Hannah and Helen

I was almost dying of embarrassment, and suddenly said, "Never mind," and turned to walk out of the room.

"No, no! Ben," Helen said, in almost her normal sweet voice, "I was just kidding. Come sit down next to me, and tell us what's on your mind."

"Yes, Ben," Hannah said, gently guiding me with her hands, "You just sit right here on the bed next to Helen and tell us what's on your mind—and between your legs!"

They laughed again at this. But Helen at this point was taking pity on me, and said, "Hannah, stop it! I can see why he ran away from you before."

"OK, ok," Hannah said, "Ben—what's up?"

My hard-on now was softening, and I was getting my bearings, although sitting next to the warmth of the blond goddess Helen was distracting.

I found I was almost like Mike a few minutes ago, and couldn't look them in the eyes.

"Mike told me about the special drawings you did of him. You know, the nude ones."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Helen said, in a knowing way, "And so you're here to see my special stash. Well, it'll cost you something extra, and I think you know what..."

"Never mind," I said again, and moved to get up.

"I'm kidding!" Hannah said, "Let me get them!" And she got up, went to her desk, and pulled open a drawer with a smaller 9 x 12 sketch pad, which like the other one was spiral bound.

"First, let me text Mike and see which ones he want me to show you."

Hannah quickly texted Mike one her phone, even though he was just down the hall. The reply came back almost immediately.

"OK! He says you can see all of them. Helen's already seen them, but no doubt she wouldn't mind seeing them again."

"Sure," Helen said, "With a body like that I'd be happy to look. I just wish he'd model for me."

And then Helen put the pad in my lap, and I opened it. The first page, I recognized, was an exercise that art teachers sometimes do to open up your mind and loosen your pencil hand—sketch as much as you can in literally five minutes. And so it was kind of scribbly and impressionistic, but it showed Mike's cute face somewhat recognizably, and then a well muscled body, and between his legs as he was reclined on the bed a large member. Soft, but large.

"Nice," I said, not sure what to say.

"That was just a five-minute warm up," Hannah said, "The next one I spent almost an hour on."

I turned the page, which was a similar image and pose, only much more detailed and polished. Again, like with Helen, she'd chosen an almost a crotch-level view, between his legs, although this one included the face because he was sitting rather than lying on the bed. Anyway, it still emphasized his penis, which was clearly detailed in the drawing. He was uncircumcised and large. Larger than I am. Larger even than that other guy in her life drawing class. It was hard to tell scale in this, but it looked like he was about five inches when soft. The drawing was also beautiful as a work of art. Hannah had a beautiful quality to her line. But it also seemed pretty sexual. You could see the texture and veins on the shaft of his penis.

"Fuck," I couldn't help myself from saying.

"Yeah," Hannah said, "I wish he'd do me with that!"

"What?!" I said, in total shock, "He's your brother!"

"Only step," Hannah said, only halfway apologetic, "as you well know. We're not biologically related at all. But he's really, really gay, and not at all interested.

"Too bad," Helen agreed.

"You two are awful," I said, "Looking at him like this. Like a piece of meat?" I really was sort of offended, but also sort of turned on.

Hannah looked annoyed, and grabbed her pad from me a little roughly, saying, "I guess you don't want to see the close up I did, then?"

"Oh my god," I said, "There's a closer one than this? Let me see."

"Are you sure you're not gay," Hannah said, "Or at least bi?"

"I'm sure," I said.

"But you want to see a close-up drawing of Mike's dick? Hmmm..." Hannah looked at me.

"Well, I've already felt it..." I said, and then realized what I was saying would be taken wrong.

"What!?" Hannah and Helen said together, both looking at me in wonder. And then Hannah added, "When?"

"Only just through clothes," I quickly explained, "But when he hugs me he often gets pretty...excited."

"Excited?" Hannah asked, and her mouth was open with curiosity.

"Yeah, I don't know if you've noticed, but he's often kinda...hard around me."

"Oh my god, poor guy. Does that turn you on Ben, even a little?"

"A little, maybe. But I'm straight, as I've told him so over and over. Anyway, I knew he was big, but..."

"Here, look," Hannah said, opening up the pad to the close up drawing of her stepbrother's penis, and putting it on my lap.

I stared in wonder, and this time my now softish cock right under the drawing did start to stir a little.

