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Subject: {MikeHunt}JDR"Art Class"(MF)[1/1]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked
the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a
comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories
itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way
to encourage them to continue entertaining you.
The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in
any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright
below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as
well.
=====================
M1KE said it was OK to repost this story. He'd do it himself except he's
busy, what with the big investigation and all. But as soon as the grand
jury clears and the impeachment is over, he'll probably have plenty of time
to write new stories and stuff. Actually, he has time to respond to his e-
mail, which is probably why he won't talk to anybody and that's why the
investigation is going so slowly. Anyway, here's an old story brought up to
you in the current day, which pretty much summarizes M1KE's problems
lately. And that fucking cunt Hillary! Always smiling at him even though
she wants to slice off his dick, just because he got a little head one
afternoon at the office. Sure, like she's never sucked some judge's dick to
get a better ruling! Fuck.
If you're under 18, you shouldn't be reading this.
If you're under 18, you're probably just a dumb little fuck anyway,
most of you are at that age. Or at any age, really.
=====================
Art Class
by MIKE HUNT
Mrm1ke@aol.com
I was trying to imagine what his dick looked like. Was it one of those
that was long and thin? Or perhaps short and fat? Or perhaps long and fat?
Was it circumcised or not? I wondered if it was wrinkled, the way it was
sitting inside his bathing suit.
Art, the model, had been posing in front of our art class for nearly an
hour, and I had finished drawing his face and chest. I was working my way
down, and for some strange reason I always had the most problem with legs.
Both mens' and womens'. I don't know why, they always came out looking
surreal, thin and spindly or fat and hairy. I was actually a decent artist,
much to my surprise. I had only signed up for the course because I needed
three more credits to graduate and 'Drawing and Art Appreciation' was a sure
fire "pass." I needed a couple of those, because I had started to get
"Senior-itis," which is to say I was fucking off a lot.
Of course I preferred the classes where we had a female model, but that
only happened half the time. So here I was sitting imagining what this
guy's dick looked like.
We weren't allowed to have fully nude models. I'd heard that they did
a few years back, but one of the students' parents heard about it and
freaked, called the Dean and threatened all kinds of things. So now all our
models wore bathing suits or similar modest attire. Still, it was better
than the vases and flowers we'd painted for the first six weeks.
By far a girl named Roberta was the most fun in the class. We used to
have a beer together after class once in a while when her boyfriend was
away. He was on the basketball team, so he traveled a lot on weekends,
which left her to me and anybody else with a couple of bucks for
entertainment.
On a dare, one time, she went over to the male model and bent over in
a low cut top, as if to check out the lighting or the shadows or something.
She must have stooped over in front of him for several minutes, trying
to get him to get an erection. She didn't. He didn't. She didn't have the
greatest set of tits in the world.
Actually, Roberta was about a size too small on the top and a size too
big on the bottom. She used to pout about it constantly, but she had the
most innocent and pretty face which more than made up for her lack of other
attributes.
We used to sit around at the Gryphon after class eating $4 pizzas and
talking about guys' dicks and women's tits and stuff. Of course the never-
ending supply of beer helped, and Roberta's lack of embarrassment always
helped us lead the conversation in that direction.
"What I don't understand," she said, "is how we're supposed to be able
to draw a full nude if all they let us have is models in bathing suits."
I nodded in agreement. "I don't know about you, but my imagination isn't
that good. I mean, I can imagine, of course, but I'd much rather have it
right out there on display. That's the only way I'll know if my drawing
is truly realistic or not." I nodded some more. "Don't you agree?" she
said, ignoring my bobbing head.
"Absolutely. Put those tits right out there for me to see. That's the
way to do it." I stated the case firmly.
"You are so crude," she admonished. "You're just in this class for the
'pass'; I'm in it for Art."
"Yeah, well Art barely noticed you, if you noticed," I chided. "You need
a lower cut top if you're going to win the bet next time." I motioned to
a waitress. "The lady here is buying me another beer. She lost the bet
tonight."
