by Lubrican

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Chapter Three

During the rest of the meal Hannah forbade discussion about me posing. She also insisted that I be allowed to sleep on it. The next day was Saturday, and I was invited to come to breakfast for further negotiations, should I still be willing to pose.

That night was interesting. Harper's drawing of her mother was fixed in my mind, easy to remember, and hard to forget. For some reason the pubic hair, created by the masterful use of a pencil sharpened to a needle point, hung around in my mind. It showed astonishing attention to detail, for one thing. It would have been just as easy to roughly shade that area which, from afar, would have also looked like pubic hair. But the way in which she'd done it drew the viewer in, calling the observer to get up close and personal. As I got into bed and relaxed, my penis decided not to join the throng of other muscles that were going limp in anticipation of slumber. Instead, it rose up to salute Harper's talent in producing a portrait any man would dearly love to own.

Long story short, I masturbated while I thought about that drawing. Of course when you do that, if you actually know the model, then you think about her, too. That had happened half a dozen times over the years (with women other than Hannah) but it had been a whole different situation. It's one thing to have a little fantasy about a woman who has no idea you're having that fantasy. Two or three minutes and you get relief and then it's over and she never knows anything about it. But now Hannah knew I'd gotten stiff, looking at her portrait. It seemed a lot more ... personal ... this time. And of course my little head loved to dream up situations in which instead of my hand, it might get to slide into something a lot closer to a real, live pussy. Like an actual, real, live pussy. And even though the portrait hadn't shown anything other than a little pubic hair above a tantalizing shadow, my little head knew which real, live pussy it wanted to plunder.

In other words, I felt a little bad that I thought about fucking Hannah while I fucked my hand instead. I was pretty sure it was going to be difficult to look her in the face the next morning. On the other hand, when I finally gave up and let my little head play out his fantasy in my big one, I came hard and it felt really good.

The next morning I went over there and tried my best not to look at Hannah. Unfortunately, that meant I had to look at Harper, who had chosen to wear a halter top and shorts that morning.

Now you have to understand, here. Harper was a younger version of her mother in many ways. Both had the same bone structure in the face, and the same color of hair. Both had the same interesting mixture of brown and green in their eye color. Their bodies were a little different. Hannah, who was past thirty, had the full, round, soft body of a mature woman. Not that she had any excess weight on her, but she was just obviously in her prime. At sixteen Harper had a cute little teenybopper body that was taking on the look of advancing womanhood. Her breasts were smaller, but just as proud. While Hannah's breasts hung more heavily, Harper's rode higher on her chest and moved very little when she walked. Both went braless a lot, at least when they were around the house. I knew this because on more than one occasion I'd noticed that unfettered look that breasts have under a T shirt. Nipples poking through the fabric also helped me arrive at that conclusion, but I tried not to stare. I have to say, here, that I suspected their nipples were similar, though.

So what I'm getting at is that looking at Harper that morning didn't do much to keep my mind off her mother. I realized Harper had been talking to me when she said, "Do you have a Speedo?"

"Uh … no," I said, already off balance.

"Do you wear boxers or briefs?" was her next question.

"Harper!" came her mother's warning voice.

"I need to know, Mother," said the girl, without looking at her chastising parent. She looked at me instead.

"Briefs," I said, quietly.

"Then I want you to wear briefs when we do this. Your smallest pair, okay?"

"Okay," I said, faintly. "I was thinking running shorts."

"Briefs," she said, firmly. "I want to stay away from something loose. I'm going to render you nude, just using my imagination for the covered parts, and if you're wearing something tight I won't have to imagine quite as much."

Great. My not even seventeen-year-old 'niece' knew all about bulges and what caused them and could imagine what was making the bulge. But she wanted to see the bulge, just for inspiration.

"Harper," said Hannah, who was listening to the negotiations.

"He already agreed to do it, mother," said the artist, apparently expecting parental interference.

I had? When had I done that? I mean I knew I was going to, but I didn't remember actually saying I would.

