by Amanda Wals
*****
All I Need
* * *
Part One.
I dragged the thin brush handle jaggedly across the canvas, leaving behind a rough gash of red on the black background. I then went to work on elaborately highlighting the areas of red that I wanted to appear more strongly and blending the ones I wanted to fade. The song pounding in my headphones helping elicit the image I was working on from my mind's eye. Some of the lyrics stuck in my head on a loop, even though the song kept going.
"You cry out in your sleep
All my failings exposed
And there's a taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold "
This happened sometimes when I was painting, and focusing on snippets of lines that resonated with me just added to the mood I hoped to convey. I had no lofty illusions about the paintings I created. I wasn't pretentious about it and didn't try to convince people there was some deep meaning associated with them about the evils of society or any of that other shit that the local art community tried to tack onto each others' work. The artwork I produced was primarily abstract images. Collections of textures, swirls, and shadows that I hoped, at best, made someone have some sort of emotional response to. At worst, I hoped that they would think they were somewhat interesting. If they got something else from it than what I had tried to convey, then so be it. It didn't matter to me at all. I created art simply because I enjoyed it and I always had from the time I was a child. It was somewhat cathartic for me, and I was at my most productive with it when some heartbreak or tension entered my life. I didn't care much about making money with it and I wasn't foolish enough to believe that I was going to make a living as an artist.
I was 20 years old, midway through my second year of college when I dropped out for the semester in complete frustration with the art program. Unsure what else to do with my life for the moment, I was dividing my time between painting on my own and working at a local mom and pop music store that was barely hanging on. The recent popularity surge of vinyl sales were proving to be it's saving grace. I planned to return to college in the Fall, but was unsure if I would continue with the visual arts program or settle into something infinitely more boring.
I switched brushes and continued blending crimson orbs out of the black background, applying layer after layer of red on the canvas. It usually took multiple layers, but the finished effect really did look like the image was rising from the depths of the background. An unexpected hand on my shoulder broke my concentration and startled me so much that I almost dropped the plate I was using as a pallet.
"Dinner's ready, jackass." My sister smirked down at me where I was crouched, her dark hair falling down past her shoulders.
"Christ, Amy." I pulled the earbuds from my ears. "You scared the shit out of me."
"That explains the smell in here." She replied, looking pleased with herself.
"I'll be down in a few minutes, just need to clean this up real quick." I rolled my eyes at her quip and began rinsing off the brushes I'd used.
She turned and walked to the doorway. I instinctively glanced up at her ass as she walked away. In my mind, I fell to my knees and praised the heavens every day for whoever invented yoga pants. Even though her shirt was long enough to cover most of her shapely butt, I could see the lower half of it peek out with every step. I wasn't one to ogle every female form that moved, but an incredible ass was an incredible ass. My sister had one, and I suspected she knew it. I was always aware that she was my sister and felt appropriately guilty for even noticing. I knew I shouldn't have. But this was purely that male instinct, whatever old remnants of our lizard brains that just would not let us not notice a great ass. I stared longer than I intended to, as I reflected on my lizard brain, and suddenly realized the ass had left the room. I was staring at an empty doorway. Chastising myself, I shook my head.
I went to the bathroom and washed up, making sure I didn't get paint all over the dining room table. My mother didn't have a sense of humor about those sorts of things. I looked in the mirror and realized how tired I looked. I stood around 5'9" with short, dark brown hair that was nearly black, light brown eyes, and a slender build. I wasn't athletic in the traditional sense, but years of skateboarding had kept me in reasonably good shape. It had also left me with a variety of small scars from falls and a bad knee that was occasionally starting to give me trouble. I sighed and headed downstairs for dinner.
Mom handed me a plate of food and I settled in at the dining table to eat. Amy sat across from me, tinkering with her phone as she chewed. I could only assume she was texting with her dickhead boyfriend, Jeff. I had known about Jeff by reputation around campus and he struck me as a shady asshole, hence me calling him a dickhead. But, to be fair, he had been alright to my sister in the month or so they'd been going out. That didn't mean I had to like him, but what she did was her business. My dad ate in the living room in front of the TV, watching a football game. I briefly pondered why I'd been born without whatever gene it was that made sports interesting to people. Unless you considered skateboarding to be a sport, I never had any use for them, myself. I wondered sometimes if my father would have taken more interest in my life if I were a sports nut like himself, but it didn't particularly bother me that he didn't by the time I had reached high school. He showered attention on my sister whenever she had any kind of school activity going on, which made it painfully obvious who was the favored child.
A few minutes into the meal, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Megan. "Hey, here's that album you asked about." The messaged was accompanied by a link. I smiled and clicked the link to download it.
"Thanks, Meg. I really appreciate it." I sent back.
A few moments passed. "How much did you appreciate it?"
I looked at the text and smiled again. I knew this game well. "Enough to remember it next time I see you."
Amy noticed me smiling at my phone and rolled her eyes a bit, trying to get a rise out of me. I ignored her bait. I think sisters sometimes just feel a need to start shit. Hell, I suppose brothers do, too. I'd certainly started my fair share with her. I looked back down at my phone as it vibrated again.