"Oh?" said the waitress. "What bet?"
"Nothing," Roberta hissed. "Nothing at all. He's just being an asshole."
I slid out of the booth and stuck my butt up in the air. I pointed at
my ass. "She's right, of course," I said to the waitress. OK, I'd had a
few beers. The waitress frowned and left.
"Boy you're really out there tonight," Roberta said to me.
"Sorry. I always gloat when I win," I beamed.
"Thanks. It sure makes me feel good, knowing I can't even give a guy a
hard-on by letting him look down my blouse. Don't have the right equipment.
Damn." She said it with conviction.
"Don't be silly. He was probably gay. And you have very nice equipment.
Not that I'm speaking from personal knowledge, of course. But from what
I can imagine...." I left the thought unfinished.
"You're terrible!" she spat at me. "Don't you go fantasizing. You'll
probably make me look worse than I already do."
"Nonsense," I said. "You're a lovely girl. I'd like nothing better than
to have you as a model for the class. I'd love to draw you."
She looked at me from the corner of her eye. "You mean it?" she said.
"Of course I mean it," I replied. Of course I hadn't meant it, it was
just the beer talking. But now that I'd said it, I wouldn't have minded.
"Well, I could never do that. Walk into that class in just a bathing suit
for everybody to see? Phew! Never never never." She was adamant.
"Oh no, that's not what I meant," I said. "I meant totally nude. Butt ass
naked. Birthday suit. Nada. Nothing." I paused. "Now that's something to
think about." She shrieked and slugged me in the shoulder. She was strong,
and my arm stung for a minute. But she was laughing when she did it, so
that made it OK, I guess.
We talked for another 20 or 30 minutes, covering everything from politics
to sex to movies to sex to music to sex. Somehow the conversation just
kept returning to sex. I can't imagine how. Finally I said "I've got a
new bet. Ready?" She nodded. "I'll bet that you won't model for me..."
She interrupted quickly, saying "You're right. You win. I won't."
I continued, "...even if I agree to model for you."
Silence filled the booth like the fog in the Tennessee valleys. "Hmmm,"
she said. "You might lose that bet. How much is the bet?"
"A whole night here at the Gryphon, all the drinks on me. A pizza, too."
I said. It was worth it.
"You're on," she said.
"Fully nude," I said.
"What!!?!" she said. "You didn't say that. That wasn't part of the bet."
"Sure it was. You just interrupted me before I finished. And you said,
to quote you, 'you're on.'" I had her. Either way, I won.
"That wasn't part of the bet," she insisted. "I wouldn't have made the
bet if that were part of the bet."
"And I thought you had balls," I said.
"That's part of your problem," she said. "You don't know your ass from
your elbow. Or my boobs from my balls."
"So you do have balls?" I asked. "Figurative...or literal?"
"Ha ha ha," she said. "It's bathing suits or nothing. Wait. I don't mean
nothing, I mean, hell, you know what I mean."
I thought for a moment. "Bathing suits, no deal. Hell, I can see that
in class, you know? How about a compromise?" She was intrigued.
"Like what?" she asked. I shrugged my shoulders. "Tell you what," she
went on. " I *will* compromise. We'll pose in underwear. Not nude, not
bathing suits. How's that?"
"Maybe. What kind of underwear? No long johns or something like that.
Regular, normal underwear. Bra and panties for you. Jockey shorts for me.
No funny business, OK?" I asked.
"I could do that. You're on," she said. "Now. Logistics. Where and when?"
"Simple. Tomorrow, Tallow Hall, 7:00. The building closes at 5:00 on
Saturday, but if we're already in the classroom they'll let us stay. I've
done it before. No sweat. That way we'll have all our equipment, and we'll
be ready to draw."
"Done," she said.
