6 comments/ 34498 views/ 6 favorites Art History By: Jet_Lagged Art History "Oh. My. God. If I have to walk through one more museum, I think I'm gonna start screaming." "Sammy, mellow out. What'd you think we'd be doing on this trip? The whole point is to go to museums and look at art." Beth smacked her friend on the upper arm and rolled her eyes. "No. The whole point was to come to Europe and to be...in Europe – not in museums." Beth's grin hadn't faded. "That might be the dumbest thing I've heard you say considering that art is what this trip is all about. Well maybe aside from what you said when you stole that pack of Twizzlers." Samantha was clearing errant strands of hair out of her face by using both hands to pull it back and away from her eyes. She had temporarily gripped her hairband in her teeth which made her mumble, "I was thirteen for fuck's sake." After putting her pony tail in place she said more clearly, "You and that stupid story." Beth put a mocking ring into her impression of a younger girl, "'I paid you but you must have forgotten.' And we were the only ones in the store. The look on that guy's face...it was like...like...he couldn't believe you'd said it either." Beth giggled. "You were so lucky he was cool." "He wasn't cool, and neither are you. It's five years later and you just can't let it die. Come on, let's catch up with Ted, Lia, and Natalie." The girls hustled past a set of Magritte paintings of doors that didn't exist without paying the masterworks any mind. They'd been overloaded with "culture" for the past week. When they passed a security guard, the two also missed the fact that his eyes followed them well past the line of propriety. They caught up with their friends and Samantha slipped her arm through Ted's and asked him, "What's up?" Ted gave Samantha a little squeeze back. "Hey, Thing 2. See anything you like." Samantha liked the nickname Ted had given her but Beth wasn't as thrilled with her nickname. Ted called Beth, Thing 1 because when the two girls were together, they were trouble as far as he was concerned. Ted enjoyed the new-found familiarity he had with most of the girls on the trip. He had no idea that his growth spurt between sophomore and junior year had caught the attention of the entire female population in his class. Another year of running cross-country and track only augmented his fitness, making him leaner and causing more of a stir than he knew. His newfound maturity coupled with the collective bonding of this group of twelve kids travelling together had seemed somewhat of a miracle to him. Samantha grimaced and repeated her complaints to Ted. She thought it was cool that he liked this stuff so much, but she really wanted to get out and have a chance to see the city on her own terms instead of the constant ramblings of docents. Ted said, "You know, if you slowed down a minute you might actually like some of these paintings. Like that one, it's incredible." "It's a big fuckin' apple in a room. WOW. I'm dazzled." Ted shook his head. "2, you're hopeless. Remember what Thrad talked about – the whole point is not to have a point. Magritte is messing with perspective, making you question what you see, what reality is." He enjoyed looking at the paintings and knowing a little about what was going on with them. It made him feel, as cheesy as this seemed, grown-up. "Nope – doesn't make me question my reality. It makes me think that guy was hungry for an apple. REALLY hungry for an apple." Ted felt the pressure and warmth of Samantha's leg pressed up against his. Her black leggings were tight and he caught himself thinking about the curving line of of her ass that was so tantalizing in view at the base of her shirt. He knew he needed to move and change the subject or he'd embarrass himself. He detached from her arm in order to read the small placard next to another painting. Samantha was a kick; fun to hang around with, but he felt that she hid behind her disinterest in things so she wouldn't have to work. She probably wasn't a genius, but it was too bad that she seemed so intent on not showing whatever smarts she had. It was a different story with Beth, and he really liked that about her. Of all the girls in the class, he was most interested in Beth but the two of them had a hard time talking. All of the casual contact he had with most of the others seemed to be out of reach for him with Beth. The art history elective for seniors was an unusually small class, and it turned out that eight of the kids in the group were girls. Beth was sharp and it was obvious that Mr. Thrad enjoyed having her contribute. He'd often start a discussion about a painting by asking her a leading question to get things rolling. Somehow Ted frequently found himself seeing things differently and there were more than a few classes where their disagreement had sparked the long discussions in which Mr. Thrad clearly took pleasure. Samantha had encouraged someone else to share in her dissatisfaction and Ted wandered off, absorbed in the art around him. He found himself looking at a nude of Magritte's wife when Beth walked up next to him. The painting was hung right next to an equally