Curves For Her Artist

By Leslie Hunter

Genre: Curvy Girl / Full Figured Stories 

Young and curvy Jennifer Douglas is an emerging artist struggling for acceptance in San Francisco's highly competitive art scene. In an industry where men and skinny women are on top, finding success is definitely a challenge for this curvy girl. 

Then Kevin Sharp, San Francisco's top caustic art critic—and discoverer of hot new talent—comes forward with an offer of a private meeting. Jennifer knows he has more on his mind than just her paintings, but how can a starving artist refuse? No matter how clear she makes it that this is strictly professional, something inside them both cries out for more.

It’s not long before they’re both in Kevin’s bedroom. With Kevin’s clothes on the floor and a paintbrush in her hand, who knows where the night will go? One thing is for sure – there’s going to be paint everywhere.

This 8,000 word full figured story contains detailed descriptions of sexual situations with a struggling artist surrendering herself to the firm touch of an elite and rich alpha male.

It's intended for the enjoyment of adult readers only (especially those who love BBW stories involving alpha men). 

Note: This is a stand-alone short story with no cliffhanger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leslie Hunter
• Release date: Jan 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524270513

Book preview

CURVES FOR HER ARTIST

by Leslie Hunter

CURVES FOR HER ARTIST

Leslie Hunter

WriterLeslieHunter.com

All Rights Reserved ©2016 Leslie Hunter. First Printing: 2016.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Author’s Note: All characters in this story are 19 years of age and older.

If you notice any errors, I’d appreciate a heads up please.

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CURVES FOR HER ARTIST

The murmur of art critics, San Francisco hipsters, and the wait staff faded into the background. I stared and smiled at my name between my blue and red paintings. It was just two creations but I could finally say Jennifer Douglas had her paintings in an authentic San Francisco Art Museum.

That and five dollars will get you a cup of coffee – a small one.

I painted all my life but seriously for the last five. I was in my late twenties and still wasn’t famous. Unfortunately, artistic success isn’t what you paint but what you are. San Francisco’s a city built on styles, trends, and a healthy dash of unusual. I dressed in a bohemian style, and cultivated a mysterious artist persona.

Just so art snobs and critics would find me interesting.

Picasso was an amazing artist, but without his quirkiness, he wouldn’t be as famous. Even with my artistic costume, I wasn’t their idea of a painter. Half of the artists here were gay man while the other half were manic pixie girl types with their thin waif body types and bangs. Neither one was me. I weighed ‘two pixie girls’ and then some. Hell, I was heavier than some guys.

If I could, I’d lose the weight. I tried enough times. It’s partly a medical condition. As for the other part, life’s too short for salad.

Besides, I needed the energy to paint my masterpieces. I swallowed and took another critical glance at my work. The first painting was a canvas of various shades of