I recently had a reader send me a message that stated, and I quote, "I had to take my panties off when I read this chapter." I have to admit that I blushed when I read that. "
Glass Goddesses, Concrete Walls" was a novel that I was really apprehensive about publishing because of some of the explicit subject matter and the raw nature of the story. Thanks to a friend's encouragement, (She's named in the dedication), I wrote it, released it and closed my eyes as I waited to see what would happen. So far, readers have loved it, from beginning to end. I constantly receive messages from people telling me how much they relate to the situations, entanglements and relationships found on those pages so, I think it's safe to say I did good! Here is a chapter that I often get asked about. Enjoy.
They say that art imitates life but wouldn’t it be amazing
if just once things were the other way around and life imitated art instead? Just
imagine what a beautiful thing that would be.
The Painter’s Canvas
ometimes,
being lost after making a wrong turn can put you on a path to accidental
adventures that in hindsight don’t seem as random as you first thought. Every
now and then, a hint of fate’s existence shows up like a speck of dust in our
eye to remind us that there is the possibility that there are no coincidences
in our lives. That’s how I feel about one night in particular when I made a
wrong turn in Manhattan.
I had been driving around in circles searching for the
address of an author friend’s book signing. When I finally found the place I
couldn’t find anywhere to legally park my car. New York City’s Department of
Transportation was quick and eager to tow your vehicle if you didn’t pay close
attention to the parking regulations. The city needed that extra revenue so
they bled those of us who owned cars totally dry, every chance they got. Just
when I was about to give up and accept the fact that my wallet was going to end
up being raped because of nearest underground, parking garage’s fees, I found a
safe place to park. Quickly, before anyone else took it, I pulled into it,
right behind a white van with both of its back doors wide open. That’s when I
saw her struggling to get a huge
painting out of the van. She was dressed in a stunning, black, cocktail dress
that hugged every voluptuous curve. Her body type, from the fullness of her
breasts down to the thickness of her thighs, smoothly formed the type of
hourglass figure that a man couldn’t take his eyes off. The things that
strangely stood out were the beat-up construction boots on her feet and the red
bandana that her hair was tied up in. Her outfit was a confusing cross between
classy and grunge that suited her because she made it look good so
effortlessly. Her weird was
definitely sexy. When I finally stopped gawking, I got out of my car to offer
some assistance.
“Need some help?” I asked as I caught her in my arms as she
fell backwards. She had been stepping down to get the painting out of the van
when she slipped.
“Thanks,” she answered nervously, certainly glad that she
didn’t fall but surprised to find herself in the arms of a total stranger.
“I saw you struggling and thought I’d give you a hand,” I
explained.
“And it’s a good thing you did. We can’t have the star of
tonight’s art show breaking her neck,” said the metro-sexually-dressed man wearing skinny jeans and a Mohawk as he
put his hand on my shoulder. I was so focused on her that I hadn’t noticed him
walking up behind us.
“Glad I could help,” I answered, turning to shake the hand
he had extended in friendship.
“I’m Miguel and the beautiful, artistic, genius that you
just saved from a terrible fall is my girlfriend, Alice,” he told me. Then he
leaned forward and kissed her while still shaking my hand which really
shouldn’t have annoyed me as much as it did.
“Nice to meet you and thanks again,” Alice told me once
Miguel removed his lips from hers.
“You’re welcome. You both have a goodnight,” I answered and
started to walk away. I was obviously the third wheel and the sooner I was on
my way the better. Miguel would have certainly been glad to be rid of me if he
could have read my mind and saw how much I was attracted to his woman.
“Hey, where are you off to?” Miguel asked.
“A friend of mine is having a book release party a few
blocks from here.”
“That sounds pretty cool. Before you go, would you like to
step inside with us for a few minutes and see some of Alice’s paintings? It’s
her first art show. We won’t keep you long, I promise,” Miguel beckoned me as
Alice smiled and, unless it was only my imagination, invited me with her big,
beautiful, brown eyes.
“I can come inside for a few minutes,” I agreed although I
knew that I should have politely declined.
“Awesome! Now we get to take you down Alice’s artistic
rabbit hole and show you what’s really on the other side of the looking glass,”
he said as he took the painting out of her hands and carried it through the
gallery doors.
“He’s so corny sometimes,” she whispered to me.