"Good, that's what I wanted to hear."
Then came another text. "Laura's gone home for the weekend. I really don't want to be alone tonight. Is that okay? Can you come by later?"
I thought about it a moment, picturing Megan's naked body against mine. I didn't have anything going on tonight, and it had been a couple of weeks since I'd last slept with her. Meg was a short, slender girl with smallish breasts, a decent ass, and a pixie haircut. Her hair color seemed to change every other week, it's natural color being something of a mystery to me although probably a mouse brown if I were to guess based on the color of her bush. She was cute, but she was one of the more emotionally draining people to be around that I had met in a long while. She was a photography major at the university and hung out around all the pretentious art snob types that grated on every nerve that I possessed. Still, when presented with the option of getting laid or not getting laid, the choice seemed pretty obvious.
"Sure, that's fine. I'll be by there as soon as I can break free of this place."
"Cool. See you in a bit."
After dinner, I took a quick shower, grabbed my backpack and drove to Megan's.
* *
Megan opened the door and hugged me on the spot. Her hair was a deep shade of red tonight. It contrasted heavily against her pale, almost to the point of translucent, skin. She was wearing a long silk bathrobe with a floral print that she'd found in a Goodwill somewhere. It clung to her slim body as she moved, accentuating the fact that it was very likely all that she had on. I could see the outlines of her nipple rings clearly on the fabric.<
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"Hi, Adam," she sighed with her arms around my neck. "I've missed you."
"Good to see you, Meg." I replied as I dropped my bag by the door and shut the door with my foot.
Meg smiled into my shoulder as she pulled me back toward the bedroom. "It feels like forever that I've been waiting for you."
As soon as we got to her room, the robe hit the floor and I discovered that I was correct. She was naked beneath it. Although I'd seen her naked many times, I still had to pause and smile every time, taking in her soft curves and admiring how some of her tattoos fit to the contours of her shape. She glanced up at me shyly for a moment, then hugged me. The whole room smelled of sandalwood as she'd clearly been burning the stuff again.
"You can melt hearts with that look, you know." She muttered as she began planting kisses on my collarbone. I picked her up, while her arms were still wrapped around my neck and set her on the bed. She chuckled as I paused to kick my shoes off, before climbing in to join her.
"Did you miss me, Adam?" She asked, "It's been a while."
"Of course I did," I replied as I began kissing her stomach, torn on which direction to I wanted to head. Ultimately, I went up and kissed my way up between her breasts to her neck.
She ran her hands down my sides, clutching at me, finally grabbing my faded Aphex Twin shirt and yanking it over my head. One hand wrapped around my rib cage while the other slid down and rubbed my rapidly hardening cock through the fabric my pants. I felt her lips on my throat again, as she licked her way up my chin and sucked seductively on my bottom lip. She drew her knees up and parted them, pulling me toward her.
I broke our embrace long enough to pull off my pants and climb back in the bed. She rolled me on my back and I pushed myself up toward the headrest. Megan lowered her head to my cock and kissed it. Taking it in her hand, she licked my shaft in one continuous motion all the way to the tip before taking me in her mouth. I involuntarily took a sharp breath, my pulse quickening. She bobbed her head up and down a few times, swirling her tongue around the head before she moved to kissing my stomach. I had my hand upturned, dragging my fingertips down her body as she climbed me. She kissed her way up my chest to my throat, her breath becoming more harsh and raspy as she went.
When she straddled my hips, I slid my hand across her thigh and cupped her trimmed bush in my palm. She took a sharp intake of breath, and pushed herself against my hand as my fingers traced the outline of her sex with my fingertips. Her head settled against my neck, exhaling rapidly in my ear. After a few moments, she swatted my hand away and laid down beside me.
"Hurry up," she moaned as she tossed me a condom. I unwrapped it and put it on quickly. She moved to straddle me and positioned me over her entrance. We both gasped as I entered her. She rocked herself up and down on my dick, gasps increasing in tempo and volume. Her back arched away from me as she placed her arms on the wall above my head. I cupped her ass in my hands as I thrust into her, feeling her warmth envelope me. She moaned aloud as I hooked my the tip of my tongue through one of her nipple rings and tugged lightly.
Even through the obnoxious filter of the condom, I could feel the sense of urgency in Megan's movements. It had been a couple of weeks since I'd last come over, after all, and apparently she was horny as hell. Maybe some of her other toys had been busy lately as well. I felt the tingling sensation that warned me I was getting close and I was about to change positions in a potential bid to last longer when I heard the urgent moans in Megan's voice telling me that she was getting the same memo.
As her orgasm overtook her, she gripped me tightly with her legs and I could feel her thighs quivering against mine from the strain. That was all it took and I launched round after round of sperm in vain against the wall of the condom. She collapsed into me, as we both struggled to catch our breath.
"Thank you," she mumbled into my chest.
