightened her up, but then she realized I was making it up. 

"If I was seventeen and pimply and delivering in this neighbourhood, I'd KILL for the chance to ogle your tits."

"Would you really?"

"I would, but I would much rather be me, taking you out somewhere very nice for dinner tonight. With, of course, a chance to ogle your tits."

It was good to see her smiling again.

"Sam, are you offering me a romantic dinner somewhere classy?"

"More than that. I intend to be in the best restaurant in town tonight and watch someone have a heart attack and fall off their bar stool when you walk in. I expect every man in the place who survives your entrance to be in lust with you before we get past the hors d'oeuvres, and I want you to make the cynical old head waiter drop an expensive bottle of wine on his foot when you shine your eyes on him. Then I want to be so horny I have to undress you and eat your pussy in the elevator on the way up to our suite where we will drink champagne and I will make love to you until you beg me to stop."

"Wow."

"How does that sound?"

She walked over to me, grasped my hand and turned it palm up, then took my middle finger and wiped it up the inside of her pussy lips towards her clit. She was already wet enough to fuck, and she held the now slippery finger up to my lips for me to suck.

"Will this answer do?"

I'll take that as a 'yes'," I said. 

My description of what was to happen later this evening had had an enlarging effect on part of my anatomy, and still looking me in the eye, she took hold of it with her other hand.

"Would you like me to put this away somewhere warm and cosy now, or do you want to eat first?"

What a choice to offer a man! If I had been her age, I wouldn't have thought twice. When you're young you can always have the bird in the hand as well as the two in the bushes later. In her uncannily telepathic way, Amy immediately understood my momentary hesitation and stopped stroking my cock.

"No, park that thought, Sam, I'm too hungry. Omigod, what am I going to wear?"

"Here's my suggestion. There's a cab waiting outside to take you to the Regency Hyatt. Tell them at the desk who you are, someone will take you to our suite. What I hope you would like to wear tonight is on the bed. The hotel has someone from their salon standing by to come up and help you with your hair and make-up – they'll have whatever you need. I'll meet you in the bar of the Pinnacle Restaurant on the top floor as soon as you're ready. But it's only a suggestion."

She put her arms around my neck and kissed me gently and slowly.

"Welcome back, Sam. Where have you been?"



A Creative Challenge Ch. 26



I was just starting my second beer when I saw Amy come out of the elevator and walk across the corridor towards the entrance to the restaurant. 

She was wearing a black floor length hooded silk cape wrapped right around her, with the hood up far enough to hide most of her hair but not her face. The cape was full and loose and flowed gently behind her as she walked, and was the sort of garment that in the movies would be used to disguise a medieval princess on the run from the king's enemies. In the final scene, the princess throws off her cape to reveal her identity and her royal finery, and the assembled multitude sinks to their collective knees all around her and swears allegiance. I looked around me at the assembly gathered in the bar, but it was a very thin and not very loyal-looking multitude, even for a Thursday night.

Amy was grinning like the cat that got the proverbial cream. It occurred to me for a moment that she might have decided not to bother with any of the other clothes I had bought for her, and that underneath the cape she was wearing exactly what she had worn to the opening of my art show. Exactly nothing. 

She saw me watching her from my bar stool, and smiled her recognition, but she stopped just inside the door and waited for someone to notice her and to receive her. When the head waiter scurried over to her she spoke briefly, he nodded and gestured towards the bar. She flicked her hood back and stepped forward, turning slightly so that he would move behind her to take her wrap. As she opened her coat he took hold of the lapels and she shrugged it off her shoulders into his hands, and walked slowly towards me with a wide smile, her eyes locked on mine.

She was not naked under the wrap, but what she was wearing was so breathtakingly revealing that the effect was even sexier than if she had been as nude as she was on opening night. From low on her hips down to the floor, she was completely covered by a cream silk satin bias-cut skirt that hugged her hips and upper thighs like a wet t-shirt, then billowed out to a full hem just above the carpet. As she walked the silk clung to the thigh of her forward leg, describing the subtle curves of it down to her knee, then hiding it again as the other leg came forward to push against the material. The fabric was opaque but it flowed and rippled like liquid mercury, and was so fine you could have counted goosebumps through it. 

The head waiter was standing behind her holding her coat, his mouth gaping. He stared mesmerised by her rear as she walked away from him, making no attempt to hang up her wrap. I envied him, for I knew that he had a perfect view through the silk of the way the muscles in each of her buttocks were propelling her forward, then transferring that responsibility to its twin as her hips tilted and she shifted her weight to the other leg. She carried herself erect and straight-backed with her arms relaxed at her sides. 

Fastened with one small button around her neck was a sheer antique lace coverlet. This unusual garment would have originally been worn over a strapless evening gown and it went round the outside of her shoulders and hung down all round her upper torso to a little below nipple height. It was intended to modestly cover, but without at all concealing, a lady's shoulders and her cleavage and upper chest area. 

It should have been buttoned behind the neck with the opening at the back, but Amy had chosen to wear it the other way round so that the fabric fell from the fastening like two small theatrical curtains not quite wide enough to fully cover her breasts, so the two edges of the lace were not able to meet except where they were buttoned at the top. She was bare, save for a single diamond belly-button stud, from the hollow at the base of her throat down to the top of her skirt several inches below her bejewelled navel. The flimsy lace coverlet was like a bridal veil for Amy's breasts, draped from her neck and shoulders and held out and open by the points of her clearly visible pink nipples, from where it hung down like a short valence almost but not quite to the crease where the bottom curve of her breasts met her ribcage. Her hair was piled up on top of her head and held with a couple of elaborate clips, and she wore no jewellery apart from the diamond.

She looked like an Egyptian queen stepping out of some ancient temple wall carvings, regal and magnificent.

When she was about three steps away from me, I made as if to stand up to greet her, then I thumped my right clenched fist to my heart and sank to one knee in front of her feet, head bowed. 

"Sam? You OK?" she said with concern. As her hand came down towards me, I quickly straightened up, took it in mine, and kissed the back of it.

"Your Majesty," I said. "At your service."

"You idiot!" she said, a little annoyed. "I thought you were having a heart attack."

"I know. Sorry. Foolish thing to do. I promised you someone would have a cardiac arrest when you walked in, but there's no-one else in here with enough blood in their veins to appreciate your terrible beauty like I do."

She knew how good she looked, and my little act was a confirmation that pleased her. She smiled and inclined her head towards me in acknowledgement, much like the Queen of England might nod towards her subjects as she cruises past them in her Rolls.

"Drink?" I turned my head to look for the barman, but he was already behind me, waiting.

"Hello, Amy," he said.

"Hello, Charles." She turned to me. "Charles was the barman at La Belle Provence when I first started there. How have you been, Charles?" 

"Never as good as I am right now standing here looking at you. You look sensational, Amy."

For the first time since the head waiter took her coat, I looked around at the other people in the bar and the adjoining restaurant. The place was only about half full, but all eyes were on Amy, and I could sense she knew it, even without checking for herself.

"Thank you, Charles. You can thank my man, Sam, for what I'm wearing tonight. Sam, I'd like you to meet Charles, who looked after me in my very first job when I knew absolutely nothing."

There it was again. 'My man'. Two words, but how they sent a thrill down my spine. Charles leaned across the bar to shake my hand.

"I think every man in here tonight would want me to offer you a drink on the house," he said. "What'll it be?"

Amy was keen to eat, so we took our champagne cocktails to the table with us. All of the waiters in turn found an excuse to bring something to our table. Menus, iced water, bread rolls, wine list, champagne glasses, all arrived in quick succession.

"Where did you find these gorgeous clothes, Sam?" said Amy, paying no attention to the attention her tits were getting from the waiters. "Sometimes you astonish me."

"I went shopping with Greta," I confessed. "But it was my idea to find you something unique to wear tonight," I added hastily, in case Greta got all the credit.

"I thought I could see Greta's influence at work this evening. She has exquisite taste, and knows all the best places. She's a good friend to you, Sam."

"And she thinks you're a pretty special person, too." 

I decided to extend my confession, and give Greta some more of the credit she deserved. "She gave me a potch in tochis for not treating you as well as I should lately."

"She gave you a ...what?"

"It's what Greta said. According to her, it means a 'kick up the ass'. And I deserved it. Tonight is to let you know how much you mean to me."

Amy leaned across the table towards me, and spoke quietly. "Thank you. But if you don't call Marcel or whatever his name is over here right now so that we can order a meal I swear I will ask him to bring my coat back and I will hide these tits away under it for the rest of the night."

"Garçon! Venez ici! Maintenant!" 

The whole room momentarily stopped looking at Amy's state of near toplessness to see what I was shouting about, while she surrendered to a fit of silent giggles. When she walked in, Amy was gliding like an angel as if her feet were not actually touching the ground, so her breasts were not bouncing at all, not even slightly. But now laughing inwardly, her whole chest was pulsating, which made both her breasts jiggle sweetly, which in turn made her little curtains dance around on the points of her puffy nipples. I resolved to try to make her laugh as often as I could, not just tonight, but all the time.

What happened next was like something out of a Three Stooges movie. When I shouted for a waiter to come here right now, one of them was already on his way towards us carrying an ice bucket with our bottle of Bollinger chilling in it. A second waiter between us and the bar stopped clearing a recently vacated table and headed in our direction. The head waiter, whose name really was Marcel, as Amy had obviously already found out, was at the main entrance and he practically ran towards our table, trying to get there before either of the others. He almost made it, but because the second waiter didn't know that he was being followed he wasn't expecting to have to suddenly stop moving when his floor boss jumped in front of him. They collided, Marcel spun round to wave his underling away, at which point his elbow clipped the arriving ice bucket, knocking it out of its carrier's hands and onto the table, where it flung a liter or so of freezing water and about forty ice cubes onto Amy's chest and down into her lap.

With a gasping intake of breath, Amy quickly stood up, depositing the ice cubes and the remaining water onto the floor. I would not have thought it was possible for the skirt to cling to her any more closely than it had before, but now that it was wet it sucked itself into every curve and crevice of her body as if it had been magnetized to her, and when Amy stood up straight, the now translucent silk satin concealed no more of her pussy lips than a second layer of skin would have done. 

The three waiters were now doing a passable imitation of a waxworks show, frozen in shock at what they had done, and even more gob-smacked by the exquisite result. For a moment, each of them, with Amy, was locked into a wide-eyed tableau that could have been a Norman Rockwell cover for a raunchier version of the Saturday Evening Post.

Amy's hands were at waist level about two feet out from her body, and her head and neck were bent forward so that she could see the effect the iced water had had on her clothes. As usual when she is the center of shocked attention, Amy took control of the situation. She dropped her hands to her side and spoke calmly to Marcel. 

He jumped like a startled rabbit at her voice, but clearly didn't hear what she said, so she repeated herself.

"I said, do you have a laundry in the hotel?"

"Of course. Madam, we are so sorry, we..."

She held up her hand to silence his apologies.

"Then please call housekeeping and have them take care of these for me. They can send them up to the room later."

As she said this, she reached up to the side of the skirt with one hand and slid down the short zip, without holding on to it, letting the weight of the wet silk drag itself down her legs to the floor. With the other hand, she undid the single button at her throat , and pulled the wet coverlet from around her shoulders, holding it out between one finger and her thumb in front of Marcel.

"Now, would you please have someone fetch my wrap."

The entire restaurant held its breath, until Marcel sprang into action, clapping his hands at the other waiters to get them moving at his orders. 

"You, fetch the lady's coat. You, more champagne." 

As Amy stepped out of her skirt he picked up the sodden garment and together with the lace top draped it over his arm like a napkin, motioning for us to follow him to a clean table. Amy followed, but not quickly. I knew she was enjoying this, and she wanted to savour every moment as she casually wove her naked way past several other diners towards the more private booth that Marcel was already standing beside. Amy slid in behind the table onto the banquette and I sat beside her. Marcel looked anxiously towards the entrance, willing the waiter to hurry up with the coat. It was obvious from the time it was taking that the other waiter had no idea which coat belonged to Amy, so Marcel made 'humph' noises a couple of times, excused himself, and scurried off.

"Getting my clothes soaking wet in public is becoming a habit," said Amy . "Remember the Mile High Club?"

"Till my dying breath," I assured her. "I won't forget tonight in a hurry, either."

"Did you have to bribe them to drop that ice bucket?"

"What... no, of course I didn't. You just tend to have a discombobulating effect on people around you, that's all."

"I'm not sure I should even ask what that means."

"It means when you arrive somewhere half naked, people lose the power of rational thought, they get confused and befuddled and tongue-tied. Like Marcel here."

