Double Stuffed

by Natalie Knight

  I notice how my best friend goes a little red in the face.

  This is unusual.

  “I lost track of time,” she mumbles and picks up her own glass to take a sip of the cool liquid.

  Ever punctual Robin lost track of time? I can’t believe it.

  “You never,” I start, but she interrupts me.

  “Just tell me about you and Blake.”

  I make a mental note to interrogate her further about this allegation of losing track of time, but oblige her request and start talking about Blake.

  “You know,” I take another sip of my drink. “He’s really a brilliant artist. He captures his subjects in the perfect way. Colors perform the way he wants them to.”

  Robin is grinning.

  I stop talking.

  “What?” I don’t recall having said anything amusing.

  “You’re in love.”

  “Am not.” I protest and am pleased a waiter is bringing our entre.

  I take a forkful of steamed fish, which melts in my mouth. Delicious.

  “Do you make the same sound when he kisses you?”

  “Stop it.” I growl at my best friend.

  “Oh Blake don’t stop, please give me more.” Robin coos and we both laugh.

  “Stop it. You’re so cruel. We’re just–” I stop midsentence. I realize I’m not sure exactly what we are.

  “You’re in love with Blake.” Robin shrugs. –And who can blame you. I mean he looks the complete package. God-like. Unlike Dale, who is a poor excuse for a man.”

  I’m tempted to defend Dale out of habit, but then I recall his words from earlier and stop myself.

  “What’s wrong?” Robin asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come now Kath, it’s me Robin, your best friend not some stranger.”

  I sigh. She has a point.

  “It’s just Dale said Blake discards his models like other men discard their underwear. And,” I hesitated; “and I think I do really like him.”

  There I’ve said it. It is out in the open.

  “For starters, what does it matter what loser Dale has to say? Second you’re in love with Blake. And third, how do you know he does not feel the same way about you?’

  “I don’t.”

  She points her fork at me.

  “See what I mean? From the way you’ve described the painting, he’s done it for you as a work of love. Not to mention, he gave a promise he not to display it. I’d say he’s got feelings for you. I’d say Blake’s in love with you.”

  I shake my head. I wish I could be that confident. Dale’s words bounce around my head like an out of control basketball: everyone knows he fucks all his models and discards them once he’s painted them.

  “Kath. Earth to Katherine.”

  Robin’s voice brings me back to the present.

  “Sorry. I just can’t help thinking about what Dale said. Maybe I should run before I get hurt, again.”

  “Stop it. Stop thinking about what Dale said. He’s a loser. Of course he’s trying to rattle your cage.”

  I nod.

  “I just don’t know what to do.”

  Robin looks me straight in the eyes.

  “Look, baby cakes. You just have to trust. Trust that this is the right one. Falling in love is like jumping off a cliff and hoping you don’t crash land.”

  Robin raises her glass and I do the same.

  “To love.”

  Blake

  I’m whistling as I’m mixing reds, blues, greens and yellows. I love this time of the day best, particularly on a sunny day like today.

  Some of my best work was created on days like this.

  Although the critiques have been kind to me, I’ve e been less than satisfied with my creations of late. I can’t put my finger on it, but as far as I’m concerned they lack something, something special in them.

  Of late, it has become harder and harder to paint. In fact, it’s been quite soul destroying, to find my muse at such a low. I can’t recall how often I have stood in front of a canvass and be unable to create anything at par with my usual standard.

  Sure the paintings have been good, better than some of the crap you see in galleries or restaurants, but just not good enough for me.

  I sigh.

  Today is different. Today, like the last few days, I’m not struggling to get going. On the contrary, I’m itching to put paint on a fresh canvass, the large white space calling to me to turn it into something special.

  Before I start, I glance at the sketches to my left. They are of Katherine.

  My Katherine.

  I like thinking of her in terms of mine. She is mine. I know it.

  My lips curl into a smile and tiny butterfly seems to be slowly flying through my innards.

  Katherine.

  Eight letters. Just thinking about her drives me insane. I’m not sure what it is about the woman that I can’t help but have this frenzied desire well up in me every time I think of her.

  Almost involuntarily, guided by my artistic spirit, white fades into an explosion of colors as I finally start another masterpiece.

  From time to time I pause, stare at my creation as it takes shape, before I continue. Boy this feels good.

  After about an hour, I stop. My neck is aching and I need coffee. As I walk into the kitchen I perform a few stretches. Left right, back and forth. I feel the tension release.

  Sometimes I can get carried away for hours in my work and afterwards find my muscles seize up. Over the years, I have learned to take little breaks from time to time to loosen everything up.

  Katherine sure knows how to loosen me up. I grin. Everything seems to be about her now.

  I love painting. I love it nearly more than sex. At least until the other day, before Katherine and I –

  I try and stop the thought process.

  If I start thinking about Katherine in the nude I doubt I will get back to my artwork.

  As I watch the rich, black liquid spill into my cup, I allow myself a little frolic.

  The image of Katherine pressed against the kitchen bench is too strong to push away. Her breasts right in my face, her nipples so pink and hard, begging to be sucked and pinched.

