Please imagine Ivory as something halfway between Neve Campbell in "Investigating Sex" and Maria de Medeiros in "Henry and June". Thanks.


Posing for Ivory



And so, here he is, finally, at my door. The ring of the bell from the gate sets my heart racing. I was sitting on the sofa for the last half hour, sipping a glass of port and trying to read to pass the last waiting time, every minute stretching to hours, and an anxious feeling that all of this was too beautiful to really happen.

I am going to meet and draw him today, after all that time, looking at pics of him on the web, typing message after message, in our growingly flirtatious correspondence, and imagining, trying to imagine, how would it be to have him here, in my tiny, cosy house, between my own colours, in my own world.

I still can’t believe my luck that he made it, finding a bit of time for this, in that horribly busy life of his.

I stand in the doorway, while I wait for him to walk the fifty meters from the gate. I’d wish to run out through the rain and meet him outside, but I am suddenly so excited that I can hardly breath, my heart seems to have grown too large to beat in my chest. Standing is all I can do, and I clutch the door handle for support, with a sort of superstitious fear.
In a few seconds he will be here, with me, in a few seconds all the dream will cease and he will be real.

It’s evening, a wet rainy evening, and already dark, in this mid October night. I lit all the lamps of the house, many small warm lights scattered all over the place. They don’t lit much, but, like candles, they make pools of golden glow leading the eye from colour to colour, and picture to picture, and all the lovely bric a brac of my home. The house is perfect tonight, it had to be, for this night of magic.

This evening I wanted to be special, like my house. Anything else would spoil the perfection of this moment. I had an endless bath, dreaming. As I was laying there, in the hot raising water, my skin caressed by the hot spreading jet falling from the brass tap, I couldn’t help dreaming his body. With my eyes closed I leaned back for endless minutes against the sloping warm wall of the roll top tub, and imagined leaning against him. I imagined how it could feel to lean my back against his chest, my thighs against his thighs, his cock neatly fitting between my butts, its head teasing the entrance to my secret lips. My hand found it’s way to my kitty before I could even think of it. He would be holding me in his arms now, his hands around my breasts, my nipples stiff and eager between his thumbs and forefingers. And he would be kissing my neck, and softly biting in it. With my right hand over my pussy I gathered one of my breasts with my left hand and played with my nipple. I looked down at it for a moment, a caramel coloured areola on the creamy skin, untouched by the sun, topped by the tiny, round, rosy raspberry, growing higher and harder at my touch, the areola crumpling around it in excited expectation. I closed my eyes again then, kneading my pussy with my hand slowly and softly. I parted my lips to expose my clitoris, caressing it with my middle finger, back and forward, slowly, the hot current in the water lapping my mouth, neck, nipples, belly, and all around my clit, and the soft inside of my thighs, like a myriad of soft, warm, watery tongues treating me to the lightest licking. While I dreamed of him the water became thicker and harder, impossibly inviting. I detached the shower head, switched the water from the tap to the head, regulated the water to a concentrate jet, and started teasing my clit with it, archingmy body a bit to, bring it out of the water. One foot over the top of the tub, my legs spread wide, my eyes closed, I enjoyed the water licking my clitoris stiffly and expertly and I dreamed that it could be his tongue.
I don’t know how long I played there, but I stopped abruptly . I didn’t want to come. I wanted to keep that bright globe of burning desire totally intact, untouched, waiting for him.
I want it to flow liquid and thick in my drawings of him, in my eyes and hands tonight, like a magnificent, supernatural inspiration.

