All characters are over 21, the events are fictional, and all names have been changed to protect... the fictional characters I suppose.
***
The weather in the park is lovely today. The warm sun shines down between some wispy clouds, while a cool breeze plays with the leaves in the treetops. It's springtime, and the park is a popular place on mornings like this. The only reason there was an open seat on that bench is because it's Thursday. On a weekend, this place would be a madhouse.
It has been six years since my Lisa and I said our final goodbye. Of course, we didn't know it was the last goodbye. She was traveling for work and on the way to the airport, her Taxi...
I'm sorry, I still cant...
For this story, you just need to know our last goodbye was happy, but much too soon and far too short.
This park has brought me comfort and peace in the years since. Watching the people enjoying their day, or squirrels chasing each other around a tree, or just the spring flowers swaying in the breeze - this time of year is my favorite at the park. It still stings a bit when I think of how Lisa would have enjoyed the park today too.
I smile at no one in particular and wipe a tear from my eye. The young artist on the other end of the bench sees me and turns to give me a bit of a sad smile before returning to her drawing. Her sketchbook page is being filled with the face of someone. Whether her muse is fictitious or a memory, I cannot say.
What I can say is that the colorful paint spatters on her clothes tell me she does more than charcoal and graphite drawings in her studio.
No, let me clarify. Her delicate white short-sleeve shirt is pristine under her paint spattered denim overall shorts. Her once white canvas sneakers now have light dirt and grass stains - maybe she comes to this park often... I felt my pulse quicken at the thought, and quietly chastised myself.
I watched her sketching as she added more and more detail. My artist's arms were slender, her hands so delicate and skilled. She is a petite sprite, perhaps not quite 5 feet. Long brown hair that gently dances in this breeze. From my angle I can see her lips are kissably plump. I chastise myself again.
This time I must have muttered a little louder than I intended, and she turned to look at me. "You're drawing is coming along very nicely," I croak trying not to reveal that I had been caught staring at the artist, not the artwork. Only now I'm trying not to get completely lost in those big beautiful eyes of hers. I somehow manage a smile and hope it seems kind instead of creepy.
She smiles widely, says thank you, and returns to her work. Her smile stays as she fills in the drawing more and more. My smile stays too. The drawing is actually coming along nicely. My bench-mate is beautiful and talented, and I try not to be too obvious about checking her out again.
We sat there for perhaps another twenty minutes before she signed her name to the bottom corner of the drawing. My artist is named Elanna, her drawing is exquisite, and I don't want to lose this moment.
"May I..." my breath fails me as her eyes meet mine once again. She seems a bit surprised, and I press ahead. "I'd like to..."
In that moment, what I'd really like to do is complete one sentence! Instead, I seem to be scaring Elanna. Not good!
"Can I buy that drawing that you just drew?" Not very smooth, but at least it was a complete sentence.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, it's really good."
"Thanks! Um, how about Ten for it?"
"Sure, that would be great." I open my wallet and see a Fifty. I believe in supporting the arts, and this was a great drawing, so I tried to hand her the Fifty.
"Oh, I don't have change for that."
"That's okay, the drawing is easily worth Fifty."
"No, it's too much."
"Nonsense! I insist on paying you fairly for such a great drawing."
She seems frustrated, but suddenly the corner of her mouth raises just a bit as she has an idea. "Okay, I will take Fifty, but you must promise to wait here."
"What?"
"Do you promise to wait?"
"Uh, sure. Okay. I don't have anywhere to be."
"Alright. I won't be long." She took the money and her purse, but left the sketchbook on the bench beside me.
Within a few minutes I was struggling with whether or not it would be okay to have a look at her other sketches. Going through someone's things - especially something as personal as their artwork - just doesn't sit right with me. But I was so curious what else she likes to draw. It turns out I just needed to be patient.
Elanna went to a shop near the park and returned with some cheese, crackers, grapes, and a couple of bottles of cider. She sat down and put the small picnic between us, opening the packages for both of us to enjoy. After a few bites, she opened the sketchbook to show me her work. Some pages were almost empty, save for a few lines. One was filled with a dozen small faces. Another was just practicing individual elements of a face - an eye, a cheek, a set of teeth, half of a lower lip. There was a scene with a tree and a small cottage, that one was signed too. She doesn't sign the practice pages, only the really good complete drawings. Finally she returned to this morning's drawing. She carefully pulled the page out of the book for me.
"What's your name?"
"Oh, sorry I haven't introduced myself. I'm Michael."
On the back of the drawing she wrote the date, and a message: "For Michael, a true patron of the arts. - Elanna" She slipped the drawing just inside the front cover of the sketchbook for safekeeping as we finished the picnic.
"Would you like to see some of my paintings too?"
"Yarff" I mumbled with a mouth full of cheese and a cracker. A sip of cider helped me clarify, "Yes, please!"
She pulled out her phone, opened it up to the gallery, and passed it to me. Her paintings tended to be more abstract. Some warm and others cool, some chaotic and others soothing. I said something about each one, and she was happy munching on some grapes as I scrolled through.
Then it happened. She noticed I had gone quiet after one swipe too many. The stunned expression on my face caused her to carefully reach over and take the phone from my hands. She saw the photo, blushed, and said "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that was there."
I had been so swept up in the artwork that I was stunned into silence when a picture of the artist - in red stockings, a red lace lingerie top, bright red lipstick, and nothing else - appeared on the screen. She was standing beside a mirror, with one foot propped against a bed. Her lips looked even more kissable, her tits filled out her translucent top perfectly. She has a bare pussy, and I could tell it's an 'innie'. The mirror showed her incredibly smooth ass. And the red stockings framed her nakedness perfectly. Absolutely flawless.
"Are you alright? I'm really sorry you saw that."
That shakes me out of my daze. She seems worried, does she think that maybe I've been offended somehow? Well, I have to say something...
"You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." Oh boy, now I've gone and done it. This is definitely creepy old man territory. She'll grab her stuff and go - and probably run faster than she has in her entire life.
Only, Elanna isn't running. She's just staring at me, completely still. I'm studying her face to see if maybe I should be the one running...
