Art Class

I had moved to a small coastal town, Whitney Crest. I needed a change, and I swear it called to me. As if it said, you've fucked around long enough, get your ass home. The funny thing is, I'd never lived there before. I was tired of the big city. It could go bite itself in the ass. Tired of the traffic, tired of pavement. Tired of trying to sleep in a bed I once shared. I needed a new lifestyle. I was throwing in the towel, throwing it in the face of the crowded subways, the litter, the noise, and the grand art galleries; where it wasn't about craft, it was about money--and who you swill cocktails with. Did I mention I was an artist? Or tried to be.

Long, enduring bike rides told me it was time to go. I pounded my body into a machine on that bike, and one day, right in the middle of Crawford Park, I had a vision. Whitney Crest, a town I had once been through as a child. It was a peaceful place, forgotten in time. At night, all houses lit up like a string of holiday lights, dotting the valley and dispersing through the nearby hills. They had a good main drag, a little touristy, but with quaint coffee shops, a bait and tackle shop, a bookstore, and art galleries of their own.

I moved into a small rental and set up shop. I paint pictures. My subject matter can be a little dangerous, usually fantasy mixed with soft-core. People doing various things in various locations, scantily clad, sexy, erotic--and there had to be a dragon. Always a dragon somewhere, waiting. My grand plan was to paint a bunch of pictures, meanwhile, talk to one of the galleries in town and see if I can have a show.

About a month later I finished three paintings and was about to lose my mind. If you turn away from the world for too long... it may turn away from you. My Aunt Holly used to say, "Get in your car and let the road blow the load off." After all, it had taken me to Whitney Crest.

There was a group art show at one of the galleries off the drag, Salon Par La Mer. This would be a good thing, go mingle, enjoy some art, maybe meet some fellow artists. Blow some load off.

Inside the gallery, first stop always, the bar. They had a long table with a white table cloth curated by a woman offering wine in a box.

"I don't think I've seen you before." There was a slight gravel to her voice. "I'm Barb."

She wore make-up a little heavier than some, particularly striking was the turquoise eye shadow and pink lipstick. A bit like some of the colorful fishing lures I'd seen in the bait shop. She had sandy blond hair and wore animal print leggings--and she looked at me like I was bait in her shop. She clutched a cup as if preparing for the next customer. The lipstick ghost on the clear plastic told me different.

"I'm new in town. My name is Kellan."

She raised an eyebrow and extended her hand; palm down, placing it in mine.

"Charmed to meet you."

She had seen the big city too. The fake city. I smirked at her wiles and indulged. I took her hand and kissed the top of it.

"You cad." She giggled. "You best be off, or people will talk." Then she winked slowly, like a Venus flytrap closing.

She was a hard boiled egg still endowed with a surprisingly healthy, albeit, painted, outer shell. But it was time to do what I came to do. Look at artwork. Look at all the pictures. Even the ones I didn't care for. Act like you're interested before moving on. You never know when the artist is watching your reaction. I knew this first hand. I knew how a scowl could erase three weeks of work and hope.

Some of it was astounding, one piece in particular. A big landscape. In the foreground, a path leading into a forest, surrounded by trees. Fall leaves nestled on the ground, and a crooked broomstick lay within. The detail was incredible. "Was this a local artist?" I thought. I leaned in closer, looking for brush strokes.

Suddenly a tug on the back of my shirt. I whipped around and there was a woman. A little older than me, with long curly hair, and eyes that sparkled like the lights on the hill.

"It's very pretty, isn't it?" She noted.

"Yes. As an artist, I can enjoy the detail and the colors." I was trying to impress her.

"You're an artist?"

"Well... I tell myself I am."

She smiled, and I continued.

"I just moved into town about a month ago. I'm new here."

She looked at me silently, eyes scintillating, expecting more.

"Oh! I'm sorry, my name is Kellan."

"I'm Analise, and you are admiring my art."

There was something about her. It was very inviting. The faintest of worry lines ran up her forehead. Lips pursed in a smile as pinned by dimples; looking like she held something in, maybe a secret, something that provoked that twinkle in her eyes.

"You are incredible. I mean, I--your art is incredible. I would love to get lost in your forest."

She smirked.

"OK, that sounded weir--"

"No. I would love to as well. That's why I painted it." She sensed my awkwardness. "What subjects do you paint?"

