Class 2

Catherine was the first to arrive at that afternoon's drawing class. Pierce stood high upon a folding ladder, adjusting the lights above the model stand. She watched, silently, as his strong hands made subtle adjustments in both the direction and intensity of each lamp. She was careful not to disturb his concentration, and wondered how he could know, without the model being present, how the light would fall down below, and to what effect.

Mastery. You knew it when you saw it, that a person has mastered a particular task. Mastery. Something about the word resonated deep inside, and she found herself surreptitiously staring at her drawing teacher's lean body and tight rear-end, nicely outlined in dark jeans. Truth was, she wouldn't mind mastering a bit of that. He was more of a slice than a hunk, but she could definitely place an order for some of that on a lonely winter night.

Wait, what was she thinking? Bad thought! Still, the memory lingered from last night, that brief vision of Pierce West staring up into her eyes from his position between her spread thighs. Catherine's body trembled, remembering the shock and that sudden sense of falling. Agitated now, she paced around the room for the next few minutes, trying to collect her wits and calm her nerves.

She eventually felt together enough to chat with her classmates as they arrived. As the room filled, she gradually became aware that she, too, was the recipient of furtive ogling. A college-age guy named Joel rather openly flirted with her, and when she moved on he kept staring at her breasts whenever he thought he could get away with it. She was almost certain that she heard Ben, the dirty old man, whisper to another student, "I sure wish we could draw those, nodding in her direction, referring to something that she had more than one of.

She did look smashing in her new outfit. In addition to the tiny skirt, black stockings and sexy heels, she purchased a brand-new bra that harnessed her breasts in an attractive, in-your-face way reminiscent of the models in those cheesecake paintings. The bra had been something of an impulse buy, if an "impulse" could cause her to walk twenty blocks out of her way to find exactly what she wanted. In addition to the bra, she had been thrilled to purchase a wide black leather belt that accentuated the narrowness of her waist while emphasizing the "oomph" of her rack.

She definitely looked feminine and leggy and oh-so sexy, while steering well clear of anything trashy or bimboesque. She was showing her body off to an unfamiliar degree, yes, but there was nothing cheap about her look. An outfit like this would cause an uncomfortable stir at one of Charles' cocktail parties, but it was a good look for her, as long as she didn't mind a few extra whistles and lascivious stares through the day.

Drawing class began this time with a guided meditation. Pierce gathered everyone into a seated circle, and soon his soothing voice swept into Catherine just as it had the first day, meeting her initial skepticism and resistance, then filtering through her crack... cracks, to a more receptive part of her being. Yes, she was there to explore, to allow her true self to come forth. She would build upon the trust she had already established with her body, allowing even more of her real self to flow outward, especially through her hands. Her hands would guide her, they would know what to do and she only had to follow them, with her ordinary thoughts staying on the sidelines.

Catherine bathed her being in the words, giving herself over to the compelling tone of Pierces' voice, letting go, totally letting go. Yes, there were many possible meanings to the verb, "to draw". It could refer to creating a likeness through the use of mark-making implements. It could mean to bring, by inducement or allure. It could mean to cause to go in a certain direction, as in being led.

Here in this class, they would draw and be drawn, all possible meanings alive. The creative currents were already flowing, and they could flow with even more force. A part of her might resist, but even the resistance was to be welcomed and used to keep the juices flowing. There might be ripples of doubt along the way, but they could be transformed into waves of excitement, their turbulence giving additional energy to the constant flowing.

And yes, she wished to develop her talents, and do things well. But the desire to do something well sometimes placed one in the middle of conflicting impulses, the "yes" and the "no" of an action at the same time. This was good, since there could be no inner fire without friction, and the feeling of being squeezed in the middle could release great reserves of untapped energy. There could be moments of disorientation or even a sense of everything falling apart, but none of that was to be avoided — who knew what exciting discoveries might come from such an experience?