The head waiter was back at our table with Amy's black cape, holding it in front of him as if he was about to help her to put it on, but Amy was sitting down and making no sign that she was about to stand up and put him at his ease. He had no idea what to do next.

"This... here...if you like...madam...please..."

"See what I mean?" I said.

Amy was trying hard not to laugh at the poor man, as he attempted to say something coherent while he stared at her tits, but the longer she sat there, the more distressed he became. Eventually, she took pity on him.

"Thank you, you can leave it here," she said pointing to the seat beside her. "But... madam..." 

He was pleading with his eyes for her to give him closure on this unfortunate incident, but she didn't feel that sorry for him, and pointed again to the seat where she wanted him to put the cloak.

"Thank you, Marcel, I'll take care of it. Now, can you please bring us two large medium-rare pepper steaks before I faint from lack of nourishment. I'm so hungry I could eat the crotch out of a low-flying duck."

Marcel looked as if someone had slapped him in the face, but he finally got the message, laid the coat down, nodded, and hurried away.

"You always look so elegant, even when you have no clothes on, that it's almost more shocking when you say something as vulgar as that," I said to her, impressed.

"I know. Fun, isn't it? I really was going to put the coat on, but now I'm not, so pass me that spare napkin, please Sam."

"You're not going to cover yourself with that, are you?"

"Of course not. I need something to sit on, I'm so horny I'm already leaking onto this posh upholstery." 

Amy lifted her backside enough for me to slide a napkin under it. As she sat down again, I left my hand under her buttocks, with my middle finger bent upright. It sank into her pussy up to the second knuckle. She was right about how wet she was.

"Wow, this seat is a lot nicer to sit on than you would think to look at it," she said, as her eyes widened a little.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Amy sat upright in the dual seat, her eyes closed, her hands in her lap. To an observer, she appeared to be meditating. Below table level, my finger and the muscles in the wall of her vagina were having a quiet conversation, consisting of reciprocal but tiny movements, squishy little wiggles on my part, small squeezings on hers.

More champagne arrived, and we wordlessly toasted each other with a clink of our flutes.

"I've been thinking for some time about how much fun it is to be outrageous, but also why, when I get naked in public like tonight, sometimes it makes me feel incredibly sexy, and sometimes it doesn't – well, it always does to some extent, but sometimes less so, if you know what I mean."

"And what's the answer?"

"I think it's best when it's not all my fault. When it's not just me saying "look at me, everyone". When it's not just me deciding to show off, but it just happens, you know?"

"Like on the plane, and you had to get back to your seat in that wet t-shirt?"

"Exactly, and like when those two policemen turned up and you let them in on Tracey and me naked. That was huge, for me. I didn't know that was going to happen, and I loved that."

"More than your opening night stunt in the gallery?"

"I think so, yes. You see, I was ready for that night. I was the one who planned it, and it happened, and it was great, but it would have been more of a thrill for me if I had just been there not having anything planned and you had said to me "take your clothes off, now"."

"Would you have done it?"

"Of course."

"So if ever I say to you "Showtime", you'll just take your clothes off?"

"Yes."

"Wherever? Whenever?"

She thought for a moment.

"Yes."

"I didn't think you would ever let yourself be so controlled by anyone, not even me," I said, somewhat surprised at her willingness to be so obedient.

"Don't get me wrong, Sam, I don't want to be your slave. I'm just talking about a flashing game that I would choose to play with you, to make what I like to do anyway just that little bit more exciting." 

"More exciting than this?" I said, wiggling my finger a little.

"The most exciting thing that could happen right now would be two plates full of pepper steak," she replied, changing the subject. "But you tickling my cunt is running a close second," she admitted.

Eventually, Marcel gave up expecting Amy to cover herself. Few of the other diners could see into our booth, and a topless patron was certainly making a dull Thursday evening more exciting for all the table staff. Eventually they served our meals, which I discovered later were on the house as an apology for the dramas with the ice bucket. Eventually, Amy had eaten enough of her steak to stop complaining about how hungry she was, and eventually I had to take my finger out of her pussy, because I couldn't cut and eat my own steak with only one hand.

Reluctantly, Amy wrapped the cloak around her when it was time to leave the restaurant. As Marcel explained to me at the desk why there was no bill for me to sign, Amy said goodbye to Charles and walked over to the elevator. She pressed the 'down' button, and the car arrived when I was halfway across the lobby. As the doors opened, she was facing them, and suddenly I could see her looking at me in the mirrored rear wall of the elevator. I silently mouthed the word "Showtime", and almost instantly, I was looking at Amy's naked backside again, and behind it, a reflection of her smiling face. I picked up the black garment from where it had fallen, and followed her into the elevator car. 

I could get to like this game, I thought.

[Author's note: 

I started to write this series, just for fun, some time ago. I had the first 18 chapters complete before I started submitting any of it to this site. The first instalment was published at the beginning of January 2006, and as I submit this at the end of that month you have almost caught up with me on Chapter 26, so I have only written eight more in the last four weeks. It's been an interesting journey, but future postings will of necessity be less frequent. If you have been following my characters, please be patient with me, I have a day job to look after as well. 

Beyond the first chapter, none of this story has been planned (which really shows when I look back on it). At first, I let my characters chart their own erratic course. Several times I have tried to put an end to their relationship, but each time they – nearly always Amy, but sometimes Sam - have not behaved as I expected and intended them to, taking their story onwards into new areas. 

Has anyone any suggestions how best to finish this story of Sam and Amy? I have never written fiction before, and I would like to know that I was trying to steer them towards a destination that neither of them would object to, and from which they will not derail me. I can't guarantee that my characters will take anyone else's advice (why should they when they don't always take mine?), but I would be grateful for your ideas.




A Creative Challenge Ch. 26



Thank you to everyone who has posted or emailed me so many kind and supportive comments. ] 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 27



When Greta phoned to say that she wanted to meet with us because she had a proposition she wanted us to consider, Amy invited her round to the studio rather than have both of us get dressed and go to her gallery.

"We don't know what it's about, Sam. It mightn't be worth the bother. Besides, she's the one who wants to sell us on whatever the idea is."

"True, but Greta's my agent. My interests are usually her interests, too, so she won't want to be wasting her time as well as mine. If she thinks it is a good idea, we should listen to what it is."

It occurred to me, uncharitably, that Amy might have had another motive for suggesting that Greta meet us in the studio.

"You're not thinking that Greta could be talked into being a replacement for Tracey, are you?"

"Can you imagine that, seriously? Have you ever known anyone straighter than Greta? She thinks we are a pair of crazy people who just happen to be good for her business, but she wouldn't have the nerve to even fantasize about BEING us."

We were still working on a large painting of Amy asleep after an orgasm when the buzzer told us that Greta had arrived. In the painting, most of the canvas was filled with Amy flopped back on a bed with her eyes closed and her legs open, a vibrator in one hand resting on her thigh, hair in sweaty strands stuck to her face, a gentle smile on her lips. The piece was very low key, with deep cool shadows as if the scene was lit only by moonlight. It had a quiet but confronting eroticism about it, and it was coming along well. 

I thought Amy had actually gone to sleep, so I quietly picked up a pair of shorts from the corner of the room, intending to put them on to open the door. She didn't move from the pose, but she was not asleep and she saw what I was doing

"Don't get dressed, Sam. Let's see if Greta can deal with us in our work environment the way we deal with her in hers."

I could have argued that there was no comparison, the two situations being completely different, but if I didn't mind if Amy wanted to play a small power game with Greta, and had ideas of upsetting her normal controlled reserve, so I did as she asked and flung open the door, standing in front of Greta without a stitch of clothing on. Greta said a breezy "Hi Sam", and walked straight past me without looking at anything but my face, then said "Hi Amy" and flopped onto the couch behind the easel.

"Can I watch? Whatever it was you two were up to?"

"Love fifteen. Your serve, Amy," I said, amused by the very cool way Greta had dealt with Amy's failed attempt to shock her.

"You're not playing the game, Greta. You're supposed to be having the vapours by now," said Amy, equally amused and definitely impressed by Greta's sangfroid.

"What, you think I couldn't guess you two would try to embarrass me? It occurred to me that when I walked in you two might even be making the beast with two backs, as Shakespeare would say, so I'm a bit disappointed if anything."

"That could be arranged," said Amy. "If that's what you'd really like."

"Not necessary," said Greta holding her hand up, palm out. "This is about business not pleasure, so some other time, thank you. Really, Amy, did you think I'm THAT strait-laced? I've already seen all there is to see of you on opening night, and I'm not likely to be intimidated by that." She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of my pelvis as she said the word 'that'.

"Let's get down to business, then," I said, a little peeved. "Seeing as how you didn't come to stroke my ego."

"On the contrary, my dear bohemian protégé," said Greta. "There is a certain wealthy businessman of my acquaintance who thinks that you are the most exciting artist he has probably ever seen. He wants to give you a commission. That's why I'm here."

"What does he want?" I asked.

"Ten pictures, all the same size, all on a similar theme."

"Ten!" said Amy, suddenly sitting up and paying attention. "What is he expecting to pay for them? I suppose he wants a bulk discount."

"No, he'll pay a very hefty premium. About double what I would put on them in the gallery." "Wow. When does he want them?"

"Hold on," I said. "I haven't agreed to do them yet."

"Sam, you're going to create ten saleable pictures in the next month or two, anyway. What's wrong with doing them for this guy at twice the price if he's got more dough than sense?"

"What do you mean, more dough than sense? Buying my stuff might turn out to be a very shrewd investment."

"That's what I've been telling my clients, Amy. I think Sam is right. They'll be worth a lot more one day. Nevertheless, it's still twice what I can otherwise get for them right now."

"So what's the catch, Greta?" I said.

"Why would there be a catch?"

"Ten at once. Twice the price. There's got to be a catch."

"We-ell, it might not be a catch at all. It depends how you feel about it."

"About what?"

"The client wants the pictures to be all of Amy, but with a man. I know you've never done anything like that before, but I'd like you to think about it, that's all I'm asking."

"He wants pictures of me fucking?"

"If you want to put it that bluntly, yes, probably. But not necessarily. He wants erotic, but definitely hetero-erotic, not auto or lesbo, which is all I could show him."

Amy looked at me. Greta didn't know about the drawings we left behind in Jamaica, and we hadn't spoken about that session to each other since then. I knew that any discussion of this commission would open up that experience again, but I figured it had to happen sooner or later.

"It wouldn't actually be the first time Amy's modelled with another man," I said, "but I'm not sure if we are ready to do that again."

Greta's eyebrows raised in surprise when she heard what I said, but she saw the glances that had occurred between Amy and me and she didn't press for more details, guessing that this was a sensitive issue.

"Don't dismiss the idea completely, Sam. Let's think about it first," said Amy. "We've never said we wouldn't do that again, and this is a big commission."

"No we didn't. And yes it is. But neither of us have been doing any of this just for the money."

"Not just for the money, no. But why knock it back? It's a good excuse to lift your work to a different level. We have to grow, we can't just keep doing the same thing over and over."

"Is that what it feels like to you these days? Just more of the same? To me, it feels like we've come an awful long way in a very short time. This is another huge leap for both of us. It is for me, anyway."

"Yes, it is. But that's why it should be a lot of fun to do."

It is always hard to argue with Amy's enthusiasm for the new, but I was not yet convinced. Greta's business brain tried to put a more rational spin on the idea.

"Sam, a commission can often be very beneficial to an artist, and I don't mean because it might be very lucrative. When you are just self-motivated in what you do, it's easy to get stale and to get into a rut. A commission brings a different kind of discipline to your work. It introduces a new element, some outside condition that you might not have chosen for yourself, and accepting that can sometimes inspire and bring out new qualities in an artist. It isn't just about money." 

It sounded a bit like a prepared speech and it probably was, but it was nevertheless a persuasive argument. They were both ganging up on me, but maybe they were both right for different reasons. I knew it was risky, but in the back of my head were Greta's other words to me, 'let her go, if she comes back...' and my own resolution to myself some time ago to choose the 'path less trod', and take more risks with this wonderful young woman.

"OK," I said. "Let's do it."

"We don't have a model," said Amy.

"We'll put an ad in the paper," I said. "Wanted. Fit young man to bonk gorgeous nude model at least ten times. Twenty-five bucks an hour. Free condoms."

Amy looked hurt. "Don't, Sam. That's not fair."

"Sorry. I agree, that was mean. Still, if we are going to do this, we don't have a model, and it can't be just anyone."

"I know one person who would do it."

