6 comments/ 45294 views/ 3 favorites That Special Someone By: adam applebiter Author's Note: All the characters in this story are over 18 and completely fictional. That special someone. Once upon a time there was a young girl who believed that friends could be trusted and love waits... No, this isn't a fairytale, but what she believed was. She was called Kelsey but she grew up, so now I'm called Kelsey and I'm a totally different person from that naïve innocent. This is the story of how things changed. In high school I had it all: I was popular, had a boyfriend on the football team, decent grades, liberal and supportive parents and a kid brother who wasn't actually a monster. Life was good and the future was bright. Yeah, right. My boyfriend, Danny, like all guys his age, was very keen on getting laid. He didn't like being the only virgin on the football team. I wanted to wait until graduation, he didn't. We went round and round the issue endlessly and I finally got him to agree: Prom night. It was practically an American tradition anyway and one more semester wouldn't kill him. I had it all planned out. Danny and I would sneak into our summerhouse after the senior prom. There were plenty of mattresses off the sun beds and my parents slept at the front of the house so wouldn't notice anything. Two weeks before Prom night, I was already stockpiling stuff in the summerhouse: Beer in the little refrigerator, my old CD player, candles for mood lighting, sheets to make a 'proper' bed, condoms because that wasn't going to be negotiable. I wanted my first time – our first time – to be memorable, and not in an 'OMG! That was awful! lol' kind of way. Naturally, I confided all my plans to Emma. We'd been best friends since kindergarten and boys were about the only things we hadn't shared. Emma was an early developer and I was a late bloomer. She was not only prettier than me but also more confident, more flirtatious and got off with enough of the football team that she'd have been made their mascot if she wasn't already head of the cheerleading squad. You see why Emma was my very best source of information on guys? In hindsight, I should have wondered why Eric was suddenly so patient that last semester. Even on a promise, he should have been trying to push the boundaries of petting more than he did. Idiot that I was, I was actually flattered by his evident respect for me. A week before 'the night', I popped round to Emma's for some tips on blowjobs, figuring Danny would like one (and I might feel sore enough to not want a second go). I knew Emma had a bit of a rep for them so I went round to the Holt house for advice. Danny's car was parked down the street. I felt suddenly cold. Instead of ringing the bell, I went round the back and up into our old tree house to peek through the window into Emma's room. I learned all I'd ever want to know about blowjobs in those thirty seconds. I didn't cry. I went home feeling numb all over and I phoned Emma to tell her that if she ever spoke to me again, ever tried to justify, deny or explain, then I'd tear her face off with my nails. Then I phoned Danny's house. His mom answered so I left a message: "Don't call. Don't come round. Don't ever speak to me again. Don't even look at me. How could you stick your dick in that slut's mouth?" I hope his mother delivered it verbatim and I hope he had some explaining to do. Then I cried. Mom wanted to know what was up so we sat down quietly and I told her everything, including the summerhouse plan. I think Mom was surprised to hear I hadn't lost my cherry yet. She hinted she'd been waiting for me to trust her enough to come clean about Danny and me for a while. Mom and Dad let me stay off school that last week, okaying it with the Principal. I didn't go to graduation, didn't go to the Senior Prom, didn't bother getting a copy of our yearbook and didn't speak to Emma or Danny ever again. * * * * * Mom's eldest sister has a flower shop in Greenwich Village. I spent the summer there, learning flower arranging and preparing for college. Aunt Titania (Not her given name: She changed it during the sixties) was left behind when the sixties moved on. She wore flowers in her hair every day, even though she was grey now. We got on well together. If Mom had told her why I didn't want one last summer with my school friends, she never mentioned it. She also never pried into my business. I was happy there. Most of the men who come into a florist's are attached. If they're buying flowers for their wives or girlfriends, they generally don't try to date the girl who's serving them. But there were still a few men, claiming to want flowers for their mother, who wanted to buy me coffee. Most got politely turned down but a couple asked nicely enough to make me want to say yes. I needed to do something to get over Danny and I figured some social time with an attentive stranger might help me. In total, that summer, I had three first dates, no second dates. Each date started with drinks and ended with me fending off persistent groping and repeating the word 'no' a lot. In hindsight, I'm surprised none of them ended in date rape. * * * * * So I started my freshman year at Menlo College, San Francisco, with a complete downer on men that kept my roommate constantly vigilant for signs that she was more my type. I took to keeping a Bible on my nightstand in the hope she'd assume my chastity was a faith issue and relax a little. It didn't work. Eventually, without discussing it with me first, my homophobic roomie asked the powers-that-be to move her to another room on the grounds that she wasn't comfortable with having a lesbian roommate. She must have made it sound like I was coming on to her or something because the bursar asked to see me privately. I explained that I was not in any way inclined towards other females and that all this had arisen from my foolish roommate's inability to accept that I had the same lack of interest in the boys on campus. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I broke down and told the bursar some of my reasons for not liking guys: He was surprisingly understanding. I got my own room and my ex-roomie was quietly warned about malicious gossip. It wasn't until my second year at Menlo that I started to wonder if girls lay in my future. I only thought of it then because I had to. My lab partner and new best friend, Mariana, was openly gay and her hints about being attracted to me as more than a friend forced me to think about how I should react to her advances. I decided that casual sex with another woman wasn't for me either. I wanted a proper relationship. In my final year, Mariana was uninvolved and still eager to persuade me to cross the street: Or at the very least get out of the middle of the road, as she put it. So we tried, but my way. We shared a bedroom, shared a bed and got to know each other very well before anything sexual happened. Mariana quickly took to sleeping in her skin to try and hurry me up but my pyjamas stayed resolutely on for the first semester. After a few nights at my parents', sleeping alone for the first time in weeks and decidedly missing Mariana's fragrance and warmth next to me, I knew I had to try with her. Mariana was surprised and delighted the night I came to bed and my pyjamas didn't. She was incredibly gentle, caressing and kissing but not once trying to cross the