Once I was inside the gallery, the few minutes I didn’t mind
sacrificing somehow turned into hours. Time ticked off the clock and my
previous engagement was soon forgotten. (I don’t believe that my author friend
ever forgave me.) It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go but the feast for my eyes
was too much to turn away from. My attention alternated between Alice’s amazing
artwork and the beautiful woman herself, all while Miguel kept the champagne
flowing. Before we knew it, all three of us were drunk and new best friends. Of
course, things had been somewhat awkward at first but Miguel had been an
excellent host. The gallery was packed and he treated every person in
attendance like family while still managing to make them feel like royalty. He
would have been an excellent politician. He didn’t even seem to care when my
gaze may have lingered a moment too long on his woman and she definitely didn’t
seem to mind because she never looked away. There were even moments when it
felt like he actually encouraged me to lust for her. He kept asking me if I saw
how sexy, or curvy, or delicious she was. I wasn’t sure if all of the champagne
was to blame or if he wanted me to fall in love enough to perhaps purchase a
painting before the night was over.
“I need to use the little boys’ room to set some of this
alcohol free,” Miguel announced. He kissed Alice and left us alone, standing
together in front of one of her abstract paintings. As soon as he was gone, the
vibe between us changed.
“What do you think?” she asked as her hand brushed against
mine. I couldn’t tell if it had been intentional or accidental. All I knew was
that it felt like a spark that could ignite a bonfire if we fanned the flames.
Fires are spectacular, raw, elemental forces of nature but when we stand too
close to them, someone almost always gets hurt. I kept that in mind to help
keep my impulses in check and under control.
“Beautiful,” I said. My answer made her blush which was
proof that she understood the intended double-meaning. She smiled and moved
from beside me to stand in front of me. She backed up just enough that her butt
touched the front of my slacks. She had barely brushed against me but I could
feel myself getting hard, excited by the slight, subtle contact, surely meant
to tease and excite me.
“What does it make you feel?” she asked, looking back at me
over her shoulder. I stared at the painting but all of my thoughts were on the
soft, round, flesh squeezed into the lower region of the back of her dress.
“It gives me a good feeling,” I answered.
“Does it? In what way?” she asked, stepping back into me
again, this time pressing her juicy butt against me even harder. “Oh,” I heard
her whisper to herself when she felt how big the bulge in the front of my pants
had become. I wanted to lift up her dress and take her panties down, if she was
wearing any at all.
“It makes me curious to understand what it means.”
“It can mean anything you want it to. The only limitation is
what you can imagine,” she whispered just as Miguel returned from the rest
room. He didn’t seem to notice that she was standing so close to me and if he
did, he pretended not to care.
At the end of the night, Alice sold a total of six paintings
for very handsome prices. Miguel insisted that we all went out to celebrate so
the three of us, well plied with wine and champagne, staggered out into the
bright lights of the city that never sleeps on our way to the
nearest diner. Alice suggested that we sat in a booth and squeezed in beside
me, leaving Miguel to sit alone on the opposite side of the table. The cautious
side of me was uncomfortable with the seating arrangements she’d chosen even if
Miguel didn’t seem concerned. I would have been furious if my woman had done
something like that but he never stopped talking, never stopped smiling and
never stopped acting as if we were all best buddies.
“So, what do you do for a living?” he asked.
“I’m an author. I mostly write novels but occasionally I
dabble in the realm of short stories and poetry.”
“Well now, I am humbled and truly blessed to be in the
presence of such creative folk, one gifted with a paintbrush and the other with
paper, ink and words,” he said, still grinning, still pleasant and still a
perfect host. I don’t know how pleased he would’ve been if he looked under the
table and saw Alice’s hand in my lap, resting on my thigh. Our waitress
accidentally dropped one of the menus on the ground next to our table and as he
reached down to pick it up for her, I was certain that he would have seen. When
he sat back up and calmly placed his menu on the table I assumed that he
hadn’t. Our friendly talk continued with flirtatious Alice’s hand safely
removed from the inappropriate region and appropriately placed in plain view,
on top of the table. We all agreed that we probably had way too much to drink
so they ordered coffee for themselves and hot chocolate for me. (I’ve never
been a coffee drinker.) When our hot beverages arrived, Alice reached into my
cup, scooped up some of the whipped cream, put her creamy finger in her mouth
and then licked it clean.
