by TB Markinson
“Don’t you like your last name?” she asked, ushering me to my seat.
“It’s not that. My dad, his first name is Warren, but most call him Dale—the shortened version of Tisdale. My mom prefers it because…” Heat rushed to my face.
“Chippendale dancers?” Kat sat down, plucking a grape from a chipped ceramic bowl that’d probably been purchased from Goodwill. “From the abashed look on your face, I think I’ll get along with your mother. Go on.”
I massaged the back of my neck, taking a sip of my beer. “No, not the strippers. It’s embarrassing, really. But she says, during certain moments, it’s better to holler Dale, not Warren.”
Kat clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent spitting grape all over my face. After swallowing and chasing it down with her martini, she said, “You mean sex.”
I nodded. “My mom isn’t afraid to talk about it. Not with me.” I briefly closed my eyes.
“And it makes you squirm?” She ran her fingers up my bare arm.
The heat in my cheeks had a new spark to keep the burn going. “With Mom, yes.”
“But not with others?” Her fingers stayed on my bare skin.
A ripple of warmth tickled every square inch of my body. “Well, I don’t discuss it with kids or anything. That would be highly inappropriate.”
She slapped my arm. “Don’t even go there. Sometimes honesty is the best policy, instead of trying to be clever.”
I leaned over the table to take her glass. “Mind if I try it?”
“Have you ever had a gin martini?”
“Sure, but I have a feeling.” I lifted it up. “May I?”
She nodded.
I closed my eyes, taking a lustful sip. Opening my eyes, I said, “I knew it.”
Her smile reached every crevice of her face. “What?”
“It’s the best drink I’ve ever had.”
“Would you like one?”
“I would. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Oh, I have a feeling some things concerning you are trouble, but not this.” She stood and fixed me a drink.
After she retook her seat, I asked, “What gives you that impression?” I smeared melted Brie on a cracker.
Kat ran a finger around the base of the martini glass as she stared into my eyes. “Some of my reasoning is superficial. Jock, only child, famous mom, rich uncle—”
I started to say something, but she shushed me by placing a delicate finger against my lips.
“Don’t worry. I’m not judging you.”
A bark of laughter shot out of my mouth. “Only, you think I might be trouble.”
Kat leaned on her forearms, her tits straining her white cotton top. “Who said trouble was bad?”
Distracted by the view, I said, “Oh.”
She followed my eyes down, smiling as if she knew what she was doing.
“Are you toying with me?” I asked.
“Are you complaining?” she practically purred.
“Go on, what else indicates I’m trouble?” I motioned with my hand to continue.
“There’s this hesitancy about you. In your eyes. It makes me wonder if you’re the type who likes to have fun for a bit and then runs when things get a little too real.”
Annie flickered through my mind. But that was different. No one compared to Kat.
“Ah, I see something brewing in those lovely eyes. What?”
There was absolutely no way I was going to spill about Annie.
Kat’s soft, warm hand curled around my knotted fingers. “Relax, you aren’t in trouble. Not with me. Why don’t you want to talk about what’s bugging you?”
If there was such a thing as a woman charmer, Kat was it.
I fidgeted in my seat but unfurled my fist while she lightly ran her fingers over my palm, soothing the unease and, to my horror, loosening my tongue.
“I hurt someone, recently,” I confessed almost against my will.
Her head lowered to meet my downcast eyes. “A woman?”
I nodded, not looking into her eyes.
“How?” Her soothing tone and touch brought the words out of me.
“She felt more for me than I did her.”
“Were you two dating?”
I shook my head. “We’ve been friends since childhood.”
“Just friends?”
“Uh, recently, we moved into a… closer zone.”
“You were sleeping with her.” She wasn’t asking, only confirming.
“Sorta.”
“How do you sorta have sex with someone?” Kat remained supportive, but I sensed this aspect troubled her some. “You either did or didn’t.”
“We did.”
“Good, I like the use of we.”
I glanced up. “Why?”
“It takes two people to do these things. Not everything is on your shoulders, although I can see you’re bearing most of the burden, if not all.”
“I didn’t suspect about her feelings”—I readjusted my feet under the table—“not really… maybe some, but I didn’t want to see she was falling for me.”
“It happens sometimes when women move from solely friends to lovers.”
I flinched at the word lovers.
“Me, I tend not to get involved sexually unless I know the person is in it for real. No casual sex. Quite frankly, I don’t understand the concept. Maybe because it’s never appealed to me.”
“Not at all?” I blurted.
She smiled, not insulted. “Oh, I understand people take one look at me and think I know how to have a good time. I do. But I don’t take it to that level until I know the person and trust her feelings for me.”
I bobbed my head. “I wouldn’t have broken Annie’s heart if I’d followed your rule.”
“Annie.” Kat said the name as if sounding out whether I belonged with an Annie.
From Kat’s face, I couldn’t decipher her final determination.
“So, how many made it to your intimacy level?” I asked, feeling bold.
“Two.”
Thank God I wasn’t in mid-swallow because I may have choked. “This year?”
