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The Virgin Artist Ch. 01

By: ElizaMix



Note: All characters engaging in sexual activities are 18 years or older.

*

Winston Thomas, a lanky artist with lanky hair and lanky eyes and lanky everything, lean and sharp as a blade of grass, leans against the railing of the cruise-ship Allure and stares out at the ocean, trying his best to sketch the distant waves and not worry about being a member of that most ignominious of combinations: a college freshman and a virgin.

It almost works. Drawing water is no mean feat. It never stands still -- it's even more poorly behaved than small children and only slightly more favorable in comparison to wind because you can't really draw wind, you can only draw windy things. Like trees and waves and hair. A girl's hair, long and beautiful, caught in the jealous fingers of the wind. And with that fatal thought, Winston's back to worrying about being a virgin.

It always comes back to that. Girls have a sixth-sense about it. They can just tell. They just know and that's that. They like an experienced guy, an older guy. Now, Tiffany Rosens, she of blonde hair and blue eyes... he had a chance with her. That is, she mostly ignored him but a couple weeks back, she'd told him she really loved his artwork. The look she'd given him... Smoldering is the only word Winston can think to describe it. He understands looks. He has an eye for them, an artist's eye. Yeah, Tiffany Rosens -- he had a chance. Key word: had. But, instead of making business with her, his parents had forced him to go on this trip, a graduation gift that they just so happened to have invited themselves upon.

Cause, really, a Caribbean cruise? How trite.

Winston pauses, erases one of the white-caps of a distant swell, and amends his thought: the cruise is alright. There are some parts he doesn't mind. He likes people watching, the range of people from fat to skinny, swarthy to pale, smooth to wrinkled, red-heads, gold-heads, raven-heads. He likes the gentle almost imperceptible rocking of the ship in its ocean cradle, the inescapability of the sun and the infinite expansion of the sea. And, of course, he likes the girls in their bikinis, all curves and slopes and—

"Crrkkkkk!"

Startled, Winston looks around, nearly has a heart-attack when he almost drops his sketch-pad into the ocean, and then watches with some annoyance as a young girl, no more than eight or nine, bodily drags one of the lounge chairs up to the railing and proceeds to stand on it to look out over the edge.

"Oooh!" she says followed shortly by the requisite "Ah."

Oooh, she says again, and ... ah! Ooooh... ah! Like the vocal beat of a techno song. It irks Winston. Unfairly, of course, definitely unfairly. The girl's still innocent, still able to appreciate the primal beauty in things. Winston had been like that once. And then he'd hit puberty. With a sigh, Winston turns back to his sketch pad -- but then, from the corner of his eye -- he sees the girl tilt too far, overbalance, and fall.

Winston reacts instantly. His arm shoots out and snaps hold of the girl's wrist. Small though she is, her weight jerks his arm, and he nearly lets go. But he doesn't.

Winston's not exactly a football jock, and the girl's wrist, slick from the ocean air, begins to slip from his hold. "Help!" he shouts.

Two nearby sailors hear his cry and rush over. They grab the girl by her other arm, her clothing, and haul her up. In moments, she's back over and safe. Her mother, a pretty but mousy lady, rushes over and grabs her daughter and begins to cry. The little girl, not quite realizing her peril until now, bursts into tears as well.

One of the sailors turns to Winston. "Wow, kid. What the hell happened?"

"Dunno," says Winston. "She slipped."

"And you caught her?" The sailor offers his hand, which Winston awkwardly shakes. "Timothy Owens. Pleased to meetcha, and how'd you manage it anyway? What are you, some kind of martial artist?"

"Winston Thomas," says Winston. "No -- just an artist." And saying it, Winston realizes that in his haste he dropped his sketch-pad.

"Quick of the eye then huh?"

But Winston, not finding his sketchpad, has already exited the conversation. He leans slightly over the edge and spots his expensive moleskine, caught on a balcony several floors below. "My—" but the wind grabs it and carries it off into the sea. "Shit," says Winston.

Meanwhile, the girl's mom displays a rapid switch of emotions that would have sent any nearby psychologists screaming for some lithium. She gets angry and scolds her daughter Madeline and shakes a finger at her and cries, and then turns to Winston with a melon-eater's grin and offers effusive praise, giving him a fierce hug that crushes his lanky frame. He can't help but notice her large breasts, rare as they are on a woman -- as Winston now notices -- of oriental descent. Or, at least, half oriental, by the slanting of her face, the dusky tone of her skin.

Drawn by the commotion, a crowd begins to gather and Winston slips away. He prefers the cool silence, the distance, and always had. It's easier to observe, easier to capture motion, when you aren't a part of it. And anyway, he needed time to mourn the loss of his work.

But the story spreads -- thanks in no small part to Timothy Owens, who runs the cruise ship's little commodities shop (toilet paper, toothpaste, & t-shirts) -- and eventually Winston is recognized the ship over. Men stop him and shake his hand, and women say things like, "Bless his heart" as he walks by. Frankly, it's annoying. He's even drawn aside by the celebrity attendee, the famous Hollywood actor Borden Saint, for a quick publicity shot in the cruise-ship's 'Gardens of Allure' a little indoor pseudo garden filled with gurgling fountains and bright flowers kept in a state of perpetual bloom through a healthy amount of sun and an unhealthy amount of chemical motivation. For some stupid reason, Borden gives him a little garland of flowers, which Winston tosses over the side, as easily abandoned as Borden's fake smile, once the photo shoot is over.

Three days after saving the girl, three days after being greeted by complete strangers and people pointing him out as he's trying to relax by the pool or get a sandwich to eat, Winston finds himself sitting at the La Parisian outdoor café, drinking tea, and sketching on a small legal pad when his latest 'fan' sits down.

"Hi," she says.

"Hello," he says, without looking up. He's drawing a caricature of Borden, having great fun with giving him a chimera look: the tail of a scorpion, the wings of a bat, the snout of a hyena.

"Are you Winston?"

He sighs inwardly, but then he looks up. His fan's a girl -- his age, for once -- and actually, well, actually kind of cute. She has a lively face, full of emotion and mystery. A small nose -- she's maybe a quarter Asian, three quarters Caucasian -- and just a hint of slant to her eyes, and olive skin. A bridge of freckles across her nose. A real weakness for him. He likes freckles. Long, almost unkempt dark hair, thick and silky, and a pencil stuck behind one ear. She seems both eager, yet cautious, and Winston doesn't quite know how to interpret her look.

"Yes," says Winston. "That's me."

"Hi, I'm Luna. That was my sister you saved. I want to pay you back."

"Oh. Uh, thanks. I mean, that isn't necessary. Borden Saint gave me a hat of flowers and shook my hand. Everything a boy can ask for."

"That's nice," says Luna. "So how can I pay you back?"

"Really," says Winston. It's okay, it was --"

"I'll take you to dinner. Meet here at 6? Okay? Okay. See you then."

"Uh, okay," replies Winston but she is already gone.

#

Winston dons his best pair of jeans, a white under-shirt, a long-sleeved t-shirt with sleeves rolled up, and tries his very best not to project the aura of a virgin. Luna arrives at exactly 3 minutes to six, dressed in a green summer dress, light and airy. She hooks her arm into his and steers him down the cruise's 'board-walk' and into a Japanese-themed restaurant with a red triangular arch and red columns, etched with golden dragons.

"Hello," says Luna to the hostess. "Reservation for two under Luna."

"Right this way," says the hostess, dressed in a kimono that whispers as she walks.

She leads them to a secluded table in the back, bordered on one side with a screen depicting the earth on the back of a turtle and another side by a bamboo wall. Winston rushes to pull out the chair for Luna, which she happily takes, smoothing her dress before sitting down.

"Thank you," she says.

"Your server will be right with you," says the hostess. She hands them two menus before leaving them to their privacy.

Luna takes her menu, scans it rapidly, and sets it down, before Winston has even made past the appetizers -- crab wontons and calamari.

"You already know what you want?" asks Winston.

"Yes. I looked up the menu before-hand. Don't want to get it wrong."

"Right," says Winston. "That makes sense."

"I know. So, Winston," she says, folding her hands on the table. "Tell me about yourself. How old are you? Are you still in high school? What do you do when not rescuing small girls from plummeting into the ocean? Do you always dress so casually? What is your favorite animal?"

Winston places the menu aside, notices that, like her mother, Luna has large breasts, and does his best not to look rudely at them while talking to her. "I'm 18 and no -- I'm entering college this next year. My --"

"What college? I have a scholarship to Cornell."

"Really? Me too. I mean, I'm going there too."

A smile lights up Luna's large, dark eyes. "What? No way. What major? I'm comp sci." Winston's mesmerized by her face and starts to zone her out. "Maybe mechanical engineering too. They have an incredible robotics program there." She has the perfect face for drawing. Crayons would be just perfect for it. "Are you going into engineering too? Are we going to be classmates?" Yes, crayons. A broad children's caricature almost, to capture the energy, the liveliness. "You're not a liberal arts major, are you? You're not a..." she lowers her voice "... an artist?"

Or maybe some combination of water-color and -- "Huh what? Er, well, yes, I am an artist."

"Oh..." says Luna. "I like art. Do you paint?"

"Well... I haven't found my style yet. I'm just, um, experimenting. I like drawing. In fact, I was doing some sketching when your sister almost fell. Lost my sketchpad -- into the ocean. It's probably been swallowed by a whale by now..." Misinterpreting her downcast look, Winston hastily adds, "Not that I mind losing it! Well, I mean, I do -- but in exchange for your sister, it's no problem. It's no good. I mean, it is good that she's okay."

"Yeah," Luna says. "Maddy won't shut up about 'her hero.' This was her idea, actually. She told me I had to um..." she blushes and changes topics. "I'm sorry about your sketchpad. Maybe an underwater kingdom will find it and enshrine it their museum of lost artifacts?"

"Maybe," says Winston.

"Do you know what you want yet?"

"No. You were asking me questions and --"

She tsks. "Better hurry. Our waiter is on his way."

Luna, who it turns out had spent two years in Japan with her Japanese grandmother, orders Tako, Ika, and Tamago sashimi and what's called the "Allure roll" while Winston settles for a simple Teriyaki Steak meal.

"Can I ask you something?" asks Winston after their waiter leaves.

"Yes. Of course. Ask me anything. You're my sister's hero, after all."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

She pauses to pour herself some hot tea. "Why d'ya wanna know?"

"Just curious. You don't have to answer if it's a problem."

She sips her tea, staring at him over the rim of her tea cup. "Well, no as a matter of fact. Between the APs and the tennis team and piano recitals and volunteering at the library and working at my uncle's software company, I haven't had time. Do you?"

"No," says Winston and adds, "I'm straight."

Luna stares at him uncomprehending then rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Uh, well. No. I've also been busy," he says.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?" she asks.

"Well, in sixth grade --"

"So you don't know anything about sex?"

Winston hides his embarrassment by drinking water. He may not have had a girlfriend since sixth grade, but he'd listened to his buddies. He'd watched porn. These days, who didn't know about sex? "I know plenty—"

"That's okay," she says. "Since you're single and I'm single, we should be boyfriend and girlfriend on the cruise. We can learn -- before we get to college."

"Boyfriend and girlfriend?" he says. "Learn what?"

"Sex, obviously," she says, looking directly at him. "Sex things."

He looks away, folding and unfolding his straw wrapper. "Like..." kissing?"

"Sure. And other stuff."

"What other stuff?"

She gives him a flat look. "You know, sex stuff." She pauses then adds, "Handjobs, blow jobs. Sex stuff." Winston avoids the temptation to pinch himself; if this is a dream, he doesn't want to wake up from it. Instead, he drinks some more water.

"I'm still a virgin, are you?" asks Luna.

"Yes," Winston admits.

"Okay, then you have no choice but to say yes." She waits. "So say yes."

"Yes."

"Okay, good. I predicted you would say yes, but..." she reaches into her large purse and pulls out a notepad emblazoned with an orange crescent moon. "I have three rules: First. You have to do whatever I do. I believe in equality. Second. My parents must not find out. They would absolutely freak. If a boy even looks at me, I get grounded. If they were to see me with one..."

"What?"

"Decapitation. Third, don't think this means we're boyfriend and girlfriend elsewhere. This is special and it's on a trial basis. We're here to learn."

"Okay," says Winston. "So no fucking around."

Luna rolls her eyes for the second time that night, but then adds "We'll see."

#

The next day, the ship pulls into the port of San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Winston's parents disembark after failing to convince Winston to join them. At the pre-scheduled time of 10:30 am, Luna knocks on his door. Winston lets her in, checks to make sure the corridor is clear, realizes he doesn't even know what he's looking for, and shuts the door.

"Hi," he says.

"Hello," says Luna. If Winston had thought her purse last night was large, then the one she carries now is huge. Less purse, more toolbox. Perfect size for a wallet, a drill, and a car battery. She sets it to the side as she pulls up a chair and sits down. Winston takes a seat opposite her, on the couch.

"So..." she says.

"Yeah?"

"Winston, we're boyfriend, girlfriend, right? You're serious about this? Because I am."

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"I want to see your cock."

Winston manages the impressive feat of choking on air. "What?"

"I want to see your cock. Or should I say something else? I read that some people like to use euphemisms for their parts. To make them comfortable. Seems silly to me. Would you like me to call it Mr. Johnson?"

"Uh, no," says Winston shifting uncomfortably. As soon as she walked in the door, even dressed conservatively in a pair of sweat pants and a loose-fitting shirt, he had started to grow hard. Now his 'Mr. Johnson' is fully erect, and visibly so. "Cock is fine."

"Okay," she says primly. "I want to see your cock. Take off your pants."

Winston stands up and fumbles with the button and zipper of his jeans, suddenly the most complex contraption known to man. After an excruciating fifteen seconds, he manages to unstick the zipper. He pulls his jeans off, revealing boxers tented by his hardness. Still shy, Winston glances at Luna and notices her staring at him intently. He hooks his thumbs into his boxers and pulls them down; his cock springs free.

Luna purses her lips and nods. "Do you know how long you are?"

"Er, no? Average, I guess."

"I mean, actual length. Do you mind if I measure?"

"I guess not?"

Luna reaches into her huge purse and pulls out a 12-inch ruler.

Winston cracks a smile. "You brought a ruler?"

"What do you mean?" says Luna. "I always have my ruler with me. Lean back now." She measures him, taking great care to avoid touching him any more than necessary. "Almost seven inches," she says. "Six and nine-sixteenths. That's bigger than average." She opens her moon notebook, retrieves the pencil from behind her ear, and makes a quick note. "I'll take off my pants now."

She manages her own sweatpants with relative ease, revealing simple green underwear, very shiny. Winston wants to ask to be the one to take them off, but before he can work up the courage, she lifts up her hips and rolls them off. He sees his first pussy, in the flesh anyway. It's beautiful. Not that he has anything to compare it with, but that animal part of his brain -- the ancestral part -- that long genetic lineage that has baked from womb to womb to womb for the last thousand years -- it knows. He feels for the first time that insatiable hunger, those pangs of a lust that can only be satisfied by burying himself in a woman. But he doesn't really understand all that yet. He just knows he wants her and that she is beautiful.

She lets him look, a blush growing steadily in her cheeks, before she crosses her legs. She looks annoyed, but most of all, annoyed at being annoyed. "So?"

"I like it," says Winston.

"I meant, now what?"

"Can I see your breasts?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"Oh."

"Hm," says Luna. "I think... Can I touch it -- your cock, I mean?"

Yes! Winston almost blurts out, but instead says, "If you show me your breasts."

Luna gives him a scandalized look, then tilts her head in a curious manner reminiscent of a bird hearing the distant song of a potential mate, and after a second of thinking, offers her hand. Winston shakes it. "Deal," she says.

She takes off her shirt to reveal breasts that are just as pretty as her lower parts. They're much larger than he would have thought, and he's particularly drawn to that sloping valley between the two teardrop-shaped mounds. He wants to kiss her right there. After she takes off her bra, also green and shiny like her panties, he gets a brief glimpse of nipples -- incredibly long and lightly brown - before she covers them with an arm. He decides that she has the most fantastic coloring, and he doesn't know whether he wants to have sex with her or draw her.

Instead, however, she scoots up and sits next to him on the couch, close enough that her thigh touches his, a touch that sends a jolt of electricity straight into his heart -- and his cock.

"Okay, ready?" she asks.

"Yeah."

One arm still covering her breasts, she reaches out with the other and grabs hold of Winston's literally throbbing manhood. The sensation of someone else taking hold is awesome, it's fantastic. At first, she simply feels her way over him like a tactile adventurer, exploring the ridged head, the vein underneath, even cupping his balls. Noticing his gasp when she touches his head, she begins to rub him up and down.

"Does that feel good?" she says. "Should I keep doing it?"

"Yeah," he says. Her fingers are thin and feminine, and cold at first. But they quickly grow warm as she jacks him off.

She's watching his face intently and Winston, feeling self conscious, tries to keep his face perfectly neutral. But he clearly doesn't do a very good job because she asks him, "Are you going to cum?"

"If you keep doing it," he says. "Can I see your breasts?"

She hesitates then lets her arm fall. "Are my nipples weird?" she asks.

A weird question, but he answers anyway. "No." They're long and puffy and crinkly. Textured. Nipples with character. Beautiful, he thinks, but lacks the courage to tell her so.

"Okay," she says and keeps her hand motion going up and down. Her fist is tiny, but she has no trouble wrapping her fingers around him. He can feel every finger moving over his sensitive head. She takes her time, enjoying the sensation, becoming lost in it, like a pianist gently running her fingers along the keys. She strokes the full length of him -- her hand sliding from the base at his groin all the way up to the tip. But as she grows comfortable, she begins to speed up her strokes, shortening them to focus just on the head. Soon, her small fist is flying up and down his cock, and Winston begins thrusting his hips up in rhythm with her strokes. It doesn't take long for him to cum all over her hand and his stomach.


The Virgin Artist Ch. 02



Note: All characters engaging in sexual activities are 18 years or older.

*

Winston Thomas, still as lean and lanky as a wet noodle, stands beneath a large glass ceiling in a marble room filled with artists, art, and angst. So much angst. And so sharp Winston wants to grate it over a delicious art burrito and have it for dinner. He's certainly not innocent, either. Between his absentee girlfriend Luna and the nervousness of his first art show, even a 'mock' one like this, he's worked up his own frothy helping of emo juice.