Yes, she would draw with energy. She would draw with purpose. She would draw and be drawn, with passion and fire. When she felt her ordinary mind trying to intervene, trying to prevent any sense of things falling apart, she would channel the energy of that resistance toward her body's objectives, pressing forward, always pressing forward. Preconceptions had to be deconstructed before fresh and powerful abilities could surface. She had already learned that drawing could be hard, so very hard, but if she felt any fear, she would transform that fear into even more energy, finding a place deep inside of herself that welcomed the unexpected, a place where she could be open, a place where she could totally wrap herself around a new sense of freedom. Once she came, came to that place, she would grasp what she wanted and experience the fulfillment of achieving her objectives.

And yes, the human body was beautiful, the human body was inspiring and they needed to appreciate it deeply. Today's model was beautiful, and she should remember that the word "model" also had multiple meanings — the young woman today wished to be captured on paper by the students' hands, but she could also be seen as an example. They could all be inspired by this remarkable woman and her beautiful body, and appreciate the excitement she felt in posing for them. This particular model would help them to come to a fresh and exciting place within themselves, a place of deep longing and the promise of future delights.

And yes, she would crave this voice, and the feeling of falling into its sound. And no, her mind would not remember most of these words, but her body would remember. Her body would remember everything, and would communicate its needs, bringing a sharp focus to her mind's eye, insistently carrying her forward, always flowing forward...

A long silence followed, the deep soundless void somehow filled with passionate objectives, beautiful bodies and ripples of excitement... Catherine blinked her eyes open. Pierce's voice reverberated in her brain, even though she couldn't quite remember what he'd said. She felt a little bit dizzy but somehow very determined, and glancing around the room she saw that her classmates looked as though they, too, had been carried to a very deep place during the meditation.

They all chose easels next and positioned their drawing pads upon them. Catherine slowly became aware of another sort of positioning in the room, the easels becoming a wide circle around the model stand, with all of the men placing themselves more or less opposite from her, as though they were avoiding her.

No, not avoiding her. They were positioning themselves so that they could get good long looks at her. And they weren't holding back, sometimes meeting her eyes but mostly scanning her body, staring quite openly at her beautiful legs and her attractively harnessed, pointy breasts.

For some reason she didn't mind; in fact it made her feel decidedly itchy between her legs. There were times when it was almost embarrassing to have such a perfect physique — people gawked and she sometimes created a stir without meaning to. Charles loved to see crowds of people admiring her body; it was sort of like an auto enthusiast getting his thrills as others lusted for an especially rare sports car. She knew full well that she had been blessed with an incredible body, but she didn't always wish to be defined by that, as though she had nothing of value on the inside, too.

Today, however, she loved that her classmates were staring. And she loved these new clothes and the way she felt in them, so alluring and so feminine. She felt like she was on stage as she fiddled through her handbag, pulling out a little box of charcoal. Her classmates were observing her every move, appreciating every detail of her form. The next time she scanned the room, her eyes took in what looked like a pronounced bulge in Joel's pants. Catherine felt faint for a moment, and might have sighed out loud if their model hadn't strolled out from the door of an adjoining room, drawing the class' attention.

The model was a different girl today, and even under her robe you could tell that she had a remarkable figure. Long honey-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and a discreet tattoo wrapped around her left ankle, she was probably a student at one of Manhattan's many universities. She stood squarely on the model stand and without hesitation allowed her robe to slip from her shoulders.

The high, angled lights threw the girl's physique into stark relief, and it was immediately obvious that she was an athlete of some kind. Her body was more solidly built than Catherine's, exhibiting a wonderfully chiseled muscularity rather than her own lithe grace. It was easy to see now why Pierce had made the effort to direct the lighting with such precision, as every muscle in the girl's fine body stood out, clearly defined. And damn, would you look at the shadows cast by those breasts!

Catherine was not lacking in the breast department herself, she had always felt blessed by her fine and generous portion, especially for a dancer. But Holy Toledo! This girl had a good bit more than that!

