Naked Portraits Pt. 06

With just my drink refill, I left the restaurant. I had several instant ramen noodle cups at my studio on campus so I crossed University Avenue and headed to the art department.

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After three cup-o-noodles I was in the mood to paint. Hours later, I dropped into my ratty loveseat in my grubby studio to look at my latest painting. It was of me from my dream. In the painting I sit nude, cross legged looking straight out at the viewer on a plain bed covered with a mauve sheet.

"Dusty mauve," I whispered liking the way the words rolled off my tongue. I remembered the color vividly from the dream and spent time getting it right. My long blackish brown hair fans over my shoulders, my skin creamy pale, two circular sensors decorate my forehead, another high on my left breast. The background is inky black, deep and fathomless.

"Dreams of Me," I titled her aloud.

Still in the mood to work, I fished out a small sixteen by twenty canvas, just big enough for a face. I put my oil paints aside and fished out my acrylic paints and got to work. A couple of hours later I was done. It was a portrait of me, more accurately, short haired me from the dream. Her expression serious and neutral, no sensors adorned her face. I took special care to get her short red-brown hair just right.

"You are not done yet," I said.

A guilty thrill gripped me as I recalled the nasty things I had done and said to her in the dream.

I rummaged through my paint box and found an old beat up tube of Chinese-white watercolor paint. I squeezed most of it onto my pallet and with a brush loaded with water, I made a runny white pool. With my dripping brush, I stood before the paining. Then aggressively, I flicked the loaded brush at the face smacking her under the left eye near the nose. "Cum on her face, Hawk?" I said holding the brush at crotch level like it was a hard dick. Dark satisfaction bloomed in me watching the white runny paint drip down her cheek and over her pretty mouth.

The dark lust dissipated quickly, replaced by shamefaced guilt. I tossed the brush aside, soaked a paper towel with water and cleaned away the mess from short hair's face. The acrylics are permanent when dry so the portrait was unaffected by the water soluble paint or wet towel.

"You need some serious therapy Japanee girl," my logical brain informed me.