The Art and Science of Love
3
Drawing Rita
“HERE? NOW?” she asked, startled. I’d just suggested that I sketch her and she looked around to see if I had a pencil and paper at hand. “On a napkin?”
“I’ll do it with words. There are a lot of different media for art.”
“Okay,” she said. “How do you want me to pose?” She giggled a little, thinking she was making a joke.
“First, I’ll just spend some time looking at you. I want to really see you,” I said. “It’s easy to get lost in your eyes, but I want to see all of you, from every angle.” I heard a little catch in her breath at the implication, but she didn’t move. True to what I was saying, I took the opportunity to drink her in. She was a mature woman of twenty-six years but I could still see the innocence and wicked sense of adventure she’d had as a school girl. She and her sister with a bunch of neighbor kids had once set up a water slide in my back yard because mine was the one with a slope to it. I remembered them in their bathing suits, splashing down the sheet of plastic. It wasn’t difficult to think of the difference between the slight bumps that filled out their swimsuits then and the incredible breasts that filled out her blouse now.
I reached out and touched her hair, pulled back in a ponytail, hanging down over one shoulder. When I grazed her cheek, she involuntarily leaned in toward my fingers.
“I want to know the shape of your hairline and the texture of your hair. I look deeply at the softness of your skin and imagine what it would feel like under my fingers’ caress. I look at the shape of your face, the elegance of your neck. I want to know the breadth of your shoulders. I pause for a moment just to watch your breasts rise and fall with your breathing. I guide your face with my fingers so your eyes can look just over my left shoulder and I tilt your head slightly to emphasize your jawline.
“My first sketch is quick and near life-size on a sheet of newsprint, drawn with soft charcoal. I capture the centerline of your face and position of your eyes. I draw in the tip of your nose and the simplest rendition of your lips, letting the charcoal slide to the side to get more fullness in just one line.” Rita’s eyes fluttered as I traced the centerline of her face with my forefinger from the hairline to the tip of her chin. When I traced the shape of her lips with my finger, they trembled and parted slightly.
I continued, tracing the edge contour of her ear and hair and let my finger trail down her right shoulder and upper arm. Then, as if I were drawing on paper, I lightly grazed the depression where her throat met her collarbone and surprised her as I used a finger on each hand to trace from her collarbone, following the line of her blouse to the cleft between her breasts. Her eyes popped open wider, but she didn’t shift her pose.
“With a rough sketch having shown me how you are put together, I switch to a smaller pad and a 4B pencil,” I continued. “I adjust your pose slightly, tilting your head so I see the other ear and you are looking over my right shoulder. I lift your chin slightly and tease a soft smile from your lips.” She nearly sucked my finger into her mouth as I stroked the corner of her mouth to get a little smile from her. I wondered if that was how da Vinci got the Mona Lisa’s smile. She gasped and nearly collapsed when I continued.
“I loosen the top button of your blouse and slide the collar further over your right shoulder, moving the strap with it so it will not be in my composition. I’m ready to look at the play of light and shadows on your skin without lines. This time, I start with the shape of your eyes in the lamplight, smudging the tone to where I want it and deepening your sparkling eyes. I lay my pencil flat on the paper and, after lightly shading the lowlight of your cheek, I use my thumb to spread the graphite up toward the high point of your cheekbone, capturing it without a line between the inset of your eye and your cheek.”
I was thoroughly enjoying the feel of her skin as I softly stroked her face and from the rate of her breathing, it was apparent she was enjoying it, too. She’d been caught in the mesmerizing narration of her body.
“I note how the shadow on your right defines the highlight of your nose and extends into your upper lip, receding in the depths of the corner of your mouth. Your chin doesn’t define the end of your face, but rather the shadow of your neck reveals the shape of your chin. I find where the shadow stretches from your earlobe down beneath your jaw and smooth the tone to give shape to your throat, ending in the depths of the hollow at your collarbone.” Rita was breathing notably faster and more shallowly as my fingers traced each part of her face and worked down her neck as I drew her in my mind. Had she been ticklish, the touch would have been torture, but she was merely sensitive and a deep flush had begun to slip from her face down her throat and over her breasts. I continued by tracing her collarbone out from the neck to the right shoulder where I had pushed her blouse and saw her eyes close as she absorbed my touch.
“Now I am ready to find a pose for my detailed sketch. I loosen the last buttons of your blouse so it falls away from your shoulder and down your arm. I slip your arm out of the sleeve and the strap of your bra so nothing interrupts the smooth flow of the line of your shoulder and arm. The arm is defined on the inside by your breast pressed against it. I turn you so you are nearly facing away from me and ask you to undo your ponytail.” Rita glanced at me to confirm that I actually wanted her to do this herself and when I nodded, she reached up to loosen the knot and let her hair fall free. Before she could lower her arm, I held it gently in the position with her hand in her hair.
“I ask you to loosen your ponytail, not because I can’t do it, but because I want to see the line on the underside of your arm,” I said as I traced the line down along her smoothly shaved underarm and let my fingers part as they traced both the line of her back and her breast at the same time. A tiny mewling sound escaped her lips as my fingers trailed across her right breast. She was so used to my hands on her body now that she didn’t flinch when I found the front clasp of her bra. I flicked it open and it fell to her side.
“The shadows here are tricky,” I continued my narration as my hands gently stroked from her armpit down along the side of her beautifully exposed breast. Her eyes were once again closed, so she could not see how intently I feasted on the sight of her breast and the tiny pink nipple that in spite of its petite size seemed to stretch the skin taut as a drumhead. “I must be careful to capture the light and shadow as the hollow of your underarm stretches to meet the rise of your breast. The black and gray of the graphite seem so inadequate to capture the deep flush in your skin and the subtle darkening of your nearly transparent nipple sitting high on the proud mound of your breast. I need to capture in the shading the firmness and the softness, carefully blending the shadow into the crease beneath your breast so there is no plasticity in the rendering. I take great care to find the right shape and size of your nipple with the graphite clinging to my thumb.”
