Teach Me To Paint

NOTE:

This is a small portion of a much longer piece. It is the culmination of a long, slow and dangerous flirt, and this scene proves to be their first time together...

*****

I just couldn't find the inspiration - I sat for nearly an hour staring at the three bold blue vertical lines on the canvas; I felt like they were the start of something, but the next move eluded me. Paint sat drying on my palette as I sought the rest of the mental image. I began absently mixing colors, with no actual goal or plan - at least not at first.

I suddenly looked down - the color on my brush was her...a shade of reddish brown that exactly replicated the color of her long, wavy hair. My hands were inspired and I began working on the background behind the blue lines. First two wispy lines that met at a near point - not straight like the sides of a triangle, but slightly curvy as though simulating hair on a crudely drawn stick figure. More mixing; my hands moved frantically to create a pale flesh tone for a center to the somewhat triangular shape, followed by a deep red - almost maroon - that emulated the color of the dress she'd worn the first time I saw her.

More colors appeared; grays and blues in the foreground, warmer colors in the background. By the time my brush had completed its work, it felt much like I was gazing at an abstract version of her through the bars of a prison cell, her warmth and beauty just beyond my reach.

"Do you really feel trapped?" she said as the clickety-clack of her heels signaled her entry into the studio.

"What do you mean?" I hadn't even noticed the door opening. "Wait - what are you doing here?"

"The painting - do you really feel trapped, as though you're looking at me through a cage like that?" she whispered as she wrapped her arms gently around me from behind, completely ignoring my question.

I was amazed at how well she'd read the painting - it wasn't overly detailed; essentially an abstract, but somehow she had figured out exactly what it felt like to me. I stepped my way out of the hug.

"I - I don't know. I guess...well, it feels like you've somehow captured me; like I'm under some sort of hypnotic spell."

She didn't reply immediately; instead she grasped my hand and locked her deep, beautiful eyes onto mine for what seemed like hours.

"Do you want to be free?" she finally breathed into my ear.

I couldn't answer, I could barely breathe at that moment. I stared at the floor, then at the painting, and then back at the floor.

She abruptly changed the subject. "I've never tried painting before, but it's always intrigued me."

She paused, a sly grin crossing her face.

"Teach me?" she queried.

"Well, I...really...I mean, I wouldn't know how to teach someone any of this - it's not like I actually know what I'm doing."

"Look at that canvas - really look at it. Was I wrong about the meaning?"

I focused on the painting for a few moments, then shook my head. I couldn't deny it - she read the meaning spot on.

"So then if I could figure it out from one look, it's pretty safe to say you know what you're doing. Give yourself a little credit."

She trailed a fingertip across my cheek.

"Teach me?" she asked again.

I handed her a wide brush and gingerly lifted my still-damp work off the easel, placed it on my workbench and grabbed a fresh canvas from under the bench.

"I'm not really certain how much I can show you - I can't claim to know any actual techniques or styles; honestly, for me it's all about feel. Much like my writing used to, the paint just kind of flows, almost as if I'm unconscious."

"So it's all about the feel?" she murmured, a hint of seduction in her voice.

"Not automatically. Some might tell you different. But for me, yes it is."

"Then make me feel it," she whispered, grasping my hand.

I led her to my stool and motioned for her to sit. I settled the blank canvas onto the easel and grabbed a palette.

"What's your favorite color?" I asked.

"Hmmm...red, I think."

"Tell me why," I said, taking a tube of red acrylic from the bench.

"It's bold and strong, plus I like warm colors - although I suppose red might fall into the category of hot rather than warm."

I reached to the bench for tubes of yellow, burnt sienna and white.

"But maybe the best thing about red," she continued, "is that it's such a passionate color. Red makes no compromises or apologies for its fire, strength or boldness - it's about power, desire; maybe even lust, if that's possible for a color."

I squeezed a dollop of the red onto the palette as she spoke and grabbed another brush. I added a small dot of yellow and a tiny dab each of the burnt sienna and white and began mixing.

"I thought the first tube was already red. Why do you have to mix?"

"You don't just

like

red," I explained. "You breathed life into it; put a picture of a very specific red into my mind. So that's the shade of red I will create for you."

I mixed and tweaked for a few minutes. Suddenly she gasped softly.

"That's the red you love, isn't it?" I whispered.

It really was a stunning shade - just enough of the yellow and sienna into the mix to take the red a tiny bit toward orange; a fiery mix that walked the line between bold and sensual. The shade matched the feeling her smoldering eyes drove into my soul every time she looked at me.

She didn't take time to answer; instead she dipped her brush immediately into the paint and prepared to attack the canvas. But she stopped short of the first brush stroke.

"I don't know what to do," she giggled. "I've never done anything more than 'paint-by-numbers' in my life."

"Remember, it's about feel. Close your eyes for a moment and feel the image inside you, just dying to come out."

Her first brush strokes were tentative; slow, almost as if she were fighting to coax her imagination into action. Then her hand began moving more quickly, creating a series of lines radiating from an empty center - much like a child might draw the sun, but without the circle in the center of the image.

"I told you that you could do it - what did you feel?"

"It's not right," she griped. "The lines are all clumpy and thick."