Sometimes I surprise myself by how dense I am. I looked at Amy blankly. Was she talking about her old boyfriend, whose forgettable name now escaped me? Or the guy she had her 'affair' with that led to the break-up? Greta was looking equally blank, but Amy wasn't expecting her to know who she was talking about. Amy was looking at me like I must know who she meant, but I was still clueless. For a moment, I thought she was about to tell me, but she stopped herself and turned to Greta instead.

"What business is this client in? The one who wants ten of Sam's pictures?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, it occurs to me that it's an odd thing to want. Ten pictures all the same size. What is he going to do with them?"

"I believe he wants them as part of the décor in his new business."

"Which is?"

"He calls it a 'gentleman's refuge'."

"Does that mean it's a strip club or a brothel?" asked Amy, never one to beat around the bush.

"I think he would say neither, but it's probably a bit of both," admitted Greta. "I haven't seen it, because it's still being built. It won't be open for a couple of months, but he says it's a really classy place, which is why he wants the best art he can get for the decor."

"He doesn't want Art," said Amy, "he wants up-market porn. He wants us to help his clients get their rocks off and get out of the place quick. I'm right, aren't I? Tell him to go fuck himself. We're not doing it."

Amy spoke with great finality. Her enthusiasm for the project, so strong only moments before, had dissipated completely. She had been sitting on her hands on the dais, and now she stood up and walked out of the room. Greta was somewhat taken aback by this sudden reversal of the plan. She looked at me, pleadingly.

"Sam, talk to her, tell her not to be so hasty..."

"Forget it, Greta. Amy's right. We're not doing it. I'm sorry you won't get your cut of the deal, but it's no deal."

Amy came back into the studio with a bottle of champagne and three flutes. She put the glasses on the dais, expertly popped the cork on the bottle, bent down and poured three glasses of bubbly wine. As I let my eyes roam for the millionth time over her delightfully bare ass, I suddenly realised who she was suggesting could be a potential male model. Amy handed us each one of the glasses, and raised her own in salute.

"To life! Have a drink, Greta. Don't go away pissed off at us."

"I don't get it, Amy," said Greta.

"Sam does. He can probably explain it better than I can."

"It's a question of integrity, Greta. It might not look like it to some people, but we are serious about what we do. We want the art that we create to be good art. Yes, it's erotic, but it's still art. It might seem like a pointless distinction to you, but Amy and I have spent a lot of time thinking about the difference between 'Art' and 'Porn'. Superficially, they can look a lot alike, but the difference for us is in our intention, our motive, our reason for doing it. I like it that a lot of people like what we do. I like it that they are willing to pay for it, because that is a good test of something's value to someone, but that doesn't mean we'll do anything just for the money. We've been exploring the boundaries and blurring the borders between what is art and what is porn, and we'll keep doing that, but if we do these ten pictures for your client, then we are doing them for exactly the wrong reason."

"But he could buy any other pictures of yours from the gallery and put them up in his club if he wanted to," Greta argued.

"Yes, he can. But then we wouldn't have done them for that purpose, just so that he could do that. We would have done them for ourselves," I said. "That's the difference."

"If we do these ten pictures as a commission for this client, then we're in the porn business," said Amy. "And so are you."

Greta sat looking at her champagne glass thoughtfully , not sure what to say next. Amy, as usual, managed to find the right thing to say to change the mood in the place.

"Are you going to drink that, or would you rather get naked and join me and Sam in a game of Hide The Sausage?"

I had just taken a mouthful of champagne, which although it was quite good quality bubbly, surprised me by hurting more than I expected when I involuntarily blew it out of my nose. I discovered that alcohol and carbon dioxide bubbles can really sting the sinuses. Amy then delivered the coup de grace to Greta's ambition to have us accept her client's commission.

"By the way, Greta, when you face the jury next month or whenever it is, and your lawyer tries to argue that you are not guilty of porn peddling because what we do is Art, how would you have explained away this commission if we had agreed to do it?

"I think I need some more of that champagne, please," said Greta, who had suddenly turned a whiter shade of pale. 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 28



Through the long telephoto lens of my DSLR camera I could see a young woman carrying shopping bags standing on the lower concourse of the shopping mall near the 'You are here' map of the complex. Click. 

I was sitting at a café table in the food court on the next level up, looking down over the railing, watching for her. I had watched her go into the Urban Surf boutique and she had been there for some time. Now she had bags from at least four different boutiques. She was looking around, as if she was expecting to meet someone. Click.

I picked up my cell phone and hit the 'call' button. A few seconds later, she put her bags down, fumbled in her handbag, then put a phone to her ear and spoke her name.

"Amy." 

Click.

"Hi." I said.

"Where are you? You're late."

"Showtime."

"Now?"

Click.

"Yes." 

"Can you see me?"

"Yes."

"What then?"

"Stay on the line."

She looked for a moment or two like she was about to say something else, then she bent down and put the phone on the ground in front of her feet. Click. She stood up straight and took a deep breath. She paid no attention at all to the people all around her as she took hold of the hem of her long t-shirt style dress with her fingertips and lifted it straight up. Click. When the hem was about waist height, she crossed her hands and kept lifting so that the shirt-dress was up and over her head and off completely in one fluid movement . Click. Click. She was now standing stark naked save only for her shoes in the middle of a busy shopping center. Click. Nonchalantly, she folded the stripped-off garment and put it in one of her shopping bags. Click. While bent down, she picked up her phone and put it to her ear again.

Amazingly, very few people near her had noticed what she had done. No-one had made a sound to attract attention to her action, so most people not actually looking in her direction had no reason to do so. Of those who happened to be facing towards her, a few were standing still, open-mouthed, hardly able to believe their eyes. Click. A young man was pointing her out to a female friend, and yet another was alternating between looking at her and looking quickly all around the immediate area, presumably for hidden cameras or for an accomplice.

"Now what?" she said.

"Turn around. See the escalator at the far end of the concourse? Take that up to the first floor."

"OK."

She spun around, and walked unhurriedly away from me. Click. There was another closer set of moving stairs that would have taken her straight up to the food area, but that would have been too easy. She would not have been seen by as many for so long had I directed her that way. 

A group of three teenage boys were now following her. One of them ran ahead of her, then turned and watched her walk past him while he waited for his friends to catch up with him. Click. Then all three overtook her, and turned to stand in her way, intending to make her change her path to walk around them. She walked through the group as if it was not there, their bravado melted by her confidence and by her beauty. Click. More shoppers stood and stared as she passed. 

She walked without any sense of urgency, and without giving any sense that she was not anything other than fully dressed. She even stopped to look in the window of a shoe shop about halfway down the concourse. Click. As she walked on, two sales assistants ran out of the store to confirm what they thought they had seen from the other side of the window – click - then went back into the store, giggling.

When Amy reached the escalator, she stepped onto it, then stood and let the stairs carry her upwards. She was someone with all the time in the world. At the top of the stairs, she stopped and put the phone to her ear again.

"I await your instructions, noble master," she said sarcastically, in what was meant to be some sort of Oriental accent. I could not see her face, but I could hear the smile on it. She was enjoying this. Click.

"There is a sign above you to your left. It points to the Food Court. I'll meet you in the café. Don't hang around, you've been spotted."

On the lower level, I could see two security staff in blue walking briskly in the direction of the escalators, one with a walkie-talkie to his ear. Click. I guessed that someone at the other end of a surveillance camera must have alerted them.

As Amy came towards me, looking completely edible but walking more briskly now, I stood up, holding another shirt-dress in my hands similar to the one she had recently taken off, gathered up so that it was ready to slip over her head. When she arrived at my table, she dropped her bags on the ground and held out her arms. In almost no time at all, she had put her arms into the sleeves and her head through the neck of the garment, I had pulled it down over her, and she had sat down at the table with me as if she had been there the whole time.

"I got you a latte," I said as I switched off my camera and dropped it into one of her shopping bags. "You want anything else?"

"No, ta. That's all I need." She took a sip of her coffee, then beamed at me, her face pink with excitement. "That was such a rush, Sam."

Very soon, two men with badges on their blue shirts and guns in holsters at their hips were standing next to the table, a little short of breath. Amy ignored them, I looked up and acknowledged their presence.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

The older of the two men spoke directly to Amy.

"Miss? Can you come with us, please?"

"Why?" said Amy calmly.

"Miss, you can't do that sort of thing in here. You'll have to come with us now."

"Do what sort of thing?"

"You know what I'm talking about, don't get clever with me."

"No, I don't know what you're talking about, you'll have to tell me."

The security officer began to realise that his authority was starting to slip away. He was used to his uniform with its weapon intimidating most people he needed to confront.

"You can't walk around here in the... in public. In the...mmm... without clothes on. In here."

"But I'm not. As you can see." Amy was firmly in charge, now.

"But you were. So you have to come with us. Now, please miss." The guard made one last attempt to assert his evaporating authority.

"Officer... should I call you officer? You aren't a real policeman, so I'm not sure if that's right, but it'll do. Officer, I can see how easily from a distance that you – or someone else as well, perhaps – might think this dress I'm wearing was my bare skin, but I think it would be very embarrassing for you and for your employers if you end up making a big fuss about nothing, don't you?"

Amy had tried out all sorts of different types of clothing before she settled on the long t-shirt for this stunt. We had both thought that a coat-style dress that opened all the way down the front, or even some sort of cape would be quicker to take off and put on again than something clinging and figure-hugging that went over her head. What we quickly discovered was that almost everything else had to have some sort of fastener like buttons or a zip to hold it together, so even if that was Velcro which could be ripped open quickly to disrobe, it took longer to align and press together than it took to slip a long stretchy t-shirt over her head when it came to getting dressed again. Choosing one that was a pale peach color that almost exactly matched her natural skin tone – now that her Caribbean tan had faded – was a stroke of genius.

Both the security guards were now standing there silent, unsure of what to do next.

"Did a member of the public make a complaint to you, personally?" Amy had come to the same conclusion I had and was willing to bet that these guards had been set on her by the center surveillance people, not by anyone on the floor of the shopping mall.

"No, miss."

"Do you see crowds of angry customers who are demanding you take some action because of what one of your surveillance people thought he saw?

The security guard looked around hopefully, but it was clear that the incident had already been forgotten by all but a few members of the general public in the immediate vicinity who were standing around waiting to see what happened next. He was now beginning to believe it was possible he was barking up the wrong tree.

"No, miss."

"Then, unless you want to make complete fools of yourselves and try to arrest me with force, I think we're done here. Come on, Sam, let's go home."

Amy finished the last of her coffee, picked her bags up and stood in front of the two guards, both of whom were slightly shorter than she was. 

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said, making them step aside for her as she left the coffee shop. 

We walked towards the elevators to the car park arm in arm, each carrying half of Amy's shopping in our free hands. Amy had been careful not to actually deny that she had been doing exactly what they had accused her of doing, and I was sure that the two guards who were watching our retreating backs would know for sure from the way Amy's ass moved that she was naked under her skin-colored dress and that the accusation was almost certainly true, but we all knew that there was no longer anything they could do about it. She turned to me and whispered in my ear as we reached the elevator.

"If this machine has a stop button, you know you'll have to fuck me before we get back to the carpark, don't you?"

Amy's ability to keep raising the stakes kept my adrenalin flowing. She had just avoided getting arrested by two security guards, and now she wanted us to fuck as soon as we were out of their sight, while we were still in the building! 

She pulled me into the elevator car as soon as the doors opened, but was very disappointed to discover that there were only four buttons, two for the shops and two for the carpark. No Emergency Stop at all.

"Damn. I thought they were all supposed to have stop buttons in them. Why doesn't this stupid elevator have one?"

"So that horny shoppers can't stop between floors and fuck in it?" I suggested.

"How inconsiderate. Whatever happened to customer service?" said Amy, as the doors opened at our carpark level.

"I don't think that includes encouraging customers to service each other," I said. 

I thought that was quite witty, but Amy ignored it because she had other ideas. She pulled me across the underground concrete jungle towards where our car was parked, all the time scanning her eyes over the roof and the tops of the pillars holding up the shopping center above us. 

"I think that's the only camera on this level," she said, pointing to a small smoky glass-fronted box pointed at the area that included the entrance and exit ramps. "but you can bet your ass center security is watching that monitor now we're on it." 

She waved at the camera, kissed the palm of her hand in a very flamboyantly theatrical way, then turned around and patted her behind with it. Our car was parked in the camera's direct line of sight, so I assumed that her 'kiss my ass' gesture was Amy's final act of defiance to this petty authority and that we would now be going home. Instead, she pulled me round to the driver's side, away from the camera, and began to undo my pants.