bare photograph of the model. She said, "I'm not sure Magritte knew where her breasts were supposed to go." The painting was a human head whose eyes were breasts and mouth a V of pubic hair. The image bore little resemblance to the stark reality of the photograph. Ted was embarrassed to have been caught looking so closely at the pictures. "Err...yeah. You mean they don't usually go there? If they were there, at least guys wouldn't always be blamed for staring at them." Unfortunately his embarrassment was only worsened because he'd looked directly at Beth's chest when saying this. His face flushed. Beth's own embarrassment stumbled along just behind his. She folded her arms and turned back to the picture. "Well if they were like, putting a bra on would mean we'd be smashing into walls all the time." They both laughed. "You probably won't believe me, but I was more interested in the photo. I'm just amazed at how the technology has changed. What would a guy like this have done with a digital camera? Or hell, anything on a computer? He was into graphic design when there basically was no such thing." As much as Ted had liked the paintings discussed in class, he'd really gotten into photography. Learning about the early landscape photographers had spoken to something deep in him. The idea of those guys traipsing around the woods with all that huge equipment had captured his imagination. Then Mr. Thrad had shown him the work of war correspondents and he was lost. He'd burned his entire summer's earnings, plus a loan from his mom, to pick up a digital SLR. Beth gave a small frown. "She was really kind of plain, but he made her beautiful. Even the abstraction of her body has beauty in it. It's almost like he loved each piece of her independently." Without realizing it, she crossed her arms in almost an embrace of herself. "I think it's really romantic." Ted looked away from the photo and noticed her position. The tight-stitch sweater emphasized the slight rise of her chest that was pushed up due to the position of her arms. Her chestnut hair was splayed around both shoulders and complimented the off-green color of her sweater. He said, "I've never considered the art from the perspective of the model." The technique of creating the image had always been the obvious focal point for him. He was really taken with what she'd said. "You don't think she was embarrassed by the modeling? I mean, it was a long time ago and...you know...they didn't even have kissing in the movies back then. It's not like she was super pretty or..." Beth couldn't bring herself to look at Ted, but she could feel him looking at her now. She said in a softer tone. "I'm sure she was comfortable with it. Any woman would want to feel that way." Her neck had gone red and she could hear her own pulse. She walked off to hide the further discomfort at him seeing her like that. Ted watched her walk away and was more confused than ever. He wasn't sure if they'd just argued or agreed. *** "What the hell, Owen. How much of my beer were you planning to drink?" "Dude. It was important that I make sure it was safe for you. I was doing you a favor, fucker." Ted closed the mini fridge and grabbed a bottle opener. The best part of the trip was how cool Mr. Thrad was about their drinking. Everyone on the trip had gone out and stocked their little fridges with beer or wine. Some had gone for the hard stuff, but Ted couldn't stand the taste of anything that didn't have a foamy head on it. Ted turned back to the game. "Okay, whose turn is it? No, Owen it's not you. Christ you're a pain in the ass." Owen's eyes were glassy from the beers. "Yes. Yes I am. And damned proud..." "Sit down you noisy bastard." Samantha was lit as well and hauled Owen back onto the bed between her and Lia. She draped herself on him and Ted could see that her breast was pressed against Owen's arm. He could tell from the stupid grin on Owen's face that the position was appreciated. "Thing 1 – it's your turn." Beth was feeling the effects of her second beer. She'd gone much slower than Sammy, but the tenor of the game had clearly taken a turn for the crass and she was glad for the buzz. "Fine. Okay. Uh." Samantha said in a sing-song voice. "We're waiting." "Okay, give me a second. All right, I've got one. I never made out with someone at school – I mean during the day." She wasn't surprised to see just about everyone else in the room raise their hands and laugh. That kicked off a round of questions about who the crime had been committed with for each of them. Beth noticed though that Ted hadn't raised his hand, and was keeping quiet so as not to attract the rowdy group's attention to his relative inexperience. Her own amorous encounters had been limited to the previous summer when she'd worked at a sleep-away camp. The awkward kissing and ultimately painful encounter with her supposed boyfriend had left her with a fairly cynical view of both dating and sex. But Ted had captured her attention all year and this trip had only served to cement her fascination with him. While the conversation tumbled along, Beth forced herself to look away from Ted, so she turned sideways in the chair and