Don’t be turned off by the first paragraph. The old people in the story have nothing to do with the sex; they are just part of the plot.

Mom was getting on her years. She sold her house and moved into a nursing home. As she owned the house free and clear she had money to spare. She gifted me ten thousand dollars; the maximum amount allowed by the IRS before a gift of money has to be taxed. I put the money in a savings account with my wife Jean. We were saving for a down payment to buy a house. Mom’s gift brought our down payment savings to $10,500.

I loved Jean’s free spirit, but to Jean a credit limit unspent, was so much wasted money. She just couldn’t understand that MasterCard and Visa aren’t interested in your “free spirit”. They just want to gouge as much money as possible out of you.

After one of Jean’s “free spirit” weekends with some girlfriends she announced she was divorcing me. As the savings account was community property, she got half of the money mom gave me.

My lawyer in the divorce took another three grand. I had to find a new place to leave, that mean two thousand for furniture and a new TV.

Now I had nothing left from mom’s generous gift. To say I was bitter would be an understatement.

Since the divorce, my Friday night routine consisted of picking up a sandwich, going home, having a beer, and watching the ballgame on TV.

On one particular Friday I wasn’t really hungry, so I put the sandwich in the fridge, and settled down on the couch with just a beer. I was ready for the Dodgers to win for a change, but the game was rained out! Since when do the Dodgers get rained out?

I looked around my apartment. Except a painting I got from mom when she moved out of the house the walls were bare. I needed to get something for myself. There is a small art district in my town. I decided to drive over there. Maybe I’ll buy a seascape. I like seascapes.

I wandered into one gallery, then another. Finally, I saw a large painting of a desert scene. I was looking for a seascape, but hey, a desert scene will do. However, I know nothing about color matching. I like the color of my couch. I like the colors in painting, but, as a guy, I have no idea if the colors of my couch and the colors of my desired painting as they say “work together.”

Thinking about nothing else but my total lack of “decorating” skills” I asked the pretty sales clerk, “do you think this would work well over my couch?”

She replied, “Well you could at least first take a girl to dinner, before you invite her over.”

I apologized for my apparent rudeness. I explained I was merely interested in her expertise with color. As I offered an explanation, I am struck by her beauty. She indeed belonged in an art gallery. Her blonde hair was fine. Her breasts were womanly, but not exceptionally large. Her eyes were blue. Her face that of a princess. Yes, as a princess, an animated version of her would make Disney proud.

With her beauty and her hint of a date, my faith in the female half of humanity was dimly restored and I asked her to dinner. She agreed, but had to close up the shop first. She suggested I take my purchase to the car and then return. I did just that.

I returned to the gallery. My princess excused herself and went into a backroom, a studio, I assumed. After a few minutes, she reemerged with another woman. If the clerk is a princess, then the friend is a Playboy model. Friend had big, really big tits, long thin legs, and blonde hair. Introductions were made. Playboy model is Heather. Sales clerk is Jennifer.

Jennifer said, “I hope you don’t mind if Heather joins us.”

Part of me screamed to myself, “what a chump I am! All these girls want is a free dinner.” Another part of me screamed, “What tits! Two blondes!” I think with my dick and not with my wallet, and said, “sure.”

Heather and Jennifer were interesting company --- certainly better than watching the Dodgers lose again. They were both graduate students, Heather in art history, and Jennifer in art. They spoke mostly about art. Now, I don’t know a Monet from a Renoir, but just being with these two women lifted my spirits. Still having not been around women, at least socially, for awhile, I used a lot brain power telling myself “don’t start at the tits, don’t stare at the tits.”

After dinner, we made our way back to the gallery. To my surprise, they opened the gallery back up, but Jennifer did not turn on the lights. Instead, we made our way to the studio and the lights up were turned up there. There was a large dais in the middle of the room for models to stand/recline upon and many racks of unframed paintings. Many of the paintings are of Heather nude. A few less skilled paintings are of Jennifer clothed in sundresses and the like. Heather explained that nudes are harder to paint.

Out of the blue, Jennifer asks if I have ever posed nude. I say that I hadn’t but added that no one has ever asked me to pose, naked or clothed.

Jennifer asked if I would be embarrassed to pose nude. Lying through my teeth, I replied with my most artistic sounding voice, “the human form is nature at its best. I would pose nude if the opportunity presented itself.”

I never would have ever expected her next words, “the gallery is closed on Mondays, so I’m free then. Can you be here at noon?” I agreed half-suspecting it was some sort of gag. She kissed me on the cheek. It was clear it is time for me to make my goodbye for the evening.

Monday morning I called in sick to work and paced around my apartment. At eleven, I took a cold shower. Once out of the shower, I couldn’t figure out what to wear. Did it matter? I dressed in office clothes out of Monday morning habit.

I got to the gallery just after twelve. Jennifer was dressed in a simple shirt and pants and a painter’s smock. It was not a gag. Jennifer was quite serious about her work. I even had to sign a model’s release.

She asked me what the most artistic thing about me is. Me? I’m an accountant! Any ethical accountant prides himself on not being “creative." About the only “artistic” about me was that I liked classical music.

I told Jennifer that, when I was a young boy, I went on a school field trip to the Hollywood Bowl and really enjoyed it.

The other boys had teased me, but I told them I didn’t care what they thought. I had wanted to grow up to be a conductor of a symphony orchestra.

