Life Drawing
Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating dust bunnies swirling through the air and making the hardwood of the attic seem several shades lighter. I slid off my thin white dress. Joanie watched as she had so many times before. A breeze licked down my chest. My cheeks grew hot. I noted with some satisfaction a blush spreading across her face as well.
“Just like that.” Then she frowned. “Can you slide a little this way?”
I glided to the right, slowly. She exhaled softly. I smiled. “Am I good?” I asked.
She swallowed. “You’re good.”
The room was slightly brisk and my nipples were hard. I straightened my back so she would get a perfect view of my breasts.
I had posed nude for Joanie before when she needed an anatomical reference. It was a simple arrangement that existed mostly in the asexual manner a model for a figure drawing class might pose.
What separated my modeling for her privately from a classroom environment was a deep fondness and closeness which made the initial moments way less awkward. When I took off what I had on, there was no moment of silence as there might be in a classroom where an enormous penis or a suggestively-shaped birthmark was revealed. Just a steady stream of conversation that flowed like a fountain, bubbling and neverending. The easy banter which frequently characterized our sessions, however, was missing today.
Recently, Joanie and I had gone out. The night had progressed like many others, adorned with slinky backless tops revealing tanlines from days spent at the beach, soundtracked by bangles clashing into each other when we locked arms. Fizzing spritzes full of ice seemed to materialize at our table–someone must have been buying us drinks–and if I close my eyes I can still see Joanie sucking the juice from her orange slices. I can still see the juice dripping down her chin.
I remember us running to her apartment, giggling and tripping over nothing. We crashed through her door and the room spun but only slightly.
“We’re ho-ome!” She cried, throwing her arms around me, engulfing me in the scent of musky vanilla perfume, salty sweat and cigarette smoke.
I kissed her on the forehead. She giggled. “I missed you so much.” She said.
“I missed you, too.” I said.
“Even though it’s been like three days. I always miss you when you’re not around. It’s pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic.” I slumped to the floor. She collapsed next to me. “I feel the same way.” I said.
She pressed her glossed lips together. A silence began to stretch between us, made louder by the hum of the AC and the whine of her small fridge. “Do you actually?” She asked.
“Yeah, I do actually.”
“You really mean it?”
I swallowed. “I really mean it.”
Her glazed eyes met mine. Her lips stretched in a slow smile and then kissed mine. She tasted like oranges and prosecco. I moaned into her mouth. I felt her shake slightly under me. The room spun and nothing mattered but the woman in my arms, my best friend, tethering me to this Earth.
“Fuck.” She whispered, face inches from mine. I trailed slow kisses down her neck. My fingers dragged down her tan back, tracing her delicate shoulders. With my other hand I started playing with the waistband of her miniskirt, dipping my fingers under and stroking her thigh. Her hand slid down to meet mine.
“I want you.” She muttered. “I’ve wanted you for so long now.”
My face grew hot. “What do you want?”
She moaned, blushing. Wordlessly, she inched my hand towards her panties. I rubbed soft circles on her clit through them. She gasped, bucking her hips against my fingers. “Please.” She moaned. “Please please please.”
That’s the last full scene I can conjure from the night. I remember other brief flashes—the smell of her on my fingers, her pretty eyes meeting mine, her tongue lapping at my pussy—but everything is fuzzy. It felt too good to be true, which makes me wonder how much happened and how much was the dizzying world of my own fantasies coalescing with this one.
I worried the ecstasy we shared took our relationship to an alien place we didn’t know how to operate in and felt my fear was confirmed by the fact that we had only spoken in passing for two weeks, mainly in group settings and for brief periods of time.
When we were apart, I picked at my nails and drank espresso until I had a headache and tried to write. But my mind drifted back to her shoulders and the texture of the lace on the edge of her panties.
Then she’d approached me to complain about a figure drawing assignment given by her notoriously strict professor. She asked if I was free and willing to pose for her again. Of course, I’d said. Of course I’ll be your model.
~~~
“Stretch your arms above your head?” Normally, she briskly instructed me without any hint of the question currently marking her voice. I raised my arms slowly to reveal my curves.
“Good?” I asked.
“Very good.”
I smiled.
“Keep your face straight,” she said and so I did, staring deep into her eyes. She concentrated on her paper for what seemed like an unreasonable amount of time, then, suddenly, her gaze flickered up to meet mine. What passed between us was thick.
Blushing, she broke the stare off quickly to examine some lines on her page. Disappointment whimpered inside me, then a slight nauseating sense of shame. I didn’t have the right to be disappointed. After the night we had shared, I’d bustled out of her bedroom at dawn before she woke up. I sat on the subway in my body glitter among commuters in suits. I didn’t call. I didn’t text. Neither had she, but I knew I was the cowardly one.
Still, I could feel myself getting wet as her eyes took me in, a delicious suspense. Focus. I thought, shoving my reservations and enjoyable agony away.
For about an hour I stood. The sun sank, darkening the room slightly. As the minutes stretched, Joanie’s gaze lingered on my body for longer than felt necessary. She seemed to be getting bolder as the room grew a little darker, no longer shying from our eyes catching or flitting hers immediately down after she had captured just enough of my body to sketch with a quick look.
Goosebumps prickled my skin. I felt a little sick. I shivered slightly. I wonder if she noticed.
Eventually, she broke the silence. “Grab that chair and sit backwards in it.”
Want more?
Aurore is a space for real sex stories inspired by our best intimate experiences.
Unlock the full story and explore more like this.
Already a member? Log in here.