Draw Me

We really hadn’t known each other for that long. But hanging out a lot, talking and just being in each others company solidified something that I had known all along. This man was a true and passionate artist. At any given moment, he was sketching in his notebook and creating. I never saw what he was drawing, and didn’t feel as though it was my place to ask.

When we sat in cafés together, I would sip a chai latte as he sat across from me drawing. It was nice just to be in his company when he was like that. So peaceful, nothing needed to be said. Sometimes I would write stories, but I was just so content to sit there and admire the concentration on his face. The times where I would be occupied with my own business were the times I was sure he was drawing me.

I could feel his intense stare on my face and body, feeling my curves as he outlined the drawing with his pencil. Sometimes while sitting and reading on the bed, I was almost sure he was caressing my skin with his fingers but he always remained more than arms length away from me.

It was this particular day, as we sat in his bedroom that I noticed he had been staring at me for quite some time. It always bothers me when he stares like that, but today there was some heat behind it. Something in the stare was unlike the other times when he may have been drawing me. I tried not to look, but I found myself more and more curious about why he was staring at me, since he wasn’t drawing me.

“Jade,” he says from across the room.

I look over at him, and reply with a slight sound that I had heard him.

“I want to draw you,” again speaking in a low voice, yet not wavering at all. It was the first time he had “asked” me for permission to draw me. Something was up.

Still looking at me, he never breaks eye contact when he finally says, “Naked.”

Choking on my spit ungracefully, I don’t see the slight smirk that comes to his face. He must be toying with me, there’s no way he would actually want to draw me naked. There was nothing special going on under these clothes.

Yet, once I looked back at his face my heart thudded. His eyes were full of heat, his breathing a bit deeper than before. I would have argued, but that would mean I’ve never thought or desired for him do this. Since before watching Titanic, the cliché drawing scene, I always wondered what it would be like to be drawn by a lover. I nodded, and decided that I would grow a pair and just allow him to do it.

He stood up, going around his room and grabbing his supplies. I stood up from his bed, and began to take off my shirt assuming he was going to draw me in here. Finally grabbing all his stuff, he turned towards me, again just watching. I continue removing my clothing, finally I am standing there in nothing but my undergarments. Holding the clothing to my chest, as if he is unable to see everything else.

“So where are going to do this?”

“Follow me,” as usual, he is a man of few words.

Following him out of the room, we head into the living room. He walks over to his maroon velvet chaise, and opens his arm in the direction of it. At this point I know that I am going to have to rid myself of the rest of my clothing, so I take a deep breath and do it. Bra first, then my panty, because in my mind that seems like the most modest way to do it in this situation.

He is standing at the head of the chaise, waiting. My movements are slow and calculated so I don’t fall in my lightheaded state. I make my way over as my heart continues to thud in my chest, as my palms begin to sweat, I try to understand how I got into this situation. Oh right, I’m dating an artist.

His hand waits as an invitation for me to either continue, or to back out. I could say I have no choice in the matter, but that would be an absolute lie. To say I have never thought about being drawn like this would also be an absolute lie as well. So, to be a chicken shit and change my mind only based on the fact that I’m a bit nervous does not seem to make sense in the grand scheme of this experience.

I look into his eyes, and sit down on the chair. Let me tell you, the experience of sitting on velvet naked is something that everyone should try. Breaking eye contact for only a second, I stare straight ahead at his crotch. My face heats up, and I try to remedy the situation by looking back into his eyes as if I didn’t take a quick peek. But I knew he saw as soon I looked back into his eyes. The look intensifies the heat in my cheeks, giving me goose bumps all over. The worst part is that if we were outside I could at least say that it was because of a cool breeze.

“Alright, lay down, get comfortable,” he says, slowly letting go of my hand and dragging his fingers across my fingertips.

The chaise has a single side to lean on, perfect for me to lean my elbow and side of my body. Arranging myself on the seat proves to be more difficult than I thought. Trying to sit in a sexy position, plus being comfortable is pretty hard. I can feel my breasts move about, and it takes almost all my will power to not look up at him. As usual, I can feel his eyes running all over my body.

Finally deciding on a position that I think may look good, I take a deep breath and settle myself. My arm leans on the side of the chaise, as my upper body molds to the side. My legs are sitting one on top of the other, slightly bent while my other arm lays a bit stiffly on my side.

“I’m ready, you may begin,” I say as though I have some sort of authority in this situation.

From where he is standing, he surveys me. I can tell he’s thinking by the way his eyes keep flicking over my body. His mind going a mile a minute as he tries to figure out how to fix my positioning.

