Model Student 2: Rhapsody Suite

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First paperback edition

ISBN 978-0-9856606-6-6

One

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!”

It might have been an appropriate sentiment if I’d been balls deep in Lissa or Melody. Unfortunately, I was walking into my Art History midterm on Monday morning.

Melody and Lissa had carted me out of the Admin building at ten last night and fed me. Then, the two of them took me to my dorm room, stripped me, put me in bed, and kissed me goodnight. I was already so exhausted I couldn’t stay awake till they left the room. I barely made it to my exam on time in the morning and when I looked at the basket full of papers at the door I realized I hadn’t finished writing the Art History paper that was due today. I couldn’t afford a fail on a paper in this class. Even though I loved the subject, I couldn’t stay awake in the classes, so I wasn’t doing that well on the tests. The papers were the only thing keeping me afloat. I couldn’t cut Concepts because it was the last class before the midterm on Wednesday. Damn it!

I pulled out my Daytimer and looked at my schedule. After Concepts I had court time for two hours and I couldn’t skip that because my coach was also my lover. She definitely wouldn’t approve. If I got out of the Club by half past six, I could grab a sandwich at the cafeteria just before it closed and start working on my paper by seven. There was nothing in my schedule that said I was meeting with Melody, so I would have four hours to write the paper. Damn! Do I have to have ‘meeting my lover for dinner’ on my calendar? This paper had to be in the office by midnight. Brian, our TA, was a born enforcer and I’d heard stories about guys getting to the office at a minute past midnight and being told their papers wouldn’t be accepted. When the midterm exams were handed out, I managed to block out everything else and answered the four essay questions in record time. I didn’t think I’d done badly, and I picked up an hour that I could go to the library and work on the stupid paper.

I was typing like mad to get the research done that I had barely touched in the past two weeks. It wasn’t like I didn’t know this was due. We got a schedule of assignments at the first of the term and a paper was due every three weeks. The subjects were even spelled out along with the requirements for the paper. I could have done this anytime I wanted to forgo a few hours of hot sex with my girlfriends. Shit!

I didn’t eat lunch and headed straight to Concepts class. After an hour of lecturing on the properties of three-dimensional art—a lecture that we’d already heard last week, but Ms. Brock insisted on reviewing for the upcoming exam—we were each given a lump of clay.

“Okay, people. This is the project portion of your midterm. The written portion is on Wednesday. You should think of this as a portfolio piece. Here is your model.” Ms. Brock uncovered an object comprising a bunch of triangles and diamonds on a pedestal in front of us. “It’s a very subjective test, but most of art is. Don’t try to duplicate the model. You don’t have the right materials for that. Try to capture the feel of the piece. Show me what the sculptor wanted to communicate with the shape and balance.”

I sat at my workbench staring at the lump in front of me. It was supposed to be a geometrically perfect study in balance and contrast. My lump seemed dedicated to remaining a lump while my head continued to process the information I’d been researching for Art History. I didn’t even have a decent view of the model.

Everyone else seemed to be busy mashing, folding, and shaping their lumps. I finally got up and walked to the front of the room. Ms. Brock watched me closely, but didn’t say anything, as I approached the model and looked at it. I’m not really into modern and abstract forms, but this was an elegant piece. I wondered who the sculptor was. Balance and contrast was a good reference point for looking at it. The diamonds and triangles weren’t all interconnected once you looked at all the sides of the sculpture. The connectedness was a two-dimensional illusion. And the illusion changed as you walked around it. Some pieces looked like they were floating, even though when you walked around the piece you would find a different shape connecting them back together. It wasn’t just the interlinking of individual shapes that got to me, though. When you stood back and looked at the overall balance of the piece, different shapes emerged. It was cool to just look from different angles and see different triangles and diamonds evolve. I must have spent twenty minutes just wandering around the piece and looking at it from all directions.

I went back to my desk and stared at my lump, trying to see in it anything that approached the balance and contrast that the piece in the front had. I dug my hands into the moist clay and started squishing it together. As soon as my fingers touched the clay, I was in a different world. I’m not much on sculpture in general, but I love the sensual feel of pushing and molding clay. It felt so cool to have my hands in the medium. There’s something ‘elementary school’ about it. I wasn’t really paying attention to the model anymore. I was content just to push the clay around with my fingers. I’m not sure I even had my eyes open. The next thing I knew the class was over and Ms. Brock was standing beside me looking at my not-so-lumpish-looking lump of clay. I kind of liked it.

“Not bad,” Ms. Brock said.

“Thank you.”

“I know you were concentrating, but did you notice how many students went up and really looked at the model?”

“No. Didn’t everyone?”

“Not one. Except you. Why did you get up and come to the pedestal?”

“I couldn’t really get a good feel for it from where I was. I mean, it’s three-dimensional. Sitting here I could only see one side. I’m sorry I disrupted the class. I didn’t mean to.” She must have been pissed at me for getting in front of other kids as they worked. I guess it was selfish of me or something. God, I hate this fucking school. Why can’t I do anything right?

“There’s no need to apologize. I’d like you to take Intro to 3-D art in the fall. Do you think you could fit it into your schedule?”

“I don’t know. I’m doing a double degree between here and SCU. I just don’t know how the schedules are going to work out. I really want the 2D Studio Art class that Dr. Henredon is teaching.”

“I know painting is your first love, but I think that more exposure to sculpture could help your painting as well. This is really a fine bit of work you did.” I looked at the lump of clay again. It was nothing at all like the model. It wasn’t open and airy. It was just a couple of triangles linked together to form a sort of… bird.

“I asked you to capture the balance and contrast of the piece. Look around the classroom. Every single one tried to copy the model, seeing only one side of it. You walked around the model and created a piece that captures balance and contrast. It’s good work, Tony. Not gallery work, mind you, but it shows a lot of potential in working in multidimensional media. Consider the course as you put together your schedule. I’d like to see you there. This will make a good addition to your end of year portfolio.”

“Thank you,” I said as I gathered up all my bags. I glanced at the clock in the room and realized I had to hustle if I wanted to make my court time—and I did.

“Good luck in your tournament,” she said as she walked away.

I sent a text to Melody as I was walking to the gym. It just said, “Got a paper due by midnight. Can’t meet for dinner tonight. Love u.” My phone vibrated just as I got to the gym. The return message said. “:-( Miss you. <3” I got into my shorts and T and headed for the court. Lissa was already there warming up. I stepped through the door and the moment it closed a ball whizzed past my ear.

“You’re late!”

“Only a minute. I got stopped by my prof after class.”

“More praise for your work? I don’t have time for it. Play!” With that she sent another hard low ball toward me and I scooped it up and into the front wall. What was wrong with Lissa? She seemed angry. Geez. I wasn’t more than a minute late and she’s clobbering me with kill shots. I wasn’t even warmed up yet. I missed the next shot.

“Stay low! You can always come up if needed. It’s easier than scooping down if you are too high. Now watch for it.” She started another rally and we kept going over and over. When you are in a club tournament, there usually isn’t a rally that goes more than four or five hits. One guy or the other flubs a shot or can’t pick up the return. The higher up in real competition you go, the more evenly matched the players are, and the less likely they are to make a mistake. Lissa was playing at the level she was when she won her championship. All I could do was try to keep up. We hadn’t been playing for more than five minutes when everything else just faded away and all I could see was where the ball was about to be.

“Water!” she shouted. We were both doubled over and panting. I don’t think either of us had any idea how long we’d been at it until we walked through the door to get our water bottles and take a drink. I glanced at the clock. We’d been going for almost 90 minutes. Lissa rinsed her mouth out and spit in the water cooler. “That part was for you. I need work on my backhand. Get in and serve to me.”

