Finding Picasso Ch. 04

Friday, I learn The Twins have tickets for a Norwegian heavy metal band.

I look forward to a quiet evening alone at the hostel, reading Kerouac's On the Road. But before the night is over, Anne Black and Sugar Magnolia have both found me and made the most peculiar requests.

Anne arrives first.

"Jason?" she asks, introducing herself. "I'm Anne Black. Robert suggested I talk to you." I've seen her around the hostel. She dresses simply, wears no makeup, and is in her early 30s. With a little mascara and lipstick, she could be very pretty.

I invite her to join me and ask what I can do to help.

"It's a little unusual," she begins, handing me a paperback novel. It's what my aunt Bea called a "bodice ripper," a historical romance about the seduction of a well-endowed heroine. The author is Anne Black.

"Cool," I say, studying her bio on the back. Anne has written a bunch of romance novels and lives with her cat in Brooklyn. "Are you working on a new book?"

"Yes. That's the problem, it's a little embarrassing."

"Try me," I say with a sympathetic smile.

"My publisher wants explicit scenes. She says it's the trend these days. Real sex. OK. I get it. But I can't walk the walk. Everything I write is off. Stilted."

"And Robert suggested?"

"You could read the sex scenes and give me advice," she says, blushing and looking everywhere but at me.

"Sounds more exciting than old Jack Kerouac," I tell, holding up the cover of my book. "Do you have them with you?"

"No, but my room is right down the hall."

Anne's room is spacious by European hostel standards. A bed, side table, desk, and easy chair. Pinned to the walls are posters for her books, each with a buxom heroine in the arms of dark, handsome hero.

She prints out three chapters. Anne's sex scenes suck. And not in the good way.

"He buried his sword to the hilt?" I ask. It's one of many trite phrases and euphemisms in her sexual descriptions.

"Ugh. I know! I'm hiding behind cliches, aren't I?" she says, looking into my eyes for the first time. "Oh, my. You do have expressive eyes,"

"No fair changing the subject," I smile.

"I am, aren't I? It's a habit when I get uncomfortable. Any suggestions?"

"Yes. Read good erotic fiction. Lot's it. That's the easy part."

"And the hard part?" she asks apprehensively.

"You have to get comfortable with your own sexuality."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that," she tells me. "I guess it's pretty obvious I don't have a lot of experience... sexual experience."

"You've been pouring everything into your books. Living life vicariously through your characters."

"Damn, Jason. I spent about $10K on a shrink who took a year to reach the same conclusion."

"What did he suggest?"

"More to the point, what do you suggest?"

I thought about it for a while.

There was the obvious. Get a boyfriend. But I'm sure she's been in sexual relationships. Then I thought of Violet, the most sexually comfortable girl I've ever met. What did she tell me about her last lover? He asked her to masturbate for him. She did, reluctantly at first. But she soon she couldn't wait to do it. She lost her inhibitions.

Which gives me a wicked idea. I walk to Anne's side table, open the drawer and reach inside. I find what I'm searching for in the back. A slim, bullet-shaped vibrator.

The look on Anne's face is priceless. It begins with an expression of horror, morphs into utter humiliation, and ends in anger.

"That's private..." she hisses. Then stops mid-sentence and buries her face in her hands.

"Why the embarrassment?" I ask, sniffing the tip for her scent. But it has been cleaned. "I bet every girl and half the guys staying here have some kind of sex toy in their gear."

Anne doesn't respond. I turn on her toy and rub it along my cheek. That gets her attention. I stroke my neck with it, then lower the vibrating tip to my nipple and make little circles until my nip, what little there is, grows firm.

I have her attention now. I lift up my shirt and use the vibe on both nips, then let it trace up and down my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in it's wake. I throw my shirt on her bed.

Anne's mouth is hanging open in surprise, but there is the beginning of a glint in her eyes that has nothing to do with embarrassment.

'What are you doing?" she asks, breaking into a shy smile.

"Never met a toy I could resist," I say, letting the vibe run down the front of my shorts. Anne's eyes follow. Partly it's the sexually-charged situation. And partly it's Anne's demure manner. But I'm already hard and the outline of my cock is abundantly visible.

"My cock is hard," I tell her. "Go ahead, say it. No euphemisms."

"You're... cock is hard," she whispers.

"Louder," I tell her, rubbing her vibe along my shaft.

"Your cock is hard," she says again. This time with a conversational volume. Her eyes don't budge from my bulge.

I decide to push my luck and unbuckle my belt, unsnap my shorts and lower the zipper.

