Tag Archive | erotica

The Artist

                           I bundled up my jacket as I headed out of the subway onto Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, or “The Village” as we all call it. It had been seven months since I’d left New Orleans to become a professional dancer. I wanted to be on Broadway ever since I was little. So, when I was able to go to Alvin Ailey Dance Theater I packed my things and was on the next train smoking out of Louisiana. I wanted something more in this ridiculous homeland we called America. I wanted to prove to my mother and everyone that I could be successful and that I could become whatever dream I wanted to do. I wanted to live the American dream for performers, and what better place to go for dance well New York of course. I remember people saying if you make it here you can make it anywhere. And I was going to live by that saying.

             On a cold November night the rain and wind blew so hard I fought with my umbrella as it tried to go with the wind. Eventually the wind was victorious and my umbrella did a tango with the wind down the street. I sighed as I realized my hair would be an afro by the time I hit Corlies Avenue to my apartment. The rain began to pour so hard that I had to duck into a small café with dim lights. People looked at the door as I came in and then headed back to their virtual reality worlds on their laptops. Technology was sucking us dry and we didn’t even know it. I sighed and headed to the register I might as well grab something to drink while I waited out this rain I thought to myself.

When I got to the counter the young blonde girl named Brenda smiled widely at me. “How may I help you?” She said perky. I didn’t know how she could be so happy in weather like this. It was baffling. “Vanilla chai tea please.” I said getting out three dollars. At that moment I felt someone’s eyes watching me. She gave me my tea and I headed to the island with the condiments on it. I still had that feeling that I was being watched. As I stirred my tea I looked over to my left and saw why I was feeling this way.

         Our eyes met. His dark green met with my brown. He looked down quickly at his notebook as if that moment never happened. I walked over to him and stood there. He looked up and smiled. “Yes, Ms.?” He said with a smile. He had an accent, but I couldn’t place it. It sounded European. “Yes, what’s the reason for the staring?” I asked sipping my tea. Ugh it was still too hot. “No reason Ms. I just found you interesting.” This accent why was it so intriguing to me? I wanted to hear it more. “Interesting? How so?” I asked now sitting down. “Well I it’s hard to explain.” He said. “Tell me.” I asked tilting my head confused. “Well it’s like this.” He said turning his notebook around. What I thought was a notebook actually was a sketchbook. He had drawn me as I waited by the counter for my tea. I could see the detail of how my eyes told a story even though my face told another. He saw the gateway to my soul and drew it. In my eyes you could see how homesick I was, but in my face you would have thought I was on top of the world.

                      “How did you do this so fast?” I asked astonished. I’m a quick sketcher. I would love to do one more, but all my things are back at my apartment.” I sighed and put my head down. “Did I say something wrong?” He asked worried. “No, it’s just that I would love another one I would even pay for it but I don’t want to waste your time.” I said drinking more tea. “No, I wouldn’t mind it’s just that it would take me more time to get that shape of your face and definitely the shape of your head better.” My eyes got wide, and I got up quickly. He had insulted me. “You know what you can keep your shitty drawing and you won’t have to worry about my head shape you damn starving artist! Get a real fucking job!” I said quickly heading to the door. I walked back out into the rain where cats and dogs poured down on me. My coat was soaked again and I was shivering. I quickened my pace and dodged the monster sized puddles.

                   As I waited for the light to change all of a sudden the rain stopped from beating on my head, but yet rain was still all around me. I looked up and there was an umbrella covering my whole body. I turned and saw the starving artist holding it with a smile only a model could have. I sighed and crossed my arms. “What do you want from me?” I asked wiping away my wet hair. He smiled a seductive smile and said, “You.” I felt my body freeze at the way he said it. His tone was so firm, but understanding. The words that one word was so reassuring and let me know that he was serious. It answered all my questions that ran through my head. That moment I looked at him in the light and could see him really. He was about six two, broad shoulders, short dark curly hair, skin that seemed like it had a Mediterranean tan.it had such an olive tone to it. His eyes so dark, and yet so green at the same time His mouth was pink and full. I was so confused. Why would this man want me? I was five seven, with a cocoa brown complexion, I might of had a huge ass, but it got in the way too much. To me I was pretty, but not posing for paintings pretty. He walked closer under the umbrella and grabbed my face with one hand. Our tongues began to do a salsa that I have never done before. For some reason I was not cold anymore and my body was on fire. He let me go and smiled again. “So, can I paint you?’ “Yes.” I said in almost a whisper.

          We headed back to his place which turned out to be two blocks down from mine. We headed up the stairwell to the third floor to his studio apartment. The apartment was empty. In the far left corner there was an easel with a canvas sitting there with a half-finished central park. Most of his paintings were half finished as I looked around. In the far right corner under the window there was a futon with a mirror next to it, and diagonally across from the bed there were sheets on the floor with splattered paint on them with tubes and tubes of paint around it. He wasn’t just a starving artist he was a perfectionist. “Sorry for the mess.” He said again as he pulled out a whole bunch of pillows from a huge box. He laid down a red silk sheet to cover the pillows and asked me to lay on it.

