Chapter 1: First Session

My name is Stephenie. I am a twenty-six year old woman who lives alone in an old house I recently inherited from my grandmother. The house is a large Victorian style. It is almost big enough to be considered a mansion and located in the outskirts of Orlando. My dearly departed grandmother used it as a winter home to get away from the frigid, icy conditions of West Chicago. It was an escape for her in her old age, a way to get around the demanding Northern winter.

I moved into the house six months ago. Out went the tiny 14-inch television set to be replaced with a big screen. Away went the porcelain bathtub, replaced with a modern shower. And then there was her old phonograph player. I mean, who listens to scratchy old records in the age of CDs? Not that my Grandmother had poor taste, but I think it is safe to say that an 87 year-old woman and 26 year-old granddaughter do not exactly share the same interior decorating ideas.

I live in the house as a single woman who has never been married nor do I have any immediate plans to get married - or at least there is no one special in my life right now. It is not because I am ugly or because I have anything against men; it's just that I've never found the right guy. I actually like men very much and thoroughly enjoy sex, but my relationships never last. As soon as a guy gets me into bed a few times, he starts to change and then leaves me for someone else. Men conquer me as though I am a prize filly. Then they toss me aside for another.

The problem is my boobs. They're too big! I am a short Hispanic woman with a big set of tits. The eyes of men inevitably roam down to my chest or glance at my cleavage at the first chance they get. As they talk to me in the hall, I know they also try to picture the covered objects that make the large bulge poking out of my chest. As they politely hold the door open for me to pass, I know they really imagine their hands wrapped around my ample melons instead.

Men try to capture me like I am some sort of rare object they want to add to their collection. It starts simple at first. The guy will set a subtle trap with his words and sway me with his actions. He will say nice things and behave like I am his queen. He might compliment me on what I wear or maybe take me to an expensive restaurant. Basically, he starts out treating me like royalty. He tries his best to get me into bed, but I was not raised an easy girl. I never let a guy take me to bed on the first date, or even the second or usually the third. I make him wait until we get to know each other. And if I don't like what I see, well, I may not allow him to take me at all.

The sex - if there eventually is sex - is always really good at first. Men seem to like the extra excitement a big pair of tits adds to the sexual experience, as though my boobs take their immediate attention away from my pussy. As a consequence, the foreplay lasts a long time and the ecstasy builds to dizzying heights. Men have a fun time squeezing my breasts and teasing on my nipples, and I like it too. The experience gets both of us aroused and ready to fuck by the time we finally get around to doing it.

The problem starts after we have sex a few times. Some men will hold out longer than others. One guy may wait until he gets me in the sack a few times while another will be more interested in trying out a couple different positions. But inevitably, they all turn out the same. After the guy discovers what it feels like to lift the weight of my tits in his hands or pucker up to my inflated nipples, the novelty to wear off. He doesn't compliment me as much and refuses to take me to nice places (except, that is, when he can show me off to his buddies!). He begins to treat me more like a bimbo, like an object rather than a person. At the same time he no longer works as hard at hiding his own faults. His true personality begins to show through the facade. Most of the time the guy turns out to be a real jerk.

The sex is always good, but after awhile I get tired of it. One guy after another! It is always the same. I wish I could meet a man who would take me for who I truly am. That's what made it all the more frustrating when the tables were turned.

As I said, I live in an old house I inherited from my Grandmother. It is a large Victorian house that is really much too big for me. Along with the house, my grandmother also left me some money. In fact, she left me quite a bit of money. Not a fortune, but enough to quit my job as a secretary and pursue a childhood dream. I was always quite good at drawing and wanted to be an artist. I never expected to become a famous artist, but I just liked drawing. I always hoped I was at least good enough to perhaps teach it to others some day.

I tried to pursue my dream out of High School but with no success. I enrolled myself in a private liberal arts school for two years in attempt to get some additional training, but I soon discovered it was a waste of time. There isn't much money in being an artist, and the tuition bills began to mount. Even the most famous painters in history- Michelangelo, Salvador Dali, and a lot of others lived in poverty for much of their lives. Ironically, many of the most famous artists did not become famous until after they died.

It took me two years, but finally I came to my senses and decided to be more practical. I dropped out of school to get a real job. My dream had to be put on the back burner, left sizzling as a hobby as I cooked up more practical matters.

I got a chance to change things after my grandmother died and she left me most of the inheritance. I was her favorite, as she always said, and now I got to reap the rewards. Despite the high electric bills for the poorly insulated house in the summer and the constant need for maintenance of the old house all year round, I owned the place free-and-clear. And there are not many 26-year olds who can say they own a house without a mortgage. Furthermore, I had enough cash left over from the inheritance to buy a nice complement of stocks, bonds, and a rather healthy savings account. It was enough so I could quit my job and pursue my childhood dream.

