Afternoons

"If you are sure?"

"Uh-huh. And... you would pose for me this way?"

"Oh, this way?"

"Yes, holding your... self, holding your penis, gripping yourself, as if you are masturbating?"

There are several beats of silence. We are staring at each other. If Fabrice's penis lost some of its hardness as he stood and walked, the idea of posing so explicitly demonstrates its appeal, I look as his naked cock jumps up, pulses up, thickens and lengthens some more. It stands upright, sticks up between us, achingly hard, vertical, out to form a beautiful V between his stomach and the rigid, curving stem of his erection.

"Yes."

And for the second time his voice carries the weight of his body's arousal. It is thick, rasping.

"Yes?"

"Do you want to pose, on the bed, for me, now?"

I step back, unsteady, on a precipice of desire, ready to sit, to pull his penis into my mouth, to make him come, to feel his thick sweet sperm cover my flickering tongue.

But I sit, just, and pull myself back, until I am fully on the bed, laying down, kicking the covers away, using a pillow, looking. Fabrice steps back, holds up paper, a fresh pencil, staring at my sex, my midriff, and I push my legs apart. I nearly climax. I show him the dark moist mound of my naked pussy. I know how wet I am. He will see this now, my arousal will be as blatant as his. He will be able to see how my labia have swollen, how my vagina is seeping my warm moisture. I leave one leg straight, and bend the other out at my knee, as I do, it feels so filthy to pose this way, whore-like, pornographic, displaying my most intimate behaviour to another. I slide my hand over my breasts, grazing the sensitive peak of my nipple, creeping over my stomach, entering the warm triangle of hair above my sex, lower, between, as if for the first time, I open my hand and drape my fingers over my bare vulva.

I fight an orgasm. The contact, the physical connections in my body are overwhelming. I gasp. I hear myself. Breath is dragged in and out of my nostrils. The urge to stroke my genitals is almost too great to resist, to slide a finger between my thick damp lips, to penetrate myself, to rub my tight little clitoris.

"Okay, are you okay if I draw you like this? Exactly this way. Do not move. This is perfect."

"Uh-huh."

I can feel how hot I am, how wet. The tender skin of my pussy is slippery, god, I cannot remember feeling myself so warm, so swollen and moist. And I cannot move. I cannot stroke or part or circle. I want to reach for a draw and push my dildo hard inside my vagina, I lay and hold my sex, and imagine fucking myself in front of Fabrice, thrusting my real-looking silicone cock deep inside me, lubricating it, rolling over, doing something I have never done and penetrating my anus, my smooth tight virgin asshole.

I am sure I am coming, in ripples of pleasure, small lapping climaxes teasing me towards something unprecedented. I lose track of time, am just able to turn my eyes to look at Fabrice, standing over me, his beautiful hard cock still completely erect, jutting out like a small limb of male sex, his foreskin stretched taut now, I can see his small opening, the soft lips of his urethra. My vagina tightens. I feel myself throb.

The tip of Fabrice's stiff cock glistens with his own liquid. His penis is coated with a slick of sweet clear moistness. I have to concentrate now, I have to force myself to think of other things, to ward off what feels like the inexorable rising of erotic sensation. Have I had an orgasm before without being touched? I move my fingers, one finger, rolling it along its joints between my aching lips. Have I come without someone, without me having touched myself more forcefully?

The image of Laurent returns, his long hard naked cock, the sight of him becoming stiff, in front of the class, the idea of him being here now, next to me, on top of me, inside me, in front of Fabrice, drawing his cock as it enters my vagina. Ripples are rising into one large growing wave of impossible pleasure. I can't. I have only posed for a few minutes. I can't. I have to move. My breathing betrays me, the flush of mauve rising on my neck, my breasts.

"Would you like to move?"

"Uh-huh, sorry, is that okay? To draw you?"

There is silence again. I move. I let my legs spread as I sit on the bed, facing him, moving, allowing the accidental interpretation, I sit on the edge of the bed, naked, my legs wide, my feet still up, my sex splayed open. I see him looking, I look down, to his visibly quivering cock. I know if he moved to me now I would let it happen, I would meet his movements with my own, if he reached, touched, I would reach for him, and touch his rigid penis, and pull him to me, pull him between my legs, pull him with abandoned greed inside me.

