Lost Wax

Page 5

WHEN I WAS CLEAN and dry, she led me back and pushed me down to sit on the bed. She kept hold of my hands and brought them to her chest—to her soft, warm, perfect breasts. It was magical. More magical than thinking that I might have changed her by modeling her in clay. She still didn’t let go of my hands. She guided them in exploring the complete surface and moved my thumbs across her firm nipples. I could feel her shaking—or I was shaking. I couldn’t tell which. She scrunched up her eyes and gasped and I felt a warm flood in my pants.

Shit! I just came in my pants! And by the looks of it, so did Gloria.

She let go of my hands but didn’t take them off her breasts.

“Better than clay?” she asked. I looked down at the spreading wet spot in my jeans and nodded. As I looked up I saw that she had a wet spot on her crotch as well. Gloria pulled her cell phone from a back pocket and dialed. “It’s Haven. Let me talk to Rick.” There was a pause as she waited for someone. I was getting uncomfortable sitting in my sticky pants, but I’d pretty much have to push her out of the way to move. And I smelled something, too. I’d never smelled a woman’s arousal before. Her wet crotch was only a few inches from my nose and I found myself leaning forward, letting my hands slide from her breasts and wrap around her waist. “Rick? It’s Haven. I just want you to know that I quit. I can’t come back.— No. Things have changed. Just give the clothes in my locker to the other girls. I’m not coming back. I can’t do it anymore.” She closed her phone and stuck it back in her pocket then backed up. I lost the intensity of her aroma and the feel of her skin.

“Why did you do that?” I asked. “I mean quit your job?”

“Jerome, I like my breasts. I didn’t used to care. I thought my boobs were ugly. I thought men were stupid when they tried to drool on them. They flopped around and guys loved to fold a dollar and put it under them. But that all changed today. I don’t want anyone near them now.” She hesitated. “Anyone else. I’ll go now. I think I should go change my teabag. You too.” She leaned in to give me a little kiss on the cheek, grabbed her shirt, and rushed out of my room.

I still couldn’t believe I’d really had anything to do with the change in Gloria’s breasts, but my damned erection wasn’t letting me forget her. The old porn question, “Does your wang ever go down?” Answer: “Not if you don’t fuck with it.”

You might think I’m abnormal, but I’d never actually touched a girl’s bare breasts before. I’d fooled around with Beverly a bit, but she’d kept me outside her clothes. The day after I refused to share her, she was no longer a virgin and Phillip had his hands all over her. I looked at my hands. I’d held the world’s most perfect breasts in my hands. I could still feel the nubs of her nipples pressed against my thumbs. They were tight and full, but not the rock hard tips that you hear about. Supple, I guess you’d call them. They were like the tip of a cock and not like the shaft. Man. Even more perfect than I imagined.

I ripped my mind away from Gloria and tried to focus on my stupid final project again. I’d heard that the school’s hotshot star faced the same situation last year. He had an idea for his final drawing project and then found out he had to jump through a bunch of hoops to meet the standard his art teacher set. Something about having to use a specific model. I had to admit, that mural in the admin building hallway was hot. They made a big point about how a freshman had done the art when my class went through orientation. Now the guy—Tony Ames, I think they said his name was—was over at SCU painting some big-ass mural on the side of their gym. I can just imagine living in his shadow for the next two years before anyone notices what I’m doing.

Anyway, legend has it—Christ. How can you become a legend in one year?—that he did the project the art teacher required and that’s what was selected for the mural. But he also did the piece he wanted to do for the Gala. It made a big splash. So, I guess I could waste my time doing what Brock wants me to do for my casting and then do a real one to exhibit in the Gala. That would be kind of cool. Problem is that you can get canvas and paint for like a hundred bucks. It would cost a minimum of $500 to get my casting through the foundry. And I’d have to go to Bellingham to get it done. I could do it, though. I could even do multiples and have a limited edition. Maybe five. That would bring the cost each down to about $200 and I could sell them for $500 each.

I’m not all that mercenary and I know that the chance that I’d sell five sculptures for $500 in the next five years is pretty remote. But I know the school isn’t going to release grant funds for my personal projects for another year at best. I don’t have a lot of money to fund my own stuff.

So, it looks like a miniature for my class project. I cut a cube of clay out of my block a little more than an inch on a side and started molding and flattening it just to see how thin I could make it and what kind of shape I could mold out of such a little scrap. It was pitiful. Two inches square by a little more than a quarter-inch thick. A kindergarten snake about a quarter-inch in diameter and ten inches long. This was going to be tough. I squeezed the clay into a ball and started softening and shaping it.

