Odalisque
Thirty-five
THE FIRST WEEK OF SCHOOL wasn’t that great. Yeah, Dennis did expect everyone on time the day after New Year’s and he gave me a dirty look when I walked in five minutes late. Bree had saved a seat for me and both she and Amanda gave me a sour a look as well. Justin kept his head down and took lecture notes. They all brightened significantly, though, when I handed them their invitations to the posing party.
As soon as Coach Fredericks started running, I realized I hadn’t worked out at all in the past two weeks. It’s not like you lose all your conditioning in two weeks, but I could tell I was going to be sore.
Literary Criticism is a lot different than Critical Reading! We were going to go through a lot of theory in this class, but Professor Strait expected us to apply it to some pretty difficult texts. By Tuesday night’s racquetball practice, I was already beat. We had two new members of the club and I needed to get on top of things fast. Sandra’s boyfriend, Walt, had decided to use racquetball as his off-season conditioning. Somehow, Bree had enticed a feisty little Asian cheerleader named Rachel to join the team. Rachel was the shortest person in my immediate sphere outside of the boys. She didn’t top five feet and was what the cheerleaders called a ‘flyer’. She’s the one they threw in the air and then caught. Bree admitted that she wanted to play, and became a player/manager. Racquetball was looking good for the winter competitions.
Rio and Whitney attacked me as soon as they saw me on campus. Squeals of delight and writhing girl-flesh pressed against my body are always a high-point of my day. But they didn’t push their boundaries. I handed each girl their official invitation created by Melody. Their eyes popped when they read that the Saturday night party would be formal!
“I need a dress!” Rio screamed.
“I didn’t bring anything like this to campus,” Whitney protested.
“Ragstock,” I suggested. “Get something that you can iron and throw on that makes you look incredibly delicious.”
“Ragstock?” Whitney said.
“You would make any rag look sexy,” I said. “Remember, the purpose of wearing a formal is to be able to—how’d you put it, Rio?—have it accidentally fall off.”
“Oh, shee-it,” Whitney drawled. “I’m gonna to cream mah panties.”
“There’s a solution to that,” Rio said. “Don’t wear any. That’s what I do.” It was the first time I saw Whitney speechless.
I worked on the estimates for the memorial Tuesday night. Kate came in and perched on the arm of my chair.
“You did good, Tony,” she said. “You did it right.”
“Hmm? What?”
“Handling Wendy this morning. I would have blown that one. We’d still be in there with me trying to make her make a decision,” Kate said. “You led by example and never gave her a direct order then you tossed it right back to her to make a decision between just two things. I was mad at you for a while before I realized how happy she was.”
“Kitten, you know so much more about this than I do,” I sighed leaning against her. “I didn’t even think. I just started handing her the stuff. I was shaking all the way to campus.”
“I love you.” It was a simple affirmation, but just the sound of her voice sent shivers down my spine.
“Will you help me, Kate?” I asked.
“With Wendy? Of course!”
“Yes. But what I was asking was for help with the memorial. I feel so out of my depth; I don’t know what I’ll do. That painting was never meant to be eighty feet wide.”
“You’ll have to do another one,” she said. “The estimates for the project don’t depend on what you are painting; just on how much paint and time it’s going to take. We can figure that out and then you can come up with the design when you are sitting in the studio with a big canvas in front of you.”
“That’s what I need, isn’t it?” I said. “A big canvas that’s the same proportions as the wall we’re going to paint on. The subject is the same, but the presentation is different. Thank you.”
“Right. What kind of paint do we use on an exterior masonry wall?”
By Friday night, I was a zombie. I’d been up most of the night every night either working on the estimates and proposal or on my homework. I was up at six each morning in order to make it to my seven-thirty class. It hadn’t taken long for Wendy to decide that if she didn’t have class until ten that she didn’t need me to drop her off at seven. Even my morning coffee was alone.
