Betty and I were leaned over my floor plan for the Act II setting and she was pointing out problems to me. We’d agreed that while it wasn’t traditional, I could make a model. So I’d made the model, now it was time (shudder) to start painting the damned things.

I was bent over the drawing board, my black hair coming down over my face and Dr. Compton, Betty, standing behind me. We were both casually dressed. She in a pink sweater and worn jeans. Me in even more worn jeans and a dark green polo shirt. I was trying to.get a lemon yellow out of my water colors. The puddle kept looking like mustard.

I could smell her very close behind me. For the fitting later on, I’d worn a lemon yellow jock. She must have seen the waistband when I bent over, because she said, “The color of your shorts would be just fine? “They’re not shorts. It’s fancy underwear, a cross between a jock and a bikini.”

“How fascinating.”

“Yeah, well… let me try just a little more of… shit.” Mustard again.

“That’s mustard like you put on a hot dog not lemon, like you put in lemonade? “I know, I know. It’s just that… ”

“Let me show you? She grabbed my sable brush and squeezed my mustard out (oooh, what an image. My dick crawled a little in its pouch) and swished it through the clear water. Then with a flick and a twist she had my lemon.

“Let’s see if it matches.” She reached forward to the waist of my beltless jeans and pulled the front down. The narrow band of my shorts/jock widened or my stomach popped back. See, I have this fantasy about an older, experienced woman seducing me. You know. Girls your own age are so easy. But an older woman, one with experience, they’re the hard kind to meet and seduce.

My stomach was still fluttering. She lifted my knit shirt and painted a smiley face on my stomach. “Let it dry. It may not be quite the right shade.