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“What’s that?” she asks.
“Lucky paintbrush,” I say. “I carry it around all the time. It’s like a habit.”
“Huh. I’ve never noticed.”
“I try not to flaunt it. People think I’m really lame when they see.”
She smiles a little bit. “I don’t think you’re lame.”
“Good.” I walk over to her. “Now, I’m going to position you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She lets me manipulate her body. I take my time, hands lingering on her skin as I put her in a more relaxed, lounging position. I step back and look at her, but not really seeing her. I’m seeing the drawing she’ll become, the way the light hits her eyes and her hair, the way her clothes hang off her frame, and something feels… off.
“We need to fix this,” I say to her, kneeling down. I take the hem of her top, a simple little tank.
She looks startled. “Fix this?”
“You need to take your top off.”
Her eyes go wide. “You really weren’t kidding about the Titanic thing.”
I laugh softly. “Trust me here.”
She hesitates, watching me, but slowly she nods. I pull her tank top up along her body and slowly slide it up over her head. She’s not wearing a bra, and her breasts are full and gorgeous, her nipples pink and perky. I don’t touch her, but she knows I’m staring, and I feel my cock stiffen in my pants.
I step back, watching her silently for a second. She’s breathing faster and I can tell she’s aroused despite herself. I bet she’s fighting it, but she can’t stop this. I nod and pull the chair up in front of her, propping the sketchpad up on my lap again, and I get to work.
I draw in silence. She watches me drinking her in with my eyes, hand moving quickly, blocking in her outline before I start on the detail work. It takes me a few minutes to get her shape down just right, but then I can dive into the light that makes her special, the way it bounces from her skin, reflects off her eyes, lingers in her hair. That’s how I see the world, in terms of light and color, vast swaths of it bouncing all over the world, a living mosaic ready to be pinned down and made into art.
I don’t hurry, but I don’t want to take too long. I’m afraid she’ll lose interest, and I don’t want that. I can tell I have her complete attention.
“I remember the first time I drew a person,” I say to her softly. “It was a friend of mine in college. Before that, I was always drawing from memory or whatever, but this girl was an art major like me.” I grin to myself. “Of course, I dropped out a semester later, but that’s not important.”
“What happened?” she asks.
“Her name is Alice. She offered to pose for me if I would pose for her. I agreed, and I posed first. I was so nervous and so uncomfortable the whole time, but when Alice showed me the drawing, well… I wasn’t nervous anymore.”
“Was she good?” Emily asks.
“Very good. I don’t know what happened to her. But then it was my turn, and she was undressing in front of me.”
“Did you two…?”
“No,” I say quickly. “It wasn’t like that. But when I drew her, it was something special. I always feel connected to someone when I draw them. It’s intimate, special, like you’re letting me have a part of you, even if it’s just a single moment in time.”
She watches me as I speak, and I mean every word. Although Emily’s been withdrawn this past week, right now I feel more connected to her than I ever have.
“I can see that,” she says softly. “It’s intimate, right? Even if I had all my clothes on.”
“That’s right. Because I’m watching you. I see you, probably really see you better than anyone else ever has.”
She’s coming alive on my sketchbook, and I don’t want to draw this on too much longer. We drift into silence as I work, concentrating fully on my task. Emily slowly comes alive on my pad, the charcoal creating the illusion of her light and curves, making her reality on the page. It’s an incredible feeling, going from nothing to something.
Finally, I put some little finishing touches, and let out a breath. “Okay,” I say. “Are you ready?”
“You’re finished?”