"What are you doing?" I said, "You've just made sure that you have their undivided attention, and those guards will be down here in seconds if they think they can really catch us at it."

"They won't catch us. Unless you want to waste time on foreplay."

Amy pushed my pants down to my ankles and pulled her dress up to the waist, then leaned back against the car door with her feet apart. Faced with the exquisite sight of her glistening pussy all thoughts of security guards and surveillance cameras fled from my frontal lobes and some deeper, more primitive part of my brain took over motor control. Even if the building was about to collapse around us, I would still at that moment have chosen to make stand-up passionate love to this living breathing fantasy of a woman first. I stepped forward and bent slightly at the knees to get something closer to a correct entry angle, bracing my hands on the car door windows either side of Amy's shoulders. She tilted her pelvis up to meet me and grasped my cock in her hand, guiding it home like a heat-seeking missile. There was almost no resistance at all as I straightened my knees and entered her fully in one smooth movement with only an 'ooooh' from me and an 'aaaah' from her.

"Holy fornication, Batman, I can feel that up in my ribs," said Amy. "Smile for the camera, Sam."

I looked up past her face and straight in to the lens of the security camera. 'What the hell' I thought, and gave it a big grin and a 'thumbs up' sign. They might have known what we were doing, but they couldn't actually see anything below our shoulders, and they couldn't prove anything from that angle, unless their camera had x-ray vision. Still, if I was in charge of security, I would have a couple of guards on their way to the carpark right now.

Amy had lifted one of her legs up and wrapped it round behind me, and she had her hands round my waist, her arms and legs both adding extra thrust as my pelvis slammed into hers with increasing force. It wasn't the most sensual fuck we'd ever enjoyed, but it did have adrenalin-fuelled urgency which added an extra frisson of pleasure. Amy grunted and shuddered herself to an orgasm first, her excitement triggering the beginnings of mine. The 'ding' of the elevator arriving on our level and the grinding swish of the doors opening was an instant ardour damper for me, and I was all set to abort the mission when I saw that instead of two burly guards, the elevator was disgorging two young mothers pushing strollers. Neither of them looked in our direction as they wheeled their toddlers away from us, and I heaved a sigh of relief. 

"I can tell that wasn't Laurel and Hardy, after all," said Amy, starting to giggle. "You've now probably got another whole 20 seconds reprieve, while the elevator goes up two floors and then back down again, so take your time, Sam. No rush."

I started to fuck her again with a steady rhythm but it's not easy trying to climax with someone who breaks into laughter whenever you look them in the eye. All hope of recovering my concentration and finishing my own orgasm had just about disappeared, so I accepted reality and decided that discretion was the better part of valour. I reluctantly withdrew from her sweet musky moistness and pulled my pants up from round my ankles, buttoning the waistband to keep them up. There was no chance of persuading Mr Happy to soften up in a hurry, so I left him sticking out of my open fly.

"You'll keep," I said. "I'll deal with unfinished business when I get you home."

"Promises, promises."

She was now giggling like she had been smoking a joint rather than making love in public, and I had to unlock the door and open it with one hand, push her in and across the driver's seat with the other, then I flung the shopping bags over her head in the general direction of the back seat. I jumped in and was about to start the engine when I heard the elevator 'ding' again.

The same two security guards who accosted us in the café came rushing out of the elevator, looking around to get their bearings, expecting to catch us in flagrante delicto. From inside the tinted windows of our car, we could see them, but they couldn't see us, so we watched them trying to figure out which vehicle was ours, and trying in vain to get a connection back upstairs with their walkie-talkies. It looked like they had come to the conclusion they were on the wrong carpark level, because one of them pointed to the roof and the other one summoned the elevator car again. When the doors closed behind them, I quickly started the engine, reversed out of our bay, and headed for the exit ramp. Laurel and Hardy were standing by the elevator doors on the upper level by the time we got there, so Amy lowered the window and gave them a regal wave as we drove by and headed for daylight and the exit.

I felt an enormous sense of relief when we were back on public streets, even if the traffic was building up to afternoon peak hour and we were crawling along at best. Amy was laughing at the look on the guards' faces and whooping with triumph. She had pulled off a major 'showtime' stunt, talked herself out of spending the rest of an embarrassing afternoon with the center management, then topped it off by fucking on camera in a public carpark.

"That's about as much excitement as I think I could take in one afternoon," I said.

"That's a shame, Sam," said Amy, with the devil in her eyes. "I was just thinking of waking up a few of those commuters out there, and giving them a treat." 

So saying, she reached over and took hold of my cock which was still stiff and poking out the front of my pants, then knelt up on the passenger seat. Hitching up her dress to make sure that nothing was hidden, she stuck her bare ass up in the air by the window and leaned over my lap. Just before she put my cock in her mouth, she gave me some advice.

"Hang on to that steering wheel, it's going to be a bumpy ride."



A Creative Challenge Ch. 29



"Omigod, you two are SO much alike."

Mike and I were on our third beer when Amy arrived home. She stood in the doorway and stared at both of us in turn when she saw us sitting at the kitchen bench , then she pretended to rub her eyes with both her fists as if she was having double-vision, then looked again and shook her head.

"That's so scary. You could almost be brothers."

"Except I'm the good-looking one," said Mike.

"He got the good-looking bits from his mother," I said, pleased at Amy's surprised reaction at meeting my son for the first time.

"I can't see any bits that aren't good looking from where I'm standing," said Amy provocatively but tongue-in-cheek.

She walked towards him, and he stood up politely, holding his hand out to shake hers. She went straight past his hand, held him by his biceps, and kissed him on both cheeks, European style.

"I'm Amy, in case your Dad hasn't told you about me."

I don't remember him mentioning you at all, come to think of it," said Mike, playing along with her. "What was your name again?"

"Sam, come here, I want to slap you!"

"You warned me she might get violent," Mike said to me.

"And you're next!" said Amy, laughing,.

I could tell she was pleased and relieved that Mike was not tense or awkward at meeting her. I had told her that he was hoping to be home for Christmas with us, but she didn't know when he was coming. I kept his arrival a surprise because I knew she would stress about how Mike would feel about her and his Dad living together in the house that held so many memories of his mother, but I also knew she would handle it fine if it was just sprung on her. I wasn't worried about Mike, he was more than mature enough to cope, and I was sure he would come to like her as soon as he got to know her, and I was right. 

"I'm glad you're home," I said. "Mike and I had just starting saying 'do-you-remember-when' to each other, so now's a good time to take a break from catching up, and he's probably as hungry as I am."

"What, you think I'm going to cook for you both like a good girl should? Dream on."

"No, I thought I'd take two of my favourite people in the whole world out to dinner."

"Right answer," said Amy. "I'd better go and get ready."

"She really can cook," I said to Mike, when Amy had left the room to go freshen up. "Very well, in fact."

"From what you've told me, I doubt there's much that she doesn't do well," said Mike, already impressed with my lovely girl.

I hadn't seen Mike since he went back to University at the beginning of the year, but we talked on the phone every couple of weeks. I had told him about Amy, how she had transformed my work, how much she had come to mean to me, and about her – our – somewhat unorthodox lifestyle. Well, not everything about it, but I had always preferred to be open and honest with him, so I didn't leave much out, and he was never easily shocked. Jeannie and I had raised both of the twins not to be judgmental but to treat people as they found them, and I knew he would do just that with Amy.

That first evening we spent out together after Mike came home was the best fun I'd ever had in Amy's company without her being naked. She was in sparkling form over dinner, and once she realized that Mike already knew about some of our adventures she kept us both in fits of laughter retelling some of our stories from her point of view, which meant they were told with a lot of embellishment, although by contrast, there were things she left out, and some she hardly mentioned. Tracey, for instance, was relegated to a very minor role, Buckingham was just one of the many staff at Fantasia, and although the recent afternoon at the mall was recounted in some detail, she left out the bit about sucking my dick for the whole length of Commercial Street in the rush hour. Mike was a good audience, concentrating on her every word, and in return, he was emboldened by her candour to respond with some stories of his own, recounting incidents he had been involved in that only a few short years ago he would have died rather than admit to with either of his parents in the room.

I had always imagined that Amy and Sally would get on together well, but Mike's opinion about anything had always harder for me to predict. I was a little disappointed that Sally had chosen to spend Christmas skiing with her boyfriend's family rather than coming home with Mike to meet Amy, but I was pleased that there was an easy rapport between my lover and my son. I put that down to Mike and Amy being the same generation, and I enjoyed sitting back and admiring both of them, letting someone else do most of the listening and some of the talking for a change. Amy had not dressed that night to be provocative, to be particularly sexy, but she just couldn't help it. Her effect on me was always pretty much the same no matter what she wore. She could give me an erection wearing a potato sack. 

When she spoke, her lips and tongue danced close to each other to shape the air blown out by her ribs and made audible by the muscles in her throat. When she smiled, her eyelids widened to reveal the blue-white surrounds to her blue-green pupils, her cheeks creased near the corners of her mouth, and tiny crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. When she laughed I could see the wet soft palate and the quivering uvula at the back of her mouth, both of which knew what it felt like to be brushed aside by my desire-hardened penis.

Amy spoke with her hands like an Italian, and her t-shirt, stretched one way and then the other by the twists of her torso and the gestures of her arms, was alternately loose and flowing or wrapped tight against the undulations of her body. The bulging side of her breast where it met her ribcage and the shallow dome of her nipple with its embossed central stud pressed themselves momentarily against of the inside of the material, then vanished again as she made another conversational point in a mixture of words and body language. As she spoke, sometimes our eyes collided, and she knew that I was watching her, observing her, claiming her, savouring her. From time to time she would reach up with one hand to gather an errant strand of hair and tuck it behind her ear. It was a gesture that allowed her middle finger to outline the ear's whole shape then gently travel halfway down her neck before lifting itself away. It was a gesture of such casual sensuality it almost made me faint.

Mike was a media communications student so he was very interested in the photographs Amy told him I had taken during the 'showtime' escapades. At home later that evening I offered to show them to him, but he made a point of politely asking Amy's permission first, even though he was not expecting her to object.

"Do you mind if Dad shows me his pictures of you when you are out in public naked? I'll understand if you don't want me to see them."

"Do I mind? Absolutely not," said Amy, glad to have been asked, because it gave her an excuse to bring up an issue that had been on her mind. "In fact, I wanted to ask you something, too. I expect Sam has told you about how we don't normally wear clothes at home, and it will be a hard habit to break. I'll try to remember to stay dressed, if you prefer, but it would be a lot easier if I didn't have to be careful all the time – if that's OK with you.

"Amy, if it's OK with Dad, whatever you want to do is fine with me."

"Sam?"

"My darling, I didn't imagine you would suddenly become coy, just because Mike's here. He's a big boy, he'll cope."

"Is that right?" she said with a smirk. "We'll see."

"You know very well what I meant."

"I do. But you don't know for sure what I meant."

Mike was amused by the way Amy always seemed to have the measure of me, and I was glad that he didn't disapprove of his smitten father's new love nor of his exhibitionistic explorations with her.

"Where are those pictures, then?" he said.

Amy was interested in Mike's reaction to her 'showtime' adventures and she sat behind me with her chin on my shoulder while we all looked at my photographs on her PC screen. There were a few really nice shots of Amy in amongst the other out-of-focus or wobbly images, but with a little explanation from both of us, each sequence told enough of the story for Mike to be able to relive the whole incident with us.

"Dad, these documentary sequences are a really neat idea. I think there is a publishing opportunity here somewhere. But you need to get better at taking the pictures."

"I'm an artist, son, not a photographer. Besides, it's not easy trying to keep an eye out for trouble and concentrate on taking pictures at the same time."

"Sam tells me you're a really good photographer, Mike. Why don't you take them for us?"

Mike didn't respond to Amy's suggestion, but he thought about it for a moment of two, then asked me a question in return.

"What sort of trouble, Dad?"

"I don't know. I guess you never know how people will react. Someone might harass her. She might even get arrested. We don't exactly have permission to do this sort of thing, you know."

"I don't think you need it."

"I don't understand," said Amy, sitting up, suddenly very interested. "You mean getting naked in public is not illegal?" 

"I don't know if it is or not, but you're artists so it probably doesn't matter. Look, I'll show you."

Mike typed 'www.spencertunick.com' into the PC and up came a website with a picture of hundreds of naked people on it.

"This guy is an artist. He puts an announcement in the paper which gets him all these volunteers – just regular people – to gather somewhere public, they all take their clothes off, he takes pictures, and then he exhibits them in art galleries. He's famous for it."

"Cool," said Amy, taking over the mouse and looking at some of the other pictures on the website.

