Artsy Boy's Stories
Lovepaint by Artsy Boy
Oblivious to the low roar of the classroom around her, Becky Morse leaned over the lump of clay she was molding, smooshing a portion of it into place with a delicate thumb. Her tongue poked between her lips in concentration, and her blond hair fell to gravity, cascading down across her neck and collarbone. She sighed again and deftly tucked her hair behind her ear with a carefully clean ring finger. She slid more clay down the front of the clay head to where the trunk was going to be. Becky's passion was elephants. Throughout her senior year in Portfolio Art class, she had made over half a dozen ceramic elephants, each in a different pose of motion.
"Hey, Mark," she said, straightening up.
"Yeah?" Mark Ostrowski spoke from across the table. He was slouching back into his chair with a charcoal pencil in one hand, the other gripping the side of the sketchbook in his lap. He quickly tried to make it appear as if he had really been paying attention to the sketchbook.
"Is that your last project?"
Mark tilted back the black hardcover sketchbook. "No, the wire and plaster dragon was my final grade. This is just..." Mark shrugged, "doodling."
"Oh." Becky wrinkled her perfect little nose, and then swooped back down over the featureless elephant, working the clay as she spoke. "Well, I was thinking I still have one project after this one and it would be cool if we did a project together. I still have that big piece of Lucite board, and we could use it and do something like a big splatter-painting with lots of colors and textures and just something that we could work on together. It would be cool to end the year, you know?"
"Like a Jackson Pollack," Mark's eyes lit enthusiastically. Becky nodded her head, still not taking her eyes off her work. The motion loosed her hair from behind her ear again, which made him smile again. "That would be cool."
Becky looked across her elephant at him and grinned. "Great. You doing anything Friday?"
Mark's smile faltered. "Oh, well, Jason's brother is having a party up at State, and I told him I'd be there."
"Well, we need to do this soon, because the semester ends Tuesday."
"Yeah. Yeah, um," Mark scratched his chin with his thumb, debating. "Yeah, let's do it. Friday is fine." His grin returned.
"Good. Be at my house around five?"
"Sure, I think I remember how to get there."
"You better. I don't want you to end up in Brown City. Again," she teased.
"Well, maybe if somebody knew how to draw a coherent map..." Mark retorted, trying to keep a straight face.
"Oh, I see how it is." Becky tried to sound hurt. She stepped back and tilted her head to the side, giving a critical eye to the trunk she had just molded. She absently replaced the hair behind her ear, her soft green eyes sliding over her creation in progress.
A sly smile on his face, Mark glanced from Becky to the open page of his sketchbook. No, the line of her torso curved a little more when she put her gravity on one foot like that. Mark lightly made the correction with a single flowing stoke, and then began to sketch the lines of her hips and legs.
In dreams, in dreams every sense is so aware.
Mark was standing in the upstairs hallway of his house, which he somehow knew was empty. Suddenly, the sound of the shower came from the bathroom. He walked down the hallway and stopped abruptly at the light blue door, which was slightly ajar. He entered to a warm lazy steam and naked shape behind the shower curtain.
A delicate hand pulled back the shower curtain and Becky peeked her head out the side. Her hair was wet and it clung to her neck and shoulder. Water made its slow way down her face, and she wiped it back with a casual hand...
"Well?" she smiled. "I thought you were coming to take a shower?"
He was about to reply when he realized that he was only wearing a towel. He looked up and smiled, "I guess I was." he let his towel drop to the floor and stepped into the shower with Becky.
The hot water sluiced past his feet in little tides.
There she was, in ways that he had never imagined her. Soft shades of naked skin blending with the fluidity of an impressionist brushstroke. Lazy drops of water on wet blond hair, wet blond hair against light cream skin. He reached out and touched her gently, and her reaction was immediate.
He completely accepted the situation and moved his hand around to her back, pulling her closer. He bent his head to brush his lips against her chest, moving across the open plain to her nipple, where his lips fastened and his tongue tugged. She grasped the back of his head and tilted her head back, pushing herself to him, while the water pushed down across her neck and breasts.