This wasn’t going to be anywhere near the free-for-all we just had. I was going to serve every kind of serve I could make into her backhand. But she was ready for them all. She nailed every serve. I was getting pissed off, but I was also seeing something else. I got low and served a hard spike right up the middle of the court. She automatically spun and tried to pick it off the back wall but she was a fraction too late and didn’t get a square hit on the ball. It fell to the floor just short of the front wall.

“I said backhand! I need work on my backhand.” Now I was really pissed. I sent another one sailing by her on the right and she didn’t come close to picking this one up. “Can’t you place a serve now?”

“I put it right where I intended to.” I shouted back at her. “What kind of work on your backhand are you going to get when you’re sitting there waiting for it? You’re cocked three-quarters to the left. Of course you can return everything I serve there. You’re ready for it. Square yourself up for a real serve and I’ll decide when it’s going to be a backhand and when it isn’t. You focus on returning the ball.”

I don’t know where that came from. For a minute she looked like she was going to tell me off, then she squared herself up and waited for the next serve. I served two to her forehand and then she missed one to her backhand. I came back with the same serve and she nailed it. She was cheating left and I put another one so far to the right that I had to flatten myself against the side wall to keep from getting hit by my own serve. She almost didn’t reach it in time and scowled at me. She moved further to the right and I skimmed one along the left wall. She pulled her backhand and took it off the back wall with so much force it almost knocked me over. All right. If that’s the way she wants to play, we’ll play tough. We didn’t say another word to each other for the rest of the lesson. I just kept peppering her with serves moving back and forth across the court. There were about twice as many backhands as forehands, but she was too proud to let me slip one past her because she was in a bad position. We were drenched in sweat when we heard the next guys with a court reservation pounding on the door to let us know our time on the court was up.

Lissa brushed past me on the way out the door and grabbed her bottle and towel. Then turned and headed for the locker room without a word to me. I ran to catch up with her.

“Lissa! What’s wrong?” She pulled to a stop and spun to face me.

“What’s wrong? I signed a model release for a figure painting class. I didn’t know my tits would be displayed two feet wide in the busiest corridor of the campus. Shit! What do you think is wrong? It’s like having your naked picture on the Internet.”

“I thought you liked the picture.”

“I did. It’s beautiful. It’s just… I can’t… I always…”

I wrapped her in my arms and she heaved a sob into my sopping wet t-shirt. She pulled back with a look of disgust.

“Go shower. I don’t want to talk about it.” She walked into the ladies’ locker room and I couldn’t do anything else. After my shower I hung around the lobby for half an hour but she had either already gone home or she was waiting till I left before she came out. I couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t get any food now anyway. The cafeteria was closed. I headed back to the library and started in on my Art History paper again.

I was standing in front of Dr. Bychkova’s office at 11:45 p.m. with six pages of analysis of the conflict between Picasso and Dali. I knocked and pushed the door open to see Brian sitting there with his hand out. I placed my paper in it.

“Just in time.” He looked up. “Tony?”

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t get this in earlier. I was pretty busy this weekend.”

“So I saw. Henredon is hauling everyone he can collar down to that hall. Nice work. Why didn’t you just take a pass on this one?” I just stood and looked at him. What the hell was he talking about?

“What do you mean?”

“Dr. Bychkova assigned six papers and the grading will be based on the best five of the six. He does it so students can skip one if they need to. You’ve done fine on the last three and there’s only two left. Why bother with this one?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! Of all the stupid, asinine, fucked up rules to have. I’d just spent an entire evening working on a paper I could have skipped. It wasn’t that great a paper and would probably be the lowest score of the six anyway. I hate this fucking school. I hate my life. I hate myself. I walked away from the office swearing at myself. I’d skipped dinner with Melody. Lissa was pissed off at me because of the painting. I was exhausted and I didn’t know what to do. And my back hurt. I’d spent thirteen hours yesterday painting on a vertical surface in front of me. There is no way to get comfortable when you’re working in that position. Lissa worked my ass off on the court and I cut my spa time so I’d catch her before she left. That was unsuccessful and for all I knew she’d never speak to me again.

When I got to my room I was so tired I didn’t even bother to turn on the light when I entered my room. I just stripped, walked across the room and fell onto my bed. There was a loud squeak as I landed on something considerably different than my mattress.

“Ow.”

“What the…?”

I jumped up and snapped the light on. Melody was lying in my bed and it looked like she was very naked.

“Brush your teeth and come to bed.”

“What are you doing here? How did you get into my dorm room?” I was just shocked. I certainly wasn’t disappointed.

“I met your roommate, Ryan, at lunch today. He’s moved out. He and Arlene found an apartment and decided to take it now instead of waiting for summer. I convinced him to give me his key.”

“And you thought you would just move in?”

“Not yet. But I thought you might like some company tonight.”

I did. I kissed her and all the tension seemed to melt out of my body.

“It would be okay if you did,” I said. She looked a question at me. “Move in.” She didn’t answer, but cuddled up closer.

“How’d the paper go?”

“I really don’t want to talk about that. It was another waste of time.” I headed into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Should have done that anyway, but I was so tired I just collapsed. When I got back to the bed she held the covers up and I slid in feeling her soft skin against me. She wrapped me in her arms and I was so contented I almost drifted off to sleep. A thought occurred to me and I struggled up out of darkness to ask her, “Does Lissa know you’re here?”

“We talked about it this weekend. We can’t live with her and she doesn’t want us not to be together just because she can’t be with us. We agreed that we all expected each other to be with whichever of us and we’d trust that no one was intentionally left out. I had a really good weekend with her, Tony. And it wasn’t just sex.” She kissed me softly, but I wasn’t ready to settle down yet.

“When we played racquetball today, she was upset. She wasn’t happy about the mural. Said it was like having her naked picture posted on the Internet. I hung around to talk to her, but she never came out of the locker room as far as I could tell.”

“That doesn’t sound right. She loved the painting. I love the painting and it’s my ass sticking out.” I put my hand on the body part she mentioned and squeezed her cheek lightly.

“No one knows that.”

“Ha! Sandra and Amy were all over me about it today. But I don’t care. I love it.” This time, the kiss she planted on me was enthusiastic and for a minute I was lost in it. I didn’t think we’d make love tonight. It was just being together that was important.

“I’m still worried about Lissa. Why can’t she be with us this week?”

“She’s got the kids. I think she’s a little nervous about having them around us.”

“I’d like to meet them. They are part of the woman we love. Have you met them yet?”

“She picked them up Saturday morning after she dropped you off. We didn’t spend anywhere near as much time naked this weekend as you imagined.”

“She seemed so pleased with the painting Sunday night. But it was just a whole different Lissa this afternoon.”

“Let’s tell her we love her and miss her. Get your phone.” I grabbed my cell phone and we both typed in a text message and sent it to her. “Lissa love, miss you. Love you!” I quickly tapped out a second message and sent it to Melody. She grinned when her phone chimed. We waited there a minute for a response from Lissa, but none came, so we put our phones on the desk and settled back into bed.

It was wonderful to settle into Melody’s arms and have her spoon up behind me. Her face rubbed against my shoulders and every so often she would kiss a spot. I could just stay like this forever.

“What was that with Kate about?”

“What?” I’d almost drifted off to sleep. Kate?

“About changing her mind and anytime you want. Were you propositioning someone behind our backs?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that!” I turned in bed and faced her. It was a lot more cramped in my dorm single bed than in Lissa’s king size bed. “I wouldn’t, Melody.”

“I know that. I’m teasing. So what was it?”

“It took me a while before I figured it out. It seemed like it came out of the blue. But when we were working Saturday, she struck some kind of pose and I told her she should model. It was a big joke to her and she went on about how it wasn’t going to happen. I think what she was saying was she changed her mind and would model for me.”

“That figures. She’d be a good model. I like the shape of her face, and she’s tall. I could see her in one of those shadowy scenes that Sandra paints.”

“Why’d she run away?”

“Probably had to run home and change her panties.” Melody was thoughtful for a moment. “On second thought I don’t think she was wearing any.”

