The artist

 

I had already experienced quite a lot, which brought more than five decades of life experience with it. But when I think back, the most bizarre love affair I had was during my student days. I still laugh to this day when I think about it.

I was studying in Hamburg at the time. The university enjoyed an excellent reputation in my field and I felt at home in the big city, which had all the amenities to offer. During the semester break I worked here and there. At the end of the third semester, through a friend's connections, I got a job as a deliveryman at the post office. The job didn't pay badly when you considered that you only worked half a day, provided you were fast and clever enough. The most annoying thing was that I had to get up at half past four in the morning to be at the office in time for the mail distribution. Then at seven o'clock we fanned out and started our tour. I didn't do so well the first few weeks. I had a ghetto district. Only unemployed, antisocial and criminals. The concrete castles pissed me off early in the morning. But I assure you from my own experience that every stupid cliché that has been told is actually the truth. I stumbled upon junkies in the hallways, paid monthly allowances to 90% of the residents, and handed out court certificates the way others found pizza adverts in their mailboxes. One morning, in one of those blocks, a naked chick threw herself at me, begging me to pay her off next month's sponsorship or she'd be ripped off by her bloke, as she called the guy who was in his underpants in the hallway a moment later appeared to be terribly beaten. The stupid wardrobe threatened me briefly and then smacked the naked girl left and right. I made sure I got away. In another house, the apartment doors had been partially ripped out of their frames and were smoking as a result of a fire in the hallway of the apartment behind. The people who lived in this cave were probably lured out of the jungle with the banana. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it.

But then the tide turned. In the third month I was assigned to a district on the Elbe as a jumper. Quiet small single-family houses, sometimes a building with condominiums in between. The colleague who operated the tour by default was on the umpteenth rehab. I had noticed him before. Was already full as a hoe at six in the morning.

What a blessing, what a rest! The tour was terrific. Even the house of a well-known director or North German bard was on this tour. A completely different audience!

But then came this conscious Tuesday that I would never forget in my life. I had broken off a good half of my tour when I rang the doorbell of the small, well-kept house, almost halfway between Blankenese and Altona. In contrast to the house, however, the garden was quite overgrown, I had to carefully make my way between the rose bushes.

The door flew open and a woman in her thirties snarled at me uncontrollably. "What?!" I looked at her. "Registered mail, please sign here," I said emotionlessly, pointing to the note. Almost nothing could surprise me anymore.

The woman grumbled something. I held out the yellow post office pen to her. She scribbled something like that on the note and I gave her the brown envelope. bang! The door was closed. Stupid cow, I just thought and continued to make my rounds. The next day I had another one-shot for said stupid cow. I rang the bell again and the almost identical performance from the previous day began to unwind. And so it went every day. She received registered mail from all over the world. There were moments when I wondered who could write such important mail to this cow, but I quickly pushed the thoughts aside.

After two weeks, the cow had gotten used to my everyday sight and I got used to hers, I surprisingly found her in the small garden in front of her house. She sat on the bench and let the sun shine on her.

"Ah, who do we have here?" she exclaimed as I approached her with another registered letter. "The young man from the post office. Come closer, come closer!” She waved her hand like a puppet. The aunt really had to have a waffle, I thought to myself.

"Oh, that's nice! These colours! Unbelievable, isn't it?” She looked at me. I nodded. "Yes very good!"

Then, all of a sudden, she let out a high-pitched scream. "Stop, don't move anymore!" she shouted in my direction. I stopped abruptly and looked down. Was there maybe dog poo? Nothing like that. I looked at her. She gestured wildly.

"Stop! stop! Yes, don't move!”

She disappeared into the house, came out again shortly afterwards with a drawing pad. I hadn't moved. What actually happened here? She eyed me, scribbling on the pad.

"Oh, how brilliant!" I heard her say to herself. Oh my goodness! The aunt had left completely! Nonetheless, I remained motionless. Somehow I was interested in what would happen. After about half an hour she stormed into the house with her notebook, slammed the door in the usual way and was gone. Only after a few more breaths did I move. I shook my head and completed my tour that morning.

The next day, a little later than usual because I had been held up in the retirement home, I re-entered the overgrown garden. The madwoman jumped up and down in front of her front door, very excited.