I didn't know how she would react to my work, being kinda erotic. "I... paint people in fantasy-type settings."

"Could I see?" She glowed.

I Inched the phone from my back pocket,trying to hide any reluctance. What if she was some church lady? I scrolled through the photo app quickly, hoping to avoid any erotic nude paintings. She looked over my shoulder and I could feel the warmth of her body and the scent of sandalwood drifting.

"I like you." She said.

"Um ah, what? I--"

She laughed, "I meant, you are soooo nice. You don't even know me, and you are willing to share your art work."

"I don't mind." I swallowed, and continued playing Russian roulette with my phone gallery. Finally my finger landed. "There, I did this."

It was a painting of a woman with a dragon. She rode the beast in a sensual manner... but at least she wasn't totally naked.

"I like that! You've really captured her motion, the way she rides... "

Frankly, it looked like she was humping a pillow. Analise was being kind.

She leaned in closer, and her hair brushed against my shoulder. Damn, something was going on here. I felt something stirring, a weird excitement. I secretly wished that I was that dragon and she was the rider. No! Not here, not now. Hormones down. She's a very nice woman, probably married--and why would she want anything to do with me?

"What are you doing Wednesday night?"

I almost choked. "I don't know... painting? I think?"

"I run an art group once a week. It's just a bunch of us old crones," she smirked. "But it's fun, would you like to join us?"

"Yes I would."

"Actually some of us are here tonight. It would sure be nice to have some new blood in the group." She continued and told me she had started a Meet-up for painters a few years back, and it was fine at first, till weird people just started showing up. Now she runs a small get-together for art friends every Wednesday.

How could I say no? Analise is not what I would call a crone. Maybe ten years difference? It didn't matter. I was already hooked.

She reached down and grabbed my hand. "We are artists, and it's not easy to find people that understand us. We have to stick together."

I smiled. I smiled at the sudden familiarity I felt. "Your work is beautiful, and I mean that sincerely."

She looked down, almost shy, and whispered, "Thank you."

"I know, I get it. I'm always trying to bring my fantasies to life." I was hoping that didn't sound too weird in light of the dragon picture.

"Tell me more about you?" She questioned.

"Me? I used to live in the city. I had a girlfriend and a job, and I liked to paint. I still have a job, and I like to paint, but I'm not sure about my girlfriend, she moves around."

"I noticed you had a few kinda erotic pieces. You skipped through them quickly."

"Ah... ha!" I laughed uneasily. "Ah, yes. I did."

"That's OK. I like your style... I have a few of those too." She added.

"You do?" When I looked at the painting on the wall, I could only imagine what her personal paintings must look like.

"Yes, maybe I could show you sometime?"

Did she really just say that? "I would love to see more of your work."

"OK, well... I'll see you Wednesday night? I know the girls will be happy to have a new artist around... and--a man, at that." She said in a mock forbidden voice, then giggled.

"I'll be there."

She pushed her card into my hand. "And don't forget to bring your sketchbook."

She disappeared into the crowd. With a short blazer, blue jeans, and a long scarf that fluttered against her butt as she walked away. I was enamored. She was beautiful. Her free spirit had picked me up and taken me along. I looked down at her card, Analise Marchel, artist, market analyst, and therapist, commissions open, data verified and couch available, her email, her phone number... and her address written on the back.

I walked the gallery some more, in hopes of seeing her again. I didn't. I remember she said some of her friends were here tonight. I looked around, not knowing a soul. I felt alone. That meant it was time for another glass of wine.

"You're back again?" Barb greeted.

"Oh, you remember me?"

"I do... you're the new guy in town, and you don't know anyone."

I remembered her cup was fuller when I saw her last. "Not anymore. I just met an artist."

"Weird that would happen at an art gallery."

I laughed. "No, that's not what I meant."

"I know, naughty boy. I saw Analise talking to you. She runs the art group in town. And... and... can I tell you a secret?"

"Um... I guess?" I leaned in.

"Come closer."

She motioned for me to come even closer so she could whisper in my ear. I did.

"You're super cute, sugar." and she licked my ear.

I jumped back, not out of fear, out of unexpected ear licking.

"Sorry, I'm a little tipsy. Take this drink, it's on me."

"It's OK, I wasn't expecting that." I laughed nervously and took the cup, looking for an exit from her personal space.

"You liked it, right?" Then laughed.

