by Lila Veen
In response, I take off my bra and toss it aside. Justin’s eyes widen but he doesn’t move. “Stop,” he says before I can remove my panties. “I’m going to paint you.”
“Now?” I say. “Are you kidding?” I watch as he sorts through his materials and tubes of paint. I didn’t really come by to model for him, I think, but what the hell.
He finds a blanket and spreads it out over the floor. “Sit down,” he tells me, gently pressing down on my shoulders. I do as I’m told. He kneels down and kisses me again. Then he pulls away and silently appears to consider something. “Do you trust me?” he asks me. “I promise you with my life I would never hurt you, Jenna.” I nod, feeling the conviction in his voice. I do trust him, completely, though perhaps I shouldn’t. At this point in my life, I couldn’t possibly experience much else I haven’t experienced in terms of pain and disappointment. I watch as he produces a black scarf.
“Are you going to tie me up?” I ask hesitantly.
“No,” he says, and I feel somewhat relieved. “I am going to blindfold you, though, if you’ll let me.”
That was actually a new one. I didn’t expect him to say anything like that. “Okay,” I agree. “As long as you promise not to walk away from me and leave me down here half naked for a week with no food or water.”
“Maybe only a few days,” he says, grinning. Then he looks serious again. “I promise I’ll put your clothes back on before I leave you down here blindfolded.” My heart starts to pound a little bit harder in my chest. When I don’t say anything, he continues. “I’m joking. I’m not tying you up, remember? You can push the blindfold off it it’s too much for you, okay? I’m not going to leave you by yourself. I’ll be touching you the whole time. And if I’m not, I’ll talk so you know where I am.”
That sounds good. “Thank you,” I whisper, sort of feeling like I’m going to cry. He’s so nice, I think. I can’t remember a man being so nice to me when I was almost naked before.
Justin sits behind me and covers my eyes with the scarf. It’s silk, I think, and feels soft and cool on my eyes and temples. “Lie down,” he tells me, and helps me settle back. He plants a soft kiss on my lips. “Can you lie very still for me, Jenna? This might feel a little cold and I don’t want you to jump or anything.”
“I’ll try,” I say.
“And keep your hands at your sides,” Justin says to me. I realize that they’ve traveled down between my thighs again.
“Sorry,” I say. “Sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it until I…” I trail off as I feel the soft tip of Justin’s paintbrush running down my neck. “Oh.”
“Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?”
“Good. Very, very good.” I feel the silky tip trail down my collarbone and it gives me goose bumps. He takes it off me and I feel it again on my nipple, wet with paint. It circles my right nipple and trails across my chest and over to my right one, and around that one.
“I think I’ll change to a number six,” I hear him mumble. “And use some cadmium red medium for this part.” I giggle and feel a thicker brush trace below my breasts. My nipples feel stiff and the paint drying on them makes them feel stiffer. “When your front dries I’d love to flip you over and paint your back.”
“I’m in your hands,” I tell him. “You have free reign of my body to do as you please.”
In response, I feel his hands trail over my belly and I breathe in sharply. Since I don’t know what to anticipate, every touch is unexpected. He takes the sides of my panties in his fingers and slowly peels them off. I lift myself up slightly to let him pull them off me. The air feels cool and dry below my waist where I’m already very wet. “The brush I’m about to use is dry,” he tells me. “I’m using it to soak up everything here before you spill. May I?” I nod and bite my lip. The touch of the brush between my legs is soft and slow, and he draws it against me back to front and twists the tip against my swollen clit. I moan and my hands grab his wrists and push my hips forward against the brush. He responds by burying his face between my legs.
He tastes me slowly and takes his time, yet I am coming in less than a minute. I feel the resulting wetness all over my thighs. I’m not sure whether it is paint or my own juices or Justin’s saliva, and I don’t care.
“I guess it was pointless to wipe you up,” Justin tells me. “But I still have more of you to paint. Just lie back and relax.” I am still twitching, but Justin brings his hands over me to settle me down. In a minute I am lying back and still. “Are you comfortable?” he asks me.
“Very,” I say. In response I feel the brush begin tracing around my stomach. I lie back and concentrate on the strokes, the smoothness of the wet brush, the smell of the paint, and Justin’s steady breathing. He works down my stomach and down around my left thigh. He lifts my leg and holds it on his shoulder as he twists the paintbrush around it. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done,” I tell him.
“Flip over on your stomach,” is all he says. He sounds focused, and I comply and shiver a little. The paint seems colder against my back which has warmed up against the blanket I’ve been lying on. “Are you cold?” Justin asks.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Keep touching me and I get warmer.”
“Easy for me,” Justin says, laughing. “It’s hard to keep my hands off of you.”
“So touch me,” I whisper, sighing deeply. He is using a thicker brush, and it’s like a massage. “I mean with your hands, though I like the brush, too.”
“I’m almost finished,” he replies. “I just want to add some detail.”
“Next time you should use edible paints or chocolate or something,” I suggest. “Then you can lick it off me.”
“After that meal?” Justin laughs. “I’d prefer my dessert to be one that burns calories, not one that adds more.”
I laugh. “Hurry up. I want to see your work.”