Walking eyeballs -- critics, professors, and fellow Cornell students -- move from piece to piece. Hmmm they say. And interesting. The abstract pieces will occasionally elicit a more ambitious response, an interpretation involving the great intellectual ménage à trois of sex, the patriarchy, and God.

One professor, tall, dark, and handsome, on whose arm hangs the accessory of a knock-out blonde half his age, stops in front of Winston's piece. He scans it: a tiny ship, barely illuminated by a glowing lantern hung from its fore-cabin, in a maelstrom of ocean. Churning white foam caps blue-black waves.

"Hummm," says the man. He turns to Winston, one eyebrow raised. "Seems like you've got a lot of inner turmoil."

"Oh yeah," says Winston. His eyes cut to the woman on the professor's arm. "Who doesn't?"

The man laughs. "Touché. Would you—"

Winston's phone buzzes. "Excuse me," he says and steps away. The man shrugs and leads his date toward the next piece.

He's got one text message from his girlfriend Luna: How's your art show going?

Winston responds: great. where are you?

Luna: Don't hate me.

Winston: what?

Luna: I can't make it. Study session gonna go all night.

He stares at his phone, dread and disbelief coursing through him. Luna was slipping away from him. That week on the cruise, the sex, the wonder of it... he should have never believed it could last. It had been a dream and waking up from it sure did suck great big donkey cojones.

Luna: So sorry, but I'm sure you'll do great. I'll make it up? XOXO

He collapses into a nearby chair. Make it up? Hah. Fat chance. One month into the semester and they had sex twice. TWICE. Granted it had been really good. But he was pretty sure Jesus had done the deed more often than that. Or Gandhi did or whoever. But no, not poor Winston. Luna was always busy. Not just a major in computer science but also one in computer engineering, with minors in Asian studies, Japanese, and Physics. She was already a captain in the Jujutsu club, and she was thinking about running for a position in the student government. Hell, forget sex. He would have been happy to simply see his girlfriend.

"What's the matter, Winnie?"

He looks up to find a tall, pale redhead standing there, one fist on her cocked hips. Ivy. She's as thin as Winston, with no breasts to speak of, but her legs. Oh man, those legs. Smooth and creamy and jeez. They're great. He loves them, for reasons both aesthetic and sexual, but his appreciation fills him with guilt.

In fact, he's discovered, being a boyfriend is tough biz. Is he allowed to appreciate other women? Like, as an artist at least? Doing so makes him feel like some sort of boyfriend traitor, but he can't help himself. Especially with Ivy.

Ivy is Luna's roommate in Balch Hall, but a room is just about all they have in common. While Luna still feels self-conscious about her large breasts, Ivy knows no such sexual hang-ups. She spends most of her time in the room dressed in sheer, revealing lingerie.

Such thoughts send a fresh batch of guilt swirling through Winston. "None of your business," he says.

She laughs. "Uh huh. Say where's my do-gooder roommate? Where's your lovey dovey Luna?" She looks around.

"She's not here."

"Awww!" Ivy plops down next to Winston, reaches out and squeezes his leg. "I'm sorry Winnie."

"Thanks," he says and brushes her hand away. "But I'd rather not be just another conquest for the slut queen."

She harrumphs and stands up. "I prefer slut king. And who said I wanna shag you anyway?!"

She stalks away, and Winston can't help but check out her ass, encased in a tight black miniskirt. He knows what's underneath. Every time he visits their room, Ivy seems to find excuse after excuse to bend over, revealing her ass to him in all its glory. In fact, she's seen her ass more than Luna's.

Ten steps later Ivy whirls around, and Winston's eyes shoot back up to her face. He blushes.

She smiles as if she can read his mind. "But I do wanna fuck you and I will," she says loudly. Several people look at her. "I'm gonna straddle you and pull down those trousers to reveal the long cock I know you've got hidden there. Then I'm gonna ride you until you fill me up. And I'm gonna do it all on Luna's bed." She blows him a kiss and returns to her painting and its crowd of young men. She's done a nude self-portrait done in a distressed ink style. Vaguely Japanese. Also very good. As physically beautiful as Ivy is, it's her art, as open and frank as she is, that makes her so attractive to Winston.

He sighs, jealous. What must it feel like to be so free? So adored? His own girlfriend probably wouldn't even notice if he got run over by a truck or killed by a rabid ostrich. He sighs again.

A hand descends on his shoulder.

"Cheer the fuck up, son!" says his professor in a voice as dark and swarthy as a good Brazilian coffee.

"I'm fine," says Winston as he turns to face his wild-eyed, wild-haired art professor Antonio Salvarez.

"Then cheer the fuck down, son!" he grabs a chair, whips it around, and sits facing Winston. He nods his head over his shoulder toward Ivy. "Never trust a beautiful artist."

"Um," says Winston. "Why not?"

"She's poison that one. Louca." He brushes his long hair out of his eyes. "That's why I love her. Great potential. Do you see the façade she puts on? The flaunting of the sex, the nonchalance? Hiding something dark inside. Abuse, at the minimum. Greatness comes from darkness. You too. All fucked up inside."

"Gee, Professor," says Winston. "Thanks."

"De nada. Winston allow Papa Salvarez to share some advice with you." He jerks his thumb behind him toward Winston's painting. "That subdued piece of merda aside, you are an artist. I can see it in you. And the thing, Winstonius, the thing about being an artist is that you're an artist, not a math geek. It's not about technical skill. The brush, the pen, blah bah blah. Perspective, proportion, unity? Blah blah blah. A robot can learn those. But do you see any robot artists around here? No? Me neither. Because the most important thing an artist brings is his unhappiness."

"Great," says Winston, annoyed. "But—"

"No but about it, sonny mcsonboy. An artist is either happy and mediocre or he's unhappy and great. You gotta learn to live with it. Poison Ivy over there has her sexual promiscuity. Van Gogh had his prostitute, his brother, and his absinthe. Me, I'm rich and sexy. I've got a house in the Maldives, one in France, one in Japan, and a cabin in the middle of Siberia. I go places. I see things. I make love to beautiful people. They distract me from my unhappiness. You, though, you're gonna have to find your own means." He stands. "Embrace unhappiness. 'Own it,' as you kids say these days. Only way to be happy."

"That doesn't make any sense," says Winston.

"No it doesn't," says the wild-haired Latino as he slips his hands into his pockets and meanders away.

Winston watches his professor go. Crazy mccrazyman. But as he retrieves his phone and scrolls through his messages with Luna, he begins to think maybe the prof's not 100% loco. Maybe wanting Luna is the same thing as wanting unhappiness. Embrace it, huh.

#

Later that evening, in a small apartment crammed full of artists and art groupies, overly loud music bounces from the walls, and Ivy leans in, very close to Winston and says, "Your art rocks!"

"Thanks!" says Winston.

"You're welcome!"

"Your art rocks too!"

"I know! So does my ass! You need to fuck me!"

Several male partiers look over at Ivy, their hopeful faces falling when they realize she isn't referring to them. It makes Winston feel ridiculously good. It's how Luna used to make him feel. Damn her.

"No!" says Winston. "I'm in a relationship!"

"What?!" says Ivy.

"Luna is my girlfriend!"

"Doesn't seem that way to me!"

Winston shrugs.

"C'mon, let's do it!" says Ivy. "I hate not getting what I want!"

Two of their fellow art students, a boy with a green hair and a girl with a pierced eyebrow, move past them, bumping Winston into Ivy. Her drink sloshes over the rim of her Dixie cup and onto her shirt.

"Holy shit!" says Ivy.

"Sorry!"

"No," she reaches down and squeezes the front of his pants. "You're hard as fuck!"

Winston blushes. "Sorry!"

"Stop saying sorry!" she smiles. "Just fuck me!"

"I can't!"

She shakes her head. "Fine! But at least get us another drink! And walk me home!"

Winston nods. "Alright! But that's all! No sex!"

#

"Oh god," says Winston, his cock covered in a wet warmth that he'd almost forgotten. "Oh Luna."

Ivy pulls back, letting Winston's hardness slip from her lips. "Did you just call me Luna?" Even in the half-darkness of Ivy and Luna's dorm-room, Winston can see the anger in her eyes.

"Wha, nuh? I'm shorry," slurs Winston.

"Uh huh," she says, slowly stroking his cock in one pale fist. "Never fucking do that again." She grabs his balls and squeezes hard. "You got that?"

Winston yelps. "Ow, what the hell!"

"You got it?"

"Yesh, Ivy. Jeez, I said I was shorry."

"Good." She plants a kiss on his balls. "All better. And just to make it clear..." She returns her mouth to Winston's cock, sliding it forward along her tongue. She takes as much as Luna ever could -- about half -- and keeps going. His cock bends down her throat and still she presses forward until she's swallowed all seven inches. Her nose is mashed up against his pelvis.

"Holy holy holy holy holy," says Winston.

Her throat massages his head, creating an intense pressure around it, like she's trying to rip his orgasm straight out of his core. Between that and the alcohol, the room takes on a spinny post-impressionistic blur. She pulls back and then deepthroats him, again and again, slurping and gurgling each time she swallows him. It's one of the most erotic things he's ever heard.

She slows down and pulls all the way back. A strand of precum connecting her lips and his cock glistens briefly in the moonlight before snapping.

"Mmm," says Ivy. She licks her lips. "Bet your Miss Goody Gumdrop can't do that." She stands up and pulls her tank top over her head. She isn't wearing any bra, and even in the half-light, her nipples appear thick and puffy. Beautiful. In fact, they remind him of Luna's, the only other girl whose breasts he has seen in the flesh.

A crushing guilt rises up from within. "Ivy," he says, "I, uh, I don't—"

"Shhh," she says as she shimmies out of her mini-skirt. She's wearing a g-string that hides nothing; her ass is pale and round, curved like the moon. "Well?"

Her beauty is so fresh it's oppressive. Her pale skin practically glows in the moonlight streaming through the 3rd floor window. She's like some sort of sex angel.

Winston swallows. "I -- I -- I wanna paint you."

"Why? Wanna steal my soul?" says Ivy. "Too bad. The only person who gets to paint me is me. You'll have to settle for my pussy."

She turns around and climbs up Luna's loft, shaking her pale ass. After she climbs into the bed, she peeks over the edge. "Come on."

The guilt returns, battling with Winston's lust. "Ivy, is—"

"You gave Luna a chance didn't you?" she says. "How many times have you offered and she refused? This could be her who's about to ride that delicious cock of yours. But she said no, didn't she?"

"But—"

Ivy rolls her eyes. "I'm horny as fuck, Winnie. Either get up here and get fucked or get me my dildo and get the fuck out." Her hands disappear for a moment, followed by the sound of cloth on skin. When her hands next appear, her g-string is dangling from one finger. She drops it over the edge, onto Luna's immaculate desk below.

It's too much. Much too much too much. No man could resist it. That is what Winston tells himself as he scrambles up into his girlfriend's bed.

Ivy immediately throws him down and straddles him with her knees. She's well prepared. She grabs hold of his cock, retrieves a condom from who knows where, and rolls it onto his hardness. She then points his long shaft upward between her legs and slides down. She's not as tight as Luna, but her pussy is soaking wet. And she's burning up inside, as if her lust were an inferno raging inside her belly.

"Goddamn my clit feels ginormous," says Ivy as she grinds up against him. "I'll properly fuck you in a sec. Lemme just enjoy your fuckstick inside me for a bit. It's so nicely curved."

That suits Winston just fine. He's so horny and it's been so long and Ivy's so damn electric and so damn, well, naked that he's just about ready to explode. All that's preventing him is the weight of her ass on his waist, a deep fear of not performing well, and not a little alcohol still sloshing around inside.

"I really like your art," says Winston to distract himself.

"Oh yeah?" says Ivy, half-moaning. She moves her hips in circles, working his cock inside her. "Tell me more."

"It's... open. Exposed. Everything on dishplay. And vulnerable."

Ivy grabs Winston's hands and pulls them up to her tits. There's not much there, but he squeezes them anyway, relishing their smooth softness, a sensation unlike anything he's ever felt.

"The nipples," says Ivy. "And keep talking."

He's happy to oblige, pinching her thick, puffy nipples between thumb and forefinger, enjoying their crinkled texture.

"Harder," she says.

He twists her nubs, much harder than he ever had with Luna. Ivy gasps with pleasure.

"Art," she says.

"Uh, right," says Winston. "Your portraits. So, uhhh, raw. Not sexual, but..." he struggles for the word. "Primal." The world swirls around him. He twists her nipples even harder, and she grunts. He thinks back to what their professor said about Ivy. Damaged, on the inside. "Are you, uh, are you..." the words won't come to him, "are you fucked up? Inside fucked up I mean?"

Ivy stops her grinding and looks down at him. "Oh Winnie, you're drunk." Then she lifts herself up until just the tip of his cock is inside her then drops back down.

"Nnnfffuck," says Winston.

"Mmm," agrees Ivy.

She begins riding him like a well-lubricated machine. She slides herself up and then drops back down, and each time the sensation of her hot, wet pussy surrounding his cock sends shivers of pleasure from his crown to his toes. She's way more experienced than Luna, riding him faster and harder than she ever could, the whole loft shaking and squeaking with her movements.

She's louder too. Every time she raises herself up and then slams her ass back down onto Winston's quivering thighs, she groans out-loud. "Fuck yeah, Winnie," she says in a deep husky voice. "That cock of yours feel so great in my cunt."

"Unghh," replies Winston.

Ivy laughs and begins really fucking herself on him, angrily impaling herself on his long, pulsing hardness. "Always good --" she slams herself down on him and grunts "—to fuck—" another slam "—your wits—" her ass slaps against his thighs "—out."

The world seems to split into mirror images. There are four Ivy's on top of him. One is hard enough to handle. Four is outright. His orgasm begins as a lightness behind his eyes. It's fueled not just by Ivy but all of his frustration with Luna. Countless nights of listless longing, all infused in this one single orgasm.

"Unngh," says Winston. "...cum. Gonna... cum."

His pronouncement is like the pistol shot at the start of the race. Ivy grabs hold of his shoulders and begins riding him frantically, working his 'fuckstick' in and out of her pussy, desperate for her own orgasm.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," says Ivy.

Winston's orgasm explodes more in his mind than his body. Empty epiphanies, like hollow bubbles of pleasure, erupt inside his thoughts. Stars and colors burst in his vision. Ivy clamps down on him too, embracing him skin-against-skin, caught in the throes of her own orgasm. She shivers and whimpers, her fingers clawing into his shoulders.

When it clears up, and Winston's mind returns to him, he realizes, suddenly, they are not alone. A shadowy silhouette stands in the middle of the room.

"Winston?" says Luna in a broken voice.

His heart stops. His alcoholic fugue dissipates. A flood of guilt and nausea takes its place.

"How could you?" she says, her voice catching on a half-sob. Her books and notes drop to the ground in a flurry of pages. She turns and flees, slamming the door behind her.

"Oh shit!" says Winston. He tries to slide out from Ivy but she squeezes her thighs around him. "Move!"

"No!"

He bodily lifts her aside and practically falls out of bed in his haste to get away. He strips off his condom, full with his seed, and tosses it into the nearest trash can. His groin is wet with Ivy's juices. He can't find his underwear or his shirt, so he just puts on his pants and slips on his shoes.

"Don't you fucking abandon me," Ivy is saying. "Don't you fucking go chasing her!"

"I'm sorry!" says Winston. "I have to!"

"You'll regret this!"

"Already do!" Half-dressed and still drunk, he flings open the door and runs after Luna.

#

Winston finds her at their secret spot, the place they had met up during orientation, after they were supposed to be asleep in their dorms. She's sitting on a concrete slab, legs dangling over the edge, just above the falls of Beebe Lake. The old power station, with its metal shacks and mammoth gears, continues to rust nearby.

Winston sits down next to her. She looks over at him, but says nothing. She looks tired. Her eyes are red and puffy, but she's not crying now. Her features, one-quarter Japanese, three-fourths European cocktail, are scrunched together in anger.

"Hey," says Winston, the cold air having further sapped his drunkenness.

"Hey I kinda hate you right now."

"Yeah," says Winston. "I kinda hate me right now too."

Luna picks up a stone nearby and skips it over the surface of the water. It bounces four times -- better than Winston could ever do. The reflection of the full moon undulates in the ripples.

"I'm sorry," says Winston. "I was drunk, I didn't—"

"Oh you were drunk, were you?" she says. "I guess it doesn't count then. I guess it's all forgiven."

"Uh, yeah," says Winston. "Sorry."

She says nothing in response. Winston's too scared to say anything else.

They sit there, not speaking. The trees shuffle gently in the wind. Winston's thoughts drift back. During orientation, a month after they had met on the cruise, they had snuck out here after dark to be together. There hadn't been any sex -- Luna was way too shy for that. But he hadn't minded. Why would he? They were going to university together. They could fuck to their heart's content. Instead they'd kissed and chatted and made plans for the upcoming semester. It was supposed to be amazing.

Winston sighs. Reality had turned out much different than his fantasies. But then, it always did.

"Why?" asks Luna.

"I don't know," says Winston. "I just... I'm lonely. I miss you."

"So you cheated on me? Wow. Great. Do you know how much sense that makes?" She pauses. "Zero. It makes zero sense."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care."

Her accusatory tone makes him angry. "Oh I know how little you care. You know, if you had shown up at my art show, this would have never happened."




The Virgin Artist Ch. 02



"Wow. Again. So much wow. It's my fault now? Screw you." She leans over and shoves him, hard, knocking him over.

He scrambles to his feet. "No screw you!"

She stands up. "You—"

He cuts her off. "Where have you been Luna? I never even get to see you. I thought you loved me. You sat here, less than two months ago, and said so. You said so. Whatever happened to that? If you love me so much, then where the fuck are you?" He pauses and finds his vision grown blurry with tears. "I love you Luna, but I'm so lonely. I just -- I can't. You know what? Fuck you..." He turns and begins to stumble away.

