Chapter Ten

“Don’t be upset, stud. There’s likely a reasonable explanation for everything.”

“I’m not upset. I was a little surprised and definitely embarrassed,” Cole toweled off, eyeballing Krystal in the mirror as she brushed out her long chocolate tresses. “Like, what is she going to think of us? Your friend–my new neighbor–was spying on our bathroom sexploits. How’d she get in here anyway?”

“You came through the door like a crash of rhinos. Probably left it ajar, and she came to check on the noise.” She chuckled, slipping into the same short, turquoise bathrobe from breakfast. “I talked you up a lot over lunch–sorry, not sorry. May have been a tad indiscreet and piqued her interest. College girls are notoriously experimental, after all.”

He shot the saucy minx a suspicious frown, which ricocheted off her supreme self-assurance like ballistic armor. Krystal didn’t sound the least bit remorseful; in fact, she appeared well pleased by how events had played out.

Something about that unshakable confidence was incredibly sexy to Cole. He fought down a sudden urge to ravish her on the spot and stepped into his boxers.

“Well, it’s going to make things awkward for a while. I hope we can all act like mature adults and put this behind us. Communication will be key. We should extend an olive branch. Nip it in the bud.”

He gave her a meaningful look. One that said; She’s your friend. You reach out to her and clean up the mess you made.

She ignored him, flipping her damp hair and strutting out of the bathroom with an impish wink. Growling in annoyance, Cole followed, pulling on loose sweatpants…

Only to find Lita seated on a wooden stool, engrossed in examining the portrait he’d painted of Krystal the previous night.

“Oh, good. You’re still here!” Krystal exclaimed, skipping with glee. “What do you think? I told you he was amazing, didn’t I?”

The punk princess was entranced, clearly besotted, gnawing on a lacquered black fingernail. She snapped out of it when her underdressed friend embraced her, blushing heatedly.

“It… It’s an exceptional piece. The color palate and brushwork are enthralling.” She murmured, face shielded by Krystal’s damp hair. “Hey, listen, I stuck around to apologize for walking in on the two of you. The front door wasn’t closed properly–that’s no excuse, really–but you told me at lunch you’d be here, and I wanted to iron out the details for our next photoshoot… Shit, now I’m babbling. Long story short, I was leaving and promised to patch things up soon, but then I spotted this canvas and… well, you can see the emotion in every swirl of the paint!”

The tension in the air ebbed, and Cole relaxed a fraction under her barrage of sincerity. Crisis averted, he wandered to the closet to grab a shirt, pausing to raise a question.

“A photoshoot? Who’s the lucky photographer?”

“That would be me, silly,” Krystal answered, smirking. “I’m head of the Academy’s film and photography syllabus. My extensive portfolio ranges from documentary and fashion to wildlife and landscape. If you're interested, I’ve got a few boxes of awards gathering dust in storage. Otherwise, they’re just clutter.”

It was Lita’s turn to chortle at Cole’s poleaxed expression. “Oh, look at him, girlfriend. Did he think you earned the position working weddings and high school proms? Viktor may be a horny old rake, but he only employs the very best.”

“He’s totally adorable. Don’t let the slack jaw or muscles fool you, though. That man is on a whole other level when it comes down to raw talent.”

“Sounds like I’m not the only one,” he said, pulling a customary turtleneck over his broad chest. Both girls pouted in disappointment. “And don’t be sorry, Lita. Something tells me it wasn’t entirely your fault.”

Krystal had told the inked blonde where she’d be, then sent Cole the text equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull. It reeked of a setup and she didn’t display a hint of guilt, gushing with Lita over the portrait.

“That gives me an idea,” the scheming bombshell thoughtfully tapped her chin. “Can I leave Cole in your care for a few days? The beginning of the semester is a frightfully busy time. Course material, class schedules, student assessments, teaching, and no end of paperwork have me swamped. He’ll need a study partner and your styles are compatible. As a senior, you are a far better choice than sticking him with one of the other freshman pairs like an awkward third wheel.”

Cole would have thought she was trying to pass him off if she hadn’t been so clear about her desire to share.

Krystal clear, in fact, and she had her sights squarely set on Lita, who smiled brilliantly at him.

“Twist my arm, why don’t you? What do you say, neighbor, want to learn needle art from a pro?”

“I am at your mercy.” He replied with mock seriousness. “Please go gentle on me.”

“Not a chance!”

The first week of college went by in a blur.

As a last-minute enrollee, Cole scrambled to familiarize himself with the school grounds (discovering an unprecedented amount of phallic symbology, yeck), selected classes relevant to his interests (History of the Renaissance, Studies in Fauvism, and a few workshops to refine techniques he lacked), and generally learn the finer points of Von Gloot’s haphazard educational philosophy.

Both Krystal and Lita provided guidance and advice, proving themselves indispensable as he settled into his new groove.

The former visited every evening to check in and take Cole’s fat hog for a spin until her glasses were askew while answering his inquiries amid orgasmic squeals. The latter filled in the finer details during more sedate sketching sessions, hanging out on the quad and swapping notes in the afternoons.

He appreciated both of them. They were as unique and dazzling as uncut gemstones.

Exchanging pillow talk with Krystal between frantic bouts of love-making was endearing. Listening to her anecdotes and experiences, learning more about the gorgeous, older woman’s journey through life and where it had led, was fascinating.

She’d traveled widely, constantly pushing her personal boundaries, and possessed emotional depths Cole wanted to drown in. Her gentle touch, kind soul and adventurous spirit were intoxicating. His respect for her grew in leaps and bounds.