"I'm aware of that," said Hannah, confirming that while I had been staring at Harper's cleavage I'd spoken without remembering it. "You need to be sensitive to his concerns."

"I already told him he doesn't have to be naked," said Harper.

"If you put him in briefs, he might be embarrassed," said Hannah.

"Why? It's no worse than a Speedo. In fact, briefs cover more than some Speedos I've seen."

"And just when have you seen a man in briefs?"

"In magazines and in commercials on TV," said Harper, easily.

"Oh." Hannah frowned. "In any case, there may come a time when Bob is uncomfortable and wants to take a break."

"You mean if he gets an erection?" Harper's voice was as calm as ever.

Both of us adults were speechless.

"Come on, Mom," said Harper. "I know guys get boners. It happens all the time at school. And at the swimming pool."

"I wasn't aware you were so ... well acquainted with ... such problems," said Hannah, weakly.

"I'm not a baby," said Harper, petulantly.

"It's just that you've never ... um ... talked with me about this," said Hannah.

"Come on. What teenager talks to her mother about boners?"

"You are, now," Hannah pointed out.

"Only because it came up in conversation. I mean you think Bob's worried about it and you're obviously worried about it. But I'm not worried about it. I just want to get this done so I know my portfolio is ready to go."

"Let me get this straight," said Hannah. "If Bob gets an erection during this process that won't ... uh ... be a big deal to you?"

I saw a small smile form on Harper's lips.

"I guess that depends on how big it is."

My jaw dropped and I saw Hannah tense up.

"Hey, I'm just kidding," said Harper, laughing. “ Come on. It was just a joke."

"It's not a joking matter," said Hannah, tensely. "That is not a subject for polite discussion, joking or not."

"Well, guys talk about how big a girl's boobs are," said Harper, defensively.

"And that's not appropriate, either," said Hannah.

"Okay," said Harper. "No more joking. I'm trying to be grown up about this, Mom. And I really wouldn't feel comfortable using another model, a stranger. I just feel like Bob is family."

Hannah turned to look at me.

"How do you feel about this, now?" she asked. "Are you still willing to do this?"

I swallowed. I had a feeling this was going to end up happening one way or another. Harper wasn't going to give up. And if I was going to do this I wanted everybody to understand things from the very beginning.

"As long as you understand there may be some embarrassing moments," I said.

"Don't worry. I'll hardly look at you. You won't get embarrassed," said the girl.

"I was thinking about your embarrassment," I said. "You claim to understand about men and how they can become ... um ... affected. That doesn't happen in a vacuum. Guys get that way for a reason. If that happens while we're together, can you deal with that?"

Harper was a smart girl and saw through my vague speech instantly.

"You mean you might get a boner because of me?" Harper's voice rose an octave.

"Harper!" groaned her mother.

"What? Isn't that what he said?"

"Let's stop bandying around words like boner, please?" said Hannah with obvious frustration.

"Okay," said Harper, and I saw something I had become quite familiar with over the years. It was Harper's stubborn streak, about to come out. She looked at me and said, firmly, "Are you suggesting that your penis may become erect while we're doing this, and that I may be the impetus for that?"

I shrugged. "You're a very pretty girl," I said. "I've told you that lots of times."

She smiled widely.

"Yes you have. Thank you. If that happens, since it's just you, I'll simply think of it as a compliment. Now. When do you think we can start? Today?"

Things were moving pretty quickly, but the sooner we did it the sooner it would be over.

"What the heck," I sighed.

I'd taken a shower the night before, but I wanted to do that again before stripping down in front of Harper. I also wanted to change out of the tiger-striped briefs I was wearing at breakfast. I got them at a white elephant Christmas Party one year and, since they fit me, I kept them. I wasn't willing for Harper to see me in them, though. Even if they were my smallest pair.

I got back to their house around one and, probably because I was nervous, rang the bell for once. I heard teenaged feet galloping down the stairs inside the house with a shout of, "I got it."

