All smooth and powdered I board the train to Haarlem. The lingerie under my dress gives me superpowers, I see a few men peeking. I have been looking forward to seeing Simon, especially since I finally get to pose for him. When I ring the bell, the door opens automatically. No Oscar, a disappointment. As the lift door opens, I see Simon in the doorway of his flat with a big smile on his face and his arms outstretched. I run into his arms, twist myself onto his lap and put my arms around his neck.
‘Kiss me, kiss me,’ he whispers in my ear, and I want nothing more.
Soft kisses alternate with sultry tongue movements, my body is tingling in every direction. I cuddle through his curls, he strokes my thighs. He pauses, our faces still close together. I kiss him on the nose, give him my warmest smile and bounce off his lap.
‘Come on, Siem, we have work to do.’
Simon gives his wheelchair a swish and leads me into the kitchen, where the table is full of antipasti. He places a tray on his lap and starts to load two plates.
‘If you just pour the wine, we’ll take everything to the studio. I can’t wait to get started.’
At the end of the corridor, he opens a sliding door to a room brimming with creativity. Heavy ribbed velvet curtains, here and there lanterns with candles spreading a lovely scent. The warm trumpet sounds of Miles Davis fill the room, and Simon gives me a moment to take it all in. He beams with pride, knowing that his cabinet of curiosities is impressive. In the corner is a lowered kitchen unit full of paint splatters, and on the wall around it are framed posters of artists from days gone by. On another wall probably his own work, by the looks of it I am not his first nude model.
There are several cupboards full of paint pots, tubes and utensils. I see a desk with curious objects and canvases everywhere, lined up against the wall. The home trainer with integrated splints for his legs looks out of place. There is an easel with a large canvas that catches my eye. That’s me! A reclining nude, reminiscent of Modigliani’s style. Taped to the edge of the canvas are prints of my erotic photographs. Before I can study it properly, Simon directs me to the chaise longue, which is softly lit by two large floor lamps.
‘That’s your spot, make yourself comfortable.’
I sit down, still holding two glasses of wine. He rolls in front of me and takes one.
‘Time for a toast. My painting will be much better now that you’re actually here.’
‘Cheers, my artist, I will try to be a perfect model.’
‘You already are, we’ll enjoy it. Cheers!’
Our glasses clink, and we take a sip without breaking eye contact. Simon puts one of the plates on the side table and I place my glass next to it. He rolls his refreshments over to the easel, puts everything in reach and pulls on a white painter’s apron that hangs so far over his wheelchair that it looks like a ghost with Simon’s head on it. I laugh out loud, and he looks up from his palette.
‘Careful, you, or I’ll turn it into a Botero.’
I take a slice of ham, which melts in my mouth like butter. One more sip of wine and I am ready.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Take something off and lie down.’
‘Allrightie.’
I kick off my pumps and stand up, opening the buttons on the front of my dress one by one. Simon watches my striptease with great interest, the silky material falling like a waterfall, revealing my body in the lingerie I wore when Mark deflowered me in infidelity. Simon shouts ‘Bellissima!’ and rolls over to me.
‘I want to have a closer look at you, just keep the lingerie on.’
His breath collides gently with my belly. He kisses my navel, squeezes my bottom.
‘Mmm, how creamy you are.’
With a satisfied hum, he stretches out his arms to pull me towards him. A kiss, a short one. I top up our wine, feed him a slice of salami and return to my seat.
Simon disappears from view, I only hear his brush rustling on the canvas. We philosophise endlessly about what drives us into each other’s arms. Is it a primal need for adventure, attention and validation? Or is it all about lust and sex? Either way, I don’t want to stop, this is my journey and I am still far from my destination. Simon encourages me to keep writing, he finds my stories thought-provoking and well-written. My ‘List of Longings’ also comes up, he doesn’t believe Raymond’s theory that going to a sex party with someone you only know online generates unprecedented energy. He thinks I am too sweet and special to dance to the tune of such guys. His head reappears.
‘Move your hand to the edge of your stocking.’
I caress the double softness of the fabric and my skin. I see Simon following my movement, so I continue smoothly from the edge of my panties over my stomach to my boobs. The kneading causes my nipple to flop over the edge of the balcony, I gently circle it and arch my back in pleasure.
Simon nods at me encouragingly.
‘Perhaps you should put your glass down for a moment.’
I do as he says and pick two olives from the plate. Leaning back, I chew on the bittersweet little bombs and massage my titties out of their festive wrapping. The bra has to come off and I fling it at Simon, who just manages to catch it. My freed nipples stand up eagerly and I squirm under my own touch. I pull my lips apart a little through the fabric and press a finger against my clit. The fact that Simon is watching, catalyses my arousal.
With my titties against his neck, I watch the progress of my portrait. Simon refills the wine and rolls back to the kitchen for more snacks. In his absence, I quickly take off what I am still wearing and lay myself on the chaise longue. Not that this startles him, he gets right back to work. During the last part of the posing session, Simon talks about his experiences with other women. He is a little more confident about his shortcomings these days and has added the wheelchair to his profile. There are nice women who are interested, but he assures me that I am his muse. He suggests putting me in touch with other women on SL, but I find that too scary. I play with my nipples and feel the arousal returning. My pussy is still bulging and softly sopping I finger myself. I like to put on a show for my esteemed audience. Simon watches intently, mutters ‘horny horny’ and puts a few strokes on the canvas. With intense pleasure, I seek and find my next summit. Simon applauds, takes off his apron and comes over to me. As we kiss lazily, I feel his hand searching.
‘Can I feel you? I have to ask, I want it so badly.’
I move forward a little and lift one leg so he can easily reach it. Eagerly his hand disappears between my thighs, my clit is a bit sore but his fingers are very soft. He tickles his way in as our lips meet. Kissing and fingering are a great combination, and we could go on for hours if I didn’t have to go home. I break the kiss and decidedly push him away.
‘I have to go.’
‘Yeah, I know, it is a shame.’ Simon licks his fingers. ‘Mmm, strawberries, yummy.’
I slip past him to collect my date bag from the hallway. Back in the studio, I put on clean, everyday underwear and my dress. Simon cleans up, the painting is almost finished and beautiful. I hand him my pheromone-soaked panties, which he gratefully accepts and immediately stows away in a drawer. We kiss goodbye before stepping into our digital bubble until we meet again.
