Come Up and See My Etchings

My theatre school often draws in new crowds of good looking men. Mostly models interested in the auditions held there. On one occasion, I met one who claimed he was a poet. The second time I saw him, about two weeks later, he had fifty pages full of beautiful poetry and some unbelievable sketches of me. He said he hadn't been able to get me out of his mind. He asked me if I wanted some coffee. So we went to get coffee. Then he asked if I wanted to see his art, at his apartment. He kissed me once in the elevator on the way up, and three times outside his door.

We came inside and I saw his paintings against the wall. I began commenting on how awesome they were and how I admired his technique and he stole my mouth again. Then we couldn't stop. I saw he was hard so I unzipped his pants and teased him with my tongue until he was so horny he couldn't take it. He undid my pants as I took off my shirt. Then he removed his.

He pushed me on to the bed and stretched my legs apart and parted my vaginal lips with his fingers. He then slid in, incredibly slowly. The anticipation was a major turn on. We fucked like snakes and rolled all over the bed. We couldn't stay in one position at first. But then he found where the orgasm was and he had me ride him until he came twice. Then we switched, and he was on top of me, using the wall to push with his feet and drive himself into me, hard.

I came four times. The bed was wet with our sex and it was beautiful. We had sex six times that day, and continued having amazing sex every day after that.

He's found a job in a play in Mexico City now, but he still claims I'm his muse. He comes back about twice a month, just enough time to make us both unbearably horny.