Page 92 of The Art of Being Merry
“Perhaps I should have asked for a prepayment.” I squeeze her ass, but it only serves to turn me on.
“You’ll be well compensated, don’t you worry. If there are no further questions, I should get started. We’re down to five and a half hours.” She wiggles out of my hold and grabs a brush and a container of red paint from her art table. With the brush poised above my shoulder, she states, “Hopefully you’re not too ticklish.”
“You should be good.”
The first brush stroke glides over my skin like a feather, light and soft. She’s gentle with her actions, the brush barely touching my shoulder. Her face is set in determination, yet there’s an effortlessness to it.
“Are you going to stare at me the entire time I’m painting?” she asks with a huff, her movements not ceasing.
“Where else do you want me to look? I’m not allowed to look down at what you’re doing.”
“It’s creepy.”
“Want me to close my eyes?”
“Preferably, yes.”
She’s serious, so I settle a little more comfortably on the stool, careful to keep my torso upright. I close my eyes, and in doing so, heighten my other senses. This close to her, her coconut aroma tickles my nostrils, stronger than the paint she uses. The room’s quiet, other than her humming under her breath and her breathing, and I focus on every breath she takes, in and out, as it lulls me into an almost meditative state. Brushes and sponges slide over my body, the paint smooth on my skin. I can’t wait to see what masterpiece she’s creating.
As she works, thoughts of her swirl through my mind. I’m so lost in my head, it seems like no time passes when she declares, “All done.”
My eyes fly open, soaking up Clementine, who stands in front of the stool, eyeing her handiwork. Flecks of paint dot her cheeks, arms, and fingernails.
“Not perfect, but for my first attempt, I’d say not half bad.” I try to peer down, but her thumb tips my chin back up. “Nope. First look is in the mirror.” She holds out her hands, and when Iplace mine in them, she attempts to pull me up. Much to her chagrin, I don’t budge.
I chuckle. “I can stand on my own.” Demonstrating, I rise from the stool, shaking out each leg one at a time. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but they’re a little stiff. My torso, too, from sitting ramrod straight, not to mention the paint inked all over it.
“How does it feel? Is it weird?” She nibbles the skin around her thumbnail, waiting expectantly for my response.
“The skin’s a little taut, but not uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want it on my skin for days. I’d be afraid to scratch an itch and ruin it.”
“You can shower as soon as you check it out. Well, as soon as I take a few pictures.” I raise a brow. She didn’t mention she’d be capturing her work. “For me only. So if I do it again, I can critique it and then compare it to the others. And I can cut your head off. No one will have a clue who it is.”
“Exactly what every man wants to hear,” I deadpan. Her cheeks tinge pink, not a full flush, but my comment got to her. “Can I finally look at it now?”
“Oh, yeah.” She pulls a full-length mirror out of a closet and rests it against the wall. She doesn’t move away from standing in front of it. “First, thank you for being my test subject. Second, if you hate it, you can wash it off immediately after I take pictures.”
It’s rare to see her nervous. It’s adorable. I wonder what else would put her in this state. Something in the bedroom? I can’t wait to test out ideas when they come to me.
With my arm, I push her out of the way so I can see what she’s done. And when I see it, I can’t help but chuckle. “Seriously? Of all the things you could have chosen, you chose this?”
“A little inside joke. But other than who it is, what do you think? Be honest. I always need practice in getting used to criticism.”
My eyes survey my torso.
The red “coat.”
The black buttons.
The white trim.
If I didn’t know it was paint, I might think it was real. It’s that good.
I glimpse my back, where it’s also covered in red paint for the full effect.
“It’s amazing, Clementine. The detail, the way it’s hard to tell it’s paint, the lines. Damn, girl. You’re so talented.”
My compliments make her full-on blush. “You think so?”
