The Canvas

By Nicole Ramsey

What started out as a innocent art class turned into a passionate night that drove both woman's bodies into a sexual ecstasy that no man has given to them before. Will it turn into just a moment of passion or will there love that they shared for art become something more between them in this lustful erotica story of art, sex, and passion between these two women. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicole Ramsey
• Release date: Jun 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223789482

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Table of Contents

The Canvas | By | Nicole Ramsey

The Canvas

By

Nicole Ramsey

I glanced up at the man, then back down to my sketchpad. I hashed in the shadows on his cheek, the line cast by the frame of his glasses, the dark circles under his eyes. My drawing was not a likeness; it came closer to a caricature - the tired doppelgänger of this nameless middle-aged person, hunching over in front of his MacBook with his coffee removed to a safe distance. Forgettable in so many ways. But the light through the cafe windows had caught him - the backlighting made him somehow more real, more present - and thus, interesting.

Stroke by stroke I caught something of him, pinned it to paper.

Then he shifted and the scene shattered. I willed him to stay still, but he glanced at his watch, pulled a face, collected his accoutrements and stood to go.

I set aside my pencil and evaluated the partial portrait, sighing ruefully. I knew I wouldn't complete it; it would join the many others in the mostly forgotten darkness of my storage box.

I packed my pencils and pad back into my bag. I still had time; some thirty minutes before I needed to be back at work. I picked up my tepid coffee, stepped out into the street and looked up, considering the state of the day. It was still clear, still bright, and the dome of St Pauls Cathedral beckoned to me.

-

The north-east edifice of the Cathedral raked the sky above me. I'd roughed in the architecture of the wall, and was now trying to capture the brooding manner in which the building loomed over London. Fluffy white clouds drifted into view over the small section of visible dome high above me; I paused and watched one meander through my patch of sky. Then I winced, stretched, and took a moment to glance around me.

A young woman walked into the churchyard from the square. She sat down on the bench next to mine, tucking her shapely legs up against her. She pulled a battered paperback out of her equally-battered shoulder bag, and tucked a rogue waft of her amber-gold hair behind her ear as she settled against the wooden backrest.

I couldn't help myself. Something primal compelled me. I recognized the urge, knew I would never forgive myself if I ignored it.

I selected a new pencil, turned to a fresh page, and started to draw the perfect arcs of her body. I captured the way she'd clamped the tam-o-shanter down to control her glorious mane. I hinted to the texture of her boots, and to how her thigh-length burgundy coat clung to her waist and shoulders, the way the small section of cream polo-neck beneath it sheathed the curves of her slender body...

And then I realized that she was watching me.

I'm so sorry, I apologized, after a few moments of mortified silence. It's... a terrible habit of mine.

I don't mind, she answered. She let down her legs, leaned forward, smiled. Can... can I see?

I nodded, gestured. Please, I replied, smiling back nervously.

She joined me, perching on the bench beside me.

Wow... she said, after a moment. That's... really good. Are you an artist?

No, I laughed, somewhat bitter. In another timeline, maybe... but not in this one. Maybe in a year or two...

Shame, she breathed. It's really beautiful. Um... so... do you want to finish it? I could ... I could go sit and model for you, if you'd like me to?

Please, I murmured, captured by the warmth in her eyes.

She grinned, stood and returned to her bench. She tucked her legs up, and guided by some curious instinct she assumed very nearly the exact same pose once more - except, that was, for the small Mona-Lisa smile.

That smile. I looked down, thought.

I could capture that for her.

So I did.

And when I was done, I rolled the familiar tension out of my neck. She took that as her cue to rejoin me, and we sat in silence for a moment, looking down at the serendipitous work that I cradled in my lap.

You're really talented, she said. Really, really good. Wow.

I glanced away, blushing from the unaccustomed praise. Then I did something that I'd never done before - I slowly, gently tore the sheet free from my pad, and offered it to her. Her eyes widened and she hesitantly reached out, then paused.

Sign your name? she begged me. Please? I've never had anyone draw me, and I'd love to have your name on it? Please?

So I signed it, a neat cursive *Kay Jackson* slanting over the bottom right corner. She took the sheet reverently from me, and tucked it carefully between some papers in a plastic binder that she wrestled from her bag.

Thank you, she said softly. She paused, as if she wanted to say more. Then she shook her head slightly and stood. She walked off, glancing back once, thoughtful. I watched her until she rounded the corner, then sat back with a sigh. I looked down at my forgotten and now deeply uninteresting study of rocks. Then I stood and set off for the office. Time to be an adult once more.

-

I couldn't believe that I'd given the drawing away. In all my reams of works, my books and pads and napkin sketches, there was one drawing as good - a boy and his model boat at Battersea Park. I had captured him perfectly. This had been my second masterpiece... and I'd given it away. I could have framed it, hung it on my wall, and