My name is Kellan, and I moved to a small coastal town, Whitney Crest. I needed a change, and I swear it called to me. As if it said, you've fucked around long enough, get your ass home. The funny thing is, I'd never lived there before. I was tired of the big city. It could go bite itself in the ass. Tired of the traffic, tired of pavement. Tired of trying to sleep in a bed I once shared. I needed a new lifestyle. I was throwing in the towel, throwing it in the face of the crowded subways, the litter, the noise, and the grand art galleries; where it wasn't about craft, it was about money—and who you swill cocktails with. Did I mention I was an artist? Or tried to be.

Long, enduring bike rides told me it was time to go. I pounded my body into a machine on that bike, and one day, right in the middle of Crawford Park, I had a vision. Whitney Crest, a town I had once been through as a child. It was a peaceful place, forgotten in time. At night, all houses lit up like a string of holiday lights, dotting the valley and dispersing through the nearby hills. They had a good main drag, a little touristy, but with quaint coffee shops, a bait and tackle shop, a bookstore, and art galleries of their own.

I moved into a small rental and set up shop. I paint pictures. My subject matter can be a little dangerous, usually fantasy mixed with soft-core. People doing various things in various locations, scantily clad, sexy, erotic—and there had to be a dragon. Always a dragon somewhere, waiting. My grand plan was to paint a bunch of pictures, meanwhile, talk to one of the galleries in town and see if I can have a show.

About a month later, I finished three paintings and was about to lose my mind. If you turn away from the world for too long... it may turn away from you. My Aunt Holly used to say, "get in your car and let the road blow the load off." After all, it had taken me to Whitney Crest.

There was a group art show at one of the galleries off the drag, Salon Par La Mer. This would be a good thing, go mingle, enjoy some art, maybe meet some fellow artists. Blow some load off.

Inside the gallery, the first stop is always the bar. They had a long table with a white tablecloth curated by a woman offering wine in a box.

"I don't think I've seen you before."

There was a slight gravel to her voice.

"I'm Barb."

She wore make-up a little heavier than some, particularly striking was the turquoise eye shadow and pink lipstick. A bit like some of the colorful fishing lures I'd seen in the bait shop. She had sandy blond hair and wore animal print leggings—and she looked at me like I was bait in her shop.

She clutched a cup as if preparing for the next customer. The lipstick ghost on the clear plastic told me differently.

"I'm new in town My name is Kellan."

She raised an eyebrow and extended her hand; palm down, placing it in mine.

"Charmed to meet you."

She had seen the big city too. The fake city. I smirked at her wiles, took her hand, and kissed the top of it.

"You cad," she giggled. "You best be off, or people will talk."

Then she winked slowly, like a Venus flytrap closing. She was a hard-boiled egg still endowed with a surprisingly healthy, albeit, painted, outer shell. But it was time to do what I came to do. Look at the artwork, look at all the pictures. Even the ones I didn't care for. Act like you're interested before moving on. You never know when the artist is watching your reaction. I knew this firsthand. I knew how a scowl could erase three weeks of work and hope.

Some of it was astounding, one piece in particular. A big landscape. In the foreground, a path leading into a forest, surrounded by trees. Fall leaves nestled on the ground, and a crooked broomstick lay within. The detail was incredible. "Was this a local artist?" I thought. I leaned in closer, looking for brush strokes.

Suddenly a tug on the back of my shirt. I whipped around and there was a woman. A little older than me, with long curly hair, and eyes that sparkled like the lights on the hill.

"It's very pretty, isn't it?" she said.

"Yes. As an artist, I can enjoy the detail and the colors." I was trying to impress her.

"You're an artist?"

"Well, I tell myself I am."

She smiled, and I continued. "I moved into town about a month ago. I'm new here."

She looked at me silently, eyes scintillating, expecting more.

"Oh! I'm sorry, my name is Kellan."

"I'm Analise, and you are admiring my art."

