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Art Frahm (1907–1981) was an American painter of campy pin-up girls and advertising. Frahm lived in Chicago, and was active from the 1940s to 1960s.
Art Frahm is best known for his “ladies in distress” pictures involving beautiful young women whose panties mysteriously fall to their ankles in very public places. – Whether in the process of bowling, walking the dog, changing a tire or most commonly, carrying groceries, wardrobe malfunctions conspire to cause maximum embarrassment to Frahm’s pin-up girls.


Read “The Retreat”

a Short Story Inspired by Art Frahm

Click to Read The Retreat

A couple of years back, near the beginning of my career, I was selected for a writers retreat. When I got the acceptance letter I couldn’t believe it – it seemed like an absolute dream. Six weeks in the wilderness with nothing but the rocks and the rolling hills to distract me. It would be the perfect opportunity to get some writing done.


And, to a certain extent, it was pretty great. The cottage they provided was fantastic, with its own wood burning stove and farmhouse kitchen. Every morning I would go for long walks in the hills, before returning to the cottage and spending the rest of the day writing.


The only trouble was this: there were no women. As a matter of fact, there were barely any people. I was up in the hills on my own. As a swinging bachelor, I was used to being able to find female company of an evening if I wanted it. Out here though, that simply wasn’t a possibility. It got to the point where I was pretty frustrated. I was getting myself off every night, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more. And yet there was nowhere for all of that energy to go.


The only woman I sometimes spotted was a pretty young thing who I often passed during my walks in the hills. She always wore a long yellow and red dress that billowed in the wind, and often carried a pair of binoculars. I suppose she must have been bird watching, or looking out for planes or something. As my frustration mounted I couldn’t help but linger when I walked and drink in the sight of her. She was pretty, with shoulder-length red curly hair and bright eyes. Her hands looked almost impossible soft, and the truth was I would have done almost anything to get her to accompany me back to my lonely little cottage.


After almost a month of frustration, I eventually plucked up the courage to speak to her. The next time I saw her in the hills I waved to her and gave her a broad smile, before picking my way over to where she was perched on a rock. “What are you looking at with those binoculars?” I asked.


She grinned in response. “I’m a pervert,” she said. “I’m spying on you.” It was a joke, of course, but it sure as hell broke the ice. The two of us quickly got talking, and before long we were flirting outrageously. It turned out she was a city-dweller who’d gotten stuck out here just like me. She was minding a cottage and looking after some dogs while the owners were on holiday – but their holiday had gone on way longer than originally planned.


“I wouldn’t mind,” she said, “but I just get so damn horny out here on my own.” I laughed – thinking at first that she was joking. She wasn’t though. She was deadly serious. “Well, there’s an easy solution to that,” I said.


Marian – for that was her name – pursed her lips and looked me up and down. She seemed to like what she saw, because she turned to me and spread her legs, before beckoning me closer with one finger. I moved forward as if on a fishing line, and took my place between her knees. Seated up there on her rock she was a little taller than me, and so I had to tilt my head back to kiss her. I didn’t mind though. After such a long time of frustration and celibacy, I was more than read. After a few minutes of kissing, Marian hiked up her skirt and spread her legs. Her panties were the same red as her skirt, and she pulled them aside to reveal a neat, pink young cooch. I fell to it like a starving man who had just been offered an all-you-can-eat buffet, licking and tonguing with a will.


We were alone out there on the hill, and Marian wasn’t afraid to be loud. She threw her head back, moaning and cooing with delight as I feasted on her. I, meanwhile, was so hard it was almost painful, my dick straining against my jeans. The taste and smell of her was incredible – musky and sweet and natural. I couldn’t get enough of it.


Soon enough Marian was ready for me. She lay back over the rock and spread her legs. I climbed up and knelt between her knees, before freeing myself from my jeans. My cock sprang out and slathered it with a little spit before plunging it forward into Marian’s sweet little cooch. It was a tight fit, as she was quite a small lady, but it felt so good once I was in that I never wanted to take it out.


We did it right there on the rock, up on top of the hill. Anyone could have seen us… if there had been anybody about. Marian writhed and shifted beneath me, crying out each time I pushed my dick home. Her tight insides clutched me, and sent shivers of pleasure through my body.


In the end we both reached our climax at more or less the same time. Marian squealed in pleasure, and I felt her insides tighten around me just a little bit more. That was enough to push me over the edge, and I spilled into her as she came. My hot fluid filled her, and even leaked out from around my dick. Marian put her quivering arms around me and held me tight, the cool air playing over my back. That was the first time Marian and I got together, but it certainly wasn’t the last. Every day for the rest of my retreat we met on that rock… and we loved every second of it.

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