When the doll’s face appeared, it was good but it revealed a flaw in my plan. Working the clay this thin, made it floppy and hard to hold the shape I would need to create the face out of a solid lump of clay. That would make getting the thickness of the wax pour perfect. This project was going to be a lot of work, but at least the little doll face that I’d created would make the project better than a throw-away. I looked closely at the face, making sure it didn’t resemble Gloria. Too much. I’d promised that and even though I was anxious to do some more experimenting, I had to respect the fact that I would be experimenting on a human—even if she was a woman.

Friday night rolled around and I was in my usual position—sprawled on my bed staring at the ceiling. Ms. Brock had approved my project and I was ready to dip wax. I’d do that on Saturday since I didn’t have any other plans. While I got tense when I was focused on my projects or a particular sculpture I was working on, I really didn’t have any stress in my life. No girlfriend. No social life. No drugs. I just lie in my bed looking at the ceiling and listening to music until something moves me to start modeling clay. Still, lately I kept seeing the same thing and I didn’t dare reach for the clay. I’d promised.

There was a light knock on my door. I opened it to find Gloria with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Want to join me?” she asked before pushing her way past me into my room. Wait. I’m supposed to join her but she’s coming into my room? Women! Oh well. I found I didn’t mind her company.

“Uh, sure. Come on in,” I said as she plopped down on my bed. She handed me the bottle and corkscrew.

“Mind doing the honors?” I put the bottle on my desk and started working on it. I thought they made wine with screw tops these days. It took me a couple minutes to rip up the cork enough to finally get it out of the bottle. I turned back to her to get the glasses. She was sitting cross-legged on my bed with no shirt on. Damn! Her tits are absolutely perfect. I wasn’t sure I remembered them right by Wednesday, though I’d been thinking about them regularly all week. It looked like my memory was accurate. They were damned perfect.

“You, uh… miss your job?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re topless.”

“Oh. Yeah. No, I don’t miss my job. It’s kind of a relief. It’s not like a girl really wants to spend her weekends getting pawed.” Shit. How many guys had had their hands all over her breasts in that club. “You know, it’s different now. It just seemed natural to take my shirt off when I’m with you. Do you mind?”

“Gloria, I’m looking at the two most beautiful breasts that God ever created. I don’t mind.”

“Let me tell you, Jerome, the two that God created were nothing to write home about. The two you gave me, though… It’s like I should show them to you because they’re yours in a way.” I poured the wine and we sipped a little. I was going to sit in my desk chair—intended to—but somehow ended up sitting cross-legged in front of her on the bed. I could almost reach out and touch… “Did you see how I dressed all week?” she asked.

“I saw you in class. You had jeans and a sweatshirt on, I think.”

“Think nothing. You know it for a fact. I dressed that way all week. I felt like I was hiding a little bit. I haven’t felt like that since my boobs started growing when I was thirteen. It was like I didn’t want anyone else to see them. Only this time, instead of being embarrassed by the knockers that were hanging from my chest, I wanted to keep these a secret that only the two of us knew. I mean, I even managed to shower and dress in my room when Joyce was doing something else so she wouldn’t see them. But I walk in here and the first thing I wanted to do was take my shirt off.”

“Thank you. It… uh, well… don’t be offended, but I can’t help but respond to them—to you.”

“I’m not offended. I’m really proud.” Awkward silence, but neither of us moved to hide anything. “Jerome.”

“Gloria,” we spoke at the same time and laughed. I nodded to her.

“Can I model for you some more?”

“Are you sure?” It was what I was just going to ask her.

“I think so. I mean, I know I’m not perfect. Even Joyce has a cuter face than me and that woman that models for the figure-drawing class, Lissa, is a goddess. But I just think you see me differently than… I am.”

“I’ve been thinking of you all week,” I confessed. “When you knocked on my door I was lying here in bed staring at the ceiling and imagining your face.”

“My face? Tired of my boobs already?” she laughed. It didn’t sound like a happy laugh.

“Gloria, are you uncertain about your breasts or what they do to me? God! What have people done to you?”

“People,” she huffed. “You mean men? Listen, you are the first guy I’ve felt like spending time with since forever. I finally decided if all I was ever going to be was something to be passed around from boy to boy I was going to get paid for it. That’s why I started stripping. I needed the money. Men are pigs. Most men I’ve known would get hard when they saw grapefruits in the grocery store. I hated my life, my body, and everything. In the club, I’d just build a false persona and go with that until my shift was over. I’d pick myself up at the door when I left. You could have been a customer of mine and I wouldn’t have recognized you in class. I don’t have a very good self-image. And I know you are really critical.”