  I almost jump when the machine makes its familiar burping sound to indicate the process of making coffee is over.

  If I did not know better, I’d say the woman is a witch. Only a witch would have such strong powers over me.

  Cup in hand, I drift back to my studio.

  I can’t afford to daydream all day. Besides, what’s the point about of simply dreaming of having sex with Katherine? It would be far better to have her here and actually do it with her.

  Before I go back to painting, I pick up a couple of the sketches I have made of her.

  My brow furrows as I examine them.

  I’m not happy with them, not at all.

  Sure, they are technically correct. A lot of other artists would be envious of the near-perfect likeness of my subject; but not I. I know it is Katherine because I have drawn her but at the same time it isn’t her.

  For some reason I can’t quite capture the little quirky manners she has that make her so special, so deliciously unique.

  I picture her nose wrinkle ever so slightly when she takes a sip of coffee. I doubt she’s even aware of it. But I love it. Every time I watch her do it, I feel like grabbing her there and then and putting my dick into her.

  Not to mention the way her eyes widen in total innocence when she looks at my paintings. Her pleasure in what she is looking at is so sincere it hurts right in my gut.

  Part of me still cannot believe she posed for me, in the nude.

  I have painted plenty of nudes, some of them of exotic beauty, but I have never had a problem keeping sex out of my work, not until I met Katherine.

  Painting her in the nude has been my biggest challenge. The woman oozes sex appeal and does not even know it. And that’s just a tiny fraction of it; it goes beyond the sex. There’s a certain i
nnocent rawness to her, and I somehow managed to capture that while she slept.

  My face darkens as I recall her shattered expression when that the jerk Dale had been to her apartment. If I see that dick again near Katherine, I think I’ll punch him right between the eyes.

  I put the sketches back down.

  Stop daydreaming , I tell myself, and pick up the paintbrush .

  Unfortunately the flow has been stifled. Thoughts of Katherine have left me yearning for her.

  I need to see her, touch her, kiss her and do other things with her now.

  My fine paintbrush adds some blue to my creation. I frown. Have I really just drawn the outline of a cloud in the likeness of Katherine’s ass?

  I chuckle.

  This is bad.

  My passion for this woman, one that isn’t even here in my apartment today, is unbelievable. I’ve never felt like this about anything or anyone before.

  Stop procrastinating, Blake, just do it.

  I put the paintbrush down again and go to find my phone.

  Only one thing to fix this sudden new addiction I have: I need to call her, I need to call her now and ask her to come over.

  My heart rate increases and little beads of sweat form in the back of my neck in anticipation as I listen to the dial tone and wait for Katherine to answer the call.

  Katherine

  I love the sound of my keyboard as I strike the keys. Letters form words, words form sentences and before I know it I have added another chapter to my novel.

  Today I’m on fire. The words cascade onto the page.

  Occasionally I glance at the dozen red roses perched on the desk to my left. The little card that came with them is now occupying a prime position on the shelf just above my workspace. Only the most precious items make it there.

  The words are etched into my mind. I’m probably reading too much into them, but Robin had said I should jump off the cliff.

  The alarm on my clock signals I have been writing for an hour and it’s time to take a break.

  I lean back in my chair and stretch languidly, like a cat. Time for a caffeine and sugar hit. If I’m to add another two thousand words before the end of the day, I better keep writing.

  As I walk into the little kitchen of my apartment, I recall the phone call with my agent a day ago. The publisher was itching for a draft. I had promised to deliver soon.

  Just as I turn on my espresso machine my phone blasts out the tune of ‘You’re so hot.’

  “Hello sexy,” I purr into the phone.

  Laughter.

  “Hey gorgeous.”

  His deep melodic voice sets of a longing in every part of my body. I’m definitely floating after having jumped off that cliff.

  “What’s up?” I had not heard from him all day.

  “Just wondering if my angel wants to come over for dinner.”

  I instantly feel a lusty desire overcome me. Maybe we could start with dessert and skip dinner as soon as I get there.

  I barley recognize myself in these thoughts and I suppress a giggle.

  “Where are we going?” I want to know if I need to dress up or if I can just slip on my sandals and head out straight away.

  “I’m cooking.” Blake says and suddenly I can’t wait to be with him.

  It’s insane how this man has invaded every part of my life and taken over. In his presence I feel complete.

  It takes me less than five minutes to check my appearance and I’m out of the door.

  When Blake opens the door, I smile. He grabs me, pins me to the wall and kisses me. The kiss is demanding, forceful and mind-blowing. My thoughts turn to a molten mass of uselessness.

  When he releases me, I breathe hard and want more. Already I’m wet between the legs.

  I follow Blake to the kitchen.

  He hands me a glass of red.

  “Trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me.” I quip and take a sip.

  Blake throws his head back with laughter.

  Without warning he’s in front of me, hands on my breast and ass.

  “I know you’re putty in my hands.”

  My nerve endings tingle in anticipation. I smile. But evil thoughts try and force their way into my happy state.

  I can almost hear Dale’s taunts. Everyone knows you will be discarded.

  “Hungry?”