boundary implied by my panties. I was amazed how good she made my breasts feel: My nipples had never throbbed like that when I'd touched them – or when Danny mauled them for that matter. It was certainly a positive sign. In the morning, my panties went into the laundry basket with a rather crustier gusset than usual. I couldn't deny I'd been aroused. The next night, Mariana gently hinted that she wasn't wearing any 'boundaries', so I tentatively had my first experience of touching another woman intimately. Mariana encouraged me and coaxed me to do more until she climaxed with my hand buried between her thighs: The first orgasm I'd ever given someone else. With a few nights more gentle persuasion, I first acceded to being touched through my panties and finally, to their removal. That was the night of my first proper orgasm. By 'proper', I mean not solo. After that, Mariana and I experimented with and enjoyed most types of lesbian sex. The only boundary that remained sacrosanct was my hymen. I refused to give that up and it didn't really matter because there was so much we could still do. Oral was my favourite, and turned out to be Mariana's too, so we were happy together. * * * * * After college, I went back to Greenwich Village and Aunt Titania's flower shop. Mariana was offered a marvellous job opportunity and chose to stay in San Francisco so, with the whole of North America between us, we had to part. We did promise to stay in touch though. During a year in New York, I had only one brief fling with another girl. It ended when she got all butch and tried to use a strap-on on me. No means no. It also means 'this is over'. I'd been celibate for six months when I passed L'Origine Du Monde, a new art gallery, owned by a photographer called Eric Kruppa. I'd read a scathing review of Mr Kruppa's work in the New York Times and formed the prejudicial opinion that he was just another misogynistic pornographer, so I don't know why I didn't just walk on by. But the fact is, I didn't walk on by. I went in and immediately fell under the spell of Kruppa's work. The gallery was full of enormous images of vaginas, although there actually only seemed to be two different vaginas on show. The shock wasn't the detail of these explicit images, but the sexual arousal that was so apparent and the sexual acts that were depicted: A three foot long tongue probing an anus a foot across; A close-up so enlarged only the lower half of the girl's vagina showed on a five foot square canvas with the point of focus being a huge, pearly drop of female secretion that, at this magnification was the size of a soccer ball; An image of semen dribbling from a squatting woman's vagina into the glisteningly moist looking mouth of another woman; Several images of the two women being penetrated by an enormously over-sized penis; The most explicitly pornographic image was of one of the women being fisted both vaginally and anally by (I assume) the other woman while she was wearing shiny steel handcuffs. That picture was entitled 'love cuffs'. After going right round the gallery, becoming aroused and grossed out in equal measure, I found myself in conversation with a stunning blonde girl who introduced herself as the gallery manager and went on to identify herself as one of the two models. The manager, 'Call me B', was as charming and engaging as she was beautiful. When I asked, she told me the monster penis was the photographer himself and the other female was her fellow courtesan. The reference to courtesans threw me a little. Clearly the three of them had some sort of weird group relationship going on. I made my excuses and left with one of their catalogues buried in my bag. * * * * * I spent days looking through that catalogue. It was at once, the most pornographic thing I'd ever seen and the most stimulating. If I hadn't met B, I'd have assumed Mr Kruppa was exploiting the women he photographed, but she had been so engaging, so obviously very bright and she managed the gallery. During the twenty minutes we spoke, she'd shown nothing but enthusiasm for her work. When I saw her – all three of them – on a late night arts show on TV, B made such a strong academic case for Mr Kruppa's 'art' that it was hard to refute it. She actually claimed the moral high ground traditionally held by feminists. I realised after days of arousal at the sight of Mr Kruppa's images that this was something I needed to be a part of. B had claimed that the images of her did not define who or what she was, but did define her sexual nature. Well, if anything defined my sexual nature it was my hymen. And my virginity certainly didn't define who or what I was! On an impulse, I emailed the gallery offering myself as a model, making mention of my intact hymen and attaching a photo of myself in my underwear, so he could see I had a decent figure. That night, I was so excited I climaxed three times over B's beautiful images, but by morning the elation was gone. What had I done? No way could I go through with it. I found myself practically praying they wouldn't take up my offer. I'd be so embarrassed telling that sweet, bright girl I'd had a change of heart. * * * * * I was so conflicted over the following fortnight that even Aunt Titania felt the need to ask if I was all right. "What's the matter, Dear?" Aunty handed me a cup of camomile tea and sat down opposite me. "You've been fidgety and distracted for two weeks." "Its nothing, Aunty." I tried to dodge the bullet. "Boy trouble?" Aunty asked. "No way!" I had never discussed my girlfriends with her. "Girl trouble then?" She knew! How in Heaven's name did she know? "Sort of." I conceded, blushing furiously and resolutely avoiding meeting her gaze. "Body language mainly, but lots of little clues too." Aunty answered the unasked question 'How did she know?' "Relax, Dear, you're secret's safe with me. I had a few girlfriends, back in the day." "You did?" If I'd thought about it, I wouldn't have been so surprised, but Aunt Titania had been right at the centre of the summer of love and never really grown out of the whole hippie culture. It made sense now she mentioned it. "Oh yes." Her expression was wistful. "Everyone called me Tittie – short for Titania – and I used it as an excuse to show off my own titties. I think I spent half the decade topless." "Mom never said." "Your Mom never knew. She was only six when I left home at sixteen, changed my name and went to California. Dear, I've had hundreds of lovers, half of them other girls and I never cared how many people were watching us. Heck, back then I didn't even care how many joined in. I believed in free love." I could see what Aunty was doing: establishing her unshockability and empathy credentials so I'd feel more comfortable discussing my own problem. She was doing a good job too. "Hundreds? Really?" "And not one social infection. I was truly blessed." That wistful, nostalgic look again. "Its not really girl trouble. There's a gallery round the corner, called L'Origine Du Monde. I..." "I know the one. Mr Kruppa has been in here for flowers once or twice. I thought he was a rather nice young man but the papers don't seem to agree. Go on." "I read the reviews too. And I went in to see for myself." "And you were expecting to disapprove as much as the critics?" "Yes. It's like watching horror films. You know they'll gross you out, but still you want