“I’m some bastard, aren’t I?” I said. “Here I think of every woman as a slut because of what my girlfriend did to me and you think of all men as pigs because of what they did to you. I’m sorry.” I meant it. Maybe I’d been carrying around this woman-hating long enough. It certainly wasn’t making me happy. In fact, sitting here with a half-naked Gloria was the closest I’d been to happy in a long time.

“Quite a pair. Jerome, it wasn’t you. You didn’t do all those things to me. You gave me these. It’s the first thing about my body I’ve been happy with in years.” She reached for my hands and I put my wine glass on the floor by the bed. She pulled my hands to her beautiful perfect breasts. “And I’m not her. When I said these were yours, I meant it.”

When you are sitting cross-legged facing a woman and both your hands are held out in front of you on her chest, it’s awkward to lean in for a kiss. We managed it, though it was bizarre. After the first attempt, I scooted around so my back was against the wall and Gloria moved up next to me so we could kiss and fondle at the same time. We made out for about fifteen minutes. This was the first make-out session I’d had in over a year and the best one ever in my life.

“What do you like?” I asked as I drew slow figure eights around her breasts. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.”

“Well, I know I don’t like to have them pinched. I almost slugged you when you pinched the nipple on the clay model last week. Other than that, though, all I know is that I like you to see them and touch them.”

“I’m afraid I’ll get too excited and go off in my pants again. You’ve got to help me slow down, Gloria.”

“Do you still want me to model for you?”

“Yes. I have this idea for a face…”

“Before you go playing with my face, would you do my hands? Jerome, I trust you, but I’m more than a little scared. What if I came into class Monday looking like someone else? When you make changes, you’ll go slowly, won’t you? Please?”

“Whatever you want, I’ll go at whatever speed you say. Somehow or another you’ve become… important to me. I can’t get you off my mind. Now, why do you want to model your hands?” She held her hands up together fingers spread and palms out so I could look at them. Her left hand was ordinary. Maybe her fingers were a little short in proportion to her palm, but not bad. The right hand reflected the left except for the thumb. It was different. Odd.

“No doctor could ever say why, but my right thumb is more like a big toe. It’s a good thing that people don’t pay attention. I mean, even you who can see me and mold me in clay, didn’t notice that I have a big toe for a thumb. I guess that’s the effect of having bare tits in your face, though. You can’t see anything else.”

“And you want me…”

“To fix it. That way I’ll know for sure. I’ll know you molded my body and gave me these breasts. There really isn’t any other explanation. When you eliminate the impossible, what remains—no matter how improbable—must be true. And I… I so want to be perfect for you.”

“I honestly didn’t do any voodoo or anything. I don’t know how it happened, but I’m more inclined to think there was some freaky coincidence and act of nature at work. At the same time, I love touching you. I’ll do it.”

“How do you want me to pose? Just with my hands on the table or something?”

“No. How about you lie here on your left side. Here. Use my pillows to prop yourself up so you don’t hurt your neck.”

“Why do you have so many pillows?”

“Oh. I guess I’ve always been like that. I like to lie on my side against something, so I use this big pillow against the wall so I can lean back into it. Then it takes two pillows to prop my head up so it isn’t dangling on my shoulder. I stick the small pillow between my knobby knees so I don’t bruise them against each other. The other two are mostly so I can sit in bed and read and stuff.” I arranged pillows around her and got her propped up. As I arranged her, I took every opportunity to touch her and caress her breasts. She seemed to really like it. I finally got her posed and put her right hand on her stomach, just below her breasts. Then I got my lump of clay and started working it while we talked.

It was great to have Gloria lying on my bed topless ‘modeling’ for me when I was only working on a clay model of her right hand. I connected with her hand, but I kept looking at her face while we talked and laughed. Well, her face and her tits. But mostly her face. I saw something behind what people would normally see when they looked at her. It was something in her eyes. Yes, her nose was a little crooked. Her lips were a little thin. Her ears stuck out just a hair too far. But in her eyes, there was a kind of fire that made you forget about all the little imperfections as if they weren’t there.

She was giving as good as she was receiving, too.

“So, your girlfriend wanted to be the meat in a sandwich and you turned her down? You do know that’s the stuff porn movies and male fantasies are made of, don’t you? You should at least have taken her cherry.”

“When I found out she wanted someone else—anyone else—it just all shut down for me. I couldn’t have gotten hard for her if she was… I can’t even think of a situation that would normally turn me on. There just haven’t been any.”

“But I turn you on, don’t I? I mean, there was evidence last weekend that we affected each other.”

“Gloria, I won’t deny that. But seriously—you won’t believe this of an 18-year-old male—that was the first time I had an orgasm since Beverly made her suggestion. Hell, I think it was the first time I had a hard-on.”