cradled her beer closer. From where Ted was leaning up against the desk, he was looking directly across the room at Beth. She was sitting in one of the puffy chairs next to the window. The street lights outside backlit her hair and her smile was bright. The temperature in the room was high from having eight people in it and her loose-fitting, black t-shirt complemented her fair skin and dark eyes. There was color in her cheeks and she looked glamorous to him. His own consumption had lowered his inhibitions enough to do something he would have been too shy to do normally. Ted grabbed his camera from the desk and took a wrap of the strap around his hand to stabilize it. He flipped on the power and rotated the zoom in enough that the whole frame was her face. He clicked the shutter and readjusted his position. He zoomed in further and focused just on her mouth. He could see moisture on her lips and her teeth so crisply framed in her smile. He clicked once and then again in rapid succession. She was as of yet unaware of what he was doing and just as he opened the shutter for the second shot of her mouth, the tip of her tongue had innocently emerged to get a small droplet of beer. It had vanished as quickly as it had emerged, but the camera had captured a sensual moment. When Ted quickly checked the image in the screen, his heart skipped a beat. The picture was incredible. He brought the camera back up, pulled out on the zoom to get the full image of her in the chair with the light behind her. On his second shot she noticed, and apparently so did Owen. The third, fourth, and fifth images were of Owen diving across the field of view with a dumb-ass expression on his face and both middle fingers raised in a salute. Ted sighed. "Nice – ya big jerk." Samantha had noticed as well and practically launched herself across the room. "Oh – we have to do a photo shoot. She sucked in her cheeks and struck and utterly absurd pose. "We're bootiful, darlink. Natalie – come'ere." She grabbed at her friends arm so the two of them could mug for Ted. He started shooting and saying, "Work it, ladies. Feel it." and began moving around in just as much of a parody of fashion as the girls. Pretty soon the guys were doing manly poses, pointing at far off things, making muscles and doing exaggerated dips with the girls as well. *** After a great deal of clowning around, and then just hanging out it had gotten late. People were clearing out of Ted's room, and it became clear that Owen and Samantha were getting closer and closer. When they left together, Ted found himself alone with Beth. He had no idea what to say. Beth said, "Well, I guess I'm in trouble now." "Why's that?" "Dummy – where do you think those two just went? You're the only one with a single, and they just went to our room." "Right – the 'Thing Tank.' I forgot." Ted chuckled again at the pun he'd come up with when they'd arrived at the hotel and the room assignments had been handed out. Beth wandered over to the desk and picked up the camera. For the past hour she'd been wondering about the pictures that Ted had taken before the antics had started. She hit the play button and the last idiotic picture of three girls hanging off Owen filled the screen. Ted remembered the picture of her lips and it gave him a guilty pang. It was too sensual – somehow too personal. Would she think he was a slimeball? But he didn't know how to stop her; what could he say? He felt vulnerable which was odd considering that she was the one in the image. Beth had scrolled back steadily through the pictures and had laughed repeatedly. Some of the images were sure to end up on Facebook. A couple shots were simply outrageous and she hoped he would delete them quickly. But then she came to the last picture of herself that he'd taken. It was a simple image, just her sitting in a chair and she hated pictures of herself. But the person she saw in the picture was pretty. The light, profile rather than straight on, her bare foot stretched out making her calf look longer and trim, even the closed arms all made for a nice shot. She knew instantly that if it weren't for the beer, her mother would have made a thousand copies and sent them to every family member. She moved to the next image which was nearly identical to the one she'd just been looking at. As usual, she started to be critical of herself. Thank god her arms had covered her body – or lack thereof she thought. She never liked her chin, and in this shot she felt the slight change of angle of her face made her cheek look flat somehow. She pressed the back button and her breath caught in her throat. Her lips and the hint of her tongue monopolized the whole screen. Her upper lip was slighted tucked in, the lower full and slightly wet from the beer. The moisture on her tongue caught the light. The image was unquestionably sexual – there was no other way to see it. She immediately felt warmth in her pelvis. Ted had seen this. More than that, he'd captured a moment, a piece of her in time that was erotic – genuinely erotic. There in the middle of the room with everyone around he'd done more than kiss her. Ted was silent. He watched her with morbid