"Thank you for the drink... and the wet ear." I excused myself and went to the far wall.

Looking at a wall of paintings was a great exercise. Walking sideways from picture to picture, the rest of the room was doing the same. Like a strange lateral dance. Admire the art, count to five, step to the left. The art gallery shuffle. During which I saw watercolor flowers, oil windmills, pastel male nudes with wild animals, and cityscapes. It was time to leave.

The rain outside pelted my back as I walked home. I was excited thinking about the art group. More and more, it seemed like a good thing, a group to interact with, to show my work. And I wanted to learn more about this mysterious woman. Her painting was mesmerizing.

That's the thing about art. You have to pay attention. A clever artist is telling you a story. It's about the things you see, and the things you don't. It's about light and shadow. It's about the feeling you get when you look at someone's work--and does that image take you somewhere? Does it make you feel something? It's about their world, their journey... and how far will you pursue? "As my aunt used to say, if your going to follow someone's trail, be sure they have a since of direction."

I had always kept myself in shape. Keep the mind active and the body toned. Mantra. I had a nice male physique, and it was soaked from the weather. A nice hot shower was called for. One thing led to another. Thoughts of the strange woman, Analise... combined with alcohol, and well... I was already touching myself. It doesn't take much. She was a market analyst? She was a therapist? For what? It didn't matter, I would lay on her couch anytime. I felt my cock growing hard in my hands as the soap drizzled down my body. I was letting my fantasies get the better of me. I pictured her. Her hands up and down my tight abs, then unzipping my jeans. I pulled her sweater off, she had gorgeous tits. Her nipples hardened in the blue of the moonlight; that would pour in from the window of her in-home/therapy office, of my fantasy.

My hands were fast, and my breathing heavy. I shot the tiled wall. "Fuck..." I shouldn't have done that." I shouldn't have thought of her like that. I'm sure her husband wouldn't appreciate it either. She's probably a very kind woman and doesn't need to be part of my twisted fantasies. I blamed the alcohol and that damn woman who licked my ear.

..............................................................................................................

Wednesday night, it was drizzling and the salty sea danced on the wind. I had my sketchbook, my companion in hand. My jeans were snug and I wore a comfortable dress shirt. A note on the front porch said: Art group, go around to the side of the house, in basement, behind cadmium red door. I walked around, then down a small concrete landing, and cautiously pushed open the wooden door. To my surprise, it opened on its own and nearly sucked me in.

Analise had opened it, then pulled me inside a big room with wall-to-wall carpet and a fireplace. There was a platform in the front of the room, and various paintings plastered the walls. The low-hung ceiling reminded me of a dungeon, a quaint one.

"Hi, Kellan." She smiled wide. "I'm so glad you came. Sorry... I was watching for you. I didn't mean to startle you."

"I thought the door was taking me for a ride."

"I like to keep an eye on the street. Sometimes the neighbors get a bit nosy, and it's not every day that I invite a strange man into my downstairs."

She was lovely, a vision in black leggings and a thin pullover sweater.

"How are you?"

"I'm good, I'm glad you came. A few of the other gals are already here, let me introduce you."

She grabbed my hand. It was warm and gentle, and ended at a drawing table in the corner.

"This is Dealla. She works in watercolors."

She was cute, short, with a sheepish smirk and placid eyes that lurked under long red bangs.

"Hi, Kellan. I saw you at Salon Par La Mer a few days ago."

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

"It's OK. You looked really busy, I didn't want to interrupt."

"You could have. After Analise left, I had no one to talk to."

She smiled with the joy of a ten-year-old that had her braces recently removed. "I will talk to you next time. I promise Kellan."

"You better. I mean, how many pictures of watercolor flowers can a person look at?"

"Those were mine."

"They were great. I felt lost in a field of blossoms." God, I'm a dick. "I was overwhelmed by the beauty. I needed a guide, the artist, to... ah, show me the way."

She mulled, measuring my words--my intent, then mixed them gently, till pouring through a strainer and fermenting.

"I would have given you a tour," she grinned. "Yeah, I do a lot of flowers. It's my thing."

She had a very charming, mousy way about her. "Next time. Please Dealla."

"Kellan?" She tugged my shirt.

"Yes?"

"If you need anything, come to me."

"I, ah... will. Thank you."

Analise pulled me away, till we stopped outside the wine cooler.

"Sorry, she's a little protective."

