Day 4-
She walked in and sat down in front of me, her shirt falling loosely off her shoulder the way a good shirt should. Returning the shoulder strap to it's right and proper place she smiled the grin of a one who doesn't know what's in store for her next. She has this perfect pixie face, with ears that stick out just slightly enough to be noticeable but not enough to offend. Her dark hair half tied back in that loose deliberate way girls spend 20 minutes putting together in an effort to look like they had just crawled out of bed gorgeous. Leaving no room in the mind of a less observant man to think she could ever be un-beautiful. She should know by now she doesn't need to do that for me, I see past her wiles, her tricks her facades. I'd still love to know the quality of it's silk though, her hair I mean, the scent of its condition. If I knew that smell I'd know the breath of a nights rest at her back. She loves that I think she's innocent, she thinks that I think she's innocent, I love that she thinks that.
Breaking from her smile I turn to my table and choose a pen, a .03 mm not too fine but not a fill line, just enough to draw with and leave room for error. My god these arms are tiny, like warm lengths of pulled caramel, firmer to the touch of course but just as sweet and inviting to intrepid lips.
This is going to be harder than I thought, I've spent countless hours investigating every inch of nude models, too many nights in clubs where dollar bills fly like insurgent political dissent, and enough takes on set, standing next to a fluffer holding her personal bottle of Eros to be phased by one woman. But she's affecting me, whatever that unspoken quality is, that turns a woman from just another pedestrian bit of flesh into a priceless muse, she has it, she has me and I don't know how to feel about that.
"Sit still Jennifer, put your hand on my knee and just relax." She looked nervous, I knew that look, it's the eager nervousness you see just before you enter a woman's satin walls, and that's when I knew she recognized what was really about to happen here. I smiled back with my eyes at least. She thinks I'm sweet, probably in the same way I think she's innocent.
I traced the line of her deltoid with my finger to find it's natural curve and felt her skin blister into tiny little confirmations that my touch had the power I wished it would. "Breathe deep kid, I need you to breathe deep for me, relax"
I removed the cap from my pen, and touched the tip finally to her pursed flesh, the poignancy wasn't lost on either of us as I left the first line on her skin and lifted my gaze to see that she was watching, it was equally so a performance as it was a work of art.
Minutes passed and I wandered out of the room, not physically but deeper into some strange alien isolated headspace. I do that, start shutting down the world around me as my hands work toward finding the truth of their lines. It's as though the lights start to expand their luminescence and wash everything over in a glow until all that's left are ghostly half silhouettes of the rooms former inhabitants, punctuated in full contrast by myself, my hands and my canvas, this time though, my canvas and subject shared a pulse. And in that hazy glow of creation I still saw her smile, her bright eyes and caramel skin.
The pen went on leaving flowers vines, leaves and winding knots around her upper arm. And the outline was set. Onto the color, I felt her leaning closer into me, hoping to steal something from me, perhaps my lips, maybe just the gruffness of my cheek, but much like a postman, not even so provoking an offer could prevent me from my appointed rounds.
With my left I hand I grabbed her by her forearm to reposition her body in a more accessible pose and as I did so in the still desaturated aura around us her shoulder dropped and so in concert did her shirt. I was startled and feared she would take offense, dangerously approaching the shattering of this delicate world of mine. I fidgeted in an uncommon instance of nerves, to put my pen down as carefully as I could and with as gentle a motion as I was capable, return her, her modesty. But before I could, her hand was on top of mine, and her face nary an inch from my own, "Leave it" she said and nodded her head slowly in approval, with my gloved hand I reached for her face but stopped before touching her as though there were an invisible field preventing me from completing the gesture.
"Please" she whispered with a sigh and I swallowed silently before my head began to weave with an open mouth that searched for words that just would not come.
"Please" again with a longing I had never heard before in a woman's voice, a need, an imperative. She wasn't asking me to touch her, to kiss her, she wasn't telling me she wanted me to wrap her up in an embrace, she was pleading with me to see her, deeply, to know her, by kiss, by hand by finger searching out every inch of this tiny angel and to stay with her in this glow, where she was safe and happy.with me.
Stay? Touch her here in my world? Do I learn the quality of her silk?
