By Gina Eairheart
Her eyes had the ability to dig deep into your soul when she looked at you, leaving a person incapable of hiding behind their own lies that maybe, they truly believed themselves. They were the purest green I had ever seen, like the grass on a sunny spring morning with a mist of dew to enhance their color. My lie was that I wanted her and she seemed to know it, without my asking. Her light brown hair fell across her forehead and tumbled in waves to her shoulders, dripping like water down to the middle of her back. I wanted to tangle my hands into her soft brown locks of hair and pull her into me so I could taste the sweetness of her thick pink lips. Every morning I sat on the bus directly across from her and sometimes we chatted about the weather or politics, the subject never mattered to me much. Just to be in her presence and be able to watch her delicate movements with those frail looking freckled hands and to watch her lips form words was enough to make the rest of my day go smoothly. We always sat opposite each other on the bus to downtown every morning for our commute to work. Jennifer was an office clerk for an accountant, but her passion for life existed within her art, which mostly went unseen by the public inside the walls of her tiny studio. She more often than not described her work to me in great detail with enthusiasm that radiated out of those bright green eyes of hers and I wondered how she could see the things she did, both in her art and in people she met in life. I always worked up the courage every morning to finally ask her out, but never did. Today is the day, Kyle, I would say to the face staring back at me in the mirror. Then I would begin a close inspection of every surface of my face for nicks left from a shaving mishap or any acne that might be popping up here or there. Checking my smile for anything caught in between my teeth that brushing might have missed.
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I hopped up on the bus ready to make my move today was the day I reminded myself. She was radiant, almost glowing, and wearing a mini skirt and a blouse that cut in a low v-line between her breasts. I could smell her perfume filling the dank bus with a flowery scent.
“Good morning Jennifer,” I said.
“Morning Kyle, how’s it goin’ so far?”
“Great! I get to look at a beautiful woman every morning. So what’s the occasion?”
“Occasion? Oh, you must mean the new skirt?”
“Yeah, you look amazing.”
“Thank you, I was hoping you would notice,”
Then the unthinkable happened, right at the moment when I sat down across from her. She stood up, gripping the vertical hand rail, smiled at me seductively and swung herself into the seat next to me. Her delicate hand found my right knee and slid up my inner thigh stopping midway between my knee and the crotch of my jeans. She leaned in and whispered softly in my ear.
“So, you wanna skip work today?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good, I want to show you something,”
We got off the bus at 23rd street and made our way down the street holding hands, laughing and talking like we had been dating for years. My heart was pounding and my ears were ringing with the sounds of her soft voice. She took her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door to her studio. A rush of air stagnant with the smell of recently burned incense wafted past us. I peered into the darkness of her studio, as she disappeared a few steps inside the doorway.
“Wait here,” She said.
“Umm, Ok,” I replied.
She left me there with my mind racing wanting to know what was inside, Jennifer had never really described her art to me, and the anxiety of wanting her and wanting to know more was building up inside of me. My heart was pounding hard enough that I thought it was going to break ribs and somehow escape my chest. Hearing a clicking noise from inside I briefly saw her face as she lit some candles, the room dark around her, with only her face and shoulders eliminated in a halo of golden light. When she stepped away from the candles I lost track of her movement and only the sound of those sexy red heels click, click, clicking against the floor, which sounded like concrete. Then she flipped a switch that lit the dark room with a hazy bluish light over canvas paintings hung neatly on the walls. Each painting had its own light, my eyes tried to focus on the closest one to the door. A human form appeared, animalistic, as though it was leaping out of the painting it was trapped in. Naked flesh with rippling muscles, the face seemed familiar, short dark brown hair, with icy blue eyes, the jawline strong and prominent. It was as though I was looking into my mirror at home, but with a crazed look in my eyes that I had never seen before.
“Do you like it?” She whispered in my ear, I jumped, startled.
“I…uh, yes. It seems…”
“Seems animalistic, somehow familiar?” She asked.
“Yes, exactly. It’s like looking in the mirror, did you, I mean is this me?”
“Well, you don’t remember then? Hmmm, come on in here, maybe you just need a reminder. Sit over there, on the couch.”
I felt my legs moving towards the couch obeying her command, not really wanting them to listen to her. What I wanted was to turn around and leave, fear was now pushing that heart of mine harder against my ribs. I sat on the couch and there were more paintings of me, surrounding me, and staring down at me as if accusing myself of having done something wrong. She watched as I took it all in, those eyes, I could feel them piercing my thoughts.
“Would you like a drink?” She asked.
“I would, but I really should be…”
“Oh, come on, hon, I have your favorite scotch whiskey.”
Before I knew what was happening she handed me the snifter of whiskey and the scent of it invaded my senses. I couldn’t resist and took a sip. She sat down next to me on the couch, let her hand fall gracefully between my thighs as she took a sip of her own drink. I wanted to run away, but my body wouldn’t move no matter how much I willed it.
“Relax, you are so tense, darlin,’” She said.
“What is goin’ on here? I mean, do you just sit around here painting portraits of me?”
She laughed and set her drink on the table in front of us, then reached for my drink and sat it down next to hers. Then before I knew it she was straddling me sitting in my lap with her lips pressed firmly against mine. I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back exposing her neck and began to bite her neck softly at first, then with increasing intensity until I drew blood. Shocked at the iron taste in my mouth I released her hair and grabbed her legs just behind the delicate knees and stood up with her, kissing each other I turned around and laid her on the couch. I ran my hands up her legs and under her skirt and realized she wasn’t wearing panties. I pushed my fingers into her, wanting to please her.
“Kyle!” She moaned.
“You like that?”
“Yes,” She said.
I began to get dizzy and felt sick, it must have been the whiskey. I sat up, and held my head in my hands on the opposite end of the couch. She kneeled next to me and I could feel her putting something around my neck. It felt like leather, like a dog collar, with metal studs. She undressed me slowly. Then I heard a click at the back of my neck, she had hooked a leash to my collar.
“Come on boy, come on.” She said.
Tugging at my lead, she pulled me to the floor on my hands and knees. She led me into the back room of her studio, it was brightly lit almost blinding me. I crawled next to her feet to the blanket she had spread out on the floor. She took out what looked like a whip.
“Now, you are gonna be a good boy this time, right?” She asked.
“Yes, I promise.” I said.
“That’s my boy, sit there I have work to do. No, not like that, sit up as if you are begging for a bone. That’s better, good boy, sit still now until I tell you to move.”
Biography
Gina Eairheart is a student currently enrolled at State College of Florida. After a successful career in Architectural and Survey drafting for several years, she felt the need to further my education. Since enrolling in college, she has found out a lot about herself through the educational process. She thoroughly enjoy anything pertaining to the arts, which should have been no surprise due to her background; however, she had for most of my life suppressed the need for creating art and used her talents mostly for crafting as a hobby and undeniably for drafting plans for buildings and their land surveys. She found that writing and creating objects out of clay to be an enlightening experience that she will not soon let go by the wayside. She hopes you enjoy the stories and poems that come from this experience.