fascination. Yet the sense of foreboding gripping his gut didn't alter how he perceived her. Somehow the small furrow of her brow and the intensity of her focus on the camera's screen made her all the more attractive to him. He was certain she'd be furious, especially since he seemed to be particularly adept at annoying her on a normal day. He'd only seen the photo for a split second after he took the shot, but it was too intimate. He'd inadvertently crossed an invisible boundary and he knew it. He braced himself for the storm and completely misunderstood her silence. He lamely reached for a false casualness. "Thing 1, I..." "Please don't call me that." He stumbled on his words. "I. Look – I'm sorry. I was just goofing." He blew a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "I'll delete anything you don't like." She pressed the button again and took in her own smile. It was warm, full, and it too was beautiful. Something she never thought she would think about herself. The final picture of her full face was the best she'd ever seen of herself, and it moved her. "Don't you dare." Ted was more confused than ever. She found her mouth dry with nerves. For months, he was the best thing about Art History. Really the best part of any day she got to spend time with him, but they were always disagreeing. Yes, he had become so handsome but it was more...more...who he was and how he was that she couldn't get past. She wanted to be close to Ted in a way that she never felt about Mark during the summer, even considering that she'd lost her virginity to that particular jerk. Beth was always jealous of Samantha's ease in being physically close to Ted. The constant hugs or when she would walk arm-in-arm with him. Samantha made it look so natural to joke with Ted or to hop in his lap and laugh when they were hanging out over at her place. Until that picture, there was no way she could just reach out and touch him, even just to tap him on his arm to get his attention. But he'd exposed her – literally. Beth carried the camera to Ted and stopped with mere inches between them. "Don't you dare erase that picture...any of them. It's amazing – it's beautiful." She got up on her toes and leaned in to him. His expression was one of bewilderment, and she loved that he didn't get it. He'd acted on an innocent desire to see her through his lens, and that was all the more attractive. Beth reached up with her free and drew him closer. She kissed him softly, an experimental touch. Once, twice, three times before he responded in-kind. They kissed with mouths closed maybe a dozen times before she gently opened her lips and probed his. The kiss deepened further. She pulled back. "Take some more." She placed the camera in his hand. "Beth – I...you..." She smiled. "I know. We're going to have to talk about this later, but right now you should take some more shots like the other one." For Ted, the situation had morphed into a one of the surreal images from the museum. The flippant, obnoxious dynamics of the group sitting around drinking was the green apple that had seemed to fill the room and was now conspicuously absent, leaving just the two of them. His first real kiss, a kiss that meant something to him, was overwhelming. He could have stood with his mouth on hers for hours. The give of her lips had been exhilarating, yet the firmness contained in the motions of her mouth were equally intoxicating. And when her tongue had touched his, he'd almost become light-headed. She gave him another quick peck and had to pull out of his grip, which took monumental will power for she wanted nothing more than to kiss him further. "What should I do?" Ted fumbled for a moment with his camera. "Ah...well..." He laughed and swore and rubbed his mouth. Then he seemed to gather himself. "Okay. Have a seat there again; I want to try the same shot." Beth felt awkward. She didn't know where her hands should go. She had a flash of self-consciousness. "Maybe this is a bad idea." Ted saw the change in her and quickly abandoned the idea of a posed shot for the moment. He walked back over to her and kissed the top of her head. He inhaled her sweet, soapy scent and said, "I have an idea. Go get a glass of water and come out here. Just move around the room and do things. I'll move with you – ignore me." Art History 7 AM If perfect grammar is your thing, this story may not be. It was my first attempt at a kind of "stream of consciousness" flow, so I took some liberties with the punctuation. I fantasize more in words than images, so this is what happens when it comes out on the page. If you like it please let me know…vote! ******************* Art History at 7 AM. Who am I kidding. One should never take a class where the professor is likely to turn out the lights and flip through a slide show at this hour. Besides, I'm not even a nice person at seven in the morning. The little cheerleader type to my left giggles one more time, I swear I'm going to hit her. I can do this, I think to myself with a slight grin. I'm sitting back far enough he won't notice if I doze off. Old geezer probably can't see past his notes anyway. I paste on my best "good student" smile as