When the khaki shorts fall to the floor, the outline in my briefs leaves little to the imagination. Each time I touch it with Anne's vibrator, my cock twitches in response and I hear her emit a little gasp. The little ridge of my cockhead is visible through the cotton briefs, as is a wet spot where a few drops of precum have leaked.

Anne continues to watch with rapt attention. After a few more vibe strokes and twitches, she looks up and we lock eyes. Her lids are heavy and there's the beginning of a far away, dreamy look.

"Do you want to see my cock?" I ask.

"She nods."

"Then ask me," I tell her.

"Show me..." she falters, then resumes. "Show me your cock."

I push my briefs to the floor and my cock bounces free of the elastic band. I run the vibe down the top of the shaft and it twitches gently. Then I put the vibe against the sensitive underside of my cockhead. Instantly, my cock goes into a spasm that's just a couple nerve endings short of orgasm.

"I'm close," I say, my breath laboring. Give me your hand.

As if mesmerized, Anne holds out her hand. I cup her fingers and place them near the tip, and stroke the underside with the vibe. Anne's eyes are wide, unblinking, as my cock retracts slightly.

"You like watching men cum, don't you, Anne?"

She nods.

"Say it out loud," I insist, stroking the vibe up and down my pulsing cock.

"I like watching... men cum."

"Good. I'm so close. Ask me. Ask me to cum for you."

"Oh, yes. Jason, cum for me. Let me see."

That's all it takes. The pulse becomes an overpowering spasm and the first blast of cum squirts out of my cock tip and into Anne's hand, splashing onto her wrist. She quickly cups both hands together, and catches the second rope of cum in her palms.

"Ooooooooohhhhhhh," I moan.

"Cum for me," she whispers in a very sexy voice. And I do, until the final pulse merely dribbles off my cock.

"Could you get a towel?" she giggles. I grab a hand towel and some disinfectant wipes from her bath and clean her hands and wrists and also wipe down the vibe.

"Your turn," I say, handing her the vibe.

"Oh, God. Jason, I can't."

"You can," I say sternly. "But I'll help you get started, then you finish."

I rub the vibe on her cheeks, the back of her neck then let it glide down the front of her blouse until it reaches a nipple.

"Oh!" she says with a little gasp as I press hard through her blouse and bra.

"Take off your top," I tell her.

"I... I can't," she stutters.

"But I can," I say, grabbing her blouse and ripping it open. Buttons spray around the room as if fired from a machine gun. Who knew ripping a bodice could be so much fun? Not a real bodice, of course, but close enough.

Before Anne can react, I push the vibe between the bra and her nipple. Then reach behind and release her bra, which falls away giving me just enough time to catch the vibe and apply it to her bare nip.

"Oh, God," she groans, looking at her naked breasts in shock, then into my eyes before her own eyelids flutter close.

Anne is not 19 anymore. Her breasts are full and gravity has taken a toll, leaving a few stretch marks here and there. But her tits are still shapely with puffy areola and distended nipples that cry out to be sucked.

"You have beautiful tits," I tell her.

With her eyes still closed, she shakes her head in disagreement. "Say it," I tell her. "I have beautiful tits."

"I have... beautiful... tits," she stammers softly.

"Good," I say, running the vibe up and down the underside of both tits. "Now touch them."

I was expecting more reluctance, but Anne surprises me by wrapping her fingers around each breast and squeezing. I caress her nipples with the vibe as Anne pinches and pulls and teases her tits. Her nostrils flare as she breathes slower and deeper and lets out a series of little whimpers.

"Do you like me watching you fondle your own tits?" I ask.

"Yes, I do," she gasps. "I love you watching me fondle my tits."

Together, we ignite the erogenous zones and nerve endings of Anne's nipples and breasts. She thrashes in the easy chair, pinching her nipples as I guide the vibe down her stomach, over her abs and across her pubic bone. Working through her pants and panties, I know the vibe has found her outer pussy lips when Anne groans softly.

I half expect her to clamp her legs shut, but Anne does the opposite, opening her legs to give me better access. Resistance is now the last thing on her mind.

"Oh, God," she moans. "That feels so good when you do it. Please don't stop."

"I won't, if you take off your slacks," I tell her, rubbing the vibe tip up and down each pussy lip. Anne opens her eyes, and there's still a hint of shyness in them. But her heavy lids and the dreamy glow leaves no doubt that Anne Black is a woman on fire.

Watching me, she unbuttons her pants. Even above the buzz of the vibrator, I hear the sound of her zipper coming undone. Then Anne stands and slides her slacks onto the floor.