I shaved so carefully that my skin feels like a completely new thing, smooth, and sensitive to the smallest touch. Ready for a lover. Ready for him. Will we make love tonight? I don’t know, but I am as ready as I ever was. I wore my favourite panties, a thin, stringy, lacy thing the colour of my nipples, a mere hint of chocolate mixed in the soft peach hue of the skin. The lace is so transparent that every fold of flesh shows through, embroidered over by a flowery pattern. I almost never wear a bra, and I wear none tonight. My trousers, so wide that they are almost a split skirt, are low around the waist. I love to show a bit of my tattoo over the belt, but it’s also showing the string of my panties. While I stand in the doorframe, the cold damp night seeping through the light stretchy fabric of my tiny, tight, white top, my nipples stand out hard, two tiny spots collecting the scarce light of the hallway.
His steps are coming nearer and my heart is racing faster and faster. When he hesitates on the small alley, uncertain for a moment in the leafy darkness of the overgrown garden, it takes a moment to find my voice.
”Nisse...”
He lifts his head and sees me, and the strange spell breaks. Suddenly I can move again, and I rush the few steps left between us, while he drops his backpack on the wet alley. I cannot believe he is here, but I am holding him and laughing, stammering some nonsense in his neck and ear, his jacket icy against my scantily clad skin, his hands on my back, firm, warm and real. He smells of leather, and autumn rain, of travel, and aftershave. He smells of man. I pull back a bit to kiss his cheek, and I find I had been standing on tip toe to reach over his shoulders with my arms. He eases me down his body, and I find I am kissing his throat instead of his cheek, warm, soft and slightly bristly, that perfect texture, that only a man throat can have. I should be a bit embarrassed perhaps, but I am not. While he holds me tight again, I open my lips to feel his warmth and his taste in my mouth. When I turn my face up to find his cheek, a moment of confusion brings our noses together, and we smile. I kiss the corner of his mouth, holding my kiss a bit longer than a formal, friendly peck, and draw back from him. In the dim light from the low garden lamps I can hardly see his face, but I know he is smiling again. The rain falls cold on us.
His voice is husky and deep, and amused.
“Ivory, you are getting all wet.”
I have to laugh at this, and I smile my pixie smile at him.
“How did you guess?”
While he picks up his pack, I watch him moving, flowing from one stance to the other with graceful strength, and I know for sure that I will love to draw him. I take his free hand and lead him to the inviting glow coming through the doorframe.
“Welcome, Nisse.”


“So, Ivory, tell me about this pose.”, he says, inside, while I take his jacket.
I can’t help smiling. Hard worker. Hardly taking a moment to relax and sit down. I will have to teach him.
“Are you not tired, Nisse? Hungry?”
“Mm? Hungry? Hungry, yes, very.”
He gives me a wink and a half smile, and runs his eyes over my body, and I feel suddenly strangely shy. Here he is, suddenly real, and it turns out that all the desire we wrote about in our e-mailsand letters is just as real as his jacket hanging from the chair, and his scanty luggage by the door. I don’t know who he is, for a moment. The stranger I am meeting for the first time tonight or the man I have known in such intimate e-mail-detail the past several weeks?
I am shy and excited, and lost.
I know that I have to touch him or go mad, and yet I cannot.
“I could like a really hot coffee” he says” And a shower. And then I am all your.”
My, that is what I call going down to business. I would fuss like an old fretful lady, if I was left to myself, I know.
“Bathroom is the first door on the right, upstairs. I’ll make you that coffee.”

It’s hard to imagine that on the other side of the door he is undressing and yet keeping cool and calm. I can hear the little tingle of his belt hitting the basin, the swish of his jeans, and the water running. I can’t help thinking of my own bath earlier in the day, and for a moment time shifts around me, and the two become one. I feel I am there, with him, I am the water running on his skin, I am the fluid warm touch on his forhead and cheecks, I am the light kiss closing his eyes, I, I am brushing his lips, cascading down his chin and around his throat. I am the wet kiss that pastes the hairs of his chest to the skin, I am the drop that runs to the tip of his nipple, hangs for a minute second and falls. I am running down his belly, through the thick fur I have drawn so lovingly, and down, down, spiralling in hot rivulets down his shaft, sprinkling away from the ridge of the head, and cupping his balls in an endless, dripping caress. I am flowing the length of his legs and pooling at his feet, on the bottom of the tub, spent, gone, lost. I lean on the door and listen to his body moving on the other side.
I want him.

