Fucking in Pastel

Over lunch she interrogated me for the details. I didn't give her much, other than telling her of his cozy place, including the ceiling mirror, but my giddy blushing filled in the blanks and gave away my utter delight. In fact I spent the entire day on a lethargic cloud of satisfaction and Heidi could not keep herself from smirking and shaking her head each time that she glanced my way.

That night in the next hotel it was time to show her the portrait. I opened the canister timidly and reached inside hoping that I would withdraw the right one, so I was relieved when I saw the edge of my sun hat. I stretched it out on the bed and we both held the corners down.

"Omigod, it's beautiful," Heidi gushed.

"I know, right?"

"The colors, the likeness. It's amazing," she continued. I relived the moment myself, the goosebumps of his care as he posed me in the sunlight just so, and then the awe of his skill when I had first beheld the vibrant image. "I should have got mine done too," she said. Heidi had missed her chance. I hadn't.

Finally having a moment to wash up since my hot sweaty rendezvous, I took my clothes off to have a shower. When Heidi gasped and laughed, she pointed out the dark smudges on my waist and rib cage. They were faint but on my pale skin they were rather obvious. I even had a little on the side of my breast. I realized that Andrés' pigment-tipped fingers had left their marks on my body.

Then I had a moment in customs in England. Heidi had gone through ahead of me but I was stopped. For some reason the x-ray wasn't enough for my poster tube and the agent asked me to open it for inspection.

"What do you have in there?" she asked. She was middle-aged and plain with a long straight ponytail and a plump figure. Her name tag read 'SAUNDERS'.

"Just two posters," I answered.

"Let me see."

"They're uh, kinda personal," I said.

"Well then if you'd like to keep them, open up," Saunders smirked. I popped open the end and gently tugged out both portraits and placed the curled rolls on the counter. The agent nodded for me to unravel them. Nervous at who else might be looking, slowly I spread them wide. The one on top was the safe-for-work portrait. Saunders glanced down at it, up at me and back down in comparison. I could tell that she knew that it was of me. "And the other?" she coaxed.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the business woman waiting behind me. She seemed a bit too bored and tired to care. I picked up the sun hat portrait, returning it to the tube, and the sexy one rolled up on its own. Then I sheepishly flattened out Andrés' racy depiction of our feverish lust on the counter again. Saunders took a good look at my hot Latin liaison fucking me senseless and cocked an eyebrow. Then she peered up at me.

"Where did you say you were visiting again?" she asked.

"Spain," I said. The subtle naughty grin on the agent's lips told everything. I was so embarrassed that my heart started skipping. I let go of the edges and the portrait rolled back up.

"So did you have a good time in Spain then?" she asked coyly.

"Can I go?" I asked. I could feel the heat of the red in my cheeks. Saunders smiled and nodded for me to proceed.

Six days after Almería, we were back home in Indiana. I messaged Andrés from my home phone and passed out from jet lag. When I woke I saw his reply remembering me fondly. I messaged back. Then I dug out his card and checked his website and instagram where I found the original portrait of me in the Mediterranean sun and downloaded it. Andrés did not reply a second time.

I still felt warm and sometimes giddy and my heart became light in my chest whenever I thought of him. Andrés had made me feel so sexy and alive and I could not escape that feeling when he dominated my fantasies. My fingers tried in vain to replicate the moments on several occasions.

Three weeks after getting home, I messaged Andrés again. Still I heard nothing back, so I returned to his instagram link in the hope of finding something new or failing that at least some daydream fuel. There was in fact something new. A recent album had been posted - photographs of him on a background of greenery posing with a woman, tasteful closeups, adoring and warm. She was gorgeous with perfect skin a shade lighter than his, long glossy poker straight hair just as dark with large shiny eyes to match, an elegant smile of perfect white teeth, high cheekbones and a jaw with just enough taper to keep it from being square. She belonged in glamorous fashion magazines. The album was titled Renata and I. As much as I had almost expected it, my heart still sank. I wondered if Andrés had recently met her or if he had cheated on her with me. Perhaps Renata was the kind that didn't mind his vagabond gypsy affairs. Regardless, she was important enough to be documented in his life so publicly, connections freely declared, whereas my sun hat portrait alone in his portfolio kept me anonymous, a mere secret fling. For the next few days I was so empty that I couldn't even cry.

I look at the portrait - a life anything but still, two lovers in the heat of intense intimate passion - soaking in the colors, the shapes, the reckless order of Andrés' strokes capturing us fucking in pastel, reliving every sexy detail that I never want to lose, down the length of my naked body, over my puffy itchy breasts, between the V of my pale thighs and over the round warm bump of my tummy, I frame the picture. I ogle us.

There is no college for me this fall, or who knows when if ever. My plans have changed. If he won't answer then I guess that I just won't tell him.

I wonder if he'll ever be famous enough that his child might someday find him.