A sequel to my earlier CFNM tale submitted for the 2022 Nude Day event,
A Model Garden.
This certainly could have gone under Group Sex or even Romance, for such it is, but on the whole I think it more properly belongs here.
Please enjoy.
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Tammy
I hadn't meant to flirt. Truly. Yet the boy was entrancing, the personification of masculine beauty. And there'd been more than one sangria in my hands, always dangerous for me. While not drunk, I was definitely feeling bold, totally relaxed for the first time in years.
It helped that Charlie's mother had offered to take both Ariel and Danny for the weekend.
"It'd give me a chance to play Gran," she'd smiled. "And give you a few days to relax, with no worries about having to wake up in the middle of the night."
I'd accepted gratefully.
She patted my cheek gently, smiled. Olivia and I got along.
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The day my world caved in on me, the day Charlie's piton failed half-way up his cliff, the only decision I could make was to not hate him. I didn't tell the children that day, for how do you explain Forever to toddlers? Nor could I even find tears for myself and I would later feel guilty about that, too. But no, that day, as broken, as grief-stricken as one woman could be, I found myself capable of but one decision. I would not be like my mother, who hated Daddy with a bitterness beyond imagining for having left her a widow too soon, furious at the man she had loved for the sin of having suffered a stroke.
At least Charlie's climbing club had had good insurance. Widowhood meant mourning black and I despised that. It meant a too-large, much-too-empty bed and I loathed that still more, mourned the loss of Charlie's warmth in the middle of the night and his masculine odor on the pillows. It meant many things, but at least there was the minimal comfort that it didn't mean poverty.
As the months passed, I caught some very subtle hints from men I knew, gentle, carefully-phrased offers to help ease the loss with that which every widow is supposed to need, but that whole part of me just seemed numb to the very idea. Nobody could replace Charlie.
So, it had been two years since I last held a man in my arms, last kissed.
Then Gale mentioned hosting an art class, 'nature models' posing for some of her friends. Would I be interested?
I'd taken and enjoyed drawing courses in college and the kids were old enough to be left with a sitter, especially as we lived just next door to Gale. So, thank you and I'd be delighted. In the event, I was able to arrive at her house early. I thought I might be able to help her set up. Instead, she introduced me to Ty.
Gale had told me that the model for the first session would be a tall poetry student from the school. There'd been a sparkle in her eyes as she said that and I'd wondered.
Younger than me by a couple of years, clean-shaven and casually dressed, Ty had a pleasant smile and the sort of soft brown eyes last seen in Bambi reruns.
But, yes - tall.
I'm a tall woman, taller than many men, but Ty had at least six inches on my five-foot-ten, with shoulders to match and forearms so enormous they seemed almost out of a cartoon.
I think what impressed me most was his gentleness. I cautiously held out my hand when Gale introduced us, slightly nervous of having it crushed, but his handshake was as tender as could be, steel-under-down restraint.
A glass of wine in hand, we made small talk, waited for the others to arrive.
I was smiling at his description of full-time motherhood as the most important job in the world when he wandered into the unmarked minefield of my widowhood. It caught me by surprise and it stung. He looked appalled at his gaff, but Gale swung in instantly to try and sooth things. The doorbell announcing the others' arrival helped.
I'd met Quinn and Heather before and got along well. Heather's curly red hair set off her curves perfectly and Quinn's spunky personality matched a cute figure and a brain like a computer. It was impossible to be withdrawn near them; I pushed my new-risen sorrow aside and tried to focus on what promised to be a good evening.
Gale led us into her studio, a cluttered room with the far wall consisting entirely of windows and did that ethical thing, confirming Ty's willingness to pose nude for us and reminding we three students of our requirement to respect Ty -- no staring, no touching, no remarks. I'd heard it all before, but it had been a long time.