the door opens- God. Check schedule, check room number. Art history. You're the prof? I'm so going to kill Jennie. She said you were older than the hills, some of the paintings we were going to talk about hadn't been around as long. I bet she thinks she's funny. Yeah, right. Hilarious. You get a kick out of the way my eyes go wide for a moment. Well, well professor. Maybe there is something to be said for the early riser. My tongue flicks along my bottom lip before I manage to look down at my notebook. I'm sure you notice. I can feel your eyes on me, traveling from the careless knot of hair on top of my head, down to red painted toenails peeking out of my sandals. The cheerleader is giggling again. Holy Hell- she's putting on lip gloss. I've got five bucks that says its cherry flavored. I'm guessing you're about six feet tall, it's hard to tell when I'm sitting down. Dark hair, too long for a professor. It curls around your collar and practically begs a girl to run her fingers through it. Damn, isn't there some kind of rule that says Art History profs are old, dusty, and clothed exclusively in English tweed suits? Not this time. The black turtle neck and slacks make me think of Paris-- bridges at twilight. You turn to write on the board. Soft black material stretched nicely over a firm ass. I bite my tongue to keep from purring in approval. You say: "Call me Jack." Sure why not. Professor Something-or- other just doesn't suit does it? Obviously over thirty-- nice age, nice smile. The freshman cheerleaders to my left are drawing hearts around your name right now. They can't help it you all but demand swooning and tittering. I don't swoon or titter. Go ahead turn that smile on me, it feels good. I enjoy the long hard tug of pleasure between my legs, and smile back. You may be a few years older than me, but I'm past the giggle-and-sigh stage. I sit up in my chair, my sweater clinging in all the right places without trying to hard. Slowly I cross one long, jean-clad leg over the other, pen poised over pad, ready to take notes. At first I don't think you're paying attention, but you drop your chalk when you notice me sucking on the end of my pen, working it slowly in and out of pursed lips. I bite my lip, choke back the laugh. I didn't notice I was doing it until it made you stumble. God, have I already decided to sleep with you? That was quick. What's this? Oh yeah, the role, right. Name and phone number? I don't think so. I may be easy but I'm not *that* damned easy. Sure I'll sign my name professor, but if you want my phone number you'll have to work for it just like anybody else. I don't care how bloody sexy you are. Class is over. Time flies... "He's so gorgeous. I bet he's just yummy- ya know- I mean I bet he's really good at *it*." This from the cheerleader. Okay, I know I'm a bitch but I just can't resist. I'm not a nice person in the morning. "Little girl, I can just about guaran-fucking-tee you'll never know." "Excuse me?" "I doubt he has much of a taste for cherry lip gloss honey." She glares at me for only a moment, deciding her time is better spent in flirting with the newly christened "Professor Jack." I shake my head, sliding books into my back pack. You're watching me. I turn bend down to lift my bag up over my shoulder, a wicked smile curving my lips. Little one, if you can't say sex I doubt you'll get any from him. The giggling stops abruptly. I lift my head, look in their general direction. Well, Well. The cheerleaders stand behind you for a moment angry, completely forgotten. I have to force myself not to wave at them as they disappear out into the hallway. What? I said I was a bitch…no apologies. You leaning against the desk obviously positioned between me and the door. That's just fine. We'll begin the game. I'm shocked to realize I can't wait to play. Shake hands. There's the bell. Round One. No one said anything about fair play. "You didn't put your phone number on the role. Afraid I'll call you?" That was subtle. Do you always hit on students the first day of class. Irrelevant isn't it? Arched eyebrows, soft laugh. "Professor Jack," my voice saccharine, sweet as cherry lip gloss, "I already know you'll call." I don't have to issue more of a challenge. It's clear- and it annoys you. I can't help but smile at the quick, wicked thrill. I'm all but out the door. "I can get your number from the admin. office if I want it, little girl." Your voice, a growl so near my ear it's almost a caress. Busy hallway- that'll work fine. So close when I turn that you very nearly stumble into me. A deep breath from either of us and my breasts tease your chest. Perfect. Not one step back. You get credit for that. Most men wouldn't dare. My smile is genuine, my voice merely a whisper. "You could- and I could say no when you ask." we both know for what. I don't have to say it. Your eyes rest in the deep V-neck of my sweater, then travel slowly up to mine again, a sweet momentary caress. "You could, that is *if* I ask." Cocky son-of-a-bitch, even if you do have a nice ass. One slow, wicked smile for an answer and I'm turning away melting into the sea of backpacks and baseball caps. I won't say no. You