“You’ve still got one, you know.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m still staring at the world’s most perfect boobs. I don’t understand what’s gotten into me.” I stopped and looked at what I’d been working on. The clay in my hands was smooth. I’d worked it with my fingers as much as possible and then used a stylus to put in details while we were talking. Geez! I’d never really done model making while I was talking to someone. The detail in what I’d made was incredible. It was like holding a living hand. The fingers were long and elegant, but not freaky like some alien. The length of the longest finger was exactly the length of the palm. Everything was proportional. While I looked at it, I imagined what it would be like to hold that hand if it were flesh and blood. I could almost feel the blood pulsing in it; feel the sweat as my palm contacted hers. I liked this. I liked it a lot. I trimmed the fingernails just slightly. I think girls put those long fake nails on because they don’t think their fingers are long and elegant enough. This hand didn’t need extra-long nails. It was perfect.

“Jerome?” I realized I’d been silent a long time, caught up in my little fantasy. “Let me see, please.”

I showed her the beautiful hand I’d made. There was no big toe for a thumb. The fingers weren’t short and stubby. The palm wasn’t thick.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. She took a deep breath and held her hand out beside the clay I held in mine. She still had a big toe. Still had stubby fingers. Still had a thick palm. I could hear a catch in her breath as she turned away from me. She pulled on her shirt and stepped toward the door. Before she reached it, she turned around and kissed me softly. I could see a sparkle of tears in her eyes. “I guess you can go ahead and do my face if you still want to,” she said. She was gone before I’d finished saying goodnight.

All night I had dreams. Maybe I should say I had nightmares. There were sure enough dismembered body parts in them. A breast floating here, a hand there. Lips. Eyes. Ribs. The curve of a hip. Mixed in all that were sensations that I’d felt either for the first time or at least for the first time they meant anything. A kiss. How does a kiss feel? What perfect lips and teeth and tongue could make me feel like I had just run a marathon or something? How could a simple glob of fat held in my hand become a perfect breast that made me hard? How could those supple nipples call so fervently to my lips?

I woke up in a sweat with fresh cum on my stomach. A fucking wet dream? I looked at my clock. Four a.m. on Sunday. I took a shower and then went back to bed. I got up again. Nothing would be open for breakfast. Starbucks didn’t even open until eight on Sunday. But I was awake. I sat at my desk and grabbed a fresh lump of clay out of the bucket. In front of me on the desk was the hand that I’d made last night. I still looked at it, but I was thinking about kissing Gloria. My hands were busy, molding those lips. It was the softness that made lips perfect. The softness let them mold to my lips. Tongues were clumsy by nature. Lips were flexible and sensuous. Tongues were slippery and wet. Lips were moist and full, and welcoming. If not for the lips, the tongue would have no place to go.

I finally fell back asleep, leaving the clay untended on my desk.

I saw Gloria in class Monday afternoon and she looked happy. That was a relief. We didn’t sit near each other, but I really liked her and I was glad she wasn’t bummed out. I knew the whole thing about me manipulating or changing her body was impossible. I’d proved that spectacularly on Saturday night. I found myself with a sudden longing, though, that it would be Saturday again and she’d come to my room with a bottle of wine. I should ask her. If she didn’t come over, I’d be miserable. Maybe I should ask her out. But what if she doesn’t really like me and was just coming to get body work done? I wanted desperately to kiss those lips again and to touch those incredible breasts.

I screwed up the spruing on my wax mold and had to break it off and start over. I finally finished and got the base coat of sand and plaster sprayed on it. When class ended, I was ready to quit for the day. To my delight, Gloria walked up as I was putting my project away.

“Is that my face?” she asked.

“This? No! It’s a doll. I promised I wouldn’t work on your face without your permission and this project has been going for two weeks. Even if I took your statement Saturday night as permission, I wouldn’t have been able to get this far by now.” I turned to look at her and pick up my bag. There was something in her eyes. Excitement? Laughter? Happiness? Maybe a little of each. While I was looking at her I quickly screwed up my courage. “Would you like to go out with me this weekend? Maybe to a movie? Or dinner? Anything?” She smiled at me.

“That would be great, Jerome.” We turned to head out of the classroom and she slipped her hand into mine. It was so natural. So perfect. Her fingers intertwined with mine and I brought them to my lips to kiss. She held them in front of my face when I’d finished kissing them and I looked at them. Beautiful, elegant fingers on a perfect hand. A perfect thumb. It was my left hand, so the hand I was holding had to be her right. I turned it over in both my hands and stroked her palm right up her wrist. Her hands were beautiful. I faced her and she kissed me. “I love you, Jerome,” she whispered.

Comments

Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.