"The point is, he was arrested when he tried to do it in Times Square in New York. He sued the city, and it went all the way to the Supreme Court. They said it was 'free speech' and that he was protected by the First Amendment of the Constitution. Same principle would apply to you."

"How did you know about this guy... Tunick?"

"I could say it was one of the advantages of a college education, but the truth is..." Mike took the mouse back from Amy and clicked on a few pages, then pointed to a picture of a rear view of several hundred people, all naked, kneeling as if in prayer in the middle of a city square. "...don't you recognise your own children, Dad?" 

I looked closely at the picture on the screen, then it dawned on me.

"This was taken in Central Plaza. Here in the city. Are you and Sally in there somewhere?"

"That's my ass," said Mike, pointing to one of the sets of raised buttocks, "and that's Sally's."

"When was this taken? I don't remember anything about this."

"We didn't tell you. We were in our last year at school, and we lied about our age. You were busy at the time."

"That was just before your mother died. I wasn't paying much attention to you guys, or anything else very much. Sorry about that."

"You being on this website is SO cool," said Amy, tactfully changing the subject and bringing our attention back to the picture on the screen.

"You've no idea how cool it was. At five in the morning in October, Sally just about froze her tits off, and I think you can guess how it affected me. It was quite an experience, though." 

"So will you do it?" Amy asked Mike. "Will you take the pictures for us?"

"Sure" said Mike.

"Sam, I think it's time we did some Christmas shopping." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 30



Unusually for late December, but fortunately for us, the weather the next day was mild and dry. Mike and I were up early, planning the day's photographic expedition, and putting together some documents to convince any nosy officials that it would be a waste of their time trying to stop us doing what we had every intention of doing – which was taking photographs of Amy naked in the middle of the City Plaza Christmas shopping frenzy.

"We might think we have the law on our side, but that isn't going to help us if the local police don't know that," said Mike sensibly. "It would be much easier if we get their cooperation up front rather than have to fight them off with lawyers later."

I had some of my press clippings and one of Greta's catalogs and some press clippings to prove I was a real artist, some pictures of Spencer Tunick's art installations, and a copy of the Supreme Court judgment in his favour spread out on the kitchen table. We figured that would be enough evidence to be convincing.

When Amy came down the hall looking for some breakfast, I had this weird sense of déjà vu as she went straight to the crisper drawer in the fridge. This time it was Mike's turn to look round and find himself staring at her bare ass for the first time. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what Mike was going to say next and that I could safely bet my left testicle on him saying those exact words. The moment I realized that, it simultaneously occurred to me that perhaps Amy was right, and Mike and I were more alike than I had ever imagined.

"Holy shit, Amy!" 

Told you, I said to myself.

"Hey, Sam," said Amy, standing up with two carrots in her hand and shutting the fridge door with her ass, then leaning back against it with her feet a shoulder width apart. It looked like a natural and casual movement, but it also just happened to make sure that we could both see the full smooth and plump 'W" of her pussy lips at the top of her thighs. "Good morning, Mike."

"And good morning to you," said Mike, thoroughly enjoying what he she was presenting for him to look at, and making no attempt to hide his appreciation. "You weren't kidding about the dress rules around here, were you?"

"You're going to be taking lots of pictures of me later on today, so I think you should get used to looking at me naked."

"I think I'll need plenty of practice before I could ever get used to that," said Mike.

"I'll let you into a secret, son, you never get used to it," I said. "No matter how much practice you get."

"You're a smooth-talking pair of perverts, I'll give you that." 

I knew Amy well enough to know that she was lapping up the extra attention her bare body was getting. She did her morning stretching-like-a-cat routine as she ground some coffee and fetched three cups and saucers from the cupboard and generally pottered about the kitchen. She did the same thing almost every morning and every morning I sat at the bench where today Mike was sitting watching her, so I knew it wasn't a special exhibition just for his benefit, but I always doubted that she would do quite the same thing if she was on her own without an audience of any kind.

The plan was that I should go early to the main police station at one end of City Plaza and explain to them politely that we were engaged in an art project that involved taking some photographs of a nude model in some of the shops and amongst the general public doing their Christmas Shopping along the pedestrian mall, so they would be co-operative and make sure we weren't harassed.

That was the plan.

"You must be frigging joking," said the solidly humourless police sergeant at the front desk.

"Sergeant, I'm quite serious. We are artists and we are within our rights to do this. I'm just telling you out of courtesy, so you will know about us if someone happens to complain."

"I don't care if we get a complaint or not. I'm warning you now, if your model strips off in my mall, I'll have her off the street and in here before you can say 'indecent exposure'."

"You can't do that."

"Watch me."

"I think I should talk to a more senior officer if you're going to deny us our rights."

As I watched the blood flood up from his neck into his face until it was livid all the way up to his forehead it occurred to me that my previous remark might have been a serious tactical error, but this somewhat overweight officer of the law brought himself under control and took a deep breath before he spoke carefully and with a semblance of calm.

"You can talk to the Commissioner of Police or the frigging pope for all I care. This is Christmas week, and one more wacko like you on my streets is all I'm looking for because I am in the mood to throw the book at someone. It might as well be you, pal. Go for it."

Reflecting on this conversation when I was standing back in the street outside the police station, I had to admit that it could have gone better. I left a copy of the documents on the counter for him, and I recommended that he read them before doing anything hasty, but after that I very quickly terminated our discussion before the whole of the rest of my day went pear-shaped and I found myself in the lock-up on general principle.

I was supposed make sure that Amy could strip in the plaza without getting arrested, then go home and pick up her and Mike so that we could go back into the city to take some photographs. Instead, by the time I got home I had made up my mind that getting Amy to walk around naked in City Plaza was not such a good idea after all. By then, I had something a little more ambitious in mind.

"Change of plan, guys," I said when I arrived home.

"it didn't go down too well at the police station, then," said Amy. "I thought it might be a mistake telling them first. Are we calling it off?"

"Not exactly. Do you still have that pleated skirt, and those amazing shoes?"

"Oh, goody. We're going to be really naughty."

"What are you two talking about?" asked Mike.

"Sam, do you want to tell him, or shall we let him find out?" 

"Mike, I don't think this will involve you. Just Amy and me. And we don't need photographs."

Mike was disappointed at that, but still curious.

"I won't get in the way," he said. "Whatever it is you're planning, I could help you."

"I don't think you can, son. Not with what we have in mind. Thanks all the same." I was laughing at the idea of Mike not knowing what he was offering to help me with, but trying not to offend him by looking like I was laughing at him.

"Mike, can you use the video camera?" asked Amy. "Sam, you're right, there's not much point getting photographs, but a movie sequence could be something else entirely."

"Of course I can shoot video. You're looking at the Media Faculty's "Cinematographer of the Year", I'll have you know."

"Sam? What do you think?"

Amy was bright-eyed and excited at the idea of Mike filming us fucking in public. I didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm, but I was not so keen on the idea. I would have preferred almost anyone to be behind the video camera watching us rather than Mike. I was also concerned about not drawing attention to ourselves, and knowing a camera was watching our every move might make it difficult for Amy to be discreet about what we were doing. But I didn't say no straight away.

"What?" said Mike, looking at each of us in turn. "What?" His curiosity was killing him. Amy decided not to wait for me to respond to her, and she relieved his frustration.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, Sam intends to fuck me in the street outside the police station in the middle of the City Mall."

"Wow," said Mike softly after a slightly stunned pause. "How...?"

"Standing up on tiptoe, " said Amy, knowing that was probably not the answer to whatever question Mike was about to ask. "Without a condom."

"OK," said Mike, with his hands up. "That's more information than I need." 

"Amy, stop teasing the boy. You're embarrassing him."

"Actually, Sam, I think I'm embarrassing you."

She was right. I was much more uncomfortable about the idea of Mike watching us fuck than he was. In the last couple of years that he had been away at University he had become a well-balanced and open-minded young man, who was independent in his judgements and refreshingly free of hang-ups. Again, I reminded myself of the promise I made to go with the flow and not be a brake on Amy's exhibitionist explorations.

"OK, let's do it. If that's what you want."

Amy dashed off to find what she called her 'FIP' clothes, but I wanted to talk to Mike.

"I'm not sure that shooting this video is such a good idea. I started taking photographs of Amy out in public because I want to keep some of these wonderful memories of mine warm and alive in my old age, and I just wanted to make sure that I had a record of some of the crazier things that Amy's been doing."

"You mean some of the crazy things that YOU and Amy have been doing."

"I suppose so. I just don't think of it like that. I wouldn't be involved in any of them if it wasn't for her, so I always feel like a bit of a passenger – no that's wrong, more like an observer watching an express train go by. She's the one driving the train."

"But she wouldn't do any of these things if it wasn't for you, either. You keep telling me how she inspires your work, but it seems to me that you're inspiring her LIFE. You know that, don't you?"

I hadn't thought of it like that, but it was an interesting and perceptive observation. 

"Well, suppose you shoot this video and it turns out alright, what then? Who can we show it to? If it's only for ourselves, what's the point?"

"Dad, don't get wound up about that. I think there are all sorts of possible audiences for it. It could easily become a TV documentary. Maybe a series. I would film you working with Amy in the studio, shoot some of her other stunts, interview both of you, talk to you about your art, about the boundaries and the overlap between art and erotica and porn, about exhibitionism, about conventional attitudes to nudity and sexuality, about the limits to freedom of expression in the modern world, about the history of the enlightenment, art's struggle against religious oppression... there's probably even a doctoral thesis in there somewhere "

"OK. I'm convinced. But let's just take it one step at a time. Go get the camera. I'll get my coat."

We both briefed Mike in the car on the way to the city, but the poor young man was more confused after Amy and I had given him our contradictory instructions than if we had given him none at all. I was counselling him to keep his distance and blend in with the crowd like a tourist, because everybody looks in the direction that a media video camera is pointing and we didn't want too much attention. Amy was stressing how he would have to get in close or the audience for his movie would have no idea what was going on. To his credit, Mike nodded and agreed with both of us, but I suspected he had his own ideas anyway and was unlikely to follow our directions.

We parked and, with Amy in the middle, the three of us walked arm in arm towards the police station at the end of the pedestrian mall. To my disappointment, I could see through the front plate glass window that my friendly police sergeant was no longer at the front desk where I had left him. I looked around the mall to see if he was patrolling the streets, but there was no sign of him. I had been hoping to flip him the bird at an appropriate moment.

Mike withdrew to one side of the building, while Amy and I took up our position in front of it, three or four body lengths from the front door. I was surprised by how many people there were milling around, far more than when I had been in the same place earlier that morning. I wasn't sure I had the nerve to carry out our plan, but then I noticed that most of the people were preoccupied schlepping large bags full of Christmas presents and most were not even glancing in our direction for a microsecond.

"Let's do it," I said to Amy, opening my riding coat invitingly. She stepped towards me to hug me round my waist and I enveloped her in the loose waterproof material. She rested her head on my shoulder, and spoke softly into my ear.

"You know, if Mike hadn't been in the car with us, I would have been playing with myself from the moment we left home, just to make sure I was wet enough to do this."

"Are you not?"

"I expect so, but I'm not sure. We'll soon find out, anyway."

She brought her hands back round to the front of me, unzipped my fly, and quickly pulled out my penis, which was only semi-erect . I couldn't help flinching as her hand went inside my pants.

"This is a little disappointing. I thought you would be rock hard by now."

"If you don't mind me saying so, your hands could have been a little warmer before you did that. You're lucky it isn't even smaller than it is, seeing that it's the middle of winter, and I'm not wearing any underpants."

"I thought you felt hotter than usual, but I suppose you would if my hands are as cold as you say they are," said Amy, warming them up on my shrinking scrotum. "Come on, Mr Happy, up you come. You can do it."

"I'm also a little nervous about this. My son is over there watching us and filming us, there are about a thousand people all around us, and I'm looking at the police station right behind you, so there's not much point telling me to relax."

"Sam, nobody can see what I'm doing inside this coat. Relax."

Even though I told her not to bother telling me to relax, I had to smile at the way she immediately did just that, and smiling always has a relaxing effect on anyone. In fact, it may be physiologically impossible to stay stressed when you are only inches from the beautiful face of the woman you love and she is smiling back at you with a warmth that could melt your eyes. Your sense of wellbeing will also improve if she has your cock in her hand and she is massaging it gently but firmly.

"Attaboy," said Amy, as Mr Happy dutifully stood himself up to attention for her.

We were almost ready to make love, to fuck, secretly and privately but in full view of hundreds of people in the middle of the city we lived in on one of the busiest days of the year. I knew we were crazy, but it was wonderful and beautiful and just the rightest and best thing to do in that place at that moment with that extraordinary person.