know that- Bastard. Round II Coffee in the sunny little cafe down town. Indulging a smaller, less demanding addiction. I look up, you're there, just inside the doorway. My pulse quickens at the sight of you. How utterly female. God you're beautiful. Not looking at me, but aware of my presence. A wink for the cashier, and you have your latte. "Your usual Jack. Have a nice Day." My text book closed, I straighten my shoulders. You move toward me. I fight the urge to run my fingers through my hair. You're watching. It won't do to give you the satisfaction of primping. You sit in the seat across from me without asking if it's taken. "Hello there." Turn on that smile and damn you but I can't help smiling back. "Hey Jack." My eyes meet yours. I keep my smile steady and my voice light despite the flutters in my stomach. You absently stroke a finger down the spine of the textbook on the table. It's me that shudders. "How are classes going?" I laugh, taking a long sip of my coffee. "Well professor, all business today?" You shake your head, a warm chuckle rumbling up out of your chest to shiver along my skin like a caress. "Its called conversation- you know, small talk. Should we switch to the weather?" "Better Idea. Let's switch to what you're doing at my table." I smile, leaning back in my chair a little. I wink at you over the rim of my coffee cup. "I don't know" eyebrows arched, you become interested very much in your coffee. How fabulous. You're annoyed that I've already decided. I was wrong about the girl with the cherry lip-gloss. You do have a taste for it- for her. You'd tell her to get down on her knees and open her pretty pink mouth and she'd do it, without question. Parted lips murmuring "Yes professor. Anything you want professor." Don't like the fact that I might end up on my knees giving everything you want because I chose. I wanted...I want. Oh god, I want you. You write something on a napkin, stand, drop it on the small table top. "Dinner. 7:00." It's an order, Prince to peasant. A thousand retorts spring to my mind, quiver on my tongue. Your eyes narrow. The next battle so casually waged. Those accustomed to winning know that occasionally it pays to lose. I say nothing, glance at the address. Black tie, no less. Isn't that sexy. Your fingers, possessive, I knew they would be, slip under my chin and tilt my head up. "Don't be late." Dinner I toy with the idea of being late just to push you. It's not in my nature, and there's so very little pleasure to be taken from simply being contrary. 6:55: The restaurant is warm, the light soft. The bits of conversation I catch all circle around art, the theatre. Advantage out. That's just fine. I don't mind knowing we're playing this round in your court. Little black dress, thin satin straps, white shoulders, long auburn hair. I don't turn every head, just a few. Including a woman with long dark hair and coffee colored eyes. Her smile is sweet. I take it with me to your table. Everyone can use a blessing from the goddess now and then. Evening clothes make you look more dangerous. That suits me, and I'm not afraid. A part of me is tensed, ready for the first volley. Which of us will take that crucial first shot? "You're stunning." Just a few words, a smile and the tensed muscles begin to relax. Your fingers brush the nape of my neck while you hold my chair. I feel the flash of heat, accept it. I knew it would be there when you touched me. "I assumed you were old enough to drink the wine." First shot. Nice aim. Eye brows arched, I pick up the glass, tilt it slightly towards yours. The crystal chimes softly as the glasses click together. A long slow sip. Crisp, clean not bad. I set the glass down, wait until your eyes meet mine. 'I don't drink." Laughter is contagious. Yours spills through me, much more potent than the wine. Fingers close around mine and we're holding hands across the table. God, the electricity that flows at human contact. I pity anyone who doesn't take the time to feel it. That shiver of awareness is yours. How delicious. An impulse wasn't it professor? That's alright won't hurt to shake us both up a little. Dinner. The food is fabulous. I'm only a little annoyed that you ordered for me. We talk. Don't get me started on authors…any. I love words, I'll babble for hours, bore you senseless. My favorite poet? Really? God there's so many. Alright, I'll pick one: Rupert Brooke. Who? English, turn of the century. "These things I have loved:" he died young, so deliciously tragic. There's laughter now, easy and unmeasured from both of us. Have we called a truce professor, or am I being lulled into complacency. Maybe a little of both. Alright, it feels nice. I'll go with the flow. I'm still a little wary, but then so are you. Who knew we'd actually enjoy each other's company. A walk along the river? Sounds perfect. "You'll be cold in that excuse for a dress." Quick pout- mine. Soft laugh- yours. "I have a coat Jack. Besides, you like the dress." Riverwalk Its cold out. Not so cold we can't enjoy the night. My wool coat is warm, soft against my skin. Leather gloves a soft boundary as we hold hands and stroll along the river. Little shops, still