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Painted

Lovers



by





Samantha Greyson



Painted Lovers

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.



Editor: Corey Lloyd

This book and all characters © Samantha Greyson



All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.



This book contains graphic depictions of sexual relations and is not for any person under eighteen years of age.



Also available by Samantha Greyson

After a horribly abusive first marriage, Erica married a man thirty years her senior who provides her the safety and security she once needed. Now in her mid-forties, she feels like a prisoner in her own home, married to a man who treats her more like a daughter than a lover.

Desperately craving physical passion in her life, she meets a faded rock n' roll star and throws caution to the wind, embarking on a torrid affair. Getting deeper and deeper with him, she finds herself torn between her security or a life with a man who gives her exactly what she needs. Can Erica find the inner courage to embrace what she truly desires or will she settle for a life without true love?





“What a mess,” I said out loud, to no one in particular.

I stood in the expansive attic of my renovated Victorian home, looking at the boxes and boxes of stuff my husband and I had accumulated over the past thirty years. We had owned this enormous house in the seaside resort town of Newport, Rhode Island for the past two years, filling the attic with stuff we weren’t using but thought we may need at some point. Six months ago, we’d opened it as a Bed & Breakfast and our business had really taken off.

Ever since college, I had been selling erotic and fantasy paintings and done very well with it over the years. I’d earned more than enough to send our kids to college and purchase this house outright. Today, I was looking for a particular piece of art I’d done about ten years ago that I thought a client might be interested in. The problem was I had no idea where I’d put it and we had so many boxes where it could have been hiding. I wished at that moment I had been better about labeling boxes.

I opened one box and found grammar school work from the kids. In another, there were books that I knew for sure I didn’t need any more. In the third box I opened, there were items that brought a big smile to my face. It was filled with old sketchbooks from college. That was where my artistic talent had really began to blossom and laid the ground work for my successful career. I flipped through the sketch books and saw the usual vase with flowers and bowls of fruit that all art students started with. It’s a learning experience on drawing shapes and drawing perspective and size.

It was in the third book though that I found a surprise, one I’d long forgotten about. It was full of nudes, both men and women, with two particular models of each sex dominating the later pages. Usually they were solo, but sometimes I’d had them pose together for me. I’d later taken many of these sketches and done some erotic paintings from them. Also in the sketch book was an envelope that contained a stack of nude Polaroid shots of my models. I flipped through and smiled, thinking back to the days when the photos were taken. There were even a few of me fully nude at my physical peak. Even though I’d take great care of myself over the years, I wished I still looked like that. I had been an avid runner and could do five or more miles six days a week. I stared at the girl in the photo and smiled to myself; I had kept my brown hair short in those days, my tummy was flat and muscular, my legs lean and long and my natural 34C breasts were firm with dime sized areolas. Don’t get me wrong, men still found me very attractive thirty some odd years later, but physically I was far from the girl I was back then; having a few kids does that to you.

I tried to remember why there were photos of me in the stack and then it hit me; it was my senior year; a time of sexual exploration and awakening in my life. The Polaroids I’d used as references when wanted to go back later to add details to my sketches or paintings. I sat down and looked at one particular picture of my college roommate Beth. A petite hard bodied natural blonde with small perky breasts and a raspy voice that guys loved, we’d had an amazing time in college. She was a party girl, but did fairly well in school and was a willing subject for my nude sketches. I thought back to those days in the mid-Eighties and again smiled. I had a wonderful life, but there were times I’d give it all up to go back to those carefree days.

Beth and I had gone to a fairly large state school in an old New England mill town. We’d come from different family backgrounds but had hit if off freshman year and decided to become roomies the following year. Things got very interesting for us though senior year when we met Nick, a fellow senior and future Naval officer. I looked through the photos and smiled, thinking of the sexual adventures we’d had together.

****

I sat in Advanced Drawing II class one gorgeous fall morning and daydreamed about a guy I’d seen walking through campus this morning. Tall, blonde and muscular, he smiled at me and said hi. I was determined to find out who he was.

“Are you going to do any work today, Catherine?” Professor Monroe asked.

I snapped out of my daydream and shook my head. “Sorry.”

She put her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. Most great artists like to daydream.”