After only a few steps, Luna's arms surround him, and she gently lowers him to the ground. So close, he can smell her peach shampoo, a scent that brings fresh wetness to his eyes. "No wait. I'm sorry too," she says. "I do love you."

"Then why?" asks Winston.

"I, just, I'm so overwhelmed. I hate to admit it. I hate it not being able to do what I want. I want to keep my grades. And I... it's hard to find alone time. I'm more solitary. I'm stressed. Ivy never leaves the room. She's either watching TV or fucking or painting. That's all she does. And I'm not like her. I like to be alone sometimes. And with us and sex, well, you know, I'm not like her there either. I don't... I don't want to do it in front of other people. I'm sorry I've been neglecting you."

Winston shakes his head. "No. I'm sorry too. About—"

"And in my bed too. Eugh. That's gross."

"Yeah. Sorry," says Winston. "Ivy's idea."

"Of course it was."

He takes a deep breath and leans into her embrace, enjoying the feel of her solidarity and warmth. "Are you, uh, are you going to break up with me?"

"I..." Luna squeezes him in a hug. "No. I do love you. Really."

The tension flows out of his body along with more tears. He had been such a dumbass. Ivy was hot, sure, but Luna was... she was something else. Something eternal.

"I really am sorry," Winston says. "I've just been thinking about you so much and I thought things would be a lot different. I thought, well, I thought we'd get to be together every night. I thought we'd be able to check off a few more of the positions from your notebook."

"I know. Me too."

They are silent for a long time then, sitting there, holding each other beneath the vast, open sky. The stars turn, and Winston watches them turn, marveling that Luna is probably looking at the same thing yet seeing something totally different. Atoms and fusion and gravity and sciencey thingies, while he sees composition and light and shadow.

"I need to be with you more," says Winston.

"But our schedules. And Ivy—"

"She has to leave sometime. C'mon science lady. Engineer us up a plan."

Luna pauses, then slips her notebook out of her back jean pocket. She retrieves her emergency pen, a small stubby affair, which hangs like a necklace around her neck.

Winston smiles. Oh Luna.

She flips open the notebook and then quickly jots down some times. "Not a lot of opportunities. Ivy does Yoga every morning at 9:30 but only for 30 minutes and my Mechanics class ends right at 9:30 and I can't get back until 9:45 and your studio class with Professor Salvarez begins at 9:50."

"So we can't do my dorm room. Too far." He pauses. "Unless I skip."

"Winston! You can't do that."

He could, for her. But he also knew that it'd ruin the mood if she thought he was skipping class. That's just how she was. He could lie but somehow that didn't seem like a good idea. "I... okay I know how to still get credit. The teacher, he's looking for nude models."

"No," says Luna.

"It's fine. I'm not that shy."

"I said no! You just, um, you just boinked my roommate. I'm not okay with you modelling nude to a bunch of other art girls."

"Okay. Alright. He's a cool dude so..." Winston pulls out his phone and shoots off a quick text. "And done."

"What'd you say?"

"I told him the only time I could make love to my girlfriend on the weekdays was during the first 15 minutes of his class and would it be okay if I came in late as long as I stayed late and cleaned up the brushes and cleaned the room and locked it."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah," he says. "I did."

He shows her the text. Even as he does, the professor -- probably drunk on expensive wine and in the middle of a threesome -- replies: Sure thing Winstonius. Remember to embrace unhappiness.

"What does that mean?" She pauses and a moment later, she blushes. "Winston! You just told your art professor that we're, uh, having sex. What if I meet him one day?"

"Um, Luna, he probably would assume that anyway," says Winston. "And trust me, he's going to be more jealous than judgmental."

She blushes again. "Okay, so we'll do my dorm room so you're not too late. But still. That's only 15 minutes until Ivy gets back. More like 10."

"10 minutes is enough. If we make it count. We'll just have to start with a plan." He pauses. "So what's our plan?"

It doesn't take Luna too long to figure something out.

The plan is at least partially inspired by their time together on the cruise. Or rather their time not together, those 2 days they had to spend apart. Luna had given Winston a camera full of pictures, to whet his appetite. It had worked. Wonderfully. Their new plan, therefore, is that every morning before her Mechanics class, Luna will take a quick picture of herself in her underwear.

"Then," says Winston. "I'll draw us together -- what I want us to do. Then I'll snap the picture and send it to you on your phone and when we get—"

"No, I'll reply if I agree. Or what I wanna do if I don't. Then I get here. 15 minutes. But no vaginal penetration."

Winston snorts, half in laughter at her choice of words, half in surprise. "What? Why?"

"We save that for the weekend. 15 minutes isn't enough."

Winston's too happy to argue. "Okay. Fine. 15 minutes. Get in. Get out." He pauses. "Many times. Many many times."

Luna smiles. "Hands, tongues, and fingers."

Winston leans over and kisses her. "I'm excited."

"Me too." She pauses. "But I am not getting anywhere near Mr. Johnson until he has been thoroughly disinfected. You should try bleach."

He laughs.

Luna doesn't. She looks at him seriously.

"Um Luna..." he says. "I'm not putting bleach on my junk. We used a condom."

She blanches at the detail but then shrugs it off. "Fine. But you're still cleaning it thoroughly."

Winston would have been happy to stay there the rest of the night, talking, joking, simply being in Luna's presence. But she has class early and needs, at any rate, to clean her bedding before she can even hope to sleep. That puts a damper on their conversation but it does little to dispel Winston's excitement. After they part ways with a chaste kiss, he makes his way to his own dorm room with a light step, his mind full of Luna, his hopes rekindled. They're going to make it work.

#

Winston's alarm goes off at 8:30 and, tired as he is, he's also excited enough to leap out of bed like a particularly sprightly lion, or so he imagines himself. He immediately checks his phone, getting an erection simply from the anticipation. One picture message from Luna. He opens it up.

She's standing in front of Ivy's tall mirror, offering him a side profile. She's wearing the same black lingerie, silky but mature, she had worn the night they had first fucked on the cruise ship. She's still as beautiful and for all the same reasons: Her sharp shoulder blades. Her muscular thighs, strong yet still feminine. Her caramel-colored skin. And her heavy breasts, of course, which he has grown to appreciate in equal measure to her dislike of them. Clad in their black bra, held tight against her chest, they grant her body its curvaceous womanly figure, that unique profile which Winston considers to be nature's magnum opus. She has grown her hair even longer, and it cascades down her back, like a river of black silk. And on her face, beneath the bridge of freckles that have mostly faded in New York's brooding weather, her lips are curved upward with an excitement equal to Winston's own.

He retrieves his sketch-book from beneath a pile of clothes and sets to work. Never in their explorations on the cruise nor their two fuck sessions this semester had they attempted a 69. He draws it now. His mind-eye like a camera up in the ceiling, he sketches the two of them on the floor, bodies curled around each other, Luna's head between his legs, his between hers. Like yin and yang. Or an oroborous, the snake that bites its own tail. Except, of course, without the biting. Well maybe a little gentle biting would be okay.

He finishes it at 9:28, snaps a picture, and sends it to Luna. Then he dons a pair of jeans and his favorite tee and begins walking over to her dorm, which is about 10 minutes away. Their schedule is tight. He wants to be there early.

At 9:31, he gets a reply from Luna: I veto your proposition. You have to work your way back into my good graces before you can work way into other parts of me. For now, loosen up your tongue. omw.

Luna arrives outside her dorm at 9:43. She's wearing black heels, a black pencil skirt, and a black blazer over a white blouse. Winston isn't sure whether he wants to have sex with her or ask her advice on the stock market. Both, maybe.

"Hi," says Winston. "How'd the board meeting go?"

"Huh?" asks Luna, tilting her head. "What board meeting?"

"Nevermind," says Winston. "Shall we?"

It's 9:45 exactly when Luna unlocks her room and checks inside for Ivy. "Clear," she reports.

Winston moves inside, surrounds her in his arms, and kisses her on the neck. He presses his hardness up against her backside even as he shuts the door behind them.

Luna slides out of his grasp. "No time for that. Take off your clothes," she says as she begins to undo hers. Winston scrambles out of his, tossing jeans, t-shirt, boxer-briefs helter-skelter all over the floor. Luna undoes her mechanically and efficiently, folding her skirt and blouse and placing them neatly on her desk. She slips off her lacy black underwear and bra and lays them over her folded clothes.

Naked except for her emergency pen necklace, she climbs up into her bed. Winston pauses to appreciate the view before climbing up after her. In order to make room, she scoots backwards, so that she's half-reclining, her back against the wall. After a brief hesitation, she spreads her legs, revealing a freshly shaved pussy, bare of its usual black hair.

"Whoa," says Winston.

Luna blushes, not quite meeting his eyes. "Do you like?"

"Oh yeah."

"I read guys prefer it when going down on a woman," she looks over at the clock on the opposite wall. "It's 9:48. Let's start our experiment."

"Yes madam scientist," says Winston and dives in with as much gusto as any great explorer. Vasco da Gama, Magellan, Sir Walter Raleigh: eat your heart out. Or, y'know, the other thing.

Luna and Winston's two amorous encounters at school had been strictly fucking, a little coitus stolen between the cracks of Luna's busy schedule. As such it had been almost four months since Winston had tasted Luna, but as he slips his tongue into her, it all comes back to him, with the added spice of nostalgia. She tastes like a sweet, metallic oil. Perhaps because her pussy is located at the V of her legs or perhaps because he had first met her on the ocean, her taste makes him think of river deltas, of clean water made tangy by the soil and merging with the salt of the sea. He loses himself in it. Forgets, even, what he's here to do, what she likes. Instead he uses his tongue like a little cock, slipping it inside her as deep as he can get it.

She purrs with pleasure.

Her response barely registers. His world has collapsed into the tiny universe of Luna's womanhood. Her lower lips, folded like petals, he explores with his tongue, trying to rememorize their contours. He finds himself kissing her thighs, running his fingers over them, massaging the musculature underneath. He kisses her belly button, sticking his tongue inside that too. The bones of her hips, winged and feminine, he kisses as well. Yet always his mouth returns to her slit, there to drink in her nectar, that unique Luna taste, which like her features is half-exotic, half-familiar, both comforting and exciting.

He loses himself in her so completely that it comes as a shock when she announces, "We're out of time."

He looks up, his face wet. "But you --"

"I didn't climax, no." She reaches behind her pillow and hands him a small washcloth. "Thought you might need this."

"Thanks," he says and wipes his face.

"And it's alright. You were great, Winston." She smiles and reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "That really helped a lot. I just gotta get used to it again and learn to not worry about the time. Or Ivy walking in. Or our neighbors hearing us. Or, uh, anything else. It's fine." She pauses and a wicked look enters her eyes. "However..."

Uh oh.

"BUT," she continues, "if I have to go without orgasm, then so should you."

"I should?"

"Yeah. You cheated on me you jerk. This is your punishment. You don't get to orgasm until I do. Not even on your own. No masturbation. Let's call it the conservation of pleasure. The second law of coitus-dynamics."

"But—"

"Don't worry. Just make me climax, and it won't be a problem, will it?"

#

Luna's Tuesday picture shows her from behind on hands and knees, and she's wearing a white thong he's never seen before. It's plain white cotton -- and it's incredibly hot. She doesn't typically wear thongs. She says they're uncomfortable, though Winston thinks she really just doesn't like feeling so exposed. Regardless, the rare treat inspires him to greater artistic heights. He retrieves his favorite pen from his jar o' tools and in bold strokes draws her leaning up against the post of her loft; he is on his knees beneath her, his face in her ass, eating her out from behind.

Hot picture, Luna texts, but I have to veto it. Back to basics.

It's a beautiful October day in Ithaca, full of the crunch and crinkle of golden leaves, and Luna is wearing a white summer dress that suggests snow, wedding cake, and vanilla ice cream. Winston has donned his usual ensemble of tight-fitting jeans and a t-shirt that hugs his lean frame.

"Wow," he says. "I love your dress. And what's in it."

She raises an eyebrow. "You liked the thong huh?"

"No, I meant you," says Winston.

"So you didn't like the thong?"

"What? No. I mean, yes I did like it. It's pretty, er, I mean, you're pretty in it. I like both. You and the thong. You in the thong." He pauses and untwists his tongue with a quick "Glarglargelagaglug." Then he adds, "Okay. I adore the dress, I like the thong, and I love the Luna."

"Uh huh," she says with a laugh and then they're climbing the stairs, checking her room for Ivy, and then sharing a brief kiss before Luna announces they don't have time for that. Two days in already and it feels like a routine. But it's a damn good one.

Back to basics involves Luna stretching out on her bed and pulling her white dress up around her hips. Winston snuggles in beside her, their two bodies cozy on her small bed.

"The mission today," says Luna, "is to make me climax."

"Mission huh?" says Winston. "Codename Moonraker?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'll be doing the Luna raking today. You..." she slips the straps of her dress off her shoulders and pulls it down to reveal a white cotton bra with a front clip. She quickly undoes this to reveal her large breasts. Her emergency pen is nestled in the valley between them.

"...I will be operating those babies?"

"You will be stimulating my nipples, yes."

"Roger that. Would you prefer tongue or fingers?"

"Well, I do have two breasts."

"Yes ma'am," he says, "but can I watch first?"

"I don't know about can, but you may watch first."

It's Winston's turn to roll his eyes, but his mock annoyance is quickly replaced by lust as Luna reaches down under her hips and slips off her thong. Her sex exposed, she runs her fingers back up her thighs and between her legs. She begins rubbing her clit in gentle circular motions.

"This is nice," she says." I've missed this."

"What?" says Winston. "You haven't masturbated?"

"Too busy."

"Busy? You've been too busy to masturbate? Okey dokey crazy-lady."

"Shush," she says. "Stop distracting me."

He shushes up and instead raises himself up and looks down on his girlfriend as she pleasures herself. The image makes his heart melt. She is just so goddamn beautiful. The morning light streaming through the window has turned her caramel skin golden. Her eyes are closed, but a small wrinkle in her forehead reveals deep concentration. A flush has entered her cheeks, imbuing them with a rosy glow of vitality and sensuality. Her lips are slightly parted and she is taking shallow breaths, occasionally spiced with a soft moan. It is almost too much for Winston. Luna contains galaxies, universes of possibility. If he painted her every day the rest of his life, it would not be enough because every day she would be slightly different. Still -- he would be so lucky.

Luna opens one eye. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Then focus on your mission, soldier," she says. "My breasts need your attention." She finishes her sentence with a sharp gasp and Winston looks down to see she has slid one finger inside her pussy and is moving it in and out, gently finger fucking herself. "Now, please."

"Yes ma'am, capitan!" says Winston. After snapping off a quick salute, he leans over and takes her right nipple into his mouth. He sucks on it like it's a straw, enjoying the feel of it growing hard and elongated in his mouth. He squeezes that same breast, funneling the nipple even further into his lips. With his other hand, he caresses her left breast, flipping her nipple back and forth between two fingers.

"That's good," says Luna breathlessly.

He stops sucking on her nipple and instead swirls his tongue around it, drawing spirals of pleasure over her areola. Her stomach muscles contract and he can sense, by the movements in her body, that she has increased the speed of her finger fucking. He glances down the slope of her stomach, made tight by her jujutsu practice, and watches as she pushes wet two fingers in and out of her pussy.

He leans over and takes her other nipple in his mouth, pulling it between his lips and gently biting on it.

"Oh yes," she says.

And then her phone alarm goes off, buzzing on her desk below.

Her eyes snap open. "Crap," she says and scrambles up. "Ivy will be here soon. And you're going to be late."

"But—"

She shoves him, retrieves a bottle of Febreeze from behind her pillow, and begins spraying it into the air. "Hurry!"

Winston gets dressed in record time. He passes Ivy on the stair well down, who looks up from her phone, startled, as he zooms past.

#

The lingerie of Wednesday's picture evokes more memories of their cruise. Luna's wearing the same shiny green bra and underwear she had worn during their first sexual explorations. Her bra is the one she had slipped over her cum-soaked breasts. The erotic memories do Winston no favors. He's already close to a state of semi-permanent erection. Everything makes him hard. The play of shadows on leaves. A particularly phallic lamp-post. Eating fruit. Anything.

Appended to the picture is a message: Don't worry about your sketch. We'll do your Tuesday one.

Fuck that. He does one anyway. He sketches her sitting on top of him, using his mouth for her pleasure. He draws her face sharply and accurately, wanting to capture the abandonment to sensation and lust that he loves to see on her features. When he finishes, he holds the sketch up against the light. Yeah. Pretty awesome. There's something raw and honest about it, something that, in a strange way, reminds him of Ivy's art. Smothering his guilt, he snaps a picture and sends it to Luna.




The Virgin Artist Ch. 02



At 9:27, he gets a reply text: I love it. Let's do that one instead. I left a few minutes early. And I'm really horny.

how horny? texts Winston back.

Let's just say I'd give a rhino a run for his money.

She meets him in the small garden in front of her dorm at 9:37, faster than usual. Her cheeks, rosy from exertion, contrast the dark circles under her eyes, as if she hasn't slept. She's wearing a very short skirt, the hem ending a couple inches above her knees, showing off her legs.

"Hey," says Winston. "You alright?"

"I'm great," she says and sits down next to Winston on the cast-iron bench. She leans over and kisses him on the cheek. She nibbles her way up to his ear, where she whispers, "I'm also dripping wet."

"That so?"

"Uh huh." After she looks around at least three times to make sure no one is around, she takes hold of his hand. She directs it between her thighs and underneath her short skirt. "See?"

He does. Her wetness has soaked into the crotch of her underwear. While he's there he decides --what the hell, why not? -- to slip a finger past her underwear and into her snatch.

"Oh!" says Luna, even as she pulls on his arm, jerking his finger out. "Winston!"

"What?" he says and then, high on horniness, puts his finger into my mouth and licks off her juices.

Luna's eyes, only a small slant betraying her Japanese heritage, grow wide. "Upstairs, now."

The two lovers hurry inside and up the stairwell, to Luna's third floor room. Winston watches, amazed, as she struggles to put the key into the lock. Her hands are shaking that badly. When she finally does get the door open, she steps inside, stops, and immediately backs out.

She turns to Winston, her face crushed. "Ivy's inside. Asleep."

The eroticism gets sucked out of the air faster than a spaceship with a hole in it.