“How could you tell that?”

“If she had panties on she’d have taken them off and thrown them at you—my rock star boyfriend.” She giggled.

“As if. Why would she want to model for me anyway?”

“That’s easy.” Melody kissed me again. “After seeing that mural, there probably isn’t a girl in school who wouldn’t model for you. She just wants to see herself through your eyes.”

I’ve read some sex stories—online—and it seems like they all talk about guys waking up in the morning with a girlfriend blowing their morning wood. I woke up on the edge of the little bed with a faceful of hair. Melody was still peacefully sleeping. I’ve got one of those clocks that projects the time on the ceiling so I know if I can go back to sleep. My alarm would ring in about five minutes. But I thought the whole blowjob idea wasn’t bad and maybe it would work the other way as well.

I worked my way down Melody’s body under the covers and managed to get her legs pushed apart far enough to get between them. I’d had my face down here before and we both really enjoyed it. The difference was I was under the sheet and blanket and her scent mingled with mine was trapped all night and pretty intense. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was like opening a fresh can of coffee and getting a concentrated dose of that heady aroma. I started licking her labia lightly—not trying to probe or anything, just caressing her with my tongue. She squirmed a little and her petals began to unfold until her inner lips opened and I dipped my tongue deep enough to get a clean fresh taste of her. I couldn’t see much in the dark, but I played my tongue over her smooth shaved mound and dipped back down to drag it over her clitoris. The little bud hardened and seemed to poke out further. I was sure I heard her moan and I suspected she’d woken up. Her hand was tangled in my hair. Her hips started moving, pushing her nubbin harder into my mouth. It was so cool to feel her passion rising and I could hardly wait to feel her come. She was moving toward it fast.

I could feel her stomach pulsing up and down as I pushed a finger into her and looked for that spot along the top Lissa had shown me. Her pussy clamped down on me hard. Just as she came, my alarm clock rang. She shrieked and sat straight up, almost snapping my head back. But apparently the alarm didn’t stop her orgasm because her juices were flowing all over my face and she kept gasping out squeaks as she panted. As soon as I was released from her grip, I struggled out from under the bedclothes and silenced the alarm. Melody was still sitting in the bed gasping for air with the sheet covering nothing but her feet. As she caught her breath, her breasts were bobbing up and down and were so incredible to watch I was mesmerized. I wished that I could really capture movement when I paint. That image was incredible. She was incredible.

She looked up at me, her eyes refocusing.

“That was interesting. I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“A four alarm orgasm?” She burst out laughing and I hugged her.

“God, no! I couldn’t take four of them! Let’s shower. We’ve got to get to class. Maybe I can take care of that while we’re at it.” She pushed my erection down and it sprang back with force. It was a good morning.

Two

We were laughing by the time we got to Fundamentals. We’d each received a text from Lissa, but it was just a smiley. Then Melody started trying to figure out what the emoticon was for cunnilingus. :p(|) That degenerated into us sending texts back and forth about the kinds of boobs you could represent (o)(o), an erection 8===, fellatio :-O=8, and asshole (*). We were still trying to figure out threesome when we walked into class looking at our phones and giggling.

Everyone was quiet and staring at us. Obviously, Doc had been saying something about the painting since he had a slide of it displayed on the screen when people entered the classroom.

“Oh geez,” I whispered. “Are we late?”

“No.”

“You are not late, Tony. I called the rest of the class yesterday and asked them to come fifteen minutes early. Everyone will get out fifteen minutes early as well.”

“I didn’t get a message.”

“No, I wanted to discuss this piece with the class without you for a few minutes. Now, if you’ll join us, I was just asking, what is it about this painting that makes it so special?” There was a general murmur and a suggestion of technique, freedom, composition. Doc kept shaking them off. Finally, Melody stood up and walked to the front of the class. I could see Doc begin to smile as she got to the front of the room.

“All right,” she said, facing the class. “I confess. It’s my ass.” She turned around and bent over. For a second I thought she was going to moon the class, but she kept her jeans on. Everyone started clapping. Melody turned around, bowed, and came back to sit beside me. I was blushing. She was giggling. When the commotion died down a bit, Doc started speaking again.

“Lovely as your ass is, I’m looking for something else. Kate, you were there. You watched most of it take shape. What do you think?”

“It’s the connection between the artist and the model,” she said firmly. “When you look at some of the great portraits we’ve studied, those that touch the viewer most… it’s always about the interaction between the model and the artist.”

“Yes. The connection is there. It is seldom a conscious decision. You can’t walk into the studio and just say, ‘I’m going to connect with this model.’ But sometimes something magical happens and the link is there. That is when art speaks to us.”

“What about abstract art?” Sandra asked.

“You mean the kind of art that you look at and ask yourself, ‘what is it’? If you are in doubt, there is probably a weak connection. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Artists can connect with many things. Everyone who paints has to paint a still life or landscape at one point or another. Most are mere exercises in technique, rendering, and lighting. But then you come to that sublime connection, like with Monet’s Water Lilies, and suddenly you are lost in the simplicity of the connection. But not in all of his paintings. Of the 250 Water Lily paintings by Monet, scarcely half a dozen draw the viewer into the connection between artist and subject. The same is true of abstraction. If the artist has connected with the subject, it is likely that the viewer will as well. But it is rare. The artist must be in a unique frame of mind. The model or subject must have a deep connection—real or imagined. The skill must be there to reveal it. The rest of the time, we rely on technique, composition, lighting… all the things you have mentioned this morning.”

I was a bit embarrassed and Doc never did mention what he’d talked to the rest of the class about before Melody and I got there. Mercifully, he moved on to normal topics and we discussed the techniques and paint choices for doing large scale murals. It seems that doing a dry plaster piece like the one in the Admin Building was really different than doing an outdoor mural on a building. Doc showed slides of several paintings on the walls of buildings and talked about how the surface was prepared. He rewarded everyone for showing up fifteen minutes early with an extra fifteen off at the end and the promise of a short midterm on Thursday. It was nice getting out of Fundies half an hour early. That meant we had time to get lunch before I went to Art Orientation and Melody went to her textiles class. Sandra fell into step beside us.

“I can’t believe you did that, you tramp!”

“I’m not a tramp! But did Doc Henredon really just say I had a cute ass?”

“A lovely ass. Now that everyone knows it’s yours, you’re going to get asked out a lot. Better put a leash on her, Tony.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem,” I answered. Amy was just coming into the cafeteria from her Advertising Fundamentals class when we got there. Sandra immediately started telling her about Melody’s comment in our Studio Fundamentals class. That set them off and I easily excused myself to go to class before they had finished discussing exactly how close I’d been to the ass in question.

The week progressed with minimal hassle and I did okay on my midterms. Having Melody in my bed every night was a definite plus. We pushed the two beds together and aside from falling through the crack in the middle once, we were able to pretend they were one bed and still be able to get a decent night’s sleep. I slept in Wednesday morning since we’d had the Art History exam on Monday and there was no class on Wednesday. Unfortunately, the only contact I had with Lissa was a call that said she had a business function to attend to on Wednesday and that she’d asked Rod to work with me during my practice time. I was disappointed, but said I loved her and we needed to get together. She just said she’d see us on Friday.

Rod is huge. He’s easily 6'7" and weighs about 250. The thing is, he’s also fast. He can stand in the middle of the court and pretty much reach all the walls. It’s hard to get anything past him. It was a good workout and I thanked him. He wished me luck in the tournament.

Finally, Friday came. Our last midterm was a life painting to be rendered in watercolor pencils while the model posed. That was a challenge, but I like watercolor and the pencils give you really fine control over detail. With that over, we said goodbye to our friends going home for spring break and raced from lunch to the gym. Lissa and I were teaching Melody a bit of racquetball before we started our workouts. But when we got there, we found Lissa already in the middle of her warmup. She was doing the same thing I’d done a few weeks ago when I’d beaten myself into exhaustion. Lissa was dripping and the ball was taking a punishment.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Melody asked.