to watch." "But you weren't 'grossed out' in the gallery?" Aunty was good at wheedling facts out, when she wanted to be. "At first yes, I was. But I got talking to the manager and she told me she was one of the models, showed me which images were of her, including the seventy foot long mosaic of her vagina on the floor. She was so clearly not exploited, not stupid and not shy about her work." "And?" aunty prompted me to go on. "And I was looking through their catalogue one night and decided I could offer Mr Kruppa something these girls couldn't. So I emailed him an application to model for him." "And he hasn't replied?" Aunty showed no sign of being shocked that I wanted to model for explicit photographs. "No." I sounded sullen, even to my own ears. "And what's so special about you?" "Aunty... I'm virgo intacta." My emotions got the better of me and I started to cry. "Oh Kelsey." Aunty drew me to her and let me sob on her shoulder while she stroked my back and made maternal noises. "There, there...let it all out..." Eventually, I calmed down, pushed myself away from her, back into a sitting position, and tried to smile with red-rimmed eyes and snot running from my nose onto my top lip. "I've messed up your blouse. Sorry." "Shush Child." She hadn't called me child since I was twelve. "Go wash your face. It'll make you feel better." She got up off the sofa herself and went to change her tear dampened and snotty blouse. When I got back from the bathroom, she'd made a fresh pot of camomile tea too. "Feeling better?" She asked as I took my place beside her. "Much better. Thanks Aunty. I guess I'm just a mess." I took a sip of hot tea. "Nonsense! But tell me one thing." "Only one?" "For now. Have you been upset because you changed your mind about modelling or because they didn't get in touch?" "A bit of both. I don't want to do it anymore, but it would have been nice to be wanted." It sounded dumb when I actually vocalised it. "But you have been wanted in the past, haven't you? Perhaps too much? Perhaps before you were ready?" "Did Mom tell you why I wanted to spend that first summer here?" How else could she know? "Of course she did. Then you dated a couple of times that summer then seemed to lose interest in boys entirely. And when you started spending time with Natalie... Lets just say I know where her interest lies and it soon became obvious you did too. Body language." "Oh look at the time!" I caught sight of the clock. It was half an hour past when lunch was supposed to end. "I'd better go." I stood quickly. "You'll be alright on your own?" Aunty asked. "Only it's my afternoon for Pilates." "I remember. I'll be fine." I turned to the door then turned back, bent and kissed Aunty's cheek. "Thanks Aunty." Then I did go and open up the shop. * * * * * "I've got you something." Aunty didn't come back until nearly dinnertime. She found me in the kitchen cooking spaghetti. She put a large flat envelope on the table and went to hang up her coat. "What is it?" I asked loudly over my shoulder. "Open it and see." Came the reply. I washed my hands, dried them and picked up the envelope. It looked like the sort used for large calendars. I opened the flap and pulled out a print from L'Origine Du Monde. "That one's my favourite." Aunty said, coming back into the kitchen. It was the same image the gallery used on it's stationery: A white Orchid against a dark background with B's labia digitally edited into the centre of the flower, replacing its sex organs with hers so cunningly you had to look twice before you noticed the switch. "I went to the gallery to try and understand why you'd volunteered to pose." Aunty explained. "I can see why the critics hate it. It's all very in-your face, but he's a good photographer and his work shows significant technical skill. I met the manager too: I can see why you were attracted to her." "I didn't say I was attracted to her." I knew I hadn't admitted to that. "Didn't you? My mistake. Anyway, that print is perfect for this place: Two generations of lesbians living over a flower shop." She took the print off me carefully and went to put it on the mantelpiece. "Anything I can do to help with dinner?" "Just laying the table. The spaghetti's just about ready." I got back to my cooking. * * * * * Aunty didn't mention the matter again and I didn't raise it. I guess I wasn't ready to admit fancying B. Had that attraction been behind my offer to pose? Had I been looking for a way to impress B and be noticed by her? In all honesty, probably, and that is also probably the wrong reason. The only thing that stopped me fantasizing about B was my period, a couple of days later. At least, that was the only thing that kept me from masturbating every night. Then came the phone call. It was Helen, B's fellow 'courtesan', who called me to discuss my application to model. I stopped short of telling her I'd changed my mind because she immediately suggested that she, B and I should meet for coffee and discuss it. That Special Someone The chance to spend time with B again was enough to get me to the coffee shop the next day. Aunty had denied any part in them calling and, since she'd never lied to me I had to believe her, but she did suggest I rethink my cold feet. "Dear," She'd said. "You sent that email for a reason. Maybe it was a better reason than the ones you have for not doing it. Don't burn your bridges." * * * * * "I remember you." B smiled as she stood to greet me. I offered her a hand, found it ignored and stood still while she embraced me like a long lost sister. "I didn't recognise you from that Polaroid." She moved back, holding me at arms length and looking me up and down. "Come and meet Helen..." I found myself ushered into the semicircular booth and sandwiched between Helen and B. "Hi Kelsey." Helen hugged me to, but less completely because we were both sitting down. "Coffee?" She waved over one of the waitresses. "A skinny cappuccino." I ordered. Helen and B ordered 'same agains'. "So Kelsey." Helen got my attention. "Why do you want to model for Eric?" "I'm not sure. I'm not sure I still want to." I remembered Aunty's advice and didn't burn my bridges. I was acutely aware of B next to me. Her fragrance... "But you were sure when you sent in your picture?" Helen sought clarification. "I thought I was." "Kelsey." B said quietly, drawing my attention round to her. "We've had hundreds of offers from would-be models. Many of them wanted to pay Eric to photograph them. You are the only one he's asked us to get in touch with." "Really?" I couldn't help but feel pride at that. "Really." B's hand fell, feather light, on my knee. "Because of your 'unique' qualification." "My hymen?" Daft question. Nothing else about me was unique. "Is it really visibly intact?" B smiled at me but there was, I was sure, a look of hunger in her eyes. Perhaps I just wanted her to want me. "Yes." I could feel myself giving in, just to spend more time in B's company. "Kelsey, I've got to ask." Helen interrupted my thoughts. "Why?" "Why am I still a virgin?" "Yes." "It's a long story." "All the more reason to tell it." B observed. "If it had been a short story like 'I always wanted to be a nun' or 'I'm lesbian', it probably wouldn't matter so much." "It's a big step: showing your most intimate secret to the whole world. We wouldn't want you to be doing it for a reason that would ultimately damage