There was something about her. It was very inviting. The faintest of worry lines ran up her forehead. Lips pursed in a smile as pinned by dimples; looking like she held something in, maybe a secret, something that provoked that twinkle in her eyes.

"You are incredible. I mean, I, your art is incredible. I would love to get lost in your forest."

She smirked.

"OK, that sounded weir…"

"No. I would love to as well. That's why I painted it." She sensed my awkwardness and continued. "What subjects do you paint?"

I didn't know how she would react to my work, being kinda erotic. "I, paint, er, ah, people in fantasy-type settings."

"Could I see?" She glowed.

I inched the phone from my back pocket, trying to hide my reluctance. What if she was some church lady? I scrolled through the photo app, hoping to avoid any erotic nude paintings. She looked over my shoulder and I could feel the warmth of her body and smelled the scent of sandalwood.

"I like you," she said.

"Um ah, what? I…"

She laughed, "I meant, you are soooo nice. You don't even know me, and you are willing to share your artwork."

"I don't mind." I swallowed and continued playing Russian roulette with my phone gallery. Finally, my finger landed. "There, I did this."

It was a painting of a woman with a dragon. She rode the beast in a sensual manner—but at least she wasn't totally naked.

"I like that! You've really captured her motion, the way she rides... "

Frankly, it looked like she was humping a pillow. Analise was being kind.

She leaned in closer, and her hair brushed against my shoulder. Damn, something was going on here. I felt something stirring, a weird excitement. I secretly wished that I was that dragon and she was the rider. No! Not here, not now. Hormones down. She's a very nice woman, probably married—and why would she want anything to do with me?

"What are you doing Wednesday night?"

I almost choked. "I don't know – painting? I think?"

"I run an art group once a week. It's just a bunch of us old crones," she smiled. "But it's fun, would you like to join us?"

"Yes, I would."

"Actually, some of us are here tonight. It would sure be nice to have some new blood in the group."

She continued and told me she had started a meet-up for painters a few years back, and it was fine at first, till weird people started showing up. Now she runs a small get-together for art friends only, every Wednesday.

How could I say no? Analise is not what I would call a crone. Maybe ten years difference? It didn't matter. I was already hooked.

She reached down and grabbed my hand. "We are artists, and it's not easy to find people that understand us. We have to stick together."

I smiled. I smiled at the sudden familiarity I felt. "Your work is beautiful, and I mean that, sincerely."

She looked down, almost shy, and whispered, "thank you. Tell me more about you?"

"Me? I used to live in the city. I had a girlfriend and a job, and I liked to paint. I still have a job, and I like to paint, but I'm not sure about my girlfriend, she moves around."

"I noticed you had a few erotic pieces, you skipped through them quickly."

"Ah-ha!" I laughed uneasily. "Ah, yes. I did."

"That's OK. I like your style, I have a few of those too." She added.

"You do?" When I looked at the painting on the wall, I could only imagine what her personal paintings must look like.

"Yes, maybe I could show you sometime?"

Did she just say that? "I would love to see more of your work."

"OK, well... I'll see you Wednesday night? I know the girls will be happy to have a new artist around... and—a man, at that," she said in a mock forbidden voice, then giggled.

"I'll be there."

She pushed her card into my hand. "And don't forget to bring your sketchbook."

She disappeared into the crowd. With a short blazer, blue jeans, and a long scarf that fluttered against her butt as she walked away. I was enamored. She was beautiful. Her free spirit had picked me up and taken me along. I looked down at her card, Analise Marchel, artist, market analyst, and therapist: Commissions open, data verified and couch available. At the bottom: her email, her phone number, and her address written on the back.

I walked the gallery some more, hoping to see her again. I didn't. I remember she said some of her friends were here tonight. I looked around, not knowing a soul. I felt alone. That meant it was time for another glass of wine.

"You're back again?" Barb greeted.

"Oh, you remember me?"

"I do. You're the new guy in town, and you don't know anyone."

