/* Writer’s note: if you are here for the main event skip to below the line. Everything before that is foreplay. 😉 */
There are phrases that, when delivered with the proper build-up, can make a girl throw caution to the wind. This is the story of the day that a man said one of those sweet phrases to me and changed my life forever. The day that started the weekend that gobbled up what little innocence I had left, shaping me for my future.
It was a Friday in late April, only a few weeks after my 21st birthday. I was waiting for a friend to show up at the cafe, then we were going to walk through the city in spring time looking at new flowers and chatting about our plans for summer break. I’d been waiting for her for far too long – I had just ordered a second coffee – when she texted me saying that she’d forgotten. If I hadn’t already ordered that coffee…well, I had. And I was darn well going to drink it.
While waiting I became aware of the attention of a man sitting across the cafe. He was average height and had rather lean in build. I would have guessed about 25. Pale skin that looked like it would never tan and dark hair. I probably wouldn’t have looked twice at him in any other circumstance. In fact, the only reason I noticed him was he had looked twice at me. He kept glancing furtively over at me and then looking back down at his notebook, scribbling fiercely. So I stared back, waiting for him to chance another look.
This time he saw me looking boldly back at him, one brow raised in question and frowning disapprovingly. He froze, blushing furiously. I crossed my arms, leaned back in my chair, and tilted my head never breaking eye contact. The man broke first, and turned slightly towards the door as though debating the risks of fleeing. He chanced one more look at me, hesitated perhaps a second, and then got a little shakily to his feet, clutching his note pad. Every step he took towards me made me think of a man getting ready for battle, but one he felt was something he had to face.
“I’m sorry, it was not my intention to make you be uncomfortable.” He was soft-spoken, with just a touch of a European accent. Perhaps French. “Normally I ask.”
“Normally you ask women if you can make them feel uncomfortable?” I dryly said.
“Yes! I mean no, not at all!” he shifted his weight back and forth, clearly at a loss what to say next. His eyes made me think of a puppy expecting a scolding, and I took pity on him.
“You know,” I laughed, “you aren’t very good at this.” I gestured at the seat across from me. “So tell me, how bad is the poetry that you are writing about me?”
“I’m not a poet.” I made an enquiring noise. “Like I said, often I ask. I’m an artist, and I was sketching you.” He fidgeted a little then proffered his notebook. Or, rather, his sketchbook. Then he said what changed my life, “I’m trained to notice beauty, and I saw it in you – your soul is like light through stained glass.” For the first time I really looked at him, and for the first time he met my eyes without fear. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and perhaps elsewhere as well. To cover my confusion I took the offered sketch book and looked at the page.
The sketched woman sitting at the table was both me and more than me. Physically he was spot on. The woman was lightly muscled yet curvy as the road to hell, dark hair done mostly up with a few mischievous strands curling over her cheeks, and dressed in a way that showed off those curves while presenting the impression that the owner was completely unaware of their existence. But the differences between how I saw myself and the paper woman, ah, they were impressive. This woman seemed so intensely alive, as though ready to instantly leap off the paper. She was looking at her phone and every line in her body spoke of her annoyance. I paused, my finger hovering over her face. I looked up at the artist. He smiled and reached over to turn the page back.
The same woman graced the page, drinking coffee in utterly sensual satisfaction. Her necklace was idly twisted around a finger drawing attention to generous cleavage. Another page, and here the woman had her head thrown back in laughter. I had never seen so much life in one place. I had never seen myself like this. “How…”
The artist solemnly displayed a few pencils, and took back the sketch book flipping to a fresh page. Over the next few minutes my face again took shape, this time expressing wonder. He signed his name with flourish. “Cecil?”
“I shall never forgive my mother for that.” His smile was boyish, apparently pleased with my reaction. “You are beautiful, but you never see it. Few people do see şişli escort their true selves in the mirror,” he shook his head sadly. “Perhaps if they did there would be more people in this world as lovely as you are.” I truly did not know what to say to that, and then he blew my mind a little bit more.