Mike's shaft, as lovingly drawn by his stepsister, was veined and thick, with his head totally covered by skin since he was uncut. He shaved, and his large balls and cock were smooth. Mike's cock skin wrinkled at the tip into a little oval hole.

"Wow," I said, "You're a good artist, Hannah."

"Only as good as the subject I'm working with," Hannah said, "and wow is right. But every subject: young, old, fat, thin, man, woman, trans—they all have their beauties."

"You said it," Helen agreed with sincerity and emphasis.

"Yeah, I think you're right," I said, meaning it myself.

"Good," Hannah said, "I'm glad you agree. And so, in the cause of art, are you willing to share your god-given body with us?"

"Uh, I don't think I really believe in god," I said, "And, last I checked, neither do you."

"Yeah," Hannah said, "but we're both spiritual, and believe in the divine somehow, and we'd better watch out what we say because Helen is a believer."

"Oh," I said, looking at Helen.

"I don't know," Helen said, looking directly at me in a sultry with her bright red-painted lips, adding "Maybe I could make you believe in God. I have had at least a dozen different guys on top of me thrusting deep into me who've said, and I quote..."

At this she titled her head back in faux ecstasy, and groaned loudly, "Uh!! Oh Gawwwd!! Uh!!..."

At this, Hannah and Helen both laughed. I laughed too, but also blushed and looked down.

Then Hannah added, "You've really shocked him now. He's the last one of us who's still a virgin. I don't think he's ever even seen a woman naked before, except in pictures."

"Is that true, Ben?" Helen asked.

"Yeah, but Mike's a virgin too. Don't forget about him!" I said.

"No he's not!" Hannah said, "my brother, unlike you, has been fucked and sucked."

"Shit! Really," I said, feeling upset in spite of myself. "When did that happen?"

"Mike had a one-night stand a couple of months ago with some random guy who picked him up—at the public library of all places," Hannah explained. "I probably shouldn't be telling you, but...He was tired of waiting for you, and just gave up that you'd ever want him. He just decided he wanted to be fucked by a man, almost any man. It was sort of good, but...then he was consumed with guilt and some self-loathing. And he wondered what you'd think of him, and so he never told you. And then he got worried about diseases, even though they'd practiced safe sex. Sort of. But he got tested, and he's completely clean."

"Wow," I said, "I had no idea. Fuck."

I was both depressed and strangely a little bit excited by how much Mike wanted me. Or wanted me to want him. Or both. But since I was straight there seemed no hope for it. So fuck.

"Yeah, fuck is right," Helen said, "Hearing about this drama, again, is all just getting to be a bit too much for me. Can we get stoned so that we can laugh, get munchies, eat, and forget?"

"Sure," Hannah said, "And maybe we can make some art too?"

"Yeah," Helen said, "I like drawing and taking pictures when I'm stoned. As long as I'm not too stoned. Hey, Ben, you want to get stoned with us?"

"Uh, ok, just a little," I said, because I'd actually only been stoned once before, with Hannah, and it had been strange. I'd laughed a lot, I remember, and had lots of weird thoughts, and got very hungry. And horny.

"Should we invite Mike, even though he probably won't join us?" Helen asked.

"No," I said, and Hannah nodded in agreement.

"He's pretty anti-drug," I explained, adding, "Although he'll drink wine. And, as you've seen, his body is a temple and..."

As I was saying this, Hannah was getting out her bong. It was already clean, and she just poured some water from a water bottle that she had in the room into it, loaded it up, and passed it to me.

"Virgin's first," she said with a smile, while holding her lighter at the ready to help me.

"Fuck you!" I said, laughing, and then as she lit it up I sucked in a too large hit of her too strong pot. I couldn't keep it in for long and started coughing and laughing.

We passed it around a few times, and soon all three of us were stoned and mellow and had slightly bloodshot eyes. Time seemed to be sliced into cucumber slices, and thoughts seem to run off in different directions, even though we will still holding a sort-of more or less normal conversation for us—although I couldn't really tell at that point.

Hannah was paging through a book on Vincent Van Gogh, and stopped at one of his early paintings called "The Potato Eaters." This was made before he moved to France (I knew because I'd had AP Art History, like everyone else in the house), and so Van Gogh's colors weren't the bright post-Impressionist colors he's known for, but dark and grimy looking. It's an image of peasants around a table eating potatoes, with a stark lamp above the table illuminating them.

"This painting is kind of like us," Hannah said, in a matter-of-fact way.