Their busty model took a somewhat aggressive standing pose with her right hand on her hip and her back slightly arched, thrusting her breasts out almost defiantly. Some of the students looked a bit rattled as they positioned their easels. Joel's erection was still evident, and Ben, the old guy, stood there staring at the model with his mouth hanging open, as though massive breasts had instantly turned him senile. Or, um, on. The old man still had some life in him, how do you like that?

Pierce insisted that they work their charcoal rapidly on their paper, capturing the model's gesture and overall bearing, not allowing their "ordinary minds" to become stuck on particulars.

"The model will only hold each pose for ten minutes at a time — you will need to work directly and adjust to this more rapid pace. Study every facet of the model's physique as you draw, but allow the parts to transform into the whole — the goal is always to arrive at the whole. Try to absorb the model's contours, your eyes becoming one with her physique, and always trust the knowledge in your hands. Barely look at your drawing as you go, do not peek, do not judge. The model will give you what you need — just observe her now and allow all that you see to seep inside of you, and always keep your charcoal moving."

Catherine did as he commanded, hardly ever taking her eyes from the model. As her hand danced along the drawing pad, she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to make love to a girl like that. Not her, of course, she'd never felt any bisexual tendencies — a guy, what would it feel like when a man passionately wrapped his arms around a muscular female body like that? This model was an absolute stud, if you could use a word like that to describe someone so feminine. She had such powerful arms and shoulders, and her full breasts must weigh so much...

What would it feel like to touch them? The girl's nipples were large and pronounced, almost exaggerated in their size and firmness... Oh my, Catherine thought, realizing just how engorged the model's nipples were, how stimulated. Just like the model in their first class, only more so. She wondered whether this girl was aware of Joel's hard-on. Or Ben's. She was so gorgeous, every little part of her, and she must know that. She looked completely confident, and so proud of her well-defined and well-endowed body.

"Begin a new drawing!" Pierce commanded, and the model instantly took a fresh pose, lowering her rear onto the model stand, her hands grasping her ankles. Catherine didn't know whether she had finished the first drawing, but she complied, flipping to a blank sheet of paper.

And Lord, that girl's legs were spread wide in this new pose! The model exhibited a surprising degree of flexibility, and from her vantage point, Catherine was practically staring right into the maws of the girl's, um, vagina. Catherine's eyes held fast to the model's nether region as though drawn by an unknown form of gravity. Enticing details emerged — slightly darker blonde hairs, neatly trimmed, framed the top of the girl's sex like a golden crown. The model had such a beautiful vagina, what else could you say? It somehow looked as sculpted or developed as the rest of her, and there, clearly visible because of the intensity of the lamps above... Little glistening highlights. Oh my. Beads of sweat, or...

Catherine wiped her brow. Wow, it was really hot in here. She felt her hand moving, almost absently laying down strokes to capture this new pose. Long strokes, sweeping strokes, some harder, some with more pressure... Christ, that was one sexy girl. Sexy sexy sexy, and no wonder the guys in the class looked as though they were struggling. And not just the guys — she was struggling, too.

Before you knew it, the model took another pose, standing once again, facing in the other direction. Catherine started a new drawing and thought she was going to lose it when she realized that the outer curves of the model's breasts were still visible, even from behind like this. Talk about shapes in relationship to the surrounding space! Poor Joel must be going nuts, as the girl's headlights were aimed right at him. For herself, the pose made Catherine want to step up to the girl from the rear and wrap her arms around that toned torso, to grab hold of those beautiful, round...

No wait, bad thought! Bad! And worse, she was almost panting as her charcoal flew all around her sheet of paper. Catherine felt as though she was hanging on for dear life, and her state became even more extreme when the model turned profile for her next quick pose, seductively cupping her breasts, her head thrown back. The pose looked positively orgasmic, and Catherine had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying out. She was alarmingly wet between her legs and she nearly groaned with relief when Pierce told the model and the students to take a fifteen-minute break.

There was no bathroom in Pierce's studio, it was a communal rest room for the entire fourth floor of the building, located at the end of a long narrow hallway. Catherine didn't need to go so badly, but she was almost certain that she had charcoal to wash off of her face, plus it might not be a bad idea to wash up a bit between her legs. She doubted that she had ever been this fragrant out in public.