* *
We were lying naked on her bed. I was propped up against her headboard and she laid on her back across me with her head resting on my stomach. Her dark red hair damp with sweat, tiny smears of hair dye marked the edge of her hairline. She lazily smoked a cigarette, tapping the ashes into the tray she had resting on her hip. I found myself looking at the series of scars along her forearms, some more raised than others. All of them old and long healed. And self inflicted. She tried to keep them hidden under a variety of bracelets that she had adorning both arms. She had similar scars on her upper thighs that I sometimes kissed, which usually produced a positive response from her. Her scars brought about a sense of melancholy in me sometimes, but I was glad she was in a better place now than when she had created them. If she noticed me looking at them, she said nothing.
"You know there's a show coming up in a few months?" She asked me, as she stared at the ceiling.
"I heard about it. Another one of those local artist showcase things. You gonna be in it?"
"Yeah. You could get in on it if you wanted. I have the curator's number here." She glanced up at me and smiled.
"I don't know. I'm not sure I could handle having to be around all that. I can't stand those kinds of things. You know that." I had my hand resting on her shoulder, but let it slide down her chest and started absently playing with the captive bead on her nipple ring. She had small breasts that were nice and inviting. I was fond of teasing her nipple rings with my tongue and never seemed to tire of watching her nipples harden under my touch.
"I know you don't. But it could be a good way for more people to see your stuff. And it's a group show. You'd only have four or five pieces in it. I think they are only allowing for 8 feet per artist." She offered the cigarette to me, but I waved it away. She knew I didn't smoke, but offered all the time anyway. I had long suspected it was because she forgot which of the guys she had visiting were smokers, but I never spoiled the mood by pointing that out. I knew I wasn't the only guy she was sleeping with, but it wasn't like we had a future together. Tonight, she was with me. That was all either of us were asking from the situation.
"I'll think about it." I conceded. I knew she had a point about the exposure, but I didn't like being around large groups of people. Especially when those large groups of people would surely be pretentious douche bags. I traced my fingers along the long, swirling vine tattoo that climbed up her rib cage, making her wiggle away, giggling.
"Hey fucker!" she laughed "That tickles."
"You like it when I do that with my tongue." I grinned at her.
"Yeah, I do. So why are you doing it wrong?" She shot me a look of fake annoyance.
"I didn't know if you were interested in more than one round tonight."
"If you didn't know how to use that thing I might not be." She thumbed in the direction of my cock and licked her lips while lowering her eyelids at me. "But that's never been an issue for you."
"And here I thought you were just afraid to hang out at the apartment by yourself," I chuckled.
"When Laura told me she was going to see her family this weekend, your dick was the first thing I thought of." She rolled over and looked at my prick, letting her warm breath wash over it, breathing life back into it. "The rest of you was secondary."
I was taking a sip of my beer when she said that and nearly started choking with laughter.
* *
A few nights later, I went to see a movie with some friends and we stopped at a bar on the way home. It was well past midnight when I finally got home. I let myself in the house and walked quietly to the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water from the fridge. On my way to the stairs, I noticed the TV on in the living room and went to see who was up.
Amy lay sleeping on the sofa in front of the TV. She was wearing boxer shorts and one of my Einsturzende Neubauten shirts. That little asshole, I thought, I'd been looking everywhere for that shirt. Her head lay in the crook of her arm, while her other hand lay on the sofa by her face, palm down. The shirt collar was stretched out and extended almost to her shoulder. Some of her long dark hair fell across her peaceful face. I
couldn't explain why, but something about the way the light fell across her face and the way that she was laying really struck a chord with me. I felt an inspiration that very rarely ever struck me.
I quietly sat in a recliner across from her and slipped a sketchbook from my bag. I flipped it to a blank page as silently as I could and started sketching. The lines came easily to me, which was unusual. I always had a terrible time with drawing anything realistic. My obsession with drawing the little details had always worked against me and I wound up overworking the images until they were just a mess. I sketched the rough outline of her face as lightly as I could. Then I focused on her small hand, drawing out and shading her long, delicate fingers. There were so many inviting shadows to work on in the dimness of the room. I stared quietly at my sleeping sister across from me, taking in the shapes and angles of lines that made up her form. The curve of her shoulder as it turned into her neck, the dip of her neck just before it connected to her jaw. Her high cheekbones and her small ears with their delicate earlobes. The line of darkness where her soft, full lips met each other. Her eyes danced a little behind her closed eyelids, so I assumed she was dreaming. I worked on the drawing for several hours without even remembering I had the bottle of water next to me. Being thirsty was no longer even a factor in my mind.
When I was finally finished with it, I sat back in the chair staring at the drawing. Holy shit, I thought to myself. It was the best thing I had ever done. Without question. It looked so much like her that I felt like it had been drawn by someone else. I looked from the drawing to her and back at the drawing. Feeling absolutely elated with how well it had come out, I quietly closed the sketchbook, collected my bag and went to go upstairs. I paused next to her and very gently pulled the hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. She nuzzled her face into the crook of her arm again, never really waking up. I realized that night how truly beautiful she really was. I went upstairs wondering why I had never noticed that about her before, and wondering why I noticed now. As I fell face first on the bed in exhaustion, I realized that the sun was starting to peek in through the window.