Harper opened the door dressed in a white men's button up shirt, splattered and stained with paint in a myriad of colors. Even so, it looked great on her, except that there appeared to be no shorts on underneath it.

"Uncle Bob!" she said. "Why'd you ring the bell?"

"I dunno," I answered as my eyes raked up and down her body.

Noting my inspection, she said, "This used to be my dad's. I use it as a smock, now. I'm about ready for you. Come on up."

She turned from the door and bellowed, "Mom! Bob's here," and galloped back up the stairs toward the guest bedroom/studio.

Hannah walked from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Hi. Had any second thoughts about this since we last met?"

"A few dozen," I said, smiling wanly. "Are you sure you don't mind me posing in my undies for your daughter?"

"Why would I mind? I trust you."

"Even though you know I'm not gay anymore?"

She smiled and slapped me on one shoulder.

"She has to learn about men somewhere. Better from you than some furtive boy full of hormones."

"I'll try to behave myself," I said.

"I have no doubt you'll be the ultimate gentleman." She frowned. "If anything does happen, I don't want you to be upset by it."

"Happen?" My eyes widened. My little head, after seeing what was easily imagined as a naked girl wearing only an oversize man's shirt, wanted all sorts of things to happen.

"You know ... like what happened after you looked at my picture the other day."

"Oh that," I said. "I'm still a little embarrassed about that."

"Don't be. Like my daughter said, from you, it's a compliment."

"You're very kind," I said.

"What I am is very ..." She stopped, suddenly. "Never mind. Go have fun. I'll check in on you later to make sure she's behaving herself."

I found Harper fiddling with paints. Apparently I was to be rendered in living color. Not only that, but apparently she didn't want to get her 'smock' stained, because she'd taken it off. I saw that, under it, she'd been wearing a tiny bikini. I was apparently staring, because she said, "I like working in this. It doesn't bind. You've seen this suit before anyway." Having dealt with that issue, she went on. "I don't have a dressing room," she said. "If you want to you can change in the bathroom."

I imagined tiptoeing through the hallway in my tighty-whities and running into Hannah. I was already half stiff from looking at Harper in her too-small, neon-pink bikini. I didn't take the time to reflect on how Harper had to know how that bikini affected members of the opposite sex. If I had, I'd have formed a suspicion that she wore it on purpose. If I'd thought about the fact she'd taken her "smock" off before starting, it would definitely have formed suspicions. But I wasn't thinking very well at that moment.

"I'll just get undressed here," I said.

"Fine by me," she said, as if she didn't have a care in the world.

I'd come up with a plan to "handle" the anticipated problem of erections. I'd worn an old jock strap under my briefs. The problem was, now that I was in fact trying to "handle" an anticipated problem, that the operative term in describing my security feature was "old". The elastic wasn't very ... elastic ... any longer, having deteriorated somewhat. In other words, the jock wasn't doing its job. I faced away from Harper and skinned out of my shirt and pants, kicking off my shoes. I bent over to remove my socks and then, surreptitiously, reached inside shorts and jock to tuck things deeper between my legs. Ironically, I had to actually, literally 'handle' the problem.

I finally turned around and presented myself for whatever came.

Harper appraised me with a critical eye.

"Have you lost weight?" she asked.

"A little," I said.

"I remember you having more body mass."

"From when?" I asked.

"From the last time I saw you at the pool," she said. "You look better. More buff."

"Thank you," I said, happy that my attempt to cut down on calories and bump up the burning of them had apparently worked.

"I think this will work out very well," she said. "Lie down on the bed."

"I thought I'd be sitting on a chair," I said.

"I can't display your boy parts if you're sitting down. And if I make you stand, you'll get tired and move around. So lie down on the bed, please."