I remembered her cup was fuller when I saw her last. "Not anymore. I just met an artist."

"Weird that would happen at an art gallery."

I laughed. "No, that's not what I meant."

"I know, naughty boy. I saw Analise talking to you. She runs the art group in town. And, and, can I tell you a secret?" She whispered.

"Um... I guess?" I leaned in.

"Come closer."

I moved closer.

"You're super cute, sugar." Then she licked my ear.

I jumped back, not out of fear, out of unexpected ear licking.

"Sorry, I'm a little tipsy. Take this drink, it's on me."

"It's OK, I wasn't expecting that." I laughed nervously and took the cup, looking for the exit from her personal space.

"You liked it, right?" she laughed.

"Thank you for the drink... and the wet ear." I excused myself and went to the far wall.

Looking at a wall of paintings was a great exercise. Walking sideways from picture to picture, the rest of the room was doing the same. Like a strange lateral dance. Admire the art, count to five, step to the left. The art gallery shuffle. During which I saw watercolor flowers, oil windmills, pastel male nudes with wild animals, and cityscapes, and more watercolor flowers. Yawn. It was time to leave.

The rain outside pelted my back as I walked home. I was excited thinking about the art group. More and more, it seemed like a good thing; a group to interact with and show my work. Also, I wanted to learn more about this mysterious woman. Her painting was mesmerizing.

That's the thing about art. Pay attention. A clever artist is telling you a story. It's about the things you see, and the things you don't. It's about light and shadow. It's about the feeling you get when you look at someone's work—and does that image take you somewhere? Does it make you feel something? It's about their world, their journey... and how far will you pursue? As my aunt used to say, "if you're going to follow someone's trail, be sure they have a sense of direction."

I had always kept myself in shape. Keep the mind active and the body toned. Mantra. I had a nice male physique, and it was soaked from the weather. A nice hot shower was called for, then one thing led to another. Thoughts of the strange woman, Analise... combined with alcohol, and well—I was already touching myself. It doesn't take much. She was a market analyst? She was a therapist? For what? It didn't matter, I would lie on her couch anytime. I felt my cock growing hard in my hands as the soap frothed down my body. I was letting my fantasies get the better of me. I pictured her. Her hands slid down my tight abs, then unzipped my jeans. I pulled her sweater off; she had gorgeous tits. Her nipples hardened in the blue of the moonlight; that would pour in from the window of her in-home/therapy office—of my fantasy.

My hands were fast, and my breathing heavy. I shot the tiled wall.

"Fuck... I shouldn't have done that." I shouldn't have thought of her like that. I'm sure her husband wouldn't appreciate it either. She's probably a very kind woman and doesn't need to be part of my twisted fantasies. I blamed the alcohol and that damn woman who licked my ear.

............................................................................................

Wednesday night, it was drizzling, and the salty sea danced on the wind. I had my sketchbook—my companion in hand. My jeans were snug, and I wore a comfortable dress shirt. A note on the front porch said: Art group, go around to the side of the house, in basement, behind cadmium red door. I walked around, then down a small concrete landing, and cautiously pushed open the wooden door. To my surprise, it opened on its own and nearly sucked me in.

Analise had opened it, then pulled me inside a big room with wall-to-wall carpet and a fireplace. There was a platform in the front of the room, and various paintings plastered the walls. The low-hung ceiling reminded me of a dungeon—a quaint one.

"Hi, Kellan," she smiled wide. "I'm so glad you came. Sorry, I was watching for you. I didn't mean to startle you."

"I thought the door was taking me for a ride."

"I like to keep an eye on the street. Sometimes the neighbors get nosy, and it's not every day that I invite a strange man into my basement."

She was lovely, a vision in black leggings and a thin pullover sweater.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I'm good, A few of the other gals are already here, let me introduce you."

She grabbed my hand. It was warm and gentle and ended at a drawing table in the corner.

"This is Dealla. She works in watercolors."

Dealla was cute, short, with a sheepish smirk and placid eyes that lurked under long red bangs.