“I would love you to pose for me. Photography. or better, I would love to paint you, paint all of you.”
“You paint?” I somehow managed to squeak. He nodded gravely. Except for his eyes, which betrayed his amusement.
“But of course.”
“Oh. Um. I never, well – I’ve never taken my clothing off for a picture, let alone a painting.” I was looking everywhere but at his face, “and you don’t even know my name.”
“I didn’t mean without clothing if you won’t be comfortable. Right now I am painting a series of ancient goddesses and heroines. I can see you as either Demeter or as Aphrodite. Here, let me show you,” and he pulled out his phone and went to his website. Paintings danced before my eyes. A war-like woman, dressed in Greek armor. A fierce looking red-head in a tartan, spear in hand. A sad woman in a chariot against an eternal sunrise. So many more. “What is your name?”
“Medea.” He looked surprised, and tilted his head as though looking for something.
“No. You have her intelligence, but neither her hunger nor knowledge of the arcane. Or are you a sorceress?” Cecil withdrew as though horrified by the thought. I, meanwhile, had reached the site’s section on ‘payment of models.’
“No, I am not a sorceress,” I hesitated, considering options, but $50 per hour – more if nude – seemed too good to be true. “Yes, I will model for you.”
All the tension drained out of Cecil’s frame, and was replaced with a brilliant smile that had a slightly hungry edge. “Excellent! Today?”
“Why not? I have nothing planned anymore.” He rummaged through his shoulder bag, and pulled out a contract with a smile.
After reading and signing it I sent my friend a text “ok, met cute artistic-type anyway. Going to his place” and sent a link to his website.
His studio was not what I expected. It was a huge loft in a renovated warehouse near the edge of the city, and was flooded with natural light from skylights muted by sheer curtains. It was open concept, with the cooking area partially closed off and two private bathrooms. There were two king sized beds, and two distinctly different areas of mess. One was cluttered with paints, sketchpads, and assorted odds and ends that I didn’t recognize. The other was an organized chaos of cameras, lenses, and electronic equipment including a couple of huge computer screens. Beyond that was at least 25 metres of different set-ups in sort of bays. In front of some of the bays there was an easel. In front of others there was a tripod. Some had both.
“How on earth can you afford this?” I asked as he guided me through the place.
He shrugged, “My partner and I run a photography business, mostly for weddings. It’s been very successful. There are many fools who will pay ridiculous fees to,” suddenly his accent thickened to an absolutely outrageous extent, “a couple of delightful young French artistes. The rest are simply willing to pay merely outrageous fees to excellent photographers,” He rolled his eyes, and led me to an area that was filled with costumes. “Painting for me and sculpting for him are more for fun and to escape bridezillas than anything else.”
“Partner?” He smiled and pulled out a photograph from his wallet. It was faded, and the edges were ragged. It was dated nearly five years before. There were two young men on a beach in the photograph. While Cecil was attractive and had more muscle than I had initially suspected his partner was something else. He looked like he could have posed on the cover of romance novels. Chiseled chest? Check. Thick dark hair? Check. Sky-blue eyes? Check. Defined jawline (with optional attractive stubble)? Check.
“That was the night we met. The sex we had that evening…there is a reason we do not leave each other. It was intense. We complete each other, Percy and I.”
“Percy does not sound like a French name. You said your customers…”
“He is English, but his ‘french’ accent is more believable than mine when we are dealing with fools,” He smiled absently, apparently lost in thought. Then he shook himself and scanned me intensely and completely. I felt like he really was seeing my soul. “I think that Aphrodite is more appropriate. You have a sensual and sexual core that is just mecidiyeköy escort waiting to be set free.” I blushed, and he smirked a bit. “You keep her well tied up, don’t you?” I started to sputter, and he laughed. “I do not judge. We shall see if we can set her free today.” Then he dramatically removed a dress from the rack.
