"Confidence in Repose"

Alan couldn't deny the pull of that afternoon's haze, the way Alice's touch had rewritten his doubts into something almost poetic. Days blurred into a rhythm of stolen glances across the quad, her sketches pinned to his dorm wall like talismans. Then came the text, simple as a brushstroke: "Missed capturing you. Come over Friday? Bring that confidence—I have ideas." His thumb hovered, heart echoing the invitation's undercurrent. Alice wanted more, and strangely, so did he. "On my way," he replied, the cocky edge in his words belying the flutter in his chest.

Her apartment hummed with the scent of jasmine incense and drying oils when he arrived, the door ajar like an unspoken welcome. Alice greeted him in a flowing sundress that hugged her curves, her dark curls loose and wild, eyes alight with that familiar mischief. "Right on time," she said, drawing him inside with a hand on his elbow, her fingers lingering just long enough to spark awareness. The living room studio had evolved—candles flickered on mismatched shelves, casting playful shadows over half-finished portraits, and a bottle of wine breathed on the coffee table, two glasses waiting.

"I've been thinking about you," she confessed, pouring ruby liquid with a steady hand. "That session... it unlocked something. But tonight, let's make it personal. No easel, just us exploring forms." She handed him a glass, clinking hers against it, her gaze tracing the line of his jaw. Alan sipped, the warmth spreading, easing the echo of classroom laughter that still nipped at his heels. He was no stranger to vulnerability now, but here, with her, it felt like a choice rather than a sentence.

They settled on the velvet chaise, conversation meandering from art theory to his latest pickup game, her laughter pulling him closer. Alice's knee brushed his, a deliberate graze that sent a current through him. "Stand up," she murmured after a while, setting her glass aside. "Let me see you—really see you." Her voice was soft command, laced with promise. Alan rose, pulse quickening as she stepped near, her hands finding the hem of his shirt. "Arms up," she instructed, peeling it off slowly, revealing the taut planes of his abs, earned from endless drills on the field.

"God, look at these," she breathed, palms gliding over the ridges, fingers splaying to feel the heat beneath. "Sculpted like marble, Alan. Every line tells a story of strength." Her touch was reverent, circling each muscle in lazy spirals that made his skin prickle, building a slow fire. She knelt then, unbuckling his belt with unhurried precision, sliding pants and boxers down in one fluid motion. He stepped free, exposed in the candlelight, his body tensing as cool air met his most guarded secret—soft and unassuming, a modest two inches that shrank further under the weight of old insecurities.

Alice circled him like an artist appraising a masterpiece, her eyes drinking him in. "Turn," she said gently, and he did, her hands cupping the firm curves of his ass. "This... perfection. Round and powerful, like it was carved for admiration." She squeezed lightly, thumbs tracing the dimples at the base of his spine, her breath warm against his back. The sensation rippled outward, teasing nerves awake in languid waves. She spun him to face her again, gaze dropping appreciatively. "And your face—those sharp cheekbones, that cocky smile hiding such depth. You're a vision." Her fingers trailed up his thighs, feather-light, inching toward his center without haste. "As for this little wonder... I love it. So tiny, so sweet. Four inches when you're ready? That's plenty for me. Don't worry—it fits just right in my world."

Her words wrapped around him like silk, coaxing a flush that wasn't all embarrassment. Under her steady gaze and the patient dance of her fingertips along his hips—circling, suggesting, never demanding—he felt the shift. Warmth bloomed, blood rushing south as he hardened swiftly, the transformation a quiet thrill that left him at full, proud four inches. Alice's smile deepened, approval shining in her eyes. "See? Beautiful response. Now, let's take this further."

She stood, slipping out of her sundress with graceful ease, revealing skin kissed by the candle glow—soft curves and confident lines that made his breath catch. No words needed; she took his hand, leading him down the hall to her bedroom, a cozy nook with gauzy curtains and a bed piled with pillows, moonlight filtering through like liquid silver. They tumbled onto the sheets, her body warm and inviting against his, kisses starting soft—lips brushing lips, then necks, her tongue tracing the hollow of his throat in slow, exploratory laps that built anticipation like a gathering storm.

Alan's hands roamed tentatively at first, mapping the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, but nerves surfaced as they pressed closer. His size, even aroused, felt inadequate against her, a momentary panic flickering in his eyes when their bodies aligned imperfectly. "Alice, I... it's not..." he started, voice rough with doubt, the virgin awkwardness beneath his charm bubbling up.

She hushed him with a finger to his lips, her other hand stroking his cheek. "Shh, it's perfect. We'll find our rhythm—no rush, just us." Her reassurance was a balm, her body shifting to guide him, hands on his hips encouraging slow, experimental rocks. They fumbled through the initial awkwardness, laughter mingling with sighs, her whispers weaving spells of patience: "Easy, like this... feel how we match?" Tension eased as she turned, inviting him from behind, her back arching to meet him in a position that bridged the gap seamlessly. The connection ignited, bodies syncing in a gentle push-pull, her sighs urging him on as they moved together, the build-up endless and intoxicating—skin sliding, breaths syncing, every shift a new layer of discovery.

It ended quicker than he'd hoped, a rush of intensity that left him breathless and flushed with fresh embarrassment, pulling back with a mumbled apology. Alice turned in his arms, her expression all tenderness. "Hey, that was sweet. I figured it'd be quick with your adorable size—small wonders have that spark. No worries; it was just right." Her words dissolved his panic, and as she nestled closer, pressing kisses along his collarbone, he felt the stir again almost immediately, hardness returning with eager insistence. She noticed, a playful glint in her eye. "Already? Let's see what else you can do."

The night unfolded in waves of rediscovery, her body yielding to his in that same intimate angle, pleasure drawn out through lingering caresses—fingers weaving through hair, nails grazing backs, lips mapping shoulders in heated trails. They made love under the moon's watchful eye, bodies entwining in passionate suggestion, each moment a deeper surrender to the other's form. Hours slipped away in this dance, exhaustion finally claiming them as dawn crept in, limbs tangled in satisfied repose.

Morning light painted the room in soft golds when Alice stirred first, slipping from the bed with a secretive smile. Alan slept on, sprawled nude across the sheets, his little nub relaxed and on full display like a punctuation to the night's poetry. She padded to the door, cracking it just enough for her roommates—curious artists like herself—to peek in, their muffled giggles a light counterpoint to the scene. "Shh," she whispered, joining their quiet vigil. "Art in repose—worth every sketch." Outside, a street musician's accordion wheezed to life, turning the dawn into an impromptu serenade, as if the city itself were tooting its own tiny horn in applause.