I packed up my pads of paper, pencils, conte crayons, and charcoal and got ready to leave. Tonight’s model was the exception, a slender, well proportioned, attractive female. Contrary to what many people think about figure drawing, most artists, myself included, are usually simply looking at line, light, dark, shadow, negative space, etc. and not necessarily seeing the model as a flesh and blood human. The attractiveness of tonight’s model threw everyone off a little, it did me anyway. It’s hard to concentrate on composition, when you are looking at a nude model that you want to fuck.

I couldn’t help but notice that Cinny, in particular, seemed especially effected by the sexy model. She seemed nervous, crumpled up more paper than usual, and took lots of breaks. When class ended, she was the first one to pack up her gear and get out the door.

I had been wondering about Cinny since the beginning of the semester. She was attractive in a tomboy kind of way. She wore blue Levi jeans, blue chambray button-down shirts rolled up to the elbows--with one button too many provocatively open at the neck and chest, and black Converse AllStars. Always the same, every class, like she was trying to affect her ideal of an early 60’s beat artist. Her hair was short dishwater blonde and punk rock spiky. That was where the manish ended, she was never without precisely drawn eye makeup and Pinot red lipstick. She may have been wearing additional makeup, but the focus was clearly pointed to her cat eyes and large, full lipped mouth. And while she wore her clothes like a uniform, you could see the hair, face and makeup was put together to accentuate her natural feminine gifts. It wasn’t an androgynous look, more of a mashup between male and female.

Her manner was direct and bold. She moved with a purpose and no-nonsense confidence. I imagine she could be a little intimidating. I was a little intimidated, captivated, but a little uncertain. And then there was her husky voice, not cigarette-whiskey husky, but Lauren Bacall husky. I’m sure she cut quite a swath wherever she went. I certainly didn’t know what to make of her. I did know that I would make it with her if the opportunity arose, but I sure didn’t see how that was going to happen. So, I was a little surprise that night when I came out of the studio door and she was standing there, apparently waiting for me.

She squared me up, looked me straight in the face and commanded, “Nick, I want you to come home with me tonight.”

I was stunned to say the least, and I must not have responded quickly enough for her, because she followed up with an impatient, “Well?”

Finally, my senses kicked in and I stammered, “Sure, you mean like right now?”

“Yes, I mean right now. Meet me in the parking lot and you can follow me home,” She said, turning brusquely on her sneakers and walking away, not waiting for me to catch up. She was, however, waiting for me in the parking lot in an antique silver convertible bathtub Porsche. I followed her up the winding curves of Mission Canyon to a wonderfully designed ranch style home. It was clearly well maintained and immaculate. It radiated money, style and taste. I was impressed. I parked and walked to the door, she hadn’t waited, of course.

The door was slightly ajar so I tentatively pushed it open and stepped into the house, closing the door behind me. I heard her husky voice call out from down a hallway, “I’m in the bathroom, come and join me.” So, I went to find her. She was halfway undressed by the time I found the bathroom dropping her clothes on the floor in her haste and telling me to do the same, “Take off your clothes, we need to take a shower.”

She was in the shower well before I was. When I looked up after undressing, I could see she had a razor in her hand and was at the business of busily shaving her pussy. Something I had heard about, but never seen or experienced, except in pornographic magazines. I was transfixed and watched her finish up. She looked up, a little annoyance showing on her face. So, I quickly opened the shower door and stepped in with her. Of course, my arousal was obvious, but she was as matter of fact about my cock as she had been about her shaving, as she was about everything apparently. “Stand in front of the water and I’ll wash you first,” she directed. I did and she proceeded to scrub me down, not in a very romantic or erotic way, but as a groom might wash down a stallion. If I felt I was being used, I really could have cared less. I was ready for her to use me however she wanted.

She stopped abruptly, handed me the scrubby and we switched positions. She put her hands up against the wall and spread her legs like someone ready to be frisked, the hot water streaming into her chest and her head tipped slightly back. I swallowed and took a second or more to admire her form. Nothing was really outstanding about her body. Her breasts were smallish, but nicely shaped. She was fit, but not athletic, not skinny, not fat. It was her persona that was absolutely striking, her absolute confidence that she was desirable and to be admired, which of course, I did.

Before she could command me again, I began washing her, not like a groom, but in a more sensual and caressing manner. She responded to this. I could see and feel the tension in her muscles melting and giving in to a softer feeling. I took a lot longer with her than she did with me--a lot longer--feeling the totality of her soapy body. Feeling between her legs for that shaved pussy was a sensation I had not had before. She was so smooth and soft between her legs, and the soapy water was adding to the slickness.

After an enjoyable amount of touching, she turned off the water, and put one leg up on a tile bench built into the shower. She firmly pushed me to my knees between her legs. Obviously, she wanted me to eat her clean shaven and slightly puffy pussy. I was only too willing. I only restrained myself so long with delicate kisses, licks and nibbles. I wanted to eat her raw. I got the feeling she wanted that as well. Her body started a gyrating rhythmically towards my face. She grabbed the back of my head and pushed my open mouth hard into her pussy. I matched her energy and was licking and sucking her as hard as she was pushing me. It didn’t take long before she was convulsing in a prolonged orgasm, deep moans emanating from somewhere deep, deep inside her. I was so aroused, I almost came without even being touched. I fought to control my desire to simply let go, although now I don’t know why I did.

When she was clearly done, she pulled me up from my knees and sat me down on the bench. Then she was down on her knees, kissing, licking and taking my cock deep into her mouth. I’m not ashamed to say, I did not last long. I exploded into her mouth, which she kept clamped onto my cock until my shuddering orgasm was complete. She looked up, held me with her eyes and swallowed. Then she stood us both up for a wet, cummey kiss.

Abruptly-- which I was learning was apparently her style--she turned and stepped out of the shower, holding the door open for me. We both dried ourselves and she quickly put on a crisp white terry robe that was hanging on a hook behind the door. I must have looked uncertain, because she opened the door, and stepped out before turning to face me. Looking at me in the same direct way she had at the beginning of this unexpected evening, she stated flatly, “When you’re done dressing, don’t worry about locking the front door, I’ll get it later. You’ll be able to find your way back down the canyon to town I trust?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned on her bare feet and disappeared somewhere into the sprawling house.

I was able to find my way home that evening. Ruined and rattled to be sure, but high, very, very high.