For hours we discussed art, literature and not-so-popular
culture. If I ignored the naughty ways she had touched me, Alice and Miguel
seemed to be a great couple. They found humor in the same things and even
occasionally finished each other’s sentences. It was obvious that they were the
best of friends and it’s a known fact that relationships that are bound by
friendship form the strongest ties. This seemed to be the case with them
although some of their other behavior seemed strange and suspicious. Eventually
our conversation took a more personal turn and landed in the realm of more
sensitive subjects.
“What are your thoughts on cheating?” Miguel asked me out of
the blue and for the first time all evening, his face became serious.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that. You have to be more
specific,” I told him.
“Do you think that everyone does it? It just seems to me
like everyone is unfaithful.”
“I don’t think so. I mean, most people have been guilty of
it at one point or another but I still hold onto a small measure of hope that
there are at least a few loyal people in the world.”
“Do you believe that men and women cheat for different
reasons?” Alice asked me.
“To be honest, I don’t think that they do. Men and women are
more alike than anybody wants to admit.”
“How so?” Miguel asked.
“Everyone believes that lack of self-control, greed and lust
is what drives men to have affairs. Sometimes that’s true but women do it for
the same reasons. They just make up different excuses because otherwise, people
would call them sluts and whores. On the flip side of that, it isn’t always
disloyalty or the desire for forbidden sex that leads to cheating. A lot of
times things that are emotionally missing can be the cause. Society
acknowledges that women are emotional creatures so it’s nothing for them to
admit that they needed comfort that they weren’t getting in their relationship.
Men aren’t supposed to have feelings so they almost always pretend that their
infidelity was all about sex which doesn’t make sense when so many times their
mistresses aren’t anywhere near as attractive as the women waiting at home for
them.”
“Well said. I have to agree with most of that. You have some
valid points,” Miguel said but his face still remained uncharacteristically
stern.
“Interesting,” said Alice before she slowly took another sip
of her piping hot coffee. Miguel continued to stare me down and waived off the
waitress when she tried to pour him another cup. Just like that, there was
suddenly a thick air of tension between us. He looked directly at me and I
looked directly back at him.
“And you, how do you feel about it?” I asked him.
“I never worry about it,” he answered, confidently and
coldly, obviously meant to send me some sort of message. “To act paranoid or
suspicious because of all kinds of unwarranted jealousy makes a man appear weak
to his woman. If you show a woman that you believe that she would seek comfort
or pleasure from another man, how long before she begins to wonder if maybe she
should? Accusations plant thoughts in people’s heads that weren’t even there
before. Besides, if something is truly yours, no one can ever take it away from
you,” he explained.
“Well said,” I responded in the same manner and tone that he
had used before.
“Thank you,” he answered.
“Let’s dance,” said Alice as she pushed me out of the booth.
Like a fool, I stood up expecting her to take my hand. Instead, she pushed past
me and grabbed Miguel to drag him from the table to dance to music that only
they could hear. I sat back down alone, finished my second cup of hot chocolate
and watched them move together as lovers should. I felt like I should leave.
Just as my discomfort became unbearable, they came over and sat back down with
me. That time, Alice sat down next to Miguel and left me alone on my side of
the booth. She insisted on paying the bill by herself when the waitress placed
it on the table. We made polite small talk for a few more minutes and then said
our goodbyes.
“You should stop by sometime,” said Miguel as he handed me a
napkin with their address and phone number scribbled on it. “We don’t have a
lot of friends and the ones we have are boring. It’d be nice to have someone to
have good conversations with.”
“Sure, I’d like that,” I answered uncomfortably because
there was something sinister in his invitation that I couldn’t quite put my
finger on. It felt like he was daring me to try something and I didn’t like it.
Things would only turn out badly for me or maybe even him if I did. He seemed
to doubt that possibility whole-heartedly.
I was somewhat sober by the time I got back to my car but I
took a nap before I drove home, just to make sure. By the time I opened my eyes
it was daylight. I couldn’t remember what I had dreamt but I was certain that
Alice had made an appearance in my subconscious fantasies. I looked at the
napkin that Miguel had handed to me and knew that I should have opened my
window to let the wind take it but instead I carefully tucked it in my pocket.
It took me three weeks before my curiosity won its battle with my common sense
and I finally gave them a call. Miguel sounded glad to hear from me and invited
me over for dinner.
