The Artist the Model

It's been awhile since I last submitted a story, and figured it was about time. Here's the first chapter of a new series I'm working on. I hope you all enjoy it. - Artaeus

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Young lives rarely go as we ever planned back in our school days. Life does its best to get in the way and make sure you follow a different, though sometimes necessary path.

My own path had been riddled with small fortunes, when I actually take a few moments to look back at things. A struggling artist I was, but not struggling against the forces of money and losing my home. If anything, I was doing well enough for myself that I could afford small luxuries, and keep myself in a nice sized studio apartment in New York.

At the age of twenty five, I was living one of those personal dreams of mine; painting beautiful, naked, women for my income, enjoying a few scattered parties here and there, and every now and then actually having my artwork displayed in a gallery, albeit usually as just a side show for the main attraction. Still, it was something that I could be proud of and write home to my mother about.

It was because of my mother that I found my life turned upside down.

Last month, she called me up sounding more than a little giddy and excited. I answered in my usual fashion, not bothering to look at the caller ID, only to find her giggling voice on the other end.

Before long, she'd conned me into letting her come and visit, which wasn't really that bad of a thing. I'd always been close with her, even when she and dad were still together and I was living at home. She'd also been one of my first models, though decidedly more clothed than the ones I painted now.

Still, it was more than a little strange to hear mom that excited about anything. She had the whole trip planned out, which made me believe she had been planning on coming regardless of whether I said yes or not.

Fortunately, I was between jobs, so to speak, and was enjoying a bit of relaxation, so it wouldn't impact my job performance any to have my mother come to visit for a week or two. Though, the twitch in my groin alerted me to the idea that it needed to be only a week.

Within a few days, I was helping mom put her luggage in the back of my car, listening to her going on about my sister and college, her friends, and the various little sundries that made up her life. All the while, I found myself paying only enough attention to reply when necessary as the rest of my brain was focused on the load of sorority girls in rather revealing dresses piling out of the airport and making their way to the line of buses waiting for them.

"Michael?"

Suddenly my head snapped up, looking into mom's eyes as she gave me that knowing look. Chuckling, I closed the trunk and moved around to open the car door for her. "Sorry, ma. Was day dreaming."

Her full, wide lips pulled into an always ready smile as she gave a quick shake of her head and slipped into the passenger seat. I was mildly thankful she went to her purse as soon as she got in, and completely missed the small tent that had formed in my jeans.

Anyone who's been to the Big Apple knows that traffic is something between rats escaping flood waters, and mildly controlled chaos. You get used to it, learn new sets of rules on how to drive, and eventually it all becomes a natural progression of pushing and shoving your way to where you need to go.

"By the way, Georgia wanted me to let you know that she's thinking of coming and visiting you as well, seeing as you're an established artist and all. I told her you wouldn't mind." Mom interjected in between fits of messing with her hair and watching the buildings crawl by.

"I guess I don't mind." I didn't think anything of it. The three of us had always been close enough. Not intimate or anything, but not exactly prudish either.

Growing up, it wasn't out of place to walk around the house in near nakedness, or wearing towels fresh out of the shower. We just always went with the flow, enjoyed life, and didn't bother with most of the rules of modesty that other people get bogged down with.

"Good! She still has a few things to wrap up at school, but said she'd be flying up within the next few days. Which gives you and me plenty of time to go shopping, and site seeing..." she continued on, but I tuned her out as I let my mind wander towards more immediate things.

It didn't take much longer to make it back to my place. One advantage to where I lived was easy access to just about anything and everything that I needed. Clubs nearby, a few small stores that were perfect for finding cute girls to paint, and more than enough shops for mom to squeal in delight over.

Before I knew it, we were standing in my apartment and I was listening to mom go on about the place. It was sparsely decorated, but tasteful. A wide main room that had a smaller side room where I kept my finished work, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. Everything else was in the main room, which was where I worked and lived.

Mom smiled as she noticed that I had a few paintings hung on the walls. My earlier works of her and Georgia that weren't grand or masterpieces by any stretch of the imagination, but to me, they were better than Polaroid's.

"I can't believe you actually have these hanging up."

"Why wouldn't I? Two most beautiful women in the world, you bet I'd make people see them."

I could see the smile of appreciation touch her soft features. She really did look beautiful when she smiled. It was the kind of expression that filled not just her face, but her eyes as well. And when she smiled, it made you smile as well.

"You always were a smooth talker, Michael." She reached over, giving my shoulder a soft slap before moving away.

A moment later she realized one important detail, which hadn't really struck me until she said something. "Where am I going to sleep?"

At a loss, I took a moment to completely register the observation, then offhandedly motioned towards the king sized bed that stood against the back wall. "My bed works just fine. It's big enough for four people to sleep in."

"No doubt you've tried that."

Just as I was about to open my mouth and say something incredibly male-like, the look she gave forced my lips closed and teeth to clack as they struck together. Instead, I just gave her a goofy grin and carried her luggage over to the bed.

"Don't worry, ma. I'll sleep on one side, you sleep on the other. If it makes you feel better, I'll even break out some spare sheets so we don't wind up using the same ones. I know how much you love to steal them, anyway."

Again she slapped my arm as she moved past, taking in the whole of my living space. "It's a wonder I let you live this long."

The rest of our day went about the same. She would make comments about things, I would snipe back, she'd either give me a look, or smack my arm. After awhile, it felt as if I'd never left home which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. I did love my family, after all.

Things didn't exactly stay that way, though. That evening as I was taking a shower, I heard mom gasp rather loudly. It was startling enough that I quickly burst from the shower and cleared the distance between the bathroom and the small side room in a few strides, only to find mom staring at one of my private works.