Flash forward to the next night, Tallow Hall. As I said I would, I got
in the building while it was still open, and a little before 7:00 went
to meet Roberta at the West Door. I smiled as I saw her.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she said as I held the door open.
"Chickening out?" I rejoined. "We can just go straight to the Gryphon
if you want. Hope you have your wallet handy."
"No, it's not the money. I just hate to have you win another bet.
Especially after that last humiliation." she said haltingly.
"Then let's go inside," I said, sweeping her along.
We climbed the stairs to the third floor and went into the room we used
for art class. I closed the door behind us. It was obvious we were the
only people in the building; the rest of the place was dark and all the
doors were closed and locked. We both diddled around for a few minutes
getting our stuff ready, easels in place, sketch pads clipped in, that
sort of thing. It was time.
I brought out a six-pack I'd smuggled in. She looked grateful.
"Fabulous idea. Why didn't I think of it?" she asked rhetorically.
"Cause I'm naturally smarter," I replied modestly. "I'm also naturally
a better artist. And I'm also naturally..."
She interrupted with "a bigger asshole." We both laughed.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally I said, "OK, it's time. Strip
down, recruits."
She turned away from me and began to unbutton her blouse. I saw her twist
her head around to make sure I was getting undressed, too. It would have
been just like me to stand there and wait for her to finish and then
surprise her by not having undressed, but (at least this time) I wouldn't
do something that sneaky. I heard a zipper unzip and I knew she was taking
off her jeans. I was with her almost every step of the way.
As she turned around I saw that she had lived up to the deal. She was
dressed in a quite modest pair of panties, all white, and a not-so-modest
bra of thin material. I could see the hint of the color of her nipples
through the wispy material.
"Well, let's get to work, shall we?" she said, trying the break the
momentarily uncomfortable atmosphere.
"Sure, let's go," I said, not taking my eyes off her tits for even a
second.
"Hello? Hello! Up here, fella," she said, eyeing me sternly.
"Uh, oh yeah, sorry," I said. My eyes drifted upwards until they met hers.
I flushed a little.
Within a very few minutes it was as though there was nothing strange going
on at all. We were talking and cracking jokes, standing there in our
underwear drawing pictures of each other. It was, I must say, weird with a
capital WE.
We stood facing each other, partially hidden behind our easels, peeking
around the sides every once in a while to get a glimpse, then returning
to our drawing. Ten minutes passed with only the sound of scribbling on
sketch pads.
"OK," she said, "Imagination time."
"Don't be silly," I said gallantly. "We can do that in any old class.
It's time to see if you can really draw a righteous penis." And so saying
I pushed down my briefs. They hung at my thighs, then at my knees, finally
drifting to my ankles. I stepped out of them.
Roberta let out a shriek, but I knew it was a mock protest. Her eyes
riveted upon my flaccid dick and never left. I walked over to a stool and
leaned against it. "Go for it," I said.
Her hand became a blur, her eyes darting back and forth from my limp wang
to her drawing tablet. She drew and erased and brushed and smudged. "This
isn't as easy as I thought," she said absently.
"You mean it's *harder* than you thought?" I said, leering into the word.
She chuckled at my typically stupid joke.
Looking straight at my dick she said "It's obviously not harder than I
thought. It's just not as easy as I thought. I mean, when you're just
drawing a cock and you can't see it, anything will do, sort of. You know?
But when you actually have to draw it the way it is, well that's harder. I
mean, more difficult."
"Let me see," I said. She turned the pad around. It was a half decent
picture of me, standing nude at my sketch pad drawing. I checked out my
penis. In the picture, I mean. Damn. She made it actual size. I was hoping
for a little artistic help, but no such luck.
"Not bad," I said. "I think you could have flattered me a little more
in the genital section, but it's pretty realistic, I have to admit."
"Thanks," she said. "Let me see yours."
"It's not done, yet. I have the, ah, vital sections still to go."
"Oh," she said. "Imagination time, huh."
