Diamonds in the Rough

“Oh, Della, Della, Della... Don’t you know that all the classical artists tend to err on the side of underestimation in certain male characteristics?”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

She was fighting, fighting, fighting now. Resisting what in her heart she knew she’d really come here for.

Fiddlesticks!

Trying not to seem at all concerned, she slowly turned in Wilson’s direction. Only to find that he was already at the riverbank and wading in, his back to her.

Drat the man!

His shoulders, his back and his bottom were glorious, though. Before the latter disappeared beneath the water, she admired the firm, tight musculature of his buttocks and the way it moved, propelling him forward. The white flower was forgotten, and she began drawing as fast as she could, her pencil flying, inspired. It was always like this when she found a subject that really enchanted her. She could work quickly, almost at lightning speed, the result forming not only on the paper, but etched into her memory as if on a photographic plate, ready to be retrieved at any time, reworked and adapted.

This was her great gift, and she knew that even if she never saw her cousin’s magnificent arse ever again, she would still be able to draw it over and over, whenever she wanted to.

It took but a few moments to complete the study. Naked Wilson, his firm backside, his well-shaped torso, his dark hair, silky and tousled down the back of his neck. Smiling, she flipped over the page and drew another impression, this time changing the angle, making the view more a profile. But she didn’t attempt to portray his genitalia. Somehow it didn’t seem right, in case she shortchanged him.

“Why don’t you come on in, Della? The water’s deliciously refreshing. A swim will do you good.” He half turned, smiling at her over his bare shoulder. “Can you swim?”

“Indeed I can. I’ve bathed in the sea and I found it most invigorating. And even with the heavy drag of my bathing dress, I quickly took to the strokes.”

Wilson cocked his head to one side. He looked impressed. “Well, then, you’ll find it even easier and much more pleasant if you swim naked.”

“Wilson, you really do and say the most absurd things. I can’t possibly take my clothes off in front of you. It’s completely improper and I don’t know why you would even suggest it.”

Even as she spoke the words, she almost choked on her own hypocrisy. She’d come here to see, think and do improper things. That was her nature. She’d already left off half her underpinnings, knowing full well it was daring and scandalous and would give Mama an apoplectic fit if she ever found out.

“I don’t think you care about propriety, Della,” said Wilson, his voice low and challenging as he spun around in the flowing stream and approached the bank again.

I should turn. I should turn.

But Adela didn’t. She watched the point where Wilson’s body met the water, holding steady as his loins breached the surface and all was exposed to her.

She blinked. Well, it didn’t seem as if that would go under one of those tiny fig leaves that adorned most classical statuary. Certainly not. His male appendage was sturdy, and had a cheeky, rather insolent look about it. Even as she stared, it gave a twitch, and she could swear it got plumper and longer.

Wilson gave a low chuckle as he stepped onto the bank. “I’m sorry. I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I? You were expecting a weapon of massive proportions.” Adela’s heart nearly stopped when he reached down and casually fondled himself...something that seemed to make his flesh expand even before her eyes. “But in my defense, the water is quite cold, and that always has the effect of making the male member shrink in order to protect itself.”

“It, um, looks perfectly adequate to me.” Her pencil settled on the paper, and almost of its own accord began sketching in the missing manly parts of her second drawing, before swiftly moving on to another depiction, this time of Wilson’s penis in magnificent isolation.

“Shall I pose for you?”

Adela’s heart thudded hard. Yes, indeed, she did want him to pose for her, but there were other things she wanted, too. Things that obsessed her more than ever now. Not only did she want to draw, she wanted to touch, to caress and to explore. She wanted to feel the reality of a man’s body, rather than just look at it and sketch it from a safe distance.

But if she told Wilson that, there would be no turning back. He was a man, and they were wont to make a yard of liberties out of an inch of compliance, because they couldn’t help themselves. Adela wasn’t sure if she wanted more than a foot.

And talking of inches, wasn’t he was bigger down there than before?

“Yes...please. Perhaps you could lie down over there?” She pointed to a patch of flattish turf a safe distance away. It was shaded by branches that dipped low, toward the river, and the play of light and shadow would afford an interesting texture.

That’s it. Concentrate on the technicalities. See him purely as a pleasing natural structure to be recorded.

Wilson shrugged and padded to the area she’d indicated. With a grace that nearly made her sigh aloud, he sank down and struck a pose, much like a modern Apollo taking his ease. Closing his eyes, he stretched back his arms, causing a stark tension in the muscles of his chest and abdomen. With one leg straight and one lifted, bent at the knee, he seemed to offer his manhood to her, its prominence magnified.

It’s just a pleasing natural structure.