you." "You make it sound like I should get up from this table and run like hell." I was actually warmed by their obvious concern for my welfare. "We just want you to be sure of your reasons. We probably wouldn't bother if you weren't a virgin. That does make a difference because it's so unusual." "Ok. The long story." I decided that whatever I decided, it would do no harm to tell them my tale. I told them everything from fending off Danny's roaming hands and getting him to agree to wait, right up to splitting up with Natalie six months ago and even, because I was so wrapped up in my story, about the effect the catalogue had had on me since visiting the gallery. B responded to my confession about her images by moving her hand up my thigh and resting her head briefly on my shoulder. "Kelsey, do you really want to model for Eric?" Helen asked while B nestled against me. "Yes." And right at that moment I really did. * * * * * The following Saturday night, I made my way to Manhattan for dinner at Mr Kruppa's penthouse apartment. When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into the most opulent apartment I'd ever been in. The foyer was as big as Aunty's place, decorated with Mr Kruppa's images. B was there to greet me, wrapping me in her arms and moving close enough to kiss me. She stopped short of my lips and flashed me that oh-so-innocent smile. "May I?" She asked. I closed the gap between our mouths just a fraction by way of assent and found B's lips glued against mine for a brief but far from chaste kiss. "Can I take your coat?" She had hold of the collar at the back of my neck as she stepped back. I shrugged the coat off and said, "Thanks." My nerves must have been so obvious. "Relax, Kelsey." B suggested. "You're among friends. C'mon. Eric's dying to meet you." She draped my coat over a convenient chair as she led me by the hand into the main reception room. "Eric, Kelsey. Kelsey, Eric." She made perfunctory and quite unnecessary introductions as Eric stood and came to meet us, all smiles. "Welcome." He took both my hands in both of his and held me at arms length, looking me up and down in a way that would have seemed rude if he hadn't been a photographer. "Thanks for inviting me." I remembered my manners. Eric was still scrutinising my figure. "Not at all." He had an engaging smile. He let go of my hands and offered me a seat. "Where's Helen?" I glanced around for the other woman. "Cooking our dinner. I'd better go and help her." B said. "Eric, we know you have no manners but do you think you could fake politeness long enough to fix Kelsey a drink?" She left without waiting for an answer. "Can I offer you something to drink?" Eric asked without any indication he'd been prompted to. I didn't believe for a moment that he would need prompting anyway. "In a place like this..." I made a show of looking around his enormous, art deco, apartment. "I think I should ask for a martini." "They told you, didn't they?" "Told me what?" "That I mix the best martinis in Manhattan." With a boyish grin he practically leapt to his feet and strode to the cocktail bar. "I can't tell you how excited I am at the prospect of photographing you." Eric mixed drinks while he spoke. "I think we're going to be able to make some incredibly powerful images together." "You think?" "Eh? Certainly. The juxtaposition between what is depicted and how it's depicted: iconic innocence in the midst of iconic decadence. The purity that defined the value of most of the women who ever lived, presented to the public gaze as a sexual image at odds with its very purpose and value. Martini." He brought over my drink and sat down beside me again. "Thank you." I sipped the martini. It was very good. "You weren't kidding about the martinis. So you think a hymen defines a woman's value?" "Not me and not anymore, except in your case." "My case?" "Well your hymen is the reason you're here. Your value as a model is that little membrane because of what it used to represent. It's not a necessary part of a bride's trousseau anymore, but losing it is still very much a right of passage for most girls in America." "Except me. I missed out on all the rights of passage." "I know. The girls told me. Kelsey, I'm sorry you were so badly let down back in high school. I know something of what that felt like because I very nearly left high school a virgin." "Really?" Was he just trying to be nice? "Really. Girls were scared off by my penis, so I was lucky to find one who'd go to the prom with me. She did get my cherry afterwards – not her first time. Not by a long way – but it hurt her and she wasn't interested in me after that." "I wouldn't have thought of that. Nobody would think a big cock was a disadvantage." I was a little shocked at my own bluntness but it was easy to be blunt with Eric. The Martini was helping too: no more nervousness. "Dinner's ready." Helen hollered. I let Eric take my hand and lead me through to the dining room. I was surprised again. Not by the size of the dining room, because I was expecting that to be sumptuous, but by the spread Eric's girls had laid on. It was impressive to say the least. * * * * * During dinner I found out why it was all so impressive. Most of the work had been done by a chef from a Manhattan restaurant that afternoon, leaving the girls to just pop things in the oven or take things out of the icebox at the appropriate times. Conversation over dinner was odd: monopolized by my host who continued to wax rhapsodic about the images he was going to create with me. Ever tried having an appointment with your gynaecologist over dinner? That's how weird it felt, but B's company made it worthwhile. I was quite smitten with her. After dinner, Eric asked me if I'd let him take a few test shots. "Sure." I agreed, figuring that if I were ever going to take my clothes off for him, not being totally sober would help. "The studio is this way." He led me by the hand again, while the girls cleared the table. * * * * * Maybe another martini or three would have made a difference. Whatever. The alcohol I'd imbibed before and during dinner wasn't enough. I got down to my undies with only a little coaxing but then I seized up, sat on a couch with my knees practically glued together and started to get sobby. Eric told me to relax and fetched B. "What's the matter, Kelsey?" B's put her arms around me and spoke softly. "I can't..." I mumbled. "You're shy. Yes?" "Yes." "Ok, No photos tonight. No cameras at all. Just us. Does that help?" B's voice was very reassuring. "Yes." "Kelsey?" "Yes." "Do you mind if I take my dress off?" B let go of me. "No." "No. You don't mind?" "No. I don't mind." There was still a part of me that was aching to be naked with this woman. B stood up and disrobed without ceremony, handing her dress – her only garment – to Eric. "I only put it on because we had a guest. I don't normally dress for dinner." She sat beside me, her thigh against mine, an arm around my shoulders again. "These days I prefer to be naked with friends." I said nothing. I could see her breast tantalizingly close to mine and I couldn't help staring. "It's alright to touch me." B's soft voice caressed my ear. "I know you want to." She snuggled a little closer. I reached for her bosom, cupping her nearest breast in my hand, feeling its supple softness against my palm. B turned my head and kissed me, just as she had