Luna gently shuts the door and then slides down against it. "Must have slept through her alarm," she mumbles. "Was up all night with some guy." She hangs her head. "Damnit."

Winston slides down next to her. Not knowing what to say, he grabs her hand and intertwines his fingers into hers.

She looks up, fatigue stamped in the paleness of her features.

"It's alright," says Winston. "It's just one day. We've got tomorrow and many more after that."

"I know I know but..." she takes a deep breath. "No you're right. It'll be okay."

Winston leans over and kisses her gently. Their lips barely touch.

"I love you a lot," says Winston. "I mean, you're super sexy and I like all of this and I want to keep doing it. But at the end of the day, Luna, I'm happy just being around you. Why don't we return to the bench outside and you can just tell me stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"Whatever stuff. Tell me about your classes. Or how your sister is doing without her big sister at home. Didn't you say she just got her first boyfriend? Tell me about that."

She does exactly that. Winston doesn't understand most of what she says about her classes. Forces, torques, impulses, and vibrations, it's all Greek to him. But sharing it lifts some deep burden from her. He knows her face and body almost as well as his own by now. Perhaps even better. He can see, with his artist's eye, the unwinding of tension from her muscles. He can see the color and vitality return to her skin.

When their time together draws to a close, Luna leans over and hungrily kisses him on the mouth. "Thank you."

"Let's do it again?"

"Sure and... about that no masturbation thing. That was silly. You can, y'know." She blushes. "As long as you tell me about it?"

"Nah," says Winston. "I'm kinda digging all the sexual energy. It's kinda like looking at the world with a completely different set of eyes. Everything is more... geometrical. Does that make sense?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Well. I'd rather wait and do it with you anyway. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Definitely tomorrow," says Luna and leans in to begin stuffing as many kisses into the last sixty seconds of their day together as she can.

#

Luna's wearing a new bra in her Thursday picture, red with white floral designs on the bottom of the cup. Winston's sure she has matching underwear, but she's not wearing them. In fact, she's not wearing any underwear at all. Her caption for the picture: Let's try your cock.

He almost orgasms just from that. Just the static feel of his clothes against his cock. When the rush of eroticism calms back down to manageable levels, he reaches down to adjust his erection, so hard it's almost painful. He snags his pencil from his jar o' tools but finds it too dull. He tosses it aside and instead nabs two ink pens, one gold, the other black. With the gold one, he draws Luna straddling him. He sketches himself in black, reclining upright, holding her in his arms. The lines are curvy, wild, suggesting waves of pleasure and energy, and the black and gold intersect until it becomes difficult to even see where one body begins and the other ends. Perfect. He snaps a picture and sends it to her.

At 9:34, as he's sitting outside her dorm, he gets a text: Wow. Amazing. Is that what it really feels like to be with me?

Winston texts back: no. being with you is better.

Luna: Well it's awesome anyway. Also... I'm running late. The test was hard.

Winston: no pun intended?

Luna: Uh, oops, right. No pun. And don't hate me but can we save my caption for the weekend? I don't want to rush it.

He can't deny the disappointment that wells up in him, but he also feels relief. The thing is, he's so turned on that his cock wouldn't work anyway. The climax would be anti-climactic. He'd cum as soon as he entered her. He texts back: of course. what are we gonna do today then?

She doesn't reply, which worries and arouses him in equal measure. When she arrives 10 minutes later at 9:44, he's almost hopping up and down with anticipation.

He's a little disappointed to discover she's not wearing a skirt. That would have been super hot. Instead she's wearing jeans, which doesn't surprise him too much. Going commando while wearing a skirt? Even Luna in hyper-sexual mode wouldn't do that.

"C'mon," she says. "We have less than 16 minutes."

Ivy is, thankfully, gone this time and Luna wastes no time in pulling Winston into the room. She shuts the door behind him and pins him up against it, kissing him rapidly, forcing her tongue between his lips. His hands find their way down her body and into her tight jeans. It's true, she really isn't wearing underwear. He grabs hold of her bare ass and pulls her into him. Taking the cue, she grinds herself up against his cock, which feels incredibly good. All too soon, though, she pulls away.

"I have prepared a speech," she states.

"Okay?"

She retrieves her notebook from her pocket and begins to read. "Tomorrow, we're gonna start the same way. Except after I kiss you, I'm going to kneel down, open up your pants, and pull out your cock."

"Okay," says Winston, as she turns the page.

"I will then proceed to suck said cock, taking as much into my mouth as I can. I will do this until you come down my throat. After which," --she wets one finger to turn the page— "after which, I'm going to sit on your face and you're going to eat me until I come." She closes her notebook and returns it to her back pocket. "Does that seem fair?"

Winston stares at her, his mouth ajar. Hyper-sexual Luna is fucking awesome.

"Does it?" she asks.

He closes his mouth and manages a nod.

"Good. Today, however, I need something inside me. Since we don't have time to fuck, I would like you to use your fingers."

With that, she walks to her desk and proceeds to unbutton and unzip her jeans. She works them over her ass and down her thighs. The musky scent of her arousal immediately fills the room. Without bothering to fully remove her pants, she bends over her desk, arching her back, pushing her ass out into the air.

"Don't start slow," she says.

By no means. He wets his index finger with his mouth then slides it all the way into her, as deep as it can go. There is hardly any resistance.

"Yessss," says Luna. "Pleasure me with those long artsy fingers."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He pumps his finger in and out of her, the knuckles of his other fingers gently grinding her mound each time his digit bottoms out in her. After thirty such strokes, he stops and reaches underneath to rub her clit.

"No," says Luna, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Keep fingering me."

"Okay," says Winston and adds his middle finger. He watches with lustful awe as her pussy stretches around the middle joints of his two fingers, each penetration accompanied by a wet sucking sound.

In fact, he has been doing a bit of reading of his own, and he twists his two fingers inside her so that his palm faces the ground. He hooks his fingers down, as if trying to tickle the inside of her belly button. Then he begins short, rapid strokes in and out of her.

Luna gasps. "Oh shit!" She reaches back and grabs his hand, stopping him.

"What?"

"I..."

He read about this too. "Feel like you're going to pee? It's alright. You won't." He grabs her hand and gently moves it from his arm to her ass. "But will you spread yourself? I want to watch your beautiful pussy as you orgasm."

She hesitates at the lewdness of his request.

Winston anticipated this too. "It'll help our experiment if I can see," he says.

It works, of course. For Luna, the magic word isn't 'please.' It's 'experiment.' She reaches back with both hands, one for each ass cheek, and spreads herself, widening her slit and clearly revealing the little brown asterisk of her asshole. Winston's erection somehow grows even bigger, but he ignores it and resumes his fingering, the short in and out strokes against her g-spot.

Luna loves it. She raises herself up on tippy-toes and arches her back even more, giving him a better angle with which to continue finger fucking her. The tips of her own fingers grow white as she clutches her ass, keeping herself open to him, like a flower in bloom. Every time his fingers pull back, pressing against her inside pleasure spot, she grunts, almost in pain, as if she is holding her orgasm inside her, refusing to let it escape.

His hand grows tired, but he does not stop, and her grunts morph into little whimpers of pleasure.

"Keep going," she moans. "Don't stop. Please."

"Cum for me, Luna," says Winston. "I want to watch your orgasm."

"Yes," she agrees, yet still something seems to block her from releasing herself to the pleasure. Her moans take on a hint of desperation.

"My ass," she urges. "Stick a finger in my ass."

Winston couldn't have been more surprised if she had suddenly asked him to put on a werewolf mask, but he doesn't hesitate. He wets the index finger of his other hand in his mouth then slides it into her tiny asshole. It pops in easily, but with relatively greater resistance. He begins fingering both her holes in alternate rhythm: when his two fingers pull out of her pussy, pressuring her g-spot, he slides his left index finger into her ass.

Luna groans, "Same time. Do my, uh, same time, do them same time."

Winston synchronizes his motions, pumping her holes simultaneously. By now pain is shooting up his right arm, but he ignores it, focusing instead on the sound of his lover's pleasure, on the ecstasy that seems to be tangibly radiating from her naked skin.

"Yesss," moans Luna. "I feel so full. I think I'm gonna—"

The door bangs open and Ivy strolls in, looking down at her phone, earbuds in her ears. Winston freezes, both fingers still inside Luna. Ivy shuts the door behind her, takes two steps forward and then looks up. Her mouth forms a comically large O.

"Holy shit!" she says.

Her eyes travel from Winston's face, down to where he's got three fingers in Luna's two holes. "Holy shit," she says again. "Miss Goodie Gum-drop's a backyard beauty. Who would have guessed?" She takes out her two earbuds and coils the wire into a loop. "Holy shit."

She stands there, staring, before suddenly snapping out of it. She smirks. "Don't mind me, Luna love. Feel free to fuck Winnie. I know how nice his cock feels."

Luna jerks as if struck. Winston removes his fingers from her, and she stands up and pulls her jeans back up. Only when she's fully clothed does she turn to face Ivy. Her face is ablaze with anger. "You slut."

Ivy shrugs. "That'd be king slut. And don't get angry at me. You're the one who chose to ignore your man. He's got needs. What'd you think would happen if you ignored them?"

"That's not—" starts Winston.

"I was busy!" says Luna. "Some of us can't sleep in all day and sit around doing nothing but watch TV. Some of us actually do something useful!"

Ivy's eyes narrow.

Winston steps in between them. "Ivy, Luna, I don't—"

"Shut your face, Winnie," says Ivy.

"Don't talk to him like that," retorts Luna.

It only escalates from there. Luna accuses Ivy of never taking out the trash, calls her a slob, complains about always picking up after her. Ivy calls Luna a big baby, crying herself to sleep, an accusation she does not deny, causing Winston's heart to sink into his stomach. Luna retorts by claiming Ivy's being a copy-cat with her artwork, how she's always looking at pictures of other artists online as she paints. Ivy responds that Luna only got her engineering scholarship because she's a woman and the science geeks just wanted her around, so they could stare at her tits during class.

This claim so enrages Luna that she begins to stalk toward Ivy, her fingers curled like claws. Offering a short prayer to God to grant him a quick death, Winston again steps between the two passionate women. "Enough!" he says.

"You can't—" starts Luna.

"I said enough." He looks between the two. Ivy, the intrepid shameless red-head, whose art and openness Winston still admires. And Luna, the warm genius brunette, the woman that he loves with every atom in his being. "Why can't you two just get along? Jesus Christ. You know, honestly you two, you're more alike than you're different. Yeah Ivy, you're an art geek and yeah, Luna, you're an engineer lady. But you both believe in what you do. You both sacrifice for it. And you're both strong, beautiful women."

"I don't wanna hear you say that about her," says Luna.

"That's fair," says Winston. "But don't blame Ivy because I cheated on you. That was my fault. My choice."

"She seduced you!"

"It was still my choice. I regret it—"

"Yea right," mumbles Ivy.

"—I regret it," repeats Winston, ignoring her. "But it was stilly my choice. You two are roommates. You have to get along." He turns to Luna. "And wouldn't it make it easier, if we just told her we needed some time alone occasionally?" He turns back to the tall red-head. "Would that be alright, Ivy?"

The red-head frowns. "Luna's sexual hang-ups aren't my problem."

Winston sighs. "Can't you two just get along?"

The two look at Winston and then at each other.

"No," they say simultaneously.

"Fine," says Winston and before they get into it again, he guides Luna out. Ivy watches them go, with veiled and calculating eyes.

#

When he wakes up Friday morning, still exhausted after spending most of Thursday calming down Luna, he checks his phone to see if she has sent him a picture or anything. She hasn't. Instead he finds a text from his own roommate: Dude your girlfriend is all over campus.

His heart sinks. He doesn't know what it means but it can't be good.

He throws on his clothes, dirty ones but he doesn't care, and rushes outside. A group of students surround the notice board in front of his dorm, giggling to each other. He bursts into the middle of them. There, pasted all over the board, are copies of one of his sketches of Luna, the one of her on top of him, where he had focused on drawing her face so accurately. And as if that weren't bad enough, her name has been clearly printed below.

"Niiiiice girlfriend, Winston," says one of his dormmates, a dude who prides himself on being a 'bro,' whatever that means. "Introduce me?"

"The only thing I'm going to introduce is my fist to your face."

"Uncool, man, uncool!"

"Whatever," says Winston as he tears down the pictures, wads them, and tosses them into the nearby trashcan. Unfortunately, when he turns around, he notices a similar clumping of students around another dorm's notice board. As he jogs down toward it, he finds that copies of his sketches -- all 4 of them -- are posted everywhere. Lamp-posts, trees, some just scattered on the ground.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, thinks Winston. He shoots off a quick text to Luna asking if she's alright then sprints, full-speed, to her dorm.

A girl coming out lets him in. "Uh hey Winston. Luna is having a huge fight with Ivy. You better do something."

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

It's not just a fight. The hall outside their dorm looks like a warzone. It's covered with Ivy's stuff, which Luna has apparently tossed outside. The RA, a super nice, super sweet Chilean girl named Andrea, is standing there, obviously out of her depth.

"Winston," she says as he approaches. "Help!"

"Uh, yeah, on it."

"You fucking bitch!" screams Ivy just as he walks in. She rushes at Luna, a curling iron in her hand raised like a weapon. Luna does some wild jujutsu stuff and smashes Ivy into the ground. She twists her arm up and behind her back, as if she's going to break it. Ivy screeches in pain.

"Luna!" shouts Winston. "Stop it!"

She looks up at him, her lips drawn back in a feral snarl. Her expression is so intense that Winston almost takes a step back. Instead he goes over and places a hand on her shoulder. "Let Ivy go," he says. "She's not worth it."

It takes her a minute but Luna does, releasing Ivy's arm. All the fight goes out of her then and she bursts into tears.

Winston pulls her up and away from the red-head, who lies there, whimpering in pain. Not knowing what else to do, he leads his sobbing girlfriend out of the room. He looks to Andrea and says, "These two need a room change. They can't be roomies anymore."

Andrea nods. "You can take her to my room. I'll deal with Ivy."

The rest of the day is major suckage. Luna never stops crying and keeps saying, inexplicably, that she's ruined. That she has to drop out. A police woman arrives, and Winston has to explain the whole thing to her. How did Ivy get the pictures? asks the officer. From Luna's phone, Winston guesses, or maybe her computer. But why would she do that? Winston has no choice then but to explain his infidelity. As he does, he watches the growing disgust on the police-woman's face. He doesn't even bother to offer any excuse. He fucked up. He knows it. Now Luna is paying for it. It causes him physical pain to look at her, to see his bright, beautiful girlfriend reduced to a quivering, crying mess.

The guilt threatens to overcome him, and he almost lets it, except Luna needs him. After the police officer leaves, Winston calls Luna's mom, who he met during move-in and who, of course, remembered him from the cruise. He had, after all, saved Luna's little sister from falling overboard. He explains the situation, though he simply says Luna is having troubles with her roommate. He leaves out the part about the nude sketches. And he certainly doesn't mention his cheating on her. If Luna's dad knew about that, he would drive up there and beat Winston to a pulp. Her mother might even tag along and add a few well-placed kicks, maybe. Hopefully they'd leave the little sister at home, but who could say? They're all pretty fierce.

The only bit of good news comes at the end of the day, when Andrea informs them that Ivy and all of her stuff was moved to an entirely different dorm in an entirely different part of campus. Luna has the room all to herself for the rest of the semester.




The Virgin Artist Ch. 02



"Great," says Luna unenthusiastically. "Because I'm never coming out of it."

Andrea and Winston share a look before he guides Luna back to her room. Once inside, he gently shuts the door behind her and locks it. She climbs up into her bed.

"Do you want me to get into bed with you?" asks Winston.

"No," she says and throws her blankets over her head.

He sits down in her chair and waits her for her to say something. She doesn't.

The rest of the evening passes that way. Winston catches spare bits of sleep, waking up when he hears a voice, hoping it's Luna but it's always just the voice of someone passing outside the door. He tries to think of something to say, some combination of words that will make everything okay. But there is no such combination. Luna isn't like Ivy. She's personal and private. No words can wash away the deep shame she must be feeling. Brooding over such thoughts, he falls into an uneasy sleep.

#

He snaps awake in the morning light, his cock throbbing hard. He ignores it, angry. The bastard. It had gotten him into this trouble in the first place. The clock on the wall reads 9:32, and Luna is still just a lump in her bed.

"Luna?" asks Winston, "Are you awake?"

She mumbles something from under the covers.

"What?"

She mumbles again.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're saying."

She tosses the blankets off her head. "I said, get the fuck out!"

"What?" says Winston. "Look—"

"LEAVE!"

What choice did he have?

"Okay," he says. "But call me or text me, okay Luna? I love you, alright? I love you."

He waits for her to return the words, but she doesn't. He leaves. When he makes it back to his dorm, he sinks to the floor and cries.

#

He tries sketching, but only ends up throwing his sketchbook at the opposite wall. There's a deep black hole in his chest, draining away every bit of color and light. He can feel it dragging him down down down low to the earth. He's worried about Luna. What if she does something crazy? What if she hurts herself? He tells himself she just needs time or space.

About two seconds later, he decides that's a terrible, stupid idea. He sends her a quick text: Everything okay?

He cracks open his art history book, but his eyes have become opaque. Nothing can get through to his brain. His artistic vision is broken. After an hour of pretending to study but actually sneaking looks at his phone, waiting for a response that never comes, Winston decides he needs to get out. He goes for a walk.

It's a beautiful day, full of soft rustlings. A gauzy veil of golden bright sun is draped over the world, dividing it between sharp light and hard shadows. It's the type of contrast every artist loves, but Winston can't seem to work up the enthusiasm. At one point, he even spots Ivy outside, wearing a green summer dress, busy painting some landscape. Looking at her back, he tries to muster up some anger. But he can't. He doesn't care about Ivy. He's too worried about Luna.

He makes his way to their secret meeting spot, the little concrete pier above Beebe Falls. It's only worse there. When they had made plans during orientation, they certainly hadn't expected anything like this. Nor had their little sex plan worked out the way they had wanted it to. Once again, the reality failed to live up to the fantasy.