The first time I went over to their loft apartment that also
doubled as Alice’s art studio, I learned that Miguel was a musician. That first
night we met, he hadn’t really said much about himself. He was the lead
vocalist in a hip-hop/grunge band. He gave me a cd to listen to and truthfully,
it was surprisingly pretty good. I actually wrote a few chapters when I got
home later on that night while listening and vibing to it. I started to spend
more time with my new friends and things remained fairly innocent until Miguel
invited me to watch his band perform at an underground night club in Manhattan.
Traffic on the F.D.R. Drive held me up that night so I was
running late. When I finally found a parking space where my car wouldn’t get
towed, I hurried to the venue and ran into Alice out front smoking. She looked
just as good in old jeans and a faded T-shirt as she had in a tight,
form-fitting, cocktail dress. Her curves were undeniable and impossible to hide
no matter what she wore. There are certain moments in life that set a series of
unstoppable events in motion, not unlike the first loose pebble that starts an
avalanche. That’s what it felt like when I walked up and she hugged me tightly.
I’m not ashamed to admit that she felt good in my arms. Once she finished
smoking, she flicked the butt of her cigarette into the street, grabbed me by
the arm and dragged me past the bouncers at the door.
It was dark, crowded and as hot as a furnace inside but the
atmosphere was live enough that it didn’t matter. Miguel’s band had the crowd
in a frenzy as Alice and I guzzled down beer after beer in our red, plastic
cups. I put my hand around her waist and when she didn’t move it, I turned her
body to face me and we danced until we were both soaked in sweat. The music in
our ears, the alcohol in our blood and the people packed together all around us
didn’t matter. The world did not exist outside of the tiny space on the dance
floor that she and I occupied. As our bodies touched we freed the long subdued
sexuality that we both wanted to sample badly. I put my hands all over her body
and she welcomed my touch. She wasn’t shy at all and boldly put her hands on me
in private places. When the music finally stopped she smiled and surprised me
with a big, wet, kiss on my lips. It was enough to hypnotize me but a second
later she acted as if nothing had happened. It confused me at first but once I
got a grip on the reality of the situation, I accepted that maybe I was making
something out of nothing. Maybe everything that had happened only existed
within the bubble we had created and now that it had been popped, it might as
well have been a figment of our imaginations. Maybe Alice was just that friendly and recklessly comfortable with
tempting me that way. Miguel came over and kissed her passionately. For the
first time I was relieved by that well-timed reminder. Otherwise I might have
driven myself crazy with wild, dangerous thoughts about what was almost
impossible. I watched Alice greet each of the band members with big,
affectionate, hugs. I also noticed that she didn’t kiss any of THEM the way she
had kissed me though.
“Can you do me a favor and give me a ride home?” she asked
as the band started to pack up their equipment.
“What about Miguel? Won’t he mind?”
“Why would he? It’s not like you’re taking me home to fuck
me. Besides, none of his crew drives so he’s going to have to give each one of
them a ride and they live all over the damn five boroughs. If I go with him,
it’d be hours before we’d get home and I’m tired.”
“No problem, as long as he’s cool with it.”
“Whether he was cool with it or not, I’m cool with it. Let’s
go.”
We were both quiet for most of the ride and I found the
awkward silence unsettling. It was torture trying to figure out what she was
thinking while she kept her eyes away from mine. Her gaze remained glued to the
passenger side window. When I couldn’t stand the silence I slid Miguel’s cd into
the player on my dashboard.
“Ugh, I think we’ve had enough of that for the night. Turn
it off and tune to the slow jams station,” she told me. What happened next was
crazy. Every single song that played for the forty-minute ride over to her
place seemed to be about the situation we were in, or at least I thought so. I
really had no idea what Alice was thinking as she quietly enjoyed the music. I
cut the radio off once we got to her place.
“Well, I guess this is goodnight then,” I said even though I
secretly hoped that it really wasn’t.
“Come inside for a drink,” she told me and I wondered if she
knew that if I came inside I would want more than a drink.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I shouldn’t. I need to be on my way
home to write a few chapters before I fall out,” I lied, my own tongue
betraying what I desired in my heart. I suppose that was my last attempt to do
the right thing and just leave.
“I’m not taking no for an answer. It’s the least I can do
after you kept me company all night. Usually, whenever I go to Miguel’s gigs I
get surrounded and swarmed by thirsty lames trying to get at me all night.
Tonight I didn’t have to pepper-spray anybody and I actually got to enjoy
myself for once. Turn the car off and come on.”
“Sounds like you’re not giving me a choice.”
