P is for Paint

"Me too," he admitted. "Hard enough doing this..."

CJ's eyes popped open, she'd glanced towards his groin almost immediately without really meaning to, seeing when she did the obvious excitement as he sat, continuing to stroke her breasts and nipple with the fine soft tip of his brush.

"What I meant to say..." he started over, catching himself, catching her brief direct look. "Difficult enough doing this anyway, but you really and truly are beautiful. You've got the most perfectly shaped breasts I've ever seen on a woman. Your nipples are sensational, though it's going to be very difficult hiding them the way they are now without some real three-dimensional camouflage as it were." CJ blushed once again, but laughed feeling comfortable, but highly aroused now as well. Her thought suddenly turning her smile into a worried concerned frown.

"What's the matter?" Paul asked pulling the brush away.

"She couldn't tell him!" she thought, to do so would to be to die of embarrassment and shame. She had felt the first flow of lubrication wetting her nether lips. If there was one thing CJ knew, it was her own body. When aroused, really, really aroused, she did that. She knew her pearly essence would soon gather in even greater amount, that it would eventually flow from her sex, droplets of excitement, desire escaping from the confines of her now quivering, tingling betraying desire between her legs.

"Oh nothing, just a cramp," she explained away.

"You need to stretch while you still can?" he asked. "But if you do, you need to move slowly, you can stand if you wish, walk for a moment, but don't move your arms or upper chest yet, or we'll have to start all over again if you do."

The thought of that made her groan. "No, I'll be fine," she said, then thinking "I just need some way to collect myself!" Paul gave her several more minutes.

"You ok now?" he asked. The flow of her excitement had ceased temporarily, giving her a reprieve.

"Yes, lets do this," now thinking "and get it over with!"

It was inevitable of course, as he began to extend the portrait along her tummy then downwards towards the apex of her soaking wet vagina, she knew that the most difficult part of all was still yet to come.

"You need a break?" he questioned. "Though if you do, you can't move now, not even an inch. But if you need a moment..." he left off without saying.

CJ felt a tiny trickle of pleasure escape the opening of her furrow. Like a bead of perspiration upon the brow, she felt it roll from within her lips, gathering speed as though an escaped convict from prison as it dashed suddenly, hurriedly across her upper thigh. Mortified, CJ closed her eyes in hopes that even if he did see it, he wouldn't comment. Though her wish was that the glistening trail of desire wouldn't pave the way for any more droplets of her betrayed pleasures into escaping as well.

That hope was short-lived as Paul picked up his brush and began caressing the nether region of her well-trimmed pussy.

#

Involuntarily she shivered, and when she did, she felt an even greater trickle of moisture gather, then pour from her quim as though the floodgates to a damn had been opened. Though her eyes already shut, she shut them even tighter as though glued. There was no hope for it now, no way to hide her discomforted excitement. She could only hope and pray that Paul would not say anything to cause her even greater distress. She was wrong.

"Would you like me to paint your clit?"

CJ jerked at his question, unable to speak though her eyes had magically unglued themselves. He was grinning at her.

"Please...don't move CJ!" then adding, "Relax!" He now smiled a little less wickedly. "Listen to me." Paul set the brush down on the table removing the threat. CJ took a deep breath, still watchful however in the event he hadn't been joking with her. "I know you're aroused. So am I. There's nothing wrong with that, nor anything wrong with the fact you're enjoying it, because frankly, I am too. The reality is this, we're both experiencing something very pleasurable, more importantly...creative. Creation, the art if you will of discovery, of bringing something already beautiful to life, and making it even more beautiful is an arousing act in and of itself. So...the fact that you are 'obviously' aroused by this," he said emphasizing the word, "doesn't shock or surprise me. I'd have been disappointed in you if you weren't. Now then, that having been said, I hope my little comment will lighten you up some. Quit being afraid of what you're feeling. Accept it CJ, and if you can...enjoy it. It's ok."

In saying what he had, Paul had forced her to confront her emotions. Like a master restorer of paintings, he had stripped away the top level of a covered masterpiece, revealing the true image, the true painting hidden beneath. He had made her vulnerable, a delicate thing that could easily be damaged, but like the canvas, she could only trust in the hand of the master as he peeled away the layers of doubt, uncertainty, and discomfort until what and who she truly was could be revealed. Finding herself, she bolstered her courage for the first time and answered.