It was embarrassing how crazily she was lubricating. She hadn't thought that nudity would get to her, but she had obviously underestimated the effect that staring at fine young bodies would have upon her nerves. There was something raw and almost primitive involved in the act of carefully studying a vital young body.

She made the trek down the hall and found the bathroom door closed, and as she lifted her hand to knock, she detected sounds emanating from within. A man's voice, moaning, his voice rising... Oh my, this was definitely not someone on the john, this was sex. Was somebody, um... masturbating in there? Another artist in the building, or even one of her classmates? How uncomfortable. Although, truth be told, not at all far from the way she was feeling herself.

She backed off and waited at the far end of the hallway, and when the door finally opened, Catherine was surprised to see their buxom model come out, her body only partially cloaked by her long white robe. Catherine tried not to stare as the young girl's bare footsteps approached, and she had to work even harder to conceal her reactions when Joel emerged from the bathroom a moment later, his eyes all dazed.

Oh my, oh my. Catherine couldn't help peeking at the girl's large breasts as she passed, so close, so... tangible. The model's breasts were almost imposing when seen up-close, and Joel had undoubtedly seen them in even greater proximity, because the model had... She had... She'd sucked Joel's penis. A break-time blowjob, Catherine was certain of it. She felt like she should feel shocked or disgusted or... well, something other than what she really did feel. Which was excited, so terribly excited. And envious.

Bad feelings! Bad! She wasn't like that! What was the matter with her?

"You're a dancer, aren't you?"

"What?" Catherine turned her head to the left and saw the model standing a few feet away, appraising her.

"I asked how your body came to be so... delicious."

"I... um, I don't dance any more."

The girl smiled, a strange little smile that felt like an electric caress. A sharp chill of pleasure shot through Catherine's body as the model mumbled something under her breath, turning away.

Catherine couldn't stop trembling as she stood in the bathroom a minute later, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. She did indeed have charcoal on her face and she washed it off, but she didn't dare touch her vagina. She could swear that she could smell semen lingering in the air, as well as the scent of female arousal. Was it her own? The model's?

"Oh..." she sighed. She was afraid that if she lowered her tights to clean herself, she would... No, she wouldn't. She was not a masturbator and especially in a public rest room! But oh God, her hands were already dropping down, ready to touch herself where she was flowing...

No, no! Dear Lord, what was happening to her? Why would she be so affected by the impulsive behavior of two college kids? She was probably only four or five years their senior, but she lived in an entirely different world, and her world did not include crude bathroom trysts and musings about sucking a young man's hard penis or wrapping her arms around a lovely girl to feel the weight of her bountiful breasts in her hands!

Her breathing had devolved into a series of ragged gasps by the time she fled the bathroom. She was determined to finish the class to the end, but feared that the next bit of charcoal on her body might be smudged right where the legs of her tights came together. She heard the model's voice replay in her brain: "I asked how your body came to be so... delicious." The words almost made her want to scream, they felt so good. Oh God, what was happening to her? She was falling apart and it was going to be so hard drawing that gorgeous model again. So very hard.

Catherine removed her coat the moment she entered her building's lobby, and noticed how quickly heads turned. Giuseppe zeroed in on the sound of her clicking heels, taking her bags with an enlivened smile. His head was lowered the whole elevator ride up, as though he was deep in thought, but she wasn't fooled. He's practically eating up my legs, she said to herself, and her flesh tingled under the dark tights. The doorman seemed totally mesmerized by her shapely stems, to the point of not even caring whether she liked his staring or not.

She had hoped that the long walk home would help to ease the rampant itchiness that she'd felt throughout the drawing class, but it never happened. The students tacked their drawings to a wall for a group critique at class' end, and three things struck her: One, they were all improving rapidly in their drawing efforts. Two, even when translated into distorted black and white lines and smudges, the model's overall physique and huge breasts were spectacular. And three, Catherine was so fucking horny, about almost anything! Staring at drawings or listening to Pierce's melodic voice or wandering the streets or shopping for new clothes — it didn't seem to matter what she was doing, because almost anything made her hot.