“Ever.”
“Really?” was the only word that came to mind.
“It’s possible we may have different ideas about intimacy.” Kat squeezed my hand tenderly, confusing the hell out of me.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“What do you mean?”
I shifted in my seat.
Perhaps she took pity on me, because she didn’t press. Instead, she said, “I like the way you look at me.”
I prayed she didn’t say like I wanted to eat her or something. The mere thought of her misconstruing my intentions made me queasy. There was something about Kat that made me want more than my usual interactions with women. For one, I didn’t want her to be a conquest. I craved closeness but not strictly of the naked variety. Not yet. There were so many layers to Kat Finn, and I wanted to take my time to peel them away. The thought of her understanding me, warts and all, didn’t terrify me. Not to the usual extent.
She laughed, circling her finger in front of my face. “A lot is going on in there.”
I smiled like a kid who’d just been busted sneaking in past curfew. “I don’t want you to think since I’ve slept around some that’s all I want from you.” I sat up straight in my chair, relaxing my shoulders, and sighed. “You’re different. I can’t quite put my finger on how or why, but you are. And I want to know more.”
“Sounds promising.”
We didn’t speak for several moments.
She broke the contemplative silence. “You ready for dinner?”
Typically, I was always hungry but not at the moment. “Not really. You?”
Not answering, she rose and walked to my side of the table. She flipped the oven off. With her hands extended, she helped me out of my chair. “I think you need some art therapy.”
�
��Seriously? Finger painting is about my speed.”
“That’s a start and not too far off what I had in mind.” As if she’d done it a million times before, Kat cleared the table, flipped it up on its hinge, and latched it against the wall, transforming the kitchen into the front room. She expanded a tarp on the floor, placing a cotton canvas in the center. “When troubled, I drown myself in paint and see what comes out. Hope you don’t mind getting dirty.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
She jutted out her right hip, placing her hand on it. “Was that meant to be an innuendo?”
I smiled. “Relax, please. I’m not trying to get you naked. Not tonight at least.”
“Too bad, because that’s the plan.” She placed a hand on my chest.
“But, what about everything you just said?” I pointed to the table. Was it called a Murphy table?
“Getting naked doesn’t change what I said,” Kat said as if she was making sense.
I stepped back. Her studio was shoebox-size, so creating space was a challenge. “You want me naked?”
She waggled her eyebrows. “As an artist, I study the female form. Besides, I’ve never had a basketball star to work with.”
“You want me to model for you?” It was impossible to banish the disappointment from my voice since I’d had a morsel of hope Kat had meant both of us would be getting naked.
She closed the distance between us, reaching upward to place a hand on each of my shoulders. “Don’t try guessing what thoughts go through my mind.” Stepping on her tippy toes, she brushed her lips against my cheek. “I plan to work on your self-esteem.”
I held my hand to where she’d kissed me, keeping the heat close. “What’s wrong with it?”
“When I’m done with you, nothing.” My face must have shown the worry churning inside because she laughed and added, “I didn’t mean done, done. I meant once I get you to see how beautiful you are. Not just on the outside.” Kat placed a hand under my chin. “I’m willing to bet, most never truly get to know what’s inside.”
“That’s why you want to see me naked? To access my soul?”
She pulled out some bottles of what I assumed was paint, although they were larger than I was used to seeing in my aunt’s studio and watery. All primary colors again. “I find seeing someone naked does give insight into what lies beneath. But it’s not the only reason I want you naked. Like I said, I want to create art.” She unfastened her blouse, one button at a time. “Do you plan to only goggle, or are you going to strip?”
I yanked my T-shirt over my head and dropped my linen shorts in record speed.
“I see your inner jock shining through.”
“Is that bad?” I stood in my simple but brand-spanking new white panties and bra, unsure what to do with my arms, so I let them dangle pathetically at my sides.
She wore a black lace bra and panties—the type that caught my eye whenever I passed a lingerie shop. “Not one bit. It’s a part of you. I imagine playing college basketball means you spent hours training. That takes dedication. I’m attracted to that.”
I pointed to the painting on the wall. “Creation also requires discipline.”
“Yes, it does.” She unclasped her bra and slid her panties off.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”
Kat’s smile was genuine. “That’s right. Be open with me. Tell me exactly how you feel.” She reached around me. “And show me.”
I kissed the crook of her neck, slowly, unsure if physical contact was allowed when creating art. She didn’t push me away. Lowering onto her knees, she removed my panties.
“I like that.” Kat motioned to the glimmer on my thighs. “That’s one part of our bodies that can’t lie.” She took my hand. “Come here.”
We stood in the middle of the canvas, which was large enough for us to lie down on with ample space to move. I realized something. “Where’s your bed?”
Kat’s throaty laughter made the warmth inside me spread. “You’re under it.” To help clear the matter, she jerked her head to the wall that had a closet of some sort.
“You have a Murphy bed?”
“Have you ever slept in one?”
“No. Do you engage in art therapy like this with many people?”
“This is a first.” She poured a liberal amount of red paint onto the canvas and me.