"Hi, Kellan. I saw you at Salon Par La Mer a few days ago."

"I'm sorry? I didn't see you."

"It's OK. You looked really busy, I didn't want to interrupt."

"You could have. After Analise left, I had no one to talk to."

She smiled with the joy of a ten-year-old that had her braces recently removed. "I will talk to you next time. I promise Kellan."

"You better. I mean, how many pictures of watercolor flowers can a person look at?"

"Those were mine."

"They were great. I felt lost in a field of beautiful blossoms." God, I'm a dick. "I was overwhelmed by the beauty. I needed a guide, by the artist, to, ah, show me the way."

She mulled, measuring my words, my intent—then mixed them gently.

"I would have given you a tour," she grinned. "Yeah, I do a lot of flowers. It's my thing."

She had a very charming, mousy way about her.

"Next time, introduce me to your work."

"Kellan?" Dealla tugged my shirt.

"Yes?"

"If you need anything, come to me."

"I, ah, will. Thank you." I didn't know what to make of that.

Analise pulled me away, till we stopped by the wine cooler.

"Sorry, she's a little protective."

"She seems sweet."

"She can be very determined when she wants to be."

I looked around and saw scattered antiques and a tan leather couch. Lots of artwork that hung like a hundred windows to different worlds. I felt her thigh touching mine, and I drew closer.

"I love what you've done here, it's very rustic and cozy... and the fireplace is so nice."

Analise pointed. "There's a bathroom through the door down the hall, and a small bedroom, a kitchenette over there behind the shutters, and I see we've landed by the wine fridge. Let's have a drink?"

"Yes, please." Thank you for inviting me tonight."

She pulled out a bottle from a local vintner and wrestled with the corkscrew. "I see my clients down here."

I pretended I hadn't seen therapist on her card. "What do you do?"

"I'm a life-coach counselor, and I dabble in a few other things." She poured two glasses. "A little of this and that, some white magic..."

White magic? I didn't know how to respond.

"Did I make you nervous?"

"No, uh I…"

She laughed, "it's nothing wild, some herbs and oils, incense, some private healing techniques... you know—sacrifice a few virgins here and there."

"Wha…?"

"I was kidding!"

"I knew that."

"I also research corporate strategies. I'm a market analyst. Oh, yes, and I like to paint it helps me relax."

I think I stepped into a rabbit hole, somewhere between "personal healing techniques," "white magic," and "market analysis." But, hell, if I was going to step into a hole, at least I was in good company.

I noticed a large gemstone around her neck, obelisk-shaped. "Amber stone?"

"Yes! The soul of the tiger." She nodded.

"It's supposed to keep travelers safe."

"Right! How did you know that?"

"I studied ancient cultural beliefs in school."

"You can touch it if you like?"

Before I could answer, she took my hand and placed it over her chest to enclose the gem.

"Do you feel it?"

I felt her chest. "Yes, I feel it."

"It's warm to your touch. It's a good sign. You know, they say Amber can be used to call a twin soul."

I wanted to leave my hand on her chest. She moved closer and my arm settled between her breasts.

"Now can you feel the warmth better?"

I felt myself blushing, "I do."

"It likes you too. I can feel it." She slipped her hand over mine.

Was she really this friendly? Was she hitting on me? Where was her husband? Was Dealla seeing this, too? I didn't care, was the truth. Being this close to her, and the warmth of her bosom was elating.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Startled, we turned to look. Analise released my hand.

"Hey everyone, let's get the party started!" To my surprise, it was Barb from the gallery wine table.

"Oh shit," Analise whispered. "You might need this more than I," she giggled and slipped the necklace from around her neck. "Here, put this in your pocket."

"I can't. I…"

"You're not going to keep it, you're only borrowing it. Besides, it likes you."

I slipped the necklace into my jeans.

"Hi, there sweetie!" Barb came up and put her arm around me.

Analise looked at me and winked. Then walked off.