“Yeah. I love her.”

“So do I.”

“Does that make us weird?”

“Not unless you don’t love me.”

“I do love you, Melody. I can’t believe how much I love both of you. I couldn’t do the painting without having both of you in it.”

“What do you think is bothering her?”

“I don’t know, but I think we’re about to find out.” Lissa let the ball dribble past her and roll across the floor as she sank down on her knees. Melody and I went through the door into the court.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Melody said as we approached.

“Hello, love,” I echoed as we both bent down to kiss her. Her hands went to our heads and held us to her. She was gasping for air, almost sobbing. Then I realized some of the water running off her face wasn’t sweat. “Lissa…”

“We need to work first, and then talk,” she said quickly. “Tony, work with Melody on her serves for a few minutes while I get some water.” With that she rushed out the door. Melody and I looked at each other and decided the best bet was to show her we were listening and do what she said. We’d been working for more than twenty minutes before she came back. She’d changed into dry clothes and might have even taken a shower, but she walked onto the court with an air of authority that only the coach has. She gave a couple of instructions to us as we worked on Melody’s serve and then said it was time to work on competition. Melody left the court and sat to watch through the Plexiglas wall.

“Three games in the match, just like the tournament. I’ll serve first. This is your test run for the Intercollegiate Championships, Tony. Don’t hold back.”

“Control!” Lissa screamed at me as another of my serves hit the back wall before the floor. “You can’t just power your way past me. You have to control what you’re doing.” Was she talking about racquetball or us? There was no question that I was trying to serve hard to her, taking out my own frustrations on the ball. But I knew that wouldn’t win any tournaments. In fact, it wouldn’t even test Lissa’s playing. I set the next serve straight down the center. Lissa didn’t even wait for the bounce before she sent it back at me. I saw it coming before it ever reached the wall. Six feet off the scuff in the wall, headed right back against the left edge. I didn’t wait for it, either. I charged the wall and sent the ball across court from about three feet away. It was all I could do to keep from smashing my face into the wall, but Lissa stood no chance of returning that one.

Then we started to play in earnest. I couldn’t close the gap on the lead she had over me in the first game. I made her work to keep it, but it was a foregone conclusion that she had me wrapped by the time I got my head in the game. The second game was a different matter. We didn’t talk to each other during our two-minute break between games. I saw John watching with Melody and there were a couple of other players I recognized there. Lissa stepped back into the court and I started the first serve. From then, the battle was on and it was all about control. Lissa moved me all over the court with perfectly placed returns trying to keep me off balance.

An open or pro division player comes into a game with a strategy and executes her plan throughout the game. The only way I was going to overcome her strategy was to force her to change it. I placed two consecutive shots right into her backhand. Monday she wanted work on her backhand, but I knew from experience that those hits were just as powerful and accurate as her forehand. But I’d seen a weakness there on Monday. My next shot came in close on her forehand and she couldn’t swing back far enough to get the ball. It glanced off the side wall and hit the floor. I had my game strategy and started playing it.

Life’s like that. You keep taking your best shots, but success depends on the reactions of other people. If you’re good, you can control their reactions, keep them off-balance, and force them to move to your beat. But there’s always a player who is just as good as or better than you are. That player will control you and your moves.

I felt like the court was the only place I was ever in control. I kept running from one side of life to the other trying to return other people’s serves. That had to stop and it had to stop now. Lissa and I took a five-minute break with the match tied at one game each. We left the court to get a drink of water and stepped in opposite directions, just as if we were in tournament play. Poor Melody didn’t know which way to follow and wisely didn’t try to talk to or approach either of us. She stayed in front of the glass wall where a couple dozen other people had gathered to watch our match. Someone at the club had posted a small sign on the door into the court that said “National Women’s Open Champion Lissa Grant vs. Intercollegiate Competitor Tony Ames.”

When we stepped back into the court, our eyes met for the first time this afternoon. Lissa had a predatory sneer on her face. My god! No wonder she was the national champ. I bet her opponents wilted under that look. My eyes closed to slits as I stared right back at her. I didn’t smile. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She hadn’t won yet.

We were connected.

In the instant before her first serve hit the front wall, I recognized what we were doing and it thrilled me. We weren’t just playing racquetball. We weren’t just having sex. We weren’t just competing. We were connecting on a level I’d never imagined possible. I knew what she was doing as if my own muscles were swinging her racquet and she knew my moves just as well. We tested each other through the first three rallies and then things heated up. At the end of a dozen rallies the score was tied one to one. This was going to be a long game.

A player enters a game with a strategy, but has to be adept at changing and adapting the game plan as it progresses. I saw the shift in Lissa’s strategy with the first lob serve. It came down in the crotch of the back wall and died for a point. I lost two more points before I adjusted to her new style of play.

Trying to describe every rally in a racquetball tournament would be like describing every lick and suck in making love. It’s exciting as hell when it’s happening, but it loses something in the telling. Lissa and I were both exhausted and dripping with the score tied at ten to ten. The next point would win the game and the match. My goggles were dripping and the bandana I had tied around my head had exceeded its capacity to absorb my sweat. As I looked at Lissa, getting ready to serve for the last point, my heart was wrenched inside out. I could feel her desire as she bounced the ball. It wasn’t just desire. She needed this point. I had two-tenths of a second to understand what I was doing when I sent the ball straight into her backhand. If I’d been standing in front of her return with my racquet directly in the path of the ball, I couldn’t have hit it. It had so much spin coming off two walls that it rolled down the guts and hit the frame of my racquet. I flicked it back the direction it came from, but it didn’t make the front wall before it touched the floor. I’d lost. Lissa won. I dropped my racquet and just ran to her and hugged her.

Outside the court, about 30 observers were applauding. They’d seen a game they wouldn’t soon forget. I couldn’t care less.

The three of us were sitting in Lissa’s van. When we came out of the court, the crowd was all trying to talk about the game and I saw Lissa slip away toward the locker room. I grabbed Melody and quickly whispered to her not to let Lissa out of her sight. I was afraid she’d try to leave without talking to us. Melody hurried after her into the locker room. I was waiting in the lobby when they came out and we walked together to her van. Lissa seemed resigned, but nothing would have prepared us for what she said once we were in the car.

“My loves, I have to break up with you.”

We all sat there in silence taking in what she had just said. Melody was sobbing. I was stunned. Lissa sat quietly behind the steering wheel with tears running down her face. I could hear the echo still playing in the back of my mind ever since Sunday night.

I love you. I’ll kill you. But I’ll love you forever.

Three

“Was it the painting?” I asked. Lissa had just stunned us—no, broken our hearts—by saying she was breaking up with us. I wanted to scream at her. Shake her. Plead with her. It had to be something I’d done and the mural was the only thing I could blame.

“No,” she answered. “Yes. The painting is wonderful, Tony. It’s beautiful. I couldn’t be prouder to be in anything. I’m sorry I blew up at you about it. It wasn’t the painting; it’s what I saw in the painting. It’s what I saw about all three of us. It was so beautiful and so frightening.”

Tears were flowing freely among all three of us now and I reached to touch Lissa and found Melody’s hand there with me. Lissa grasped both of our hands and pulled them to her lips, then leaned her cheek against them.

“I saw what you see, and I can’t be that. I’m a single mother with two kids. I have a career. I’m seven years older than you are. I don’t even know how these kinds of relationships work.”

“Neither do we, but we’ll make it work,” I said. “Lissa, you are a part of Melody and me. It breaks both of our hearts to see you like this.”

“I thought it would be fun. I liked you both and I was lonely. I thought I’d put some excitement in all our lives. I’ve never done anything like this before. I didn’t intend to fall in love.”