“That’s because I’m not. Let’s go,” she giggled and sprinted
off to her front door, dodging the rain drops that had started to fall. I shut
my car off and followed.
Upstairs, Alice poured me a drink but only opened a bottle
of water for herself. It was exciting being there alone with her in the dark.
For whatever reason, she hadn’t turned on most of the lights. A lamp with a
low-watt light bulb in the far corner of the room and the occasional sliver of
moonlight that broke through the rainclouds were the only reasons why the place
wasn’t completely pitch black. Alice continued to be as quiet and enigmatic as
she had been in the car.
“I had a good time tonight too. I haven’t partied like that
in years,” I told her.
“I’m glad,” she answered. “I need a shower. Sit right there
and I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
While she was gone, my mind was ravenously consumed by
images of what she must have looked like naked, soap running down her smooth
skin as the water from the shower poured down on her the same way that the rain
outside beat against the loft windows. I wanted her but I couldn’t get
completely comfortable with that idea because of the enormous black and white
photograph of her with Miguel on the wall in front of me. In it, they were
wrapped affectionately in each other’s arms and locked in a passionate kiss. It
served as an undeniable reminder that she was his. All the same, it didn’t make
me think that their relationship was any less strange. Miguel’s confidence
seemed bulletproof as he constantly claimed that he was absolutely certain that
Alice was dedicated to him, mind, body and soul. I suppose I was biased because
of my desires but something told me that his hold on her wasn’t as strong as he
would’ve liked me to believe. I definitely should have left her alone but the
way he had flaunted her in front of me and taunted me to try to have her only
motivated me to want her more. It felt like he was subliminally saying that he
was a better man than I was and my pride didn’t like that at all.
“I’m back,” Alice announced as she re-entered the room
wearing a black nighty that stopped mid-thigh. She looked like a curvy,
lingerie model except for the black and red, striped socks on her feet. Her
hair was wet and wrapped in a towel. I remember thinking that I wouldn’t mind
coming home to her every night. She was stunning, amazing and absolutely
gorgeous. Her only temporary flaw was the troubled look on her face.
“Do you want another drink because I’m about to make one for
myself?” she asked on her way to the liquor cabinet.
“No, I’m good. Thanks. But, I would like to know what’s up
with you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It just seems like you have a lot on your mind.”
“Wow. Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
“It’s the show I have coming up next month. I’m worried about
it,” she answered while pouring herself a tall glass of vodka.
“What’s there to worry about? I’m sure your paintings will
be amazing. They always are,” I reassured her, slightly disappointed that
relationship issues with Miguel weren’t the cause of the forlorn expression on
her face. I had been hopeful that there was some kind of trouble in paradise.
“I wish that I could say that I believe that as much as you
sound like you do. I feel really bad because Miguel worked so hard to set
everything up. Some of the critics and art dealers he invited can make or break
my career.”
“It’s just butterflies. You’ll be fine.”
“I wish it was just butterflies.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ve created a few new pieces and they’re all nice but I
don’t have anything that’s a show stopper. I really wanted to do something
impressive but I just don’t feel that I have,” she said and slumped down on the
sofa beside me with her drink in her hand. She didn’t bother to sip slowly as
she tipped the glass back.
“Let me take a look at what you’ve done so far and I’ll tell
you what I think.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you saw it and fell in love with it
at first sight. Sometimes what other people see, I will never see,” she told
me.
“I understand. I’ve written stories that I thought were
mediocre at best but other people read them and loved them. I suppose we’re our
own worse critics.”
“I suppose we are. Well, at least it keeps us from becoming
complacent.”
“You should still let me take a look at what you’re working
on. Maybe I’ll see what’s missing.”
“There really isn’t much to see. I’ve barely touched the
canvas. The problem isn’t that I’m displeased with the work. There just isn’t
any. My mind goes blank every time I pick up my brush,” she complained, banging
her empty glass down on the coffee table.
“Maybe you just need some motivation,” I told her. The look
that she gave me said that she recognized exactly what I was implying.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she said, turning her
eyes downward to stare at her striped socks.
“Why not?”
“Because you make me self-conscious. You make me blush.”
“You’re a grown woman. It should be harder than that to make
you blush,” I said as I gently touched her chin, raised her head and forced her
to look at me.
“But you do. I see the way you look at me. I’ve seen it from
the first night we met.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.”