"You just needed a softer touch on the brush, and maybe a tiny bit less paint. You develop a feel for those kind of things."

"Make me feel it," she whimpered again, melting me with her alluring eyes.

I stepped behind the stool, taking her hand in mine to lead it. She leaned against me ever so slightly; it took my breath away for a moment to feel the intimacy and closeness of the pose. We dipped the brush together, and I led her through removing the excess paint from the brush before we approached the canvas for a few gentle practice strokes.

"Now, a light touch is all that's needed - and loosen your grip on the brush a tiny bit."

The brush fell into her lap, leaving a bold red stripe on her bare thigh just below the edge of her bright green skirt.

"Not quite

that

loose," I chuckled.

"HEY! You painted me!" she exclaimed, feigning indignation.

She picked up the brush and dabbed my cheek with it.

"There. Now we match," she said with a smirk.

"Not exactly," I corrected, taking my mixing brush to dab her cheek in the same spot. "There, that's a better match."

"Oh, you did NOT just do that," she said, giggling through her attempts to sound stern. She ran her brush down the entire side of my face.

I thought you didn't know how to paint," I teased as I painted a squiggle across the portion of her chest exposed by her low-cut white blouse.

She leaned in closer. "I have a great teacher," she whispered in my ear. Then she laughed as she painted my forehead.

I pulled her close to me, devouring her lips in a passionate kiss. She dabbed paint on my other cheek and smirked again.

"Apparently I have a pretty good student, too," I laughed, dotting the tip of her nose with my brush as I spoke.

"This lesson seems to be getting a bit messy," she said, her breath sounding a bit ragged as she unbuttoned my shirt to paint zigzag lines across my chest.

I unfastened the first few buttons of her blouse and painted the silky smooth valley between her breasts.

"You may be right," I replied, my voice husky with arousal. It was becoming obvious that neither of us was referring to the paint.

"Is messy OK?" she murmured. Her hands found my belt buckle and her paintbrush hit the floor.

I didn't reply; instead I scooped her into my arms and carried her to the sofa on the other side of the studio. I set her down and took her lips in another fiery kiss as my fingers finished the unbuttoning job and then moved to unclasp her bra. She intertwined her fingers in my hair, drawing me closer as she broke off the kiss, trailing her lips across my cheek to my ear.

She whispered, "There's no going back from here."

My breath came in gasps; I placed a finger on her cheek to turn her face, gazing deeply into her intoxicating eyes.

"I don't want to go back," I breathed.

I took her soft, full lips with abandon. Then my lips moved to her neck as she exhaled deeply and a soft moan escaped her as I slipped the blouse and bra away, exposing her luscious breasts to the first caresses of my hands. She reached up to slip my shirt off my arms and dug her nails into my back as I kissed a teasing path from her neck down to her shoulder.

She pulled me down to her, and repeated, "There's no going back - are you sure messy is OK?"

I wrapped my arms tightly around her and trailed my lips to the silky flesh of her breast, ignoring her query as my hands fumbled for the zipper of her skirt. She whimpered at the gentle caress of my lips as she reached to guide my hands and lifted slightly from the sofa to slide the skirt down her legs.

"Darren, don't make me wait - take me now!" she cried, her words dripping with lust as she finished undoing my pants.

We scrambled out of our remaining clothes and she settled back on the sofa, pulling me down on top of her. She guided my lips to her firm, pink nipple and I dragged the tip of my tongue across it, eliciting a guttural moan of pleasure from deep inside her. Her hands found my cock, and it sprung to life at the first touch of her tender hands as my lips became more aggressive, sucking on her nipple as she begged for more.

"I want you inside me," she groaned. "I

need

you inside me now, baby!"

"Patience, my dear River," I whispered as my fingertips began a teasing dance on the silky flesh of her inner thighs.

She quivered beneath my touch, and I could sense the heat growing from the center of her arousal. I was struggling badly to remain patient; I wanted nothing more than to dive into her pussy, but I knew I needed to take my time. She, however, had no such desire for patience.

"Fine," she moaned, "apparently I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

She pushed against my chest, shoving me onto my back and jumping on top of me, frantically kissing my lips and neck. Her lips quickly traveled down my chest toward my midsection, and then she suddenly turned around and straddled my face, lowering her dripping pussy down to my lips.

"Fuck me, Darren!" she cried. "Fuck me with your tongue!"

She thrust her hips downward to drive her pussy onto my tongue, and took my shaft tenderly into her mouth as she did. My first taste of her was incredible, and I savored it like a fine wine as I slipped my tongue into her tight opening. She could barely control her moans, struggling to keep her focus on my cock in her mouth as I drove her closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh, yes...YES!" She kneeled straight upright, riding my tongue through the crescendo of an orgasm. I grasped her hips to steady her as I sucked hard on her engorged clit, loving the sound of her screams as she approached a second climax. My face was covered in her luscious nectar as she began to regain normal breathing.

"Oh my God, Darren, please...I need you inside me right now!" she exclaimed, grasping my cock gently and stroking slowly as if to prepare me for the job. I quickly sat up and laid her on her back, climbing between her legs and gazing into her incredible eyes, and as our bodies became one she called out my name over and over, begging for this ecstasy to last forever. I wanted the exact same thing at that point.