She put me in much the same position her mother had been, using the same bolster. But she wanted my top leg bent with the heel on the bed. It opened up my crotch completely. What she'd done with her mother had been alluring, mysterious in a way, hiding the good stuff in shadows. With me, it seemed she wanted to make it look like I was bragging. She even had me lay my wrist on my waist, with my hand hanging down, almost as if I were drawing attention to my manhood, saying, "See there? What do you think of that? Pretty impressive, don't you think?" I wondered if she'd paint a smirk on my face.

She stood studying me for a few minutes and then picked up a pencil and started sketching.

"I thought you were going to use paints," I said.

"I need to get the shape roughed out, first," she said. "Don't distract me. I want this to be as good as Mom's."

Actually, the not talking part worked out pretty well. I didn't have to think up things to talk about and she was behind the easel most of the time, so ogling her wasn't possible. I began to relax and not worry so much about my errant little friend in my not-very-tight jock strap.

We had been working about an hour when Hannah stuck her head in the door.

"How's it going , guys?" she asked.

"So far so good," Harper replied, never looking up. She had begun to fill in her original drawing with paints, and was brushing them on the canvas with intense concentration.

"Not too bad actually," I said.

"I brought up some lemonade and cookies if you guys are ready for a break."

"Sounds great," I countered.

"Yeah, I could use a break, too. My shoulders are tense," Harper replied.

I sat up and swiveled around, resting my feet on the floor. I took a glass of lemonade gratefully and drank deeply. I had not realized how stiff I was getting.

"What's the matter , dear?" Hannah asked her daughter, somehow knowing something was the matter.

"Nothing really, I'm just not getting it right."

"How so?" Hannah moved to look at what Harper had done thus far. "Hmmm. Saving that for last?"

I had no idea what she was talking about until Harper sighed and spoke.

"Okay, okay, so maybe I don't have as good an imagination as I thought I did."

"For which your mother is most happy," said Hannah.

"But Mom, how can I draw a penis when I've never seen one before?"

"Another thing your mother is delighted about. But don't tell me you and your friends haven't peeked at things on the internet. I'm told everybody does, and long before they get to your jaded age."

"Well sure, but it's not like you get to stare at it, or study one. Besides, the ones you see there aren't normal. Soft, I mean. What am I supposed to do? I don't want that part of it to look like something a five-year-old drew."

"I don't even want to think about five-year-olds drawing things like that. But I understand the problem. Maybe Bob would help you out if you asked him politely."

I perked up at that and stood up.

"You can't look at this yet!" said Harper, sternly. "It's bad luck."

"True," said Hannah, staring at what I wasn't allowed to look at. "She didn't let me see mine until it was finished."

"Help her out with what?" I asked, as if I hadn't heard the whole conversation.

"Don't be coy, Bob," said Hannah.

"What happened to 'Bob might get uncomfortable and need to take a break'?" I said, affecting a falsetto voice.

"Have you needed to take a break, yet?" she asked, staring at me.

"Well, no, but I wasn't naked," I said. "It might not even be legal for me to be naked!"

"We're not going to call the police, Bob," said Hannah. "From what I can see, this is going to be beautiful, but right now there's this big white spot in the middle of things and if it stays that way it's going to ruin it. Just think about this critically. She needs a model and she needs all the model because she's been a good girl and hasn't gone out and looked at ... inappropriate ... things."

"So I'm supposed to show her my inappropriate thing?"

"I wouldn't characterize yours as inappropriate," said Hannah. "You're a gentleman."

"I won't be if I strip naked and pose for a sixteen-year-old babe," I groaned.

"I'm not a baby!" yelled Harper.

"He didn't say baby," said Hannah, patting her daughter's shoulder.

"What? Oh." Harper grinned. "Thank you!"

"You can't be serious about this," I said, looking with pleading eyes at Hannah.

"Would you feel better if I stayed here?" she asked.

"Not in a million years," I gasped, without thinking first.

"I see," she said.

I hoped she did not see, because if she really could see what was going through my mind, she'd throw me out and never let me come back.

"Of course we can't force you to do this," said Hannah.

"But what am I going to do?" wailed Harper.