Ty left the room and returned dressed only in a housecoat and slippers, both rather frayed and shabby. I found it hard to avoid ogling as Gale prepared him for his pose. She had him standing, his leg slightly out as if he were walking. Once they'd settled on that, Ty simply shrugged off his robe and slippers, reassumed the position on the wooden posing platform.
Gale had stressed the 'no staring' rule and I could see why. Clothed, Ty had been impressive. Naked, he was magnificent, a primal force in his own right; I felt shimmies of reaction all the way down to my now-totally-female lizard brain.
The big shoulders and forearms I noticed earlier were matched everywhere. His body was flat planes, heavy shapes and clean, knife-edge muscle definitions. Ty had muscles I'd been unaware existed, muscles I'm still not sure are mentioned in medical textbooks. His chin was square and his forehead high. His sex was heavy, dark, almost ominous, and lay long over the wrinkled sac behind it.
I might have still been staring had not Gale cleared her throat lightly. I was surprised to find my next breath a subdued gasp and tried to catch up for the couple I'd missed sitting there in wonder. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Quinn and Heather were scarcely better off.
Blushing, I adjusted the angle of my sketching pad and got to work.
Gale gave us a couple of breaks over the next hour, during which Ty pulled on his robe and, leaving his slippers behind, went outside, wandering about in the sunshine, bare toes in the grass. Gale's back yard was completely screened by a tall hedge and Ty took advantage of the privacy by bending and stretching as if trying to work out the stiffness caused by holding a pose for too long.
It was hard to keep my eyes off of him. Once he did a couple of light jumping jacks, which had all four of us instantly giggling. He turned and saw us watching; I was still blushing when he came back inside.
When Gale called it a day, I was happy with my chalk sketch of him. From the look in his eyes when he looked at it, I think he was, too.
I was disappointed when he declined to join us for another glass of wine, saying he had an early day ahead of him.
"But we'll see you again next week?" Heather asked. I felt my tummy tighten just a little when he said yes.
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The second session was every bit as good, I thought. Gale was a talented artist and an excellent instructor and was giving us all useful tips for improving our own techniques. In addition to being mouthwateringly handsome, Ty was also a good model, flexible enough to take on almost any pose and stable enough to hold it without swaying or drifting.
Sadly, he hadn't been able to stay after the second session, either.
There was a succession of other models over the next few weeks, a pretty normal-looking young woman, a pregnant woman who smiled very sweetly and had the difficult-to-capture Madonna glow about her and finally an old man, white-bearded, bent and wrinkled. They were all good subjects and I enjoyed drawing them, equally enjoyed learning from Gale.
But...
They weren't Tyson.
OK, I'll 'fess up. Yes, it was about Art and about Learning and about a whole bunch of other things with capital letters. And, no, Erotic was wasn't supposed to be on the list at all. I kept telling myself that, but let's get real. I was reacting to Tyson's presence the way mortal men were supposed to have reacted to Aphrodite, the ancient Greek goddess of beauty. Thinking about it, I hadn't been so much sexually aroused by his presence as I'd been 'alert'.
Terribly, completely, totally alert.
The old man had left Gale's house after his hour had ended and the four of us had settled into the usual post-lesson Girl's Night talkfest. Discussion roamed here and there, normal stuff, then, inevitably I suppose, turned back to Tyson.
"I mean, Roy and Martha before him were good models," Heather said, her face serious, "but I don't suppose you could get him back again?"
"Ty?" Gale asked.
"Yes!"
Heather's face broke into a happy smile. Her eyes closed for a long moment and the rest of us broke out laughing. It was pretty obvious what she'd been thinking about. She opened her eyes, grinned sheepishly in acknowledgement.
"Yes," she repeated. "Let's get Ty back again." She took another drink from her wine glass. Her face was a bit flushed. Whether it was the wine or her thoughts of Ty, I couldn't say.
Gale looked at me, raised an eyebrow. I nodded.
"Yes, please. I'd like that. Let's get Ty back."
Quinn, who was barely five feet tall, had had her share of wine, too. She muttered something into her glass.