He walks over, rubs his hand across his stubble ridden chin then moves his hands towards my shoulders. His hands glide from sides of my breasts to the back of my shoulder blades, tilting my body into the corner of the chair so that my chest sticks out a bit more. I take a deep breath and my breasts move towards him, causing him to be distracted for a second. Quickly he looks as me with a sharp squint, knowing that I did it on purpose.

Next the arm that once held my head is moved to now lean over the side of the chaise, slightly bent while my other arm lays underneath my ribcage. Moving away from my upper body, he puts his hands to my hips and tweaks the position in such a way to exaggerate the curvature of my waist. Quickly his hand swipes along the dip, again he steps back and surveys me. Moving forward, his hands glide across my legs as he crosses my feet at the ankles. Being very careful to keep as much contact with my ankles as he can.

“Can you shake out you hair for me?”

Slowly, I move my hand trying to concentrate on keeping my position as perfect as possible. I run my fingers close to my scalp and pull from the roots to give my hair volume, as if it were necessary. Then I pick out my afro from the ends, pull and hopefully making it stick out in a pleasant way.

I make eye contact with him again, “Better.”

“Beautiful,” he replies and makes his way to the chair that he will draw me from. My face once again turns slightly red, but there is no way for me to hide it. So I take a deep breath, relaxing deeper into my pose. In my mind I try to live in the present moment and enjoy, while my heart beats heavily in my chest. Making me feel like his critical eyes can see my chest moving up and down in time with the beats. I can’t seem to relax, and I know it’s not from stress.

Now he’s sitting, setting his sketch-pad on his right knee that is crossed over his left leg. Next to the arm-chair that he’s sitting in is a small box full of pencils, one of the many that he has in almost every room. Reaching for a pencil, he also removes a tiny hand sharpener and prepares a few pencils. I’m not sure how they differ other than in color of the body, but he sets five different ones outside of the box.

He takes a breath and relaxes into his chair, closes his eyes like he always does before he draws. It’s almost as if he’s wiping any pre-conceived ideas he has of the image he is going to draw. His eyes open, the deep blue color stares deeply into my dark brown eyes. For a while he doesn’t look away, until he begins to outline my body with his eyes. Eye contact is broken for so long as he sits and stares at me, that I wonder if he is ever really going to draw me.

Looking to his right at the table, he takes a few moments staring at the pencils before he eventually grabs one. But before he puts the pencil to paper, he stands up quickly to leave the room. I’m sitting there, with no clothes on, waiting to be drawn and he just ups and leaves.

He comes back in with his laptop, playing So What by Miles Davis from his favorite jazz album. I relax even more, listening to the mellow piano, bass and trumpet. Imagining sipping on a chai latte in a cute café, on a rainy day. I feel even more sensual as I settle even deeper into the chaise.

His laptop now sits on the small coffee table between us, and he sits back in his chair assuming the same position as before. This time he doesn’t hesitate as begins to immediately get to work on drawing me.

There’s not much I can do but watch him as he watches me. His eyes flick from the page to me repeatedly, and each time he looks up at me I try to evade eye contact. The look he gives me as he draws the different parts of me sends electricity through my body. Each stare is not merely a peek at an image for the next line he has to draw, but a calculated and heated gaze meant to evoke something more than just a blush from me.

Time moves slowly, I can only tell because of the changing songs. Otherwise I would think that the first minute that he began drawing me, had never moved. It almost seems as though time has frozen in this erotic moment, leaving us so close and still so far apart. Sighing, I try to stretch a bit to loosen my tense muscles but realize that to move too much would ruin the pose.

“About how much longer would you say?” I ask curious, and trying to add some sound to the silence that has taken over the past half hour.

“Thirty minutes,” he says continuing the flicking movements of his eyes.

At one point fifteen minutes later, I start noticing that his gazes are starting to linger just a bit longer than before. His pencil is moving a lot less, and he seems to be a little bit less focused due to the fact that he is noticeably fidgeting.

He calms down, and I sigh. A draft seems to pass by, releasing an invasion of goose bumps all over my skin, leaving my nipples to stand at attention. He notices immediately. His face that was once a calm and collected mask becomes serious and hungry. I gasp from the intensity, almost afraid to let go of the breath because of how it will draw attention to my breasts.

“I’m done, you can go put on your clothes now,” he says, voice forced and tight.

I get up, in desperate need of a stretch. I lift my arms without even thinking. My back cracks, I moan in delight releasing all the tension from sitting in that position. I hear a sketch pad drop, pencils hit the floor and two heavy steps before I’m lifted over his shoulder and brought into the bedroom.

The last coherent thing I can remember him saying is just one word, “Tease.”