“It’s nothing amazing,” he tells me. “The canvas definitely exceeds the beauty of the painting.”
My cheeks feel warm, like I’m blushing. Then I feel Justin’s hands against the sides of my face. He kisses me again slowly and deeply and I accept his tongue with my own. Then he is untying the blindfold in the back of my head. “All finished?” I ask. I can see his face next to mine. In response he pushes my hair back and kisses me again, but harder this time.
He helps me stand up and brings me to a mirror he has hanging up on the wall. “For models,” he explains.
“So apparently I’m not the only naked woman who’s been in your basement.”
“You’re the only one I’ve ever been able to touch this way,” he explains.
My body has been transformed into a peacock of blues, dark red and greens, covering my torso and trailing down and around my leg. It’s like a second skin and I feel as though I’ve been made over. I can’t help but smile at the reflection and barely recognize the girl in the mirror. “Do you have a camera?” I turn to him and ask. “This is amazing, you should really capture it.”
“I’ll never forget it,” he tells me. He walks away and gets a camera that has a lens that looks like it weighs 400 pounds. He leads me over to a black backdrop and drapes a velvety black covering over an old chaise lounge. He positions me with my right arm over my breasts and my right leg positioned “so it’s not an obscene photograph,” Justin explains. He moves some lights around me so I feel like a fashion model and he starts to snap photos.
“I had no idea you were into photography,” I say.
“Really?” he said. “That’s how I make the majority of my money. Weddings, public events, advertising, textbooks, whatever people will hire me for.”
“You know, I never even bothered to find out what you do for a living,” I say. “I just assumed you had some service job like Devin does to pay his bills.”
“You should become a model,” Justin tells me. “You have the body for it, and you definitely have the face for it. Plus you’re tall. And you could probably make more money than working in a strip club.
”
“I have yet to actually work in a strip club,” I reply. “I was a cage dancer at a legitimate dance club.”
“Oh, of course,” he says, smiling. “Seriously, I have a fashion shoot coming up, and if you want I could talk to the designer and show him these as a portfolio shot. These are going to look amazing.”
“Maybe with the help of Photoshop,” I say, smirking. Justin keeps snapping photos and I hold my pose. “When you’re done, you should come over here and get in the picture with me.”
“Who’s going to take the picture?” he asks. But he puts the camera down on a table and walks over to me. I can see through his shorts he is aroused. I sit up and help him with his zipper and his hands stop me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he tells me. I look up into his dark green eyes and he looks so serious. I smile.
“Of course I want you,” I say. “I want to make you feel the same way you’ve just made me feel.” He drops his hands and lets me unbutton his shorts and he helps me by pulling them off. He is swollen and ready. I sit up and pull off his shirt for him and pull him down to the chaise with me. My lips start at his collarbone and I push him back gently and leave a trail of kisses down to his waist. He utters a low groan and his hands bury themselves in my hair. He pushes my head gently back.
“No,” he says, and he pushes me back. “Let me do everything for you. I don’t want you to do anything for me.” Without a word I let him move over me and he positions his body against mine. My legs move apart and I feel how hard he is as he slides inside of me. We move together, but every time I move my hips he stops me. “Slow down,” he whispers in my ear. “I want to make this last with you.”
I kiss him on the mouth, and as his tongue moves inside my mouth, I feel him throbbing inside of me. My arms wrap around his back and I am holding onto his shoulders. With every slow thrust he rubs against my clit and the intensity is building inside of me. Within minutes, we are simultaneously exploding and kissing with such intensity and need. Then I ruin everything and burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asks me, pulling away, but I seize up and pull him back toward me. I cry for a minute, holding him hard against me and stroking his hair as he strokes mine.
“You’re right,” I finally whisper when I can breathe again. “It’s different to be loved than to be fucked.”
Chapter 12
Devin got called to work and won’t be home until early tomorrow. Justin takes me home, even though I want to stay and spend the night with him, and all of tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. It seems like a horrible idea to leave him right now. “Devin knows we were out together,” he explains to me while I am showering off the beautiful paint. Justin is sitting in the bathroom keeping me company. I am sadly watching the beautiful blue and green swirl down the drain. “I don’t want him to think badly of me for keeping you all night.” After a lot of protestation on my part, some towel drying and a lot of kissing, I relent and let Justin take me home.
The entire ride home I feel euphoric, as though I’m floating on air. Everything around me seems different, like nothing is actually happening. One of the many reasons I hate being medicated is because I don’t get to experience moments like these where everything is beautiful and wonderful in the world. Instead, everything is just the same, and I just carry out actions to survive. It’s no way to live. This is living. I look at the man next to me and smile, feeling content. I don’t know if he’s my boyfriend now and I don’t care, but I’m happy. Devin and I will work things out, Justin will be around, maybe I’ll get my shit together and go to school. Life is good. Not to mention, I don’t have to go to the Laundromat to do my laundry anymore. Seriously, how could life get any better? That feeling ends as soon as I get out of the car with Justin and approach the house. I can tell something has happened. The front door is wide open. Devin’s bike isn’t parked in front, and I know he’s not supposed to be home. The front porch light is out. “Justin,” I say. “Someone’s broken in to the house.” I just know it.