Jennifer said then that was what she would paint. Me, nude, with baton in hand as if I were conducting an orchestra. Without bothering getting me a robe first, she had me undress and led me up onto the model’s dais. On the dais there were a couple of faux columns. It had a vaguely Greek look. Using a paintbrush for a baton, I struck a pose.

Quietly, Jennifer went to work. I stand feeling silly, then horny, then silly again, then quite horny. After much too long, she said that she was finished. But instead of immediately admiring her work, I told her that she has been looking at the backside too long and she should look at the front.

Jennifer put down her artists’ smock and walked over to face me. Being up on the dais, my half-erect dick is just at her mouth level. She took me in her mouth and soon I am half-erect no more. Being on a dais with columns, I am a Greek god, being serviced by a mortal princess. I closed my eyes to completely savor the moment.

After awhile I felt another pair of lips. Heather had joined us. Now with two tongues lapping at my cock the Greek God became a porn star. From time to time, the ladies ignored me and just kissed each other. My dick ached. It was time for real action and I stepped down.

I just had to lick those Heather’s tits. They are obviously fake, but hey, guys don’t care. I took off Heather’s shirt. She didn’t have a bra on. Her gorgeous man-made boobs were jutting out straight. Jennifer started licking a nipple before I did. We didn’t stay in the studio long, but made our way to the nearby bedroom area.

Jennifer took off her own shirt and laid Heather on the king bed. Jennifer and I laid on each side. We each took one of Heather’s huge breasts in our hands and licked away at her nipples. After awhile, Jennifer put her hands down Heather’s pants.

I made it easier for her and took off the rest of Heather’s clothes. Jennifer and I continued to administer attentions on Heather. Jennifer replaced her hand with her mouth. I got on my knees to offer Heather my dick, but she turned away. She obviously isn’t into guys. Still she had no objection when I returned to massaging her breasts and licking her nipples.

Jennifer took a break from her muff diving and undressed herself. Now there are three naked bodies in bed. She returned her attention to Heather’s pussy. It was just Heather and Jennifer now, my play with her nipples and breasts had become a distraction. I was rock hard watching these two females get it on. Heather groans a long orgasm. Damn, just hearing her cum wants me get my own rocks off.

Just I’m resigned to be being the third wheel, Jennifer rolled onto her back, and exhorted, “your turn.” I began to engage in some muff diving of my own. While most of my attention was on Jennifer’s pussy (and my aching cock) I was vaguely that of Heather got up and walked away. I guessed she figured three was now a crowd.

As horny as I am, I was not concerned with my satisfaction. I just wanted Jennifer to continue enjoying my tongue and fingers. I returned to Jennifer’s clit with greater intensity. My tongue was doing 100 rpms on her clit and her climax was building. However, just when I thought her hips would be bucking my face, I felt a sensation at my ass. Heather’s lubed finger was exploring my backside. Now I’ve had a few ladies tease me back there, but only when we were both drunk. Never cold sober (and in the middle of the day yet). Still I did not protest, not even when she used two fingers.

As Heather’s fingers were tending to my backside, my tongue and fingers continued their attention on Jennifer’s clit and the insides of her pussy. After a few moments, she bucked wildly on my face.

Now it my turn for satisfaction. I plunged my rock hard cock into Jennifer’s twat. She was not tight like a virgin, but she not loose either. I’m ready to enjoy some fucking, when I felt something hard, very hard and large at my ass. Heather obviously owns a strapon. I reacted by pulling my all the way out of Jennifer.

Hearing no objection, Heather pushed on -- or more correctly -- pushed in. The sensation was intense, not painful, but not exactly pleasant either. Just intense and unlike anything I had ever experience. After while, Heather got a rhythm going as I am pummeled and pummeled. All the while, my dick is posed at Jennifer’s entrance. Heather stops momentarily and I take that as my clue to start fucking Jennifer.

As I went in out of Jennifer, the strapon went in and out of me. Back and forth I rocked. My brain was having difficulty processing the sensations. I always wanted to try a threesome, but never quite like this. The strapon felt huge inside me, but in turn I felt extraordinarily large inside Jennifer.

Heather then pulled out all the way. I screamed to myself, “don’t go.”

Is this what women feel when then guy pulls out? A sudden vacuum inside your body that you ache to be filled again?

But there was no time to process that thought. I had to my rock offs now. I filled the void in Jennifer’s pussy and came hard – very, very hard – myself. I rollover exhausted and sore.

We laid on the bed, in silence, for several moments. Heather then excused herself to get a shower.

Jennifer said that Heather usually doesn’t fuck guys and I should feel honored. Honored? I felt skewered. I am aware of parts of my body I didn’t know I had. I am not in pain, but I don’t feel right either. It is like my body suddenly acquired something a new body part and then poof it was gone.

Do I want my backside taken again? I’m not sure. In the heat of the moment it was great, but the strangeness I feel inside me is so intense, it is frightening. Is this what it feels like when a woman loses her virginity? Craving more, yet frightening, at the same time?

Hours passed. After a good nap, we got up and got dressed. I could use a shower, at my own place, myself. Before I left, Jennifer showed me her work. It was really quite good. She titled it, “Bare Music.”

I considered buying it, but may that would be like paying for sex. Also, what would I do with a naked picture of myself?

I kissed her lightly on the lips and offered to take her out to dinner next Friday. She accepted.

End of part 1.