Page 7 of Cruel Debts
The night sky? Outer space?
“It’s a galaxy,” she said suddenly, her voice barely a whisper as the bristles dipped into some more of the purple, this time mixing with a red nearby as well. “When I’m finished, you’ll look just like the night sky in summertime. Deep, vast, and?—”
“Empty,” I muttered, realizing she’d read me for filth the moment I stepped onto her dais.
“Well, yes, spaceisempty,” she agreed, though there was hesitation in her voice. “But that doesn’t mean that you and space are point for point the same. And there’s a lot of things thatarein outer space, too. It’s not really empty, per se. It’s just got a lot more space to it than, well, you know?—”
“You’re rambling,” I pointed out, waiting for her to realize it. Ihatedwhen people felt the need to fill space with nonsensicaltalk. Couldn’t we all just remain silent around one another and enjoy the quiet between two consenting human beings?
“Rude,” she replied, turning back to her work with a huff. “I should have painted a unicorn on your ass.”
“I dare you to try.”
I watched in awe as she set herself back to work, my black-speckled space landscape turning to a veritable Van Gogh as planets, shooting stars, and even whole galaxies came to life beneath the bristles of her brushes. Shapes became whole scenes, and before I could blink, she was zeroing in on my cock, of all places.
And it stood at impressive attention in anticipation of being touched.
She stopped to admire it for a moment, dragging the handle of her brush along the length to tease me, perhaps, as she lifted it and shifted it around, perhaps planning her approach or her art.
“Going to turn it into a spaceship?” I deadpanned, hoping she didn’t hear the crack in my voice as her brush was replaced by her fingers, holding my cock where she wanted it so she could apply paint to it. “Hellfire, woman, maybe warn a man first.”
“I thought you were watching,” she mumbled absently, her eyes focused on the task at hand. “And no, I’m not making it a spaceship.”
She wasn’t lying, either. The length of my cock disappeared beneath paint, becoming, of all things, a shooting star, from the looks of it. Like a sparkler in the night, it exploded out, showers of sparks trailing down the side of my shaft from the comet trail. She turned me around, admiring her work close-up as I struggled to contain my excitement at being ogled.
Fuck, but being an exhibitionist was hard work sometimes.
I didn’t need recognition for my tasks in the military. I knew they’d likely get me killed, or worse, so I kept them to myself. But when I discovered this little kink, it was all I could do tofind healthy, safe ways to entertain the urges it came with. My therapist might say it stemmed from a life living in my older brother’s shadow, or perhaps from the need to be seen that I lacked growing up. Perhaps it was a knee-jerk reaction from the military and the anonymity.
She was a smart one, that therapist of mine. Too smart sometimes.
“There,” she said finally, straightening atop her tall heels. “All finished.”
Her slender hand wrapped around mine and led me to a full-length mirror, angled at two hinges to reflect all sides of me. It was then I saw the full measure of the art she’d turned me into.
“Wow,” I breathed, twisting this way and that to really take it all in. “This is amazing work.”You should be painting for exhibits, not for a sex club.“How long have you been painting?”
“A long time,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes falling to the floor by her feet. “Do you like it?”
I nodded earnestly, smiling genuinely for what felt like the first time in a long time. “I do. It’s brilliant work.”
Her tentative smile felt forced, like she didn’t quite know whether or not to believe me. “Thank you.” Her brushes were discarded in a nearby bin of water to soak as the crowd clamored for her attention now that she’d finished with me. “You’re always welcome back to participate again; you’ve got great muscle definition, and you’re a dream canvas.”
I wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or not. “Thank you, I think.” The paint pulled in a few spots, but otherwise, it was like I was wearing nothing but air, the feeling very much foreign and familiar at the same time. “This was an interesting experience.”
The bridge of her nose crinkled as I reached up to wipe away a speck of black paint there. I found myself wanting to make herdo it again, but unfortunately, the paint had all come away with a single swipe.
“When do you work again?” I asked quietly, hesitantly, as if she might scurry away like a frightened bunny if I came on too strong. All I knew was that I wanted to see this girl again, and if that meant I had to subject myself to another round of body painting, then so be it.
“I’m here on Thursdays and Sundays every week.” Her eyes danced with mirth and mischief, and for a split second, it was like looking into my past, at a girl I’d left in my memories from another life. Innocence. Patience. Excitement. Untainted by the horrors of this world.
Trinity McCoy.
A girl I’d give anything to see again. A girl I could have nothing to do with.
My dead best friend’s sister.
“I’ll be back,” I told her quietly, with a smile and a wink. I hoped she believed me.