“So what are we going to do about it?” I asked and for a
fraction of a second it felt like the moment in a movie where the two main
characters finally lean towards each other to kiss passionately for the first
time.
“Nothing,” she answered.
“Why not?”
“Because we shouldn’t, no matter how tempted we may be.
Miguel has done a lot for me and I owe him my loyalty. I think you should go
home. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to come in with me,” she said and
just like that, my evening with Alice abruptly came to an end.
On the drive home, all kinds of mixed emotions kept me in a
confused state. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Alice loved me but I
knew that she liked me just as much as I liked her. I respected her for not
wanting to betray Miguel but I also sensed that she had to fight hard to subdue
the urge to be with me at least once. I replayed the events of the evening and
wondered what would have happened if I had been more aggressive. I wasn’t sure
if she would have stopped me if I had just kissed her when I wanted to. If she
had let me, I might have been making love to her instead of driving home alone
in the rain. Once again, I found myself feeling foolish so I decided to never
press Alice in that way ever again. It was wrong. It was also exhausting trying
to be moral, always fighting to do the right thing, when all I wanted was to
give in to my impulses and willingly let lust blind me. I didn’t care about her
relationship and only her seemingly concrete resolve had stopped me. That night,
she had been a better person than I was. At home, in bed alone, I decided that
it was best that I never saw her again. It was a hard decision but decisions
like that have to be made sometimes. That was the only way to keep the torment
of the temptation at bay. Besides, selfish desires usually lead to disaster.
The next morning and every day that followed I thought about
Alice less and less. Concentrating on my writing helped me to start the process
of forgetting her. Whenever she crept back into my mind, I forced myself to
remember the photograph that hung on the wall in her apartment. I almost
successfully abandoned the idea of having my hands all over her body when,
after two weeks without contact, she called my phone one night.
“Miguel has a show tonight but I stayed home to try and
finish this painting. The problem is that I still can’t figure out what to do
with it. What do you do when you have writer’s block?’ Alice asked.
“I step away from the work for a while and just live life. I
usually see or hear something that inspires me and puts me back on the right
path.”
“I wish I had time to step away from it. I’m going crazy and
my show is right around the corner. Listen, I’ll be here alone all night and I
could use some company. Maybe some good conversation with a friend might get my
mind right. Do you feel like helping me out?”
“Sure, but I don’t have to come over to do that. We can talk
on the phone,” I said. I gave her the opportunity to stop me from coming over
because I knew what would happen if I did.
“It’s not the same. Besides, I want you to take a look at
what I’ve done so far.”
Thirty minutes later I was standing barefoot over a huge
canvas spread out on Alice’s apartment floor. This time the room was brightly
lit even though the night sky outside was black. It was easy not to look at the
photograph on her wall that I hated so much because Alice was hard to turn away
from. She had answered the door in a long, white, nightgown that was sheer
enough to show that she was only wearing pink panties underneath. If she knew
that her big nipples and perfect areolas were clearly visible through the thin
material, she certainly didn’t act shy about it. The spots and streaks of paint
all over her were proof that she had been working in a gown that most women
would have only worn to bed to initiate sex. Her weirdness was arousing and
intoxicating.
“So, what do you think?” she asked with her hands on the
same hips that I couldn’t stop thinking about. I had to force myself not to
stare at her because with all of the distractions, I wouldn’t be able to
concentrate on the unfinished painting that she wanted me to critique.
“It’s a good start,” I answered, looking down at what she
had done up until that point. She was attempting to create a self-portrait.
That much I could tell from the incredibly detailed pencil sketch that she
planned to paint over. The few blues, purples and oranges that she had already
added let me know that she wasn’t aiming for a realistic look.
“Starting is about as far as I’ve gotten. I can’t get the
colors right. It would be easy if I was trying for realism. My skin tone isn’t
hard to paint. I could have even done it in black and greys but that’s not what
I want. That’s too common.”
“So what exactly do you want it to be?”
“I have lots of other paintings that should WOW the people at the art show but I
want this to be my feature piece. Everything else will tie into this. I want
this to show who I am but not just the physical me. I want to paint the essence
of me, the part that nobody sees.”
“So what’s holding you back?”
“I’m not sure. I’m nervous and afraid.”
“I understand. I go through the same thing with my writing.