in the foyer but without asking first. She made no move to touch me or to try and lay me back on the couch: she just kissed me. It was gentle and affectionate and warming and simply beautiful. Her nipple stirred as it hardened against my palm. "Hold still." B said right in my ear. "I'm going to unclip you." A moment later, my bra went slack on me as B unhooked it. She drew the straps down my arms and flung it at Eric, who fielded it from the stool where he'd apparently settled to watch proceedings. B made a show of looking at my breasts before deciding on the left one and cupping it in her hand. "Do you know you're not blushing?" B asked, idly drawing circles around my nipple. "I'm not?" I was surprised. I felt embarrassed. But B indicated a wall-sized mirror and the girl looking back at me from there really wasn't blushing. "I'm not." B stood up and, taking both my hands, drew me to my feet. Moving close, she put her arms around me. I followed her lead, embracing her in turn. Our breasts pressed together as we kissed again. I offered no resistance when her hands slid down my back, caught the elastic of my panties and pushed them down. It had been months since I'd felt the heat of another woman's body against mine and to be in B's arms – to have her in my arms – like this had me aching for more. "See?" B pulled back and grinned. "It's easy when you're not thinking about it." She let go of me and stepped back to look me up and down. "Ooh! You're a real blond. Kick off those pants and we can all go and get another drink." She was looking at my crotch. I kept my pubic hair trimmed short when I was with Natalie, but hadn't bothered with it for the last six months because it wasn't getting in anybody's way, so it had grown quite curly. B waited patiently for me to unfreeze. Finally, I capitulated and pushed my pants the rest of the way down, stepping out of them. Now I was blushing. "Drinks?" Eric made his presence felt. "Didn't you want to take some test pictures?" I was naked in front of Eric, which was obviously why I was here and I wasn't sure I'd ever have the courage to be here again. "Not tonight, Kelsey. You're too nervous about skin. Come and have another drink: see if we can't make you forget your underwear." He winked and led the way back to the reception room. * * * * * "Unzip me please, B." Helen saw us coming and turned her back to B. By the time Eric had got behind the bar there were three naked women in the room. Neither of Eric's paramours had bothered with underwear. "What'll you have, Kelsey?" Eric called, sloshing spirits into glasses of ice. "What's everyone else having?" I asked. "Those two usually have Amaretto. I'm keeping company with that nice Mr Daniels. But you can have anything you want." "A Cuba Libre?" "Rum and coke coming right up." Eric was paying more attention to the bar than to us three girls. Helen came close to me. "Do I get a kiss too?" B had obviously been telling tales. I didn't mind. I closed the gap between us and opened my mouth. Helen did the rest. She's a better kisser than B – just. We sat. B kept me company and Helen snuggled under Eric's arm on the opposite couch. "Kelsey, why don't you stay here a few nights?" B suggested quietly. "You'll soon get used to wearing skin and being ogled by Eric." "With you?" I really wanted to stay with B. She had me feeling hornier than I think I've ever felt. "If you want." B put her hand in my lap, casually teasing my curls. It was the first time she'd touched me there and I gasped in surprise but she just smiled at me and said, "Relax." I glanced up to see if Eric was watching. Not only was he watching, with a satyr-like grin on his face, but Helen was undoing his shirt buttons. As I watched him watching me, he got slowly as bare as the rest of us and I got wetter and wetter. When his shorts came off, his enormous penis sprang forth and I gasped. It was absolutely huge. By now, B had eased my thighs apart and the only thing blocking the view of my pussy was her hand. "We all want to see your secret." B husked in my ear. "Will you show us?" I couldn't answer but I nodded and B took her hand away, revealing my labia to Eric and Helen. Helen let go of Eric's penis and slipped off her couch, approaching me on all fours. Without a word, She lifted my feet and settled my legs over her shoulders. If anyone had asked, I really wanted B down there, but nobody asked and anyway, I was aching for an orgasm and I didn't care that much who gave it to me. At the first touch of Helen's tongue, I moaned out loud and B sealed her lips against mine to silence me. After a prolonged kiss, as my climax approached, she slipped onto the floor beside Helen and raised one of my legs right up by my tits. I screamed as I came all over Helen's face, squirming as if her tongue was a lash. It went on and on and on while B ran her lips and tongue up the back of my thigh, adding to my pleasure in a way I'd never experienced before. As my climax subsided, I realized Helen was holding my other leg up high and Eric was kneeling in front of my pussy, looking into my insides. He looked up at me and grinned that frat boy grin. "I've never seen one before. It's beautiful." He was referring, obviously, to my hymen. "Kelsey, can you hold you legs yourself so we can see too?" B asked as casually as if she were asking me to hold her drink. Dumbly, I took hold of the backs of my own knees while the two girls got really close and peeked inside me. "Eric's right." B said as I put my legs down and sagged back on the couch. "It's beautiful. It's the first one I've ever seen too. I never looked at mine." She snuggled up to me and rested her head on my shoulder, idly toying with my nipple. "You just have to let Eric photograph that." Helen said, taking the other shoulder. "Eric?" "If she hangs out here with you two bad influences for a couple of days, I think we might be able to produce some sensational art together. Kelsey? Will you stay?" "Sure." I still couldn't believe what I'd just done. "In that case, I'll leave you in B's tender care. I have a lot of lust to get rid of right now. Helen?" he helped her to her feet. "Goodnight." "Want to taste her?" Helen planted her cum-sticky lips on Eric's for a long, deep kiss. "You know the kinkiest thing, Kelsey? He's going to fuck me but he'll be thinking of you... And I don't mind. Goodnight." "Can you walk?" B asked as soon as we were alone. "Sure... I think." I got up shakily. It had been a magnificent orgasm. "Let's go pick out a guest room for you." B showed me three guest rooms – suites really and I picked the most girlie one. "This one." I threw myself at a bed big enough for three – was that a coincidence? – and squealed like a little girl. It was the sort of room I'd dreamed of when I was a child: pink, fluffy and beautiful. "Shall I stay?" B sat beside me, stroking my thigh. "Won't Eric mind?" She was one of his girlfriends, wasn't she? "Not while he's got Helen to keep him busy. We can go and watch them if you like. Eric won't mind. He likes an audience." "No way!" "So I can stay then?" B's hand was between my thighs now. "I've been fantasizing about you since that day in the gallery." I blurted out my guilty secret – that my main reason for being here was the girl with her hand over my pussy. "So ask me to stay." "Stay. Please." I reached for her, encountering no resistance. B was in my arms