In dreams, every sense is so aware.
His desire for her stirred deep in him like the water did at the lip of the drain. He pulled her closer until his heat met hers. Together they burned, and with the water they slid, and into her he slid.
And into a warm Thursday morning dream the alarm suddenly pierced, leaving in its wake the frustration of an empty room, and empty arms. Mark sighed heavily on the knowledge that this girl would never work her way out of his mind.
After his daily run on Friday, Mark went upstairs to his bathroom, peeled off his sweaty clothes, and immediately jumped into a cool shower. To Mark there was no better feeling than running hard, pushing his himself until he every muscle throbbed with heat and sweat, then standing under the refreshing flow of a cool shower. He sighed and grabbed the bar of soap. He was definitely excited about seeing Becky later. They had known each other ever since freshmen year, because they were both on the swim teams. Becky's natural grace in and out of the water had drawn his attention, and though their mutual love for the water had led them to a few conversations, they had only known each other in passing. Senior year second semester changed every thing, though. They finally had an art class together, and had instantly connected, their mutual love and passion for art and design drawing them to each other.
Mark grinned as he worked the shampoo around his hair and thought about the past few months. Every day they would talk. Not usually about anything in particular, but everything in particular: music, movies, everyday life and pointless minutia. Becky's wonderful laugh would ring in his ears for the rest of the day. He loved to make her smile and laugh, but it wasn't as if she was a real serious person either. They were both equally goofy, and Mark loved that. He could actually be himself around her, which is something that a woman had never made him feel.
He had managed to stay out of a serious relationship for the past year and a half, but everything about her was so desirable to him that sometimes he wondered... Her personality was so beautifully complimented by her body, which Mark considered a piece of art on it's own. Swimming had made her body lean and taut, while she was still a wonderfully proportioned model of female anatomy. More than once he thanked God for the chance to witness her practice swims. Mark would find himself glancing the drops of water that would run slowly down her neck, joining in lazy rivulets at her collarbone, then flow in rushing tiny lines down the curves of her bathing suit, clinging and rushing down, crossing in crazy streams across her flat stomach and still rushing down, still clinging. Whoa, calm down, young feller, Mark said to himself with a sigh, and then quickly stepped out of the shower.
Becky leaned against her kitchen counter in a way so as to make anyone watching believe that she wasn't anxious or nervous or in the least bit excited. No one was watching, of course, but if they had been, they wouldn't have been fooled. It would be the way she was tapping her fingers in a quick rap on the jade-colored countertop. It would also be the way she kept glancing out the small lace curtained window, biting her lip with a sly inward smile. She had been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time. Mark had been to her house a few times before, but usually when there were other friends there, not giving the two of them much time to spend by themselves. And he had certainly never been over her house when it was this empty.
Becky took a glass from the cupboard and poured herself some orange juice.
Just an hour ago she had seen off her parents with a smile, a wave, and an of-course-I'll-be-fine. They were going up to Preston for a weekend of relaxation and some casino gambling. Mark didn't know this little fact yet, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. Me and Mark Ostrowski, alone for the night, a tingle ran down her spine, then she frowned, or at least until he leaves. She didn't expect much to happen. Mark, as fun and nice and goofy as he was, didn't seem to have much interest in her, as more than a friend.
Actually, he didn't seem to have much interest in anyone in that sense. He treated everyone like they meant the world to him, and he never made someone feel left out. But his heart was heavily guarded. Becky knew this because almost every girl that she knew wanted him and had tried, but he never acknowledged their advances. And sometimes, though she hated to admit it, Becky wanted him so badly that she ached. She wanted him to just envelope her in his strong arms, she wanted to rest her face against his broad chest and run her fingers through his tousled black hair. She used to watch him swim with his strong, sure strokes and just wonder what that would feel like. Sitting with the other girls, their pointless chatter echoing around her, she would wonder if he actually made her wetter than the pool did.
