The Artist  

RythyRoo 46F
21 posts
4/23/2006 10:33 am

Last Read:
11/21/2008 4:18 pm

The Artist


I could tell from the way that the knowing smile spread across your face and the way the twinkle lit up your eyes that I had only succeeded in surprising you for the merest moment when I asked you if you would pose nude for me.... The “sure” that escaped from between those full sensuous lips of yours just a fraction of a second later as more of a giggle than anything else indicated to me that you knew exactly where this was going to go, and that you were all to happy to play along and let me have my fun. Had you been looking a little closer at my eyes instead of glancing down to where you thought my fun was going to be coming from, you’d have seen a twinkle in my own eyes.

The question had been more than a little rhetorical on my part, I knew without a doubt what your answer was going to be before I ever asked it, and knowing you as I do, I’d already been preparing for the sure well before I asked you.

I leaned over toward you and took your head in my hands, entwining my fingers in your hair and kissed you slowly and softly, just long enough to make sure you knew how happy I was that you were willing to play this little game with me. Pulling back just a bit, I told you to run along to the bathroom, where you would find a steaming hot bath already drawn, a glass of chilled wine and an ashtray with a lighter and a j on the side of the tub, to relax for a bit and think nasty thoughts while I got things ready out here.

As I busied myself arraigning my 'studio', I admit that I too was having more than a few nasty thoughts of my own....

You shouted out at me from the bathroom a while later asking. “What would you like me to wear for this little session of yours?” to which I replied, “nothing, nude means no clothes”.

I’m not exactly sure how much later it was that you finally came languidly strolling out of there... A vision of grace and beauty that still causes my heart to skip a beat or two to this day as I recall it... The knowing smile, which was the only thing, you were wearing besides your bathrobe slowly changing to one of surprise as you looked around and saw what I’d been so busily getting ready. I gave a little laugh of my own then as I watched you slowly stop and look around. I think it was about then that you started to realize that what I had in mind might have just been a trifle different than what you so knowingly assumed of me. The twinkle was still there in those beautiful deep blue eyes of yours, though.

I could see the unsaid questions in your expressions, and motioned for you to come to me so I could explain, gently shushing you as you began to form the “what” I knew was coming, I closed my arms about the terrycloth softness and wonderfully erotic smells of my lady and began to explain. “I was so totally, completely taken by surprise that first night that I actually saw you in person, that I’ve been wondering why ever since. I saw the pictures of you before I met you that night, beautiful pictures, and thought that I was ready for what you would be. I heard your voice before that night too, as you well know, and again, I thought I knew what to expect when we finally met. I was so totally, completely awestruck, stunned, and surprised when you were finally there inches away from me that it’s mystified me for weeks. That a grown, experienced, well-traveled man would be reduced to a stammering, shy little boy was not something I’ve ever experienced before. And now beautiful, I think I know why.

A picture, no matter how flattering, no matter how beautiful is just a reflection printed on paper. One dimensional, prone to fading. A blink in time that will never happen again in an eternity. How very strange that reading about a Stone Age tribe of savages in South America would be where I found the clue. They believe that a camera captures their soul, and are deeply afraid of being photographed. It’s true to a certain extent I think. A camera, a portrait, a painting does catch your soul, but only a tiny little sliver of it, not so much that you would ever miss it, or even know that it’s gone. What I would like to do this evening is make my own portrait of you. I’ll take nothing from you. No part of your soul. No one will ever see it but myself, and the only record that anything happened will be in my head and yours.”, and of course, this tale of it I’m sitting here writing now. I can tell, that far from answering your questions, I’ve only created more.

So, squeezing you tightly for a moment, I give up trying to explain my insanity (all artists are mad) and simply lead you by the hand into the living room. Soft blues is playing on the stereo, the light is flickering and warm from the candles scattered about, and in the middle of the room, I’ve piled every pillow I could find on top of the dining room table. Of course you’re giggling now. This doesn’t look anything like the daydreams and visions you had floating in your head as you lay soaking in the tub a while ago. But it does look interesting enough to you that you’re willing to see where it is the madman is taking you tonight.

I pat the pillows, and you slowly drop the robe to the floor, the way you teasingly climb up on the table, a vision of softness, sexuality, and barely restrained lust, makes my heart skip a beat or two. You know and I know that you’re the one in complete control of this little passion play, and it bothers me not a bit, because I was a goner from the moment you first smiled at me.
“ How would you like me posed?” you ask with more than a hint of teasing in your voice, to which I reply, “ On your belly, love. To start with... Get comfortable, this could take a while. I want it to take a long while, because I plan on carrying this memory with me through the rest of my life, and don’t worry about not moving, because it’s not important that you stay still".

I bend over and give you a light little kiss on that delectable ass, and ask you “ready”. The muffled Mmmmmmm that I hear coming from somewhere deep within the pillows in reply tells me that you’ve been ready for quite some time now. I pause again, for just a moment to drink in the beauty of you that lies there sprawled on the table before me, and for the thousandth time cannot believe that I would, could be so lucky, worthy, happy to have you in my life.

The quick little gasp that escapes from your lips. The arching of your back. The sudden intake of breath as I touch the nape of your neck with my brush rocks both of us in different ways. The slow moan, purr, growl that follows as I slowly, gently stroke it down over the little bumps of your spine towards the place where it becomes the line separating your ass cheeks has my heart pounding in my chest, and my cock throbbing in my boxers. I know without asking that this isn’t what you were expecting, and as I continue tracing imaginary lines from your neck to your ass with my paintbrush, I think that sometimes the unexpected is a very good thing. You ask me then in that deep throaty voice that I’ve come to associate with lust, “ My god, what are you using, it feels like liquid silk on my skin?” to which I reply “ It’s an artist’s paint brush, baby. Took me over 3 hours at the art stores to find just the right ones for you, for this. I’m going to touch, stroke, brush every little part of your body with it, and when I’m done I will have painted a masterpiece in my mind of you that will forever be mine, and mine alone.” All the while never ceasing to stroke your bare back, tracing the perfect curves of your ribs from your spine to where you are swallowed up by the pillows.

Slowly.... Ever so slowly, taking great care not to miss even the tiniest spot, and now, the backs of your arms in long smooth strokes from your neck to the tips of your fingers, lifting the brush only long enough to return it to your neck and start the next stroke, down over your perfectly sculpted shoulders and on to the tips of your fingers. Already thoughts of just grabbing your hips and pulling you back towards the edge of the table have started creeping unbidden into the edges of my mind, but I push them back and continue to stroke you.

Satisfied that I’ve covered every inch o

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