She was certifiably itchy even now, and the doorman's none-too-subtle admiration of her body wasn't helping matters. Giuseppe had a cute face and she wondered why she'd never really noticed that before. He was like a little Italian teddy bear, early twenties, maybe even the same age as her. Catherine lowered her head, too, her eyes instantly zeroing in on an unmistakable bulge in the doorman's pants. Giuseppe was just like Joel back in class, all hard for her. So hard...

"Oh," she sighed. Hardness, excitement... Her vision seemed to narrow for a moment, as though Giuseppe's bulge was the only thing she could see with any clarity. It was a beautiful bulge, the perfect response to her new outfit. He must be thinking how exciting it would be to peel off her stockings and feel her bare legs wrapped around his back. He must be thinking about slipping his erect thing into her crack, pushing at her inner walls, feeling how fluidly he could stroke in and out because she was so wet.

Oh. And she really was. Wet, that is. She felt like she had fluid coursing all through her body, a steady lubricating flow that created heat between her legs and pressure under her temples. Reaching the eighteenth floor, she walked ahead of Giuseppe to her door, her vagina and the inside of her head all wet, her heart pounding under her pointy breasts. She felt the doorman's gaze on the backs of her calves and thighs, and at her door she whipped around and caught him staring. His face flushed red and he started to make an excuse, but she didn't let him.

"I know how much you like to look at them," she said, stepping in and slipping a ten-dollar bill into his right pants pocket, grazing his hardness with the side of her hand.

Incredibly, her hand lingered. Not for long, not long enough for the two of them to lock eyes, and breathe heavily together, their mutual attraction gaining weight and force, closing in around them... But long enough. Too long. When she turned away, her left hand reached down and lifted her skirt, flashing the tops of her thighs, and her damp panties.

Alone inside of her apartment, the door closed, Catherine literally slumped to her knees, gasping for air. What was the matter with her? What had she almost done? Hell, what had she actually done? She had openly acknowledged Giuseppe's attraction and her hand had touched her doorman's hard thing! And why did she want to open the door to present a shapely stocking-clad calf for him to drool over, all Mrs. Robinson-like? Why did she want to call out to Giuseppe and demand that he come inside and cum inside?

Silly, crazy, bad bad bad thoughts! She needed to push them away and get hold of herself! She moaned, her heat increasing, her body shuddering. God, she had to snatch... snap out of it! Why was she getting even more turned on...

Her hands, that's why. They were already under her short skirt, pulling her tights down, and now her right hand was really active, two fingers pressing the silk of her panties into her wetness, stroking her slowly and softly, now hard, with more pressure...

No, oh no, she would not masturbate over thoughts about a doorman, a nobody. She wouldn't, she wouldn't! But her fingers kept pressing, and stroking. Stop it! Stop it! But the feeling of the fine silk gliding against her quivering wet flesh was too compelling...

"Oh", she sighed. "S... stop..."

She insisted that her hand stop, but her thoughts kept spinning around and around without having any effect, like they were stuck in a dick... no, ditch, some kind of wonderful hot wet ditch. Was she secretly telling her fingers to press forward like this, or was her hand on a mission of its own? Her fingers varied the pressure and the length of the strokes between her legs, sometimes soft and light, sometimes harder, with more pressure...

She moaned more loudly, unable to keep her mind from replaying the feeling of Giuseppe's hard thing against the side of her hand. He had been hard for her just like Joel had been hard for her, two strangers salivating over her new look and getting all turned-on, and she had felt Giuseppe's hardness with her hand and it made her so excited, so ready to explode.

She began to crawl to her bedroom on her knees and one elbow, never interrupting the insistent finger-assault that felt so incredible between her legs. A loud groan escaped her lips, a sound so raw and throaty that it didn't even seem possible that it could be her own voice. On the middle of the living room carpet she shut her eyes and tried to redirect her heat towards thoughts about Charles, not the doorman, no no not the doorman, the doorman was beneath her and he had been staring at her legs with his hardness pushing at his pants and no, no, oh no, noooo...