Coffe! Coffe, for Nisse, sure!

While I am in the kitchen, a bit panting, he emerges from the bathroom, clean, damp, freshly shaven, a bit flushed from the hot water, or perhaps a bit of my dreams made their way through the door to him. He wears the same jeans and a fresh t-shirt, and nothing at his feet. He is already too sexy for his own safety, but strangely, I am still shy, too much in awe of his presence to do anything else than staring wide-eyed at him. I am already drawing him in my mind.

“I don’t really have a particular pose in mind, actually. Well, I want you to lie down on the bed, make yourself completely comfortable. Some kind of resting warrior. I love the way you move. I love the way you rest. I want to draw you as yourself. Natural. Just lay down and chose you own most comfortable pose.”
He nods wisely and seriously over his coffee.
“Take off my trousers, take off my panties, lie down on the bed; yes ma’am.”
There’s a grin hidden in his voice.



So I take him to my bedroom/studio, a crimson cave, crammed with my shells and feathers, and my drawing desk and easels. I turn the lights to the bed, arranging them to brush the edges of his body, leaving large dark shadows, I bring my low stool, my sketching set, my albums.
And now he is taking off his t-shirt. No ceremony, he is undressing as naturally as taking off his jacket, and I am spell-bound; his chest, naked, living and breathing a couple of meters from me. I cannot believe how wide his shoulders are, and the strength of his arms. When his jeans crumple on the floor around his ankles, I reach for my stool and sit down like my knees were shot under me. And then his boxer are gone and I close my eyes a moment. He is so beautiful that he takes my breath away. I feel like I am carried in some other dimension of reality, like this is detached from the rest of my life, a bubble of perfection that is not going to repeat. I have to live it all this once, I can’t miss anything tonight.

As he lays down on the bed, his cock shifts almost imperceptibly a couple of times, left, right, left, catching my eyes for a moment. It finally settles on his left thigh, soft, and yet only half asleep, like a cat dozing with slit eyes. He has his right leg bent, his foot nearly touching his butts, and the other leg, also bent, but lifted from the mattress. His arms under his head, his back lifted on a mound of pillows. He leans back, eyes closed, and sighs.
Well, I did get him to rest, at least.


I sit with a 4b pencil in my hand, I cannot draw a single line.
I cannot bear to just look at him.
How can I explain that I need my hands to see? That I will have to touch anything to understand it’s reality, to get it’s texture and ‘give’ right? How can I explain, even to myself, my eagerness to brush my fingers and even my lips over the leaves of my plants, over the grain of the wood I am going to work, over the surface of a shell, a new fabric, the soft fur of a cat, the coat of a horse? This is not a picture printed on paper, it’s his living body, living of skin, and flesh, and breath. He is completely sure of himself, natural, open to me. The model I wanted, the model I needed. I look at his naked body, abandoned in my bed, and I understand that I have to learn him better before drawing him.