"There you are at last!" she greeted me. I stopped, slightly taken aback. The registered letter in my hand sagged with my arm. "Come! Come on!” She grabbed my arm and dragged me inside the house. In the narrow hallway I first noticed the rough jacket on the coat rack. It looked like a freshly skinned yeti in the moult. There were shoes everywhere - ugly shoes! - hereabouts. The furniture appeared to be from the last century. She kept pulling me. I entered a room that ran the length and breadth of the house on the first floor. And I stood amazed and puzzled. In my wildest dreams I had never imagined the scene that presented itself to me. Canvases painted with surreal scenes were piled up everywhere. In the middle of the room, lit through the three windows stood four easels with different sized canvases. The pictures on it were all in a more or less advanced stage. It smelled of paint and turpentine. And then I discovered the drawing pad on which my likeness was looking back at me, roughly in charcoal. I stopped. It was fantastic! I looked myself in the eye. Although the lines were only indicated, I recognized myself immediately. It was the drawing from the previous day. And she was really awesome! I looked myself in the eye. Although the lines were only indicated, I recognized myself immediately. It was the drawing from the previous day. And she was really awesome! I looked myself in the eye. Although the lines were only indicated, I recognized myself immediately. It was the drawing from the previous day. And she was really awesome!

I looked around in amazement, like a little kid seeing his first Christmas tree. I would not have expected this.

The madwoman rushed to one of the easels, impatiently tore down the canvas and laid a new stretcher frame on it.

"What are you waiting for?" she called out to me. "Please?" I didn't understand. Waving her hands impatiently, she pointed to a small wooden pedestal. "Come on!" I still didn't understand. She was getting angry. "You're so slow on the uptake! Come on, get on that pedestal!” And now it dawned on me. I should be her model. Oh no! Without me! I raised my hands defensively, smiling at her. "No, that's not possible! I have to work!"

She looked at me blankly. I spent the next ten minutes explaining to her that I still had a job and wouldn't be ready until noon. That was the cue, that was my mistake. She looked at an old-fashioned alarm clock.

"Good, good!" she muttered something to herself. "I'm waiting for you!" I realized that I had just gone on a modeling date. I stupid!

She scribbled her signature on the paper, as usual, and let me go.

I continued my tour, but all I could think about was the crazy cow. I just wouldn't go! No, I couldn't do that. Well, I'd go and apologize if she chooses another victim.

A variety of thoughts went through my head. I finished my tour, returned to the post office, submitted to the usual formalities, and then stood undecided in the sunlight.

Never mind. I walked in the direction of the Elbe, and half an hour later I was standing in front of the locked door of the crazy people's house. I rang. Nothing stirred. I knocked on the door. Still silence. I turned around and made my way through the jungle. Then a voice called me back.

"Not so fast! Come! I'm already here!” I turned on my heel, returned to the house. She let me in and I went back into her studio. I took off the windbreaker and walked towards the platform.

"Yes, that's good!" rejoiced the madwoman. I climbed onto the wooden dais, turned to her, and stood very still.

she looked at me "No! No! No! That's not possible!” I looked at her questioningly. "You're standing there like a sausage! Terrible!” she shrieked. I spread my arms a bit helplessly. "And what I need to do? I have no idea!”

She put her hands in front of her face. "How awful!" I heard her exclaim. Then she looked at me. "Come on, undress!"

"Please?" I looked at her blankly.

"You should undress! I can't paint you SOOO!” She grabbed brushes and a new canvas, already seeming to have forgotten me.

I was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable. She hadn't mentioned that I should pose naked here.

"What are you waiting for?" her voice called from the easel. I gulped and then began to undress. I ended up standing naked in front of her. But the most embarrassing thing was the massive erection I had. My cock, bared head, pointed at her like a spear. she looked at me Then she clasped her hands together, folded them as if in prayer.

"My God, an Etruscan!" she gasped. She hurried behind her canvas, dabbed the brush on the palette and smeared it across the canvas. I stood up there, naked, with an erect penis and looked bashfully at the ceiling.

After endless moments, she emerged from behind the easel. “Today the light is no longer good enough. You're coming back tomorrow, aren't you?” I nodded. Then I quickly got dressed and left.

The next day after work I went back to the crazy woman. Without a word, she pointed to the dais. I undressed and immediately regained an erection in the presence of a woman. She cheered and disappeared behind the easel. So I posed for her for the next three days. Then, I stood naked on the platform again, my lout hung down limp. she looked at me

"What's going on?" she asked. I shrugged. It was the habit. In the meantime it was normal for me to pose naked in front of Katrin, that's what the crazy woman called. She came over to me, took my thing in her hand. Immediately my spear swelled and straightened up.

"Ah, so you need stimulation!" She continued to paint.