I’d known Professor Monroe since freshman year and she’d always provided plenty of encouragement. This was probably the fourth or fifth time I’d taken one of her courses and I always learned a lot from her.

“We should talk after class,” she said. “I’d like to see how you’re progressing on your body sketches.”



After class ended, I waited for the other students to file out. I took my sketchbook out of my bag and opened it for the professor.

“I’ve been working on these in pencil,” I said.

Professor Monroe picked up the book and flipped through, nodding.

“Not bad, not bad at all. You’ve come pretty far since freshman year. Who are you using for models?” she asked.

“Mostly magazines.”

She shook her head. “That’s fine, but you need to find some actual models to really make your art come alive. You’ll see things with a live person you didn’t see in a photo.”

“I don’t really know anyone I could ask to pose nude for me.”

“What about other art students?”

“That’s kind of weird, no?”

She shrugged. “That’s how we used to do it back in the Sixties. You can take turns posing for each other.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Catherine, you’re a very talented artist. Your paintings are spectacular; so life like with an amazing energy to them. You can really tell when an artist was excited about the subject. Have you ever thought about selling any of your work?”

“Um, no, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I know some galleries that would probably be interested, especially if you can bring a bit more life to your nudes.”



After we finished, I packed up my things and left the classroom, thinking about what Professor Monroe had said. I would love to see my paintings in a gallery, but I wasn’t confident of their quality. The idea that I could do that though was very exciting.

Waiting outside for me was Beth, sunning herself on a bench.

“I thought I’d try to catch up with you for lunch,” she said.

“I am pretty hungry.”

“We ran six miles this morning, you should be.”

As we made our way through the courtyard between all the classroom buildings, we heard live music. Around the corner, there was a group of guys playing music acoustically. There was an upright bass player, a guy playing bongos and two guitar players, including the guy I’d been daydreaming about earlier. He strummed a guitar and sang ‘Hold Me Now,’ a popular recent song by The Thompson Twins. He had a really great voice and the band sounded very tight.

When the song ended, the small crowd watching them clapped and cheered. The guy spotted me and gave me a big bright smile.

“Hmmm, someone has a fan,” Beth said.

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him around. I think he’s in that Navy ROTC program because he wears a uniform sometimes.”

“Nothing wrong with a man in uniform,” I purred.

The band began playing another number. I would have loved to have stayed and listened some more, but I needed to eat something before my next class.

Beth and I grabbed our food from the crowded cafeteria and found seats.

“So how was drawing bowls of fruit and stuff class?” she asked with a chuckle.

“I moved past that freshman year,” I replied. “The prof looked at my body sketches after class and was impressed, but she said I needed to find some live models instead of magazines.”

“And here I thought those Playgirl and Playboy mags you had in the desk were for fun.”

“You found those?”

“I wasn’t snooping; you left them out one day. Did you see that one guy with the long hair in Playgirl with the giant dick? I’d love to run into him.”

I just shook my head. I sometimes thought half the stuff that came out of her mouth was just for shock value.

She shrugged. “A girl’s gotta' know what she likes. Meanwhile, when was the last time you even went on a date?”

It had actually been a while. I had a boyfriend for many years, starting in senior year of high school. He’d been a star football player at my high school and we came to college together. As time went on and I matured, I realized what a possessive jerk he was and even worse; he continually talked, no, make that bragged, about our sex life. I finally broke it off last winter and he was not happy about it. He called my house at least a dozen times over the summer until my father finally told him to stop. Frank was still here at school, but thankfully over on the other campus across the river and I hadn’t seen him yet this semester. I knew eventually I’d run into him and wasn’t looking forward to it.

“I don’t need a boyfriend now,” I explained.

“How about a girlfriend?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re the closest thing I’ll have to a girlfriend.”

“So how about that boy with the guitar? He’s a hottie.”

“Am I supposed to just walk up and ask him out? I don’t even know his name.”

“Then introduce yourself.”

“I’m really busy with school,” I replied. “I’m more concerned with finding someone who’ll model for me.”

“I’ll do it.”

“What? Really, Beth?”

“Sure, why not? I’m your best friend, right? You’d help me out if I needed it.”

“It wouldn’t feel awkward?”

“You’ve seen me naked before. In fact, I’m pretty sure you see me naked almost every day.”