"Only if you have a really, really tiny brush and can find a way to paint a butterfly on it," she somehow managed to say. Paul grinned, picking up the brush once again.

"Just one thing CJ, if you do cum, please try and hold still while you are."

She honestly didn't know if he was joking or being serious with her. The thought seemed absurd on the one hand, but not quite so on the other as she felt the first tickle of his brush as he began the slow teasing strokes that gently began caressing through the fine downy hair of her sex.

"How much longer?" she half-groaned through clenched teeth. It had become torture for her, serious, serious torture. Like a skilled lover, Paul had taken her through the penultimate depths of foreplay; he'd made love to her mind, her body and her soul now for the better part of four hours without once binging her to climax. How many times she had literally hung on the edge as his strokes had playfully, ever so skillfully brought her to that point, suddenly leaving her there, now taking up someplace else where the journey towards madness began all over again.

"We're almost there," he told her. Giddy, as though drunk, her senses overwhelmed now with heated want, she spoke, surprising herself when she did.

"Shit Paul, I've been 'almost there' for over a fucking hour now!" she told him openly. Her words both pleased and surprised him.

Once again forced to put his brush down, his own hands both tired, yet excited now quivering. He stood, flexing them, re-limbering, working the circulation back into them while he could. And laughed, laughed until she laughed.

"Oh god CJ, please! Don't move! Not yet!"

"Sorry," she replied. "I couldn't help it," she confessed, not pointing, but certainly redirecting his gaze with her eyes. Paul glanced down at himself, a dark wet spot clearly formed around the now massive bulge of the pants he was wearing. He began to sit, bolting upwards spinning as he did.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, his hand obviously down the front of his pants making adjustments.

"Want me to kiss and make it better?"

Now it was Paul's turn to be shocked, surprised at CJ's sudden boldness. "Be careful what you say," he warned. "I'm half tempted to take you up on it."

She lay unmoving, looking at him curiously however. If there ever was one, at the moment CJ held the most perfect Mona Lisa smile he'd ever seen anyone attempt.

"We'd better finish this before we're both in more trouble by our words than we already are," he told her.

#

It was finished. And, it was breathtaking! CJ had giggled as Paul had begun painting his own sheets leading up to her. He'd turned them into a crystal blue ocean, white sand beaches with breakers of white water crashing against the brilliant green cliffs that magically, powerfully, became her.

On her body, scenes of men and women lying out on the beach together. Palm tree's gently blowing in the cool breeze of the trade winds. Cabana's, palm covered bungalows, then further, a trail of hot molten lava seen cascading from the mouth of a very active, very sensual, very provocative looking volcano.

"I need to see it!" she exclaimed as Paul finally stepped away admiring his work. It had been nearly six hours now of grueling, pain-staking work, but every brush stroke had been worth it.

"Stay there! Don't move a muscle!" he warned her. Paul sprinted into the bathroom. CJ heard him, heard the sound of him tearing something away from the wall. She nearly died laughing when he emerged moments later carrying the full length mirror once fastened to the back of the bathroom door. He positioned it lengthwise just as she was, then held it, held it while he watched as it became her turn to sit mesmerized, stunned by the incredible image she had been turned into.

"Oh my god Paul! It's incredible! I mean you can tell it's me...rather a woman lying there, and you know...you just know that she's, I mean that I'm nude...but its subtle, so perfectly, wonderfully subtle. And the landscape, fuck Paul! The landscape! It's as though you've taken the photo and somehow superimposed it over my body!"

Excited beyond words, without thinking, she stood. For the briefest of moments, Paul actually experienced vertigo! She came into his arms, suddenly and without thought. What he'd created, what they had shared and created together became something more. As the still wet paint became a blur, obscuring the landscape that had stood only moments ago, they began to paint an entirely different picture altogether.

"Make love to me Paul," she said pulling him down onto the bed as she fell. "Finish the portrait you began."

#

Almost over night Paul had more money than he knew what to do with. Resigned, he eventually agreed to do the advertising campaign once CJ had shown her clients what she'd envisioned, and what Paul had himself made real. And though he'd been unable to convince her to pose for him again, even Paul had to admit the second time he'd done it, this time painting a model, the affect was just as startling.

Inseparable now, he'd moved into a new place with CJ. There, they made love, created, made love, and created again. And though Paul was happy, happier than he'd ever been in his entire life, he still missed those times where he'd sat sketching, missing the interesting people he'd watched come in sometimes simply for coffee in that tiny little café' where Gladys still worked.