"Uh, I guess," I said, not seeing it at all, and adding ironically, "except we're privileged and over-educated brats, and we get all the food we want any time we want."

"No, not the poverty stupid, the psychology. See how each person is looking with longing at another? But that person doesn't look back at them, but instead looks with longing at another."

And, as she said, I was a bit stupid, and made that plainer by saying, "And how is that like us?"

"Well, Mike is looking at you with longing, but you're not looking back at him. Instead, Ben, you're lusting after me, or Helen. Meanwhile I'm thinking about my old boyfriend I want to get back together with, but I'm also lusting after Helen—"

Helen and I both looked a bit shocked as Hannah continued on with her relentless honesty.

"Don't look shocked," she added, "you both separately know it's true. Meanwhile as we—" Hannah looked at me "look with longing at Helen's blue eyes, voluptuous breasts, and soft and wet pussy, Helen's saving all that for Professor Purdy, who she fucked once, and is planning to fuck again if she can next semester."

"Fuuuuck!" I said, as we all laughed with horror.

And then I added, "All right, no more Van Gogh for you, Hannah."

Ben then Helen added, surprisingly seeming a little hurt: "You didn't need to say that to Ben about Professor Purdy. But you're right, mostly. But maybe we can break out of our vicious circles. Maybe Ben will make Mike's dreams come true and make out with him—"

"I don't think so!" I couldn't help myself from saying.

"Or maybe I'll make your dreams come true, Ben, by helping you find the divine deep inside of me."

Helen gave me another sultry look and winked, and then licked her lips with their bright-red lipstick.

"Oh my god, Helen, stop teasing me. You're giving me another boner!"

And, indeed, my cock was now straining in my shorts with Helen's suggestion of my hard penis being inside of her.

"Prove it!" Hannah said, "let us see."

"No way!" I said.

And so to hide my crotch I switched from sitting on my butt to lying down on my stomach, with my face propped up in my hands. Helen was right across from me, still sitting on her butt with her legs spread wide. And, I just realized that her cut-off jeans were really quite short. In fact, I could even see a little bit of her underwear, and even a tiny bit of blond pussy hair. I realized that there were just two layers of fabric between me and Helen's hairy and moist cunt, which Hannah had done that amazing drawing of.

"Hey Ben," Helen said, and I looked up to see both of them smiling at me for perving on Helen's crotch, "Like for Mike, my body's a temple too. And—" she started laughing and so did Hannah "I think you're staring at the entrance!"

We laughed, but even in my stoned state I blushed again.

"Sorry," I said, and sat up, "That stuff is stronger than I thought!"

I was so stoned now that I didn't really care that the bulge of my erection was clearly showing through my shorts. The front cloth of my light-blue shorts moved a little bit as my cock throbbed, twitched, and pulsed.

"I know," Helen said, now staring at my crotch the way I'd stared at hers, "Hannah always has the best shit."

Hannah looked at me and said, "Hey Ben, why don't you ask Helen what she's going to specialize in in art school?"

I was glad for the seeming change in topic, and looked at Helen and said, "Hey yeah, what are you specializing in? I thought it was painting and drawing, like Hannah?"

"Well," Helen said, "I do that, like we all do, and I think I'm pretty good. But now that I'm a junior" (Helen was two years ahead of Hannah, and was already 21) "I actually think I'm going to do photography and performance art."

"Really?" I said, "Cool"

Hannah smiled and said, "Ask her what her last piece of performance art was."

I looked at Helen, who was smiling mysteriously, and asked. She said, and I kid you not:

"I got on a block of ice in the gallery, completely nude, and then I told stories to anyone who would talk with me."

"You're fucking kidding me!" I said, not sure whether to laugh or not. But I'm glad I didn't.

"I am not kidding. I've done a couple of nude story-telling pieces."

"Didn't you freeze your butt?" I couldn't help myself from asking.

"It was cold, but there was a small towel laid down, so..."

"Awesome," I said, not sure what else to say.

And then I couldn't believe myself when I added, "Would you do one for me?" Couldn't hurt to ask...

"Sure," she said, to my amazement, but then added, "as long as you let us draw you nude."

"Uh, even stoned, I'm still not sure I could do that," I said, "As you heard from Hannah, I'm a fucking virgin. I'll guess I'll just have to survive on that drawing of you. Can I see that again, Hannah?"

"Sure," Hannah said, smiling as she finished another bong hit, and then handed me her large sketch pad.