"Oh, shit," I was thinking, "I didn't know you were an artist too?"

"Of course, I am sugar. I volunteered to work the bar, it gets me a month off rent at the gallery."

"Why didn't you tell me you were an artist?"

"Because I wanted to watch your face when you looked at my work. Everyone knows that. Can you guess which ones were mine?"

"The pastel male nudes?" She was wearing pastel animal print gym leggings and a white sheer top.

"You got it, sweetheart!" she laughed to the room.

Something told me she knew I would be here. She was a little wild, but also funny. Suddenly, I felt a phantom pain; my ear felt wet.

"Can I get some wine? And get some more for the hot young man!" she hollered.

Suddenly, I was pulled away, hard, and back to Analise.

"Oh my god... thank you for saving me," I whispered.

"She comes off a bit obnoxious, but she's alright. Now, you see that slender blonde over there? That's Carly. She's like a magical mechanic. She can fix anything. If you saw paintings of windmills, at the gallery? Those were hers."

I watched Carly as Analise spoke. Tall and willowy with hair from a box that laureled her face and flowed down her shoulders. She pranced in the middle of the room holding an extra-large cell phone and wearing a frilly dress.

"Why don't you go introduce yourself? You know you want to." Analise teased.

I left the nest and walked up to her, sticking my hand out to shake.

"Hi, I'm the new guy. Kellan."

"Hi new guy, I'm Carly." She spoke with a New York accent, switching her club phone hand with her regular one and shaking vigorously.

"You're not from here, are you?"

"And neither are you. You see this phone? It's a big motherfucker. What am I supposed to do with this thing?"

"I saw your windmill paintings. They are beautiful."

"I just bought this,"—waving the device—"bigger is better, that's what they say. But then you get it and you have to change your lifestyle to accommodate it. You know what I mean?"

"Same way with dogs."

"You know, I paint them windmills totally open at first. All the gears, the wind-shaft, the brake wheel. All kinds of stuff, then I cover it, and paint the walls."

She didn't talk a damn thing about how she looked. Princess on the outside, a mechanic on the inside.

"So, you are part of this group also?" I asked.

"Ya, I like to paint, it's like holding a big wrench. Grew up in a machinist shop, my pop was an engineer. I needed a change, and this little town would let me sleep, fuck, paint and fix shit without gettin' in my bizness. You know what I'm saying? Hey, are you staying here?"

I laughed, "yes, I'm staying. I like this town too. I was through here once when I was a kid, and never forgot this place."

Analise walked into our conversation. "Hi, Carly."

"Hi, Analise."

"I'm glad you could make it tonight."

Carly looked at me, "I'm glad I could make it too. Oh? What's the theme tonight?"

"We are sketching."

"Probably safer."

I wasn't sure what she meant. Safer than...?

"She means," as if Analise read my mind, "last time we painted, we tried an airbrush on a compressor for the first time."

"Alcohol and air compressors, they just don't mix," Carly laughed.

"You got Radio-Flyer Red all over my chest!"

"You got Chartreuse in my hair! It took a week!"

"Oh! And oh my god, remember Dealla? She had to walk around with orange all over her butt. And that was after she took her pants off!" Analise cackled with a screech that cut through the basement.

Somewhere, Dealla was quietly blushing.

Barb over-heard the conversation. "Hey, I was up for some nude body painting!" she called across the room. "I wanted cheetah skin!"

More like cougar skin, I was thinking.

"OK, I think everyone is here that's coming." Analise looked at her watch. "Why don't we all get comfortable on the floor."

The carpet was unexpectedly soft, and Dealla sat close to me. She didn't say a word, but it felt like she was trying to protect me. Strange, but I didn't mind.

"So, class, as you can see we have a new member," Analise began. "Please welcome Kellan. He does fantasy art and things with dragons. I probably could have said that better."

"Oooh, I would have liked dragon skin too. Watch me blow some hot fire." Barb spoke to her drink.