and all my dreams were coming true. * * * * * It took me another two days to stop noticing that I was naked. B helped by being as bare as me the whole time and by gently stopping me from covering myself whenever Eric was in the room. If I tried to cover myself, her hand would replace mine. If I tried to sit demurely, B would ease my thighs apart and when I got caught clutching a cushion over my breasts, we had a pillow fight that ended with me pinned under B, getting my ass smacked while Eric just watched and laughed. On my third morning, I woke up without B. Eric was sat on the edge of the bed instead. "Good Morning." He'd pulled the sheets back and was looking me up and down. "Morning. Where's-" "She had to go early to open the gallery. I thought this'd be a good opportunity to see if you've gotten over your shyness." He was looking at my pussy. I could see that my curls were matted and stuck down by last night's fun and games with B. I realized with surprise that I wasn't blushing. "I need the bathroom." "I'll make us some breakfast. Helen's out for the day too. Don't be long." He patted my thigh, stood up and left me to my ablutions. I had a long conversation with myself in the bathroom mirror and convinced myself that if I was ever going to model for Eric, today was the day. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself then went to find him. "Eric?" "In here!" A distant voice beckoned me into the studio. Eric was coming out, camera in hand, as I arrived. "Breakfast is this way." He passed me and led the way back to the kitchen. "Eric. Wait." I reached for his free hand, pulling him to a halt. As he turned to look at me, I pressed his hand between my legs. "You're the first man ever to touch me there." I was blushing now, but I clung to my resolve, and to Eric's hand. He moved closer, keeping his fingers pressed to my labia and hooking his other arm – camera and all – around my back. With a wolfish smile, he bent to kiss me and I moaned into his mouth as I let myself go limp against him. I felt myself moving backwards as he propelled us both back into the studio. " Show me." Eric said as he pulled his mouth away from mine and let go of me. I was so dizzy I nearly fell back on the bed. As it was, I kept my balance long enough to sit properly then laid back, lifting and parting my legs. Eric dropped to his knees and raised his camera, clicking away as I revealed my already sticky pussy. That Special Someone Gently, I pulled my labia apart, letting Eric see right inside me for the second time – the first time sober – and wondering how long he'd be able to resist what I was offering. And as I thought that, I realized it was true: I was offering him more than just a photo opportunity. I'd waited a long time for that someone special and now I'd found him. "We'll have to do this again, when I've had a chance to rig the lighting." Eric put his camera aside. "It's too dark in here right now." Eric's finger on the edge of my vulva demonstrated that 'in here' did not refer to the studio. He inched closer and dipped his head between my splayed thighs, flicking at my clitoral hood with his tongue. "I guess I'm the first guy to do that too." That wolfish smile was back. Eric's face disappeared between my legs again as he set to in earnest, teasing my pussy with his tongue as he worked his way from my clit to my perineum and back. He wasn't as gentle as B but it was a difference in technique, not ability. I was coming in seconds and as one orgasm subsided, the next seemed to be just starting. It helped, I am sure, that I was so keyed up, but I don't want to take anything away from Eric: He played me like a virtuoso on a violin and by the time he'd finished, I was panting for breath and sweating so much I needed another shower. "Whoa!" I tried to stand up and my legs crumpled under me. I went down in a heap on the bed, laughing. "Relax, Kelsey. Just lie back and catch your breath. I want to get this lighting right." Eric, still dressed but with a conspicuous erection, busied himself with weird lamps, silver umbrellas and assorted other paraphernalia while I lay there wondering why I'd let Danny's betrayal make such a shrew of me for so long. Eventually, Eric was satisfied with the light and knelt between my splayed knees, lifting and spreading my legs and quietly instructing me how to pose as he clicked away. After a few dozen pictures, he wiped me gently, removing the glistening traces of my orgasms. Again the click-click-click of the camera punctuated his quiet instructions. Then it was his fingers on my labia, teasing them open, and still the click-click-click. He enthused about a trickle of my juices as it oozed from my vulva and crept down towards my anus: His finger caught it there and spread it around that puckered hole making me tense and, by tensing, squeeze out another trickle of juice. "Is this another first?" He asked as his finger eased into my ass, just one knuckle deep. It tingled and felt itchy. I tried to relax for him. "No. B did it to me last night." She'd told me just how anally fixated Eric was and persuaded me to let her show me how much fun it could be. It dawned on me now that she must have known before I did that I was going to succumb to Eric. "How many fingers did she try?" Eric was easing a second digit in now. "Three." I husked. Two of his fingers felt bigger than three of B's had. "I'll get her to do it again later if you don't mind: It makes a great juxtaposition." "Juxtaposition?" "Yes. One hole clearly – conspicuously – innocent in the biblical sense, while the other hole is perversely and just as conspicuously being violated. It won't be just fingers either. I'd like to get B's tongue in there." I was thinking I'd like B's tongue in there too. I missed what Eric said next. "Pardon?" "I said I'd like to have the girls shave you tonight too. It'll make you much more sensitive." "Ok." I'd been smooth for a while in college but it had made me very self-conscious in the locker-room at the pool: not least because it made my swimsuit creep up my crack and there were a couple of times other people noticed that before I did. But the idea of being able to bump shaven pussies with B was more than enough incentive. "Kelsey, can I ask...?" "Yes." "Yes?" "Yes, Eric. You are going to be my first..." I watched his eyes widen and his tongue moisten his lips as he grinned at me. "Let's go and get cleaned up. Then I'll take you to lunch: we both missed breakfast." Eric finally took his fingers out of my ass, put down his camera and offered me a hand to get me on my feet. * * * * * It didn't surprise me when Eric followed me into the bathroom. I was half expecting him to want to watch me shower. I was surprised, however, when he stripped off his clothes and joined me, his semi-erect penis swinging in front of him. "Here?" I thought perhaps the moment of truth had arrived. I reached out to touch his swelling manhood. "No. Not yet. I have some more pictures to take then tomorrow we'll fly down to the beach house for a little romance. You deserve your 'prom night'." Eric grew stiffer in my hand until his penis bridged the gap between our bodies and I felt the hot, hard head of his cock against my abdomen. On a whim I knelt under the torrent of hot water from the shower, putting Eric – or at least that part of him I was most interested in – at eye level. "I've never... I