He doesn’t even open his eyes when I come to sit crossed legged on the bed, so near that my knee brushes lightly his side.
“Please, Nisse, don’t move, don’t do anything, please.”
As I put my hands on his cheeks he smiles the smallest smile. I run my palms over the planes and lines of his face lightly, discovering his cheekbones and his brows, brushing his eyebrows and ears, and then caress his neck, only with my palms. The sides of his neck, and then his throat and clavicles. I need my fingertips, now, to explore the small triangular space at the bottom of his throat, and walk softly down the middle of his chest. I see again my wolf sketches now, while I move to the sides of his chest, smoothing the hair down along that lovely diamond pattern, towards his nipples. At his nipples I hesitate, caught by a different need: need to go back to his face, now, to his closed eyes, and light smile. As I lay my lips on his eyelids he startles a bit. I kiss my way over his eyebrow, following the same paths as before with my lips. I brush my lips on his cheeks, already, nearly imperceptibly, rough. I need to learn the line of his jaw, the delicate form of his ears. When my lips come to his lips his mouth opens softly, reaching for mine.
“Don’t,” I whisper ”please, stay put, please. You are posing, remember? Don’t move, don’t move, Nisse, please. You are posing. You know the rules. Please”
As he falls back on the pillows, I meet his open eyes, green pools of desire. I kiss them closed again.
I run my lips down his throat and chest and come to his nipples again, tight and hard. I brush my closed lips on his right nipple, over and over, feeling it’s tip filling the thin valley between my lips; I am leaning over him, while my right hand caresses his lifted arm, the rough tip of the elbow, down over the soft, silky skin of the upper arm, into the thick hair of his armpit, combing through it, my wild wild wolf, and down, the width of his body across the chest, narrowing to the waist and hips. With my eyes closed, I learn his beauty in Braille alphabet. When I open my lips around his nipple, his breath catches for a moment. I suck lightly on it, feeling the special texture of its excited skin. He moans softly when I abandon it. Moving over his body, to lay to his side, I press my face on his chest, feeling it’s solid warm surface with my cheek. I am kissing his left nipple now, and with my left hand I caress the middle of his abdomen, and down the thick hairs on his belly. I lose my fingers among them, parting them, twirling them between my fingertips and searching the skin underneath, searching his navel... my arm runs in the smooth hard head of his cock and we both startle back from wherever our minds had fled. I smile.
“Nisse, didn’t I tell you to stay put?”
“Trying hard, Ivory, uhm, very - very - hard.”
I smile again, while my hand runs down his belly, and pubis, and down, to the narrow corner between his balls and the inside of his thighs. His skin is incredibly soft, here, growing rougher on the testicles themselves, that are becoming tight from his erection. I only brush on his balls very lightly with the tip of my forefinger, and then I get up.
“Ermmm.... are you not going to examine my cock in close detail? You do want to draw it, don’t?”
I smile a most mischievous smile, yet I am also serious.
“I do. I will. But that will be the last detail. Have to keep him ready to perform at its best later, Nisse.”


I am so thoroughly excited when I go back to my stool that I feel like I am drunk or drugged, if any drug or drink can provide such a tense and terse clarity of intent.
When I sit with my pencil again, lines flow out of it like quicksilver, finding the shapes of his body in the paper with an easy grace nearly unknown to me. This is so different from the laborious pencil scraping that I generally produce. I feel enlightened. The proportions and the texture of his body seem to belong in my soul now, and light and shadow seem to be engraved in my retina in absolutely clear perfection.
It takes perhaps half an hour to finish the fast but quite detailed sketch of his body. Only the finest touches are to be drawn now; and his cock, of course.

