Josh Adams was pretty proud of himself. He'd managed to hold his marriage together through grad school, which was a miracle in itself. They'd married a week before college graduation and took a full weekend honeymoon at a state park lodge where they only emerged from their room for meals, and sometimes not then. The summer was filled with rushing from one parent's house to another for proper visits before they packed all they owned into a 4x5 U-Haul trailer and towed it across the country so Josh could start his Teaching Assistantship a week before grad school classes started. Lana managed to get a job as a legal assistant in a reputable law firm that sponsored her admission to Law School the next year. Josh came out of grad school with an MFA in Fine Arts with an emphasis in sculpture. He was hired at a local private college as an art instructor with the promise that he'd have plenty of time and a studio to work on his own projects—a kind of artist in residence.
Of course, what really got him the job was having spent two years as the Teaching Assistant for the State University's very popular Intro to Art History professor, Adam Wilson. Dr. Wilson lectured. Let's be honest. Dr. Wilson entertained. As one of the three classes at a large University that would satisfy the Arts requirement for a BA, Dr. Wilson's classes were held in the University Opera House where the 300 students could be suitably entertained while the professor strutted up and down the stage, flashing theater-sized images on the screen behind him while Josh operated the lightboard, made sure the professor's slides were in order, and patrolled the theater looking for troublesome students.
And Josh graded tests, including the interminable essays that Dr. Wilson assigned. This was a class where a "C" grade was indeed the average.
His second year working for Dr. Wilson almost ruined his marriage. Lana had started Law School and was working late most nights. With 300 students to evaluate while he did his final project for his MFA, Josh was spending more time at school than at home as well. The couple quickly found a routine in which they promised each other not to schedule anything before noon on Saturday. They would wake up when they felt like it, make love until both had been satisfied with at least one orgasm, and find a place for brunch while they caught up on each other's lives. There were times when Josh felt like home was only a place where his dick was connected on Saturday mornings.
Lisa Wright complicated matters even more.
Somehow she always seemed to be in the studio when Josh was. They connected on a subconscious level. She flirted and Josh recognized the flirtation, even giving back a little of what he got. But it never crossed the line of propriety between two students. Lisa wasn't in Dr. Wilson's class, so even though she was an undergraduate Josh had no compunctions about enjoying her company in the studio. She wasn't sucking up as some IAH students had blatantly done in the past. She simply was in the sculpture studio when Josh was. She worked on her project as he worked on his.
Josh was not into realism, so the event that brought the two together was a complete surprise to him. While Lisa worked in clay and plaster, intending to cast a bust out of bronze, Josh was welding massive pieces of iron together, mixing brass rods with the medium to create his abstract version of "Lovers." He had the concept pretty well settled and based on the model that he'd created out of wood at 1/24th scale, he'd even sold the work to an office park that was under development. It would grace the plaza in the midst of the quad of buildings. He was pretty pleased with his work and had been told by his advisor that it was a fine Master's piece.
He held a triangular bit of sheet metal in place against a brass rod as he flipped the welding mask over his face and raised the acetylene torch to fasten the pieces together. He was startled by the sudden shout from behind him.
He withdrew his hand and turned to see Lisa standing about five feet behind him. He turned down the torch, perturbed that she would distract him just as he was getting ready to weld. He pushed back his visor and snapped at her.
"What? Is the building on fire?"
"Then why would you interrupt me when I was so close?" Artists get in a zone when they're working—even those artists who weld pieces of metal together. Interrupting a working artist was tantamount to stopping an orgasm. No one—especially not another artist—did it.
"It's in the wrong place," she said.
"What would you know about it?"
"I know what you are making and I know that piece is in the wrong place. You'll hate it when it's too late to do anything about it."
"Oh. Have you become a critic now? You understand the artwork better than the artist? Why don't you go write a 500-word review of the work and tell me everything you know?"
His words were biting enough that he expected her to turn on her heel and leave. He could see moisture in her eyes, but she held her ground. Then she walked up to him and took the piece of metal from his gloved hand.
"Take your gloves off," she commanded. He did as instructed, caught off-guard by her sharp tone. "Now look. This is where you had it, right?" He adjusted the position fractionally, but the truth was she was so close to where he had started to weld the piece that he was a little unnerved. After the adjustment she held it perfectly in place and continued her instructions. "Put your hand on the horizontal piece above it and lightly stroke down over the piece and along this angled rod you were fastening it to. Close your eyes and just let your fingers feel the metal, the shape, and the texture." He did as instructed. There was something there. He couldn't identify what it was, but there was definitely a problem with the position. Why hadn't he seen it in the model? He shook his head after the fourth time his fingers had traced the outline.
"I don't get it. It's not right, but it looked right."
"Looks can be deceiving. Close your eyes and just hold out your hand. It will take a minute." She laid the metal on his workbench as he closed his eyes and obediently held out his hand as if he was about to receive something. After a moment's wait, she took his hand in hers and turned him toward her. "Keep your eyes closed." He did.
She pulled his hand and he let her lead it until it touched her skin. He nearly jerked back and opened his eyes, but she held him firmly and said, "Shhh. Just stroke along the line the same way you did on your sculpture. Josh gulped. He slowly moved his hand and could tell at once that she had placed his fingertips on her collarbone. She guided his path as his hand rounded her left shoulder and glided down across her breast. He felt her hard nipple with one finger as she kept his hand moving across the lower slope of her breast, her ribcage, and down across her abdomen until just below her navel he encountered her jeans. Then she lifted his hand back to her shoulder and let go. "Again," she whispered.
His fingertips followed the gentle curve of her collarbone, slipped beneath her armpit, and ran lightly across her navel until he encountered her jeans.
"Again." Her voice was a little huskier and she did not attempt to guide his hand to the start. He touched her face first, moving slowly so not to punch her accidentally. She shifted slightly and using her cheek as a starting point, he found her collarbone and repeated the previous path. As he crossed her nipple he felt the sudden twitch in her chest as she gasped for a breath of air. He hesitated, then retreated up the path he was descending and began the descent again, circling the nipple before crossing it and outlining the bottom curve of her breast. He traced the outline of her ribs and kept going. He circled the navel with his fingers before dipping into it and then moving to her lower abdomen. She pulled her stomach in as he moved lower, expecting to find the waistband of her jeans. Instead his fingers brushed against the silky curls of her pubic mound. He heard a soft moan from her and continued down the valley of her vulva, discovering her legs parted enough to give him easy access.
The next thing he felt was a hand on the back of his head as she brought his lips to hers in an intense kiss. His hands wrapped around her body, finding only skin from her shoulders past her ass.
"May I open my eyes now?" he asked softly.
When he did, he looked into the deep blue depths of her eyes. They held each other there for a moment.
He slid his leather welding apron off his chest and quickly removed his T-shirt, shoes, and jeans. She took the opportunity to kick her feet out of the legs of her jeans, lying pooled around her ankles.
"Don't put your fingers in me," she instructed. "You've been welding. Just slide into me with your cock and see me as you see your sculpture."
Josh didn't even consider turning back. Lisa was beautiful. Her breasts may have been a slight bit smaller than the wedge of steel that he was ready weld in place on his sculpture, but they were perfect. He dipped his head to inhale one of her nipples and she spread her legs lunging at his erect cock. He slid in so smoothly it was like a dance move. She hopped slightly and got her butt on the workbench behind her and they began a rhythmic pumping together and apart. Lisa lowered her head slightly and licked across his left nipple, swirling her tongue around and around before capturing the tiny bud between her lips and pinching gently. Josh felt the sensation run in a direct line from his nipple to the tip of his cock.
.... There is more of this story ...