Neither of us say anything. His eyes rise to meet mine. I stand, we are so close, so near, our breath, I can feel the warmth of his body, I glance down, staring, fixing the image of his rigid cock in my mind, the shining mouth of his wet opening. We move without words. I step to the side as Fabrice hands me the pad of paper, his pencil, I look at the drawing he's made of me, seeing myself as others do, naked, nude, reclining on my own bed. I see my body, the inkling of my features, my bare breasts, the shadow of hair above my sex, my hand, oh god, I can see my arm stretching over my stomach, my hand, my fingers stroking my vulva, I can see the cleft of my pussy, the dark thick line of my labia.

I step back with weak legs. Fabrice is sitting on the bed now, in the impress my own bare ass had just made, his penis is still upright, is pointing up, away from the tightened pouch of his balls. I hear my own voice suddenly fill the room.

"Perhaps, lying back, as I was, one leg, a little away from the other, and... and if you could... hold your penis, pull... I mean, as if you are... masturbating..."

"Uh-huh."

He moves, heavily, my bed creaks, I watch him lay back, his stiff cock springing up and down, he slides one knee away from the other.

"And you want me to..."

"Yes, touch yourself, please, as if... grip your cock, hold your stiff cock."

"Like... like... "

"Down, yes, slide your foreskin back, so I can see the bulb of your penis, as if... yes.."

He does. My pleasure begins to fill me, I am not going to manage this, the sight is going to be enough, his mouth is open now, Fabrice moves his hand over his chest, his stomach, to his penis, I watch him graze his fingers along his own quivering length, open them over his scrotum, then grip his stiff stem, and stroke himself, once, slowly, I watch, I look as he exposes this final part of himself, as he pulls his soft skin back over his smooth dark damp tip.

"Oh... oh fuck... oh... god..."

The tip of his cock is soaking, he looks as wet as I am, seeping, coated in a thick translucent layer of sweet male moisture.

I know, we are meeting in the centres of our separate mutual climaxes. I hear paper and pencils hit the floor, as I drop my hand to my sex, as I thread a finger between my slippery hot lips and enter myself, the swollen soaking walls of my vagina close and hold my finger, I slide up to my clitoris, my orgasm is instant, is detonated by the perfect sight of Fabrice, he's not been able to resist movement, the moment he felt his own raging sex he gave in to his body's demands, he had to stroke his erect penis, once, three, four times only, it is irresistible.

"Oh Juliette, oh god, I'm sorry, fuck, I am sorry..."

"Please, do it, let me see you, oh, oh, masturbate for me, come for me, let me come for you, watch me come, watch me stroke my hot little pussy."

And his fingers closed around the rigid stem of his cock, sliding his foreskin over his trembling tender glans, he loses himself in his own pleasure, his hand is quickly a blur, thrilling, it is a thrilling contrast to his stillness, his calm, watching, his hand moves fast on his cock, his breath, his voice, his large balls slapping heavily against his thighs, so beautiful, large oval balls being bounced so needily up and down within the dark, creased skin of his scrotum. I stroke my own sex as I watch Fabrice masturbate with abandoned lust, uncaring how he looks, how demeaned, degraded.

And I am the same, we are both lost in this strange moment of mutual display and witnessing, inviting the other into our most private behaviour, transgressing our most private space.

He is now motionless, his hand stopped, his cock so stiff, his glistening bulb. I see it, I see Fabrice start to come, his first long white lash of semen bursting from his bare slit, we come together, astonishingly, my climax crumbles me into a kneeling heap, my fingers darting, stroking, as I watch him coming, four thick spurts of creamy male ejaculate splashing out onto his chest, I barely have to touch myself, points of pleasure blur into a delirious epiphany of ecstasy.

I fall onto my back. I listen to the sounds of our breathing, the room thick and warm with our sweat, our sex, our eruptive moisture. Fabrice lights two cigarettes and rolls across the bed to place one between my lips, we barely have the strength to smoke. We don't touch. Still. Not even our hands meet.

Our minds do though, words escape us, next week, when we are both free, Wednesday again, in the morning again we will have to draw each other, again.