Well, I use “dress” for lack of a better term. It was clearly Greek inspired. However, I doubted even Aphrodite would have been caught dead in it outside her dressing room. It was rose coloured mist, really. Here and there gold threads ran through it vertically. It was also perilously short. I realized my jaw had dropped open. Cecil tilted his head to one side and said, absolutely deadpan, “my dear, right now I only want your body for my art.” It worked, and I relaxed with a laugh.
“I’ve just never done anything like this. I’m a bit nervous.” I took the dress, and hung it on the end of the rack with tentative movements.
He nodded, then said, “perhaps it will make posing easier if you strip in front of me now. Then you can always remember that I have indeed seen all of you and you are more ‘dressed’ before my lense.” I hesitated, and he got down on one knee and said melodramatically, “Please, Medea. For my art, I need a muse.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it.
“Oh, alright. If you’ll get up.” He did so. I boldly met his eyes and button by button undid my blouse, slowly letting it slide down my arms and puddle on the floor behind me. Next I slowly, so very slowly, pulled down my skirt leaving me dressed in tights, panties, bra, and my low heels. I paused standing proudly erect as Cecil circled me like a contemplative shark.
“Well, if I ever need a 50s pin-up model I know who I should call.” There was fire in his eyes as he said that, and it was all I needed to continue. I stretched on tip-toe and looked up to the ceiling as I lifted my hands up behind my head to remove my hair pins. As I stepped out of the shoes I shook out my long, curly hair. I then slowly leaned down as I rolled my tights off along with my panties (not as I had intended, but they were both so wet I decided to just go with it). My hair had fallen forward during this and now covered my bra and breasts as well as forming a curtain over one eye. I met Cecil’s eyes, daring him to look. He raised his eyebrows as his lips quirked slightly. I reached back and undid the hooks flexing my chest as I did so. The straps slid down my shoulders. Maintaining eye contact as long as possible I turned back towards the dress rack. I caught a strap in one hand and then flung the bra over my shoulder in Cecil’s general direction.
Then, in one smooth motion I pulled the rose coloured mist over my head and into place. Absently I inspected my pert nipples, then drew a hand over them and shuddered at the sensation of the silky fabric on my breasts. “Excellent. I knew that you had more than a touch of Aphrodite in you. Sandals?” I nodded as I turned around. And burst out laughing when I saw him. Apparently I had aimed too well when I threw the bra towards him. It was laying over his head, one cup over the head and the other covering an eye and his nose. He smiled, and approached with a golden cord in hand. “Reach for the sky, Aphrodite,” I did, and he tied the cord cris-cross around my chest and above and below my breasts. His hands occasionally brushed against me as he secured the cord and removed my hair from beneath them. I tried to ignore my sudden intake of breath and knocked the bra off his head to try to distract him. “Ah thank you, O goddess of love and beauty.” I chuckled as he took my hand and led me towards one of the sets.
The bedroom set contained a real bed. Cecil directed me to sit on it as he put on the Grecian sandals. He took his time about it, caressing my calves as he laced them up. I was breathing a bit heavily by the time he was done, and I think I’d left a wet spot on the edge of the bed.
“For today I would prefer photographs. I want to see the best way to display your features, Aphrodite.” For the next hour or so we did exactly that, stopping only briefly for sips of some iced tea concoction. I got more and more excited, thinking of more and more risque poses to display myself in. I could feel my wetness starting to run down my thighs, and the entire time my nipples just got harder and harder.
Slowly I stopped thinking about anything but getting myself off. After a particularly daring pose I found myself laying back on the bed, legs parted. I could smell my arousal. I reached down and lightly stroked my clit. Seemingly without my input my back arched istanbul escort in pleasure and I heard myself moan. So I did it again. Again. I was breathing faster and faster, when through the haze of arousal I saw Cecil’s face. “Here, you might want this.” I blinked, and realized he had handed me a dildo. I was beyond words, and moaned my happiness.