I began my adventure by turning the downstairs sunroom into a studio. I now spend most of my days doing sketches, drawings, and the occasional painting. My primary specialty is pencil and chalk drawings. I am also pretty good with cartoon figures and once tried to start a little cartoon column in the local paper. It only went on for five weeks, though, until the Mayor didn't like my particular rendering of his likeness.

Brush painting with colors is still difficult for me, although that is where most of the money lies. I notice most shoppers at the weekend art shows seem to want large, color landscape scenes. They want paintings to put over their fireplace mantels. Some are willing to spend thousands of dollars for one, even from an unknown artist! I've tried the big time myself, but I prefer the black-and-white medium. The most I ever made for a drawing was $200.00, which I guess means I am talented but far from famous.

I began with landscape scenes, drawings pictures of seagulls flying across the beach or the structure of interesting buildings in town, but lately I moved on to the more difficult subject of the human form. For this, I needed models; so I started hiring models and made a number of figures. It was strange at first. I mean, it felt strange to have another person standing in my living room as I transferred their image to the canvas, but I gradually got used to it. Most of the models were art students themselves and therefore understood my passion. Most were also female because I didn't want some strange guy looking back at my bulging chest. One model in particular, Lisa, eventually became a good friend of mine. She gave me many compliments and said she liked my work - and she didn't say it just to humor me or because she was being paid. She came over many times for free just so she could learn some of my techniques. We even exchanged places a few times and she drew me instead. I have to sadly admit, though, she was not very talented herself.

My first drawings of the human form were of the face and upper limbs. I found it difficult in the beginning. It was hard to properly capture the subtle color change in the fleshtones of the human form, but my eyes were gradually able to pick out the details. The more I practiced, the better I became. It was as though the circuits between my eyes and fingertips slowly started developing in my brain.

My first drawings were all of clothed models, but as any good artist will tell you, it is more important to paint the nude form. I knew this all along and really wanted to paint a nude model, but was too embarrassed to ask. I would never pose nude myself, and I therefore didn't think it proper to ask someone else to do it for me. Besides, I figured models would ask for a lot more money to pose nude.

I didn't draw a nude until Lisa made an offer to pose herself. "Why not?" She questioned with reason. "It's art! It's not slut."

I agreed and we went ahead. Lisa posed nude for me in my sunroom.

I must admit, it felt strange having a nude woman lying down in the couch in my house. But like before, I gradually got used to it. I soon went into a trance and could ignore the fact she was nude. I drew for the sheer pleasure of drawing the human form and capturing all the sulitaries of the human muscle structure. Lisa later talked some of her friends into posing nude for me also, and I found that I really enjoyed it. My work visibly improved.

"Now you should try a man," Lisa told me one day. "Forget about painting woman all the time! You should try experimenting with the more dramatic and corrosive muscle structure of a man."

"In the nude?" I questioned back. "I don't think so! It would feel too awkward."

"Why not?" Lisa asked back. "You're a professional and I know a few male models who are also professional. You should expand your experience. I think it would improve your talents."

So far, all my nudes were female, except for the time when one of my old boyfriends allowed me to draw him, but the drawing was now in ashes. I burned it right after he suggested a threesome with one of his old girlfriends.

Still, Lisa had a point. It would be a real challenge to do a drawing of a nude male. I thought about it a long time. After a few more proddings by Lisa, I finally gave in.

The next afternoon the phone rang with a prospect. "Hello," I answered.

"Hello. I'm a friend of Lisa and I'm calling about a modeling job. She said you were looking for an undraped male model."

"Yes," I choked. Undraped in the language of an artist meant nude. I wasn't quite sure how to respond to a man offering to pose nude for me.

"Am I speaking to the right person?"

"Oh yes," I came to my senses. "I'm Stephenie. Lisa told me she would give out my number, but I wasn't expecting a response so soon."

"Sorry!" He graciously apologized. "I can call back later if you want."

"No, that's fine," I felt like I was tripping over my own words. "That's fine. The sooner the better, I guess."

The line was silent for several seconds.

"Um, what do you pay?" He finally took the initiative.

I hadn't thought about pay yet. Most models earn near minimum wage. Undraped female models usually wanted a little more, and I figured a guy would want even better pay. "Fifteen dollars an hour," I took a wild guess and then added the single word "undraped" under my breath.

"That's fine!" He accepted enthusiastically.

By the tone of his voice I realized my estimate was too high, but it didn't matter. I had the money and could always lower for the next time - if there was a next time.

Then I thought about what I was doing and realized I forgot to ask him any questions. I felt stupid. I was practically offering him a job without knowing anything about him.

"I know you are a friend of Lisa and you are probably acceptable," I told him. "But could you tell me a little about yourself? I mean, do you have any previous modeling experience?"

"Oh yes, quite a bit over the last two years. It helps to pay for tuition."

"You are a student then? What's your major?"

"At the moment, undeclared," He answered almost shamefully. "I came in under a soccer scholarship and play on the football and baseball teams, and I am still taking classes in several areas to search for what I really want. I met Lisa in one of my art classes."