"Yeah, I guess so." But to my surprise, her hands went up behind her and
she unfastened her bra. She let it hang there, unfastened but still
covering her breasts as her hands went to her hips and grasped the sides of
her panties.
"I don't know about this," she said. But her actions belied her words,
as she began to slowly push the panties down, first one side, then the
other. She walked the white cotton briefs down her thighs an inch or two
at a time. My mouth must have been agape as her pubic hair came into view,
followed by her love triangle and pussy lips. As she bent over to push
the panties even lower, the bra fell away from her tits and flapped in
front of her. She straightened up and shrugged the straps down from her
shoulders onto her arms, and with a little flip the feminine undergarment
landed in a heap on the floor.
She straightened in front of me, a little bit shy but still proud. "Wow,"
I said. I say that a lot when I see naked ladies. My brain pretty much
stops functioning for a few seconds. I think it has to do with blood flow
or something.
It took a couple moments, but I suddenly remember why we were there, and
I turned back to my sketch pad. My hands fairly flew across the paper,
shading and rubbing. I was so into the technical part of the work that
I didn't even get excited. It was weird. I finished drawing in the curves
of her breasts and darkening the buttons of her nipples, checking back
and forth from the paper to the model. At last I had them done.
I paused a moment, then moved on. She walked over to one of the model's
tall wooden stools at the side of the room and brought it back. She sat
down on it and demurely crossed her legs. I frowned.
"What part are you working on?" she asked.
"I was about to start the, uh, lower half. But that pose won't exactly
help me," I said.
She uncrossed her legs, turned and faced me directly with her knees pressed
firmly together. I stared at her legs.
I began to sketch, slowly. And just as slowly her knees parted. First
an inch, as if she were just being lazy. Then two inches, as if she were
getting comfortable. Then three inches, then four. I had a perfect view
up her thighs to her pussy, which while still in shadow was still quite
visible to me. Her knees continued to part. Now five, now six inches. I
lifted my vision out of her lap and into her eyes. She was smiling at me.
I continued to draw. My eyes went back south.
Her legs opened, again, and I drank in the sight of the unveiling of her
cunt. I began to feel the tingling of my dick, and I knew it would be
only a few moments until it would begin to bounce and transform itself
into an organ of a vastly different shape and size. OK, not vastly. I
didn't care. I continued to sketch and to stare into her vagina. I glanced
at her face, again, and saw that she was now watching my cock. That was
more of a turn on than looking at her cunt, and my dick began to swell
under her watchful gaze. My eyes returned to the treasure between her legs,
and it was only seconds until my cock was standing straight out in front of
me, fully erect.
"Is it done, yet?" she asked.
"No, I still have a little shading to do," I said.
"I wasn't talking about the picture," she said.
"Oh."
"I'd like to draw it, if you don't mind," she added.
"Not at all. But don't move for a couple more seconds. I'm really
enjoying... I mean, I'm almost finished, and, uh, aw hell. Just don't
move."
I stood there busily sketching, fully erect, and having the time of my
life. As I drew in the lines and curves of her cunt my dick increased in
pressure until it felt like it would burst. Lightly tapping my pencil
against the pad like a drummer on a snare drum I filled in the pubic hair,
and I was done.
"Want to see?" I asked.
"I'm already looking," she said. She was staring at my engorged member.
"I meant the picture," I said.
"Oh."
I flipped the easel around and she looked. She walked over to it and
stared. I had "improved" her breasts slightly and softened her hips. In the
stance in the picture you could see a cocked knee and the top of her female
hair and the mons veris, followed by the puff of one of her pussy lips. It
was actually quite good, if I do say so myself.
She said so herself.
"Is that how you see me?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. "I can't help it. You're terrific looking. You make a
great model."
"So do you," she said. She turned and walked the few steps back to her
easel and ripped the sketch pad off it. She came back and sat cross-legged
on the floor in front of me. My dick bobbed in her face.
