my first submission (tits,cum,lesbian,xxx)

my first submission

The sunlight glinted off the bright chrome of the whirring espresso
machine, blinding me for a moment. I jerked my head away, and caught sight
of a familiar face, my student Karen, in the corner of the cafe. I watched
her as the barista rang up my order; her nose was buried in a paperback,
one foot pulled up underneath her, her teacup perfectly balanced on her
knee. She sat still as a statue, just as she did when she was sketching,
and I wondered if she had moved since she'd arrived.
The cafe was a small one, frequented by the lecturers and ignored
by the students who preferred the cheap bars and street food stalls further
up Avenue Royale. The clientele, sedate professors of art and sculpture,
had left the cafe an unhurried space, where one could sit for hours without
being disturbed; on particularly slow afternoons, even the barista was
often found perched on a stool behind the counter with a book in hand. I
rushed to pay, dropping the change in the small Mason jar collecting tips,
and moved through the mismatched chair and ottomans that lay strewn around
a dozen scrubbed coffee tables.
"I found a friendly face," I announced softly.
Karen looked up, a smile spreading across her face. She set down
her paperback, so faded and dog-eared that I couldn't even see the title,
and leaned forward to pull her battered old satchel off the armchair
opposite. Setting my soft wicker bag down at my feet, I settled into the
armchair, watching her tuck her dark bobbed hair behind her ears like she
did in the studio when she was concentrating.
"I didn't think you were in the office this week," she said,
pulling her leg under her again.
I began to explain that I'd just finished the last of my work for
the summer as the barista set my tea down in front of me. Thanking him, I
turned my attention back to Karen. "I'd planned to be finished last week,
but I'm taking over from Gideon as course director in September, so I
wanted to get a few things organised before everyone winds down too much,"
I replied. "Besides, I've lucked out with no conferences until September,
so I'm in no rush to go anywhere."
Karen watched me lean forward to pour my tea from a worn chintzy
teapot and slip a single slice of lemon in with it. Her eyes, always so
attentive in class, were two large chestnuts behind horn rimmed glasses,
her delicate pink lips hidden as she sipped from her own teacup. She'd been
my most promising student for nearly a year now, at once the most talented
and the most improved in her class.
"What has you around so late?" I asked, setting the teapot down and
meeting her gaze. Such a pretty girl, I thought. She sat almost engulfed by
the armchair, dressed in a polo neck and a pleated skirt. Her patent Mary
Janes reminded me of being back at school. Her caramel coloured sweater
hugged her figure, revealing curves she normally hid under an oversized
blue jean jacket adorned with enamel pins. Only after a moment of eyeing
her full breasts did I realise I hadn't been listening to a word she said.
"I'm sorry?" I asked, slightly embarrassed that my attention had
been elsewhere. Karen, ever polite, repeated herself softly.
"I wanted to collect a few charcoal sketches I did for Alice last
semester. For my portfolio." I didn't say anything, sensing there was more
she wanted to add. "And being in my flat is driving me mad," she finished
with a sheepish look.
"Oh?" I asked, encouraging her with a smile.
"You know my friend Elizabeth? She came to the degree showcase last
My face must have indicated otherwise, prompting Karen to remind me
that Elizabeth had been taking photographs of the exhibition. I vaguely
recalled then a doe eyed young woman following Karen around the showcase
with a camera. My memory of her work was firmer; she had talent, I
remember, and a knack for capturing her subjects well. From their
familiarity with each other, I wondered how long she and Karen had been
"Anyway, I live with Elizabeth on Fountainville, in one of those
old Victorian townhouses. Although this month, she's in Tokyo as a band's
touring photographer, so I'm all by my lonesome," Karen finished, trying
not very hard to suppress a wistful tone. My heart went out to the young
"I know the feeling," I replied, trying to avoid a condescending
tone. "When I was at college, I had a whole summer by myself one year. My
flatmate was off in Berlin with her boyfriend," I said, remembering
Camille, a leggy blonde, the first nude I ever painted. "I bounced off the
walls without someone around." My mind flitted back to that summer. With
my own Elizabeth missing for two months, my days mainly consisted of waking
nude as the morning sun streamed in through my window, padding downstairs
to make coffee in a little Bialetti espresso maker I'd brought back from
Rome, and reading or sketching the flowers that grew in the garden, only
