Page 1 of You Were Mine

Chapter One

Mark

It’s not every day I stare at a stranger’s cock for two and a half hours, but as the saying goes, God works in mysterious ways. I, along with the rest of my fellow grad students, had settled in with my paints ready. Even the nude model’s entrance hadn’t fazed me. My B.A. is in studio art, so I’m used to painting naked people.Then, said model reclined on the platform in the center of the classroom…and spread his legs. I had the dubious distinction of being seateddirectlyin line of sight of those incredibly thick cream-colored thighs.

Oh yes… and that cock, incredibly thick as well. Not that cocks are especially attractive, but he’s very well-endowed. Probably what got him the job. So, more power to him. I guess.

But having to stare and paint the exact likeness of a cock for two and a half hours isn’t the most awkward thing about this situation. No, the most awkward thing about this situation is that I know this man from somewhere, but I can’t place where.

It’s hard to believe I’d ever forgetthatbody. His abs envy those of any Classical nude, and although I’ve mostly been staring at his junk, I got a good look at his face when he walked in, just before his junk got my attention. It’s a nice face, with cheekbones that could probably cut glass and a chiseled jawline. His eyes are a vibrant, sky-blue reminding me of pictures of the Caribbean I’d painted in some of my undergrad classes.

How the hell could I possibly forget such a singularly attractive person?

“Hey, Mark, what do you think about this color?”

I tear my gaze away from the model’s naked nether regions and look at Logan, my classmate, roommate, and all-around someone with whom I spendwaytoo much time. He shows me his palette. “What do you think aboutthiscolor?” he asks, pointing with his brush.

It’s a peachy-flesh tone.

“That’s about as peachy as a stop light, too red,” I say.

Logan hums and furrows his brow. I turn back to my easel, while Logan adds more water to the pigment.

“Do you recognize this guy?” I ask.

“Ah … no, am I supposed to?”

I shrug. “He looks familiar to me,” I say.

Logan looks up and squints at the model. “Which part, eh? He’s not bad-looking.”

“Not bad? Not bad? He’s better looking than that,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

“Huh.”

I continue painting, detailing, shading. This guy is familiar and it’s going to bother me until I figure out where I know him from. It can’t have been the art program. Otherwise, Logan would have recognized him.

Whoever this guy is, he isn’t one of the usual models either, which isn’t too much of a surprise. Visual Arts hires new peopleall the time, but where have I seen him from if it isn’t around campus? I don’t go anywhere else.

“Hey, do you want to go do something this weekend?” Logan asks. “A haunted house maybe? Or we could do a road trip. That’d be fun.”

“We have midterms in two weeks.”

“And if a serial killer is hiding in a haunted house and slits your throat, you won’t have to worry about midterms,” he replies.

He’s making fun of me; that’s the excuse I use for not going out with him every weekend leading up to Halloween. “I’m surethat’shappened before,” I reply.

I glance at Logan, who’s shooting me the most pathetic, intentionally manipulative puppy dog eyes he can manage. Those cat-green eyes might sway someone else, but I’ve known him too long to get sucked in.

“Oh, yeah,” Logan says, “That happensallthe time. That’s how Hannibal Lecter gotallhis victims. He hung around haunted houses and jumped his victims. It’s Chapter One in theSerial Killer’s Handbook. Yessiree.”

If a serial killer’s handbook exists, Logan’s probably bought it. Even with his considerable talent, I’m still astonished he went into studio art instead of forensic science or criminal justice. He lives and breathes macabre.

For Halloween, Logan goes all out. September 30th, our apartment transforms into theAdams’ Family Home, and it took a couple years for me to convince him to wait until the end of September. He used to start in early August, making things awkward when we first met. I walked into my new shared apartment and saw skulls and cobwebs… everywhere. Sure... normal things a totally stable human being would have around on the first day of school.

“It’d make me super happy,” Logan begs. “if you went out with me this weekend.”

“Why? Need a wingman to help you pick up guys?”

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