“Darling, none of us intended to fall in love. We thought we were just experimenting—finding out about sex and things we hadn’t done before,” Melody said. I remembered her using almost those same words when we first decided to go to Lissa’s house with her. Melody and I were barely more than friends when we started. The last five weeks had been an emotional roller coaster. “I’ll never be able to play racquetball like you, Lissa,” Melody continued, “I’ll never be able to paint like Tony does. Shhh… it’s true. But my darlings, never in your wildest imaginings will you ever be able to love me more than I love you.”

“Let’s go home and talk some more,” I suggested. I said “home.” It didn’t really make a difference where that was, as long as I was with Melody and Lissa.

“We can’t go to my place,” Lissa said with finality.

“No problem,” Melody replied. “We wanted to show you Tony’s redecorated dorm room. It’s three blocks away.”

Lissa looked at us and nodded. We got out of the car and walked to the dorm.

“Oh, my!”

We’d just walked into my room and Lissa was taking in the makeshift king-size bed we made by pushing the two singles together. We’d gone to Bed Bath & Beyond and bought a king-size mattress pad and “bed in a bag” sheets, pillows, and bedspread. Now it wasn’t bad to sleep on. We’d pushed the desks together on one side and raised the adjustable height beds on their legs so we could fit the dressers under them. Melody brought the braided rug she had in her room and my dorm room now resembled a nice farmhouse bedroom.

“Take you back to your wild and carefree college days?” I asked.

“Tony, I didn’t start college until I was married and Damon was a toddler. I never had wild and carefree. I’d never done any of this, before you.”

“Here I thought you were teaching us,” I blurted out.

“I thought models were…” Melody started at the same time and stopped. Lissa had never looked so vulnerable. I pulled her into an embrace and Melody was right there with me.

“There were lots of opportunities as a model and I experimented a little—mostly kissing and a little petting. Jack became my manager and agent when I was thirteen. He guarded me like a mother hen when I was traveling—which was most of the time. I didn’t have that many opportunities to socialize with other models.”

“That sounds kind of predatory,” I accused. “Where were your parents? They let you be with this guy when you were thirteen?”

“Shh… Don’t speak ill of Jack. He was a perfect guardian. I would have done anything for him, but he refused every juvenile advance I made—kindly and respectfully—until I was eighteen. I guess he couldn’t resist me any longer.” Lissa paused, struggling with her own demons. I willed her to go on, but let her take her time without pressuring her. “You need to know. It’s only fair.” she said finally. “My parents were killed in an auto accident when I was twelve and I went to live with my father’s sister. Jack was her husband. They became my legal guardians. Aunt Jane got uterine cancer the next year. It was fast and devastated Jack. In just a few weeks, she was gone and it was just Jack and me. After the first time I won a modeling competition, he threw himself into making my career successful and I became the center of his universe, and he of mine. I wanted to be everything to Jack that he was missing since Jane had died.”

“Wait! You married Jack? Your guardian?” Melody asked. “They don’t allow that, do they?”

“When Jack found out I was pregnant, we went to France for a year and got married. Damon was born in Paris. When we came back, we were husband and wife and parents of a beautiful boy.”

“What happened?” I asked quietly.

“Life. Jack is thirty years older than me. He loves me and absolutely dotes on his kids, but when I finished my associates’ degree and started working in the industry, he started to withdraw. He said he didn’t want to tie me down. The thoughts had already crossed my mind, though. I know if he hadn’t started the proceeding, I would have eventually. We were divorced a little more than a year ago.”

“All the experience you’ve had, though,” I held the question in my voice. “All that you’ve taught us.”

“The blind leading the blind. Tony, you are the only man I’ve been with other than Jack. Melody, you are the only woman I ever… loved. I’m such a fraud.”

“Um… you know…,” Melody said, “if that was supposed to make us love you less, you just failed big-time.”

“I’d take you faking over someone with real experience any day of the week,” I said.

“You guys! Don’t you see?” Lissa sobbed. “I lied to you. I used you. I’m so sorry! I don’t want to get between you two. I almost drove you apart last week because I was so selfish.”

We’d all talked last weekend about how we’d have to learn to share and not be jealous of each other, no matter what combination we were in, but Lissa was still blaming herself for something that, as far as Melody and I were concerned, just didn’t exist. I looked at Melody and could tell we were in agreement; this was all about Lissa.

“Lissa, you and Melody saved my life,” I started, still holding on to Lissa’s hands. “A few weeks ago, I was nearly suicidal. I hated everything about my life. I was drowning. You’d pull me out long enough for a gasp of fresh air on the court and then I’d slide right back under water when we finished. Melody rocked my world when we gave each other our virginity—in your basement. But as soon as school pressures hit me again, I was right back in a funk. I’m not cured yet. On Monday this week, I was right back in the shitter. But you needed me on the court and Melody was in my bed when I got home. I’m way too much trouble for either of you, but together… Oh god! … Together, I’m filled with so much love that the hope is sticking with me even when I’m down. It’s not just sex, it’s the whole American dream—two kids, two cars, and two wives. How can I be depressed?”

At last, both Melody and Lissa looked at me and broke out laughing. We sprawled out on the bed just holding and hugging each other. I thought—I hoped—that just maybe, we’d saved our relationship. Lissa seemed to be thinking hard, but she was cuddled between Melody and me and not letting go.

“You let me win that last rally,” Lissa accused, poking my chest. “You can’t ever let an opponent win like that. People will walk all over you.”

“I didn’t let you win it. When I saw you prepare to serve, I realized there was no way you could lose. I tried to return that shot. I could have been a world champion player, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. Sometimes you just know the outcome before you make the play.”

We lay there holding each other, not doing anything. We might even have dozed off together for a few minutes. For those few minutes, Lissa seemed content to lie in the arms of her lovers, but she stretched and sat up between us.

“I have to go home. The kids are with their nanny. I have them this weekend.” She looked at us. I could tell she was still sad and if we let her walk out the door we might never see her again. “I just don’t know how to make this work,” she continued. “You think I’m older and wiser and more experienced. I think I’m a kid who has kids. How could I explain us to them? Or to my ex-husband? I’m just overwhelmed.”

“Hey. Let a professional at being overwhelmed help,” I said, standing beside her.

“And a professional at being overwhelming,” Melody laughed jumping up with us.

“I think it’s time your kids met the rest of the family,” I said decisively.

Lissa’s eyes got big as she looked at us.

“Really?” We nodded. At last she smiled. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

Wow! Was that statement ever correct! When we got to Lissa’s house, two small hurricanes went tearing past us. One was on a blue and yellow scooter with his legs pumping as fast as they’d go as he circled through the living room, kitchen and down the hallway. The other was running behind, switched directions abruptly and nearly caught his brother as he squealed around the corner. A door slammed at the end of the hall and the voices were silenced.

Lissa’s house had always been immaculate when we were there. Outside of the kids’ bedroom, there wasn’t a sign that children lived in the house. This time, there were various toys, trucks, and building blocks scattered everywhere. Legos were hooked together to form tunnels and ramps for an auto racing track. Half a dozen books were scattered on and around the sofa. It was like a different house.

“Molly, I’m home,” Lissa called into the house. In a moment, a plump young woman about my age came out from the boys’ room and greeted us in the kitchen. She was even shorter than Melody and had big eyes that looked like they were used to laughing a lot.

“They are little terrors today!” she laughed. “Oh! Sorry, Lissa. I didn’t realize you had guests. I’d have made them put the toys away.”

“Don’t worry, Molly. Sounds like you were having fun. These are my friends, Tony and Melody. We’re hanging out tonight. Guys, this is the most wonderful nanny in the world, Molly.”

“Do you want me to get the monsters ready for bed before I leave?”

“No,” Lissa answered. “We’ll take care of it. Don’t you have a date tonight?” Molly blushed.

“Sort of. But Steve’s not picking me up till eight, so I’ve got time.”