may not be very good at this." I licked my lips nervously as I looked up at him. "I've heard the story. I know you never did get that 'lesson' from the girl who stole your prom date." Eric's smile was reassuring. I recalled the couple of blowjob scenes I'd seen in porn films, opened my mouth, dipped my head forward and got my first taste of Eric's manhood. It was hot, firm and silky smooth in my mouth and I caressed it with my tongue, probing the tiny slit at its tip and the ridge behind its swollen, plum-like head. I remembered that in those films the girls – and one guy – had used their hands too. Even with my mouth crammed full, there was plenty of Eric's cock left to wrap my fingers around. I pumped back and forth as I sucked hard on the end of it and teased him with my tongue. It took ages and my knees were throbbing more than Eric's cock by the time he came in my mouth, groaning and pulling out so that the second salvo splashed across my face. I let his semen pool on my tongue, trying to decide if I liked the taste and, more importantly, what I should do with it. I decided it wasn't as pleasing on the palate as female juices but it wasn't so unpleasant I'd spit it out. I duly swallowed it with a smile for Eric, who'd slumped against the wall of the shower room and slid down so that he was now facing me. He looked very pleased with the sight of me covered in slimy white semen and, as I swallowed, he watched my neck move and grinned. "Thank you." He was so polite about it. "You're welcome." I was pretty sure I'd put in a clumsy performance but I made a mental note to ask B and Helen for the lesson I'd wanted from Emma Holt. I suspected my new tutors would give me far better advice than that boyfriend stealing bitch – Sorry. You've heard all that already. But whenever I think back to that night and the subsequent damage it did to my self-esteem and my love life... I'm only getting over it now, via some admittedly weird therapy, and I just can't forgive her. Anyway, I was going to get my prom night after all. Eric had promised – well, said so, and I took him at his word – romance on the beach! "Eric, Where is your beach house?" maybe Malibu? Eric was certainly rich enough to have a house there. "Antigua." He still wore that grin. It was getting easier all the time to see why two beautiful girls are willing to share a man – Eric has a bad-boy charm about him that makes you instantly sure he'll never be faithful but it doesn't matter. "Antigua? Wow!" "A private beach and attractive staff, just in case..." "In case of what?" "In case of anything. They're very amenable. I keep a girl down there just to lick up spilled semen." "You're joking, right?" Only, after a few days in this household, I wasn't so sure. "Well... Ok, not just for that." After I'd showered properly, with Eric's soapy-fingered help, much giggling, more than a little kissing and cuddling and a brisk rub down with a huge bath towel, we did get to go out to lunch. * * * * * "Auntie, you wouldn't believe the week I've had." I'd practically bounced into the flower shop after lunch and was in danger of cracking Aunt Tittie's ribs in my ebullience. "You haven't been gone a week." She chided with a smile and a squeeze of my ribs. "Really?" "Three days." She nodded "Only three? It seems longer. But it has been amazing! Eric took the pictures he wanted this morning and-" "Only this morning?" "It took until today to get me used to being naked. They confiscated all my clothes and made me stay in my skin until I stopped blushing every time Eric looked at me. But I was trying to tell you: Eric took the pictures this morning and now we're off to Antigua. Do you know where my passport is?" I let go of Auntie and headed for the stairs to her – our – apartment. "Iowa?" She followed me up the stairs. "No. I definitely brought it to New York with me." I thought it might still be in the bag I hadn't unpacked – with my winter coat. "Why Antigua? More photographs?" Auntie sat on the foot of my bed while I rummaged for my passport. "Probably. Eric has a beach house there. We're going in his private jet...Isn't that cool?" The bell on the shop door rang. "I'd better get that." Auntie stood to leave. "Kelsey?" A distant voice called from the bottom of the stairs. "Up here B!" I yelled back, still rummaging through my stuff. Wherever that passport was, it wasn't with my winter things. "Hi." B arrived and the room suddenly seemed brighter. She really is that radiant. I stood in time for a hug and a not-so-platonic peck. "B, this is Aunt Tittie. Auntie, B." I made brief introductions. "Titania." Auntie reintroduced herself then went on to explain. "Kelsey likes to tease me about my modelling career." She pointed to a framed picture I had insisted on appropriating for my room. It was the cast of a 1960's production of Midsummer Night's Dream and there was Auntie, right in the middle, stark naked. All the fairies in the cast were, though Auntie was playing Cobweb, not her namesake. B picked up the frame to look at the photograph. "That's you." She spotted Auntie instantly. "That's me." Auntie confirmed. "In my salad days, when I was green in judgement." "Right playwright, wrong play. That's from Antony and Cleopatra." "Careful Auntie." I teased. " B's got more brains than she admits to." "Hush child." Auntie silenced me with a smile and turned all her attention on B (for which I don't blame her) "Nor was I ever cold in blood." An understatement: Auntie is notorious within our family for her 'warmth'. I asked her once if it was true she'd had more lovers than all my other living relatives combined. She just smiled and made another pot of tea. "You were beautiful." B put the picture frame back down. "It didn't last." Auntie sounded wistful. "It never does, which is all the more reason to make the most of it." B certainly knows all about that. "I'm glad you realize that. I didn't and it came as a shock when all the pretty boys and girls lost interest in me." "Boys and girls?" B raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes." Auntie's eyes sparkled but she sounded wistful again. "Do you mind if I mention this to Eric?" B waved at the picture frame. "He's been doing a series of images reprising Rodin's sculptures and I think he'd really go for the idea of photographing you as the fallen Caryatid." "Child, I think my days of posing nude are long gone... but thank you for suggesting it." Auntie patted B's cheek and I noticed her hand lingered a moment longer than necessary. "Found it!" I retrieved my passport from a draw full of correspondence. I should perhaps have looked there first, but who thinks straight under these circumstances? I tossed it onto the bed alongside a holdall then started to pick out clothes for the trip. "What are you doing?" B asked. "Packing." I though it was obvious. "No you're not." B picked up my passport and tucked it in her purse. "Eric's minding the gallery for a couple of hours. We're going shopping. You need a 'prom dress'." "Prom dress?" Auntie looked puzzled. Damn! I hadn't got around to telling her why I was going to Antigua tomorrow. "Auntie." I took hold of both her hands. "Eric's the one. We're going to Antigua for my 'prom night'." I hoped the penny would drop. It did. "Oh, my darling child!" It was my turn to be on the receiving end of a bear hug. "I thought you'd never get over that..." "I'm