The who, what, where and when parts of the story is always easy
to write. The why is always the most
difficult because I have to give parts of myself to the readers that I normally
might not even share with the people closest to me. Every single character in
my stories represents different parts of me. They have to be in order for them
to feel real and touch my readers’ souls. It’s not an easy thing to do and at
times I get stuck too.”
“So what do you do to get past that?” she asked, squeezing
my hand as she intertwined her fingers with mine. If there had been a tiny
spark the first time our hands barely touched, then what struck us both just
then was more like raw lightning.
“I stop being afraid and force myself to let go,” I said,
grabbing her other arm to turn her body so that we faced each other.
“Can you show me how?” she asked and when I looked closely,
I saw time tic by in her eyes like the timer ticking down on a bomb. She had
been waiting for this moment just as much as I had.
“Yes,” I answered, pulling her close enough that her breasts
pressed against my chest.
“What will it cost me?” she asked softly, her lips slightly
touching my chin as she spoke.
“Everything,” I answered before she could say anything that
might murder the moment, grabbed her by the back of her head and kissed her
until she was breathless. When I let her breathe again, she staggered backwards
and I had to reach forward to catch her in my arms.
“But Miguel could come home anytime now,” she started to
say.
“Fuck Miguel!” I answered.
“But I love him.”
“Good. I’m glad that you love him. Love him tomorrow, love
him next week, next year. Shit, love him later on tonight if you like. That’s
still not going to stop me from fucking you right here, right now.”
“What makes you think I plan on going that far with you? Who
says I want to fuck you?” she asked. That’s when I slipped my hand under her
nightgown, up her leg and into her panties. She sighed as her thighs parted to
let me.
“This says,” I answered as I pulled my had out to show her
my fingers, slick and glistening with her own wetness.
“If he comes home and catches us he’ll kill you,” she warned
me.
“He won’t and he can’t kill me,” I answered boldly while
fondling her breasts. She put her hand over my hand as her nipples stiffened at
my touch.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because right now…I’m a god and he’s just a man,” I told
her before I dragged her panties down to her ankles. She stepped out of them
and I tossed them across the room. The next move was hers. It was her last
opportunity to stop what was about to happen. I waited to see what it was going
to be. I watched as she pulled her nightgown up over her head and stood there
completely naked. I had my answer. In that moment, right before we crossed over
the line that we could never uncross, Alice stood above me as more than a
woman. She was a goddess and the energy that passed between us felt like we
were about to split the sky wide open. I put my hands on her shoulders and
looked at her in awe. She pulled my shirt off and undid my belt buckle. I’ve
never been comfortable with anyone else pulling down my zipper so I moved her
hands and took care of the rest myself. Her eyes never left the bulge between
my legs as I stepped out of my jeans. I knew she meant business when she
dragged off my boxers, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and got down on her
knees. The fantasy we both had toyed with for weeks was about to become real.
Alice grabbed my stiff dick with both hands, stroked it
slowly at first and then faster with more intensity. She stared up at me and
spoke to me with her eyes. The look that she gave me said that she was about to
eat me alive. Then she smiled and opened her mouth wide and took me inside. My
manhood was so hot that at first, the inside of her mouth felt cold. It was
like taking that first step into a swimming pool. At first she moved with the
uncomfortable tentativeness of a woman who was used to making love to only one
man for a very long time. There was no passion. I could tell that she was uncomfortable
and probably troubled by guilt. I gently touched the side of her face and felt
her relax. She took it out of her mouth and looked up at me with a smile. Then
she kissed the tip softly before she let spit drip all over my shaft until it
was glistening and slick. She let go of her inhibitions and accepted what we
were doing. Her thick lips, tongue and throat nearly drove me insane. She
moaned greedily like a person who had just been given food after starving for
weeks. Even when I closed my eyes I heard the sloppy, wet sounds of everything
she did with her mouth. My knees got weak and I had to grab her head to stop
her before she made me finish too soon. Her hands, my shaft, her breasts and
the floor in front of her were soaking wet with saliva that had dripped from
her mouth. I reached down and held her arm to steady her as she stood up to
kiss me. I needed more. I gently pushed her down on the canvas.
“Right here?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise. “On
top of the painting?”
“Right here, right now,” I answered. I put my hand on her
shoulder and eased her back until she lay flat.
First I kissed the delicate soles of her feet and she
giggled as that tickled her. Then my tongue found her ankles, teased the
sensitive spot at the back of her knees and eventually tenderly touched her
inner thighs. I looked up at her, past her tummy, beyond her big, beautiful
breasts and finally into her eyes that burned brightly like a summertime
sunrise.