“Baloney! Go get yourself beautiful and wash the gravy off your face before you see him,” Lissa teased. “Unless you want to serve Steve dinner off your cheeks.”

Molly was beet red as she reached to where a splatter of gravy decorated one side of her face.

“Those boys! We were one step away from an all-out food fight. If you’re sure, I’ll run. Nice to meet you Tony, Melody. Good luck!”

As much as she’d protested and volunteered to help, as soon as she was dismissed Molly wasted no time grabbing her keys and bag and heading for the door.

“I’m going home, Damon and Drew! Mommy’s home,” she called from the door. The bedroom door opened and the two boys ran to Molly to hug her before she left. Then they turned and seemed to notice their mother for the first time. Both boys’ faces split into wide grins and they wrapped their arms around Lissa’s legs yelling, “Mommy!”

“It looks like you boys had a good time with Molly today. Did you learn anything in school?” Damon, the older boy, stuck his lower lip out in a pout while Drew ran back down the hall to their room.

“School’s dumb!” Damon declared. “Jimmy pushed me on the bars and I fell.”

He pulled up his pants leg to show a series of Band-Aids on his shin. They had various dinosaurs and monsters decorating them, but I couldn’t see any sign of scrapes or injury. Lissa lifted the edge of one to confirm the suspicion and patted it gently back into place.

“Well, look at the bright side. You got a lot of monsters out of it.” Damon grinned and hugged Lissa just as Drew came back with a colorful sheet of paper that, as far as I could tell, had no resemblance to anything living or inanimate. He held it proudly in front of his mother. She squinted at the paper and I was about to ask, “What is it?” when she spoke.

“You are definitely improving,” she smiled. “Did you use every crayon in the box?” Drew nodded proudly. “Boys, we have company. You remember my girlfriend, Melody…”

We’d been watching this while standing aside and realized that we were holding hands and squeezing each other every time one of the boys did something cute—which was everything they did. Now we became the focus of their attention and Melody dropped my hand to catch both boys as they ran to hug her. They were certainly outgoing. I remembered hiding behind my mother whenever I was introduced to another adult.

“Meddy!” Drew exclaimed as if she was a long-lost friend. Damon immediately looked up to me and I kneeled down on the floor to get to the same height. I held out my hand.

“Are you Mommy’s boyfriend?” he asked.

Before I could parse what he’d said I’d already answered, “Sure am.”

He ignored my proffered hand and came straight to hug me. It was so cool. In a moment Drew was wrapped in my arms as well.

“I’m Tony,” I said.

The greeting, though intense and affectionate, was short-lived. Within half a minute, the boys were headed out of the kitchen.

“All toys to your room, boys!” Lissa called. “Storytime as soon as you’re ready for bed!”

I was surprised at how fast the boys got their toys back in their room. It wasn’t long before they were ready for bed and I discovered I was the designated story reader. I settled in the middle of the sofa with a boy on either side. Melody sat next to Damon on my right. Lissa said she was going to get something going for dinner, but that didn’t seem right. I asked her to please come and sit with us, so she got comfy on my left and Drew shifted so he was leaning against her instead of me. I read Go Dog! Go! and Hop on Pop for Drew while Damon patiently waited with Horton Hears a Who. I had to laugh when I thought that the same books were probably still in the back of my closet at home in Nebraska. I had the stories mostly memorized since I’d read them so many times growing up.

I thought about home for the first time in a long time that night. I missed home, but I hadn’t really thought about why. The feeling was so overwhelming that I couldn’t think about it rationally. I missed my mom and dad. I missed my friends from school, and especially my art teacher, Lillian Stone and my best friend, Beth. I’d always loved drawing and I guess I showed some talent for it when I was in middle school, but Ms. Stone taught me how to control it. It was sheer luck that when they built the new consolidated school district high school, they hired her to teach art. She turned what I loved into a passion. I was looking forward to visiting her this summer when I went back.

But that got me thinking about summer. The break was just two months away. What would happen to Lissa and Melody and me when school was out? I thought about being home again and realized that, as much as I missed home, it was hard to see myself there now. Something had shifted in the way I viewed things. I felt more like this room, Melody, Lissa, and even the two kids we were carrying to bed were where I was anchored. I wasn’t even torn. I wanted to go visit my family and friends, but I didn’t want to go back to Nebraska—not to stay. Just a few months ago, I’d applied to transfer to the University. I expected I’d hear from them sometime in June telling me when to arrive and what my financial aid package was. But I was no longer interested in transferring.

I can’t say I led a sheltered life. Mom and Dad gave me a lot of freedom. We lived in a farmhouse, but we didn’t farm. The property was rented out to a neighbor. Dad always talked about building an airstrip out in back. We had a barn that was used for storing hay and straw in the winter, but Dad had sold all Granddad’s farm equipment except a small tractor mower at auction after Granddad died a few years ago.

Dad taught in the elementary school and loved it. He had no desire to become a farmer. Mom was a dabbler. She worked at the local bookstore as a part-time clerk, but most of her paycheck seemed to go right back in the till to pay for the books she brought home. At home, she had a sewing studio in the spare room where she made cloth bags and purses and explored a variety of fabric art creations that ended up on shelves in the studio and were never seen by the public. Melody would love it, I thought. The one exception was that every newborn baby in the area received a “Grimp.” They were huge stuffed dolls with a fat soft body and really long legs and arms. You couldn’t walk into a grocery store without seeing some kid dragging one of them along behind. Mine still sat on my bed back home. I wondered if maybe I should bring it for Damon and Drew.

Being with the boys just brought out that feeling of nostalgia and I started thinking about how I was going to tell my folks about my new family.

Four

“You two can use the spa if you want to before bed,” Lissa said. “I’ve put clean towels in your room.” She was nervous. It was different than being with her before. She was ready to go to bed alone and send us to the guest room because of the boys. I could understand. Gosh. You don’t want your kids seeing an endless parade of sex partners staying in your bedroom overnight. But we weren’t an endless parade, and sex wasn’t strictly necessary for us to be together. This wasn’t going to work.

“Lissa, do your kids have friends?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Do they ever have sleepovers?” I continued.

“Yes.”

“Do you make the other kids stay in the guestroom?”

“No,” she answered, grasping my line of thinking.

“We’re your boyfriend and girlfriend. The boys already know that. We’re having a sleepover. We don’t intend to leave you alone tonight.”

“I can’t go in the spa while the boys are here,” Lissa persisted. “I need to be able to hear them.”

“Why don’t you and Melody relax in the tub for a while,” I said. “I’ve got some planning work to do in my Daytimer that I don’t want to put off until after break. I have to figure out what needs to be completed before I take time off for the championships. I can listen for the boys.”

Lissa looked at me with her mouth open, making little movements that looked like a fish. Melody took her hand and led her away while I spread my things out on the breakfast bar. I don’t know if Lissa was more surprised at being relieved of child duty for an hour or that I was working ahead on my schedule.

An hour later, Melody padded out in her bare feet, wearing nothing but a towel. She kissed me soundly and then whispered in my ear. I closed my books and turned off the kitchen light. When I got to the bedroom, I found Lissa sprawled on her stomach in the middle of the bed. One lamp lit the corner of the room, shedding a soft glow. Melody had begun stroking Lissa’s head, massaging her scalp. I contemplated sketching the scene, but instead I undressed and crawled up to join them on Lissa’s other side. Melody handed me a bottle of body oil. While she continued to work on Lissa’s scalp, I warmed oil in my hands and went to work on her shoulders.

She was tight. Even after the long soak in the tub, Lissa was carrying tension that she just couldn’t let go. I kneaded her muscles, alternating between deep pressure to work out the kinks, and gentle long strokes to simply soothe and relax her. Pretty soon, Melody had oil on her hands and together we worked from her shoulders down both arms at once. Melody and I watched each other carefully. Neither of us is a trained massage therapist, but we just figured out what would feel good if we were in that position and as one of us tried something, the other would mimic it. We seemed to be doing a pretty good job, based on the sighs and little moans that came from Lissa and the lessening tension in the muscles we touched.

