Page 61 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
With a confident look on his face, he turned the picture around.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust, because I was expecting to see a picture of his face, with his slicked black hair and maybe a shirt with some buttons undone. But no. I was staring at a two-foot—what I assumed was a—self-portrait of his penis.
“Oh, my.” In my shock, I studied it. “Um, is that life-size?”
Laughing, he shook his head. “No, that would be too much, querida, but I appreciate your confidence in me.”
The portrait was interesting. The background was just a swirl of colors, but the penis portion was most definitely a penis with a head, some veins, and a set of balls that lay next to a pair of legs. It was erotic, and after the initial shock, I was kind of digging the color.
“You have a great eye for color.”
“Thank you, I will show you more.”
He went back to the chest and started taking out more pictures—all of his erect penis. As I perused each and every one of them, I thought to myself, how could someone paint this many pictures of their own penis? The pictures were nice, but he must think very highly of himself to have so many pictures of his dick. Growing more and more curious, I realized I had to see this penis. I had to see what the big deal was. Punmost definitelyintended.
“How do you do the self-portraits?” I asked, curious.
“What do you mean, bonita?”
“I mean, do you umm, sit there with an erection and paint?”
“Why, yes. Is that strange to you?”
Is it strange to be sitting in a room with an erect penis and painting while looking down at it. Uh yeah, that was weird.
“Not sure,” I lied. “Just wondering about your process.”
“I see. I usually sit down, naked, and think of a bonita señorita like yourself, Rosie, and lightly caress myself until I’m fully erect. That’s when I take out my brush and start painting.”
That could explain all the angles of the pictures—they were all angled from the top.
“Interesting,” I said, staring at his crotch.
“I see the way you stare at me, querida. Do you want to see the muse for my self-portraits?”
What a creepy thing to say to a woman, especially when you’re speaking about a penis, but I nodded. Yeah, that margarita had way too much tequila in it.
Taking in my request, Alejandro climbed on the bed and leaned against the pillows and headboard. With precision, he started to undo his jeans and I watched in fascination as he pulled them down slightly and allowed just the head of his cock to jut out from the confines of his pants.
Holy shit, I was looking at a real-life dick.A dick!
I inched closer, curious to see if it really looked rubbery like in pictures or if it was a different texture in real life.
“Your eyes are making me hard, Rosie. The way you look at me . . . I’ve never had a woman look at me like this before.”
I just nodded, wanting to see more.
His hands went to the waist of his briefs and jeans, and in one smooth movement, he pulled his pants down fully, allowing his penis to spring free.
I was about to move even closer until I caught a glance ofeverythingbetween his legs. I looked back at a portrait and then at the real life thing. To say his pictures didn’t portray his model was an understatement. Right in front of me was a long, erect penis, displayed upon a wild set of curly hair-covered balls. It looked like Chewbacca was staring at me, winking and mewing his crazy-ass sounds.
Henry warned me of such a thing, that men didn’t necessary think they had to shave, and boy, was he right. Alejandro didn’t even know what a razor was, according to the pubes I could start braiding.
“Nice, yes?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded, feeling like even though there was a crop of hair on his balls, I was still interested in what he had going on.
“You can touch.”