Kate moved down to her room on Tuesday and that night it was just Lissa, Melody, and me in the big bed for the first time in as long as I could remember. By the time I crawled in, they were asleep, and they were still asleep when I dragged my sorry ass out of bed.
We had family dinner without the boys. Jack got back the day after New Year’s and Molly had taken the boys to his house after school on Friday. I felt like I’d hardly seen them all week and now they were gone. We finished a quiet meal and I excused myself to go to bed. It must have been about half past seven. I was asleep before eight.
I woke with my hard cock pointed at empty air. No Lissa spooned in front of me. Arms were wrapped around me from behind, though. I turned slightly and saw the halo of fuzz around Wendy’s head. We were the only ones in bed and for a moment, I thought it must be late and everyone else was up. The house was quiet. I rolled toward Wendy and looked over her shoulder to see if they were on the other side.
“With Kate,” she mumbled sleepily.
“Oh.” I fell back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep, Tiger.”
“’Sokay. Cuddle.” I held her in my arms and fell back asleep.
I was eventually awake enough to function Saturday afternoon, so I managed to get the setting the way I wanted it downstairs. I was counting on my fingers how many people we had and making notes about the positions I wanted everyone in. Saturday night was seriously just going to be a party with everyone circulating and enjoying themselves on the set. During the party, I’d be making mental notes on who was where, who was doing what—or who—and how people circulated. Periodically, I’d be snapping pictures. We’d be playing music and encouraging people to dance. The theme Whitney had suggested was “Bacchanalia.” People would start arriving at eight. It would be a twenty-four-hour posing party.
I didn’t really figure I’d do any sketching until eleven or midnight, but having the party “on set” would get everyone comfortable with their surroundings. People started arriving before I was dressed and I had to head for the bedroom before everyone saw that I was still in sweats. I needed a shower and a shave and my tux, so thoughtfully provided by Lissa. It would be fun. Yeah.
Lissa came in and woke me up about nine.
“Tony? Darling? Oh god, Tony, have you even showered yet?” Lissa asked. She, of course, looked divine. There was nothing Ragstock about the gown she was wearing.
I groaned as I opened my eyes and tried to sit up. The last I remembered, I’d sat on the foot of the bed to put my socks on. I apparently fell asleep. My feet were hanging over the edge and my legs were numb.
“Can I just go to bed now?” I mumbled. “I can’t walk.”
“Come on, darling,” Lissa prodded gently. “I’ll help you get dressed. At least your hair is short enough no one will notice you slept on it wet. I don’t think. Come on. Pants next.”
“Let’s just go to bed and cuddle up with each other and see if anyone misses us at the party,” I complained.
“Shirt. Let me fix the studs,” Lissa continued as I put my arms through the sleeves and she started to button me up. “Studs for my stud. Where are the cufflinks?”
“They should have been with the studs. Aren’t they on the dresser?”
“Let me tie this bow for you,” she responded, pulling at the tie.
“How’d I get so lucky to have a fashion maven lover who could dress me?” I asked. I tried for a kiss, but her fingers were right at my Adam’s apple and I couldn’t move forward.
“I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” Lissa said. “I know you had a rough week, Tony, but you know how much everyone has been looking forward to this. You suggested the date, remember?”
“I should have waited a week. Is everyone back from PCAD even?”
“Sandra is practically living with Walt and he had to be in class Tuesday just like you did. Amy is hanging on Thor and Sonia—well, mostly on Sonia—like they might disappear if she lets go. And Melody and Kate live here. Were you expecting someone else?” Lissa asked.
“Wait. There’s, like, umpteen people coming to this party and only five of us are from PCAD? Doesn’t it sound a little strange that all our friends are suddenly at SCU?”
“It’s the same five that were at the party last spring and you haven’t been around PCAD making friends this year. You’ve been at SCU. Of course, you are going to have more friends there.” Lissa started toward the door but turned to look at me. I was just staring into space.
“Tony? What is it, hon?”
