Chapter 3

During the rest of the meal Hannah forbade discussion about me posing. She also insisted that I be allowed to sleep on it. The next day was Saturday, and I was invited to come to breakfast for further negotiations, should I still be willing to pose.

That night was interesting. Harper’s drawing of her mother was fixed in my mind, easy to remember, and hard to forget. For some reason the pubic hair, created by the masterful use of a pencil sharpened to a needle point, hung around in my mind. It showed astonishing attention to detail, for one thing. It would have been just as easy to roughly shade that area which, from afar, would have also looked like pubic hair. But the way in which she’d done it drew the viewer in, calling the observer to get up close and personal. As I got into bed and relaxed, my penis decided not to join the throng of other muscles that were going limp in anticipation of slumber. Instead, it rose up to salute Harper’s talent in producing a portrait any man would dearly love to own.

Long story short, I masturbated while I thought about that drawing. Of course when you do that, if you actually know the model, then you think about her, too. That had happened half a dozen times over the years (with women other than Hannah) but it had been a whole different situation. It’s one thing to have a little fantasy about a woman who has no idea you’re having that fantasy. Two or three minutes and you get relief and then it’s over and she never knows anything about it. But now Hannah knew I’d gotten stiff, looking at her portrait. It seemed a lot more ... personal ... this time. And of course my little head loved to dream up situations in which instead of my hand, it might get to slide into something a lot closer to a real, live pussy. Like an actual, real, live pussy. And even though the portrait hadn’t shown anything other than a little pubic hair above a tantalizing shadow, my little head knew which real, live pussy it wanted to plunder.

In other words, I felt a little bad that I thought about fucking Hannah while I fucked my hand instead. I was pretty sure it was going to be difficult to look her in the face the next morning. On the other hand, when I finally gave up and let my little head play out his fantasy in my big one, I came hard and it felt really good.

The next morning I went over there and tried my best not to look at Hannah. Unfortunately, that meant I had to look at Harper, who had chosen to wear a halter top and shorts that morning.

Now you have to understand, here. Harper was a younger version of her mother in many ways. Both had the same bone structure in the face, and the same color of hair. Both had the same interesting mixture of brown and green in their eye color. Their bodies were a little different. Hannah, who was past thirty, had the full, round, soft body of a mature woman. Not that she had any excess weight on her, but she was just obviously in her prime. At sixteen Harper had a cute little teenybopper body that was taking on the look of advancing womanhood. Her breasts were smaller, but just as proud. While Hannah’s breasts hung more heavily, Harper’s rode higher on her chest and moved very little when she walked. Both went braless a lot, at least when they were around the house. I knew this because on more than one occasion I’d noticed that unfettered look that breasts have under a T shirt. Nipples poking through the fabric also helped me arrive at that conclusion, but I tried not to stare. I have to say, here, that I suspected their nipples were similar, though.

So what I’m getting at is that looking at Harper that morning didn’t do much to keep my mind off her mother. I realized Harper had been talking to me when she said, “Do you have a Speedo?”

“Uh ... no,” I said, already off balance.

“Do you wear boxers or briefs?” was her next question.

“Harper!” came her mother’s warning voice.

“I need to know, Mother,” said the girl, without looking at her chastising parent. She looked at me instead.

“Briefs,” I said, quietly.

“Then I want you to wear briefs when we do this. Your smallest pair, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, faintly. “I was thinking running shorts.”

“Briefs,” she said, firmly. “I want to stay away from something loose. I’m going to render you nude, just using my imagination for the covered parts, and if you’re wearing something tight I won’t have to imagine quite as much.”

Great. My not even seventeen-year-old ‘niece’ knew all about bulges and what caused them and could imagine what was making the bulge. But she wanted to see the bulge, just for inspiration.

“Harper,” said Hannah, who was listening to the negotiations.

“He already agreed to do it, mother,” said the artist, apparently expecting parental interference.

I had? When had I done that? I mean I knew I was going to, but I didn’t remember actually saying I would.

“I’m aware of that,” said Hannah, confirming that while I had been staring at Harper’s cleavage I’d spoken without remembering it. “You need to be sensitive to his concerns.”

“I already told him he doesn’t have to be naked,” said Harper.

“If you put him in briefs, he might be embarrassed,” said Hannah.

“Why? It’s no worse than a Speedo. In fact, briefs cover more than some Speedos I’ve seen.”

“And just when have you seen a man in briefs?”

“In magazines and in commercials on TV,” said Harper, easily.

“Oh.” Hannah frowned. “In any case, there may come a time when Bob is uncomfortable and wants to take a break.”

“You mean if he gets an erection?” Harper’s voice was as calm as ever.

Both of us adults were speechless.

“Come on, Mom,” said Harper. “I know guys get boners. It happens all the time at school. And at the swimming pool.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so ... well acquainted with ... such problems,” said Hannah, weakly.

“I’m not a baby,” said Harper, petulantly.

“It’s just that you’ve never ... um ... talked with me about this,” said Hannah.

