The Muralist

I had known her all my life. We went to grade school together and even attended the same high school. She was one of those people who drifted in and out of my life and I never knew where she might turn up. Once in college we had bumped into each other at a party and shared a kiss. The timing wasn't right, so nothing much happened, but I had often fantasized about the possibilities. When we ran into each other again one night at a concert I was happy to see her. We had both settled down. All the typical stuff. After the show we decided to catch up over a cup of coffee. It turned out that she had a small business painting murals. I was just moving back into my house after a year overseas and had been planning to paint my room. A mural might be fun. We discussed the possibilities and she agreed to come by on the following Saturday to get started on the project.

She arrived with her gear on Saturday afternoon. We had been in touch throughout the week via email and she had already sent me several sketches. In our letters we had also talked about our lives. We had even reminisced about the night of the kiss. It is difficult to tell in an letter, but I could have sworn that she was flirting with me. I pushed that thought out of my mind, however. After all, the past was the past.

When she arrived I was stunned. She looked fantastic. She was wearing a black cotton dress that clung to her curves. The dress was faded and casual, nothing out of the ordinary, but she filled it out nicely. Her dark hair was piled up on top of her head and fastened with a clip, strands of it hung down around her face. I invited her in and put a pot of water on the stove for tea.

I showed her into my bedroom and she made a small joke about how I was moving too fast. I blushed, but she didn't seem to notice. She moved right past the comment and began talking about the mural. Before she arrived I had moved most of the furniture out of the room except for the king size bed. We pushed it out to the middle of the room and she placed drop cloths over the floor and bed and was preparing to paint when the kettle began to whistle. I left her to her work and slipped off to make the tea. While I prepared it I tried to calm myself. I was so attracted to her that I couldn't think straight. I finally convinced myself that all the flirtations we had exchanged where a figment of my imagination. I placed the cups on the tray and carried the tray into the room. I nearly dropped it when I saw her standing in my bedroom, paints in hand, totally naked. She smiled at me commenting that she didn't want to get paint on her dress.

I set the tray on the floor next to the bed and without missing a beat she thanked me and invited me to watch her work. I don't know what I would have done if the invitation had not been given. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I sat down on the floor next to the tray and cupped the tea in my shaking hands. The steam from the cup filled my field of vision and softened the lines of her body making her look even more delicious.

I felt a heat spread between my legs and my nipples grew hard as she filled up a silver tray with blue paint. She selected a roller to apply the background color. As she bent down to put the paint on the roller I stammered that I would be glad to help... After all the background was jut a solid color and didn't require any skill. "You don't want to get your clothes dirty" she teased... her eyes moving up and down my body. I stood there not knowing what to do. She put down the roller, reached for me, and began to unbutton my blouse. She moved in close, reached around me in an embrace, and unhooked my bra. She stepped back as if to admire me and then she reached for my waist and slowly slid my skirt and panties down my legs. I obediently stepped out of my clothing and stood before her, heart pounding.

I could tell her heart was pounding too by her quick breaths. She tried to act casual as she handed me the roller covered in paint. She began applying paint to the wall in quick strokes. I did the same taking glances at her whenever possible. She seemed to be making no effort to keep the drops of paint from spattering on her body. I couldn't resist the urge any longer. I reached over as if to wipe the paint from her skin only to smear it across her breast.