"I know a man at the bank," said Hannah. "He's asked me out once but I told him I wasn't ready to start dating again. He's the type of man I think would be ... eager ... to let you study his ... penis."

"That's not fair," I groaned.

"What's not fair?" asked Hannah, her voice full of false innocence.

"Sure, make it my fault that Chester the Molester gets a chance to flash Harper," I growled.

"Bob, we're just trying to be sensitive to your concerns," said Hannah.

"Can I speak with you privately for a minute?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Yes," said both women at the same time. It was as if they'd practiced it.

"You stay here!" I barked, stabbing my finger at Harper. I reached for Hannah's elbow and, none too gently, gripped it, pulling her into the hallway and closing the door.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, fiercely.

"Do you think Harper has promise as an artist?" asked Hannah.

"Of course she does," I snarled.

"You can't look at the painting," said Hannah. "But if you could, you'd see that she's done a magnificent job of creating a handsome, interesting man thus far. Except there's this big white blob where what makes him a man should be. And she's right, Bob. She needs to see the real thing or she's going to do something amateurish and ruin the whole effect."

"Hannah, you saw what happened when I looked at your painting. That happened because I think you're a fucking knockout, okay? And your daughter is a younger version of you, okay? If I take these shorts and this jock off, you're going to see just how much I ... appreciate ... you two." I emphasized 'appreciate', putting not a little sarcasm into it. "How do you think that's going to affect your innocent daughter? I like you two. I'd like to be able to stick around without things being all awkward from now on. There has to be some other way to work this out!"

"You're wearing a jock strap?" Hannah's lips turned up at the corners.

It was then that my mind played back my somewhat hastily spoken diatribe, and I heard "fucking knockout" and "take this jock off" and the amount of sarcasm I'd pumped into "appreciate" and realized that, once again, I'd run off at the mouth. All I'd have had to say was, "I want to help but I can't do this," and I'd have been fine. Instead, I'd dug a big, deep hole and flung myself inside.

"I can't remember the last time I saw a jock strap," giggled Hannah.

"Ha, ha," I said, heavily.

She reached to grip my naked shoulders.

"You really are a gentleman," she said, no longer smiling. "But I've known that for years, so I shouldn't be surprised." She let me go and stepped back. "Let me phrase things this way. The only other thing I can do is actually go find some man and ask him if he'll whip it out for my sixteen-year-old daughter. Of course I don't want to do that. I'm sorry I baited you like that, but I needed to get you to see how really stupid that would be. But asking you to do it isn't stupid. I trust you."

"You shouldn't," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have such gentlemanly thoughts of you all the time like you think I do," I said. "Either of you."

"Oh?" Her voice sounded more curious than offended.

"We don't need to go into that," I said. "Suffice it to say that I've thought about you like a man thinks about a woman he finds appealing. And I mean really appealing."

"You said both of us?"

"She's growing up. So sue me. She's just as beautiful and interesting as you are."

"Why haven't you told me this before, Bob?"

"Why? Well, gee, let me think. You married my best friend and, when he died, showed no interest in any other man. I got used to being around you and that you valued me for being helpful. And even though this fascination with you as females is only recent thing, I still haven't had time to figure out how to moderate it, so if I pose naked, things will happen that I don't intend to happen. I don't have much of a life except for you two, and getting thrown out for admitting I like you a little too much in ways you don't appreciate, doesn't hold a lot of appeal to me. Does that about cover it?"

"I see. Well, as fascinating as all that is, we can talk about it later. For now, I need you to decide what you're going to do about posing for Harper."

"You're kidding. Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"I heard every word, Bob and I'm just going to say this one more time. I cannot think of any man on Earth that I'd feel comfortable about being naked in front of Harper ... except you, Bob. And if you get aroused, then that will just be some extended sex education for my daughter, who is going to see an erection sooner or later. If she has to see one, then I guess I'm just glad it will be yours and not Fred's down at the bank."

I blinked. How the hell do you respond to something like that?

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