I watch him, laying so still that he could be asleep, his penis, soft again, laying on the inside of his thigh. If I were coherent with my idea of drawing him at rest I should draw it like it is now. But I never made any claim to coherence in my whole life.
“Very well, Nisse, I think I will need a briskier pose now.”
“Mmmm, nothing to do,” he grins ” we are asleep, sorry.”
“Uhm, I see. Well, I’ll have to do something about it, then. Hard life of an artist, really!”
I disentangle myself from my favourite crossed legged position, come to sit on the bed again, taking my album and pencils with me, and I lean over his belly, kissing and nuzzling into his hair and relaxed muscles until I find his navel. I kiss it all around, and then slowly push my tongue in. As I do so, my hand runs from his knee up to his thigh, and I start to knead the flesh all around his balls, left tigh, down to the base of the butts, one single finger brushing briefly over his anus, and up to the other thigh. I love the hollow spot beside the large nerve of the thigh. I press softly there, I don’t want to hurt him, but I fully enjoy it’s closeness and warmth. While I brush my cheek in delighted circles over his belly, with my eyes closed, something smooth and warm bumps on my face. As I open my eyes I find I am laying face to face with his very awake cock.
“Ah, that’s better” I observe.
“Ye-ees, it’s a bit different from posing at the art school.”
I bring my hand to cup his beautiful rough balls, feeling with my palm all the thick ridges in the skin, the taut, compact roundness of them.
“You have such a beautiful cock, Nisse” I whisper, quite to his amusement, and lay my lips on its head in a light kiss.
I caress the ridge and the veins criss crossing his shaft, and the seam running down his testicles, with my fingers, with my nose, and then with my lips and the very tip of my tongue, making my feeling of his body deeper and fuller, and sharper in my senses. His cock is so hard now that it seems to float over his belly. I open my mouth to take it’s head between my lips, the skin so thin and silky smooth, the groove down the middle opening warm and soft to the tip of my tongue. I circle with my tongue around and around the edge of the head, stopping at moments to suck deeper it’s lovely roundness, and I feel his breath change.
When I sit up again and pick up my pencil, and start to draw I hear his sigh, excitment and frustration mixed together on the very edge of patience. He is looking back at me now, half amused, half threatening. I am teasing him shamelessly, I know.
“Uhmm, Ivory, how long do you need this pose, exactly?”
“Oh, a while, I’d say. Don’t move, ok?”
He looks at me with a truly fierce expression, and I smile.
“Ok, I see, I will help some more.”
And I get up and out of my trousers. When I sit down beside him again he frees his left arm from under his head to touch my leg and I feel my head go light. I keep drawing while his beautiful, strong hand slips warm and firm up the inside of my thigh. I shift my legs and rearrange them to give him a clear way, and his hand comes to lay on my pussy. I feel his fingers through the thin, thin lace of my panties, teasing and kneading, and searching,
I was already excited, but his caresses, his middle finger searching my clitoris are making me positively frantic. I change to a kneeling position, and looking straight into his eyes I move the thin panties aside. Then, after a moment, I take off my top and let my breasts free. My nipples seem to scream for his lips. I want to draw some more, only some more, keep this miracle of excitement and creation balanced for a little more. While I hold my album and put the last touches in a softer pencil to the shadows of the drawing, two of his fingers have found my wet, ready slit and plunged into it, while his thumb rubs my clitoris in a rhythmic, expert, compelling way. He is taking his revenge on me, a sweet sweet revenge and I lose myself in that special mood of mine, visual art and sexual excitement mixing in a liquid ecstasy, until, on the very tip of my clit, the delicate balance crashes down in an explosion of racing sparks, running through my nerves like icy water, or raging fire, I cannot say. I pull back from him overwhelmed, fleeing his fingers and his eyes in a moment of total solitude.