“I’m feeling a little lost and overwhelmed, I guess. I’ll snap out of it. Did you say coffee?”
“On the way. Get your shoes on.”
Lissa left and I bent to get my shoes on. I resisted falling back on the bed and going to sleep again. I tied my shoe and Melody came in.
“Hi baby! Ooo, you look yummy in a tux, you know?”
Melody should not have mentioned yummy. Just glancing up at her, I was ready to make a meal of her on the spot. She’d chosen to go with a very Grecian-style tunic dress off one shoulder and plunging in folds around her waist beneath her right arm. The angle of the fabric made me believe she’d taped the drape to her right boob. Otherwise she’d be starting the nude part of the festivities long before anyone else.
“I want to eat you,” I said.
“Later, darling. You have a guest emergency.”
“You can’t mean Allison’s here, can you?” I said. A treat.
“No. Don’t we all wish. It’s another guest. She needs to see you before we start the posing and all,” Melody said. “I know it will sound strange, but sweetheart, listen to her request and know that it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about your wives or girlfriend being upset.”
“I’m not having sex with Bree before the party,” I said adamantly.
“Patience. Since you’re dressed, I’m sending the guest in.” Melody turned and left. She’d carefully not told me who the guest was, I noticed.
The door opened as I finished tying my other shoe and I stood up to look straight at Amanda. She looked great in her light blue gown. It was a floor-length A-line with a beaded bodice and straps. It was cool how the fabric was all wrinkly—like crepe paper—with the creases going vertically over her breasts, then horizontal for a wide kind of belt-look, then vertical again as it fell from about her natural waist out to the floor. She’d chosen well.
Amanda is pretty. She’s not model material, but anyone would be happy to have her with him. She carries a little more weight on her five-foot-five frame than Lissa and Melody, but that just gives her a softness that you might miss if she was skinny. Her medium-length brown hair was done in a French braid that really accented her oval face. Man, I was already sizing her up for a portrait.
“Hi, Amanda,” I said. “You look great. What’s up?”
“Is it okay? I’ve never posed for an artist before.”
“Hey, there’s nothing to it. Even a dead man can do it.”
“Tony! Oh shit,” she gasped. “Now I feel so much better.”
“What’s up, Amanda? Are you really nervous about posing? Let me see the rest of your pretty dress.”
She spun around showing me that the dress was backless down to that horizontal waist band with just two inch-wide beaded straps coming from her shoulders down. This side showed how voluptuous her backside was. Mmm. Down boy! She faced me again.
“I feel funny. I want you to know… I talked to… your girlfriends… about this and they said okay. So, I’m not, like, trying to seduce you or anything.” She was working her hands behind her back. “I just… I know it’s silly… but I don’t want the first time you see me naked to be with a whole bunch of other people standing around.”
She finally succeeded in unzipping the back of her dress below her hips and hunched her shoulders forward letting the dress slide off her arms. It took a little push to get it past her hips and then it pooled on the floor at her feet—feet that were in three-inch matching blue pumps and did great things for her legs. I noticed the shoes because they were the only thing she was still wearing.
“Amanda? Not that I’m unappreciative, but why?” I asked. She stepped forward and turned slowly around so I was looking at her back.
“Your girlfriends are all so beautiful,” she said. “And Bree and Sonia and Amy and Whitney. Rio’s a little overweight but flaunts herself like she’s a sex goddess—and she is! Sandra is beautiful. Wendy is so ethereal. God, Tony!” She turned back to face me and came toward me to put her hands on my shoulders. “I didn’t want to be compared right next to them the first time you saw me… like this. I thought somehow… maybe if they weren’t there… you’d think I was beautiful, too.”
“Amanda, you are beautiful.” I said. “Come here.” I took her hand and led her to the full-length mirrors on our closet doors. Lissa had them designed so that if you opened the doors just right, it created one of those three-panel mirrors like you find in dressing rooms when you’re trying on clothes. I stood behind Amanda and we looked at the triple image of her staring back at us.
