The Painting

The liquid slid off of the brush onto the paper in a soft, glorious burst of color. I let my hand guide the simple tool in my hand without much thought, following the visual in my mind while I tried not to let the brain get in the way of the art.

That was my biggest hindrance to making a painting I loved.

I visualized the curve of her neck, the slight shadow of her collar bones as the brush dipped in the paints and back to caress the paper again. The brush was gliding down, slowly and I pictured my hands following the slope of her skin down to the curve of her breast. Slipping down the side, the shape of her appearing on the page as it felt in my memories.

The shadow of the breast fell across her ribs, the curve of her waist dipping inwards just slightly and flaring out again where her hips would be.

My eyes were half closed and I was lost in my own little world, watching her appear before me once again. I started back at the top, her other shoulder. The strong, solid feel of the muscles in her shoulder as she pulled me to her, sliding down her arm, the firm flexing as she tensed with pleasure.

The paint forming an image, the feel of her fingers intertwining with my own, locking us together as our mouths met. The brush capturing the essence, but not stuck on the details.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the thoughts, the scent of her and stepped back. The painting was done.

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• Day One: Banana's Are a Great Source of Potassium
• Day Two: Entry in the @freewritehouse selfie contest!
  

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The photos are my own