What she held in her hands had been a painting done on a lark. One of my usual models had been over, and the two of us had been drinking. Jennifer, her name was, had been lying on my bed after a long and vigorous session of love making, and I found myself inspired to paint her.

Mom was staring at that painting, of the lovely Jennifer spread out on my bed with my cum leaking from her parted folds held open by her fingers. The other hand cupping one of her breasts, as if offering it to the viewer. The whole painting was more pornographic than what most would consider art, and my mother was staring at it.

Looking at the painting reminded me vividly of that night, and before I knew it, I was sporting a decent erection that would make most guys a little envious. It never occurred to me that I was standing naked, dripping wet, next to my mother as she looked critically over one of my private works.

"You've... been busy."

Coughing, I rubbed a hand back through my hair to try and wipe away that strange guilty feeling I always got when I was caught with something naughty around my mother. Sure, I was a grown man, but even then, the woman looking a the painting was the woman who had reprimanded me for having playboys when I was twelve. That sort of thing lingers, and I had never out grown it.

"Yeah. Didn't realize I had that one laying out like this. Sorry about that."

"Who is she?"

"Hmm? Oh. That's.. that's Jennifer. One of my usual models."

Mom smiled. I noticed though, that it wasn't one of her usual smiles. It seemed almost, distant. There was something in her eyes that didn't look all that familiar on her face, but I didn't bother to question it.

A moment later, mom was turned towards me and staring me square in the eye. "You know, you really ought to put clothes on when you have company."

I looked confused, then blinked as realization once against struck me upside the head. Grinning sheepishly, I nodded and slipped out and back towards the bathroom. "Sorry about that," I yelled over my shoulder, before finishing up my shower.

"So, are you and her an item?"

Sighing softly as I dried myself off, I poked my head out of the bathroom while wrapping the towel around my waist. Part of my brain was only mildly aware that I was still semi-hard, and there was nothing I could do about it. What was worse, was that I couldn't figure out why I was sporting a tent like they were going out of style.

"Not really. We just fool around from time to time. She likes being painted, and I like painting her."

Mom giggled, waving offhandedly towards the side room. "It looks like you both enjoy more than just painting."

Rolling my eyes, I dropped down onto my bed and looked over at her. The next words out of my mouth had absolutely no thought to them at all. They were there, coming out, well before I had a chance to think about them. "I can't help it if the women I paint are turned on by the painter."

I saw mom's face change slightly. A look of brief panic, of momentary shock, then of embarrassed nervousness. None of it made any sense, and I thought I was just seeing things. But then again, I knew how to read women well enough that I was certain of what I saw.

Mom remained silent as she moved to the other side of the bed, sliding into it and pulling the spare sheets over herself.

"Just remember to stay on your side of the bed, mister painter de Marco."

Smiling, I felt a little better that what I'd said hadn't made her angry. Pulling myself into bed, I found that sleep wasn't all the elusive when you were tired and worn out from driving around most of the day.

Sometime during the night, though, I felt the bed shifting. Mom was getting out of the bed, and I figured it as nothing more than her going to the bathroom. I didn't think anything more of it as I laid there silently for several minutes.

But when I didn't feel her come back, my eyes slowly opened. It was then that I saw the thin sliver of light from the side room and wondered why mom had gone back in there.

Pulling the sheets off of myself, I crept quietly across the floor until I was pressed up against the doorway. Peering around the corner I nearly gasped in utter shock at what I saw.

Mom was there, and had been rather busy in the short few minutes. All of those private paintings I had done were leaned up against others. A semi-circle of sex and debauchery in oil on canvas. There were picture of single women fingering themselves, of pairs of women licking and fondling one another, even a one of a couple that lived in the building having sex.

What caught my attention most of all, was mom herself. Her negligee was pulled up above the firm, full swells of her breasts revealing just how naked she had been beneath it. The whole of her body was a strange form of perfection, in that she was both toned, and softened with age. Her nearly flawless skin was lightly tanned, with lighter hues in small triangles covering her nipples and mound.

Long legs stretched out in either direction, revealing the hairless curve of her pelvis and slit, which I noticed just as quickly as everything else. Puffy folds were pushed wide apart, revealing the glistening pink interior and the single digit of her other hand frantically pumping in and out of her tight entrance, adding the musky scent of sex to the air already thick with paint fumes and body wash.

Frozen in place by the beautiful vision before me, I watched as my mothers finger was joined by a second, then two became three. Those long, thin fingers pumping into her slippery slit with all the ecstasy of a possessed woman as her head tossed back and her mouth parted around the long exhale of pleasure. Her muscles quivered, rippling up and down then centering as her body nearly doubled over.

She remained motionless for long moments, basking in the wondrous aftermath of her orgasm. A strange look of guilty pleasure touching at her sweat-covered face as her eyes focused on the paintings setup around her.

As quietly as I could, I started to pull back from the doorway when I heard mom whisper out my name. Trained instinct caused me to step forward around the doorway and poke my head in, speaking up to see what she wanted.

Mom nearly jumped out of her skin at that, twisting around away from me as she clawed at her nightie to try and pull it back down. I coughed more than a little embarrassedly, stepping away and giving her a bit of privacy while I moved back to the bed. Well aware that my erection was painfully throbbing and begging for attention.

Pulling the sheets over myself, I closed my eyes tight and hoped she wouldn't say anything about it. Fortune again was smiling at me as she came out, cleared her throat, and then moved back into bed. Not a word said as we both just lay there, trying desperately to ignore the fact of what just happened.