| Lesbian: Romantic: My Muse (1/3) |
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Josefina was exquisite. She was the object of a severe crush I had been nursing from the moment I saw her moving into the complex. Her eyes were like dark chocolate and they beautifully matched the chestnut mane that cascaded about her visage. Her body evoked images of a Botecelli muse rather than the pencil thin forms of Vogue or Cosmo. Whenever I looked upon her beauty it was as if one of the goddesses of antiquity had come to life. She was the kind of woman a painter like myself longed to have the privilege of immortalizing on canvas. Originally from Barcelona, she had been transferred to the States with her company. She lived in the apartment next to mine and I would often see her in passing as we went off to work. She had a confident sensual, almost fluid, way of moving. We usually left around the same time each day and we would exchange pleasantries as my senses were permeated by her essence. The scent of lavender and roses was left in her wake; it tormented me with the memories of her until we would meet again. Usually on our return home from the office our paths would cross, I promised myself I would one day work up the courage to invite her in for a cup of coffee or something, but I always lost my nerve. One evening, I was coming back from checking my mailbox when I noticed her enjoying the night air in the breezeway between our two apartments. I figured this was my golden opportunity to invite her to my place so I took a chance. “Hi Josefina. How’s it going?” A soft breeze blew wisps of hair across her delicate features. “ Not bad. And you, Gwen? Things going alright with you?” The way her Spanish accent spoke my name sent a tingling throughout me. Her words seemed to probe my most secret places before leaving me moist and wanting. “Pretty good. I was getting ready to have a glass of wine. Would you care to join me?” My breath was caught in my throat with the anticipation of her answer. Would it be yes or would I be retreating inside my front door alone? “I’d love too.” Her response was simple, but it gave me hope that I might have a chance with this exotic beauty. We went inside and as I was pouring the wine Josefina noticed my painter’s studio in the corner of my living room. “I see you paint.” “Not very well,” I said handing her a glass. “I usually do landscapes, but I yearn for the chance to paint a nude. Granted, I’m no Leonardo or Michelangelo, but painting gives me so much joy.” “I like your work,” she said as she sipped her wine and surveyed my finished pieces leaning against the wall. “Before I left Barcelona, I would sometimes pose for the student artists at the university. I really enjoyed seeing my nakedness through their eyes. Artists have a way of making you feel beautiful, regardless of your size and shape . . . If I am not being too bold by saying it, I would love to have you paint me sometime.” I thought my heart would explode with joy. The vision of her naked body in front of me as I created her form in oils on my canvas coursed through my brain. My loins moistened and quivered at the thought and I decided to act on the urge. “I don’t have any plans tonight if you are free.” “I’d love too. |
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Wow...