My album and pencils scattered wildly on the floor, leaning back on my hands, my body still shaking, his hand still laying, wide open, hot, over my pussy, I find that he is watching me with a sort of savage concentration.
We are both free, now, free from posing, free from drawing, released from a spell, and I slide over his body to search his mouth, his arms, his hands. My hungry nipples seem to give sparks when they brush on his bristly chest. As our lips join in our first kiss, my mind swims in a sea of colours, burnt carmine, and crimson lake, bright lime greens, and liquid, sparkling silver.
I cannot have enough of his tongue inside my mouth, wet, rough, commanding, still tasting of coffee, and living flesh. I want his tongue on my nipples, now, suddenly it’s terribly urgent, and as I sit up, straddling him, rocking over him, I pull him up with me, guiding his mouth to my breasts. I moan as his lips close around my frantic nipples, a circling hot, teasing wetness, ridged with biting teeth, and I find I am brushing my pussy over his shaft, slick with my juice, hard like a rock. I don’ t ever want him to stop, but his breath is broken with desire, and suddenly I must give him what he wants, all that he wants, all that we want.
I rise a bit from his body, and while our mouths meet again, he guides the head of his cock to my slit, I part the lips with my fingers to welcome him in, and as our hands come free, his to hold my hips, mine to rest at the side of his shoulders, he leans back again and I lower myself on his body, taking his length inside me, once, twice, three times, every time a bit deeper. There is no describing the fulfilment, the ‘rightness’ and completeness, the sheer perfection of this simple basic sensation. We fit together like pieces of a puzzle, my pussy tight around his cock, his cock hitting deeper and deeper inside me. I moan, unable to stop myself, and I lean forward to bring my breasts to his mouth again. His lips touch my left nipple once, twice, then he falls back, his hands grabbing my hips stronger and harder, impressing his own rhythm on my movements, his cock growing even harder and larger inside me, while I try to take him as far deep in myself as possible. I shift a bit sideways trying to have his head hitting every sensitive spot in me, right and left, and then centre again, searching and searching, searching the very centre of myself, the keyhole of my being, his cock feeling like the hook that holds me steady in a sudden lapse of gravity. I ride him faster and faster, eagerly clenching my muscles as his shaft brushes in and out of me and when I think I will die of it, I ear his breath breaking in ragged gasps, his fingers digging deep in my flesh, his body rising under me, thrusting wildly inside me. When he throws his head back a sound nearly of pain comes from his throat.

Afterwards, when our panting subsides a bit I lay down over his body, my head fitting perfectly between his shoulder and neck, my face buried in his throat. I feel him shrinking slowly inside me, and when I try to hold him in, as it often happens, he finally slides out in a gush of slick fluid. I want him back, but the bliss of just lying over his hard strong body in complete relaxation is too much right now. I smile and I kiss his neck without moving my head and then I ear faintly, unmistakably, the rushing, rising, dark waters of deep, sudden sleep claiming me.

Later in the evening I wake up as he gently dislodges me from his chest, pulling me to lay on the mattress at his side. I snuggle myself as close as possible to him, his right arm around my shoulders, my right arm and leg thrown over his chest and thighs.
“I thought that only guys fell asleep like that after lovemaking...” he whispers
“Umpfh..... girls too.... some... this one for sure.... scientifically proved.... cuddling hormones...”
He smiles and caresses my head. I feel totally at peace.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Snowflake,

That's just not fair - reading that and having no time or place to get relief! I love the way the story teases the reader...and your vivid descriptions - especially those in the 'copulation' paragraph - are beautiful. Nice work! I tried to imagine myself as Nisse, but I'm simply not that hairy.

Lovely story, Snowflake! Very sexy, the way you tease the reader

Thanks! this was originally written in a me-and-you form, and I keep spotting yous that I did not correct to hims, sorry people!

HJ, I have to admit, after I drew Kayak I did develop a certain taste for furs but who knows what sort of guy Ivory will meet next!

Yes, I think your next story should incorporate a not-so-hairy, well-trimmed and willing model. And a handjob.

wow.....after reading that i think i need to go unload!

quote:

Originally posted by Snowflake:

HJ, I have to admit, after I drew Kayak I did develop a certain taste for furs

So Snowflake, what's happening with Kayak? He hasn't posted lately.

Busy but alive I think!
Thanks for asking I am sure he´ll appreciate!

quote:

The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact

- never was a truer word said...

such a beautiful story...only a true artist could write like that... Well done snowflake!

It´s from Shakespeare´s Midsummer Night Dream.

Thanks! (Blush)

Simply beautiful Snowflake

Thanks...

It is very lovely to get a positive response on a story, I am very shy about my english writings and I am always on edge when posting anything more than normal conversational posts.

I have actually several half written half imagined Ivory stories... may be I will manage to get my ideas together for another episode

quote:

(never mind the erection maim, license, registration and insurance cards please)

lol. "Excuse me officer, you are making me nervous, could you PLEASE lower that pistol?!"