I was welcomed to the class, and the lesson started. Analise set out some fruit and a jug on the small platform in the front of the room and instructed us to take out our sketch pads and start drawing. This was mind-blowing. Last week I had been sitting in my apartment alone, painting. Now, a carpeted floor... with friendly ladies, drawing. It paid to get out once in a while. Thank you, Aunt Holly.

"How's yours coming?" Dealla asked quietly.

"This is good exercise." I peeked at her drawing. "You're looking good."

Carly turned around. "Why are round things so hard? I get it, it's fruit, but…"

"Practice your curves. Wrist steady, pivot your hand." Analise preached.

"Kellan pivots nicely," Dealla commented.

Analise looked over at Barb, who wasn't sketching anything on the platform. She was sketching a nude man.

"Barb, that is not fruit."

"I know. I'm preparing for my next painting."

"You can do that anytime."

"Pears are boring. Besides, this kinda looks like a cucumber," pointing to the male anatomy on her picture.

"How are we supposed to show Kellan that we are a serious art class if you're doing your own thing?"

"That's me, baby," Barb smiled with a big glittery pink lasso around her mouth.

"This is what happened last time," Dealla whispered to me.

Analise stood up. "Very well. Since some of our class has gone rogue, perhaps we have other ideas?"

"It's hot in here, I'd like to take some clothes off."

"Barb!" Carly chuckled.

"Don't tell me you're not thinking the same East Coast."

For the next forty-five minutes this continued, it was fun, it was rowdy; we did a lot of sketching and had a few glasses of wine. I felt right at home, oddly. Dealla scooted closer to me, and Analise watched over my shoulder. I liked having her near.

By then it was already eleven pm and class was over. Barb went off down the hall to the bathroom. Dealla threw on her puffer coat, then walked up to me.

"I hope you stay with us." Her eyes twinkled like a pixie.

"I think I will."

A smile poured across her face, and she hugged me. She felt good, and... puffy.

"It's nice having you around." She went to grab her purse.

Carly put her denim coat on and came over to hug me as well.

"Goodnight, Kellan-new-in-town, it was nice tawking with you. I hope you crash here, permanently." She turned and walked toward the door, trying to shove her cell phone into an invisible pocket. "Damn't."

Then, I heard Barb call my name from somewhere behind the hallway door. I turned and walked over, opening the door, but she wasn't there. Strange, I started walking down the hall, and the door closed behind me.

"Kellan."

There was her voice again.

"Barb?"

The bathroom door sprang open and there she was. She had removed her bra, and her nipples pierced through the sheer fabric of her shirt.

"I just wanted to say hi to you, personally."

She edged closer to me.

"I'm very attracted to you, you know." She put her chest against mine and continued, "if you ever wanted to come over to my place sometime, I would make it worth your while."

"I…"

"OK, Yessss... I'm married, but my husband, that old goat, he wouldn't care. I could hump your dreamy tush right in front of him. Oh, by the way... no bra."

She pulled her shirt up to show me. I was speechless. Suddenly the hallway door opened. It was Dealla, in her big puffy coat, plaid yoga pants, and a bone to pick.

"Barb! What are you doing!" Dealla hollered while coming toward us.

"Ohhhh pleeaaase, I was only trying to have some fun."

Her nipples dragged across my chest as Dealla pulled her away.

"Don't tell me you're not thinking the same thing. Little one."

Dealla squeezed between me and the cougar. She was like a bulldog wearing an inflatable pool toy.

"You can't go around putting your tits on people!" She barked, as her butt pushed against my jeans.

"What's going on here?!"

I turned to see Analise come down the hall now, chagrined.

"She was hitting on Kellan, with her boobs," Dealla reported.

"Oh, Barb..." Analise glared. "I'm so sorry Kellan. Perhaps Barb would like to put her bra back on?"

"Kellan is an adult. I was offering to model, but needed to give him a sneak peek – to help him prepare."