Winston looks up toward her dorm, toward her window, and gives her a call. It rings six times and then goes to voicemail. He leaves one, asking for her to call him, reminding her that he loves her. He wishes he were better at words. But he isn't. He is an artist, not a talker, not a writer. Or maybe even being a scientist would do it. What, he wonders, are the equations that relate love, shame, and loneliness?

He goes to the dining hall and eats by himself. All around him flow energy and happiness. Laughter. Girls and boys holding hands. Kissing. He can't stand it. He wolfs down his food and leaves. Luna still hasn't responded.

#

He hears nothing from her for the rest of his miserable weekend, which he spends sleeping and watching old cartoons on his laptop. When Monday morning rolls around, he resolves to confront her, one way or another, and is waiting outside her Mechanics class when it gets out at 9:30. A steady stream of Engineering students moves past. Luna is not among them.

Pushing down his worry, Winston makes his way inside the small amphitheater of a classroom, down to where the professor, a tall Russian fellow with short-cropped hair and a prosthetic arm, is putting his laptop into a bag stitched with the NASA logo.

"Excuse me," says Winston.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"I was looking for my girlfriend Luna—"

"Ah Luna! Did she send you to get her homework assignment?"

"Um, no, not exactly. I guess, um, that she wasn't here today then?"

The professor pauses in packing up and looks at Winston quizzically. "Is everything alright?"

"Uh, yeah, sorta. Didn't you, um, didn't you see—"

"Did I see what?"

Winston shrugs. He can't imagine how the professor hadn't heard of his nude sketches getting posted around campus but then science types could be pretty myopic. "Nothing. She's not feeling too well."

"Ah. Give her my best wishes. Tell her not to worry about the quiz today -- she can make it up any time she wants."

Winston's heart sinks. She skipped class on a quiz day? "Sure," he says. "Will do. Thank you."

"Hope she gets well soon. She's my favorite student."

"Yeah," says Winston. "She's my favorite too."

After he leaves the classroom, he pulls out his phone and gives her another call. He doesn't actually expect her to answer, but, even so, he can't quite banish his hope.

She doesn't pick up. He leaves a voicemail, reminding her once again that he loves her and begging her to call him back. He considers calling Luna's mom, but knows that he'll have to tell the whole story. The mere thought of that causes such panic to rise up in him that he has to sit down at the nearest bench and take a moment's breather.

With nowhere else to go, he heads toward his studio class.

#

Winston's Intro to Painting class is held in a tiny cramped classroom which reeks of turpentine but does, at the least, have many windows, little circular ones that remind him of portholes on a ship. When he walks in, ten minutes early, he's the only student there. He drops his bag at the easel opposite of the one Ivy usually takes.

Professor Silvarez peeks around the edge of his easel. He wipes the paint from his brush, surprise stamped on his swarthy Brazilian features.

"Ola Winstonius," he says. "You're here early. You needed this time with your girlfriend, no?"

"Yeah, she's not feeling well."

"Ahhhhh," says Silvarez. "A shame. But that is the nature of health. It comes, it goes, then it just goes. Today, we're doing a nude model, a friend of mine named Ricardio. A beautiful man. Cheer you up, no?"

"Erm, yeah," says Winston. "I guess so."

"It's too bad you missed out on the bonus points too."

"Eh?" says Winston as he goes to the paint cupboard and grabs a thin slice of wood to serve as his palette. "What bonus points?"

"You not hear? I cancelled class on Friday and sent the students to round up all the nudes. It was, what do you call it, an art easter egg hunt."

Winston pauses in the act of mixing flesh-colored tones. "Nudes?"

"You didn't see them?! Fabulous fabulous nudes up all over the residence area. Such earnestness, such spirit, such rawness." He nabs a few papers from a huge stack on his desk and brings them toward Winston.

Winston knows what they are of course. "Um," he says. "Those are mine."

"WHAT?!" says the professor, leaping up and kicking his leg out as if a bee had stung him in the foot. "They are?! Who is this divine Luna?! Is this the girlfriend you make love to before my class?! You must paint her. Now, now, now, now."

"Uh?"

"NOW WINSTON NOW."

"I can't! She's hiding in her dorm."

"Hiding? From what?" He brandishes the sketches. "Cause of these?! Why would she be ashamed of this? Her beauty?" The professor's face takes on a disapproving glare. "You have not explained this to her? When you are making love to her, are you not making her feel beautiful?"

"I've tried."

"No. No excuses. You must paint her now. You must show her beauty through your painting. This is the point of art. You must do this now. This very instant."

"I can't paint her this instant," says Winston. "I'm standing right here. And she's—"

"I don't mean THIS VERY SECOND, Winston! I mean NOW as in the ARTISTIC NOW. While the feeling is still hot." He begins pacing back and forth. "For this, you need a shrine. A place free of distractions, free of the pressure of other eyes. I'd let you use my studio, but I have a showing over in NYC this weekend and through the fall break." He pauses and snaps his fingers. "But I have a showing! So what do I need it for?!"

He reaches into his pocket and snaps off a key. "Use my shrine! Paint your woman."

"Um. She's not answering—"

The professor slaps Winston.

"What the hell?!"

"Are you an artist or aren't you?!"

"Yeah I am but— "

Another slap.

"Do you love her or don't you!?"

"I—"

The professor raises his hand and Winston steps back. "Jesus man."

Silvarez slowly lowers his hand. "Well?"

"I do."

Again the professor slaps him.

This time Winston slaps him back. The professor whips his head around, tossing his long hair. He beats his chest like some sort of Brazilian King Kong Art Creature and roars, "Then get it done!"

"I WILL!"

Winston storms out, heart thudding.

A moment later, he comes back. "Um, what's your address?"

#

Winston knocks on Luna's door. She doesn't answer. So he bangs on it. "Luna! Open up!" She doesn't answer. So he keeps banging on it. Finally, after five minutes straight of bashing on the door, he hears the door unlock.

He enters.

Except for a few shafts of dust-filled light peeking through the drawn shades, the room is dark. As his eyes adjust, he sees Luna standing there before him, arms crossed. She appears more frumpled and undone than he has ever seen her before. She's wearing sweat pants and a sweat shirt and her hair is all frazzled, less a river of black silk and more a black cottony bush. She's wearing no make-up and her face is drawn and haggard.

"I don't want you here," she says.

"I don't care," says Winston. "Sit down. I have things to tell you."

She stands there, staring at him.

"I'm not leaving until you listen."

"Fine," she says. She sits down and stares at him.

He grabs the chair from the now empty desk that used to be Ivy's. He places it a foot in front of Luna and sits down.

"Well?" asks Luna.

"Before I met you," begins Winston. "I was pretty lonely. When I did my art, I did it mostly for myself, to fulfill some sort of inner aesthetic need. But then I met you. I didn't know it then, but that was the greatest day of my life. Do you even grasp how amazing you are? Cause you are. Like for so many reasons. You are the smartest person I have ever met. You are genuinely warm and kind. You're so beautiful and smart, you don't have to be. But you are. And you're so passionate. Not toward sex I mean. Well, yes that too. But, um, I mean toward life. Toward new ideas and things. And of course you're gorgeous. I know beauty. You're sublime. Since I've met you, my whole world has changed. I don't do art just for myself anymore. I see now it's my job as an artist not to have my art be loved, but to provide beauty and wonder and whatever else I can manage to those who look at it. You taught me that. And you know what, I'm not ashamed that others got to see my sketches of you. You may think those sketches were about sex, but they weren't. They were about love. I'm not ashamed others got to see the love between us. Neither should you."

Luna is silent.

"And anyway," continues Winston. "My professor gave bonus points to the class to collect them, so they weren't even up all that long anyway."

"They weren't?"

"Nope. Your Mechanics professor didn't even know about them. He just said he missed you and wanted you to get well and get back to class."

"He did?"

"Of course. He misses you. We all do. All your friends and classmates and professors and me. I miss you a lot."

Luna doesn't say anything, but he can see the thoughts churning in her eyes.

"Look," says Winston. "At least try to get out and get to your classes. I know you're going to regret it otherwise. And..." he pauses. "And fall break is coming up. My professor lent me the keys to his house, which I'm sure will be pretty awesome. He wants me to paint you and I want to paint you too. Not these quick sketches but a full on portrait. I really really want to, Luna. I want to show everyone, especially you, just how much I love you. I can't do it with words. I have to do it with paint. What do you think? Will you get out of this darkness?"

"I don't want to. I'm... I'm scared, Winston."

"Scared? Of what?"

"I'm scared everyone's going to look at me and think I'm a slut."

"Why? Because you enjoy sex? That doesn't make you a slut. That's just being human."

"Still," says Luna. "Not every person had nude sketches posted all around."

"Okay," says Winston. "That's fair, but I'll be by your side as much as I can. Please please please just come out. Please return to the Luna that I love so much. Please."

"Stop saying please."

"Then stop hiding here in the darkness."

She folds her arms. "Fine. But only because I'm hungry."

"Sure," says Winston. "We'll go get some lunch. But first, and don't take this the wrong way, you need to take a shower. You kinda smell."

"Hmph," says Luna.

#

All it really took to begin the healing process was to bring her out into the light. A few people looked at her with recognition but most simply went on, too preoccupied with their own worries to care about hers. She did, however, continue to dress conservatively, showing as little skin as possible.

The first -- and last -- incident related to Winston's sketches occurs on Wednesday, as the two of them wait in line at the cafeteria.

"Hey it's the nudie girl," says a huge white fellow with long dreads, maybe one of the football team's defensive linemen. "Why don't you ditch pencil dick there and have a go with a real man?"

Winston steps forward to defend his girlfriend's honor. Or, at least, get pulverized for it. This proves unnecessary. After Luna pulls some jujutsu hijinks and has the massive football player crying like a baby, they grab some spaghetti and sit down at one corner of the dining hall.

"That was scary," says Winston.

"Felt good," says Luna.

As they're sitting there chowing down their spaghetti, a boy with long blonde hair approaches and Winston stands up, ready to ward off still more bullshit.

Instead, the stranger hands Luna a thick piece of folded paper. "Huh?" she asks.

"Some wild-haired Mexican dude told me to give it to you," says the student before leaving them.

"Mexican?" says Winston. "Maybe Professor Silvarez?" He looks over to the paper. "What is it?"

Luna unfolds it. It is covered in the same line over and over, written in different handwriting: I think you're beautiful with a signature underneath.

"Whoa," says Winston.

She continues to unfold the paper. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of different signatures. She reveals one phrase, slightly different than the rest, and stops unfolding.

I think you're beautiful this one begins, with an added I'm sorry just below. It is signed Ivy.

Well damn. Winston looks over at Luna to see how she's taking it, but he can't read her expression. "Can I borrow your emergency pen?" he asks.

"Okay," she says. She pulls it out of her necklace-cap and hands it to Winston.

Crammed between all the writing, he adds in his own small print, I think you're beautiful and signs it Winston Thomas.

"Now," he says, "it's complete."

Luna leans over and gives him a hug. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you so much for being there."

He hugs her back. "Honestly, there's nowhere I'd rather be."

#

By tacit agreement there is no sex talk between them for the rest of the week. Luna sends no pictures and instead concentrates on making up her missed work. Winston draws no sketches. At least, no sketches with his pen. His unsatiated lust continues to fill the canvas of mind with sexual imagery. He can't help himself. By the time their fall break begins on Saturday morning, he has set a personal record for the longest time, since puberty, he has gone without an orgasm. Nearly two weeks. His last was with Ivy, as she rode him in Luna's bed. He is eager to replace that memory with a different one, one involving Luna.

She picks him up in her old Toyota corolla. He tosses his bag stuffed full of jeans and tee-shirts into the backseat, next to Luna's mammoth-sized suitcase.

"Got everything?" she asks.

"Yep."

"Toothbrush, underwear, deod—?"

"Yes! We're not going on some African Safari. It's only like three minutes away."

"So?" says Luna. "No reason not to pack properly." With a peevish hmph, she puts her car into drive and off they go.

In fact, they spend roughly a quarter of an hour on the road before they arrive at the large cast iron fence protecting the driveway. Winston inputs the gate code and it swings open. Tall trees arch over the drive to form a sort of arboreal tunnel and when they finally come out of it, roughly 2 minutes later, Luna accurately summarizes the view with a "Holy crap!"

The professor's "studio" is more properly called a mansion or a chateau or whatever the Brazilian term for it might be. It's a vast elegant affair that reminds Winston of the Roman architecture he studied two summers ago. Its white stucco walls glow in the morning light. In front, an enormous Apollo statue gurgles water in a circular fountain. The mansion's most impressive feature is, however, a large glass cupola situated on the top of the mansion. The sun glints off its black glass, hiding what's inside.

Luna pulls to a stop in front, her beat-up old car incongruous next to the gleaming mansion.

"Jeez Winston," she says. "Professor Silvarez is really okay with this? Us just staying here for a week?"

"He was impressed by my sketches of you. Seemed really keen on this." He shrugs. "Honestly, he's super weird."

"Well," she says. "Let's check it out."

The key works, and after they drop their luggage just within the front door, the two begin their explorations. The mansion is mostly just one huge open space, with very high ceilings and lots of windows. There is no door to the master bedroom, even, just a slight step and then a gargantuan bed. While Luna's exploring the other rooms, Winston returns to the kitchen, which is also not separated from by any walls. Any delicious cooking smells would permeate through the house. On the kitchen counter -- a massive slab of black granite -- he finds a note from the professor, leaning up against a bottle of wine: What's mine is yours. The studio's upstairs. At the bottom he added a postscript: PS I had the maid clean and replace the sheets.

Winston quickly nabs the note and puts it in his pocket. No need for Luna to know his professor assumed sex. He turns around to seek her out, and finds her standing right there. He jumps back, startled.

"Jesus Luna," says Winston. "Don't scare me like that!"

Luna raises one eyebrow at his response. "Sorry. Ninja's in my blood. What'd the note say?"

"That the studio's upstairs. Shall we?"

The only way up to the studio is apparently a tiny spiral stairwell that goes all the way from the first floor to the roof. When they finally get to the top, it's Winston's turn to say, "Holy shit!"




The Virgin Artist Ch. 02



The glass cupola on the roof is the studio. It's a single giant room with walls made of segmented glass triangles. Looking out, Winston can see for miles in every direction, which is mostly forest. A simple oak table with four rough-hewn wooden chairs stands in one corner of the room. Near it is a metal basin, like a bird fountain, clearly a sink of some type. The professor -- or his maid anyway -- has setup an easel in the center of the room, with several empty canvases stacked against it. In front of the easel waits the only other piece of furniture in the room, a single comfortable looking chair with velvet upholstery. Aside from this, the room is empty. It is one giant space.

Winston removes his shoes and pads barefoot across the hardwood floors to the easel. Below, on the floor, is a cup filled with brushes. He picks one up and then closes his eyes, to take in the space. The glass walls seem to melt away. He feels connected with the world at large.

Luna laughs. "I take it you're ready to begin."

Winston smiles, embarrassed, feeling exposed. "Um. Yeah. I like it. I feel at peace. But we don't—"

"I'm ready to start if you are. Are you?"

"Sure," says Winston. "I'm eager to paint you."

"Okay. Let me just go get changed."

She retreats down the tiny circular stairwell. In the meantime Winston hunts for and finds a chest filled with paints and other supplies. He retrieves a small tripod, which he sets up near the easel to hold his color palette. Then he begins mixing colors, hunting for a caramel to match Luna's complexion. It takes several minutes of tinkering, and occasionally testing it on a scrap of paper, until he feels satisfied.

Shortly after he does so, Luna returns, wearing a black robe.

"Hm?" says Winston.

She slips off the robe. She's wearing nothing underneath.

He blinks rapidly.

"Well?" she asks. "Where do you want me?"

He points to the velvet chair. She moves to it with light steps.

"And how do you want me?" she asks.

"Um, wow," he says. "I want you every which way. I—"

"No," says Luna, rolling her eyes. "I mean how do you want me to position my body for you to paint?"

"Oh. Right. Um. Whatever makes you comfortable."

She sits down and folds her legs and then places her folded hands on top of her thighs.

"No," says Winston. "Keep your legs apart."

Luna raises an eyebrow but does as he says and then Winston begins.

He has, in mind, a portrait of Picasso's, of his mistress, called The Dream. Only... different. Less languorous. More intense. And not cubist. His favorite Monet is called Woman with a Parasol, which is of Monet's wife and son. He likes its ethereal qualities. The brightness and clear love evident in the color palette. He envisions something like that, some combination of The Dream and Woman with a Parasol. The intensity of The Dream but the optimism of Parasol. Pinning this emotion in place, he puts his brush to the canvas and begins to paint Luna's feet.

Neither Winston nor Luna speaks. She sits. He paints. Outside the sun slowly moves on its circular path across the sky. There is only the occasional cloud, blocking the sun, altering the light. When this happens, Winston takes a short break. He stops and looks at Luna and reaffirms in his artist's mind what he wants his painting to look like. When the cloud moves on, he resumes painting.

Many hours later, Winston finally puts down his paintbrush and closes his eyes.

"Are you finished?" asks Luna. "Can I see it?"

"No, not yet. I'm almost done. Maybe twenty more minutes."

"I see."

He rubs his hands together, working the ache out of them. Painting isn't easy.

"Winston," says Luna after a few moments.

"Yes?"

"When you finish, I want you to make love to me."

He smiles. "Not make potatoes?"

"Winston!" protests Luna. "I'm trying to be sexy."

"Sorry, sorry," he says. "I want that too."

"Good. Okay. Then, just so you're ready, I'm going to tell you all about it."

"Okay," says Winston, his already hard cock twitching at her words.

"Go ahead, pick up your brush and paint."

He does so and it just so happens that he's applying some final touches on her breasts.

"After you finish," begins Luna, "I will go downstairs first. I would let you have me here, but considering how hard I want you to end up fucking me, we will need a bed. And I want to put on some clothes. Don't worry. I'm only putting them on so you can take them off. I will be in the bedroom, wearing my 'board room' clothes. You know, the ones I wore the first day of our plan? After you clean your brushes, you will come down and find me in the bedroom, wearing these clothes. You will come up behind me and first, unzip my skirt. I want you to struggle with it. I want your hands to be trembling with anticipation. That's not so much to ask is it? Don't answer that. You must paint. I am only telling you about what will happen once you finish."