I carefully turned the pages to the right one and then, perv and art lover that I am, stared at the drawing of Helen's nude form. Her pussy in the drawing was spread, and her opening, her pussy lips, where, I realized, cocks went, looked moist and was were slightly open. My own cock started throbbing even harder, and then Helen said, in a sexy but lecturing voice

"Ceci n'est pas une chatte!"

I laughed as I recognized the quote from the French surrealist artists Renee Magritte. It was similar to a quote on a painting of a pipe he made that that said, "Ceci nest pas un pipe"—this is not a pipe. In other words, it was a representation of a pipe, not the actual, smokable pipe. Semiotics and shit. Yeah, we we'd all had AP Art History, like I said.

"But chatte"? I said, not recognizing the word, but halfway guessing what it was.

"That's French word for puuussssssy," said Helen with a smile, stretching out the word into what seemed like a luscious French pastry, sweet, buttery, and gooey.

She continued, "Chatte means both cat and cunt in French. What I'm saying is that you're not seeing my real puuussssy. Do you want to? That could be my performance art piece for you right now."

"Umm," I said, looking at her crotch again through her shorts. I closed the sketch pad, and swallowed nervously. I could feel the pre-cum at the tip of my throbbing cock.

"One of my performance art pieces, as Hannah knows, was to be in a large dim little house we'd constructed in the gallery. And people got to go in and take off pieces of my clothing, one at a time, until I was nude. Most of the men were too chicken, but Hannah didn't have any problem helping me out."

Helen stood up gracefully, stretched her arms up, and then said, "let's start."

Hannah looked at me meaningfully, and then carefully put away her sketch pad and said, "OK, Ben, you started this. You'd better follow through now that she in performance art mode."

"I started it?" I said, laughing nervously.

"Yes, by jonesing on an on for her chatte."

"What should I do?" I said, seriously looking back and forth between Hannah and Helen.

Hannah said, in almost a whisper, "Just slowly take off her clothes. And then just do whatever she says, to the letter."

"Yes," said Helen to me, agreeing. And then, addressing Hannah, she said, "Would you please photo and video document the performance?"

"I will," Hannah said, with a seriousness that made me realize that we were suddenly on stage, especially when Hannah set her phone for video and panned very slowly up and down Helen, and then over to me. I didn't want to be on video, but it was too fucking late for that now. And, as far as I could tell at this point, I wasn't the one who was going to have clothes taken off.

Helen wasn't actually wearing all that much, for which I was now grateful if this was going to be a video performance. Her feet were already bare, and aside from her very short cut-off jeans and undies, and only had on a tie-dyed psychedelic t-shirt, with blues, oranges, reds, and greens, as well as a bra underneath to support her large breasts.

Four items of clothing, in other words, that I now needed to take off until Helen—the blond, blue-eyed, goddess with large breasts and a furry and moist twat—was completely nude.

And yet I was the one who had some performance anxiety. Mainly, I just wanted to keep things moving. And so I immediately moved toward Helen, so that we were face to face, and as Hannah continued recording, asked softly but clearly:

"May I take off your t-shirt, Helen?"

"Yes, you may. Because I know you think you want me and my body..."

I thought to myself, even in my stoned state: what the fuck? This was her idea. And I also thought: how is this tape going to be used? But knowing I was being video recorded, I tried to stay expressionless, aside from maybe looking compassionate and helpful for Helen's performance art, which was in a way how I felt.

Helen's t-shirt wasn't even tucked in, and so I slowly lifted it up her body with both hands, revealing her slightly swelling tummy with light skin and a lovely "innie" belly button, and then her body-colored lace bra. She helpfully lifted her hands over her head so that I could take the shirt all the way off of her.

I was now looking at Helen with her generous cleavage spilling out from her brassiere. Her breasts were at least C-cups, but beyond that I didn't and don't know much about bras or breast sizes. I couldn't help myself, and looked at her partially hidden breasts with wonder and hunger, and I'm afraid the phone camera captured that.

I said, almost mantra-like, "Helen, may I take off your brassiere?" I was trying to be formal and respectful.

"Yes," she said simply, and thank goodness left out the part about how I wanted to see her breasts in some academic way.

But, of course, being a guy with very limited experience, I was not good at taking off a bra. I knew enough to immediately go behind her, and I started trying to fiddle with the plastic and little metal hooks that fastened the bra behind.

"See how society keeps my breasts locked away," Helen intoned, almost like a robot.