Unable to speak, shocked by the cold paint and figuring out exactly what she intended us to do, I could only shake my head.
She squirted yellow paint onto herself, adding a liberal amount of blue on the canvas. “What are you thinking?”
“I would have chosen red for you, blue for me, and yellow for below.” I pointed down.
“Why?” She stopped what she was doing, giving me her full attention.
“Red is bold. Blue is solid. And yellow…” I rubbed the back of my head. “I don’t know. Fanciful?”
“I can see that.” Kat doused me with yellow. “Care to dream?”
“I’m not dreaming at the moment, am I?”
She wrapped her arms around me, squishing the paint together. “Maybe. The best possible kind.”
“How so?” I ran my hands up and down her paint-slicked sides.
“Because when you wake, it isn’t over.” She shoved me down on the canvas, straddling my waist. Her fingers swirled shapes on my torso, sliding off onto the canvas and tarp. “Don’t be shy. I want us to make this piece together. You can touch. I don’t recommend licking, though. It’s nontoxic, but I still don’t think it wise to ingest it. And only external touching.”
Excited in a way I’d never been, I reached for her breasts, barely skimming my hands over them, although the swirls of yellow were clear evidence I was making contact. It was hard to put my finger on the emotions coursing through me.
“Don’t forget the canvas,” she said.
At first, I simply made handprints, but that seemed too childish. Kat had a playful side, but she was all woman. I pulled her so we were chest to chest and rolled us over, with Kat underneath. Holding her arms above her head, I slipped my legs between hers. “Is kissing allowed?”
With both hands, she cupped my face and kissed me deeply. That revved both of our engines. Our ravenous mouths were only outdone by the wandering of our hands, exploring the other’s body with wild abandon.
Kat maneuvered me onto my back, the paint permanently marking the desire on the canvas. Between paint evidence and the smoldering look in Kat’s eyes, I’d never felt so claimed in my life. And I loved it. She continued kissing me, softly now. How could such sweet kisses be this erotic?
I moaned.
She straddled me again, taking my right hand and placing it on her chest. “Feel me.”
I closed my eyes, and she ran my hand slowly downward. When we reached her crotch on mine, she moved my hand to my pubic region so effortlessly, like we were one. With her guiding my hand, she made me feel myself. My stomach, hips, breasts, nipples.
“You have a stunning body. Are you a runner?” she asked.
Without opening my eyes, I said, “Yes. And I lift weights at the gym.”
“I can see that.” Kat released my hand and fondled my bicep. Reaching underneath, her fingers prodded my skin. “Your back is powerful. I find that so sexy!” She growled.
I laughed. “I think that’s the first time someone has ever said that to me.”
She stared into my eyes. “The female body is sacred to me. The things I find attractive, most don’t even notice.”
I cupped her face, blushing when I noticed the smear of paint and snapping my hand back like I’d touched a hot iron. “Sorry.”
Kat shook her head. “Never apologize for touching me.” She put my hand back on her cheek, nestling it.
Gently, I flicked dark strands of hair stuck to her lips and kissed her. “I…” I faltered.
She shushed me. “Keep kissing me.”
&nb
sp; I didn’t know how much time had passed, but we were both lying on our backs, breathing heavily.
“Would you like to hop in the shower?” she asked.
I sat up, surveying the damage. The paint to skin ratio heavily favored paint. “Not sure I can go looking like this.”
She seemed to mull that over. “Then maybe I won’t let you shower.”
I shrugged. “Worse things have happened to me.”
“Like what?” She rolled on her side, propping her head on bent elbow.
“My sophomore year in college, I blew my knee out and had to ride the pine for a year.”
“The pine?”
“Sit on the bench.” I added, “Not play.”
“Ah, for someone like you, that must have been hell.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what you mean by someone like you.”
She trailed her now dry finger along my leg. “I know. I plan to change your inhibition to putting yourself out there.” Kat sat up, kissed my cheek, and said, “Come on. I’m starving.”
We showered together, not with the typical sex-crazed energy that was usually present with other women I’d gone through this ritual with before. Instead, it was tender. The way she helped me wash the hard to reach bits, and vice versa. We exchanged pecks on the lips, shoulders, ass cheeks, but not in a demeaning ravenous hunger way.
Building blocks of emotions were being set into place.
After toweling off, I slipped back into my T-shirt and shorts, while Kat donned a well-worn bathrobe.
“How do you make everything look sexy?” I asked.
Kat shrugged. “I don’t think about it, really.”
“Come on.” I retook my seat at the table after I released it from the wall.
She had her back to me, pulling something out of the fridge. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Come on, what?”
I cleared my throat and fiddled with a fork that didn’t match the other silverware on the table. “Every time I’ve seen you, I’ve noticed your sk—outfits.”
She laughed, placing a homemade salad on the table. “I think the word you skipped over was skimpy.” Handing me the tongs, she took her seat across from me. “Some see my outfits that way, but I don’t. I like the clothes I wear. Not to make a statement or to garner attention. If I like something, I wear it.”