"When you manage to unzip my skirt," she continues, "it will drop to my feet. I will kick it aside. Then I want you to remove my jacket. I want you behind me. You will have to reach around to undo the buttons. Wrap your arms around me. Pull me close. I want to hear your breathing in my ear. After you unbutton my jacket and pull it off my shoulders, you'll have to take off my blouse. I will raise my arms to help you. Pull it off. And then, then, I will be in front of you in nothing but my underwear and my bra. Take a step back if you feel like it. Look at me if you want. I like it when you look at me. I like seeing that look in your eyes. It makes me feel beautiful. But do not look too long. Come back to me and again wrap your arms around me. Slip the straps of my bra off my shoulders. No need to undo it yet. Just pull down the cups and grab my breasts. This week, they are yours. I will not hide them from you. Squeeze them. Play with my nipples. Kiss me on the neck as you do so. Whisper in my ear that you love my tits. Tell me all the naughty things you want to do to them. Tell me—"

Winston sets down his brush. "Luna, you're driving me crazy. I need you. Like now. Like so bad that I want you to invent a time machine, so I can go back in time and have you earlier."

Solemn and serious, Luna shakes her head. "Too bad. You can't have me until you finish the painting. But. If you can handle it, I will allow you to stroke yourself."

"Hm," says Winston with a smile. "I'll try."

"Then take off your pants."

In two swift moves, Winston snaps loose his belt and pulls it free. He undoes his jeans and slides them and his boxers down to his ankles. His hard cock springs outward, free.

When he looks back up, he sees Luna is eyeing his hardness appreciatively and even possessively. She slips her hand between her legs and begins gently rubbing herself. "Will this interfere with your painting?"

"No."

Winston picks his brush back up. With his left hand, he strokes his cock, long full movements that stop just short of his sensitive head. With his right, he paints. All that remains is Luna's face.

Her lips slightly open, eyes fixed on Winston, Luna continues talking, "After you take off my bra and let it fall to my feet, you must next remove my underwear. Take your time with this. Run your hands down my body, over my breasts, my stomach. If you want, slip a hand into my underwear. Check, if you want, my wetness, so you know how much I want you. But do not play with me. Do not mess around down there. My wetness is not for your fingers. It's for your cock. Take off my underwear then, but do it slow. I want to feel you sliding it slowly down my hips, then my thighs. I want to feel your fingers on me all the way down and when you get down there, kiss my ankle. This will be a code, a signal we are agreeing upon now. It will mean that you think I'm beautiful. Every time you kiss me, it means you think that part of me is beautiful. So you will need to kiss me everywhere."

She pauses then and, for a space of several minutes, concentrates on masturbating. She speeds up, slows down, perhaps even extends a finger into herself. Winston barely notices. He is focused entirely on her face, watching the gradations and shades of her pleasure. He can tell, by the widening and narrowing of her exotic eyes, her proximity to climax. Whenever she grows close, the look in her eye grows inward. She slows down when this happens. She is waiting. She wants what he wants. To climax together. He can, in fact, practically read her thoughts. It's like her whole essence, visual, mental, spiritual, has become imprinted on his mind in the process of painting her. He has entered some ultra sensitive state, a sort of aesthetic threesome between himself, Luna, and his canvas. He knows she is about to speak five seconds before she does.

"But you will have all week to kiss me everywhere," she continues. "Tonight, I want you inside me. My clothes will lie on the floor. My skirt. My bra. My underwear. I will be revealed, stripped of modesty by your lust. I will crawl onto the bed and lie down and spread my legs, opening myself to you. Crawl on top of me and kiss your way up my body until you kiss my lips. Then you will enter me." She pauses and again focuses on her masturbation. Winston slows his own stroking down, intent on painting her face. Several minutes later, she continues, "You will not be gentle. I am wet now. I will be wetter then. Push your full length into me. Thrust into me powerfully, Winston. I want to feel you deep inside me. I want you to pierce my core with your hardness. Drive me into the bed. Make me cry your name. Unleash my orgasm, unleash—"

"Done!" Winston puts his brush down. "To the bedroom."

"What?" asks Luna. "Don't I get to see it?"

"Okay fine," he says and steps back.

Luna uncurls from the chair and quickly steps over to look at his painting. She looks back at Winston then at the painting. "It's beautiful," she says. "Like..."

"It's you. No more, no less. That's all it needs to be."

Luna's smile is radiant. "You're such an ass kisser."

"You wish," says Winston. "Now... bedroom?"

"Uh huh. Gimme a headstart while you clean your brushes," she says as she walks toward the stairwell and begins descending them.

Winston cleans his brushes at warp speed. He's done in about 3 seconds then rushes after her.

"Hey!" cries Luna from just below. "You haven't given me a headstart!"

"Too bad!" he says. "I'm coming!"

Winston's only about three steps behind Luna when she makes it to the bedroom. She dashes inside and leaps onto the bed. Winston stops.

"Winston!" says Luna, scrambling around to face him. "You didn't let me get dressed."

"Oh well," he says walking toward her, eyes intent.

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah oh well." She leans back against the pillows and spreads her legs. After painting her for several hours, he is intimately familiar with her womanhood, its shape and color. Yet approaching her now, as she reclines on the massive bed, as the late afternoon sun casts its orange light through the bedroom's many windows, her womanhood again becomes exotic and feminine, mysterious.

He makes it to the bed and climbs between her legs. He kisses her once on the lips. "You're beautiful," he says, "and I love you."

"You're beautiful and I love you too," says Luna back.

She grabs hold of his cock and guides it to her slick entrance. He presses forward, opening her up, watching her face as she watches his. Every inch forward is accompanied by shivers of pleasure moving up his spine. It takes approximately nine million years, an infinitude of pleasure, to push all the way inside her. Luna breaks their stare to look down at where they joined, groin to groin, and Winston follows her eyes. There is not a single inch of his cock visible. He is completely subsumed in her.

The sight sends such a huge shock of pleasure through him that Winston freezes, half-expecting to immediately orgasm. He doesn't. The pleasure is like an orgasm, but isn't one. There's some sort of extra-physical lock on his climax. He can't, he realizes. Not until Luna does. But the pleasure, oh man, the pleasure doesn't stop.

"This feels..." starts Winston.

"...so good," finishes Luna.

He pulls out and thrusts back inside her, eliciting the first sounds of pleasure from her, a deep groan like an old house creaking as it shifts in a storm. It wouldn't even be sexy, except for its depth and rawness. He wants to capture it with his lips, to inhale her pleasure, so he leans over and presses his lips against hers. He pulls out and thrusts back in. She groans and he kisses her mid-groan, stealing it away.

It only adds to his pleasure, like raindrops rippling against an already full lake.

She wraps herself around him, arms around his neck, legs around his waist, pulling him into her as if she hopes to melt their bodies into one. Every time he pulls back, he has to fight to withdraw his length from within her depths. He watches her face as he does so, notes the combination of disappointment and hope when he manages to extract most of himself out of her. And then the flash of pleased satisfaction, as bright and hot as the crackling bulb of a camera, when he buries himself into her womanhood once more. He doesn't dare blink. He doesn't dare miss anything.

Her arms and legs are strong, and it's hard work to keep fighting against her. "Let up," Winston eventually says. "Let me fuck you."

She nods and the pressure lowers a tad.

He does what she wanted him to do then, pressing himself into her, driving her into the bed, trying to get as deep as possible, trying to pierce her core. Their groins slap together with each inward thrust.

Her moans -- a combination of "Winston" and "fuck" and "yes" and "oh" and "please" -- sound continuously now but still her orgasm does not come cheaply. The pleasure for Winston only grows. Where once it was a lake, it is now an ocean. Luna's moans and the sounds of their fucking, her eyes staring into his, the warmth and wetness inside her, it's like some giant hurricane hovering over this ocean, stirring it up into a boiling, frothing maelstrom. It's like he's become one giant lightning rod for the pleasure of the universe. Every thrust inside her feels new and different, her tightness stimulating him in new ways. He penetrates Luna over and over, pulling all the way out before thrusting his full length back into her, sharing with her the pleasure that seems to be exploding in every nerve cell in his body.

Luna's moans grow increasingly incoherent, not English anymore, but some combination of English and Japanese and cavewoman, mere letters and sounds, like some universal language of pleasure. Winston begins to feel transcended, begins to sense that greater connection between all things. Aesthetic and sexual pleasure combine. He feels as van Gogh must have felt when painting starry night or as Newton felt when he formulated the first laws of gravitation. The entire sensory summation of this universe of pleasure is combined in this fuck, in the lewd squelching of Luna's pussy as he pounds her over and over, in the bounce of her tits, in the pleasureable 'O' of her mouth. He stares into her eyes and she into his and each knows what the other knows, which is the same infinite pleasure.

It's time. Winston thrusts into her, pushing desperately, as deep as he can and holds it there. Electric pleasure radiates upwards along his nerves, but still he does not come, waiting. Luna's eyes scan back and forth, reading his expression. Her lips are curved upward in a slight smile.

"Luna," Winston says, desperately.

"One more," she says.

Winston pulls himself out and thrusts forward once more. Luna climaxes as soon as he does. He can feel it against his cock. The lock on his climax breaks, but he holds on for a few moments more, pushing himself inside, seeking the core of her pleasure, wanting to be as deep inside as he can. When he's completely inside her, he lets go and his pleasure ignites in a massive orgasm.

Winston returns to his senses a few minutes later, lying next to Luna. They turn their heads to look at one another. Then simultaneously they burst out laughing.

They can't seem to stop and after a couple minutes, when he becomes genuinely afraid he might suffocate, Winston turns away and manages to regain control of himself. When he finally turns back, Luna has also managed to stop laughing.

"Ummmmmmm," says Luna. "What?"

Winston shakes his head. "Did you—?"

"Yeah... it was like I suddenly understood how the universe was all connected. How the equations of the curvature of space were identical to the rules of art. It was almost like our pleasure was connected to some giant mammoth spirit, to all the other lovers out in the world and even beyond our world, to the pleasure of Hydrogen coupling in the heart of a star to form Helium." She shakes her head. "Is that what you felt?"

"Pretty much."

"Wow," says Luna. "Man. Wow."

"Yeah."

She reaches down between her legs, where Winston's semen has leaked out of her and onto the sheets. There is a huge wet spot there. "Jeez Winston," she says.

He blushes, embarrassed. "Your fault. Your second law of coitus-Mechanics."

"Coitus-dynamics," she corrects. "And it worked didn't it? Holy crap it worked..." She perks up. "Anyway. Let's go put the sheets in the washer before your man-milk soaks through. No need for us to be rude guests." She climbs out of bed, naked, and begins to pull the sheets off the king-sized bed. Winston watches her bending over, her large breasts swinging as she does. The muscles in her thighs and shoulders shift attractively. It says something about his sexual depletion that the sight doesn't make him hard.

"Stop looking and start helping," says Luna. "Or I'll put my clothes back on."

Winston scrambles to the corner and helps pop the sheets off.

#

After they get the washer going, they both retrieve their luggage and hang up their clothes. Or Luna does, anyway. Winston just kinda throws his into the closet. When they finish by putting their toothbrushes into an empty jar, Luna's stomach growls, and she announces she needs sustenance.

The pantry and fridge are fully stocked, and Winston grabs a couple of steaks and takes them out to a large outdoor grilling area around a pool covered with a big blue tarp. Luna makes them a salad and prepares a couple potatoes which they also throw on the grill. As they're cooking, they talk about a little bit of everything, particularly the future.

Winston talks about running an art studio. In New York City, maybe. Or somewhere in California. Or Paris. An art studio in Paris would be awesome. When Luna objects that he doesn't know French, he shrugs. He'll make do. Or maybe he can do some graphic design. He's taking the Intro class next semester. Maybe he'll like it. But not for a corporation. The whole branding culture is mad lame. But maybe as a consultant. That could work. Above all, he says, he wants to travel, to spend time in other places, not just settling down in one location. He finds the life of van Gogh and other painters romantic and wants to spend some time out in the middle of nowhere. Two weeks at some random village, painting whatever he sees. Maybe even in Japan.

Luna, on the other hand, has her future plotted and planned down to the day, just about. She knows the research projects she's going to get involved with in Cornell. She knows the professor she needs to butter up so he can give her a recommendation so she can go to the University of Tokyo, where she will study robotics and AI. She'll work in Mitsubishi's robotics division, but only for a few years before she returns to research. She wants to build an AI. That's where her heart truly lies. Creating artificial life. She makes no mention of kids, or of family. And she doesn't care where she lives. For her, it's all about the work, not about the place.




The Virgin Artist Ch. 01



"Ah, sorry," he says.

"For what?" she says. She retrieves a little packet of Kleenex from her purse and cleans the mess. After throwing away the Kleenex and returning the packet to her bag, she retrieves her small notebook.

"Did you like that?" she says. "What was your favorite part?"

"Yeah. Dunno. All of it?"

"But a favorite?"

"The end, when you focused on just the tip."

She writes into her notebook.

"Are you really taking notes?" asks Winston.

"Of course. We're here to learn." She points at his cock with her pencil. "How come you're still hard? Aren't you supposed to, well, to shrink?"

He shrugs. "I'm still turned on."

"Oh. Because I'm naked?"

"Yeah. Because you're pretty." He pauses. "Do you want to lie down in my bed with me?"

She does her curious little head quirk. "Okay." She gathers up her clothes and stuffs them into her tool-kit purse and follows him into his room, which he shuts and locks behind him.

Winston climbs onto one side of the bed, and Luna onto the other side; they scoot together until their noses are centimeters apart, eyes staring at each other. Winston leans in to kiss her and the motion takes something like 5,000 years. At every moment, he expects her to turn away, to stop his kiss. He doesn't know why, not really. She just masturbated him after all -- but distance is so prevalent. It's implied in every relationship he's had so far. It's hard to overcome the expectation for it. But she doesn't move away. Their lips touch for their first kiss, and for a second, and a third. They kiss without moving. They don't move their hands to touch each other. They don't close their eyes. Winston's cock is pressed against her belly and her nipples against his chest but neither acknowledges this fact. They kiss and that is all. Luna's lips taste like strawberries. He tries to put his tongue into her mouth. She accepts it. He doesn't know what to do with it, so he runs it along her teeth, along her own tongue. Then she reciprocates.

Winston pulls away and reaches down to touch her nipple. She doesn't like that and turns away, showing him her back. It's a silly thing, but Winston really likes her shoulder blades. They're very sharp. He wraps his arms around her and presses his still-hard manhood against her butt, nestling it in the crevice between her cheeks.

"Okay," she says.

He holds her like this for a long time, kissing her neck, thinking about touching her in various places. Finally he just does. He slips his hand down between her legs and touches her beautiful pussy. She doesn't move away. Having never felt a woman before, he explores her cleft. He traces the outer lips, the inner folds. He finds the place where his cock would fit and slips a finger inside it. She's wet, but not in the sense of water on a towel. Rather, she's slippery, and he fingers her gently. He returns to exploring her outer labia, and finds a point above her entrance that causes her to gasp. He rubs this for a bit and then, still curious, decides to touch her nipples again. But as his hand reaches up, her own intercepts it.

"No," she says and guides his hand back down between her legs. She takes his finger and puts it where she wants it, back at her gasp-point. He finds her clit -- or what he assumes is her clit -- covered in a small hood, and she particularly likes it when he touches the hard nub underneath. As he rubs her, she begins to push her ass back against his cock and that feels incredibly good. She moans under her breath, and her movements slowly reach a climax point. She rubs herself furiously against him, his cock moving inside the crack of her ass, almost making him come a second time, but then slows and eventually stops.

"Did you come?" asks Winston.

"Yeah," she breathes. "I did."

Winston nods and nestles himself in her neck. He can smell the vanilla shampoo in her hair, and also her arousal in the room, a more metallic smell. They don't talk. He listens to her breathing and she to his, and they gradually fall asleep, Luna a perfect fit in Winston's arms, like two Tetris pieces enjoying a nice snuggle.

#

Winston's dreams of hotdog juggling are interrupted by a banging on the door. "Winston!"

Winston groggily drags himself out of sleep and realizes three things: first, he's still got his arms around Luna, and her breasts are in his hands, and they are incredibly soft. Second, that he's still got his cock nestled against her ass, and her two butt cheeks are incredibly soft. And third, that his parents must have returned home. Winston practically leaps from the bed.

"Yeah, dad?" he shouts.

"We're going to dinner! Come on."

"Alright, I just need to get ready. You guys -- go on ahead."

"Open up," says his father, shaking the door knob. "Let's go."

"I'm not dressed," yells Winston. "I was about to take a shower!"

The rattling stops and then his dad says, "Alright Winston. We'll be at our usual table. Hurry it up."

Winston pauses, waiting for more, and when it becomes clear his dad has left, he turns around and sees Luna hiding behind the bed. She looks like a rabbit peeking out from behind bushes, and the image is so silly, he cracks a smile and begins to laugh.

"Close call," he says. "Though my parents don't usually go in for decapitation."

"Yeah," says Luna, standing up. She covers her breasts as usual, but Winston's eyes are drawn to her pussy. He wonders if she'd be willing to model nude for him.

"You're growing hard," says Luna. She pointedly looks at his cock, dangling between his legs, beginning to point upwards as it fills with blood.

"Er, yeah," says Winston. "To be fair, that's true most of the time."

"Is that awkward?"

"Sometimes."

Luna nods and sits down on the edge of the bed. "Come here." Winston shuffles around until he's standing in front of her, his cock pointing toward her chin. For a second, she looks like she's going to lean out and lick him, but instead she reaches out and takes hold of his cock and begins to stroke it. As she does this, she looks up at Winston eagerly. Her hair is slightly mussed on one side, where she slept on it. Her lips are set, determined.

"I want to see your breasts," grunts Winston, and she reluctantly lowers her arm. Her long nipples are pointing outward and that little valley between her breasts is open, her unclad breasts hanging slightly to the side. He's no expert, but he figures they're pretty big for her size. Not porn star huge, but he's sure no one ever mocked her for having 'bug bite' breasts. They're large enough that they sag slightly. Is that why she seems so self-conscious about them? Regardless, Winston loves them.