That's how the days passed. I came to her every lunchtime, stood naked as a model. If it didn't work out with my cock, she came to me. She just wanted to paint me with a stand. "You're my Etruscan!" she cried again and again. It went so far that she stuffed my cock in her mouth and blew it properly. But by the end of the second week, that didn't help either. Katrin saw me while she looked at me with my cock in her mouth. Then she got up and began to undress. She took off her waistcoat, unlaced her wide bodice and revealed two shapely, pointed breasts as she undressed. Reaching behind her, she dropped the skirt and climbed out of what she thought were panties. Then she rolled down the dark, woolen stockings and slipped out. She was now also standing naked in front of me.

Catherine was slim. She had her black hair cut in a straight pageboy style. Her lips were painted bright red. Her pointed but beautiful breasts jumped a little lower towards me. They were firm, straight up. No, Katrin didn't need a bra!

Her lap was thickly hairy. A large triangle of primeval jungle presented itself to my eyes. Needless to say, I got a rock hard boner just looking at her. She hurried behind her easel.

From that day on she always received me naked. She drew several pictures of me. I was allowed to see some and not others. Again and again she painted me, always with a huge, erect penis.

It has now gotten to the point where I look forward to visiting Katrin every day. One day she surprised me. She received me naked in her studio. She had moved the easels aside and the posing platform was gone too. A large screen was spread out on the floor. I undressed. Katrin took a brush and dipped it in a bucket of blue paint. Then she painted my body with this blue paint. I was covered in paint when she made me lie down on the canvas and roll back and forth. I did as she wanted and rolled around on the canvas. Finally I got up. She took another brush, painted some outlines on the canvas. I went into the bathroom and took a long shower. The blue paint ran down me disappeared down the shower drain. Katrin was busy in her own world, which I couldn't understand. I got dressed and left. She didn't even notice.

That's how the days passed. Then, after about six weeks, Katrin wanted to try something new. She stirred plaster of paris in a soft bowl. I stood next to her, looked at her. She turned to me.

"I want to take a cast of your cock." She said, looking at me. I looked down at myself. My cock hung down in disinterest. She followed my gaze.

"Of course it doesn't work that way." She knelt down and took my lout into her mouth. She sucked on it, biting the glans gently the way I liked but nothing worth mentioning happened.

Katrin tried hard, but the erection didn't come.

She got up. "I want to sleep with you!" she said. This stirred my weary spirits. I took her in my arms, kissed her. My hands ran over her breasts, caressed them. I twirled her buds between my fingers. We fell to the ground. Katrin crouched down on me with her thighs spread wide. I entered her. I saw my cock disappear into her thick bush. At the same time, I felt the heat exuding from her pussy. I pushed hard. Katrin rode me! It felt great! Her hard breasts barely moved as she bounced up and down on my spear. I was always horny, felt my cock inflated more and more. I felt the heat of her pussy, thrusting into it, over and over again. We both started moaning almost simultaneously. Then Katrin screamed and I shot her my cream deep into her hot throat. She sagged on top of me. Her tits fell on my face. I greedily sucked on the nipples, which were rock hard. I was still inside her. My erection had only partially returned. I thrust. And then again and again. My cock hardened again, jerking up and down her pussy. Katrin straightened up, threw her head back and started riding me again. And again Katrin straightened up, threw her head back and started riding me again. And again Katrin straightened up, threw her head back and started riding me again. And againI ******* my load into her.

She got off me, stroking my cock. Now their efforts were crowned with success. My member slowly straightened up again. But the good piece didn't want to be really hard. Katrin frowned. Then she took the bowl with the cast, put it down next to me and sat down with her pussy on my face. Her pussy juice dripped onto my lips. I stuck out my tongue, sucking in the nectar. Then I licked them. She had a light pink cleft between her black, thick hair. I licked them like crazy.

Meanwhile, she plastered my hard cock with the balls. I didn't notice anything. I licked her pussy and drank the juice from our previous union. It was so awesome!

Later that day, carefully disassembling the mold, she presented me with the plaster cast of my rock-hard cock.

First, after another month of sleeping together every day, I was put on another tour and Katrin flew to New York for a week. We only saw each other a few times after that. She was very busy with her new exhibition. Then one day, I hadn't posed for her for a few days, and she gave me a roll of a picture. She blows me a kiss.

"You're something very special!" With that she handed me the cardboard tube. I knew it was over.

The contents of the cardboard tube are now framed and hanging in my living room. It is an image from Katrin's Etruscan series. If I can believe the catalogues, it's worth several hundred thousand euros. The picture of me rolling naked in it now hangs at the Met. It's almost priceless. I never saw Katrin again.

But I often notice the looks of female guests who stare at the Etruscan image and open their eyes in amazement when they notice the resemblance to me. Then I always have to smile quietly to myself.