"She seems really sweet."

"She can be very determined when she wants to be."

I looked around and saw scattered antiques, a tan leather couch. Lots of artwork that hung like a hundred windows to different worlds. I felt her thigh touching mine, and I drew closer. "I love what you've done, very rustic and cozy... and the fireplace is nice."

"There's a bathroom through the door down the hall, and a small bedroom, a kitchenette over there behind the shutters--and I see we've landed by the wine fridge. Let's have a drink?"

"Yes, please." Thank you for inviting me."

She pulled out a bottle from a local vintner and wrestled with the corkscrew. "I see my clients down here."

I pretended I hadn't seen therapist on her card. "What do you do?"

"I'm a life-coach counselor, and I dabble in a few other things," she poured two glasses. "A little of this and that, some white magic..."

White magic? I didn't know how to respond.

"Did I make you nervous?"

"No, uh I--"

She laughed, "It's nothing wild, some herbs and oils, incense, some private healing techniques... you know--sacrifice a few virgins here and there."

"Wha--".

"I was kidding!"

"I knew that--"

"I also research corporate strategies. I'm a market analyst. Oh, yes, and I do paint to relax."

I think I stepped into a rabbit hole. Somewhere between personal healing techniques, white magic, and market analysis. But, hell, if I was going to step into a hole, at least I was in good company.

I noticed a large gemstone around her neck, obelisk shaped. "Amber stone?"

"Yes! The soul of the tiger."

"It's supposed to keep travelers safe."

"Right! How did you know that?"

"I studied ancient cultural beliefs in school."

"You can touch it if you like?"

Before I could answer, she took my hand and placed it over her chest to enclose the gem.

"Do you feel it?"

I felt her chest. "Yes, I feel it."

"It's warm to your touch, I can tell. It's a good sign. You know, they say Amber can be used to call a twin soul."

I wanted to leave my hand on her chest. She moved closer and my arm settled between her breasts.

"Now can you feel the warmth better?"

I felt myself blushing. "I do."

"It likes you too. I can feel it." She slipped a hand over mine.

Was she really this friendly? Was she hitting on me? Where was her husband? Was Dealla seeing this, too? I didn't care, was the truth. Being this close to her, and the warmth of her bosom was elating.

A sudden knock at the door. Startled, we turned to look. Analise released my hand.

"Hey everyone, let's get the party started!" To my surprise, it was Barb from the gallery wine-table.

"Oh shit," Analise whispered. "You might need this more than I." She giggled and slipped the necklace from around her neck. "Here, put this in your pocket."

"I can't. I--"

"You're not going to keep it, you're only borrowing it. Besides, it likes you."

I slipped the necklace into my jeans.

"Hi there sweetie!" Barb came up and put her arm around me.

Analise looked at me and winked. Then walked off.

"Oh, shit..." I was thinking. "I didn't know you were an artist too?"

"Of course I am, sugar. I volunteered to work the bar, it gets me a month off rent at the gallery."

"Why didn't you tell me you were an artist?"

"Because I wanted to watch your face when you looked at my work. Everyone knows that. Can you guess which one's mine were?"

"The pastel male nudes?" She was wearing pastel animal print gym leggings and a white sheer top.

"You got it, sweetheart!"

Something told me she knew I would be here. She was a little wild, but also funny... then a phantom pain, my ear felt wet.

"Can I get some wine? And get some more for the hot young man!" She hollered to the room.

Suddenly, I was pulled away, hard, and back to Analise.

"Oh my god... thank you for saving me." I whispered.

"She comes off a bit obnoxious, but she's alright. Now, you see that slender blonde over there? That's Carly. She's like a magical mechanic. She can fix anything. If you saw paintings of windmills at the gallery? Those were hers."

I watched Carly as Analise spoke. Tall and willowy with hair from a box that laureled her face and flowed down her shoulders. She pranced in the middle of the room holding an extra-large cell phone, with no pockets in her frilly dress to put it in.

"Why don't you go introduce yourself? You know you want to." Analise pushed.

I left the nest and walked up to her, sticking my hand out to shake.

"Hi, I'm the new guy. Kellan."

"Hi new guy, I'm Carly." She spoke with a New York accent, switching her club-phone-hand with her regular one and shaking vigorously.

"You're not from here, are you?"

"And neither are you. You see this phone? It's a big mother fucker. What am I supposed to do with this thing?"