She took the last sip from her glass and laughed. She was so dirty sometimes. But aren't we all? She looked out the window again, and saw a familiar black Taurus roll up the gravel of her driveway. Is Mark that dirty? She wondered. No, she didn't expect much to happen tonight. But it would be nice just to be around him. It always was.
Becky met him at his car with a cool smile, proud of her ability to restrain herself from bowling him over with a big hug. "Made a detour to Brown City did you?"
"Sorry I'm late." he smiled, "I figure I would take a shower before I came over. You know, I wouldn't want you to find me too repulsive."
"I can tell. Your hair's still damp and you smell clean. For once." she reached past him and snatched his black sketchbook from the passenger seat.
"Hey, cool. Did you decide to finally show me what you've been 'doodling' lately?" Mark grabbed it as it came past him. "Well, no actually, I just left it in here. I don't really want anyone looking at it. It's just some rough sketches, nothing really good." he tried to step around Becky.
"But I want to look at it."
Mark laughed, "Hey, your cuteness doesn't your work on me."
Becky smiled wryly and squinted. "Yes it does."
"No, it doesn't."
Becky pouted fakely, then a sudden smile danced across her lips. "I've got a secret."
"What is it?" Mark eyed her suspiciously.
"I'll tell you if you let me see your sketchbook."
Mark sighed, "Maybe. What's the secret?"
Becky leaned close to him, her face turned up toward his. "My parents left for the weekend about an hour ago. We've got the whole house to ourselves," she whispered. With that, she spun on her heel and trotted back into the house. Mark paused for only a moment and then followed.
The room used to belong to Becky's older sister Lisa. When she went to college two years before, Becky pleaded with her parents until the room was officially turned into an art studio. Her parents only insisted that the carpeted floor be covered with a layer of old sheets, making it virtually Becky-proof (as her father called it). Other than that room was completely bare except for an easel, many scattered works of art, a large stereo and countless art supplies. Through two large windows the room was lit brightly almost all day. It was in this room that Becky and Mark worked on their large splattery painting. They picked colors and flung, dripped, smeared and dabbed it across the canvas. They tilted the canvas one way, then another.
They got paint everywhere. They ordered pizza. They talked about art. They laughed. They drank lots of Mountain Dew. They talked about swimming. They listened to music. They told stories of people doing stupid things, which led to stories of stupid family members doing stupid things. They laughed.
The talked about life, they talked about death. They ordered pizza. They flirted. He reached over and pushed a strand of hair out of Becky's face and tucked it behind her ear. She smiled. She took every opportunity, every excuse to somehow touch Mark or brush against him. They laughed. They connected in a deeper way than they ever had before. Every word was a mutual thought; every smile was an agreement of souls. Midnight rolled past, and still Mark stayed.
"Geez, I didn't know it was this late." he laid back onto the sheet-covered floor and popped his last bite of pizza crust into his mouth. He liked being close to this floor, because it was like being on a big pillow.
He could just stay there forever, sinking into soft bliss. Actually, he would stay with Becky forever, here, tonight, if he could. He couldn't stand the thought of leaving this little world that they had together tonight. He didn't want to go back to reality. The reality of them going away to their separate colleges. The reality of boring everyday repetitious life. The reality in which he had never felt as good as tonight. He didn't want to think of going back to that, think that this could end. Like waking from a perfect dream that you wish you could return to. Out loud, he said, "Of course, I never told my parents that I was coming here, so they still think I'm up at state. Which means that they don't expect me home until Sunday night. So, I can stay until you kick me out."
Becky laughed as she mixed a new palette of paint into a bluish-green. Her brush swirled and so did her head. In fact, her whole body was buzzing with a soft excitement. "Well, I don't see that happening anytime soon," she stated with an assertive nod. She looked at her Salvador Dali clock and laughed, "I mean, it's only two in the morning."
