Over the summer before my senior year of high school I saw my little brother jerking off. He didn’t know I was watching, or at least I don’t think he knew. His penis wasn’t very big—he was just a freshman—going to be, and his hand pretty much covered it. It didn’t take long. He groaned and his cum flew up and he kind of collapsed into himself, and I hurried away before he could spot me.

Up until then I’d been a good little girl, never went on dates, said my prayers after I’d masturbate. But seeing my brother make himself come changed something in me. It’s not like I wanted to have sex with him, not exactly, but I wanted someone like him. So my senior year in school I sucked off six guys. I did them once each, in a storage closet up in the band room after school. None of them gave me the same thrill as watching my brother, but that was okay. One guy had a big cock with ugly veins, and I didn’t like that. Two of them weren’t circumcised, and I didn’t like that as much either. I wanted to be able to get the whole dick comfortably in my mouth. Some of them shot right away and some of them took maybe a minute. I helped two of them along by pressing behind their balls and even getting my finger in a little ways. That really did the trick. My favorite part was when they spurted. I guess it made me feel powerful or superior or something along those lines. I didn’t swallow, though, because I didn’t really like the taste or the texture. I let the cum out onto a new pair of my panties, plain white cotton, which I’d bought specially for the occasions, and I told the boys if they ever told anyone, I’d claim they raped me, and I’d have their cum with their DNA as evidence. As far as I know, it worked. All of them wanted more, but I always said no. I said I couldn’t fuck them because I didn’t love them. I told each one of them the blowjob was a one time thing, but I really loved their dick, and that seemed to satisfy them.

In college I took this art class, and the professor was an older guy but not too old, and I had kind of a crush on him. Maybe he picked up on that. One day after class he asked if I might be interested in modeling for him. I said sure. He said it might involve some nudity. I said I was okay with that.

A week later I met him in his studio. He had me sign a couple of forms. He said he liked my outfit. I didn’t expect to be wearing it for the paintings, but he said it would be perfect. He gave me this dandelion to hold. The plume was round and white, gone to seed. He said it wasn’t that easy finding dandelions this time of year. I told him I’d be careful with it.

He had me kneel on this couch. It didn’t have arms or a back, but there was a pillow. The fabric was kind of scratchy on my knees. “Now just hold the dandelion before your lips and pretend to blow but don’t really blow,” he said. He had a camera and he took lots of pictures. He said he’d do the paintings later using the photographs. I had kind of hoped he’d do the painting right then.