I took my eyes away from Amy's happy and excited face to look around at the world outside the intimate two of us. Mike was now sitting in the sparse shade of a leafless tree on the low wall surrounding a nearby planter bed, looking down at the upturned screen of the video camera which he was nursing in his lap. Through the lens of the camera he must have seen me looking at him, and with his head still down he gave me a 'thumbs up' sign with one hand. The red light above the lens was on. 

A young woman in uniform was at the desk of the police station talking to a couple standing with their backs to us. A young man was sitting on the wall near Mike, looking alternately at Mike's camera and at what Mike's camera was looking at, probably wondering what was so interesting about this oddly-matched embracing couple. Shoppers and other passers-by ignored us or glanced at us then looked away. There was no reason for now not to be the moment of truth.

I leaned my head towards Amy to kiss her, then had to tilt my face back as she stood on her toes, raising her lips above mine. As her soft mouth touched mine, she placed the tip of my penis between the lips of her pussy and rubbed it around in her entrance so that we were both nicely basted with her slippery juice. Her breath was sweet in my nostrils as she made sure we were both ready to 'lock and load' at groin level, then she pressed her open mouth against mine, sealing our lips against the outside world so that her breath now came from her nose and swept across my cheek. Her tongue pushed past my lips and into my mouth as she settled back on her heels, penetrating me at one end at the very moment I was penetrating her at the other. 

I felt her knees weaken in their ability to support her, and I supported her slumping extra body weight as they gave way by pressing her closer against my chest with my enveloping arms . When I was as far inside her as ever I could be I held her motionless, not breathing at all, then she let our lips part and her head fall backwards so that her drawn out low down sighing 'oh' was directed at the sky. 

By the time Amy straightened her knees and her neck again, taking her own weight and bringing her eyes back to mine, I was aware that my cheek muscles were in danger of cramping up, I was grinning that hard against a flooding sense of euphoria which I took to be a double dose of my own endorphins. This delicious sensation expanded outwards to completely fill my skin and penetrated inwards to the marrow of my bones, and was the sort of sensation that I had always imagined an injection of heroin would feel like when it hits the appropriate brain receptors. Despite opportunities, I had not ever chosen to sample the reality of that drug, in fear that it might be either disappointingly less or terrifyingly more than my expectations, so I recognised that the feeling I was now consumed by was as pleasurable as any I was ever likely to experience.

I looked again at the outside world around me, virtually unchanged from barely a minute or so before, but utterly different now in how I perceived it. I had never before been up to my nutsack inside a beautiful woman while surrounded by hundreds of other people in a very public place. In rabbits it may be different, but in humans sexual excitement is one tenth physiology and nine tenths psychology, so it was much more the thought of this, the very idea of being in this situation that was an even bigger erotic charge for me than the delightful feeling of Amy's pussy gripping my cock.

Amy kept her hips pressed against mine, and squeezed my dick with her pussy as she kissed me again. Then she turned her head and looked at the camera. She flicked her head back in a 'come here' gesture to Mike, who was still looking at the viewfinder screen upturned in his lap. He wasn't sure what he had seen, so he looked up at us, and Amy beckoned him again with a toss of her head. Mike stood up carefully, keeping the camera steady and pointed our way, and walked slowly towards us holding it at waist level. As he came within a few feet of us, Amy pushed my arm nearest to him slowly back, opening the coat so the camera could see what was going on under it. All that gesture revealed at first was a bunched up pleated skirt trapped between us at waist level and the side of Amy's hip and thigh pressed against my jeans, but holding the skirt up in her other hand, Amy slowly twisted her pelvis towards the camera which was now inside the coat and only inches away from our bodies, pulling away from me far enough for it to see her pussy with my cock embedded in it. Just as I was about to fall out of her and lose the intimate connection with her she stopped, then just as slowly pushed against me again, taking my penis back inside her body, twisting her pelvis back towards mine, and closing the coat around her.

As the coat again masked any view of what was happening under it, Mike crept backwards, raising the camera to his eyelevel and very slowly panning away from us and right round the plaza in one giant circle. Halfway round, his camera travelled across the face of the young man that had previously been sitting next to him on the bench. This boy had stood up and moved closer with Mike and by looking over his shoulder had seen everything the camera had seen. As the camera pointed directly at him, he said "Fucking awesome, dude", but Mike just kept panning around until we were again center of his frame.




A Creative Challenge Ch. 30



Amy put her arms around me inside the coat and started to rock her hips sideways just an inch or two, then back and forward a little, and then in little circular movements one way then the other. I tried to hold the coat right round her but as loosely as I could so that her movements would not attract obvious attention, and this was partly successful. The camera now knew what was happening and could capture the action that was quietly taking place, but it was not dramatic enough to cause a crowd to suddenly form. Mike held the camera pointed at us, and walked sideways in a circle round us, so that the camera could see what we were doing and see all the nearby people in turn and the plaza behind us at the same time.

Amy closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensations in her pussy and she leaned her head forward, with her cheek against mine. I would normally have done the same, but I wanted to enjoy the openness of the moment, and now I could no longer see her face, I wanted instead to connect with some spectators while we were fucking. The thrill of our anonymity was now giving way to a desire in me to share the experience with others, and I was less concerned about the consequences of being spotted. I made eye contact first with the young man who was still watching Mike and us. He smiled and nodded at me in acknowledgement. Behind him to one side was another couple who had become aware that Amy and I were not just cuddling, and I smiled and nodded at them, too. One by one, I caught the eye of other shoppers who stopped to look and who very quickly realized that we were doing something very unusual for a city mall.

The ability of humans to communicate meaning to each other, with or without words, is sometimes infuriatingly unreliable and imprecise, but there is a conspiratorial facial expression that you can give someone that consists of no more than a wide-eyed smile with a quick couple of nods and a raising of the eyebrows that almost anyone will understand to mean "yes...you're not mistaken...I bet you wish you were doing what I'm doing". A similar expression in response grants permission and it means "OK...you lucky devil...don't stop on my account". I found myself exchanging that look with as many people as I could, most of whom stopped to watch, and only one of whom gave me back a "that's disgusting" expression, and walked on.

Amy's small hip movements gradually became firmer and more urgent. Her arms were round my hips, her hands on my buttocks, preventing me from pulling back from her, and letting her control the process. She was not moving her hips more than an inch or so, but pulling back a little way slowly, then thrusting forward quickly, slamming her clit hard against my pubic bone with a small grunt. There was nothing I needed to do, I was just standing still while this beautiful young woman fucked me, and I knew her well enough to know that her orgasm was close.

Mike's camera was still circling us, but now he was closer to us and focused tighter on our faces. As Amy's orgasm built, he stayed behind me so I could no longer see him, and I realized that he had spotted the flush beginning to rise in her cheeks and he was letting the camera concentrate on her face. 

I was now relishing the most intense multi-layered combination of sensations that I had ever experienced. The sensitive nerve endings in my cock were having a fine time screaming their intense pleasure up the connecting cables to my brain; my eyes were registering the interest and attention of a growing and appreciative audience, stoking the fires of our erotic exhibitionism; I could feel my ears were pink and hot from the cold December air, but curiously aware they were not registering any sounds, as if we were standing in a cone of silence; I had a fear-of-being-caught-like-a-naughty-child adrenalin rush which had to be countered by a conscious act of will to keep me standing in one place; I felt uncomfortably exposed and revealed by the knowledge that my own child was watching and recording the whole event; and I was empathetically following and enjoying every nuance of Amy's journey towards her orgasmic release, feeling her growing excitement as if it was my own.

Part of me was savouring every separate facet of all this, but another part of me was hovering somewhere outside of everything observing the scene like a dispassionate but amazed spectator, hardly able to believe what was happening. Which may be why my sudden orgasm caught me by surprise. I was so busy physically and mentally and emotionally that I had become confused by the signals coming from my own body. What I was experiencing as a sense of Amy's excitement was equally a sense of my own, and as she gave in to her releasing spasms my own climax suddenly roared up from the base of my spine and exploded in the back of my head at the same time. We both clung to each other with our eyes closed, drowning in waves of private pleasure, until they eventually subsided and we were able to open our eyes, look at each other, and laugh.

I looked past Amy's face and into the plate glass front window of the police station. Facing me and looking directly at me from behind the counter was the same policewoman I had seen earlier. Her slightly stunned expression told me that she had seen and understood everything we had just done, and I whispered into Amy's ear that I thought we had been noticed by the authorities. Under my coat, Amy let the front of her skirt drop as she put the now much smaller Mr Happy back into my pants and zipped me up, then she emerged from the enveloping coat and turned around so that she too was facing the police station. It was obvious to both of us that this poor young policewoman had no idea how to deal with the situation that had just occurred under her very nose. She would know that we were being deliberately provocative by doing what we did exactly where we had done it, but she would also know that we were not any real threat to public order. Amy raised her arm and gave her a small wave. It was a friendly wave, and after hesitating for a moment, the policewoman smiled and waved back. It was an admission that there was nothing she could do, even if she wanted to.

Amy waved again, this time a more vigorous goodbye wave, then she grabbed my hand and dragged me running across the plaza back towards our car, whooping and laughing and skipping and dancing in and out and around the shoppers with their bags. At the car, we stopped to get our breath back and waited for Mike to catch up with us.

He walked towards us, camera no longer running but still in his hand, shaking his head in astonishment.

"How was that?" Amy asked him. He tried to look serious for a moment, then suddenly grinned.

"Fucking awesome, dude." 



A Creative Challenge Ch. 31



"Case dismissed," I said, as I hung up the phone after a lengthy conversation with Greta who was still down at the court waiting to celebrate with her lawyers. "And she was awarded costs, much to her relief."

"Yesss!" said Amy with some feeling. I knew Amy in particular would be as relieved by the outcome of the trial as I imagined Greta must have been. Amy had been more outraged than I was that our work might be officially labelled 'obscene'. In some way, she felt that the case was more a personal attack on her than on the paintings and drawings, that her freedom to be herself and explore her own sexuality was in some way being prosecuted and she was deeply offended by this.

"Why was it dismissed?" asked Mike in his best TV interviewer manner. His camera was pointing at me because he had been videotaping us working in the studio when the phone rang, and he had then taped whole phone conversation. "The media seemed to think the prosecution was pretty confident of winning this one."

"Apparently the prosecution argued that what was on the walls of Greta's gallery would fail the Supreme Court's 1973 obscenity test, but the judge wasn't convinced they had made a good enough case, so Greta said he dismissed it without even hearing the defence."

"Good for Greta, I say," said Amy. "She never let them intimidate her and she made it quite clear that she would take it all the way back up to the Supreme Court if she had to."

"What is the Supreme Court test?", asked Mike, with his camera still focused on me, tape rolling.

"I think it says that my pictures had to be deemed 'patently offensive', 'predominantly prurient', and 'lacking serious artistic value'."

As I said this, Mike twisted the lens of the camera to zoom out from my face, then he panned, slowly, onto and then past Amy who was sitting naked and cross-legged on the dais, to a series of finished and half-finished artworks stuck up around the walls of the studio. He held the camera stationery for a few moments on a picture of Amy reclining back away from us with her legs splayed and hanging over the edge of a bed, then he shut off the camera, lowered it from his shoulder and turned back to face me.

"That sounds like a pretty good description of your work, Dad."

"Thanks very much, Mike. I do try my best."

"That's not funny, guys," protested Amy, lacking her normal ability to laugh at almost anything on the planet, no matter how tasteless or repugnant. "I think this is very important, and it means a lot to me."

"I know," I said, hoping that Amy wouldn't stay up on her high horse for long. "It means a lot to all of us. Especially Greta. She's had some terrific PR from this."

"Most of it negative, from what I've been reading," said Mike.

"I don't suppose people who buy our sort of pictures care much what the papers say," said Amy to Mike.

"And Greta would have doubled her prices again already, I bet you," I said, rubbing my hands together in an impression of Lawrence Olivier playing Shylock.

"I can't believe you are so mercenary," said Amy, clambering back up on her high horse again. "This is about Art, and freedom of speech, not money."

"Amy, it's OK. We won."

"Yes we did, so how about opening some champagne, paint boy?"

"I don't think we have any," I said, ignoring her friendly jibe. "One of us will have to go down to the liquor store."

"I think it has to be someone with clothes on," said Amy. She looked down at herself and threw her hands up in surprise. "Well, how about that! Guess it can't be me."

"That let's me out, too," I said, turning towards Mike, who bowed to the inevitable and headed for the door, fumbling in his pockets for his car keys.