Supporting the pad with one hand, she began busily sketching with the
other. My organ was at full throttle as she began, and I could see by her
long, full strokes that she was drawing a large picture of my dick.
"Help me a little there, if you don't mind," I said.
"I don't mind, but frankly you don't need the help," she replied. "Huge
dicks are highly overrated in my opinion. I know with guys that the size
of the girl's tits are vital, the bigger the better..."
"Not true," I interrupted.
She ignored me. "...but women don't feel the same way. Especially if you've
ever had to give a blow job to someone with a wide and wild woodie. Your
jaw feels like its going to fall off. Give me a nice normal sized penis
any day."
"How about today," I said.
"I was thinking about that," she replied candidly. "But for the moment
I'm having too much fun drawing it. I mean, this will never happen in
class. Even if I let the model look down my blouse. The basketball star
isn't likely to pose for me. So here you are. And here I am."
"Fine," I said. "I think I can hold this pose for a while. Maybe just
until the end of the semester, though, so hurry."
She giggled. I could see from her frantic movements that she was recording
my erection in pastel and chalk for posterity. I took one hand and lazily
stroked myself a couple of times. She continued to draw. Finally the
frustration got to me and I walked around behind her, my dick waggling
with every step. Her picture was quite good, a realistic portrait of the
little fellow and even somehow managing to capture the bounce in his
current state.
"Wow, pretty good," I offered.
"Wow, pretty good," she repeated. One of her hands reached for me and
she stroked her fingers along the length of my shaft. A fist encircled
me briefly, then let go. "It's easy to be an artist when you have a
good model," she said. I blushed.
"Hey, I've got one for you," I exclaimed. I walked to the front of the
room and picked up a mirror which had been leaning against the wall. I
brought it back and leaned it on a chair in front of her as I moved her
sketch pad and lay it flat on the ground. She understood immediately.
She knelt on all fours facing the mirror. She had her chalk in her
hand. I had my dick in mine. I knelt down behind her.
"How about a self portrait?" I asked. "I think it could be fabulous,
especially if you can capture the sensuality of the moment."
"What sensuality?" She twisted her head to look at me as she asked,
playing along.
"I was thinking...this," I said, bringing the head of my erection into
perfect alignment with the open shaft that now presented itself. I moved
my hips forward and we made contact. She was already wet, apparently as
stimulated as I but responding in her own way. I moved my hips again and
shuffled my knees forward to catch up.
"Oof," she responded as I sank partway into her. "Oh that's perfect.
Don't move."
"Don't move?" I asked. "Are you crazy?"
"Really. Don't move," she said, her hands now beginning their frantic
dance across the sketch pad.
I leaned over her and with one hand against her back for balance, put
my other under her hanging breast, cupping it and feeling the texture of
the tip against my palm. "You mean don't move like this?" I asked. "Or
do you mean don't move like this?" I said it as I pushed all the way in,
bouncing my pelvis against hers hard enough that her entire body was pushed
forward.
"Stop it!" she exclaimed. "How am I supposed to draw if you're bouncing
me all around?" She paused. "Although it does feel great..."
"Yeah. How about if I 'don't move' right about here?" I asked.
"That would be fine," she responded.
And like any good artist's model, I froze my position to give the artist
time to render the likeness that she saw in her mind's eye.
We must have stayed that way, locked like dogs, for ten minutes. I
could see the portrait develop, and it was suddenly clear that this girl
had an abiding talent. On the flatness of the page came a three dimensional
woman, and farther back a man. Their activity was obvious, and even
more evident was the pleasure it was bringing to both of them.
With her last smudges and strokes she asked "So what do you think of it?"
"It's unbelievable," I answered. "But there's no way to ever capture this."
And with that I began a series of long, slow strokes in and out of her.
Now my full weight bore down on her as I used both hands to grasp at her
hanging tit flesh, then I straightened up and put my palms against her
back as I looked for more freedom of movement to bang away at her.
