Finger Painting 101
by Neil Chatterton
Oh I saw you first.
Sitting there, a sidewalk café, under a beautiful blue sky, delicately sipping your coffee.
You looking anxious or excited, it was hard to tell as your eyes revealed nothing behind those sunglasses.
I knew that I needed to paint you. Completely.
There were awkward moments during our conversation; me stuttering as I explained the whole
‘artist thing’, you distracted, but interested too. My final ‘well’ hanging in the air between us. Did everything slow down around me, or was my focus solely on your lips, as you gently licked your tongue across them.
Me like an expectant child waiting for that birthday present, that was promised but never delivered.
Removing your glasses, you saw right through me, pierced me, not stopping for me to catch my breath as your nod of acceptance, sent shivers through my body, aching now in anticipation. Visual rewind, as I was 18 again, staring into those beautiful brown eyes, stomach churning, wanting it so badly, the expectation and anticipation matched only by your fucking hotness, as you delivered me into a place of Ecstasy and Fulfillment.
Back inside my loft, you stepped out of the shadows and sat down on that fur, the whiteness contrasting with your unblemished skin, you exuded a radiance that illuminated every space, like never before. Your beauty filled me, touched me, consumed me, as I filed away each moment, forever deep inside me.
I was majestic too. My nimble fingers plunging into the wetness of my pallet, each one conducting, dictating and orchestrating. Delicate strokes, working to soften the hardness beneath, replaced by feverish movements, as the canvas before me came alive with you. With each stroke you seemed to reach out to me, touch me and pull me closer,your intimate whispers urging me not to stop. My senses heightened as you stared at me, eyes locked, I wanted it forever, yet the moment was brief yet delicious.
When it was over, the need for a cigarette was overwhelming, something I could not resist, to be honest, didn’t want to resist. I was still wet, clothes clinging to my body, a moment I wanted to cherish and devour some more, as each drag enlightened me a little more.
I would never see you again. Something we both knew and accepted, no complications, no wrong numbers or bad email addresses.
The water cascaded over my body, giving me time to contemplate. To replay you as I shut my eyes , recalling each precious moment, each stroke upon that canvas, each breath we shared. Rivulets taking control now, each droplet seemed to be separate, cleansing a chosen pore on my skin, still tingling as your fragrance and sweat is expunged, without mercy or remorse, making me ready for tomorrow.
©Neil Chatterton 2011