lighted, still full of shoppers wandering in and out. It's the weekend after all. You look down, notice our joined hands. Shocks you doesn't it? You didn't realize you were holding it. They're good for you professor, those little licks of need. You'll need me before this is through. I promise. Talk around the edges of things. So much in common. Different enough that there's new ground to explore. It's easy to be with you. That shocks me. I didn't expect to feel quite so easy. We're window shopping, laughing together, people-watching. The light behind us, our image reflects in a darkened shop window. How can we look like we belong together? I tilt my head up to look at you. You're still watching the reflection in the glass. With my heels on my eyes are only an inch away from being even with yours. I like that, just as I'll like stepping out of them later, adding to the distance before pressing my lips to yours. "Thank you for dinner Jack." more polite conversation, around the edges of things. I'm thinking how much I want you, my fingers are itching to pull open buttons, my mouth watering with desire to taste. "You are very welcome." You're biting your bottom lip. I want to bite your bottom lip. It's going to happen tonight, we both know it. I can't wait much longer. The words form on my tongue. "Drinks at my place?" I want you there, in my apartment. I know you want me too. I part my lips to speak. It's your words I hear. "Come here." You aren't gentle. I didn't expect you to be. Your hands flex on my waist, drag me against your body. Your mouth on mine. Finally...Finally....oh God finally I know what it's like to taste you, to feel the heat. Your tongue is possessive, slides deep. My mouth opens welcoming the invasion. Your hands under my coat mould the curves of my body. I shiver with pleasure at the caress. Your teeth scrape over my bottom lip. I moan. You shudder. Our lips part. Both of us are panting. Your hazel eyes are flashing almost green in the yellow light. Did you growl the word "Mine"…did I only hear…feel…taste it in the way you kissed me, the way you held me? It doesn't matter. My lips are swollen from our kisses, my senses full of you, but there's more. For both of us there's more. I slide my fingers under your coat, stroke fingertips lightly up your chest until my hands slip behind your neck, tangle in the dark silk of your hair. I'm aching to touch. One hand stays there, stroking at the nape of your neck. The other moves to cup your cheek, tenderness to match the fierceness vibrating through you. For every action there is an equal, an opposite. I whisper your name. My lips brush yours, softness equal to your greed, your possession. My tongue caresses. Tiny licks along your bottom lip. You don't realize the exact moment when you open for me but you do. I swallow your moan as I slide my warm, wet tongue deep into the caverns of your mouth, tasting. It isn't fast or hard but the need is great, the desire raw. Pulsing. I recognize the tremor that runs through you. I felt it only moments before. "Come home with me Jack." Your line. Your question. Your move. I took the step first. I've annoyed you again. I can feel it in the way the muscles in the back of your neck tense under my fingers. I don't mind annoying you. Annoyed or not you want me like I want you. That's all that matters. Cab Ride I hang back as you step to the curb, signal for a cab. I'm aware of even your most simple movements. The bunch and flow of muscles. My fingertips are tingling as if I'm already touching you. Images flash through my mind, erotic in the extreme. Everything is tinted a shadowy gold, like watching an old movie through a glass of dark, amber colored liquor. Tangled limbs, straining bodies, desperate moans. Your hand on my arm, guiding me toward the waiting car. A spark of electricity runs along my spine, nerve endings firing. I shudder. "You're cold. Forgive me. Take my coat." My shudder has nothing to do with the chill in the air. I suspect you know that. I don't voice a protest. You drape your coat over my stocking clad legs like a blanket as you slide into the taxi behind me. My address, and the driver pulls away from the curb with barely a glance at his passengers. Your arm slides around my shoulders. I can smell you, the distinctly masculine aroma of soap and salt. My mouth waters. I wonder at how you will taste when I run my tongue along the column of your throat. I'm tempted to simply tilt my head back and find out, but your breath, warm against my ear stops me. You flex your fingers on my thigh an inch above my knee. I'm trembling. The muscles between my legs clench hard and release, my bottom lip caught between my teeth to quell the moan rising in my throat. "Still cold girl?" Your words are silky in my ear. So soft. So warm. So close. I'm no where near cold but I nod my head, whisper softly. "Yes, a little." Your lips curve against my ear. Your body shifts allowing me to settle fully against your side. There is so much to feel. Your lips, a soft kiss, a whisper against my ear. Fingers slipping higher on my thigh, under my skirt, the stocking top giving way to flesh. Their progression is slow I notice