She walked in and sat down in front of me, her shirt falling loosely off her shoulder the way a good shirt should. Returning the shoulder strap to it's right and proper place she smiled the grin of a one who doesn't know what's in store for her next. She has this perfect pixie face, with ears that stick out just slightly enough to be noticeable but not enough to offend. Her dark hair half tied back in that loose deliberate way girls spend 20 minutes putting together in an effort to look like they had just crawled out of bed gorgeous. Leaving no room in the mind of a less observant man to think she could ever be un-beautiful. She should know by now she doesn't need to do that for me, I see past her wiles, her tricks her facades. I'd still love to know the quality of it's silk though, her hair I mean, the scent of its condition. If I knew that smell I'd know the breath of a nights rest at her back. She loves that I think she's innocent, she thinks that I think she's innocent, I love that she thinks that.
Breaking from her smile I turn to my table and choose a pen, a .03 mm not too fine but not a fill line, just enough to draw with and leave room for error. My god these arms are tiny, like warm lengths of pulled caramel, firmer to the touch of course but just as sweet and inviting to intrepid lips.
This is going to be harder than I thought, I've spent countless hours investigating every inch of nude models, too many nights in clubs where dollar bills fly like insurgent political dissent, and enough takes on set, standing next to a fluffer holding her personal bottle of Eros to be phased by one woman. But she's affecting me, whatever that unspoken quality is, that turns a woman from just another pedestrian bit of flesh into a priceless muse, she has it, she has me and I don't know how to feel about that.
"Sit still Jennifer, put your hand on my knee and just relax." She looked nervous, I knew that look, it's the eager nervousness you see just before you enter a woman's satin walls, and that's when I knew she recognized what was really about to happen here. I smiled back with my eyes at least. She thinks I'm sweet, probably in the same way I think she's innocent.
I traced the line of her deltoid with my finger to find it's natural curve and felt her skin blister into tiny little confirmations that my touch had the power I wished it would. "Breathe deep kid, I need you to breathe deep for me, relax"
I removed the cap from my pen, and touched the tip finally to her pursed flesh, the poignancy wasn't lost on either of us as I left the first line on her skin and lifted my gaze to see that she was watching, it was equally so a performance as it was a work of art.
Minutes passed and I wandered out of the room, not physically but deeper into some strange alien isolated headspace. I do that, start shutting down the world around me as my hands work toward finding the truth of their lines. It's as though the lights start to expand their luminescence and wash everything over in a glow until all that's left are ghostly half silhouettes of the rooms former inhabitants, punctuated in full contrast by myself, my hands and my canvas, this time though, my canvas and subject shared a pulse. And in that hazy glow of creation I still saw her smile, her bright eyes and caramel skin.
The pen went on leaving flowers vines, leaves and winding knots around her upper arm. And the outline was set. Onto the color, I felt her leaning closer into me, hoping to steal something from me, perhaps my lips, maybe just the gruffness of my cheek, but much like a postman, not even so provoking an offer could prevent me from my appointed rounds.
With my left I hand I grabbed her by her forearm to reposition her body in a more accessible pose and as I did so in the still desaturated aura around us her shoulder dropped and so in concert did her shirt. I was startled and feared she would take offense, dangerously approaching the shattering of this delicate world of mine. I fidgeted in an uncommon instance of nerves, to put my pen down as carefully as I could and with as gentle a motion as I was capable, return her, her modesty. But before I could, her hand was on top of mine, and her face nary an inch from my own, "Leave it" she said and nodded her head slowly in approval, with my gloved hand I reached for her face but stopped before touching her as though there were an invisible field preventing me from completing the gesture.
"Please" she whispered with a sigh and I swallowed silently before my head began to weave with an open mouth that searched for words that just would not come.
"Please" again with a longing I had never heard before in a woman's voice, a need, an imperative. She wasn't asking me to touch her, to kiss her, she wasn't telling me she wanted me to wrap her up in an embrace, she was pleading with me to see her, deeply, to know her, by kiss, by hand by finger searching out every inch of this tiny angel and to stay with her in this glow, where she was safe and happy.with me.
Stay? Touch her here in my world? Do I learn the quality of her silk?
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
eala:
Together with your talent for words, your insight stops me short, and leaves me speechless.
ll1:
Damn.....i think i need to read it a few times, damn. Youre an interesting dude.