I had been kneeling for 20 minutes, maybe more, and my knees ached. But
even though I wanted to change position, I wanted to stay behind her, my
hardness locked into her softness. My tempo increased and she matched me
thrust for thrust, banging backward into me with every forward push I
offered. My testicles offered a "slap slap slap" in synchronism with our
movements as they bounced against her clit.
Our rocking increased again, and the sweat from her back mixed with the
perspiration from my chest, the slipperiness of our bodies emulating the
slickness of our sexual junction. My dick had never been harder, nor found
a more willing pussy, and I was finally ready.
"Oh God," I said.
"Oh yes," she answered.
And then it was upon us. I don't know who got there first, all I know
is that I bucked forward so hard that she collapsed prostrate on the floor.
The natural momentum of my motion carried me forward on top of her, and
my weight landed on her without mercy.
She seemed none the worse for it, and continued her own series of bouncing
and writhing motions as her orgasm took control of her body. I suspect an
older woman might have bruised at the inadvertent rough treatment she
received, but she seemed fine, and unconcerned.
"Oh my god," she said as we floated back to earth. "That was heavenly."
"You bet," I answered. "The best I can remember." It wasn't a lie. In
fairness I had only had a couple of sexual partners to that point in my
life, but the experience of a new playmate coupled with our evident
compatibility had brought me to the very zenith of human pleasure.
"By the way," she said nonchalantly.
"Yes?" I asked.
"I won the bet," she smirked.
"Double or nothing?" I said.
* * * *
This is another Almost All True Story from M1KE HUNT. The only things
changed were that the male model at the beginning of the story was actually
a female, and she wasn't dressed in a bathing suit, she was nude. The
college didn't really care.
Also, the name of the bar wasn't the 'Gryphon', it was the 'Sundance', and
the pizza didn't cost $4, it was $6.99. Also 'Roberta' was a transexual
named 'Jim' from Jamaica, and she didn't use chalk for the drawings, she
used watercolors. Also it wasn't a Saturday night at Tallow Hall, it was
a Friday afternoon on the sidewalk in front of the Post Office.
Also, it wasn't a bet that she lost, it was more like a gun to her head.
Also my name isn't M1KE HUNT, it's Billy Wiedlemeier, and I didn't go to
college, it was sort of reform school. Other than those minor facts, it's
all true. That about covers it, I think.
If you'd like to get more Almost All True Stories, tell me you're 18 or
over as you send an e-mail to MrM1KE@aol.com. It's free, and your name
goes no further than my personal address book and ListServe America,
which pays me almost a dollar for each one of you mopes I corral with
this shit. Just kidding. I would never do that. Anyway, I'm holding out
for $1.25 per name.
This story was first titled "Art Appreciation" but Taria stole that title
with her story of the same name, and I'm pretty pissed at her about it.
Her excuse is that she published hers months ago and didn't know I was
writing one. That's true, of course, but it still pisses me off. It's even
worse that hers is better than mine! I hate it when a woman gets one over
on me, though I'm getting used to it by now. Practice makes perfect.
To send me an e-mail, address it to MrM1KE@aol.com. Remember that the
2nd character in M1KE is a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I). Thanks. You can
still use the Bannerboy1@aol.com address if you feel like it. If you'd
like to read some of my other Almost All True stories, pay a visit to
<http://members.aol.com/mrm1ke>. I even added a little biographical
information to the website this week. My new slogan is "Point your browser,
then your trouser."
Hey! I put Taria's "Art Appreciation" up on my web page so you can read
it and compare. I'm telling you, it's more interesting than this piece of
shit, but then so is "Capital Gains Depreciation Allowances" or any number
of other fascinating government publications I've been reading lately.
This story is Copyright 1997 by M1KE HUNT Enterprises, a wholly owned
subsidiary of Billy Wiedlemeier Holdings, Inc. Until our IPO is launched
you may give this story away free.
=====================
Art Class
by MIKE HUNT
-30-
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