the sensation more than the movement. You've pushed my legs apart. I glance nervously at the driver. One look at him tells me our world is still ours alone. The slight quivering of muscles sliding into a shudder. "Don't worry baby. I'll keep you warm." Fingers - *oh God* - Your long hard fingers stroking slowly, firmly up and down the swatch of silk between my legs. An in drawn breath, my hips arch, the movement both denial and plea for more. "Don't scream girl. He'll hear you. He'll know." A challenge. I never could resist one. A scream would embarrass us both, I know that. The last thing I want is for you to stop touching me. At this moment I'd rather die than be left without your touch. I turn my head, look into your eyes, press my mound up into the heat of your hand. Your eyes as stormy, as dark as mine must be. I like that you can feel my arousal wetting the thin silk. Maybe you expected me to stop you to struggle, to blush at least? Maybe it annoys you- yet again- that I accept -no- welcome the invasion of your fingers when you abruptly push the silk aside and sink them into me. My muscles spasm around your fingers, my body quivering, but I make no sound. The sublime pleasure of being a woman. Concentration, discipline allows us the opportunity to be aroused completely, to orgasm even, without the knowledge of a single soul. Except of course for the exquisite man whose fingers are moving inside me, caressing slick walls, searching hidden pleasure spots. You will know, will feel it when I cum for you in the shadowy back seat of the cab, before we ever reach my apartment. Our eyes lock. Elemental communication, beyond the clutter of words, of sound. My muscles flexing tightening, coiling around you, telling you all you need to know. My breathing is a little uneven. You can see it in the rise and fall of my breasts though you can't hear it. I'm close. So torturously close and you know it. Watching me intently searching my face, raking my body with hot eyes. You're fucking me already, fully clothed in view of strangers. You love it. I love it. I long to tell you how good it is. You only smile, push harder with your fingers. The orgasm is sweet and slow, running deep, erupting out of me in a silent wave of pleasure. I allow my head to fall back to your shoulder, my lips parted in a slow soundless scream, the impact of which must be felt for miles. Although my hips aren't bucking as I'd like to allow them, my muscles are spasming, shaking, clutching so that you can feel my release. Feel how much I need you. So you can see how much more there is to give. A discreet cough from the taxi driver. I jerk my head up, wondering if we're caught. I look around, realize he is only trying to signal us that we have reached the address I specified. I slide out of the cab before you do, my legs only a little wobbly from the recent orgasm. I look over my shoulder as you hand the drive some bills. "Come into my parlor darling." Inside Light and shadow. Everywhere and always a contrast. Right now it is the soft glow of streetlight playing across your face, across mine, as we stand on the sidewalk, less than a breath apart. Your fingertips tracing over my bottom lip. The taste of my arousal on your skin makes me hungry for more- for you. Our eyes lock. Hunger. Yes, no contrast there- yours- mine- those fires flare with equal intensity. Art History Beth felt the warm pools of liquid on her stomach and chest. She had been awed by the power of his orgasm, how she'd been able to feel the contraction of the muscles around the base of his penis. She'd loved the way it had seemed to enlarge slightly just before he let go. She'd been turned on even more at hearing him breath during the sex, and then watching him enjoy the final sensation. She looked up at him and asked, "You doing okay?" Ted was smiling broadly, almost laughing at himself and feeling a bit self-conscious again, hanging above her, having just made a mess all over her and some spots on the bed. "Yeah – oh my god. Yes. Thank you." He bent to kiss her. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She said, "I'd give you a hug, but..." and they both laughed. Ted pulled up the sheet and wiped off her body. "I know I came, but what about you?" "Not during the sex, but before when you..." She couldn't bring herself to say it directly. "...put your mouth down there. I'm pretty sure I did then. But the sex – wow, it was nothing like the first time – I loved it." He wasn't satisfied with that answer. "But it seems a little unfair – I'd like you to..." She pulled him down on top of her, loving the weight of him – the feeling of comfort and protection. "Ted – we're going to try again, right?" He propped himself up on an elbow. "I certainly hope so. Hang on – let me get something." Ted climbed off the bed and got the camera. He would have paid a king's ransom to take a photo of her laying nude on the bed – but it felt wrong. He climbed back next to her and said, "Let's see how the pictures came out." She shook her head. "Not now. I'm exhausted – how about tomorrow." He looked a little disappointed. "Okay – you sure you're alright." "Yes – absolutely. Never better."