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This began as a response to a prompt on r/dirtywritingprompts and is now several parts long – so theres more to come after this (and it gets sexier) ! Ill put links in the comments. [WP]. You are an artist. One day for practice you make a clay figure of your SO. Later on, you alter it to find that whenever you alter the figure you alter her real body. I dont normally sculpt, okay? My talent lies in two-dimensional artwork. I sketch, I photograph, I paint – boringly normal stuff, I know, but I like to think my work isnt boring. After all, I focus on one of the most complex aspects of human existence – the most complex, varied, all-consuming aspect of our lives – sex. I explore the nature of intercourse in the interplay of dark and light in my photographs. I trace the contours of passion in the curves of my nude sketches. I describe the colours of love in the blushes and hues of my watercolours. I have this whole plan for my thesis: showing how reducing the three-dimensional act of sex to two dimensional artwork is analogous to reducing this multi-faceted act of human existence to just two (or three, when I get lucky) people fucking. It loses something when we forget the extra dimension. Its great, right? Yeah, my advisor didnt think so. Apparently in order to truly represent three-dimensional subjects at least some of my project has to be in three-dimensional materials. I told her I had already taken the required courses with those materials, that I could use them but had no idea how to represent my ideas in those forms. Youre a bright young woman, youll figure something out, she said before ushering me out, Weve had some excellent pieces from other students learning to work in new materials: mosaics, wood carving, stone carving, sculpting. You just need to find the core of your project, try to understand it, let your perception of it expand outwards until you find its outer form. I felt liking turning around and saying The core of my project is sex, lady, so if you really want me to work in three dimensions, we can do a live performance piece right here, right now, on your desk. But I didnt, because I do have some measure of self-control, and also because I was thinking about her words. Sure, the core of my project is sex, but its also the nature of human sexuality itself: the way we express it, the way it is present within ourselves. If I thought of it that way, sexuality is the core of each human, and the act of sex is just one expression of it. Good job I told myself, walking out of the department building into the morning sunshine, now how do you propose to find the outer form of sexuality? A bit frustrated, I leant back against the wall of the building, hands on my hips, and thought about my own sexuality. I thought about first discovering the touch of a man, about how my skin felt when my first female crush brushed past me, about touching myself to images of both men and women. I thought about coming to terms with myself and my desires, about accepting and rejoicing in my lusts. I looked down at myself, at my body, and realised that was the true outer form of sexuality: the human form. So far, so good. But how to make that form: My project advisor had suggested mosaics, which I found too planned for the fluidity of sexuality. Carving from wood or stone would produce too rigid a piece, too solid. Clay sculpture? Ugh, I dont sculpt. I mean, Ive tried it, its fun, but Id much rather photograph some vase than shape it myself. But as I thought about moulding the clay in my hands, warming it with my blood and shaping it with my fingers, it seemed to make sense. So I headed off to the Ceramics Department building, to try this idea out. An hour later I was sitting at a bench rolling a ball of clay between my hands. The ceramics advisor had listened to my idea and recommended I try a simple clay sculpture, carving details with a small tool and baking it in a kiln when I was finally done. She pointed out the cubbies to store my work in overnight – I knew from my classes that I could keep working on the wet clay for days. I started shaping the clay, focusing on a basic humanoid form. Thinking about sex all morning had gotten a bit distracting, and I kept thinking about going home to my girlfriend that evening. I thought about Summers body as I shaped the clay, thought about running my fingers through her short curly hair, thought about tracing the curves of her hips, thought about my nails on her back, my hands wrapped around her wrists – and I thought about my projects, about sexuality and passion and the erotic instincts of human nature. I moulded the clay almost absent-mindedly, letting it take on the shape of a humanoid form, a human, a womans figure, and then I looked down and realised I was sculpting my girlfriend. What the hell, I thought, shes pretty much the core of my sexuality right now, and I kept sculpting. I shaped her breasts, small and perky, her hips, her shapely legs. I carefully carved out the details of her long fingers, her ticklish toes, her button nose, her wide mouth. And then, since it was the whole point of the project, I smoothed out the clay between her spread legs and began forming her labia. By the end of the day I had a near-fully carved clay figure of my dear girlfriend and Id had to take a few breaks to go let off steam in the private womens bathroom. I left my sculpture in a cubby and went home an hour or two after it got dark. It was Summers turn to cook tonight and she had dinner waiting when I got home. Dinner waited until after I had stripped her clothes off inside the small hallway of our apartment and tried to kiss every inch of the body Id been picturing all day. I say try, because halfway through she growled and shoved my head between her legs. She showed her appreciation to me after dinner, with her tongue and teeth and fingertips. When we woke up late the next morning I found myself wrapped around her as normal, my breasts pressing into her back and my face nestled into her hair. I smiled, opened my eyes, and was quite surprised to see a shock of pink in her short black curls. I jerked backwards a bit, in my surprise, and to get a better look at the pink – but I had a hand on Summers hip and when I jerked back I pulled against her hip – and Summer woke up, thinking I was pulling her over, and rolled over into my embrace. She looked up at me with bedroom eyes and her hands started massaging my breasts. I closed my eyes again as her lips closed over my nipple, and forgot about the pink in her hair until much later, when she was standing in front of the mirror. Babe, she asked, touching the bright streak in her curls, Has my hair always been pink? Of course, I quipped back, Dont you remember? I realised she must have dyed it the previous day, and Id been so horny I hadnt noticed. Well if she was going to joke about me not noticing, I was going to joke right back at her. Especially since it was her fault her lovely body distracted me from complimenting her new hairstyle. I was going to compliment her on it anyway, when she said Oh, yeah, I guess. She furrowed her brow in confusion at her reflection, I just dont remember . . . but it feels right, like its . . . always been there. Like its part of me . . . so it must be. I laughed. Go back to bed, honey, youre still half-asleep. She stuck her tongue out at me and went into the kitchen, shaking her head and mumbling about coffee. Yeah, shes also an artist, in case youre wondering. We can be a bit flighty at times. Impulsive, distractable, head in the clouds, off in our own world. I didnt know what world she was in today, but I had my own to get to – that of warm wet clay and erotic thoughts. hungrythirstyroots [1 comment]