“I’m overweight,” she whispered.
“That depends on you. Look at you. Look at this nose,” I said, reaching around her to stroke once down the bridge to the tip of her nose. “Straight. Delicate. Just a little dip here at the bridge and the tiniest upturn at the end. Elvin, I’d say. Your neck is straight like the rest of your posture. You hold your head regally.” I turned her head slightly to the left, knowing she could still see the center mirror as I traced her jawline and down her neck to her shoulder. “There’s unusual strength here. You don’t clench your jaw. You hold it relaxed, but I have the feeling you could bite my head off if I upset you.”
“You already knew that,” she laughed sadly. “I bitched at you enough times last term.”
“You didn’t know me yet. We’re getting along much better now. Look. You’re standing naked in my bedroom in front of a mirror while I paint you with words,” I said. A tiny shudder went through her body.
“You don’t have to touch my breasts… if you don’t want to.”
“Why would I not want to touch this beautiful bosom? Why would I miss tracing the line from your throat through your cleavage to your navel? Why would any man not want to weigh them in his hands or watch your nipples respond to his caress?” I suited action to words as I lifted her breasts in my hands. They were about the same size as Lissa’s, but hung a little more softly. Large areolae surrounded puffy hard nipples that stood out proudly from her breast when I pinched them slightly. She sucked in air in a gasp.
“Look at your beautiful tummy,” I said.
“I’m fat,” she responded.
“No. Fat would be hanging over here.” I pinched what she had of love-handles and she squirmed. “Your tummy is slightly round. Do you know that would make you the most highly prized woman in some cultures? Look. There’s no crease where your round tummy meets your mons. It just blends in smoothly. One flows to the other and they both complement the way your hips flare.” I stroked down her tummy and her hips and moved toward her center.
“Tony,” she whispered hoarsely, “if you touch me there, I’ll come.”
“Is that what you want, Amanda? Do you want to watch in the mirror as I stroke your pussy and you come?” There was a long silence and I thought I’d misinterpreted her desires for a minute. I let my hands rest lightly on her hips, but I didn’t attempt to pull her back into me.
“Yes,” she whispered. “When you paint me, will I look like I’ve just had an orgasm?”
“Let’s see what that looks like,” I said. I moved slightly to her right, lifting both hands up beneath her arms and sliding softly across her breasts once more. They heaved beneath my fingers as she gasped in more air. I let my left hand lead, circling her body to her back as my right hand gradually came off the lower slope of her breast onto her abdomen. As it paused there, making tiny circles around her navel, my left hand continued down to cup her butt-cheek. “Did you know that there has never been a single pop song about a woman’s skinny ass?” I whispered in her ear. I could feel the shiver as it coursed through her body from her scalp to her spine to her legs. I squeezed her butt in my hand and stroked down onto her thighs and back up. “When you sat on my lap in the tent in your sweats and had my right hand trapped beneath your arm, it was all I could do to keep from sliding my left hand into your sweats to get a better feel of that beautiful ass.”
“Mmm, Tony.” Her breath was coming in short bursts, her breasts rising and falling hypnotically. Her head was tilted back slightly, her lips parted and her eyes drifting closed.
I cupped the underside of her belly in my right hand, making tiny circles with my palm and stretching the skin above her slit with each stroke. I moved my left hand to the center of her ass-crack and started to slip my finger slowly down between her cheeks. They began to clench and unclench around my finger as she became lost in the feeling of me approaching from the rear. Just as she let her head roll back, and her eyes drift closed, I moved my right hand down to cup her sex.
She drew in her breath and I thought I was about to have a real screamer on my hands, but instead she simply gasped “Oh!” three short times and then a long slow syllable, “Ohh!”
“Amanda,” I whispered as she relaxed back against me. “You are a beautiful woman. You are smart and sexy and I am so honored that you want me to paint you.”
“Mmm,” she whined. “Thank you.” I smiled and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Yes, I thought I could capture that expression when I painted her.
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