"Barb, I guess I got you all wrong," Analise flippantly replied. "Now if you would put your saintly rack back in the corral."

Barb walked back into the bathroom.

Dealla spun around like a fluffy blanket. "Are you alright Kellan?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Tonight has been an adventure."

"A fun adventure sugar. You're welcome!" Barb's voice called from behind the door. "That offer is still good you know!"

Dealla's eyes rolled back into her head.

Analise walked up to us, "Thank you Dealla."

"You're welcome," she whispered. "I knew she would try to hit on him."

"How did you know?" I asked.

"Because we know Barb," Analise answered.

"Because..."Then Dealla stopped.

"Because?" I questioned.

"Because," she hesitated again, "you're cute." She excused herself quickly and bee-lined down the hall.

Analise looked at me with a big tender heart, "oh my god... Kellan. You must think…"

All I could think about was her. "No... No really, it's OK. This has been a pleasantly strange evening. Believe me, it was much better than painting by myself."

"I told you he wanted to see my tits!" She yelled again.

"Barbara Anne Hedger! Hurry up! You are leaving!" Analise shouted, then motioned me back down the hall and into the kitchenette.

"I need to clean up. But, I wanted to apologize again, for this evening. I try to keep the class on track…"

"You don't need to apologize, I had a good time."

"Does this mean, you'll come back?"

"I will."

She smiled and looked into my eyes. They rested on me for a few moments and I saw the twinkle from the art gallery.

"Oh! I wanted to show you something!"

"What? Yes?"

"Remember the other night, I told you I painted some ah, risque paintings?"

"Yes, I do."

"Would you like to see them?"

"Sure!"

"We need to wait for Barb to leave first," she whispered.

"Good night everyone!"

The sound of the door creaked open and quickly slammed behind Barb. Analise raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Well now. OK. Follow me." She giggled as she raced down the hall to the small bedroom.

I couldn't believe I was following this strange beautiful woman, down a hall, into a bedroom, so she could show me naughty paintings. What universe had I fallen into?

She stood in front of a dresser and turned toward me. "I didn't want to show you in front of the other gals. Promise me you will not tell anyone about this."

"I promise."

Suddenly, the noise of furniture moving upstairs rumbled through the ceiling.

"Oh shoot, that's Henry." Her face turned down.

"Henry?"

"My husband. It's OK. He knows we are doing art. It's Wednesday night—art night. I also locked the basement door," she said quietly.

She bent down and opened the drawer with a small key and pulled out a painting of a female in bed. She set it on the dresser. It was ravishing. The detail, the color, the woman was draped strategically in a red velvet cloth. She was beautiful, the skin tones reflected the scarlet fabric... and the woman bore a very striking resemblance to Analise.

"This is amazing."

"Thanks, Kellan," she said sheepishly while pulling another one out and setting it on the dresser.

Same woman, this time the red fabric was pulled back, revealing her naked thighs. Fuck she was hot.

"Oh my god, Analise you are beautiful. I mean! I mean, the painting is beautiful!"

She leaned against me, and I continued blathering.

"I could look at this all night long. Wait, I shouldn't have said…"

"No," she smiled. "No, it's OK, I don't mind hearing that. Um, Kellan? This might be weird, but, if you want to touch the painting you can?"

I did. My finger traced her bare shoulders, then down to her thighs.

"Your finger tells me a lot."

"It's the artist, I followed your curves—her! Curves! I meant."

"It's fine silly. It is me! Like you didn't know." She winked.

She glanced down at the open drawer and froze for a moment. "There's another one..."

"There is?"

"Shhh, I wasn't going to show you, or anybody... my husband doesn't even know about these. But your words... they are so generous, and..."

"And?"

"And I know you like my work..."

I liked more than that.

"I really shouldn't show you." She struggled.

"It's art, we are artists, remember? I want to see. Please show me."

"Pinky swear to me." She gave me the serious eyes."

"I pinky swear."

"Pinky swear to me like it's your life."