As soon as she heard Mike's car backing out of the drive, Amy stepped down off the dais and walked over to the sofa where I was sitting and, facing me, straddled my legs and sat on my knees taking my cock in both hands and gently stroking it.

"He'll be gone at least fifteen minutes," she said, quizzically raising her eyebrows and giving me her 'wanna-fool-around?' look.

"Don't you want to wait until the camera's rolling again?"

"Of course not. He's making a documentary about our life and our work, not a porn flic of you and me fucking."

"What were we all doing in City Plaza, then?"

"That was different. That was in public. We had an audience. Now we don't."

Even though I completely understood what she meant, I had to laugh at her unusual logic. if we fucked in public, with an audience of strangers, that was Art, so it was OK to be filmed doing it, but if we made love in the privacy of our own home and let Mike film that, it would be 'porn'.

Amy walked forwards on her knees until she was over my expertly stiffened cock which was hovering at the entrance to her vagina. She used the tip of my prick like a dildo to stimulate her clitoris and get us both nice and slippery, then she firmly sat down on it so that it slid into her in one breathtaking movement, and leaned forward, pressing her hard-tipped breasts into my chest.

We sat with our genitals enmeshed, holding each other close in a silence long enough for me to be quite sure that there was nowhere else on earth that I would rather have been at that moment.

"When Greta was here, did you like the way I tried to get her to play Hide the Sausage with us?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. But I did think for a moment that she might just say yes, didn't you?

"I was afraid she would, and I was wishing that you hadn't made her the offer."

"I couldn't help myself. Sono fatto cosi."

"What does that mean?"

"It means 'that's the way I am'."

"Horny?"

"No, provocative. And horny. And your cock inside me feels incredibly good."

She rocked her hips backwards and forwards – only small movements, but her weight pushing down made sure that both of us felt maximum friction from her oscillations – and both of us were silent again for a few minutes while we tuned in to our respective private sensations.

"Do you know who I was thinking about getting to come and model with me for that brothel-keeper's commission if we hadn't turned it down?" said Amy.

"Buckingham." 

She stopped moving on my lap and leaned back, looking at me in some surprise.

"How did you know?

"I didn't at first, but I soon realized it couldn't be anyone else. You knew we could afford to fly him in for a job of that size, and I knew how much you enjoyed modelling with him."

I nearly said 'how much you enjoyed fucking him', but that would have been petty when I was the one with my arms around her body and my cock as far up her pussy as it could go. She either didn't hear, or pretended not to hear, the slight hesitation in my voice when I got to the word 'modelling' and took what I said at face value.

"I did enjoy it. A lot. And I thought he would jump at the chance to do it again."

"I'm sure he would," I said, wondering which 'it' Amy thought he would like to do again. "Are you still planning to invite him over to model with you anyway?"

"No, I've got a better idea."

"What?"

"Not what. Who."

"Who, then?"

"Mike."

Before my son's name was out of her mouth, Amy leaned forward against me again with her arms around my neck and recommenced moving her hips, this time faster, with a lot more urgency. I assumed she did this to distract me and stop me from responding right away to that little bombshell of an idea. I understood what she was doing, and I knew that I needed some thinking time to deal with the idea. I decided that for the next few minutes I wouldn't waste any brainspace on whether I could cope with Mike and Amy modelling together or not, I would much rather be fully engaged in coping with this gorgeous woman who was trying to iron my cock flat with her pubic mound. To my surprise, I found I was unable to empty my mind and just concentrate on enjoying my bodily sensations, intense though they were. 

"Have you asked him yet?"

Amy was rocking with her eyes shut and she took a while to respond to my question. I thought at first that she was just being evasive, but then I realised that she was so focussed she simply hadn't been listening . She had the concentration I wanted but had failed to find, so I asked her again.

"Mmm... what? No, I haven't asked him. I asked you."

"It didn't sound like you were asking me. I thought you were telling me."

"Alright, I'm asking you now." She stopped rocking her hips on my lap, and sat back to look at me. "Sam, you DO want to do this, don't you?"

"Fuck, or let you model with Mike?"

"This, of course," she said, giving her pelvis a shimmy.

"Amy, my love, if there is ever a moment in my life where this..." I clenched my buttocks a couple of times in response to her wiggle so that I pushed myself just that little bit further into the beautiful body sitting on top of me, "...is not what I would rather be doing than anything else in the entire world, then you have my permission to shoot me."

She smiled, and said "Right answer. I was beginning to think you might be losing interest."

As she closed her eyes and started her rhythmic movements again, I thought to myself how wrong she was. Far from losing interest in her, she was every day becoming more and more the mental focus of most of my waking life. I was beginning to become a little afraid of how far my obsession for her – for that is what I recognised it to be – would take me, and I now had some idea where our future was about to lead us.

Recently, I had become aware that whenever I was with her I was memorising her, consciously and deliberately. Not just enjoying the unpredictability of her mind, or appreciating the unique form of her beauty, or relishing the soft and silken touch of her body, but storing her up and squirreling her away in my memories, counting the moments and noting the hours and marvelling at the months I had spent with her, not wanting ever to forget even a fragment of these now ephemeral experiences, none of which had ever lasted long enough, even before they began to fade like old photographs. Like an alcoholic for whom no amount of liquor could ever be enough, I wanted to drink her in, get mindlessly drunk on her, drown in her. When you have desire like that, like a raging bush fire, when you Want that much, there is no happy ending.

It was particular incongruous to have had that very thought just as my balls exploded in the happiest possible way, when I had one of two perfect nipples between my lips and nudging the end of my tongue, when I was hefting and squeezing a perfect buttock in each of my hands, when her sweet panting breath was making whooshing noises in my ear that only I could hear, when my eyes were watering from the pleasure of the Richter-scale orgasmic aftershocks clenching my pelvis. As we slowly relaxed and unclung from each other, I saw through swimmy eyes equal wetness running down Amy's flushed and still blissfully smiling cheeks, and I thought, yes, this is how it ends. In tears.

"I never used to do this, you know, but lately, when we're fucking, just before I come, I keep imagining you behind me grabbing my hips and violently fucking me up the ass as hard as you can, and the thought of that seems to make my orgasm huge, which is weird because I don't actually like being fucked up the ass very much as you know, and it's not that I want you up my ass instead of in my pussy, I want you to stay inside there but fuck my ass as well at the same time somehow, if you know what I mean, I wonder if it would help to try that with a toy one day, not a big one, but something that would take care of that wanting it hard up the ass feeling without feeling like it's ripping me apart, or maybe on some subliminal level I want to be punished for being so happy, for being so free. For being me. What do you think, Sam?"

"I think you should ask Mike to model for us if that's what you want. But let him pour the champagne, first, OK?"

Amy nodded thoughtfully, then carefully eased herself off my soaking wet but softening cock, cradling it in her hand as she slid down onto the floor on her knees. She bent her head and took it into her mouth, swirling her tongue all around every part of it, washing it with her saliva, then she moved her head back so her lips could pull and suck it clean. With her lips closed, she climbed back up onto my lap and kissed me, letting the contents of her mouth dribble into mine so that I could taste her juices mixed with mine.

"It would have to be pretty fucking good champagne to taste better than that," she said with her arms around my neck and her cheek against mine. Then she turned her head a little and whispered in my ear. "Thank you, Sam."



A Creative Challenge Ch. 32



Amy was more surprised than I was when Mike said he needed to think about it overnight and didn't agree to model for us straight away. She had simply assumed that he would do it without thinking twice, but it wasn't until when we were in the studio after breakfast the next morning ready to start work that he told us what he had decided. 

"It isn't that I'm shy," he told her, "Dad will tell you that there's nothing unusual about anyone in our family being naked around the house, like you two are right now. It's just that I'm making this documentary about you and your work, and that usually means being only an observer, not a participant, which is why I hadn't volunteered before, why I've kept my clothes on – which, incidentally, has sometimes not been easy."

"You wanted to keep some professional distance?" I ventured. 

"Exactly."

"So, you won't do it," said Amy, visibly disappointed.

"I didn't say that. If you want me to be part of your work I'm happy to do that, but I don't want to stop making this documentary. That means I need you both to help me by being part of mine."

"What do you want us to do?" said Amy, much more interested again. 

"I can't just suddenly appear in Dad's artworks without any explanation, and I can't be in front of the camera and behind it at the same time, so all of us will have to share some of the filming. I can direct you, but you need to learn how to operate the camera so that I get footage I can use. I don't want this to look like an amateur home movie. Deal?"

Amy looked at me expectantly, and I shrugged back to tell her that it was up to her, but she frowned at me which I took to mean she wanted me to make the decision. I had hoped this movie of Mike's wasn't going to take over my studio and upset our work routine. While he was hovering round the outside of our work, it wasn't so bad, but I hadn't planned on having to get involved in actually doing it for him. But I also didn't want to disappoint Amy, so I nodded. It was worth it just for one of her smiles, which lately seemed to come with their own orchestral accompaniment, string crescendos which pulsed in my ears to the rhythm of my heartbeat whenever she projected one my way.

"Deal." she said. "When can we start?"

"Start what? Me modelling for Dad? Or me training you how to be a cinematographer?"

I saw a triumphal expression come over Amy's face, and I knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Oh, the training can come later, I meant let's start by getting you naked at last."

"We came to the studio to work, so I guess this must be the moment of truth," said Mike, standing up and facing Amy, making it obvious that he was not about to be intimidated by her, and wryly amused by her interest in getting him to take his clothes off. 

I hadn't seen Mike without a shirt on since not long after he left school, and when he stripped his t-shirt up and over his head I was surprised how much his body had matured, and how much it had been shaped by his training with the college swim team. His chest and shoulders were much broader than they had been before, and he was more wedge-shaped with lean, flat, abs. When he undid the drawstring on his track pants and stepped out of them as they fell to the floor, I thought was how much his whole body looked like mine did when I was his age, except perhaps fitter and even better looking – not that I was going to admit that to anyone but myself. 

Except for the brief moment when the shirt masked his face as it came off, Mike had not broken eye contact with Amy, not even to blink as far as I could see. He looked her straight in the eye, a small smile just creasing the corners of his mouth. She responded to the eye contact challenge with a similar expression on her own face, trying to be nonchalant and not look at his body, even when his track pants hit the deck. When she finally broke the magnetic force holding her eyes locked to his, her body language momentarily conceded defeat as she ran her eyes down his chest, across his abdomen and down to the relaxed length of hosepipe resting against his thigh.

Amy turned to me and made the same face-fanning gesture she gave Marlee after she had pulled down Buckingham's shorts in our villa in Jamaica.

"Whew, you were right, Sam. He IS a big boy."

"Oh, I don't know," I said, following her gaze back to what Mike was recently hiding in his pants. "Looks to me we're about the same size."

"I was talking about his shoulders. His general build. Not his penis," said Amy, lying. "With you men it always comes down to the size of your dicks, doesn't it?" She smugly licked her finger and chalked up a point in the air.

"Who mentioned dicks?" I said, "I was talking about the excellent genetics revealed in his physique. I think it was you that just introduced cock size into the discussion." I made a big show of awarding myself two air points, then rather childishly said under my breath "I win."

"Excuse me," said Mike. "I'm beginning to feel like a lump of meat the way you're talking about me." He paused, then, playing the same childish game, added, "A big lump of meat."

"How big?" said Amy, very directly and looking Mike in the eye. 

Her very quick and firm response to his small piece of good-humoured banter took him by surprise. Knowing Amy's penchant for being sexually provocative I was not nearly so surprised, although because of my presence in the room and my relationship to Mike I have to admit I was not expecting her to be so direct. Mike was only momentarily silenced, and promptly rose to the challenge.

"That depends," he said, locking eyes with her.

"On what."

"On how I feel at the time. Or..."

"Or on how someone else makes you feel? Is that what you were going to say?"

Mike inclined his head in an assenting nod. Like a dog with a fresh bone, Amy was not about to let go that easily.

"And how do you feel right now?"

"A little awkward." 

Mike clearly was somewhat uncomfortable, but he quickly clarified what he meant by that. 

"Not at standing here in my birthday suit, you understand, but at being grilled about my private feelings by you with Dad in the room."

Ignoring Mike's push-back, Amy looked round at me as if she had forgotten I was still here. I was now the one who felt a little awkward, even though I had said and done nothing to cause that.

"Would you like me to leave?" I said, sarcastically, and not at all seriously, even though I was feeling like an interloper in my own studio.

"No, Sam, not at all," said Amy quickly. "I think we would like you to do some drawing, wouldn't we?" She glanced back at Mike, assuming his agreement and not waiting for mine. "That's what we're here for, and it might help Mike to give us an answer to the question."