“Good point. I really do appreciate this.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

I had two more classes left for the day and spent about half of them thinking about the blonde guy. I’d never been shy and I came to the decision that the next time I saw him, I’d introduce myself. I was hoping to run into him on the way back to my dorm, but had no such luck. Perhaps tomorrow, I thought.



That evening, I was relaxing in the dayroom watching some television when Beth came home from work. She had gotten a job downtown as a waitress for spending money. She plopped down on the couch next to me.

“I never ever want to be a waitress after graduation,” she said.

“Maybe you need to reconsider that poly-sci degree then,” I replied with a laugh.

She responded by shoving me playfully. “Says the art history slash fine arts major.”

“We’ll both be waitressing.”

“Let’s hope not. I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“I’m going to open a bottle of wine when my show is over. Do you want some?” I asked.

“Sure, since it looks like we’re not going out tonight,” she replied, wandering off towards our dorm room.

Thursday night was usually a big going out night for college students, but so far this semester we’d only done so once. I was frankly kind of tired of the same old scene anyway; drunken guys asking you to dance, buying you a beer and then expecting you to sleep with them. It wasn’t really for me.

I finished watching my show and decided I should probably do some homework. I was lying on my bed, drinking a cheap bottle of red and reading about twelfth century Florentine painter Giotto when Beth entered, wearing a bathrobe. She took the bottle of wine from my nightstand and poured herself a big glass.

“Reading anything exciting?” she asked.

“Not unless you’re into twelfth century artists.”

“Mmmmm, not really.”

She sat at her desk and started doing her own homework.

“Mind if I put on some music?” she asked.

“As long as it’s not metal,” I replied. “I can’t study and listen to that.”

“Not a problem,” she replied, turning the radio dial to a light pop station. “How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

We both worked on our homework for the next forty-five minutes, polishing off the bottle of wine. Beth went into her mini-fridge and took out a second bottle.

“You want?” she asked.

“I’m already a little buzzed,” I said with a laugh.

“Live a little,” she replied, opening the bottle and pouring herself another glass. She poured mine and looked at me with her big blue eyes.

“Grab the sketch pad, honey,” she said with a big smirk on her face.

“Right now?”

“Why not?” she asked, locking our bedroom door and dropping her robe to the floor. I looked over her nude body and felt a twinge of excitement run through me. As she had noted earlier, I’d seen her naked probably nearly every day since we’d been roommates, but this felt different, though I couldn’t explain why. There was something about the curves of her body and even her smile that made me feel all warm inside. Was it physical attraction? I didn’t think I liked women in that way.

I got up and rifled through my school bag, finding my sketch pad and pencils. I sat in the desk chair and opened the pad to a blank page.

“How do you want me to stand?” Beth asked.

I stood up. “May I?”

“Sure.”

I positioned her body facing my chair with a slight angle, her hands on her hips. I could smell lavender on her skin and suddenly felt an odd twinge of excitement up my spine. I’d drawn nudes in class before, but it never excited me in any way.

“Okay, hold that,” I said.

She just nodded. I went back to my chair and pad and looked her over. She was only about five foot two, with perky 32B breasts and a nice little figure. Her pink areolas were about the size of a quarter and her nipples were erect; I’d never remembered seeing them like that before. Beth was a natural blonde, with the little trimmed tuft of hair between her legs matching the hair on her head.

“Are you going to draw or sit there admiring my hot bod?” she said with a chuckle.

“Would it be okay if I took a Polaroid as a reference?”

“You want to take a naked picture of me?”

“Just for reference. I can cut your head off if you’re not comfortable.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I trust you, Catherine.”

I went into my dresser and took out the camera I used for taking pictures of things I wanted to draw. I held it up and pointed it at her. She smiled and I snapped a picture that popped out the front of the camera. I shook it and watched as the photo began to appear.

“How’s it look?” Beth asked.

“Beautiful,” I replied. I sat back down and began to sketch and again the odd feeling I had when I was standing close to her came over me. I had a hard time understanding what I was feeling. Maybe it was the wine, I thought. I had drank a considerable amount.

She was a great model and stayed still, only moving occasionally to drink from her glass of wine. At least a half dozen times, our eyes met and I would turn away. Suddenly, it hit me; there was a sexual tension between us that I’d never noticed before. Had it been there all along?


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