"Oh my god, this is real." I laughed. "You're going deep."

She giggled. "I have to!"

"Analise, I promise. I will tell no one, what I might see, if you ever show me."

She silently pulled the other painting out of the bottom drawer and gave it to me.

My mouth dropped open. She closed it for me.

It was Analise. Completely naked on the bed, on all fours, while a masked man pushed his long cock inside her. My heart raced out of my chest. I saw clothes scattered in the room, the man wore a black masquerade mask, and a witch's hat lay on the bed beside her. My mouth dropped open again, she closed it for me, again. I was in awe and getting horny.

"Oh my god, I knew I shouldn't have shown you that. You haven't said a word."

"I... I, You did this?"

She looked down. "I did."

"I'm... speechless."

"I can put it away…"

"No! I ah, I... want to look at you, I mean, it; the painting, I meant. "

She placed her hand over mine and didn't say a word. Her lips pursed in a smile, tugging the worry lines. I didn't want to break the silence. I wasn't sure where this was going; in this isolated bedroom, with an enchanting woman, riding the edge of forbidden. I was staying in this moment.

"I don't know If I should say this or not…"

"Please do." She looked up at me.

"I... ah... Analise, you're beautiful…"

Then another piece of furniture moved upstairs. It turned my stomach inside out.

"We should go." She mouthed.

"You're right. It's late."

She turned to me slowly, her hands slid around my back, pulling me into a deep embrace. "I need to hold you."

I didn't want her to let go. It was a deep sensual cuddle that couldn't last long enough. If you find something good you're supposed to hold on to it, on the other hand, if you love something—you're supposed to set it free. I hate when parables argued. I didn't want to set her free. I smelled her sandalwood perfume and tasted her hair in my mouth.

"I'm sorry, I—I wanted to thank you." She pulled away. "I didn't mean to attach myself to your body like that..."

"You can hug me anytime Analise."

Then she looked down at my pants and stopped.

I looked as well. "Shit..."

She burst out in laughter. "I thought I felt something hard down there."

"I'm sorry!" I didn't want to tell her the truth. I fished into my pocket, pulled out the amber necklace, and handed it back to her.

"The soul of the tiger... you did keep it warm."

"Oh, I'm sure it's pretty hot by now."

She put it back on around her neck. Then turned and looked at me seriously again. "You better go."

I turned to leave.

"Wait! Close your eyes."

Now, what? I closed my eyes.

I felt her hands on my shoulders and she leaned up to whisper. "Thank you for coming tonight and putting up with us crazy old women." She moved in closer. "And thank you for liking my paintings. It will be our secret, OK?"

"Yes," I whispered back.

"Good. I have another secret to share."

"What?"

"You make me wet."

I felt a quick kiss on my lips and she rushed out of the room.

............................................

All night in bed, I poured through the day's events. I wanted to see Analise again, I wanted to see them again. Even silly Barb and her erect nipples. Analise was mysterious, funny, quirky, and incredibly sexy. She had lent me her gemstone. I wanted to be with her, I wanted to fuck her—but, her husband though... Crap. I thought of the last painting she showed me, who was that masked man? I wished I was him. But some things she said, were kinda strange—and the witch's hat in the painting—and... and the way she held my hand to her chest.

I needed to get off. I was crazy horny. I touched myself beneath the sheets. I was as hard as a rock. I arched back and forth in my hands, clenching, sliding, stroking up and down. The relief was heaven. I wished it was Analise doing it. I moaned. Thoughts of her voice in my ear, talking to me privately, telling me we can share secrets, and... fuck, telling me I made her wet? A moment later, was all it took. My breathing came unbalanced and heavy, I couldn't stop. I grunted and squeezed as cream spurted against the bed-sheet.

I shouldn't have done that. I told myself again. I rested for a moment, then smirked. Barb would have enjoyed seeing me put on that show. I continued stroking, rubbing the cum up and down my shaft for a few more minutes.

I couldn't wait till next Wednesday.