The funny thing is that as I stroked her nipple with my thumb, my fingers applying light pressure beneath the breast, I could really see what it would look like on paper when I had drawn it. And I definitely would draw her. For her part, Rita was moaning aloud now, ready to collapse, but firmly holding herself in the pose I had created for her. I wanted to fall on that heaving breast and take the nipple between my lips, but that wasn’t necessary to achieve what I desperately wanted now. I stuck with the drawing and extended my domain. The left side of Rita’s blouse and bra still clung to her left breast, so I gently slid my palm across from her right, lifting the fabric up and away from her exquisite tit. She shrugged her shoulder slightly and the fabric slid down her arm and off her wrist. She was fully exposed now and her eyes watched me, even though she had not moved her right arm from the pose. God! If only all my models were so disciplined and compliant! In some sessions I found myself getting up every few minutes to correct the pose back to where I wanted it. Their antsy fidgeting destroyed the continuity of my drawing.
“Your breasts are twins but with such subtle individuality that only one intimately familiar with them could tell the difference. The right is flawless—translucent skin drawn tightly over a soft and pliable layer, perfectly shaped and crowned by a pink nipple, tinged with a wash of sienna. It deepens in color when you blush.” As if called by my mention of it, the blush once again spread across her cheeks and chest. I softly caressed the contour of her breast to emphasize my point. “The left is equally flawless—the nipple fractionally darker in color and pointing slightly as if to call attention to her sister. A tiny dark dot on the breast just to the outside of the nipple cries out to be kissed, drawing attention back to the left.” This time I permitted myself to lean forward and brush the tiny mole without sucking on the ripe little nipple. Rita breathed a long whispered, ‘Ohhhhh.’
“I trace the contours of each breast, flowing down into the valley between,” I continued. I let my fingers bunch around each nipple and as softy as water trickling down, I let them expand and slide down into her cleavage. This raised tiny bumps all across both breasts and up onto her shoulders. “From here, I continue my downward journey, parting the shadow like the waters of the sea until my pencil rests and deepens the shadow of your navel. This barely visible depth is the center of a field of white skin that continues to the sides until lost in the shadow of the background and plunges into unfathomed depths below.”
At this point I dragged my fingers southward from her navel, over her slightly rounded stomach. As they progressed, her stomach muscles tightened—sucking the flesh inward—partly in response to my touch and partly, perhaps, in subconscious effort to give me easier access beneath the loosened waistband of her skirt. I slid my hand on down, keeping contact with her skin as her breathing quickened and began to come in gasps until I felt the soft brush of her hair and the very top of her slit. This at last was too much for my lovely Rita. Her upheld arm collapsed around my neck and she drew me to her in a passionate kiss from which she gasped, “Oh, Doc!”
I looked into her eyes as I held one arm around her naked shoulders and one hand still just deep enough below her panties to feel the moisture that was rapidly spreading. She crushed her lips to mine once more and thrust her tongue between my lips. Still, I teased and nipped the end of her tongue, pulling back far enough that she could not follow; then, with just the tip of my tongue moistening her lips before they parted again, we kissed deeply. When we parted from that embrace, she let her hand trail down the front of my shirt, unfastening the buttons in a near mimic of the slow dance I had used over her blouse. When the shirt was unbuttoned, she let her hand slip lower, where it glided over my very stiff cock.
“Have I turned you on, Doc?” she asked plaintively.
“Oh, my lovely Rita, you certainly have.”
“Good,” she answered, “because I so want to make love to you.”
You might think there would be a maddened rush at this point, but Rita had been so captured by the slow and delicate maneuvers of my artistic description that she wanted to duplicate them herself. This she did, however, with more direct intent as she traced the line of my jaw with her tongue and massaged my chest with her hands. She slid down my body, finding first my right nipple and then my left with her tongue as her hands busied themselves with my belt and fly. She pushed my trousers down and I found the zipper for her skirt and slid it and the tiny lace panties she wore over her hips and down her legs. She rubbed my cock between her breasts and then slid up, pushing me back on the sofa as she moved over me. There were no more words spoken as she slid her pussy lips over my cock, but when she slid me inside her we both gasped and clutched each other tightly.
I’ve long prided myself on my stamina, but our foreplay had gotten me so turned on that I was afraid I would not last long enough to stroke a single time. I needn’t have worried about it, however. We lay there relishing the feeling of being joined so deeply. Without moving or touching further, I felt Rita contract on my cock and cry out, then raise herself up and slam down, crying out again. Her vaginal convulsions were so strong in her orgasm that I stood no chance of withholding my own orgasm. In spite of my teeming fantasy with the rich model I had sketched earlier in the week, it had been some time since I’d actually taken care of the building tension in my balls and I exploded in Rita with a ferocity I’d seldom experienced before. Just as things began to settle from our mutual satisfaction, Rita would shift and convulse in an aftershock, eliciting one more spurt from my cock.
At last we lay, exhausted in each other’s arms, my softening but still adequate cock lodged deep in her pussy. The perfect globes of her breasts were smashed against my chest, our nipples kissing each other. She lifted her face to me and I drank deeply of her kisses, our lips and tongues unwilling to leave each other.
We awoke in much the same position as we had fallen asleep, though only the tip of my cock still remained in contact with her labia. She looked into my eyes with a look that brought a stirring back to my member.
“Doc,” she said softly. “Will you teach me everything? Please?”
“Yes,” I said kissing her nose and eyelids. “Yes, my dear, everything.”
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