She's wearing frilly white panties with a thick crotch panel. But when I press the vibe between her thighs, I easily find the depression between her labia and press onto it.

"Yesssssss," she hisses. Her body twisting in the chair. "Right there."

"Where, Anne?"

"My... my clitoris," she replies, tits heaving with her increasingly ragged breath.

"What are you going to do with your panties?"

"Take them off... take them off for you."

"To show me your cunt?"

"Yes," she says. "I want you to see... my cunt."

Anne stands and I sense her aroma even before she begins to pull down her panties. Her eyes gleam with arousal. She lowers her panties slowly, revealing a trimmed pubic patch pointing the way to puffy pussy lips that shimmer with moisture.

I want to dive between Anne's thighs and attack her vulnerable and exposed sex with my tongue. But I hold back. Flesh on flesh is personal. It's about us. But that's not what this is about.

This is about pushing Anne's boundaries. Overcoming her inhibitions and breaking personal taboos.

"Show me how you touch yourself."

Anne responds by lowering herself back into the chair and spreading her legs. Even the petal-like folds of her inner labia peek out at me.

Her hand slides down her torso. Anne is no skinny ingenue. But neither is she the least bit heavy.

Without her clothes her figure is slightly on the curvaceous side with full breasts and womanly hips. Her waist is narrow and tight. Her fingers glide easily over the smooth skin of her abs and through her public hair until they reach her vagina. One finger disappears inside, hesitant at first, probing the way.

"Ohhhhhh," she sighs contentedly. Soon two fingers are slowly sliding in and out and her wrist folds to the side, giving me an unobstructed view of her open pussy and spreading clitoral hood.

"I like you watching me finger myself," she whispers. "It makes me wet."

Indeed, I see little rivulets winding down Anne's inner thighs.

"I love watching you finger your pussy, Anne. I can't begin to describe in words how beautiful it is."

She smiles and her eyes wander to my hand which holds the unoccupied vibe. I take the hint and direct the shiny steel tip directly against the little nub of her clit.

Anne inhales sharply and an involuntary tremor races up and down her torso.

"Oh! Fuck me!" she moans, her fingers pumping faster. "Where have you been all my life, Jason?"

"I've been waiting for now," I tell her, eyes fixed on her swollen pussy. "Tell me what you are doing."

"Finger fucking myself," she says, pausing long enough to lick her finger provocatively. "Finger fucking for you, Babe."

A deep red blush spreads across Anne's upper chest and neck. This time, it's not from embarrassment.

"I think you're close, Anne." I tell her.

"Fuck, Yes!" she whimpers, her fingers becoming a blur as they pump deep inside. I press the vibe directly onto her clit, manipulating it in tiny circles.

Anne Black tumbles into the abyss of orgasm. Her hand goes limp, her torso twitches and trembles while her tits bounce and vibrate in sympathy. As the orgasm subsides I whisper into her ear, telling her to hold onto this moment and to relive it whenever she writes a sex scene.

Anne gives me knowing smile and nods in agreement. Then she speaks.

"Again!" she demands, and we do it again, and again, and again before she is done.

After her fourth orgasm, I help Anne into bed, tuck her under the quilt, and return to the little dorm room I share with Runa and Raven where I try to resume reading On the Road.

###

I'm just getting into the flow of unconventional Kerouac's prose, when Sugar Magnolia sweeps into the room, making an unforgettable entrance.

There are at least 6' of Sugar. All of it lithe and sexy. Full tits perfectly proportioned to her frame. Tight stomach, narrow hips and ridiculously long legs. Straight blond hair with glittering blue eyes and a perpetually naughty smile.

She's some kind of performance artist who has apparently turned the hostel into her private fiefdom for sexual conquest. Last night it was a country girl named Nathalie, and Runa and I happened to be outside her window when it happened. We didn't plan it that way, but we didn't exactly leave as the seduction unfolded.

"Jason!" Sugar exclaims, with an accusatory tone to her voice. "I saw you peeking in my window last night."

'Oh shit, what do you say to that? Guilty as charged? Or do you try to explain the extenuating circumstances? Actually, neither. Not with Sugar Magnolia, a force of nature and queen of the hostel.'

"So you like to sneak around and watch girls undress?" she asks. But this time her voice is surprisingly understanding. "Well guess what, Big Boy?"

"What?" I ask looking up at the kind of woman who can cause a bar fight, a brawl and even a decade-long city siege with a single sultry glance.

"So do I," she says softly. "I like watching girls too."