The mind-blowing sex was pretty great too.

“There I was, exploring the bazaars of Istanbul, when an old büyükanne–that’s the Turkish word for grandmother–called out to me,” Krystal told him after their third night tangling the sheets. “‘Kız çocuğu, kız çocuğu!’ She cried. ‘Take this charm to ward away the evil eye, daughter.’ I tried to pay for the small glass bauble, but she just hugged me, then vanished into the crowd.

“She looked as ancient and intriguing as the city itself, Cole. Like there was a story behind every wrinkle, a lifetime's worth of tales in those lines, and her eyes were clear, dark pools of wisdom. She was beautiful and profound, wearing her age with a humble dignity.” Krystal sighed, lost in memory. “I returned to the bazaar many times but never saw her again. I’ll never forget that encounter for as long as I live.”

Cole listened, spellbound by those brief glimpses into his mature lover’s soul. He combed affectionate fingers through her rich chocolate locks and marveled at her inner light.

Lita was equally genial company.

She invited him to join her for morning yoga, though in more suitable attire than at their first chance meeting. Not that the tiny spandex shorts buried in her juicy butt crack and paper-thin sports bra hid much when she stretched under the first rays of sunrise.

It was a splendid way to greet the day. As the exercise became routine, Cole could feel the benefits of a limber frame and clear mind. The mohawked blonde recommended meditation too, which he was keen to try, but probably without the speed metal blaring from the headphones she donned for her periods of tranquility.

“I didn’t anticipate how difficult translating a two-dimensional image onto a three-dimensional surface would be.” Cole mused, glaring at the balloon in his lap. Shaky lines of permanent marker marred the rubber. “Flat canvases are a cinch by comparison. You can do this freehand?”

It kinda resembled the sparrow in his sketchbook. In the same way, a duck kinda resembled a penguin after a jab in the eye. There were wings, a beak and webbed feet but…

Ugh. Just, Ugh.

“You’re doing fine.” Lita gave him an encouraging shoulder bump. She had a mannequin arm across her knees as they sat cross-legged on the floor of her studio residence. “Babies crawl before they learn to walk. You’ll get there with time and effort. And yeah, I do my tattoos freehand but only on myself. I stipple the designs for everyone else. That’s an industry standard.”

Stippling, she explained, was the method of transferring a creation in a pattern simulating varying degrees of solidity or shading by using small, erasable dots, which the tattooist used like a picture in a coloring book.

A method far below her skill level.

“Now imagine that balloon is a person, biting their tongue in pain as a needle moving twenty cycles a second deposits ink underneath their dermis. Often laying half-naked on a table, totally ****, trusting you won’t flinch and scar them.” She continued calmly, drawing smooth, elegant lines over the plastic shoulder with consummate ease. “It takes courage to give someone–usually a stranger–that sort of power. To mark you forever, praying it turns out right.”

Cole stared at Lita, floored by her insightful commentary on the nature of her craft.

She had more layers than an onion under the tough veneer of tats, studded leather and skimpy punk fashion she wielded as a shield against the haters who would gladly misjudge a book by its cover.

Her torn fishnet stockings shifted over her fleshy thighs as she twisted at the waist to grab different pen, this one red. The seated half-turn tugged the short leather biker skirt higher on her rotund hips, gifting Cole a flash of scarlet lace in the shadows beneath the hem.

He took a slow breath and slipped a cigarette out of his pocket.

The last few days of teasing and flirting had been fun. Lita expressed her interest in coquettish gestures and physical demonstrations. A touch on his leg here, a cheeky wink there, posturing and posing her flexible, bottom-heavy body in not-so-subtle ways dressed in her most daring outfits.

Here was a woman who knew what she had and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it in front of a guy she liked. Fuck everyone else. She had a backbone made of steel. Unbending. Cole respected the hell out of that–out of her.

So he’d reciprocated, cautiously at first, then growing bolder under Krystal’s nightly encouragement. Testing the waters with genuine compliments and appreciative glances, graduating to brushing against her and closing the distance between them in such moments.

Small yet significant gestures that cultivated a quiet intimacy.

And, honestly, Lita was teaching him a lot. The young artist had dabbled in ink on paper but preferred paint and a brush. He wasn’t a slouch when drawing with pen, but it wasn’t his default either.

Drawing on a living canvas, though? That was a new frontier entirely.

“I should take a class on this,” Cole remarked, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Your tattoos are extraordinary and the permanency of the art form enamors me. Like you said, there are elements of trust and vulnerability that are absent in other disciplines. I want to experience those for myself.”

“I can recommend a few courses.” Lita’s smirk had a devious edge. “But skin art is very niche, and you’ll not find a better instructor than me. Let’s negotiate. Help me with my next photoshoot, and in return, we’ll work on a joint project together. Creating two designs showcasing our artistic strengths in perfectly balanced synchronicity.”

That was a no-brainer. The opportunity to spend more time alongside this beguiling, rebellious spirit would have sealed the deal for him. The addition of an official collaboration was just frosting on a very large cake.

How could Cole refuse an offer like that?

“Count me in. When’s the photoshoot?”

Lita’s hazel eyes sparkled as she snatched the Virginia Slim from his lips and took a long, satisfied drag. Dark lipstick smudged the filter when she passed it back.

“This Saturday, boo. Krystal booked us a private space with lots of natural light. Dress nice, m’kay?”

A big thank you to the anonymous supporter who commissioned this fun tale. You know who you are. Chapters are posted on my BuyMeACoffee page weeks in advance. Supporters can read them for the price of a single cuppa joe. Cheers for reading!