The CD player switched to Seal's Human Being, a favorite CD of Becky's for working in the studio. Not to mention a perfect choice for a slow, sweet mood. At Becky suggestion they stood up the canvas against the wall in order to get some good running drips of color. After a few minutes of discussing the placement of the bluish-green, and a possible edition of red, they got their brushes and resumed their work.
Suddenly Mark spoke. "This is a really great CD. It's got such a smooth sound to it, you know?" he knew it was a forced comment, but he suddenly didn't know what else to say. The air in the room felt different somehow.
The whole room was waiting, anticipating. He thought for the kajillionth time that night how sexy Becky looked in her loosely buttoned over-sized shirt. The white shirt must have been an old dress shirt of her Dad's that she used for an art smock. It had seen much use, and sparse splotches of dried paint marked its history. Her sleeves were rolled up and so was her hair, swept up in a loose ponytail. The look was so casual and plain, but to Mark she looked even more beautiful and appetizing than usual. She was so casually beautiful, and to him that was the best kind of beauty.
"Yeah," she responded distractedly. "So, have you been seeing anyone lately? I mean, I know you haven't in school, but anyone, like, outside of school?"
"Well, no, actually, I don't think, I mean I haven't really wanted..." Now Mark frowned for the first time that night. "Okay, let me get a hold of my tongue and start over." He trailed his brush absently around an amorphous orange a few times. "The last person who I had a really serious relationship with was Theresa, and well, you saw what we were like. I mean, everyone kept saying that we were so perfect together and we were going to get married and we really believed that but I guess it just.....it didn't turn out that way. It seemed so right, but then it didn't. Like we had already been through our good times together, and after that was passed we found that there wasn't much else holding us together. I don't know, it was strange, the way it all ended up. And I just haven't wanted to have that happen again, so I haven't let it."
By now Becky had stopped and she was just sitting cross-legged next to the large canvas, watching him intently. Mark was on a roll and she let him go on.
"I mean, I've thought about it a lot since then, because that was like the beginning of junior year, and I've come to the conclusion that high school is not a very good situation for a healthy relationship. There are so many new pressures, stresses, new experiences, and I mean you're still really finding out who you are. It's so hard to make things work when you are both going through that, and it.... Oh, geez......shit.... I guess I shouldn't gesture so much when I'm holding a paintbrush."
Becky snorted a laugh while he examined the streak of paint that ran along the bottom of his forearm.
Mark looked up with a grin, "Did you just snort?"
Becky just barely managed a "No" before she burst into laughter and snorted again.
"Eh, it doesn't matter. I'm already paint-covered as it is. Anyway." He thought for a moment. "Oh, yeah. My point.... is that one of the things that I learned about myself is that, I just, I want to find someone who I can really deeply feel connected with, someone I can laugh with, someone who knows where I'm coming from." Becky nodded as he spoke, a slow smile creeping across her lips. "I want to feel like I'm on the same page as the woman I'm with," he paused thoughtfully. "Someone who I could just talk with until two in the morning and still be captivated by her presence."
The silence that followed was anything but awkward, and neither could keep from grinning foolishly. The entire weight of the room and situation had been changed upon the utterance of a few words.
Mark cleared his throat. "So, ever since I broke up with Theresa, that's basically been my view, and I don't want to even get into a relationship if I don't feel something more..."
Becky sat with her chin resting on her knee, listening intently, pale green eyes fixated. "But doesn't that keep you from taking chances with people and possibly finding that connection you're looking for? I mean, I know what you're saying, but opening yourself to someone isn't necessarily a bad thing." She looked straight through his reason. "If you did, you might find that person you need, because then you would let them be open to you too."
Now Mark saw everything clearly. He saw where the conversation was going. He saw where the night was going. He saw what everything was leading to, like fate had been pushing him toward a precipice that he knew he would soon reach.
"Actually, I've been thinking about that a lot lately." he looked over the edge.
He jumped. "I've been thinking a lot about you lately."
"Yeah. Here, I'll show you."
Becky sat up, her focused expression unchanged despite the high-flying acrobatics of her stomach.