It was good almond oil and before long Lissa’s skin was glistening. Melody worked high on Lissa’s back as I moved into her lower back where she was just as tight as her shoulders had been. As we moved together, Melody and I were touching each other as well, our sides and arms pressed together above Lissa. As I ran my hands up Lissa’s sides, they slipped under Melody’s hands and Melody stroked up my arms, then back down onto Lissa’s back as I slid down toward her butt. As Melody followed my hands down the curve of her back, she turned and gave me a kiss and we continued our massage.

I think we found a hundred ways to massage the spectacular globes of Lissa’s butt—palms caressing, fingers probing, jiggling, tapping, pressing, stroking. And eventually kissing each beautiful cheek as we moved down to her legs.

I could make love to Lissa’s legs for hours. By the look in her eyes, so could Melody. From the sounds we were hearing, I didn’t think Lissa would object. I’ve always loved legs, but watching a cute girl in a short skirt couldn’t even compare to putting both hands around a Lissa’s thighs and letting my thumbs follow the line of her muscles to her ankles. Lissa’s body is so tight there’s pretty much no butt-ledge. It was a clean, unbroken line as our hands took long strokes from her waist to her ankles. The calves that guys appreciate so much when they see them in a pair of high heels are so delicate beneath the fingers that I wanted to cradle them gently, not just rub.

I was acutely aware of Melody’s body pressing against mine as we worked on our lover together. She reached across to put a hand on each cheek and drag her fingertips sensuously down Lissa’s sculpted legs. To get a better angle, she knelt between Lissa’s legs. I moved behind her and reached over her to follow her hands with my own. When Melody reached to start the stroke again, I let my oily hands flow from Lissa’s legs onto Melody’s, stroking upward from where she knelt and moving across her tummy and breasts. Melody’s breath caught and she ground her butt into my erection for a moment before we both moved back and each lifted one of Lissa’s feet to massage.

Lissa once joked to me that she was a classic runway model—tall, skinny, and big feet. True, since at 5'10" she was as tall as me, and her size-ten feet were as big as mine. There was nothing clunky or out of proportion, though. Her feet were long and thin, with high arches. Her toes were as delicate as her fingers and it made me just want to suck them into my mouth. Melody caught my eye and winked. Then we both lowered our mouths and bathed her toes with our tongues. Her feet aren’t very ticklish, which was a good thing. I’d have had a paroxysm if they’d been doing to me what we were doing to Lissa.

When we finally petted her feet for the last time, I reached under Lissa and gently rolled her over. A little smile played on her lips but she kept her eyes closed as we started the whole process over again. Maybe it was a little more interesting for us since this trip down included those beautiful breasts, but as sensuous as the massage was, it wasn’t overtly sexual. Oh, Melody and I were certainly teasing each other with stray strokes and we sure didn’t ignore Lissa’s breasts. Melody couldn’t resist a little lick of each of Lissa’s nipples. I was always between half-hard and hard. There was enough sexual edge just because we were enjoying ourselves and each other so much.

When I started rubbing circles on Lissa’s tummy, Melody linked her fingers through mine so it was like two hands and twenty fingers. Lissa was quaking as we moved down, carefully avoiding her plump labia and working the last of the tension out of her quads. I glanced over at the bedside clock and realized with a shock that we’d been massaging Lissa for an hour and a half. Little trembles kept going through her body and she kept moaning in a high-pitched whine. Melody and I linked hands once again as we settled down on either side of Lissa and with our joined fingers, we reached down and stroked Lissa’s pussy from bottom to top one time.

We didn’t penetrate anything, didn’t part her folds or try to find her clit, but with that one stroke, Lissa came up off the bed arching her back so that only her shoulders and heels were touching the sheets. The scream was ear-piercing. Not only was there a flood of juices from her pussy, but an equal flood sprang from her eyes as they flew open looking wildly around. They fixed first on me and then on Melody. Lissa’s arms came around the two of us and hugged us close to her as she sobbed.

“I love you. I love you both,” she gasped. “Oh god, I love you so much. And I’m so scared. Tony, Melody—please don’t ever let me leave you. Please. Oh god, I love you! Please. Please.”

The sobs diminished as we kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and her lips, whispering words of comfort and assuring her that we would always be with her. We settled down and in a few minutes Lissa was sleeping, cradled in our arms. Melody looked at me. I whispered, “I love you.” She smiled and slipped out of bed. She put on a robe and padded down the hall to check on the boys and make sure that our lovemaking hadn’t woken them. She slipped back into bed with a smile on her face and put both hands on one side of her face to show me they were asleep.

Soon, we were too.

Spring break went way too quickly. We spent the entire week at Lissa’s house. Lissa still had to work, but we put more time in at the club, practicing every day. I was feeling strong and my game was the best it’s ever been. Sam Jacobson came by and went over the registration information for the championships in Tempe. He gave Lissa our tickets and hotel reservations.

Melody and I went downtown to the Market one day. I’d lived in Seattle for seven months, just ten blocks from Pike Place Market, and had never visited. We picked up some fresh vegetables and fish, found some really good orange coated almonds, and tried on silly hats. We were sitting at a little café on the second floor when Melody suddenly pointed down the stairs. I had to shift my position around a little before I saw Kate taking an order from the counter and leaving the restaurant.

“I didn’t know she was staying in town,” I said. “Where does she live?”

“I don’t know, but she’s always alone. I suppose we should be more friendly.”

We met Lissa at the club at three that afternoon and Melody took the car to go get dinner started. It was an odd practice. John brought in a doubles team and I played against both of them. By the time they finished kicking my butt, I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than a long hot soak. I had to cut it short to be out front when Melody picked us up. Dinner was delicious.

I spent a lot of time with my planner, figuring out what I was going to have to finish in order to go to the championships in April. Once I saw it, I surprised both Melody and Lissa by actually researching and writing my next Art History paper in advance. It was a good paper, too. I was really going to make this work.

I got inspired one evening as I saw Lissa running hot steamy water in the Jacuzzi in the master bath. All of a sudden I could see her in a painting. She was expecting me to undress and join her since we’d had another hard practice, but instead I asked if I could draw her. What an unbelievable model. She sat quietly on the edge of the tub with her feet in the water for twenty minutes while I drew. When I asked her to turn her head and look at me over her left shoulder, the image was perfect. We had to run more hot water before we actually got in the tub. By that time, Melody had joined us, too, and we just soaked for an hour, laughing and talking. Life was so good.

When classes started again, I thought the buzz about the mural would die down. Instead, the work of finishing it kept the Fundies class busy with Doc Henredon and there seemed to be a lot of students who came to watch. I got a couple of notes handed to me by girls I’d never spoken to before, volunteering to model for me. Apparently Melody was right about girls wanting to see themselves through my eyes or something. Of course, Sandra was right, too. Melody was asked out four times the first week we were back at school. She smirked when she told them all she’d have to ask her girlfriend.

When one guy saw us holding hands, he stopped us in the hall and said, “I thought you had a girlfriend. What are you doing with him?”

“She said it was all right to sleep with Tony as long as I shared with her,” Melody promptly replied. “And there’s enough of him to keep us both happy.” The guy stared at us all the way down the hall.

By midweek, it seemed like everywhere I went there was a buzz about the mural and—to my surprise—the upcoming racquetball tournament. There was actually a poster in one of the halls that had the date of the tournament and a huge “Go Team PCAD” with my picture on it. I finally figured out that Amy and Sandra had put it together. After we turned in our projects for Ms. Brock on Monday, she announced there’d be no class Wednesday afternoon, so I found myself at a cafeteria table at noon with Melody, Amy, and Sandra, able to relax and shoot the bull. We were laughing like crazy at lunch and it felt good to be surrounded by my friends. Friends. It was a concept I was beginning to accept.

