My summer in Maine with Auntie was more than half over when my mother visited. The days leading up to her weekend with us were a little tense. Art class had become a live sex show, so Auntie decided we should abstain from sex for the rest of the week after the Tuesday class before Mom's visit. It seemed like trying to quickly turn boiling water cold again, but I agreed it was probably a good idea. The class had been fun, Auntie sitting up, riding me cowgirl style, slow at first and then all-out with tits bouncing until we both had nice orgasms. The women liked it because they had a full class to draw her tits. Some of the renderings looked nicely three-dimensional. Abigail said they were the nicest tits she'd seen, but then Meredith reminded her of the night they all drew Maria. Maria was embarrassed by the revelation and blushed, not knowing I already knew of those sessions. Auntie confessed to them that she'd shown me all those drawings, and some of the others blushed, too. Soon all the images of their lovely breasts were spread out all over the work table again, and the women all looked pleased when I gazed upon them approvingly.
"He's an artist, girls," Auntie said, proudly. "He sees the beauty in every woman."
Something else happened right before my mother's visit. I don't know if it had anything to do with Auntie's abstinence, but it may have contributed a little. I fell into an affair with one of the women; a married woman, as they all are. I'm not proud of it, and still wish it hadn't happened.
If you'd asked me the week before who I was most likely to end up in bed with, I would have said Maria, but it wasn't her I fell in with. It was Phoebe who seduced me. She was the quietest of all the women, and possibly the loneliest. Her husband worked on a boat that fished George's Bank, an area of the North Atlantic that used to be rich in cod fish. These days it's a struggle to catch many, and the boat stays far out to sea for long periods of time. Phoebe was lonely, and she said watching me with Auntie on Tuesday nights had stirred up so much horniness she could hardly stand it. She didn't seduce me with that line, though. It was later that I found out about all that. No, the seduction was artful. Literally.
I was walking down Main Street the day after art class, the week my mother was to arrive. I had my sketch pad under my arm and a small backpack with my supplies. I was way down the far end of the street, near where it dead-ends at the old abandoned sardine packing plant. That's where I was heading, an old broken-windowed building with colorful graffiti on it's flanks, some of it fading, maybe older than me. I wasn't too far away, on a stretch of road that had sand and gravel on it from disuse. That's when I heard Phoebe's voice.
"Hi Jon!" she said. "Mind if I join you, or would you rather be alone?"
She was scurrying along at a good clip, with a sketch pad of her own under her arm. It was a warm day by Maine standards, and I immediately noticed she didn't have a bra on under her t-shirt. The breasts that I'd admired in the drawings on the worktable had come to life, with hard nipples the same as they were that night she posed for the women. It's hard to judge such a thing, and impolite, but if I was asked I'd have to say they were my second favorite pair of breasts from that group of women, based solely on the drawings, of course. Even in real life, with all their shirts on at the art class, I'm pretty sure I'd say second only to Maria, not counting Auntie, of course. So, seeing Phoebe out in the world, on a nice sunny day, trotting toward me with the lively bounce of bralessness, it was a pleasant sight for sure.
"Yeah, you're welcome to join me," I said. "You ever poke around this old factory?"
"A little," she said. "Not really inside, but...I've been in the parking lot a few times."
I wondered why, but didn't ask her to elaborate.
"Your drawings are really good," I said. "Were you interested in it before you took Pamela's class?"
"Yeah, I took a bunch of art in high school," she said. "Drawing was my favorite. Got a Gold Key award in that scholastic competition one time."
"Oh, nice. Yeah, me too."
We walked over to where a big overhead door used to be and we went inside the old building. It looked like an ancient ruin in a lot of ways, with bricks scattered on the floor from a toppled wall, broken glass all around the perimeter and debris everywhere you looked. We could have stopped and sketched anywhere, it was all visually interesting, but I wanted to look around and get a feel for the old place.
"I never knew they made sardines around here," I said. "I thought they all came from Italy."
"Really?" she chuckled. "They don't make 'em, Jon, they catch 'em. This is where they cleaned 'em and put 'em in cans. Everybody calls it The Cannery. Lots of the old folks worked here."
We found some stairs and went up. Fewer windows were broken, but it was just as much of a mess. A hallway led to a big open office space. There were old wooden desks scattered around, and an old couch. Its cushions were some kind of plasticy vinyl, a sickly yellow color, sort of like mustard.
"What are you looking to draw?" Phoebe asked.
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Something nice."
"Am I nice?" she asked. "Wanna draw me?"
She set her sketch pad down on the old couch and pulled her t-shirt off over her head. Her nice breasts caught in it and they wobbled when they went free. She looked just like the drawings I'd seen of her — the same interesting, curious, sort of surprised looking face, and the same hard, pink nipples that looked like they wanted a mouth on them.
I watched silently as her white sneakers came off and her bare feet made footprints on the dusty floor. Her bluejeans were off next, and then her panties, plain white ones that looked nice on her narrow hips. She used her bluejeans to wipe decades of dust off the mustard-colored couch, and then she sprawled herself on it, naked, looking at me with hopeful eyes.
"Tell me how you want me," she said.
My cock, chubby and awakening when she disrobed, was fully hard, straining the zipper that contained it. Phoebe looked at my lump. She didn't smile, but her face lit up as if she had, her eyes bright, with excitement behind them.
I asked her for a pose and she got herself settled in it, on her back, one leg crooked at the knee, her arms draped languidly over her. She looked amazing lying there, with sunlight streaming in through a hundred panes of dirty glass. I pulled a wooden desk over where I needed it, brushed it off with my hand and sat on top of it, with my sketch pad on my lap. Phoebe and I talked while I drew.
She was a bookkeeper and tax preparer for many of the small businesses in town, Auntie's included. She made her own hours and worked at home quite a bit. She laughed and looked a little sad when she said she knew everyone's secrets but didn't have any of her own. "Art class," I said, and she smiled. It was a lovely smile, tinged with loneliness. She was thirty-seven, the same age as Auntie. The two of them looked very different but Phoebe was beautiful in her own way, with a quiet sexiness that, once I got to know her, I found irresistible.
When the drawing was finished I sat on the arm of the old couch and showed it to her. I signed it and said she could have it. She was thrilled, but said she'd have to keep it at the gallery, with the other drawings she'd done at class. And then my cock was in her mouth.