dressing when I had a visitor. In truth, my summer routine was little
changed twenty years later.
"Yeah, it's driving me crazy," Karen giggled, sipping her
tea. "There's only so many times I can ask people to get coffee during the
day. Still, I'm getting plenty of reading done," she said, forcing a
smile. I felt a pang of sadness then, wondering how many afternoons she'd
spent alone.
I watched her drain her teacup and set it down. She moved
gracefully, and resumed her pose leaning back into the chair. She'd be
heaven to paint, I thought, already sketching out in my mind the curves of
her jaw, her shoulders, her breasts.
"Do you have plans for the summer?" Karen asked, interrupting me
from my daydream.
"Truthfully, no. I'm just going up to the country house, I'll take
a few books and my painting supplies and hide away for a few weeks, I
think." Karen looked at me quizzically, and I forgot for a moment that I
wasn't chatting to a colleague.
"I have a house up in the country, just outside Marisburg," I
explained. "It was my dad's really, but he passed away. It's a lovely old
place, buried in the trees with a big old greenhouse and a creek
nearby. And peach trees," I explained with a smile. "I loved peaches as a
child, so dad planted the trees. They should be in full blossom now. I
think a lazy summer is on the cards."
I paused, watching her rest her chin in her hand as she listened to
me, a half-smile creeping across her face. "And from the looks of it,
you've taken on a lovely shade of emerald hearing me talk about it," I
That made her blush, her cheeks flushing rose. "Just a little bit,"
Karen admitted, smiling. "It sounds heavenly, I'm very jealous." She looked
down, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.
"Come with me, Karen."
The words hung between us. She looked up, as it seeking
confirmation that I had really offered. I watched her, watched her chew her
lip for a moment.
"Really?" she asked softly.
"Yes." I said, emphasising it as kindly as possible. "I don't want
you to spend the whole summer like this."
I picked up the wicker bag I carried everywhere, and fished through
it for my journal. Karen watched as I flipped it open, scrawled out my
phone number and the train details she would need to get to Marisburg and
tore the page out. She took it from me, folded it carefully and put it into
the breast pocket of her jean jacket.
"I'm taking the train up tonight," I explained, fidgeting with the
worn leather straps of my bag. "But you can come up from as early as
tomorrow if you'd like. And you can stay as long as you want. It's about a
two hour train ride, just ring me when you get off the train and I'll know
to come and get you." Karen smiled graciously, gathering up her satchel
and jean jacket and we headed for the door together. We said our goodbyes
on the street outside the cafe, giggling nervously as two cyclists zoomed
by. I watched as Karen walked down towards Avenue Royale, with a spring in
her step that I hoped I was responsible for. I gathered myself, turning the
opposite direction for the walk home. It didn't take me long to pack since
I lived in the Marisburg house for most of every summer anyway, and kept
enough clothes there. I threw some toiletries and a packet of tampons into
the wicker bag I'd carried today, and picked out a few paperbacks from the
bookshelves that lined my hallway. The train arrived promptly, and I lost
myself in a well-worn Forster novel for most of the journey up to
Marisburg. I was alone in the carriage by the time it pulled up to the
platform, and I stepped off, making a beeline for the general store. Bea,
the elderly cashier, was as pleased to see me as ever, and went into the
back to get me the freshest stock she could. I paid for the fruits and
vegetables ladening down my bag and left the store, following the dirt road
that ran south from the station.
The house my father built wasn't so far out of the town as to be
considered remote. It was a squat and yellow, with terracotta tiles on the
roof and dark green shutters on every window. I settled in, digging out
fresh bedsheets and towels for myself, and setting aside a spare set for
Karen's arrival. I was eager to wake up early and prepare the house for
Karen, so I retired to bed with a glass of red wine.
I stripped off the loose red maxi dress I'd worn all day, tossing
it on a chair across the room, and took my bra off too. My breasts, just a
touch bigger than a handful, spilled out and I stretched in the dusk
light. I lay on the bed in my underwear, sipping the Rioja I'd poured and
finishing a chapter of the Forster paperback. My mind ran to Karen, and I
wondered when she would join me. I tried to ignore the little butterflies
forming in my tummy. After a while, the soft pillows and lavender-scented
sheets called to me, and before long sleep washed over me.

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