Adela’s pencil raced again. She might never get another opportunity to draw a naked man from life. Even if she were lucky enough to find a husband soon, the gentleman in question might not want to lie around in the altogether to indulge her artistic whims.

Sketching almost without thinking, Adela frowned. No beaux were as yet on the horizon, and even if one hove into view, she wasn’t sure she wanted one who hadn’t got time to pose. From what she’d seen of her early marrying friends, marriage wasn’t the entirely desirable state that women were led to believe it was. Adela wasn’t at all excited by the idea of homemaking and entertaining and “supporting” her husband in all things. Or producing infant after infant. One or two would be a joy, and she was certainly very interested in the begetting side of the process, but her instincts were not at all maternal. Most people’s children were rather tiresome.

As all this was passing through part of her mind, another segment was recording and reproducing Wilson’s physique. And yet another portion was desperately wondering what his bare skin felt like to the touch, and how...how much bigger his penis was going to get. It was now eye-poppingly tumescent and pointing up at a robust angle.

“Yes, I’m afraid that can happen in the presence of beautiful women.”

He’d done that trick again. Read the thoughts and notions going through her mind.

“Can you not control it?” Adela’s pencil snapped. She was pressing on it too hard. Reaching into the portfolio and a little leather notch, she drew out a tiny knife and sharpened the point. The small activity was a respite. She had to concentrate in order not to cut her finger. While focusing on the blade she couldn’t look at Wilson’s burgeoning sex.

“Oh, I could if wanted to,” he replied airily. “I could apply myself to the never-ending conundrum that is pi, or tax my brain with one or two little theorems that are interesting me at the moment, and that would probably result in a gradual collapse of the offending organ....” The sharpening was finished, and Adela looked up again, to find him grinning at her. “But I don’t want to. It’s rather pleasant to be aroused.... I like being reminded that I’m male, and animal, and that I’m lusty.” Slowly, he ran a fingertip along his own length. “And I love the way it brings the roses to your cheeks.”

Adela drew in a breath, to calm herself. The sight of him fondling his own flesh did hot and peculiar things to her. She wanted him to do far more than simply touch. She wanted to know what happened if he just kept stroking and stroking. Having inveigled her way into her grandfather’s library—with Wilson’s help—and perused certain volumes, and listened to racy talk from certain wild girls at the ladies’ academy she’d attended...well, she was fully aware of what happened to men, and what they did with the result during the act of carnal congress.

But all that was purely theoretical. Actually observing the male phenomenon occur in front of her was making her quite giddy.

“Well, you might as well plunge back into the river to cool off, both yourself and your masculine appendage,” she said as briskly as she could, hoping to sound clinical and detached. “I’ve seen quite enough for now. I can draw whatever I need to from memory henceforward.”

“I rather like the idea of my erection being preserved forever in your mind’s eye. Every time I look at you from now on, I’ll be wondering if you’re thinking about my cock.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m drawing you as a life study, not thinking about your...your...”

“It’s called my cock, Della, and in the interest of art, and of science, I think you should touch it to ascertain its texture. It’ll assist you in your sketching.”

Would she even be able to sketch anything now? He’d got her all in a fluster. She’d come here with daring activities in mind, but faced with the moment of truth, she found her natural fears had resurfaced. Not sure what to do, she stole another glance at Wilson, trying not to let her eyes roam in a southerly direction.

Her cousin had that sympathetic expression on his face again. So unlike his usual blunt and arrogant imperiousness, the armor of his exceptional mind. He gave her a little smile that could be construed as an apology. As if he felt remorse for unsettling her.

“Yes, I think a dip is a good idea.” He rose, and Adela looked quickly away again. The way his cock bounced and swung made her face burn. “And for you, too, Della. If you like, I won’t look until you’re safely up to your chin in the water.”

“I’m not sure.” The water did look inviting, though, and it was such a warm day. Even in less underwear than usual, she felt oppressed, and envious of Wilson’s total lack of modesty and the way it allowed him to do whatever he wanted.

“You’ll enjoy it. Come on in.” Wilson was already wading back into the stream, and Adela felt a sense of loss as he moved away from her. Devil that he might be, she wanted to be close.

“Perhaps I can keep my chemise and drawers on.”

Wilson turned again, although fortunately, the organ that bothered her so much was now hidden beneath the surface. “Don’t be silly. You don’t want to go back to the house with soggy underpinnings, do you?”

Damn the man, he was back to goading again.

“Oh, very well, then!” Setting aside her portfolio, Adela swiftly unfastened the buttons of her boots, kicked them off and then sprang to her feet. Her heart pounding, she attacked the buttons down the front of her garments next, trying not to be hampered by the shaking of her fingers. With a nod, Wilson turned away as she shed the bodice of her dress.