I aimed the dildo for entry, and slowly allowed it into me. I could feel myself filling delightfully. My thighs and pussy twitched happily, and I kept on pushing as far as I could go. Everything around me was hazy and it felt like I was on fire. It was exquisite, incredible, awesome, and unlike anything I had ever felt before. Better than any orgasm I’d ever experienced, but what little part of my brain hadn’t been overridden by lust realized I hadn’t come yet. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to survive coming if this was just the pre-show. However, lust overrode logic and one hand thrust the dildo in and out while the other feverishly stroked my clit. Ohmygod. I felt my body try to lift itself off the mattress in sheer convulsive delight. Through the fire I felt a hand cover the one on the dildo and I dimly heard a buzzing and Cecil’s voice. “I can do that. Pay attention to these,” and he lightly nibbled each nipple in turn. I gasped with pleasure, and hurried to do as he asked.
“Oh, god yes. Please more, please?” The dildo started to buzz inside me, and then I felt something buzzing directly against my clit. The world went white with fire and I suddenly felt as though I was floating blissfully. Distantly I was aware that my body was writhing and bucking with need and that I was yelling “more, please fuck me more I need it ohgod ohgodohgodohgod.”
White, then fading gradually into normal. I returned to myself while still in the throes of aftershocks. The tiny little baby orgasms were as good if not better than anything I had ever experienced before. I somewhat blurrily looked over to one side and noted Cecil was there, naked. I had my head on one of his arms. He met my eyes, and I moaned as another aftershock hit me.
“I told you that Aphrodite was in you, just waiting to be set free.” He ran a hand over my breasts, tweaking each nipple which were new epicenters, and my back arched eagerly tilting my breasts towards his hand. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” I nodded, still too out of breath to speak properly. Cecil idly reached down towards my pussy, pausing to pay tribute briefly to my clit (oh GOD), and then quickly removed the dildo. The sudden emptiness was almost painful, and I rolled off his arm onto my side and curled up into a ball. A happy, wet, exhausted ball.
I felt the mattress move as Cecil came around to where he could see my face. He was quite happily licking the remains of my arousal off the dildo. I watched him somewhat incredulously. “But I thought that…I mean aren’t you and Percy…you said that that night was first sexy awesomeness”
Cecil smiled, finishing off the outside of the dildo with obvious relish. “Yes. We shared a girl that night. It was, ah ‘first sexy awesomeness.’ We aren’t a traditional couple.”
“Oh. So are you a couple?”
“I think your brain is still turned off. That happens sometimes with our women.”
“Our? I didn’t see anyone else, I don’t think,” I managed to get out. Cecil chuckled.
“Your brain. Off.” Cecil gently tapped the centre of my forehead. “He is here, in a way. He will be physically here in the loft later tonight if you think you can handle both of us.”
“Oh god. I’m not sure. I’m hungry. But so empty, I want you…” Cecil got up and lifted a tray with grapes and other finger foods off a nearby table. I reached out, but he swatted my hand away playfully.
“Allow me.” He concentrated on feeding me, one small piece at a time, sometimes taking a bite or two for himself. Slowly I uncoiled, and my breathing returned to normal. After we finished he got up to remove the tray, and then settled in behind me as the big spoon, slowly stroking up and down my side. “You taste and smell delicious. I can also think of another delightful part you may wish to play later today. I can tell you more if you let me eat right from your source.” I shuddered, and met his eyes, smiling. “Is that a yes?” I nodded.
Faster than I would have believed possible he was down by my feet, and flipped me onto my back again. I squealed, resisting slightly out of surprise. “Is that a yes?”
“Please, tell me a story while you eat me.” I dropped my thighs open, and he leaned forward, and breathed deep. A finger began to stroke my outer folds oh so delicately. “Wait, I didn’t ask. Or say. All my tests are negative. Um. Are yours?”
Cecil paused “you were more out of it than I thought. You already asked. Twice. But, as I said earlier you don’t have to worry about catching anything from me.” He resumed stroking and caressing, slowly working me up. “Now, story time. Let me tell you about the legend of Andromeda.”
….to be continued.