Mark slowly got up and walked over to his jacket. He reached under it and pulled out his black hardcover sketchbook, then walked back. He said nothing, but handed the book to her. She took it and opened it carefully while he stood next to her, watching.
The first picture was a simple rough line drawing. Of her, working on a clay pot on the wheel.
The second was similar, but different pose.
The third was a carefully shaded ink of her looking off to the top right of the page, lost in thought.
And so on.
Mark spoke softly from above. "I've been trying to stick with my reasoning, but you've changed everything. I don't really know what to do anymore. I just keep wanting you."
The fifth was a beautiful reproduction of her senior picture, done in bright colored pencil with a flowery black border.
And so on.
When she had reached a white void of blank pages, Becky closed the book in her lap and breathed a moment. Then she looked up. "I never knew....I ...I just thought......." she laughed and looked down at her hands. "You've left me speechless. No one's ever done that before."
"I don't think I'll ever get the chance to draw a subject as beautiful as you again."
Becky looked up again, but her look had changed. Her eyes had a purpose and a need. She laid the book on the ground beside her and then slowly stood.
She stepped close to him, the rustle of her clothing so loud. She wrapped her arms around his ribs and hugged him close to her, her breath creeping across his neck. Mark embraced her back, and they stood that way for what seemed like an eternity. In the grips of their needs and the grips of each other they held this embrace, reveling in this boundary that they had broken, not wanting to cut the moment short. But Mark could feel the press of her chest as she breathed, and he could feel each warm breath push betweens her lips and brush across his neck. Desire flooded its way into his mind, and without thought he reached up a hand to tilt her face upward.
However, he had forgotten about the paint that still smudged his hands and arms, and his caress left a blue streak across her jaw line.
He laughed, "Oops." Their laughter mingled, a loud sound that startled the air around them. "Sorry about that."
Becky smiled vibrantly and shrugged. "No, it's all right. After all, we've already got paint on us, right?"
"In that case..." Mark trailed a finger down the side of Becky's soft neck, leaving a trail that moved down along her collarbone, across her exposed chest, just under the edge of her loosely buttoned shirt. She closed her eyes and gasped at this, her chest rising, straining toward his touch. He lowered his lips until they grazed against hers, the slightest of contact that sent warm fingers flowing down the inside of her body. He grazed his lips against hers again, and this time she pushed up to meet him, her mouth eager and searching. The rhythm of their kissing rose and fell, intense kisses leading to soft ones and then cresting to intensity and hunger again.
They tasted each other over and over, their lips mingling on each touch while bracing for the next. And on. And on.
"For so long I've wondered what it would be like to go ahead and just kiss you. To have you against me. To run my hands over your skin." His actions continued to meet his words.
Suddenly Becky stepped back away from him, putting an almost painful gap between them. Her breathing came in short pants, and she smiled at him slyly. Reaching back her hand, she dragged it across the standing canvas, taking three different colors of paint with her long fingers. With red and orange and green, she brought her hand to his chest and ran it down his torso, smearing her path to and under the bottom of the shirt.
"Now we're even," she whispered.
He groaned when she touched his stomach. It felt hard under her hands, and she ran her fingers up and down his the ridges of his abs, painting her way across them. He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her lips back to his, where he caressed her tongue with his.
He wrapped an arm around her, under the back of her shirt where he could caress the small of her back. She arched backward in a spasm of shivers, then returned, her mouth more hungry than before. She reached up a hand and gripped his shoulder to brace herself, then used it to pull him closer.
Their bodies burned together, their cores blazing with white heat as they pressed against each other. Mark moved his hand up and down her spine, massaging her back with his strong hands. She gasped and pressed her face into his chest, fervently kissing the material of his shirt.
Now they were grinding against each other in a loose rhythm, neither of them very experienced but with enough desire to make up for it. Becky pulled Mark's shirt up over his head. He quickly unbuttoned her shirt, but left it open without removing it. Instead, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her against him again, his hands strongly kneading her thighs through her jeans.