She pictured herself entering the building again, seeing Giuseppe and crooking her finger at him, openly signaling that she expected him to accompany her into the elevator. As soon as he pushed the button to the eighteenth floor, she lifted her skirt with one hand and drew his fingers into her smoldering delta with the other. He would be so shocked and yet so hard, and his fingers would dance between her legs, stroking softly and then hard, stroking slowly and then faster, altering the pressure...

Oh God, oh yes, she would press into him, thrusting her breasts and hips forward, pressing her tongue into his mouth, always pressing forward, her scent filling the elevator. Somehow her hands would know the location of the button to stop the elevator, and she would grind them to a halt while her hips ground against Giuseppe's very hard thing. Then she'd pull Giuseppe's business out of his pants and guide it into her waiting opening, her juices flowing all around him, drawing him in, wrapping around him, welcoming him...

OhGod she would be fucking her doorman, ohGod no, not a simple doorman with his hard hard dick going deep and then even deeper, no, no, oh no, oh no, oh oh ohhh...

The orgasm that cut through her body was like everything coming together and everything falling apart all at the same time. Her ears rang and it might have been from her own voice, screaming without her mind even being there, because everything that was happening was happening in her body, her body felt like it was the whole world, with her orgasm taking place within the molten core. She felt totally fluid and graceful and so free, free of thought, free of time, and yet completely caught, so totally there.

And when she came back to something like herself, she saw colorful floral patterns everywhere, all textural and out of focus. Her chin rested on something soft and she came to the realization that she was sprawled spread-legged on her belly upon the oriental carpet, like a human version of a bear rug. The scent of sex hung in the air and her body was so spent that it was all she could do to roll over onto her back.

What was that all about? What on earth was happening to her?

Catherine felt like a prisoner in her own home that evening — a sexually satisfied prisoner, but a prisoner nonetheless. Until Giuseppe's shift ended at ten or eleven, she couldn't leave the building without taking the risk of running into him again, and she didn't know whether she could trust him after she had... she had... She had touched him. Touched his penis. And climaxed like she had never climaxed before.

Liar, her head-voice spoke. But she wasn't lying, she had touched his penis and had masturbated uncontrollably, and her orgasm had been unlike anything... Oh. That wasn't the lie. The truth was, she didn't know whether she could trust herself.

She ordered food in and opened a bottle of fine Barolo, a rich red wine to celebrate the richest orgasm of her life. Too bad she had no one to share it with. She wouldn't see Charles again until this Thursday night, a cocktail party he'd arranged for them in her future home in Philadelphia's famed Main Line district. Three nights from now. Three nights before she could have him try to scratch her insistent itches.

Several times she picked up the phone to call him, but she knew she should wait. What would she say to him? "Hi, sweetie, you wouldn't believe the way I came on the living room carpet earlier today, it was so much better than anything I've ever felt with you. What? Oh, no, not you — the doorman, I was thinking about the doorman. Oh, and sweetie? — I put a deposit on a piece of soft porn earlier today that costs forty-thousand dollars, and I even started to fantasize earlier about playing with another girl's tits, I hope you don't mind."

She had come to the conclusion that she was having a mild nervous breakdown, undoubtedly stemming from deep doubts about marrying Charles. Doubts that she had repressed, which must be the struggle she had referred to on the back of her very first drawing.

How did she really feel about her future? Was she only pretending to be confident about tying her life to that of Charles Hightower? Should she see a therapist? That seemed silly, there were only five weeks before the wedding. She'd never been to a shrink before but she knew that real therapy was more than a get-well-quick scheme, it took time. Maybe she would uncover all sorts of unconscious desires and hidden facets to her personality, like daydreams about dressing as a pin-up model or seducing a doorman or sucking a college kid's cock or feeling up a female athlete's big tits.