“Come on. What teenager talks to her mother about boners?”

“You are, now,” Hannah pointed out.

“Only because it came up in conversation. I mean you think Bob’s worried about it and you’re obviously worried about it. But I’m not worried about it. I just want to get this done so I know my portfolio is ready to go.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Hannah. “If Bob gets an erection during this process that won’t ... uh ... be a big deal to you?”

I saw a small smile form on Harper’s lips.

“I guess that depends on how big it is.”

My jaw dropped and I saw Hannah tense up.

“Hey, I’m just kidding,” said Harper, laughing. “ Come on. It was just a joke.”

“It’s not a joking matter,” said Hannah, tensely. “That is not a subject for polite discussion, joking or not.”

“Well, guys talk about how big a girl’s boobs are,” said Harper, defensively.

“And that’s not appropriate, either,” said Hannah.

“Okay,” said Harper. “No more joking. I’m trying to be grown up about this, Mom. And I really wouldn’t feel comfortable using another model, a stranger. I just feel like Bob is family.”

Hannah turned to look at me.

“How do you feel about this, now?” she asked. “Are you still willing to do this?”

I swallowed. I had a feeling this was going to end up happening one way or another. Harper wasn’t going to give up. And if I was going to do this I wanted everybody to understand things from the very beginning.

“As long as you understand there may be some embarrassing moments,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll hardly look at you. You won’t get embarrassed,” said the girl.

“I was thinking about your embarrassment,” I said. “You claim to understand about men and how they can become ... um ... affected. That doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Guys get that way for a reason. If that happens while we’re together, can you deal with that?”

Harper was a smart girl and saw through my vague speech instantly.

“You mean you might get a boner because of me?“ Harper’s voice rose an octave.

“Harper!” groaned her mother.

“What? Isn’t that what he said?”

“Let’s stop bandying around words like boner, please?” said Hannah with obvious frustration.

“Okay,” said Harper, and I saw something I had become quite familiar with over the years. It was Harper’s stubborn streak, about to come out. She looked at me and said, firmly, “Are you suggesting that your penis may become erect while we’re doing this, and that I may be the impetus for that?”

I shrugged. “You’re a very pretty girl,” I said. “I’ve told you that lots of times.”

She smiled widely.

“Yes you have. Thank you. If that happens, since it’s just you, I’ll simply think of it as a compliment. Now. When do you think we can start? Today?”

Things were moving pretty quickly, but the sooner we did it the sooner it would be over.

“What the heck,” I sighed.

I’d taken a shower the night before, but I wanted to do that again before stripping down in front of Harper. I also wanted to change out of the tiger-striped briefs I was wearing at breakfast. I got them at a white elephant Christmas Party one year and, since they fit me, I kept them. I wasn’t willing for Harper to see me in them, though. Even if they were my smallest pair.

I got back to their house around one and, probably because I was nervous, rang the bell for once. I heard teenaged feet galloping down the stairs inside the house with a shout of, “I got it.”

Harper opened the door dressed in a white men’s button up shirt, splattered and stained with paint in a myriad of colors. Even so, it looked great on her, except that there appeared to be no shorts on underneath it.

“Uncle Bob!” she said. “Why’d you ring the bell?”

“I dunno,” I answered as my eyes raked up and down her body.

Noting my inspection, she said, “This used to be my dad’s. I use it as a smock, now. I’m about ready for you. Come on up.”

She turned from the door and bellowed, “Mom! Bob’s here,” and galloped back up the stairs toward the guest bedroom/studio.

Hannah walked from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

“Hi. Had any second thoughts about this since we last met?”

“A few dozen,” I said, smiling wanly. “Are you sure you don’t mind me posing in my undies for your daughter?”

“Why would I mind? I trust you.”

“Even though you know I’m not gay anymore?”

She smiled and slapped me on one shoulder.

“She has to learn about men somewhere. Better from you than some furtive boy full of hormones.”

“I’ll try to behave myself,” I said.

“I have no doubt you’ll be the ultimate gentleman.” She frowned. “If anything does happen, I don’t want you to be upset by it.”

“Happen?” My eyes widened. My little head, after seeing what was easily imagined as a naked girl wearing only an oversize man’s shirt, wanted all sorts of things to happen.

“You know ... like what happened after you looked at my picture the other day.”

“Oh that,” I said. “I’m still a little embarrassed about that.”

“Don’t be. Like my daughter said, from you, it’s a compliment.”

“You’re very kind,” I said.

“What I am is very...” She stopped, suddenly. “Never mind. Go have fun. I’ll check in on you later to make sure she’s behaving herself.”

I found Harper fiddling with paints. Apparently I was to be rendered in living color. Not only that, but apparently she didn’t want to get her ‘smock’ stained, because she’d taken it off. I saw that, under it, she’d been wearing a tiny bikini. I was apparently staring, because she said, “I like working in this. It doesn’t bind. You’ve seen this suit before anyway.” Having dealt with that issue, she went on. “I don’t have a dressing room,” she said. “If you want to you can change in the bathroom.”