  “Sorry?” I didn’t hear the question.

  Concern registers on Blake’s face.

  “You okay?”

  I nod and force myself to smile. Stop those negative thoughts, I tell myself.

  “Are you hungry?”

  The low rumble of my stomach is an answer of sorts.

  “I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” I confess.

  “Excellent.”

  He leads me out onto the balcony where he has set a table for two with flowers and two tall white candles. I feel as if I’ve walked into a four-chef-hat restaurant.

  There are pale pink plates, proper silver cutlery and starched white serviettes folded into swans.

  “Take a seat.” He pulls out a chair. “I’ll be back with our meal.” I feel him kiss the top of my head before he turns.

  I watch him walk back to the kitchen. How many of his other models have sat here like this?

  Stop those thoughts, Kat.

  Briefly I close my eyes. Think about all the positive signs. He did agree not to use the painting. He’s cooking dinner.

  Yes, but we all know he discards his models like other men discard their underwear . Dale’s voice again.

  “Voila.”

  I didn’t hear Blake come back.

  In front of me waft the delicious smell of dinner.

  I cut a piece of steak and am instantly transported to another time. My grandmother had made the best steaks I ever tasted.

  “Not too rare?”

  I can hear the concern in his voice.

  “It’s perfect.”

  And it is. The meat is still a little pink but ever so tender.

  There is only one way I know how to push my doubts to one side.

  “I know you can cook from the first time you invited me over for dinner, but I didn’t know you are this good.”

  Blake winks at me.

  “I still have many talents you are yet to discover, babe.”

  The lump in my throat grows a little.

  “Really,” I try to sound light-hearted. I must not let Dale’s comments get to me. I must enjoy this time with Blake.

  “You’ll find out. All in good time.”

  I relax a little.

  I notice the way he is suddenly looking at me as I take a sip of my wine.

  “Do I have food on my face?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I can’t help but you stare at you. You are just so perfect.” He shakes his head. “The way you pick up your glass and wrinkle your nose ever so slightly as you take a sip is so unique about you. There are so many little quirks you have…I wish I could capture them all.” He sighs and smiles at me.

  My heart is beating a little faster. Does he mean what he is saying? Does he see more in me than simply someone to have sex with?

  I know I do. I know Blake completes me. But can I trust him? I trusted Dale and look where that took me.

  “Did I say something?” Blake leans toward me.

  I smile. Jump and float.

  “I’m fine, more than fine. I’m happy.”

  My lips part as they meet his. Instantly, fireworks rip through me. His tongue finds mine and I know what’s for dessert.

  Katherine

  “What are we doing, Blake…?” I ask him, the words bubbling up to my lips and escaping them before I can stop myself. I look into his eyes as he pulls back from my kiss, and I feel my heart melt as he opens into a smile.

  “We’re doing us ,” he replies fast, no hesitation to it. I have no idea what he means by that, but somehow I feel more relaxed.

  Still…I’m afraid. What am I doing with someone like Bla
ke? I always thought that I’d end up with a run-of-the-mill guy, someone that would be nice to me, treat me right, and…I don’t know! I expected average, but instead I got Blake.

  Can I trust him? Can I allow myself to open up around him? I want to say no, especially after what happened between Dale and me. I don’t know if I’m ready to trust again, to surrender myself to someone…but it’s Blake we’re talking about, the man that cut through all the bullshit and saw the real me.

  There’s a painting to prove it.

  “You okay?” He asks me softly, placing his index finger under my chin and gently making me to look up and into his eyes.

  I don’t even bother with a reply. I just give him a quick nod and reach for him, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and pulling him into me, my mouth hungrily looking for his. We lock lips then, and all thoughts of distrust and fear are carried away by the passion of his embrace.

  Before I know it, dinner has been forgotten. We’re both standing now, his hands on my waist and my breasts pressed against his chest.

  “I need you so fucking much,” he tells me, stopping our kiss just to tell me that.

  “I’m right here,” I whisper back at him, and he just responds by my picking me up, his strong arms behind my knees. I lace my arms around his neck and look into his eyes, running one hand through his hair as I try to read whatever’s on his mind.

  What did he see in me the first time? Why did he come after me? The scary thing is, if I want to see through his eyes, all I have to do is look at that painting.

  It portrays me, yes, but it also portrays the way he sees the world.

  Carrying me in his arms, he takes me to the living room. Laying me down on his luxurious leather couch, he climbs on top of me and crushes my mouth with his. I kiss him eagerly, pushing my tongue inside his mouth, and surrender to the desire making my heart beating rapidly.

  How did I end up here? Not long ago my life had a perfect trajectory – there was Dale, and there was a plan. Next thing I know my boyfriend is fucking some random woman, and I’m back to being single.

  Then Blake shows up, and the Earth jumps out from its axis.

  “I want you,” I tell Blake, and then nibble at his lower lip, smiling shyly as he takes me in his embrace.

  “Not as much as I want you.” He says, smiling back at me and running his large hands down the side of my body. “I’m desperate for you, for your body,” he whispers, and my heart almost explodes with the sudden desire and joy that floods my mind.