by Jayce, Aven
“Three days ago, you jerk,” I say, smacking him on the arm for his lame ass joke. “We both need this. I know when I end a relationship I tend to run right out and fuck the first person I’m attracted to. It helps me feel better about the break-up, but I also do it because it’s usually been some time since I’ve had sex. People don’t fuck much toward the end of things; it’s more fighting than sex that usually happens. I don’t know about you, Evan, but this last hurrah will satisfy my needs, at least for a little while.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says, as he brushes my hair off my shoulder.
I grab his arms and roll him so he’s laying flat on the bed, rise to my knees, and straddle his hips. “I need you to understand that I care for you, I’m just not in love with you, and it’s obvious from your reaction when I told you I was leaving that you feel the same way about me. We’re friends, and it doesn’t go any further than that.”
Evan looks at me, still grinning. “Sexual friends?”
“Okay sexual friend, enough talking. Let’s get this show on the road, as you would say.”
I pull his cock through the fly of his underwear, releasing him into the bright daylight, while admiring his body as it glows in the sun.
“You’re not going to undress?” he asks.
“Well, if you insist.”
My shirt, skirt, and underwear are off in a split second, and I lower myself back onto the bed, straddling Evan’s thighs.
“Is that better?”
“Yeah, you’re not wearing a bra today. Perfect.”
I hold his solid mass in one hand and lower myself onto him, watching his eyes close and his lips part. I lean down and tug his bottom lip with my teeth.
“Sophia, don’t move for a minute. I just want to feel you.” Evan’s face relaxes and I can feel the pulse of his erection.
My hands run along his chest, across his nipples, and down his abs. I continue caressing him until I feel his hips lower as he pulls slightly out. I tighten my muscles and hold him in place. He opens his eyes and smiles, lowering his hips again, but this time slamming quickly back inside. He stops and waits for me to make the next move.
“Put your hands on my breasts,” I say, leaning down. I clutch his shoulders for balance and begin to move.
“Soph, go slow.”
He massages my breast with one hand and wraps the other around my back. I love watching his face when we fuck.
I lower until I feel my clit against his flesh and begin to slide, putting pressure on the area, nourishing my approaching orgasm.
“That’s it. I can feel you, you’re so wet.”
“Evan, I’m going to come.” My head falls back and my chest arches forward. He moves faster, using his hand on my back as a support for his quick movements.
“I’m going to make you come,” he says.
My body tightens from my stomach down to my feet. I stop breathing and my chest tenses. A rush of heat travels up my breasts and across my face.
“Oh God,” I scream. “Don’t stop.”
“Do it for me, Sophia. Come.”
I fall on top of Evan, panting, feeling a trickle of sweat roll down my chest. He wraps his arms around me and let’s me lie on top of him until I’m able to catch my breath.
“Wow, that was fast… and good,” I huff.
I roll onto my side with my back against his chest. We spoon, and I feel his erection on my ass. He slides between my legs and penetrates my opening.
My body shakes. “God, I’m so sensitive right now.”
“I can feel your pulse against my dick.”
“Are you close?” I ask him.
“After being inside of you for that orgasm? What do you think?”
He thrusts. His arms wrap around my chest, restricting me from any movement. I feel his breath quickening, and his firm body rocks into me with unforgiving blows. “I need this,” he groans.
Growing longer and harder he pounds into me from behind, his cock demanding pleasure, sinking deeper inside. My breathing races and I whimper, knowing that my soft cries turn him on. Every sound brings him closer to his release.
“Fuck,” Evan says, crushing me with his arms, pushing as far inside as he can go. “Oh, oh,” he cries, burying his face into the back of my neck.
His warm breath runs down my back in deep bursts. I feel his heart beating rapidly, and his body vibrating with pleasure. We’re both caked in sweat and although I can’t see Evan’s face, I can sense his smile.
“That was nice,” he mumbles. He slides out and rolls onto his back, panting for air.
We lay in silence next to one another, waiting for the other to speak. I pick up my phone to check the time. It’s almost three. I’ll have to leave soon, and I start to wonder how long our good-byes will last.
“You can leave if you want,” he says. I turn my head to face him, only to see a frown. “I saw you looking at your phone. You can go; it’s fine to leave.”
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“For the most part. I mean, I think I’m sad, but I’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“You’re sad as well?”
“Yes, Evan. I am. I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
“You won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, I’ll always be around if you need me, even after I find someone else.”
“Well, I’m not heading out just yet, but soon I’ll have to leave for work.”
He lets out a chuckle and covers his face with his forearm.
“Don’t laugh at my job. I’ll have you know it takes a lot of guts and self-esteem to do what I do. Just because you don’t want to show off your wiener to a crowd doesn’t mean that you have the right to laugh at me for showing off mine.”
“Soph, I’m laughing at the fact that your father owns casinos in Vegas. You’re loaded and can have anything you want, and yet you go out each week and do that. You don’t need the money, so why do it? And by the way, just so you know, you don’t have a wiener.”
“Well it makes me happy, and happiness in my life is essential right now. Plus I meet interesting people, and it gets me out of the house. It would be nice to make my own money at some point and not have to rely on my dad, and who knows, perhaps this will lead to something else.”
