Kinky Confessions

“No, it’s all right. She said I could.” Her cheeks turned rosy. “She said you had a sexy voice. I told her the rest of you is sexy too. I hope you don’t mind. I know you don’t even know her, but she’s really cool.

“She reminds me of Marianne,” she continued, “only brunette and more open about her body and sex. We talked a lot while I was sketching her. It was a bit like Erin, now that I think about it. She was sort of interviewing me.

Huh. That was weird. But… oh, well.”

Christy was too excited to dwell on it. Instead, she opened her sketchbook and showed me several pages of a mid-thirties woman reclining fully nude on a couch. She was about Wren’s size and build, but obviously older around her eyes and mouth and in her hands.

She didn’t look like she’d had children, though. Her breasts sagged a little, but that was mostly because of their size. Her medium-sized areolae were light and smooth and didn’t look like they’d ever nursed a baby. She also kept her pubic hair neat, which was a huge plus in my book.

“She’s very pretty,” I said noncommittally.

“She is. She’s totally perfect. Her face is nothing like Sayuri’s, but that’s easy enough to change. I have a bunch of pictures from when she lived in Wyoming and South Dakota. Sayuri, I mean. She’s about the right age in those. I did the same with Wren: put the younger Sayuri’s face on her body. I know that makes her sound like some sort of Frankenstein, but—”

“Frankenstein’s monster,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Frankenstein was the doctor.”

“Oh. Okay. Whatever. Anyway, I think I need to…”

I paged through the sketches again and silently admired the woman as I listened to Christy with half my attention. She chattered away about hairstyles and outfits, and how she wanted to make them appropriate for the different time periods. She had trouble describing them, so she grabbed her sketchbook, flipped to a blank page, and simply drew what she wanted.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about,” she finished. “Unfortunately, Siobhan doesn’t think I can finish everything this quarter, especially since we added another piece.”

“Are you casting them?”

She nodded. “I don’t have the experience to sculpt actual marble. That’s what the MFA is for. And to cast bronze. I know how to do both, but I’ve only done small pieces. So we’re doing the Kanagawa pieces in Carrara marble dust. Half-scale again. I don’t need to show emotions like I did with

you and the Replicant, but I want to put a lot of details into the faces and kimono and futon.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to build the molds,” I said. “I’ll help—”

“I knew you would,” she beamed.

“—but I need to add it to my schedule. I have a pretty tricky model to build for my own project. Nothing like last time, but still…”

“I don’t think we’ll cast them this quarter,” Christy said. “Siobhan wants me to concentrate on the maquettes and details and planning. We’ll cast in the spring for my final portfolio review. The Art Department is having another big show, and these’ll be the centerpieces of my exhibition.”

I nodded.

“I… hope you’ll be my date again.”

“Of course.”

“And this time I promise I won’t call you ‘my future husband.’”

“Oh, I think it’d be all right if you did.”

She searched my eyes. “Are you serious?”

“I think so. We aren’t ready to make it official, but I think that’s the direction we’re headed. Why? Don’t you?”

“Yes, of course! But…” She frowned. “I always thought it’d be more romantic than this. It’d be a surprise or something, like in books and movies.”

I chuckled. “Well, think about it… Danny and Sabrina talked about getting married before he actually popped the question. Harry and Marianne too.”

“I know, but still… I guess I have this storybook idea of what romance is like, and the reality is more… I dunno. What’s a good word?”

“Prosaic.”

“Exactly.”

I gathered her in my arms and said, “I’ll try to add more poetry to our romance.”

Her forehead wrinkled.

“That’s what ‘prosaic’ means,” I explained. “Literally, ‘like prose.’

Figuratively it means ‘boring and unromantic.’ So its opposite is ‘poetic.’”

“You and your words.” She rolled her eyes, cheerful again. “But I like poetry. Tell me some now. You know I love listening to you.”

I concentrated for a moment and then thought of something. I cleared my throat and said,

I have a small

girlfriend called

Christy, who is

like a golden

flower

I wouldn’t

take all Croesus’

kingdom with love

thrown in, for her.

“Oh my gosh, that’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Who—?” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Who wrote it?”

“Sappho. I changed it a bit, but it’s pretty close to the original.”

“Is there more?”

“A whole book, one of my favorites.”

“Let’s take it with us next time we go to West Virginia.”

I nodded.

“In the meantime, do you think we could…?” She glanced through the door to the stairs. “You know… maybe…?”

I arched an eyebrow.