“Kiss me,” she said, looking down at me and that’s exactly
what I did. I sucked, kissed and licked the lips between her legs until she
screamed. I beat my tongue against her clit until she pulled her own hair and
sucked on her own breasts, mad with pleasure. Her first orgasm was so intense
that she splashed and leaked all over her painting. When she composed herself,
she reached down between my legs, grabbed my thick, throbbing, dick and guided
the tip slowly inside her. “Fuck me,” she said. I got harder when she said it
and I put everything inside her.
With her legs on my shoulders she continued to flow like a
waterfall, stroke after stroke. She moved her hips to match my movements as if
we were dancing. No matter how deep I went she took it without complaining,
even when the pain showed on her face. The way she purred and said my name made
me feel like the god I claimed to be earlier. She nearly clawed the flesh from
my back before I pinned her arms down above her head. It seemed to excite her
even more when I had her restrained. She drifted off into ecstasy as I drove
into her with force.
“I’m about to cum,” she told me. As I felt her inner walls
contract, I pulled out and turned her over to take her from behind. I kissed
her lower back and gently sank my teeth into her big, soft cheeks before I
roughly entered her. She screamed as she creamed with pleasure. I looked over
at the pallet of colors right beside where Alice was taking everything I gave
her with her back arched while she was on her knees. I looked down at how I
stretched her pussy as it gripped my dick and suddenly I got an idea. I slowed
down my pace, reached over for a paintbrush and handed it to her.
“Now paint,” I whispered as I gripped her hips and slowly
scraped her insides. She looked back at me over her shoulder, somewhat
confused. “Paint,” I told her again while pushing so hard and deep that she
straightened her back and cringed. Then she started to paint.
For hours, we recklessly went at it the same way, over and
over again with no care or caution in spite of the fact that Miguel could’ve
walked in on us at any moment. I gave it and she took it every way that it was
possible for a woman to take it. Nothing was off-limits or taboo. Soon the
canvas became covered with what seemed like perfection. Creativity inspired by
sex had been spilled, splashed and stroked everywhere on her masterpiece by her
paintbrush. Exhausted, she collapsed and rolled away from the canvas. I moved
to lie down next to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I think I needed that.”
“Found your magic again? Think you can finish it now?” I
asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
“When you’re done with this, it’ll be our secret about
what’s mixed on this canvas with your paint,” I said after I kissed her
shoulder and stood up to get a better look at what she’d done.
“Love, lust, sex, sweat and some bodily fluids that I’m too
shy to mention,” she said, reaching up on the coffee table for her cigarettes.
“I hope they don’t ever put a blue light on it ‘cause it’ll
glow,” I joked.
“Shut up!” she giggled as she reached up and slapped my
thigh, still sticky from her love.
Alice stood up next to me to see what she had created with
my help. As her cigarette smoke swirled around our heads, neither one of spoke
as we admired the art and processed what had just happened. It told a story
that was beautiful. The brush strokes, intense lines and vivid colors all
represented the intimacy we just shared. Everything that she had been holding
back had been set free. She smiled and I could see that her passions were
satisfied and the artist was pleased. The lost look was gone from her eyes.
“One day, this painting will be on display for the world to
see but only we will know how it was created,” I said and kissed her on the
cheek.
“So, does the woman on the canvas look like me?”
“She does. She’s a beautiful immortal.”
“You flatter me and exaggerate.”
“No, I only speak the truth. The woman on the canvas is a
goddess, created in your image,” I told her and watched a single tear fall from
Alice’s eye. That one tear held more weight in my heart than some of the rivers
I had witnessed other women cry. All females are not created equal.
“I can’t see you again, not after what happened tonight,”
she said before she kissed me hard with a million goodbyes on her lips. I can’t
say that I was surprised. Somehow, I knew what the outcome would be from the
moment we first touched.
“I know,” I answered without an ounce of guilt or regret. I
preferred that things ended that way instead of pretending to be just friends for years on end,
constantly tortured by desires that would never be satisfied. That was the last
time I ever saw Alice. I never did fully understand why she cheated on Miguel to
be with me that night. I’m certain that her reasons were complicated. The
motivation of the hearts, souls and appetites of creative people always are.
Copyright
© 2012 Keith Kareem Williams
All
rights reserved.
