Page 13 of Hard Wood Daddy

Don wasn’t like legit attractive. He wasmeh, but his personality made himeww. I liked his sense of style at first. He wore cool clothes. His hair was closely trimmed. Don was more groomed than any woman I’ve ever met. He looked rich. That was the attraction, I’m ashamed to say.

Rutger is not groomed. In fact, I’d be surprised if he owns a suit or a tie. His muscles aren’t the kind you get from spending time in the gym, they’re the kind you get from spending time outdoors, chopping down trees and rolling boulders up steep hills.

Or, I don’t know, cracking open rocks with that hammer Thor carries around.

And I’m so much more than attracted to him.

I can’t believe I just rubbed against him like that. Just thinking about it makes my cheeks burn in a way I hope nobody notices.

There’s no way this horny girl is the same Tess who turned down every boy before she dropped out of school, afraid of their clumsy hands and needy eyes. I’m such a virgin that I jumped out of Don Patron’s window rather than let him take that from me. I was running from him to preserve that—giving away something that he cared about a lot more than I did.

Rutger is changing me, and I only touched him once. I’d serve up my cherry to him like a darn Pop Tart right now if he showed up.

When the class ends and Lindsay lets me up from the stool to stretch out my muscles, I discreetly check to make sure I haven’t made a mess with my arousal.

The stool is fine. The drape has a wet patch though.

The very thought of Rutger has had my body on the edge of coming again, leaving my pussy soaking like it’s making an earnest attempt to prepare for his huge cock.

As soon as I’m wearing a bathrobe, I bundle up the drape and tell Lindsay I’ll wash it myself. “I need to do laundry anyway,” I say with a big manic grin.

“You’re so thoughtful,” she says fondly. “How’s Frida doing?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit.

I don’t have any kitten-specific food for her. She’s the only cat-in-residence among all the artists, so they don’t have kibble. I give her as much as she wants of every meal I get here, but she’s not much into broccoli, and they are pretty light on the meat portions. Seems artists lean into plant-based eating more than I expected.

But she’s so little that even what I give her seems to fill her up. At least enough that she stops before her bowl is empty.

But she seems listless today, and I can’t help but think it’s because the food isn’t right for her.

Lindsay makes a concerned sound. “Is she acting funny?”

“More like she’s tired. Kittens should play all the time, shouldn’t they? She’s usually like a ping pong ball with claws. But, today she’s more like a cotton ball.”

Frida’s my first. It’s been a couple of weeks for firsts.

“Babies sleep a lot too. It’s normal to worry as a mom.” Lindsay offers me a little hug then hurries away when her phone starts to ring in her pocket.

A group of students from the class want to show their drawings to me. I’m impressed by how great they are at drawing the fabric and my form. Seeing myself through others’ eyes is so weird.

“This is really cool,” I say, the scent of patchouli oil coming in strong from one of the artists standing close. I smile shyly at them as they chatter and compare their versions of me to one another. The students are all a little older than me. Many of them are in the graduate program at the university and from the way they talk, I can tell they are smart. It feels like if I say too much, my tenth-grade education will show through, and they won’t look at me the same way.

But right now, they’re nice. This is nice. My life feels nice.

“I heard you’ve been looking for kitten food,” says one of the artists walking back from the hallway that leads to Lindsay’s office. His name is Phil. He’s a short guy, maybe like twenty-five, with expressive round features and a prematurely receding hairline.

My heart skips. “Do you have some?”

“No, but I’m going to drive into town this afternoon,” he says. “You could catch a ride with me to the store.”

I dare to feel relieved for a second. Then I remember that my entire life savings is one hundred five dollars, and I’m worried again. I chew on my bottom lip while I think about it.

“Yeah,” I say slowly.

How much does good cat food cost? Will I have enough cash to feed Frida for the rest of the summer on my ‘room and board’ salary?

Another student pipes up. “If you’re broke, we need an actual nude model. We had to cancel one of our private sessions because we couldn’t find anyone willing to bare it all.”

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