        As I got comfortable and took off my clothes he set up I could see how he watched me. His eyes were scanning my body remembering my anatomy and how I was shaped. When I took off my panties and lay down I posed in a seductive way. I always wanted to be painted that way. I wanted to be just like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. Fully naked and yet I still would look classy. When he was ready he smiled widely. “I see you’re really into this. This makes me happy.” He said as he sat on the stool and began.

        As I lay on the couch with my breasts bare and just a white silk sheet wrapped around my wrist draping down my inner thigh I looked at him, and how steady his eyes were. I could see those green eyes searching my soul for an answer of how to make this portrait speak. “You have such great curves they are easy to paint.” He said. That accent that accent was killing me. I needed to know where it was from. “You speak so differently. Where are you from?” I asked. He smiled. “Italy. Florence, Italy to be exact.” He said proudly. “Where are you from you do not sound like any New Yorker I know. You sound like a friend of mine that lives in Alabama.” He said laughing as he continued to paint. “New Orleans.” I said smiling. “I’m a country girl.” I said laughing. “There’s nothing wrong with that you’re beautiful. Just hold still.” He said putting more paint on his palette. I laughed a little when the thought of me feeling like I was in Titanic came across my mind.

       An hour passed by and I wanted to see it. My body had become numb and I couldn’t hold this pose anymore. I saw him peak from around the easel. “We can take a break if you want. I do not want your body so tense.” He said putting down his brush. He walked over to where I was and sat down. “Here let me loosen you up.” He said as he massaged my legs. His hands were so smooth even though they had been playing in the paint. I could feel them slowly rub up and down my skin like a machine. I could tell he was use to doing this. “Turn over.” He said as he kissed me again. I listened and laid flat on my stomach. His hands started from my ankles and worked their way to my back. I could feel every muscle begin to relax as I laid there looking at the neon lights across the street.

              As he worked my lower back a moan escaped me that I had never heard before. “That sounded as beautiful as you. I want to hear it again.”  He began kneading my back and loosening more of my muscles. “What is your name?” he said. All this time with this man and we didn’t know each other’s name. I felt so stupid. “It’s Madeline. Madeline Moliere`”. “French. It’s very lovely.” “I’m Créole. And what’s yours?” I asked giggling. “Raphael Antonio de Luca.”  He said kissing the back of my neck. He went to a drawer and came back with massage oil that smelt of vanilla and coconut. The scent sent me to another place as I closed my eyes and began to moan with every touch he did. I couldn’t control myself as he turned me over and did my front. He began to kiss me so softly that it didn’t feel like kisses, but as if he was trying to taste me. He kissed me from my mouth down to my chest and then my stomach. He continued till he reached my place but did nothing but kiss it. I wanted him to taste me. He was teasing me. I hated to be teased. I couldn’t take the suspense anymore. “Okay that’s enough.” I said in a seductive bedroom voice.  

          I got up and knelt down in front of him. I unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his boxers. I was surprised to see how big he was. I took my tongue and circled the head. He shivered when I did this. I smiled a devilish smile and knew that I had him right where I wanted him. I did this for a few seconds until it grew a little more. I began to suck on the head and tease it like he teased me for a few seconds. I began to move my lips in and out until I was ready to take the whole thing. As I began to deep throat him I moved my tongue in a circular motion as I went farther down his shaft. He grabbed my now damp hair and moved my head up and down. I followed with this movement not needing him to guide me though. He moaned and cursed in Italian as I began to do slurping noises with my mouth. To make it wetter I used a little bit of my spit and continued to please him. After ten minutes I felt him about to explode and stopped. “You’re not leaving me like this.” I said getting up.

        He grabbed me by my waist and directed me to his bed. “No I want the floor.” I said as I led him down. He entered me and the feeling was amazing. I could see that he was not expecting me to be as tight as I was. As we danced the dance of lovers I started to grind my hips harder against him and he followed the same rhythm. I could feel him pushing up against my g spot as he grinded harder. The feeling was sensational. I knew once I started coming I would not stop the gift of being multi-orgasmic. I grabbed his shoulders and started bouncing he rolled onto his back quickly and I ended up on top. I began to bounce even more as he looked at me. I looked back at him. Our eyes met. Green and brown. Two earth colors that went together. He was looking deep into my eyes as if he was looking at my soul. I hated that about him and I hardly knew him. It felt like he was painting me again. That turned me on even more.

          I gripped the sheets next to us and I plowed him into the floor even harder. When I looked around we were now half way across the room near his paints and the splattered sheets that had paint on them. When I looked down I could see a light red coming from under him. He saw where I looked and smiled. “It is paint do not worry. White and pink are near us. It is making the color red. Red is the color of love, lust, and sex.” He said as he grabbed my hips and went deeper. I threw my head back and gave out a loud pleasurable moan. “Oh God Raphael!” I said as I bounced harder as he went in deeper. The light red was now a dark red as we switched positions.