Her tight jeans that had started to seem pleasantly tighter as soon as he touched her. But it was the outside of her thighs that felt him, and she needed him on the inside. She felt his hardness through his jeans straining against her bare stomach. His whole body ground against her strongly. She reached up and gripped his shoulder again, then dragged her fingers down his torso, leaving paint smeared in her wake. The lower she reached on his stomach, the more she scratched her fingernails across his bare skin, causing his belly to contract and contort with pleasure. She smiled and kissed his shoulder.
Slowly he removed her shirt, and in turn she removed his. They smiled at each other and kissed again, pushing against each other. Reaching across their naked backs, across every tensed muscle for a place to grip and push.
Mark ran his palm across the side of her face and he wanted to say something. He didn't know what, anything, everything. So much on his mind, but words weren't the subject now. This was a new conversation, yet another subject that they wholeheartedly agreed on. Slowly, still kissing, they lowered themselves to kneeling, then to sitting. Now they kissed more slowly, each release more defined and pressing. Mark slid his hands up Becky's back to the clasp of her bra, where a myriad of indestructible hooks awaited his daunting decryption. To their mutual surprise, the bra gave only a few stubborn moments before it lightly slid of off Becky's angled shoulders and joined her shirt. Mark descended his lips to her neck and she arched toward him. Using the element of surprise, he alternately nibbled lightly and voraciously kissed her neck and shoulders, until she didn't know how long any sensation would last. She simply allowed her sounds to drift as his lips did. Her hands ran up and down his strong arms, holding and pulling.
He reached slowly across her breast and ran his own fingers against the painting. Magenta and teal, fiery orange and hunter green all converged down the side of Becky's sensitive breast, as his hand cupped under to lift an aware center to the heat of his mouth. One at a time between his lips her nipples grew increasingly hard, while the rest of her body softened and became even more pliant against his. He lowered her to the padded floor with one arm as the other hand traced rainbows of sudden boxes and flowery curls around the soft plain of her stomach.
Above her his muscled torso shifted and contorted with moving, bringing the rest of his body into new contact with her. She ran her hands across him, pulling him down on top of her. She pulled his lips closer to hers even as prying fingers found their way beneath the waistband of his pants.
His hands were loosed on her in ways he never dreamed possible. He felt her whole body beneath him, constantly moving his fingers across new areas of skin. He gripped the back of her thigh and pressed against the hips of her jeans until she couldn't stand to have them on any longer. Becky reached down her other hand and quickly unbuttoned his jeans, her hands leaving bright streaks of paint across his thighs.
Now they rolled, and shifted, and moved and grasped, and gasped.
Furious movement, legs kicking off pants and hands pushing at underwear.
Rolling and shifting. The paint spread further, as they dabbled on their bodies and colored their wonder across each other. His hands and his mouth now had full reign of her body, and she had his. They kissed and rolled and gasped and felt. Soft downy hair and slick skin. Wet against wet. They slid and gasped and shifted and waited...
And time stuttered for a moment...
When he pushed finally in and up and she met him with equal verve.
Her warmth was complete, like a wet and inviting mouth to hold a final kiss. Inside she moved against him, as inside and outside he moved. And to her she received, pulling at his outside and reaching forward for the inside. There was not a single wrong in the world as they moved. Grinding against each other in a slow fuck there was no hurt and no angst. No world and no voices. Only sound and light in ways that two bodies and minds can know at once. She arched and he pushed and they stuttered again.
And further they dove across this new plain, a pulling and racing and reaching to new light, to new sound, making more sound than before, screaming with the sound that filled and receded and filled until they spilled into each other, out of bounds and out of body and beyond all light.
Together they panted their conclusions and caught breath that was ahead by miles. They shivered in that place, and inside Becky still tightened and pulled against Mark, squeezing him to further shudders. Their breath would return, and so would reason. And, in time, so would the world. But as they laid, they held each other tightly, embraced and entwined. This place was theirs.
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