“So, don’t be offended, but I gotta ask,” Amy said. She leaned across the table to Melody and me conspiratorially. “How’s it work? You know, with you guys?” She waved three fingers in the air. I was in way too good a mood to be offended. It was a little personal, but I decided to amp it up a notch.

“Well, Amy, I thought you knew about these things. It’s pretty simple. You insert Tab A into Slot B.” Amy choked on her drink, but she wasn’t about to concede the point.

“But what about Slot C?” she persisted.

“Well, usually there’s a Tab D for that.”

“Wait,” Sandra broke in. “You’ve only got one… thing… right? How can there be a Tab…” I stuck my tongue out at her. “Oh. Oh! Oh my god! I think I just wet my panties.”

“Well at least you’re wearing some today,” Melody cracked. Sandra turned pink.

“Excuse me.” We looked up and Kate was standing next to us with her lunch tray. “Can I join you?” We all scooted over and welcomed her to the table.

“Speaking of wet panties…” Melody whispered to me as she moved closer. I grimaced at her and raised my eyebrow. She giggled.

“Hi Kate,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Um… pretty good. Not as good as it seems to be for you, but not bad. I… uh… wanted to wish you luck in the tournament. Wish I could come and watch you play.”

“Yeah. Too bad there isn’t a fan bus to Tempe,” Amy said. “We could all go down.”

“Are you going, Melody?” Kate asked.

“Nah. I wish. I can’t afford to just go jetting off somewhere. I’m leaving him in Lissa’s capable hands.”

“Lissa? The model?” Kate was fumbling for words, but you could see the questions all over her face.

“Lissa’s my racquetball coach,” I said. “SCU is paying for one athlete and one coach to go to regionals.”

“Wow!” Kate practically gushed.  “So it’s true you’re transferring to SCU?”

“Not exactly. It’s a new joint program. I’ll be doing simultaneous degrees at both schools. They had to enroll me in one credit of PE practicum and accept all my PCAD credits in order to make it legal for me to compete. The PE class is strictly pass/fail.” Everybody laughed at the thought that I was getting a Phys Ed credit while going to art school. Sometimes life is just too ridiculous for words.

“Two degrees?” Kate asked. “That sounds like an awful lot of work.”

“Not so unusual at universities,” I explained. “Lots of people do double majors or multiple degrees. This just takes it across school boundaries. A lot of the courses will count toward both degrees, but if it all works out I’ll get a BFA in Studio Art and a BA in something. That still hasn’t been finalized.I could take me an extra year, though.”

“Yeah. It still sounds like a lot of work.”

I’ve heard it said that there’s a lull in conversation every fifteen minutes or something and that an entire room will go silent at the same time. It looked like we’d just hit that in the cafeteria, but I could tell there was something more on Kate’s mind. She wasn’t the most sociable girl in the school and most of us thought she was stuck up. But I was beginning to think that she was really just shy. Finally, she turned to Melody and whispered.

“Is it really you in the painting?”

Melody grinned.

“Yeah, that’s my dimply ass sticking out in the admin hall.”

“Did you… I mean… did he… really…?” Kate babbled, clearly unable to form a complete sentence.

“Did I pose?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmm hmm. And it’s not as easy as it looks.”

“How did you ever get up the courage to… to undress… in front… oh god!” Kate’s face was so flushed that I was afraid she’d pass out. She really wanted to know what went on!

“Somebody wants to get naked in front of your boyfriend, Melody,” Sandra giggled.

I could have strangled her. I thought Kate was going to bolt right then and there. Instead, a tear escaped from one eye and Melody wrapped an arm around her to keep her from running.

“You’re a fine one to talk,” she snapped.

Sandra had the good graces to blush a little herself. I could still see those plump breasts and huge nipples in front of my face if I closed my eyes. Melody turned to Kate and gave her a squeeze.

“I know what you’re feeling,” Melody said. “And you’re right. I actually considered getting drunk before I did it. Remember when we goaded Tony into posing in class? Did it turn you on?”

“No!” Kate almost shouted. There were clear smirks on all three girls’ faces. Kate dropped her head a little and whispered, “Not at the time.”

“Well,” Melody continued, “I just kept thinking about what it must have been like for Tony to be on the other side of the easel.”

“So you just… stripped and posed?”

“Wellllll…” Melody teased. “We got the sex thing out of the way first.”

It was my turn to choke on my food. Kate’s mouth was hanging open. I was afraid she’d pass out from hyperventilating. This was definitely more than I was prepared to listen to. I didn’t know what Melody was up to, but I was superfluous to this discussion.

“I’m going over to the gym a little early and do some stretching before practice,” I offered. “I’ll see you guys later on.”

“See you later, Tony,” they all chorused.

“Sure. See you.” I took off. Sorry, Kate, but I’m leaving you to the wolves!

Five

School was school. I was finding it more tolerable now, partly because I was playing racquetball almost every day, and partly because Melody had moved into my dorm room. Twice, we’d managed to get Lissa to come and stay with us, and we were at her house all weekend.

We were seeing more of Kate now, too. She was joining our little group for lunch most days and was proving to be more sociable than I ever imagined. She was still pretty shy, but every once in a while, she’d catch one of us off guard with a zinger that showed she had a great sense of humor.

I stretched canvases, helped unload a huge block of marble for the sculpture studio, dabbled in different media, painted the new picture of Lissa at the bath, and went to class. On Monday, when I handed in my Art History paper two days early, Brian actually looked at me as if I had grown an extra head. I explained that I’d be missing class Wednesday to go to the tournament and he wished me luck.

Dr. Henredon had already given me a release from class for the week and Prof. McIntyre told me my final project was complete and graded as far as she was concerned and that attendance at the remaining classes for the year was optional. Not that I was going to take full advantage of that. Figure painting was my favorite class. I stopped to see Ms. Brock before class that afternoon and she said she had received word that I would be unavailable for the week and as far as she was concerned I didn’t need to be there this afternoon. Suddenly, I had nothing to think about but the tournament, so I headed for the gym.

I was surprised to find Lissa already on the court when I got there. She was returning serves from John and battering each of them past him no matter where he served. He has a strong forehand, but he’s nowhere near her level and she had no difficulty returning everything he served. Still, something looked odd. I stood there and studied the action through the glass wall. It finally hit me and as soon as John missed the next return I pounded on the glass. They turned to look and Lissa motioned me in. I slipped my shoes off and opened the door.

“Hey, guys,” I said.

“You’re here early,” Lissa answered.

“Yeah. I was just watching. Do you mind if I make a suggestion?”

“Shoot,” Lissa said.

“Lissa, you can return anything John serves. No offense, John; it’s the way she is. But you’ve got a gap in your stance, Lissa. We’ve talked about this before. You can’t let yourself get sloppy just because John isn’t as good as you. You’re supposed to be preparing for Opens. You’re leaning into your backhand to your left before he ever serves. You know you can switch back to the right to catch anything he serves. But a power-serve low at the stretch of your forehand would leave you watching the ball go by. You’ve got to square yourself up while you’re waiting for the serve. We talked about that once before.”

“Wow,” John said.

“No kidding, wow,” Lissa responded. “It was a strange day when we had that practice, but I see what you’re saying. Let’s run a few more serves. Tony, make sure I’m on target. If I’m developing a bad habit, I need to correct it now. And thanks.”

She smiled at me and gave me a little kissy face as I backed out of the court. I watched a few more rallies and then Lissa turned to look at me and raised an eyebrow. I went back in.

“Better?” she asked.

“Definitely better, but you’ve got to get up on your toes more when he brings his racquet back to serve,” I explained. “You’re delaying because you know he doesn’t have the power. Stop thinking of him as John your trainer and start thinking of him as Yuri Gedov. You can’t let him slip one by on you.”

That was a preview of Model Student 2: Rhapsody Suite. To read the rest purchase the book.

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