After giving him a good stroking, Luna switches to the short, fast pulls that he likes, and Winston cums again, shooting his seed on her breasts: one glob on her left nipple, most on the mounds themselves. But as she begins to reach for the Kleenex, he says, "Wait." He finds her green bra in her purse and hands it to her.

She raises an eyebrow questioningly and, Winston thinks, a little disgustingly.

"You don't have to," says Winston. As she lowers it, he adds, "But I did save your sister."

She hesitates. "True," she concludes and slips her arms into the bra and pulls the cups down over her cum-soaked breasts. "Hook me?" she asks, and Winston manages it after a couple of tries. She dons her other clothes in rapid speed. Her sheer green panties are on before he even knows what's what. Winston peeks out the door, finds the room empty, and gives Luna the all-clear.

"See you at dinner?" asks Luna.

"I hope so."

She gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then hesitates. "Thank you for saying I'm pretty. You're sweet."

Her statement confounds him. "Just being honest."

"Uh huh," says Luna and slips out the door.

#

The dinner is a large communal affair. In the big ballroom with chandeliers, a comedian tells jokes, some wildly inappropriate, but everyone's in such a fine mood that laughter is in good supply. Luna and her family are seated on the other side, but Winston has a clear view of her. He stares at her, and she at him, each trying to avoid being too obvious about it and doing a poor job of it. He can hardly believe she agreed to wear her bra with her breasts covered in his semen. In fact, he can hardly believe the day happened at all, but that last part especially. The thought that she's sitting there, her family and everyone else unaware of this fact, makes him incredibly horny, and he spends the whole dinner fantasizing about her, his sex reverie quickly escalating from envisioning her lips locked around his cock to him fucking her against the wall to hard anal sex. He becomes almost sick with the eroticism of his thoughts, and his cock is uncomfortably hard throughout the entire dinner.

After the final course of a crème brulee dessert, the comedian wraps up his routine with a joke involving Captain Kirk's sex life. Winston springs to his feet and not-so-slowly meanders his way through the departing crowds toward Luna's table. She meets him half-way.

"Hey," she says and presses a folded piece of paper in his hand.

"Hey," he says back, and then walks on past her, makes a circuit and returns to his parents.

"Sorry," he says. "Thought I saw someone I knew." Walking behind his parents, Winston surreptiously reads her note: Call me @ our room #: B-deck 272 (11272) at exactly 11:15 ship-time. I wanna chat ;).

#

At 11, Winston says goodnight to his parents, who mumble a sleepy goodnight back. Afterwards, he sets up camp by the phone and stares at his newly-synchronized watch, counting the tick-tock of the second hand. At 5 seconds to 11:15, he picks up the phone. The second the minute hand time switches from 11:14 to 11:15, he dials Luna's cabin's.

Before it rings even once, Luna's sultry voice fills Winston's ear. "Hey, Winston."

"Hi, Luna."

She pauses, and he can hear her breathing, softly and quietly. "What were you thinking about at dinner?"

Threading my fingers in your hair as you slid your lips on me. Climbing between your legs and tasting your beautiful pussy. "You."

"Yeah? What about me?"

I imagined titty-fucking you and cumming all over your breasts again. "My sperm in your bra."

"Yeah. That was... interesting. How come you wanted me to do that?"

Because you're beautiful, and I want to use you wickedly. "I... Dunno. It was just... dunno."

"Naughty?"

"Yeah," says Winston and thinks he can hear her scribbling notes in her notebook. "It was hot."

"Yeah," she says after a moment. "My boobs were all sticky when I got back from dinner. I had to take a shower. Did you have fun today? Did you learn a lot?"

"Yeah," says Winston. "Did you?"

"Yeah. What are you thinking about now?"

Winston thinks he hears his parents shuffling around in their bedroom, and he lowers his voice still more, until he's almost whispering. "You."

Her own voice lowers as well. "What about me?"

"Your breasts."

"I don't like them."

"Why not?"

"They're too big."

"That's silly," says Winston. "Guys like big breasts."

"Yeah, well, guys don't have to carry them around all the time. I just... I don't like them. They're not proportional. They're too big, they make my back hurt, and I get tired of guys staring at them."

Winston pauses. "That's fair, but --"

"What other parts of me do you like?"

It's the easiest question he's ever been asked. "Your nose. Your freckles. Your eyes. Your mouth."

"What about it?"

"It's... nice."

"Nice for what?"

"Kissing."

"What else?" she says in an urgent voice.

Winston hesitates, then decides to just go for it. "Will you give me a blowjob?"

"Yes," she breathes. "Come to my cabin."

"What, now?"

"Yes. I'll leave the door unlocked. My room is the one on the left."

It is an immensely bad idea, which is why it takes Winston a full 5 seconds to make up his mind to do it. He takes his key and sneaks out the door. The ship is mostly asleep, but crew members walk past and a few night-owls, particularly young couples, can be seen in the bars, flirting over half-empty drinks. In the half-waking, half-dreaming atmosphere on the ship and amidst the gentle sounds of the sleeping ocean, a ghost or two would not be out of place, but Winston doesn't notice any. In fact, he barely notices anything, and in no time at all, he's standing before Luna's cabin. He double-checks the paper she handed him, takes a deep breath, and slowly opens the door, fully expecting her parents to be standing right there, spotlight in hand, guillotine ready.

But her cabin is dark and quiet. He immediately heads for the door on the right and slowly eases it open and nearly has a heart-attack when he sees three lumps -- two big, one small -- in the bed. Winston mentally smacks himself upside the head. He closes the door and cringes at the click it makes. Without waiting to see if they awake, he heads toward the other bedroom and reaches out to the knob. As soon as he begins to turn it, Luna jerks him inside, and shuts the door behind him, locking it.

"Hey," she says. She's naked but for a bra. Her skins glows from the moonlight and starlight streaming in through her balcony window. "Take off your clothes."

He doesn't have to be asked twice. Winston shimmies out of his clothes, leaving his socks for last. He's hard, of course. Painfully, almost. He feels like he's been erect for the past six hours, and that's probably not too far off the truth.

Luna flips open her notebook and says, "Before we do this, three things. Number one. I need to know where you plan to come."

"Uh..."

"I read that most guys like to come in the girl's mouth -- I am OK with that. I want to know what semen tastes like. And it's less messy anyway. Is that good?"

"What are my other options?" asks Winston.

"Well, you can --"

Winston stops her with a raised hand. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I can settle for, um, what you said."

"Okay. Right. Number two. I want you to try the same thing with me too."

"You mean—"

"Yes. I want you to give me cunnilingus." She does her little curious tilted head thing. "I think that's how you pronounce it, anyway."

Winston shrugs and wonders if the word 'blow-job' also works for that and, if not, why there isn't a simpler, easier word for it.

"Would you like to give or receive first?" she asks.

"Well..." He feels both incredibly horny and incredibly nervous at both prospects. He's afraid he'll cum as soon as her mouth touches him, but he's also afraid that he'll go down on her and do it all wrong and she won't enjoy it, and he'll be banished back to the land of virgins.

She raises a hand. "I have a coin here, if you prefer to, y'know, leave it to fate."

"Okay."

She flips it. "Call it."

"Heads," he says and almost laughs.

The coin lands and President Washington is staring up at them, winking it seems in the half-light, as if encouraging them to continue with their very American pioneering into the unknown frontiers of oral sex.

"Okay," says Luna. "I'll do you first. Which brings us to three." She hesitates. Even in the semi-darkness, Winston can tell she's nervous too. Probably just as nervous as him, and that makes him feel much better. "I've never done this before," she says. "Tell me if what I'm doing doesn't work. Now, uh, I think you should lie back on my bed."

He does and she crawls up him and without preamble places her mouth over his cock. Her hair is draped over his thighs. Without touching him, she moves her head up and down, quickly sucking the tip in and out. Eventually she pulls off. "My hair keeps getting in my mouth -- will you --?"

Happily he takes it in his hand and out of her way. She experimentally tries a couple bobs then comes back up. "Thank you," she says. "That's much better."

Luna proceeds to give Winston his first blow job. There's very little flair to it. Winston has seen porn, he's seen a porn star use her hands in strange arcane twisting motions, take a man's sack in her mouth, or make long licking motions like a lizard tasting its meal. He likes Luna's steady sucking motion just fine. He had figured the action -- the friction itself -- was the main thing, but that's very light, more warmth and wetness than hard feeling. Instead, it's all the extra stuff he likes. The sound of her sucking, a slurping almost. The sight of her lips stretched around his girth. The light off her shoulders, gently shrugging as she bobs her head up and down. The curves of her butt slightly raised in the air. After a bit she stops and pulls off. "How is it?" she says.

Winston nods but then realizes in the dark, she probably can't see him. "Yeah. It's good. Keep going."

"Okay. I think I can get deeper."

"Okay."

Her lips return to his cock, and she does manage to get more in, maybe half his length, the tip of his cock nearing the back of her throat. Just as he feels his orgasm arriving, she pulls off him. "How am I doing? Does it feel good?"

"Fine," says Winston. "Just stop stopping!"

"Jeez, sorry," she says and returns her mouth to his cock. She slides her lips up and down him a couple times and then, whether intentionally or not, shakes her butt a little. That sets him off, and he's filling her mouth with his cum. She does a good job of swallowing it, only a small amount falling from the corners of her lips. She wipes that off with her index finger and then licks her finger.

"Salty," she says. "Different than I expected."

"What'd you expect?" asks Winston.

"Don't know. I thought it'd taste like milk or something. My turn," she says as she lies back on the bed, stretching out her limbs in a rather feline manner. She shivers, he notices, even though it isn't even cold.

Winston's nervous. To buy time, he kisses her thighs. They're very soft, much softer than his own, and smoother. He works his way between her legs and gently spreads them to get a better look, but in the darkness, he can't really see what he's doing. He tries an experimental lick between her legs. She doesn't seem as responsive at first, but he remembers her gasp-spot -- her clitoris -- and moves his tongue there. She softly moans. Jackpot. It gives Winston confidence, and he keeps it up. As he sucks and licks her small nub, her soft moans become muffled, and he realizes that's she's biting the pillow. It makes him feel like a god. The male god of love, whoever that is. He reaches both hands up and pulls down the cups of her bra to get at her breasts and nipples, which he squeezes while keeping up his assault on that special spot. The combined sensations bring her to a rapid climax: she squeezes her legs together and humps his face and goes still. His mouth tired, Winston withdraws.

Luna is silent.

"Did I do it right?" asks Winston.

"Yes." She exhales. "Are you still hard?"

"Yeah."

"If I give you another blowjob, will you do what you just did again?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's try it a little differently." Luna adjusts her bra, so that it's covering her breasts again and moves off to kneel by the edge of the bed. The star-fish pattern of her comforter is just visible. "Come, sit here..." she says.

They spend the rest of the night giving each other head and talking while waiting to recharge. By the time Winston returns to his cabin at 4 am, he has learned that she drives an old Toyota corolla and can speak Japanese and could totally kick his ass with her black belt in jujutsu. He also learned that she loves it when he pulls her whole clit into his mouth and her insecurities about her breasts and her nipples make them a prime target for bringing her pleasure. For her part, Luna learns that Winston drives his dad's old mini-van, that he spent last summer studying classical architecture in Greece and Rome, and that Monet is his favorite artist. And also that he really likes it when she puts her lips just around the head of his cock and rapidly moves them up and over the ridge.




The Virgin Artist Ch. 01



Of course, disaster strikes. The next day, Winston meets Luna at La Parisian. She's positively glowing, but her news is less so.

"We're getting off -- going to island hop and rejoin the ship in Labadee."

"In Haiti? On Wednesday?"

"Yes. On Wednesday."

Wednesday is two whole days away. "Maybe I can convince my parents to do the same..." says Winston.

"Even then," says Luna. "I'll be with my parents the whole time --"

"Tell them you want to stay with the ship," says Winston.

"I can't, I -- "

"You should stand up to them."

"They're my parents, Winston. I want to go with them. Remember, this thing we have is just on a trial basis."

"Fine," says Winston and folds his arms, notices that Luna's upset and immediately apologizes. "Sorry. It's just..."

"Yeah. I know me too. Which is why..." She blushes. "Do you have a camera?"

"Yeah?"

"Here." Luna hands him a SD card. "But don't look at it until tonight -- and when you're alone okay?"

"Okay," says Winston.

"Cheer up," says Luna. "It's only two days. And I think you'll have a lot to think about." She leans in and kisses him on the lips. She tries to pull away but Winston holds her there, kissing her for a good half minute. Finally she pulls away, gives him an awkward wave, and turns and leaves.

#

Winston's in a sour mood the whole day. He even feels sour at being sour. Why should her being gone for a mere two days upset him so? He's on a Caribbean cruise for Christsakes. But his self pep-talk does no good. He feels vulnerable and knows it. Only the prospect of looking at her pictures gets him through it. After having supper with his parents at the cruise's burger joint, Winston returns to his room and gets out his camera and replaces the SD card with the one Luna had given him.

The first picture is of her holding a piece of paper on which is written: "Pick your favorite." The next picture is of her wearing a familiar green dress, that dress of what he supposes can be called their first date. The next has the dress off her shoulders, revealing the same shiny green bra she had worn after he had come on her breasts. Winston sets down the camera and takes off his pants and underwear and slowly begins to stroke his cock. He continues on with the pictures. The third picture has the dress completely removed; Luna is clad only in her pair of green underwear and bra. The fourth picture, she's naked but her arm covers her breasts and her hand covers her pussy. In the fifth picture, Luna is completely clothed again, in a pair of jeans and a white top that's tightly stretched across her breasts. The picture after that, she's flashing him, lifting up her shirt to reveal a yellow bra with black polka dots. In the next picture, her jeans have also been pulled down her olive thighs. Her underwear matches her bra, of course. She's a matching kind of girl. Yellow with black polka dots all around. Winston really likes that picture -- how sexual she seems -- and he stays on it for two minutes, his hand steadily pumping his cock, his eyes roaming the picture, memorizing every detail, searching for every sexual nuance, like a detective at a crime scene or an artist analyzing his model. Then he continues on. Despite the nature of the pictures, she's very shy. Her breasts are never fully revealed and her pussy only rarely; either underwear or her hands are constantly in the way. Even her face is often turned aside. She saves his favorite for last: pictures 43 to 49 have her first in a sexy black cocktail dress, and then a sort of strip tease: a black bra with lace trimmings that seems more mature, more erotic than her other bras, and then a matching black set of black panties with a very thin waist-band. He really likes picture 49 -- which clearly shows her breasts, spilling out over the tops of the pulled-down cups of her bra. But when he reaches the 50th, and last picture, he moans out Luna's name and immediately comes. She must have used a timer. She's bent over her bed, completely naked, her ass in the air and facing the camera. He can see her curvy back and everything else too. Her pretty pussy out on display, and even her asshole. He knows exactly what this means -- sex. Actual sex. That's her way of saying that's what will happen when she returns. He thinks that's what it means, anyway.

The next day, Winston's parents invite him on a shore trip -- hiking on the El Salto del Limòn -- and he hops to it, hoping that maybe Luna and he will cross paths. They don't, and he spends the noon-time swimming in a cold pool beneath a 100 foot waterfall, its roar unable to drown out his dreams of Luna. He sees in all of nature's visual beauties a reflection of her curves, and in all of nature's auditory beauties a reflection of her voice. When he tries to draw anything, he only ends up drawing her.

After several hours of fevered thoughts, Winston returns to the ship, goes into room, gets out his camera, and masturbates. He turns to his favorite set of pictures and imagines being the one to pull that black dress from her shoulders, undoing her bra, slipping that small set of panties down her waist, her thighs, past her knees and ankles. He turns to the last picture and imagines bending her over the bed, grabbing hold of her waist, lining up his cock with her beautiful pussy, and sheathing himself inside. He imagines prim and proper Luna getting so horny that she starts dirty-talking. Oh Winston, fuck my little pussy with your long cock. Ram it in me. Harder. Make me come. "Oh Luna," he whisper-moans and comes.

He takes a short nap, dreams of Luna, and wakes up hard. He masturbates again. This time he focuses on the previous picture, the one that mostly clearly shows her breasts, and imagines rubbing himself in that delicious valley between her large globes. Her holding her tits together, providing friction, able to lick the very tip of his cock at the end of each his thrusts. He holds that image and climaxes the second time that night.

After Winston cleans himself and takes a short shower, a worry strikes him, and he heads to the convenience shop located at the front of the ship. He grabs a pack of condoms and surreptitiously glances around the store. After a wholesome family of four buy matching t-shirts and leave the store, he takes his condoms to the front.

"Hey, it's our hero Winston!" says the clerk. "It's me—"

"Timothy... Owens?"

"You remembered. Save any more girls? What're you purchasing for today?"

"Not exactly," says Winston and slides over the condoms.

"Not exactly," laughs Timothy. "I'll say!" He grabs hold of the condoms and goes to ring them up, hesitates, then hands them back. "Make those on the house."

"Thanks," says Winston. He turns to leave, then stops, and turns back. "Do you -- would you know of any private place?"

Stan stares at Winston then leans over the desk to look out into the corridor. "Don't tell anyone this but you know the actor Borden Saint?"

Winston nods. He remembers their photo shoot well.

"Well, he's off the ship and won't be coming back. Going to stay another two weeks and take a private jet back home. He's already moved out."

"So..."

"So," says Timothy. "His suite is empty, and I have the key." He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out. "I've charmed this sexy local beauty, but..." he raises one finger to the sky in a divine posture. "I believe your need is greater than mine." He hands the key over.

"Really?"

"You bet. The room number is on the key. Good luck and make it count," says Timothy, offering his hand. Winston shakes it and then returns to his room. Before he can get to sleep, he masturbates a third time, a long slow stroking set to one of her fully-clothed pictures. He takes his time and instead just thinks about her, the essence and totality of her. Without even coming, his hand still around his cock, he drifts to the land of dreams, soundly and pleasantly, like a baby rocked to sleep by the mother ocean.