Amy took control, as she so often did when she perceived she had an advantage in sexual power. She stepped towards Mike, her hand outstretched. When he took her hand in his, she led him to the dais, kneeling on it and indicating to Mike to do the same. He knelt facing her, his knees comfortably apart, the tip of his cock just brushing the carpet, sitting on his heels with his back upright. Amy thought for a moment, then moved out of a kneeling position to sit back on her bottom with her legs stretched out in front of her, one foot either side of Mike with her knees slightly bent and off the ground. She leaned back on her elbows and dropped her knees sideways almost to the floor, presenting Mike with a perfect view of her pussy right in front of him. 

"How's that Sam?" she said. "I think I can hold this for about fifteen minutes if Mike can."

"That'll be fine," I said, dragging my easel sideways so that I would be more facing Mike and looking at their two bodies from over Amy's shoulder. "You've certainly given him something to think about while he tries not to move for the next quarter of an hour."

I understood the game that Amy was now playing, and for the first time ever when working with Amy, the focus of the picture I wanted to create was not her exquisite body. Mike's reaction to what he was being shown was what I was more interested in this time. What this young man was looking at was obvious from a rear view of the way Amy was splayed out in front of him, I didn't need to show exactly what he could see because anybody looking at the picture would instantly imagine that in a very powerful way.

I drew quickly, blocking in the key lines and shapes roughly at first, because Mike had no experience of modelling for an artist and I wasn't sure how long he could sit on his heels without moving. It sounds easy to just remain still for fifteen minutes or so, but it is a lot harder than you would think, and what feels comfortable for the first motionless minute or so can sometimes be agonising after ten more. I also wanted to capture the whole scene, and the simple fact is that with two bodies there is more to draw than there is with one so I was trying not to waste any time.

I needn't have worried because when I stopped seeing and drawing what was in front of me as just shapes and forms and looked for a moment at the two of them as people again, Mike seemed quite relaxed and comfortable looking straight at Amy's pussy with an amused half smile creasing the corners of his mouth. It occurred to me then that control of this situation had shifted from Amy to Mike. She had deliberately laid back in such a provocative way because she was expecting him to be unable to conceal his real feelings when both their naked bodies came into such close proximity. She thought that if she made it impossible for him to avoid staring at her glistening pussy, his body would betray him and override any intention he might have to appear indifferent. She wanted to make him get a hard-on.

To my astonishment, it looked like she was going to fail. I knew very well the effect her actions would have had on me, and I knew that when Amy does what she was doing to Mike she could give a hard-on to a lump of lifeless granite , so I was at a loss to understand why Mike's cock was still just hanging down limp, gently touching the carpet between his thighs, not even twitching.

After about ten minutes Amy shifted onto one elbow and made a show of flapping her other hand to restore her circulation.

"Sorry, Sam. Comfort pause. OK?"

"Sure," I said, unconvinced by her apparent inability to hold for more than ten minutes a pose that she could normally hold for three times that without complaint.

Before settling back on both her elbows, Amy placed the hand that was supposed to be losing feeling on her stomach and slid it down her body. From my angle, I could only guess what she was doing with it, but when she brought it back up to her mouth and ostentatiously sucked two of her fingers, I knew that my guess was correct. Without seeing it, I knew that her pussy lips were now gaping open and shiny and pink and lubricated. Mike didn't move. He never stopped staring at her pussy, and his expression didn't change, not even for a moment.

Just before the fifteen minutes was up I put the finishing touches to the drawing and told Mike and Amy to take a break. I looked at what I had drawn and it was intriguing. In the foreground was Amy with the back of her head towards me. Over her shoulders I could just see the tips of her breasts and behind them her splayed knees. Between her knees and facing me sitting on his haunches was Mike. The curious thing was that there was no doubt that both of them were naked, and that I had captured the angle of Mike's gaze perfectly so that there was no doubt exactly what he was looking at and smiling at. Yet further down the image, contradicting his obvious erotic interest, was his cock, limp and dangling. Nobody looking at the picture would be able to ignore the question of why he did not have an erection. Was he indifferent to her? No, his expression was warm and approving. Did it look like he had already just fucked her? Not from the expectant way she was presenting herself, nor from his casual and relaxed pose. It was a puzzle.

I looked up from the drawing when I heard the door to the studio shut, and realized that Amy was no longer with us. Mike was sitting on the edge of the platform about to have a drink from one of the water bottles I always put near the modelling area. I looked at him questioningly and nodded towards the door. He shrugged and shook his head, then got up and came round behind the easel to have a look at my work.

"That's... interesting," he said, not sure what to say.

"Is it that bad?" I asked.

"No, it's a good drawing. It just looks incomplete somehow."

"How did you do that?" I said, pretty sure he would know what I was referring to.

"Do what?" he replied innocently.

"Don't be cute, Mike, you know what I meant. How did you manage to not get an erection while you were staring at Amy's pussy? Don't you find her attractive?"

Mike looked me straight in the eye and became very serious.

"Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I might be gay?" 

No, it hadn't. At least not until that moment. I frantically searched my memory of his adolescent years for clues that might confirm the homosexuality he was hinting at, but there wasn't a single incident that I could recall.

"No," I said. "It hasn't. Are you?"

"Hell, no. Not at all." Mike was laughing at the look on my face, which I was intending to be supportive and non-judgmental but must instead have looked more astonished than anything else. "I am SO not gay. That was a joke. I just wanted to see your reaction."

"You'll keep," I said, kicking myself for being so easily sucked in. "So how did you do it? Amy's used to being in control, and I think she must have gone off very disappointed at the lack of effect she had on you."

"Given how she has you wrapped round her little finger, I don't suppose that will do her any harm at all." 

Mike knew straight away that his comment had stung me a little. I had not been in the habit of thinking of myself as under Amy's control, but I had to recognize the truth of the fact that I generally deferred to Amy in our relationship and if that looked to Mike like domination then I had to accept that. He broke the awkward silence by answering my question.

"A combination of some yoga and some meditation techniques. It's not that hard with a little practice."

"I noticed."

"Ha ha. You know what I meant. It's just 'mind over matter', and it's not that difficult to separate your conscious mind from your autonomic response systems when you want to." 

"Why would you want to?" I said, not finding the idea of deliberately avoiding becoming sexually aroused all that exciting. Getting horny was one of the things that made life worthwhile. It had certainly made my life with Amy a rich and satisfying experience. Even if she was more in control of it than I was, I mentally reminded myself.

"Well, it doesn't let me just control whether or not to get an erection, it means I can do lots of things, like ignore pain, or fuck for hours without coming if I want to." 

"Mike, can you wait here? I think I'll just go and make sure that Amy's OK. It's not like her to just walk out without a word."

Mike gently put his hand on my arm to stop me.

"Dad, don't. She'll be back when she's ready."

"You think?"

"I know."

He said that with more confidence than I would have expected. My son had become very sure of himself all of a sudden, particular with the woman around whom my life revolved, and although I knew his advice was probably sound, I wasn't that keen to take it. I wanted to go to her, to reassure her, to comfort her if she was upset. I wanted to take care of her.

Before I could do anything, the door opened, and in breezed Amy with a jug of cold orange juice, and some glasses. To my relief, she seemed cheerful enough, and she poured herself some juice, taking it with her to the podium.

"Sorry for holding you up, guys. Do you want to do some more work?"

The next few hours were very productive. Having a creative mind as well as being fresh to the task, Mike suggested several good combination poses. Amy did exactly what she was asked to do each time, holding each one for as long as I needed without a murmur.

Over the next few days, Mike spent some time teaching us both how to operate the video camera the way he wanted it done – how not to cut the tops of heads off, how to hold the camera steady, how to follow movement, how to pan very slowly when the image is static, that sort of thing – and together we worked on both our art and our documentary projects, drawing, filming, and talking both on and off camera.

Late one evening about a week after Mike started modelling with us, Amy and I were relaxing on our bed with a glass of wine, watching an old movie on TV. I had my arm around her, and she was leaning on me like a pillow, the back of her head against my chest. Amy had been no less affectionate than usual, but less talkative, more quiet and withdrawn all day. I didn't get any sense that she was pissed at me, so I had decided not to intrude on her thoughts, figuring that she would probably tell me what was on her mind eventually. 

She reached for the remote, and pointed it at the screen.

"Are you watching this?" she asked.

"Not if you don't want to," I replied.

She turned the television off and we sat in silence for several minutes before she took a deep breath and spoke.

"Did you know Mike has decided to go back to University?"

"No. When?"

"Soon. He's signed up to do his Ph.D. He's got an idea for a book and he thinks he can sell his documentary series idea to one of the cable TV companies if he's back where the action is."

"I knew he was thinking about going back, but he hasn't said anything to me."

"He will."

The way she said those two words made me feel that she knew a lot more than I did, but she said nothing more, so I discounted the feeling and let myself simply enjoy her closeness. My arm was round her neck and my hand was resting gently on her left breast. I felt her nipple contract and harden slightly under my palm and I lifted my hand up so I could trace around her little pink button's corona with my middle finger. As always, it tightened and puckered in response to my touch and I felt a little shiver of pleasure run through Amy's torso, accompanied by a very soft and encouraging "mmm". 

As my hand went from circling her nipple with one finger to caressing with all my fingertips the soft crease where her breast met her ribcage , Amy reached up with her hand and trapped my hand against her tit, holding me still so that I could no longer stroke her. I became aware of my heart pounding in my ears as if this was a moment of calm before a storm. Gently, she took my hand away from her body and sat up, twisting around to face me. I wanted, as always, to stare in joy at the symmetrical perfection of her breasts, but I knew this time that it was important to look into her eyes.

"Sam, when Mike goes back, I'm going with him."

Her voice seemed faint and far away, as if I was wearing earplugs, so that I wasn't sure if I had properly heard what she had said. Besides the thumping in my head, I could now hear myself breathing, and the noise of the wind rushing in and out was drowning out every other sound. I knew what she was trying to tell me, but I responded as if she meant something else.

"I can understand you wanting to do that. You've become important to his work like you are to mine. It will be a good experience for you."

"He's the one, Sam." 

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" She reached out and took my hand in hers, gently, and leaned forward slightly, speaking slowly and clearly.

"Sam. He's The One."

"Does he know?" I said, surprised at how calm I sounded, and puzzled at the absurdity of my question.

"I think so...yes. Yes, he does."




A Creative Challenge Ch. 32



I thought I should say something else, but I had no idea what. I felt like I was falling quietly out of a high window somewhere.

"You taught me how to love him, Sam. I didn't know it, but I was learning about loving him all the time I was with you. He's like you in so many ways but he's...more. He's everything I want and need."

"What does that make me, then?" I said, fearing that I wouldn't be able to cope with her answer.

"The precursor. The prototype. My mentor, my role model, my guide, my lover. You taught me how to be loved. I never was before. You showed me how to love someone without conditions, by loving me like that and letting me become who I am, and I'll always be grateful for that. I just hope Mike can learn to love me as much as you do."

Her edges looked wobbly, and her features melted and swirled into each other as she spoke these words, echoing in my ears like a thousand doors slamming behind me. 

This was the end I had always feared and always known would come. The final blow from the dangling sword of Damocles I had been living with. But instead of being a fatal severing, it brought me a sense of relief and joy mixed with the grief from loss.

She reached up with both her hands and with her thumbs wiped the tears off my cheekbones, then held my face and looked at me carefully, with puzzled concern. She had been as gentle as she could in breaking her news to me, but she wasn't expecting me to be smiling as well as crying.

Why would she? She had never been a parent. How could she know that to a father, the only thing more important than his own happiness is the happiness of his children? 

She leaned forward and kissed me. 

I gratefully closed my eyes to concentrate on the touch of my son's lover's lips for the last time.

--------------------------

I kept everything we'd done together that wasn't already sold. Greta has just about given up nagging me to have another exhibition. She must be getting the message. I think about doing a show sometimes, but I can't really see much point any more. 

I still draw twice a week, but more out of habit and for the technical challenge than out of any artistic ambition. Mike's second book of photographs is about to be published, and you may have seen the first series of his documentaries recently on cable, on one of the Arts channels. I visited them just after my grandson was born, but only for a few days, they were very busy. My grandson.

Emma is the model I choose to draw most often right now. She used to be a gymnast and is very flexible and strong. She is good to work with and she has a very relaxed attitude.

Her folks are moving away from here and college doesn't start again for a few weeks yet, so she has to find somewhere to live until then. She asked me if I knew of anywhere she could stay.

Sorry, I said. I don't. No.