“I don’t see this job as something that will advance your career,” he laughs again.
“Then just view it as a confidence builder and let it go,” I demand, leaning over to give him a light kiss on the shoulder. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay, now that we’re not together anymore, tell me about the first time you ever had sex.”
“What? Why would you want to hear that story?”
“Because you wouldn’t tell me before, and it’s the first conversation couples have when they hookup and start sleeping together.”
“Everyone always asks me that question,” I say.
“See, it’s very common. People want to hear about one another’s past experiences, especially their first time.”
“Now? You actually want to hear about this now?”
“Yes. It’s something that’s always been missing from our relationship.”
“But our relationship is over.” I roll over so that I’m facing away from him. I hear him sigh and exhale.
“That’s fine, Soph, but we can still talk can’t we? It should be easier to tell me about it now, since we’re not going to be together anymore. Didn’t you ever discuss it with your girlfriends at late night slumber parties? Just think of me as one of those friends.”
“Slumber parties?” I gasp and turn. “Jesus, how old do you think I was when I first had sex, like nine?”
Evan laughs, taking my hand into his. “No, I thought maybe twelve or thirteen. I can picture you being a tall, skinny tomboy; maybe playing baseball or hoops with the boys, then jerking them off afterward.”
“That’s sick, Evan. Don’t think of me as a little kid jerking boys off. That’s so wrong.”
/>
“You’ve always been a mystery to me. I know so much about you, and yet, I know nothing. Talk to me about something other than the present day or your life since we met, and I’ll be satisfied.”
“If it will make you happy, fine. But I’m going to tell you about my second time, not my first. The first time was quick, since I think it was his first time too, so there’s not much of a story there. In and out and done.” Evan starts to say something, but I cut him off. “And, I haven’t really kept things from you. I’m not as much of a mystery as you think I am. My past is pretty boring, and that’s why I don’t bring it up very often.”
I settle into the bed so that I’m lying on my back, staring at the ceiling. My second time, now there’s a story.
CHAPTER TWO
My phone rings as I’m walking down Pershing Avenue toward Skinker Boulevard. Evan’s place is close enough to the university that it seems silly to drive to work on such a lovely evening. The air is still with the smell of decaying leaves, and my mood has lightened since the breakup went so well. There’s a huge weight off my shoulders. I take out my phone and know its Mera calling for details of the afternoon’s events.
“Hey love!” I exclaim.
“I can tell by your cheery voice that everything went well.”
“He didn’t throw anything. We had sex one last time, well maybe the last time, and I told him about my second sexual encounter.” There’s silence on the other end. “Mera, you still there?”
“Yeah, just shocked. I know Evan’s always been intrigued by you, but even I’m lost for words right now. Do you want to talk to me about the afternoon fuck, the possible future fucking, or your many past fucks?”
“Yes. All of the above, but I’m heading to work right now,” I reply, hearing Mera giggle on the other end. “Why does everyone always laugh at my job?”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat, Soph.”
“I have to get going or I’ll be late, but I’ll see you tonight to fill you in on all the details. Thanks again for letting me stay with you while my new place is being painted.”
“No problem, I miss having you as a roommate. What do you say we pig out on a pizza from Dewey’s and have a girls’ night in?”
“You have no idea how wonderful that sounds. See you in a few hours my love.” I end our call, placing my phone in my bag as a car horn sounds behind me.
“Looking forward to it,” a guy yells from his car window. Waving, I give him a big smile. He’s one of the art students in the class I’ll be modeling for tonight.
I miss being a college student, but I’ve also found my fountain of youth. The secret to staying and feeling young is to work at a university. It postpones the inevitable mundane life that grips so many people after graduation.
The campus is alive with a crowd of students enjoying the evening; throwing frisbees, hanging flyers for events, and playing guitars. A few people are lying on blankets and reading textbooks, while others are hanging out with friends, discussing classes, and smoking cigarettes. There’s a blossoming of lives exploding in front of me like fireworks. Students surge through these four years eagerly awaiting the outside world, while I’m scurrying back to the warmth of the womb.
I enter the art building and walk up a flight of stairs to the second floor drawing room. The ceiling rises twenty feet and is engulfed with spotlights illuminating a platform in the center of the room. There are about thirty desks circling around the middle of the space, each one occupied by a young, wide-eyed, eager, soon to be artiste.
“Miss Jameson, welcome back. We’re ready whenever you are.” The professor is a tall lanky man who’s about fifty. He walks over to me and shakes my hand as he does at the beginning of every session.
“Isn’t Jameson a porn star?” I hear someone in the room whisper, and a few students hoot along at the joke.
I look directly at the student, lifting my shirt over my head, trying to get some kind of a rise out of him in front of his friends. He’s definitely an outsider, taking the class for thrills. The typical art student wouldn’t show up wearing a green polo shirt and khaki shorts, sporting a buzz cut and white conch shell necklace.
“Um, Miss Jameson, you can undress behind the changing screen.”