#

He wakes up early, and the sharp edge has returned to his horniness, stoked by a night filled with Luna-laden dreams. He loads up her pictures and masturbates while thinking of their night of oral exploration. She swallowed his cum three times that night. Three times. The re-realization sets him off easily, taking him to one of those heady orgasms that seems to suggest but never delivers enlightenment. He cleans himself off, gets ready, and sets up shop at the La Parisian café with his sketch pad. He does a scenery sketch in a cubist style, the 'Boardwalk' filtered through a non-Euclidean universe, a warped, twisted, but ultimately cheerful hell.

At 10:30, just as he is finishing his second cup of tea, a pair of hands cover his eyes. "Guess who?!" says a high-pitched voice.

"Uh..." says Winston.

"Maddy! Stop that!"

The pair of hands reluctantly uncover Winston's eyes, and he turns around to see Luna's sister Madeline grinning impishly. Luna is still about twenty feet away and rushing closer.

"Hi Winston!" says Madeline.

"Hey... Maddy? Been climbing up any more railing?"

"Nope! Are you and my sister going to have sex? I told her she had to. I'm not old enough, or I would."

"Madeline!" says a horrified Luna and marches her sister back and plants her on a bench well out of ear-shot.

"Sorry," says Luna. "She doesn't really know what that means. She just heard it at school and keeps bringing it up because she knows it makes us all uncomfortable."

"Kids these days," says Winston. "Growing up fast."

"Mmhmm," says Luna, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.

"Did you have a nice island hop?"

"Yeah. Did you have a nice, uh, cruise?"

"Yeah. Wish I could have seen you though."

"Me too." She pulls her little notebook out of her back-pocket and retrieves the pencil that apparently has made a nest out of her hair. "So. Did you choose a favorite?"

Winston nods. "The last one, the black dress... and everything underneath it."

"I thought you might choose that one," she says and makes a quick note. "So, come to my room at --"

"No," says Winston. "I have a special place I want to take you. Meet me here at nine?"

"Nine-thirty," says Luna. "My parents always go to sleep at nine-fifteen. Okay. Until tonight?"

"Yeah," says Winston. "Until tonight." And as she walks away, Winston realizes that his heart is hammering in his chest. Just having a conversation with her... and he feels more alive than, well, he has ever felt before. He has to restrain himself from chasing after her, thinks about it, says fuck it, and does exactly that. He catches up to her, jerks her around, and does one of those ridiculous swooping movie kisses: here's looking at you, kid. Her eyes open wide in surprise but close as their kiss continues.

When he decides that he'll pass out if he doesn't get back to breathing, Winston pulls away. Madeline is staring at them with round eyes, her mouth rounded in a surprised O. Luna glances over at her. "I'll never hear the end of this from her now," says Luna. "But too late now." She gives Winston a quicker, more chaste kiss, and then twirls away. "Until tonight," she says and hurries off.

Winston nods. Until tonight.

#

Winston's dad had told him to bring a suit jacket "just in case" and Winston's glad that he had. At 9 o' clock, he puts on a pair of jeans, a belt, a dark t-shirt, and his suit jacket. He tells himself it's about as nice as he could manage with his given wardrobe, but then admits it's about as nice as he's ever dressed anyway. He's an artist, damnit! And artists have, well, artistic license. That's some rule.

He takes a couple deep-breathes and gives himself one of his pep-talks. Alright Winston, you can do this. It's as easy as painting waves. Yep, just go with the flow. Properly psyched up, he heads for the door, but just before he exits, his dad comes out.

"Winston! Where are you going?"

"Um..."

"Why the hell you all dressed up?"

"Well..."

"Oh you going on a date? Nice. Go get em, son," he says, yawns, and returns to his room.

Luna beats Winston to the café, and he takes the opportunity to look at her from afar. She's far more pretty in person in the black dress than she was in the picture. She's just more... vital, more alive. She just looks so perfect, so cinematic underneath the light of a fake streetlamp. And sexy too. The dress isn't that short, but short enough to show her knees. Her shoulders somehow manage to seem both feminine and strong. Luna's definitely not one of those overly delicate types, and Winston likes that. He also likes her really cute butt, the curves of which he can just make out dimpling the back of her dress.

"Hey Luna," says Winston as he closes the distance between them.

She gives him a little wave. "Hey -- look at you."

He shrugs embarrassed.

"I like it," she says. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"But --"

"But you like things neat and orderly? Too bad," he says with a smile. He takes hold of her hand and leads her on. Though she's undoubtedly curious, her nervousness prevents her from asking him where they're going. But when they finally do arrive in front of the cabin, Luna says, "What?"

"It's Mister Borden Saint's cabin -- but he's staying on the island." He fishes out the key.

"How do you know that?" asks Luna.

"Just trust me." Winston slips the key into the door and opens it up. He begins to step inside, but Luna hesitates. "Come on," he says and pulls her inside.

The cabin is the plush in a way that only movie stars, rock stars, and wall street traders would fail to call excessive. It's at least three times the size of either Winston or Luna's cabin, and theirs are suites with double bedrooms and a private bathroom. Borden's has three rooms, a living room with its own little bar, a huge bathroom with a golden-framed mirror and a Jacuzzi bath, and a massive bedroom with a king-sized bed. The attached private balcony is equally enormous.

After they're done exploring, Winston leads Luna back to the bar and finds a bottle of champagne. "Thanks ol' Borden Saint buddy," he says as he pops the cork. He fills two champagne flutes and hands one to Luna. "A toast to the most awesome girl on the planet," he says.

Luna rolls her eyes. "A toast to our futures," and taps his glass. They both drain the fizzy alcohol in one gulp.

"So..." says Winston. "To the bedroom?"

"Okay."

Winston follows her into the bedroom, and she takes a seat on the edge of the bed and smooths her dress over her knees. Winston sits next to her, hands firmly gripping his knees, his beating like a demon-possessed drum.

"So..." says Winston. "So I guess there will be 'fucking around' after all."

"Yeah..." says Luna. "Yeah." She turns to look at him. "We're here to learn, and... I like you. I don't want anyone else to take your virginity before we have a chance to see each other at college. I want to be the one. I want to be your first."

"...see each other at college?"

"Yes," says Luna. "Do you still want to date me after we get back?"

"Yes! Absolutely. Totally, Luna. I was being totally serious when I said you're the most awesome girl on the planet. You are completely, totally awesome. And I want to be your first too."

"Okay," she says and pulls out her ubiquitous notepad and pencil from god knows where. "I've got a list of positions --"

Winston interrupts her with a deep tongue-twisting kiss. He stops, moves her hair back behind her ear, and kisses her again. The list and pencil fall by the wayside. Winston kisses her neck. He slips her black dress off her shoulders and kisses her sharp shoulders, and then the tops of her breasts. Luna pushes him back and slides the sport coat off his shoulders. Winston tosses it aside and pulls his shirt up and over his head in one motion. He moves back toward her, but Luna stops him.

"No, your pants too."

Winston stands up and undoes his belt, the metal buckles scraping against one another. He snaps out the button on his jeans, pulls down the zipper, and slips his jeans and boxers down. His hard cock springs up proudly. He kicks his pants and boxers aside.

Luna hikes her dress up her hips and begins to pull down her panties but Winston stops her. "No. I'll do it."

Without waiting for permission, Winston leans back in and slides his hands up her athletic legs, toned from countless hours of practice at her jujitsu dojo. The thin waistband of her panties does little to hide the smooth flesh of her flank, and Winston takes the opportunity to slide his hands up to squeeze the two globes of her ass. He hooks his two fingers in the band and slowly pulls down her underwear to reveal her beautiful pussy, already wet with her arousal. Seeing it again after the two-day hiatus, Winston feels a sudden hunger and says, "I want to taste you."

Luna nods, and Winston finishes pulling her black panties down past her knees and ankles, feeling a déjà vu with how closely this matches his fantasies. After Winston drops her underwear to the floor, Luna scoots a little farther up the huge bed, sliding her dress up to her hips. She spreads her legs and says, "Go ahead."

Despite his hunger, Winston takes his time. He kisses her ankle, her calves. He notices for the first time a little moon-shaped birth mark above and to the left of her knee and kisses that. He licks and gently bites her thigh. His tongue makes a circuit around her pussy, carefully skirting the edges, carefully avoiding the dangerous areas. Only after Luna chastises him with a half-whispered, "Winston..." does he finally spiral in to the folds of her pussy, slipping the point of his tongue inside her, inside the place that he hopes his cock will soon be. After their night of oral exploration, he knows exactly what she likes, and proceeds to give her just that, sucking on her clit, making little spirals around it with his tongue. But after a handful of minutes, and before she reaches orgasm, Winston stops.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"I need to be inside you," says Winston. It's true. His desire is a need, the separation of their flesh is a palpable lack, a tangible disconnection with how things should be.

"But... yes, okay."

"I have condoms," says Winston, glancing toward his jeans.

"No need," she says. She slides up the bed until she's lying back with her head against the pillows. Winston joins her and climbs between her legs, until his cock is inches away from her pussy. He watches Luna's face: she's biting her lip and gently shaking from nervousness. She's balled up her fists.

"Are you okay?" asks Winston.

She nods.

"Relax," says Winston. "Or you won't be ready for Mr. Johnson?"

Luna laughs in spite of herself and then says, "Don't say that."

"Sorry," says Winston and then takes hold of his 'above average' manhood and after a couple seconds of searching, places the head inside of her pussy. He gently sinks himself into her. When he's about 4 inches in, she says, "Yes, that's good."

Winston stops. "Should I stop? Does it hurt?"

"Not really," says Luna. "A little uncomfortable. Just take it slow?"

"Yeah," says Winston, relieved. No matter that he masturbated four times -- or was it five? -- in the past two days. He's so turned on that he's afraid any real movement would have him immediately coming. He doesn't dare look down at his cock inside of her, knowing that the image will set him off. Instead he leans in and kisses her freckled nose, trying to distract himself from the extraordinary pleasure of her womanhood.

It works, sorta. After making it past that initial rush of pleasure, Winston settles on a steady rhythm of short, gentle strokes. As tight as her virgin pussy is, she's very wet, and he can slip himself in and out easily.

"Do you like this?" Luna asks. "Does my -- does it feel good?"




The Virgin Artist Ch. 01



Winston nods. "Take off your dress."

Luna grabs hold of the dress and pulls it up her body, over her bra-clad breasts. Winston leans forward to help her get it over her head and then takes it from her hands and drops it by the side of the bed.

"Your bra too," he says. It's a lovely bra, lacy but not overly so. Black and womanly, with a little black bow on the thin band between the two cups. But it's not as lovely as her breasts.

"But --"

"Luna, stop it. Your breasts are beautiful," says Winston. He sinks himself inside her, going a little deeper than before, and he's rewarded with a little gasp. He leans forward to kiss her. "Your breasts are amazing." He kisses her nose. "Your nose too. Your nipples, your legs, your everything. You don't need to hide anything from me. I appreciate everything. I... love every part of you. Your eyes, your hair, your breasts, your brain, your pussy, your toes, your ears, your thoughts, your voice. Everything."

"Jeez Winston," she says and, without further protest, reaches behind her back and undoes her bra, revealing her heavy breasts. The removal of this final article of clothing is like a gunshot at the start of a race, and Winston leans in and increases the force and speed of his thrusts. In response, Luna wraps herself around him: her legs around his back, her arms around his neck. She doesn't moan at all, but her heavy breathing in his ear turns him on still more. It's all too much. The pressure on his cock, her breasts against his chest, the sheer closeness of her. He's able to fuck her like this for maybe sixty seconds before he warns, "I'm going to come."

"Yes," she says, and then he does, shoving his full length inside her. His cock jerks as he comes and he buries his face in her hair, hiding from the sheer force of pleasure.

When he finally pulls back, Luna's lips are half-quirked in a smile, and one eyebrow is half-raised. "You okay?" she asks.

"I think so. Just... need to go to the bathroom." Winston pulls himself out of her and then heads over to the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder just once. He shuts and locks the door behind him and leans heavily on the bathroom's fancy marble counter-tops. He takes a deep breath and gives himself a good looking-at in the mirror. He is no longer a virgin. He doesn't look different, but he feels different. He feels... liberated. He washes his face off in the sink, goes to the bathroom, and washes his hands. Then he takes another deep breath and exits the bathroom and immediately stops.

Luna's in the same pose as that final picture she had sent him. She's on her knees on the edge of the bed, her ass arced up in the air, her pussy lewdly displayed.

She looks behind her. "Are you still hard?"

Winston looks down at his half-erect cock as the blood makes a sudden u-turn, flowing back into instead of out of his cock. "I am now."

"Good," says Luna. "I haven't come yet."

"Er, sorry," says Winston.

"No, that's normal. I read most women can't come from that position. But that's why --"

"We're here to learn?" says Winston steadily walking towards her.

"Yes, exactly. Get my notepad."

Winston retrieves it and flips to the last couple of pages. Luna's filled them with stick-figure sketches of a girl (she has long hair) and a guy (he doesn't) in various sexual positions, and Winston cracks up.

"What?" asks Luna.

"Nothing," says Winston. "I see you're a student of photorealism."

"Don't make fun," says Luna. "We'll do each for a bit and then move on. Okay?"

"Works for me," says Winston as he grabs hold of Luna's hips and gently eases himself inside of her. Now that he's had sex and isn't afraid of things, he enjoys himself, feels himself opening up to the situation, to Luna herself. It all just makes sense, and they strike up a natural rhythm, Winston pushing his hips forward at the same time as she pushes her hips back, his groin slapping against her ass. The pleasure is good, but not overwhelming.

"Do you like it?" she says after they've been fucking for a couple minutes.

"Yeah," he mumbles.

"What do you like about it?"

But Winston, focused as he is on the warmth surrounding his cock, doesn't even hear her question. After a moment, she slips forward, leaving Winston's cock slick with her wetness, in the air. She turns around. "Well," she says. "What do you like about it?"

"What do you like about it?" retorts Winston.

She tilts her head in that thoughtful way that Winston's come to know so well and counts the points off on her fingers. "I like how deep you get inside me. I like how when you get really deep, your balls slap against my clit. I like how every time you slide inside me, you grunt without even realizing it. I like you squeezing my hips. I like you pushing, thrusting, pulling -- taking control. I like how when your body strikes mine, I can feel it like a wave travelling over my skin. What about you?"

"Yeah," says Winston. "All that."

Luna rolls her eyes. "Want to switch?"

"Okay."

"Lie down," she says. "We'll try me facing you first." Winston climbs onto the bed and she climbs over him. She grabs hold of his cock, aiming it up as she drops down onto him. Stuffed full of him, she begins experimenting with different motions. Rolling her hips forward and back first. Then leaning back and rocking up and down. And then leaning forward. At first, she tries to keep one arm up, covering her breasts, but Winston gently moves it out of the way.

"Right," says Luna. "Sorry. Habit."

He intertwines his hands in hers. Her weight on top of him, it's easy for Winston to just sit back and enjoy the sight of her body bouncing up and down, her breasts dangling in front of him.

"Do you like my butt?" asks Luna.

"I love every part of you," says Winston.

"But do you like my butt?"

"Yes."

"Okay," she says and slides off him, turns around and sits back down, his cock sliding to fit snuggly inside her once again. At first she leans forward, her legs apart, moving up and down, but eventually, she leans back and places her arms on either side of him. "Hold me up," she says. Winston takes a hold of her shoulders, while she closes her legs so that her feet are between his legs. After shifting around a bit to get comfortable, she begins moving up and down. Her moans make it clear that she likes this one, that she's hitting some spot she hadn't hit before.

Winston loves it too. He likes watching her ass quiver as it lands, the dark river of hair bouncing up and down her naked back, the feel of her shoulder muscles shifting as she adjusts her angle to maximize her pleasure.

"I like this," she says. "I like this one - a lot."

Despite her obvious pleasure, she seems to be restraining herself, suppressing moans into little half-gasps, and Winston says, "It's okay if you moan."

"Is that what you want?" asks Luna as she continues to fuck his cock with steady rocking motions.

"If you want to."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes. I want you to moan."

She drops herself on him, burying the full length of him inside her, and begins to rotate her hips back and forth. Winston can feel his cock rubbing against the inside of her, and it's hitting that spot of hers again.

"Fuck," she says. "That feels good. You want me to talk dirty?"

"Yes."

She combines a short up and down motion with her rotations. "You want me to talk about your big dick filling my little pussy? Or how wet I am?" She grinds herself against him, the soft cheeks of her ass rubbing against his groin. "How I wanted to ride you from the moment I saw you at the café? How I watched you sketching and envisioned fucking you for five minutes before I came to say hello?" She returns to her up and down motions. "You want me to say I am fucking your cock? I can do that. I'm fucking your cock with my pussy. I'm going to ride it until I come."

Despite her words, when her orgasm does arrive, she comes silently, rubbing herself against him desperately, almost hissing with the pleasure of it, and then falls over sideways.

"Oh my god," she says once she's recovered. "I can't believe I said all that."

"I liked it," says Winston, as he gently guides himself back inside her, from behind.

"Okay," says Luna. They spoon, reminiscent of the first time they kissed, but this time he's inside her, gently thrusting. Winston just knows what to do -- he understands her. He thrusts gently, very gently, one hand rubbing between her legs, the other rolling one of her long nipples. He's so close to her, connected almost, able to feel every shiver of pleasure. She comes again, a long shuddering affair, and Winston comes with her, filling her with his seed the second time that night.

He has no desire to slide himself out of her, so he doesn't and they fall asleep like that. They wake up every so often, and try out some more of Luna's positions. They spend an hour gently pleasuring each other orally and finish with a hard pounding fuck that has both Winston and Luna practically screaming obscenities at each other. They fall asleep again, but when Winston wakes up, she's not there. He climbs out of bed and finds her on the balcony, a thin transparent sheet over her shoulders. The sun is rising up, as if out of the water, dripping brilliant gold and crimson ribbons.

"Hey," says Winston, standing beside her.

"Hey," says Luna. "Three things: number one." She hands him a piece of paper with her phone number on it. "Number two. It's possible I've fallen in love with you Winston Thomas."

"And number three?" asks Winston.

"I've decided I want to make you cum with my tits."

Winton raises an eyebrow.

"We're here to learn," says Luna.

"Well, if it's for the sake of science," says Winston and follows her back into the room.