Sugar? A voyeur? This is not at all what I expected. Nor is what comes next.

"Since you and I both got stood up tonight, how about we go girl watching together?"

Coming from Sugar Magnolia, this isn't so much of a suggestion as it is an order. Not that I would turn it down under any circumstance.

Yes, I'm still a little confused about recently discovering the libidinous power that my inner voyeur-exhibitionist has over me. But saying 'no' to a provocative invitation from Sugar is about as likely as Samoa winning the World Cup. Handcuffs? Golden Showers? Symbians? A Paris sex club? Whatever, count me in?

"When?" I manage to ask.

"Meet me outside in 10 minutes," Sugar replies, handing me a motorcycle helmet.

Sugar wears leathers and drives as fiercely as she does everything else, weaving her Ducati through slow traffic as we sail along Quais de Bercy at 110 kph with the lights of the Latin Quarter dancing next to us on the Seine.

My heart is pounding, and not entirely because my cock presses against Sugar's tight ass cheeks and my arms cling to her waist, inches below those magnificent tits. That part is arousing. Speeding through the inky Paris night on Sugar's motorcycle is a huge adrenaline rush.

"Where are we going?" I ask when we finally pull to a stop at a red light.

"Sacre Coeur," she says.

"The basilica?"

"No, Sweetie. Not that Sacre Coeur. The woman's college, Sacre Coeur."

A few minutes later we roar down a tree-lined avenue with high stone walls on either side, and pull to a stop at a police booth.

Sugar takes off her helmet, flips her long blond hair back and tells the guard, "I'm visiting friends at Maison Mollier." He waves us in without taking his eyes off a televised soccer match.

We park between two modern dorm buildings. One is dark. In the other, dozens of full-length French windows are aglow in a mosaic of rectangular bright lights that suggest a Mondrian painting come to life.

Sugar passes me her backpack and I follow to the entrance of the darkened dorm, where the door magically opens, at least until I realize Sugar has just swiped it with an electronic ID card. "Closed for the summer," She tells me as we follow the LED beam of her iPhone up a wide staircase. On the fifth-floor we emerge into a dark lounge. From here it seems you can almost reach out and touch the brightly lit rooms across the narrow court yard.

"There you go, Sweetie," Sugar says, pointing a couple of floors above us, where a thin brunette in high-cut panties and beautiful pert tits paces back and forth with a phone pressed to her ear. It's the kind of scene that never fails to make my cock twitch.

"Or there!" she points to another window. Inside a girl is struggling to pull a sheath dress over her head, revealing a well-toned body with tan marks around a pair of ready-white tits.

"Or here," Sugar continues, pointing to window one floor below where yet another girl sits naked in front of a brightly lit vanity mirror, brushing silky auburn hair that cascades over her very full breasts.

"How do you feel about women with baby fat?" Sugar asks.

"Love it," I tell her, studying the girl at the vanity.

She's full-figured, but not heavy. Wide hips, narrow waist, and, of course, soft, pillowy tits that call out to be squeezed.

Directly next door to Vanity Girl is a dimly lit dorm room. The only illumination is a bedside lamp, and it takes a moment to realize that laying prone on the bed is yet another naked woman. She's holding a book in one hand, while the other hand idly caresses her stomach just above a well-shaved pubis. This one is the kind of scene that turns a twitching cock into one that is fully engorged and throbbing.

"Makes you hard?" Sugar asks.

"No kidding!" I say, looking at the obvious outline of my erect cock in the front of my jeans. I notice Sugar casually reaches inside her leather jacket and cups her left breast. Once again, there's a tiny pang of guilt for invading these women's privacy. But that feeling is swept aside by a rush of horny urges that make pornos and strip clubs seem tame. This is raw and real and anything can happen.

Especially if you're with Sugar Magnolia.

"I have this crazy idea," Sugar says, counting the windows across the fourth floor. "If you see me do this, call me," she taps her the side of her head three times.

"What the?" I have no idea what she's talking about.

"You'll see," she says grabbing her phone and backpack and heading down the stairs. A couple minutes later, she crosses the narrow courtyard and uses her swipe card to enter the other dorm. My eyes dart back and forth between Vanity Girl and Reading Girl and wonder what the hell Sugar is up to.

Whatever it is, it's bound to be outrageous.

Vanity Girl turns, looks at her door, and says something. She puts down her brush, puts on a Japanese print robe, and answers the door. There's an involved conversation for several minutes and then in steps Sugar Magnolia, wearing her leather pants, jacket and holding her motorcycle helmet and backpack.