I take my place behind the partition, where there’s a coatrack for my clothes, a full-length mirror, and a chair with a white cotton robe draped over it. I slip out of my clothes and hang everything on the rack. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I tighten my butt cheeks and watch my thighs shrink in closer to my body. I need to start exercising. My hair is slightly mussed from having sex just an hour earlier, and as my eyes travel down my body I make a mental note that I’m in need of a professional waxing. The thought that I’m beginning to look like my mother horrifies me. Okay Sophia, you shouldn’t think about your mother when you’re about to expose yourself to thirty people. Keep the panic attack at bay.
I place my arms into the robe and walk around the screen back into the open drawing area. The room is cold and my nipples are erect. It’s showtime as I feel thirty sets of eyes follow my shape over to the platform. I step up and stand next to the stool, looking out at all of them.
Roger and Diane are in the far row. They’re an older couple taking the class through the continuing education program, and my favorite people to talk to during the breaks. They have a son who is an artist and they’re hoping to connect with him by taking this course.
“Everyone stand please. Let’s begin with thirty-second gesture drawings, then we’ll go on to one minute, and finally end with a few two-minute drawings.” The professor looks up at me to proceed. I slip out of the robe and turn to face the outsider. Tonight, this is all for him.
I change positions with each new gesture drawing. The stool is a bonus prop as far as I’m concerned. I use it for support while bending over, and for propping one leg up so the class can get a detailed view of my crotch, although it’s rare for anyone to draw that area. Most of the time it’s because the students are shy, or afraid to look down there, and other times it’s because they don’t think they have the drawing skills to do those parts justice.
“Let’s do a forty-five minute drawing, your choice of what section of the body you’d like to draw, and then we should take a break.” The professor approaches me and pats the stool. “Please, sit here, facing the north side of the room. You can face the other direction for the next drawing.”
He walks away and I sit on the stool, placing my feet on the crossbars. I position my hands in my lap and tilt my head slightly to the left. I’m fully aware that there are thirty people staring at my naked body at this moment. Every inch is being studied and it’s a complete turn-on. Take me in, follow my curves down into every crevice, speculate about my scars, and teach me how to love what you see.
This is what I crave, a quiet moment to think while getting paid to do so. Not that the money matters, I mean it’s only fifty dollars to pose for a two-hour session, but it’s a bonus. My eyes close and I begin to take deep breaths. The heat from the spotlights warms my body and my nipples relax, expanding back from their shriveled state. The warmth and lack of clothing takes me back to my childhood during the summer months in Philadelphia. As a toddler, I would run shirtless through the yard with my brother, not realizing that there was a difference between boys and girls. I later learned when I started grammar school that little girls needed to hide their chests from the world. Was it then that I became ashamed of my body? I start to daydream about all the times I was scolded by teachers for exposing myself in the classroom. Losing track of time, I’m brought back to reality by the voice of the professor.
“Everyone please put your charcoal down, and let’s take a ten-minute break.” The professor, and the majority of the students take out cigarettes and head for the door. I put on the robe, pulling the middle sash tight.
Roger and Diane approach me and I give them a big smile. “Hello you two, how’s it going?”
“Very well, Sophia. We were hop
ing you would be the model this evening. You have such a beautiful body.” Roger nods his head in agreement with his wife as she takes my hand and helps me step off the platform.
“Well, I was just having an upsetting daydream about exposing myself to the world, but you both know I’m here to build my self-esteem, so words like that are always welcome, especially coming from my two favorite artists.”
“I’ll let you know when I sell my first drawing, then you can call me an artist,” Diane laughs, keeping her hand fused with mine as the three of us move to the courtyard for some fresh air.
Diane asks how difficult it is to sit in the same position for so long, and how much money one can make being a nude model.
“Are you interested in modeling?” I ask.
“Yes, she is,” Roger declares in a blissful voice. “And I can’t wait to see her on that platform, sprawled out, and visible to all. I love my wife, and I want her to see that even younger generations view her the same way that I do. Students will draw her as a goddess, a gorgeous deity, and their depictions of her will be the proof as to how I see her every day.”
“Oh Roger, please. Viewing a saggy, fifty-five-year-old naked woman won’t turn on college men. I wanted to try it because I believe that students should draw all bodies, of all ages. It will give them a quality education. Every model we’ve had has been under thirty, and female. As a matter a fact, Roger, perhaps the two of us should model together. These students could use a male figure in front of them as well.”
“I’m game, my love. I’d be happy to show my wrinkled turtle to these boys. It will give them something to look forward to as they age,” he chuckles. I love how relaxed they are with one another.
“Well, I also wanted to try to model because I’ve never been naked in front of another person, besides Roger, of course. I think it would be exhilarating.”
“It is. It’s also relaxing and meditative. I think of it as therapy.”
Roger joins a group of people from the class in their cigarette break, as I continue talking to Diane. The student with the conch shell necklace stands in the group with Roger. He glances our way a few times, and once, when our eyes meet, he smiles. I’ve come to find out, after many requests, that college guys believe women who are nude models will sleep with them. I can tell by his expression what’s on his mind. I’ve already seen you naked, so why can’t we just do it. Sorry sweetie, I don’t put out for everyone. I do have some limits… I think.