“Get back in the car and lock the door,” he tells me. He hands me the keys and I walk quickly back to the car and close and lock the doors, thankful for Louisa’s lecture to Justin on how to treat a lady. My heart is pounding in my chest as I watch Justin assess the broken porch light and see from what he’s inspecting that the window is broken as well. He walks through the open front door. Lights turn on and I wait a few minutes, breathing hard. I turn the car on and decide it won’t kill me to roll down the window and smoke while I wait. At least it won’t kill me instantly. I’m so tense, I shake as I put my cigarette in my mouth with one hand and attempt to flick my lighter several times with my other hand.
Justin comes out of the front door and motions to me to come inside. I step out of his car, put my cigarette out and lock the doors. “I checked the house,” he says to me as I walk up the front path and hand him his car keys. “Whoever got in is gone. I don’t know what’s been taken but it’s a mess.”
“Shit, really?” I say, nervous to see inside the house. I’m not worried about anything valuable being gone. Devin and I don’t actually have anything that’s worth much. At least to my knowledge we don’t. Devin could be keeping something else from me, but neither one of us could really afford anything of major value.
“Take a look,” Justin says, letting me go inside first. “I’ll be right behind you.” I can see what he means by a mess. Drawers are open. A bookcase is knocked over. Cabinets have been ransacked in the kitchen. The couch cushions are strewn around the floor in the front room. I peek into Devin’s room and see that the box of canvases he stashed away is out and pictures are all over. A few are ripped, which makes my heart pound even faster. I’m sure Devin will shed a few tears over them. Then I go to my room and see that it’s definitely the worst.
“Holy hell,” I say. “I might have mentioned I’m a bad housekeeper, but this is unusual even for me.”
“Jenna, I’m so sorry,” Justin says. “Do you want me to call the police?”
I nod reluctantly. I hate the police and getting them involved in any way just makes my heart sink, but it seems necessary. “That’s probably a good idea.” Why didn’t I just beg Justin to let me stay the night as his place? Then I wouldn’t be dealing with this nightmare until tomorrow morning. “Stay in here with me,” I say to Justin. It’s meant to be a question but it comes out as a demand. Justin nods and leans against the wall and pulls out his phone from his pocket. I begin to look around my room and I drop to my knees on the floor, rummaging through everything. Oh fuck, I think, as I pick something up. A DVD case. A movie that I’d rather Justin not know I have. And another one. And a bunch of my “toys”. My entire box of shame is all over the place, I realize. I look over at Justin and see he is watching me, but he doesn’t say anything as he waits on the phone to speak to the police. All of the DVD cases are opened and empty. I feel a bit sick to think someone else knows what’s been stashed in the privacy of my room. So apparently the only thing I can tell that was stolen was my porn. Why the hell would someone take my porn? “This is weird,” I hear myself saying. I’m embarrassed and confused. I hear Justin report the break in and give out our address. When he hangs up the phone he looks at me silently for a minute.
“So, what are you noticing?” he asks me. “Were those movies here before?”
“Um, they’re mine, if that’s what you wanted to know,” I reply. “Or were. The cases are here but the DVDs aren’t. Not like a few dirty movies are a big deal. I mean, I don’t need them back.”
“Interesting,” Justin says. I blush and I don’t really know what he’s referring to. I don’t ask. He comes to sit down on the ground next to me. “Forced Entry 18,” he reads off. “So, um, what kind of porn is that?”
“Rape,” I say quietly. I look down at the case and find myself incredibly uncomfortable. The DVD in my hands looks disgusting to me now
.
“I see,” he replies. “Kind of ironic considering what happened here. Maybe your intruder is making a statement.” He looks at me and I am about to cry. He takes the DVD cover out of my hands and holds me. I feel a sob shake my entire body. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll stay with you tonight and help you clean up. When does Devin get back?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, leaving a black streak of makeup behind. “Tomorrow morning. Or rather, this morning.” I realize it’s well past midnight. “Let’s get out of this room.”
“Okay,” Justin says. We go back to the front room and put the cushions back on the sofa and sit down. He holds me and I cry for a bit. The lights outside and the knock on the door indicate the police have arrived. Two men come to the door. Justin lets them in and proceeds to tells them how we came home and found the house in disarray. They ask us a few questions and I am able to answer with yes and no and the time we got home. They take a look around and one guy makes a few notes.
“I should call Devin,” I say to Justin. “He’s going to flip out.”
The police rummage around some more and one approaches Justin and me on the sofa. He introduces himself as Officer Hardy, and he is short, stocky and most definitely Irish. “So what exactly was taken?” he asks in that thick South side accent I usually associate with city workers, cops and firemen.
I look at Justin for help. He stands up and says, “Here, I’ll show you,” to the officer. He glances back at me as he leads Officer Hardy in the direction of my room and I watch as he walks away. Then I hear laughing from the officer and I’m mortified. They have the decency to be quiet and straight faced when they come back in the room. I am not a religious person but begin to pray that the couch will turn into some sort of sand worm and swallow me alive.