over it. Thanks to B... and Helen." "Me?" B was paying close attention. "You." I mumbled past Auntie's shoulder. "You taught me that I didn't have to be head over heels in love to desire someone." B wore an expression of mock solemnity. "But you said you loved me." She wiped away an imaginary tear. "I do, B. I love you to bits." I pulled free of Auntie to hug B. "But you don't love me... and that's ok. I don't mind just being your latest plaything." I'd thought about this a lot over the last few days and I really believed what I was saying until... "You're not just a plaything. You have a lot of catching up to do before you'd be entirely comfortable with our crazy family set up, but I'll help anyway I can because I really don't want to lose you." "Really?" I didn't wait for an answer, or care that Auntie was still I the room: I kissed B with all the passion I could muster, which at that moment was quite a lot. "And..." B managed to get a word in edgewise. "Helen's only been letting me monopolize your time because you were clearly a little infatuated and everyone felt I should be your 'big sister' until you got over it." "I don't want to get over it, but I mustn't leave Helen out, must I?" "You won't get any say in it once you're back from the Islands. Helen's already miffed that we're not invited but Eric said he wanted some alone time with you. This is special for him too, you know. He never thought he'd have a virgin. We'd better hurry!" B caught sight of the clock and let go of me. "Why?" "Because your plane leaves in two hours and you still need a prom dress." "But... It thought we were travelling tomorrow." Wasn't I due for a shave tonight? "Change of plans I'm afraid. Helen needs the plane tomorrow for a fraternity fundraiser in Boston. "Oh... Bye Auntie. Wish me luck." I hugged Auntie briefly, feeling squeezed again. "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time, child." "It was a pleasure meeting you, Titania." B said as Auntie let go of me. "C'mon Kelsey." B seized my hand and practically dragged me through the door. * * * * * I was twenty minutes late getting to the airport but, since Eric owned the jet, they'd waited for me. I'd never even travelled first class before so having a plane all to our selves was something of a culture shock. We arrived at the beach house just in time for dinner: a banquet to my way of thinking but, I was assured, just a few of Mr Eric's favourite dishes. Pierre, Eric's Gardener, waited on us most professionally while Mary, the housekeeper, bustled in and out with more dishes for the sideboard. After dinner we went down to the beach for a stroll in the moonlight and Eric told me the story of how Pierre and Mary got their jobs. Again, it didn't surprise me. I just clung to Eric's arm and rested my head on his shoulder while wavelets lapped at our toes. "Eric. I don't want to stay in the guest room tonight." "Nobody said you had to. Where would you like to sleep? Out here, under the stars?" "In your arms." I turned to kiss him, feeling those arms close around me as our lips met. "I just want to be held. Is that all right?" Eric kissed me again and that was my answer. Before I knew it, he'd literally swept me off my feet and was striding back up the beach with me clinging to his neck and laughing. On the dry sand, we lay down under a sky filled with more stars than I'd ever seen – no light pollution here – and I moulded my body along his while he named the constellations for me and told me far-fetched stories of ancient gods and goddesses as their silent images circled over us. When we finally got back to the house, there was no sign of Mary or Pierre but they obviously hadn't expected me to stay in the guest room either because the route to the master suite was lined with tea lights and, when Eric opened the double doors, his bed was strewn with flowers, lit by more – lots more – candles. "How did you know?" I asked. How did he know I'd end up in his room? "I didn't. But if I had to guess, I'd say Mary had a tip-off before we even arrived." "B?" "Almost certainly." Eric decided that further discussion would only spoil the romantic mood so he shut me up. He is a really good kisser. I undressed while Eric blew out most of the candles, leaving but the two either side of the bed to allow us to see each other. "Eric? Whose fraternity is Helen fundraising for?" I slipped between the sheets while he was still unbuttoning his shirt. "Hers. Mine too. Making B and Helen the first female members of Phi Kappa Delta was my last official act as President." "So she's taking a private jet to Boston for a fundraiser." It was odd. The flight would cost thousands: how much were they trying to raise? "It's not an official fundraiser. She's taking a Harvard alumnus up there to persuade him to pay for a pool for the new fraternity house I'm building. I could just pay it all, but Helen likes to do her bit for old Phi Kappa Delta." Eric climbed into bed beside me and I settled my bottom against his semi-hard cock while his hand found one breast and cupped it gently. He rolled the ball of his thumb over my nipple and I felt his cock swell a little more against my buttocks and the backs of my thighs. "I don't think Helen will have much problem parting him from his money. I can't imagine many men being able to resist her." "Oh, he won't resist. He's fucked her before." "Oh." I wasn't sure what I was hearing. "Kelsey, didn't you know Helen's a professional escort?" "No!" I was stunned. Why would Helen do that? "Yes. But she prefers the term 'whore'. Helen doesn't like to mince words. She's been doing it since her freshman year but she's about to retire. This Alumnus – Francis Deerborne – is a former client with a very kinky fetish. Helen could have just blackmailed him with a video she has of him... indulging this little peccadillo, but she's not a bad person so instead she offered him the carrot instead of the stick." "Where does she put the carrot?" I was shocked by what I was hearing but I still couldn't help myself. Besides, this conversation was making Eric harder so it obviously didn't bother him. "You're closer to the truth than you think. Dear Mr Deerborne likes Belgian chocolates. As if Helen's ass wasn't sweet enough already." "Ugh! Gross!" I got the picture. "Who am I to judge? I'm a pornographer hell bent on seducing and defiling a virgin." "True." I reached down and drew his hard-on between my thighs so that his length rested against my labia and I could still get both hands around what protruded beyond my body. He let me caress the swollen, bulbous head of his cock for a while before relinquishing his hold on my breast to still my hand with his. "Save it for tomorrow." His voice was barely a whisper, punctuated by soft lips pressed against the nape of my neck. I actually felt a twinge of regret. I was ready now. I wanted him now. Couldn't he feel how wet I was between my legs, against his magnificent cock? He must have sensed all this. "Leave it be and it'll sleep too." He drew my hand gently away from his cock and back up my body to my aching breasts. I pressed his hand over one nipple and moaned as much in frustration as in pleasure. * * * * * I woke up alone. Well, not exactly alone: Eric was gone, but Mary was opening the blinds to let in the morning sunlight. She was wearing less than I was, lacking even the natural cover of pubic hair.