          As I went on all fours I could see his back in the paint like a snow angel. He entered me and began to smack my ass. I loved when guys did that I was so excited that I didn’t have to direct him. I don’t care what any female says getting your ass smacked while being bent over was by far the most stimulating thing to have done during sex, well right after being tasted at least. I began to push back on him to see if he could handle it and he could. He grabbed my hips and began to thrust in me like he was trying to create a masterpiece. A painter at work how sexy was this.  I was now on my stomach laying on a piece of huge paper for painting. My face was sticking to it but I didn’t want to stop. I wanted more. “Please give me more. Oh god please!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. He turned me over and grabbed two tubes of paint. “Let’s make another passionate color.” He said grabbing blue and red. He handed me the red and took the blue. He squirted me with the blue rubbing my breasts with it and letting it drip into my hair. I took the red and did the same. As I kissed him I squirted the red down on us so it covered our faces. He laid me back softly onto the floor and we began to make the color purple. I could feel the paint squish through our bodies and in between my toes. As we grinded I could feel the cool paint turn warm, and then hot, I could feel him grow bigger inside me he was ready to come. I poured the red paint down my face and told him. “Show me what color I would get if white and red were mixed together I said with a wink. He smiled as he caught my drift.

         He pumped in me hard and fast, and then pulled out. He held his dick to my face I closed my eyes tight and felt his warm cum explode onto my face. “I’m your canvas. Paint me. I’m begging you.” I said still having my eyes closed. He took his dick and began to move it slowly across my face as if he was concentrating on getting in every detail. I could feel it dripping down my face as it went from warm to cold. I hated when that happened why couldn’t it always just stay warm and inviting like a happy host makes their guests feel. As he slowed down and then stopped I opened my eyes. He smiled at me. “You still look beautiful. Go look.” He said. I got up and headed to his mirror. He had made a beautiful pink rose from my forehead to my chin. Damn he was a great artist I thought to myself.

          That night we made all the colors of the rainbow together. I didn’t know the world was full of so many colors. The next morning when I woke up I saw him back at the easel painting. I wrapped myself up in a sheet and saw what he had done. “It’s beautiful.” I said gasping at how he made me look in it. “This is the first painting since high school that I have finished and loved ever part of it.” He said turning towards me. I smiled and kissed him. I looked at his clock on his wall and saw that it was almost noon on a Tuesday. I had work and school. I knew I was going to be late for both. I threw my clothes on and grabbed my jacket. He escorted me down to the entrance of his building. He handed me the painting and grabbed me in his arms. We began to kiss passionately like lovers that would never see each other again. “You were too kind Raphael.” I said kissing him again. “And you were too wonderful Madeline.” He said as he took my face again as our tongues did their final dance. I headed out the door to nothing but sun. The rain was gone and a new day had begun. The sun was bright all colors now looked different. Even the taxis now had a different hue of yellow. I was refreshed and now hip with the art scene. I learned more about art then I had learned in all of my life.

        Months pasted by and I had forgotten about Raphael. I had forgotten about that night. I had forgotten about the looks I got on the street as I walked home that morning with all the paint on me. I had forgotten what a bitch it was to get that paint out of my hair. I had forgotten that I mounted that painting in my closet which was hidden by my clothes. I did that because I did not want that heart break that I had when I realized that what we did that night would never happen again. I shrugged it off now.

        As I made my way through rush hour in Times Square one summer evening I looked up at one of the advertisement    screens as I waited for the light to change to cross. I saw a painting as an advertisement.  It was of a cocoa brown girl naked with her head thrown back in pleasure. Rain drops were on her skin as if it was reflected through a window. Under the painting was the title it read: Chocolate Rain in Pleasure. Under the title was the artist’s name. Raphael Antonio de Luca. My eyes widened. I could not believe he had done this. The advertisement went on to show that there would be an exhibit in the village on Cari Avenue tonight at eight. I would be there.

    I dressed in my finest clothes I had and walked into the gallery. There were paintings of me everywhere. Some were from me lying on the floor with my face towards the floor. Some were of me with my back arched and my ass high in the air, but the main one everyone crowded around was the one of me with the rose on my face. It was named; A Rose on a Rose. I stood there looking at it not knowing what emotions I felt. Up against me I felt a body. It wrapped its arms around my waist. “I knew you would come.” He whispered in my ear. “I knew you would finish something.” I said sipping a glass of champagne. “You made me a rich man. All of these paintings have sold for a million each.” I turned around with wide eyes. “Me? My body sold for that much?’ I said shockingly. He nodded his head and sipped his champagne. “I told you, you were beautiful.” He said kissing me. “I just don’t believe it.” I said laughing and shaking my head. I had viaggio che l`artista (traveled the artist) and that night I would do it again.