But worse, Paul rarely if ever painted now. Even though the place they had gotten, CJ had ensured would include an area where he could set up and freely express himself to his hearts content.

Most of his works had gone into storage upon his moving. Aside from a few pieces that CJ demanded be hung in their new home, Paul had begun to feel himself a failure again, even though he wasn't, even though he was truly blessed with a beautiful woman by his side, and luxuries he never thought he'd ever see as being his.

He'd even gone back to that tiny little café, sketchbook in hand, but for some reason couldn't find the same fire, the same desire he'd once had. And though Gladys had been thrilled to see him, still refusing to accept his money for his 'life-time' free dinner, which he could now easily afford in buying the place from her if she'd wanted to sell, Paul had gone home, sketch-less for the first time in memory, and never returned.

"Come on Paul, hurry up and finish dressing. This little gathering is important to me, it could mean some new and very big clients," she said excitedly, hurrying him along as he stood while she finished tying his bow tie.

"I still don't know why I have to go," he told her. "You've been to these things before with out me," he continued trying to beg off lamely without success.

"You know why," she said. "I want to show off my new husband!"

They'd been married less than a month, finally deciding to make it official. And though the fire hadn't gone out of their relationship, the fire had indeed died out of any desire Paul had to continue the line of work he'd suddenly found himself in.

Even the limousine that sat out in front of their building dampened his mood even more. He'd be schmoozing with money tonight that was for sure. And lots of it. "Can't we just stay home and make love?" he'd tried one last desperate time.

"Come on Paul," she said half dragging him into the car as the Chauffer stood holding the door open for them. "Do it for me."

Paul never could refuse her requests, even if he wasn't in the mood. Somehow, she always found a way to make him smile, just as she now did as her hand lovingly caressed him, arousing him in the backseat of the limo as they drove towards their destination.

#

A short time later their limo pulled up in front of a small building. As they stepped out, Paul groaned. A throng of people stood milling around both inside and out. "Come on Paul, I promise, we won't stay too long if you really don't want to."

That lifted his spirits slightly, taking her hand as he followed her inside.

Paul stopped. As they'd entered a smattering of applause had begun until everyone there was clapping as CJ continued leading him now down through a line of people that had begun to gather. Only then did Paul realize, seeing his paintings, every single one of them that had been in storage, now hanging everywhere upon the walls.

"What the..." he never finished as CJ turned kissing him.

"Surprise!" she beamed.

"Surprised isn't the word I'd use," Paul told her, feeling ill. "How'd you do this? How in the world..."

Once again she interrupted him. "Being in advertising, I have friends in high places," she said grinning. "Now come on...there's more!"

CJ led him by the hand into an entirely different wing of the gallery. Upon arriving Paul was even more stunned than before. All around him hung every sketch he had ever done, every sketch that he'd not either given away or actually sold. And amongst them hung one of his very favorites. A small sign hung just below it.

"Temporarily on loan from Gladys Mayport - Not for Sale"

"Where?" Paul started, tears already flooding his eyes as he slowly turned, and there spotting Gladys herself dressed to the nines.

"Where do you think Paul?" She said coming up, hugging, and then kissing him. "I always knew one day you'd be famous, and well...I kept saving these knowing that one day, you just might want them back."

An older gentleman approached them as they stood below Gladys's picture. "I know it say's not for sale, but I'd be willing to offer a substantial amount for it if you'd consider it," he asked hopefully.

Taking Gladys hand in his, Paul spoke. "I'm sorry, no. Of all the works I've ever done, this one perhaps is the most important of all. It is simply not for sale, because it is priceless."

"Honey? There's one more surprise I want to give you," CJ spoke, now leading Paul as well as Gladys over to a small table. Almost immediately Paul saw a bottle of wine sitting on it along with two glasses. Between them a small gift-wrapped box. He picked up the wine, laughed.

"This is the same wine we had that day!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"Yes it is, now let me open that while you open your present," she told him.

Paul tore into the small box setting aside the tiny card that had come with it. Finally removing the lid, he scrimmaged around inside the packing material. Finding nothing.

"Ok, I give up...what's the joke?"

"No joke honey...that's your contract inside. I shredded it. You no longer work in advertising. You are as they say baby...on your own now!"

Still holding the small card in his hand, he opened it. In her hand writing CJ had written:

"For my favorite PP, love...CJ."