Painting Sarah

"Sarah," she said staring up at him and allowing him to take her hand in his. As she imagined Adam's fingers touching God's fingers, her whole being came alive with his touch.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," she imagined her priest proclaiming. "You may kiss the bride," she imagined hearing before Jeffrey scooped her up in her arms and gave her a deep, long, wet kiss.

Obviously, there was something about her that made him return to her booth every day the entire week she was there. Every day she was giddy with anticipation wondering if he'd return and then when he did, she'd act so coyly disinterested in him that she'd practically ignore him. Nonetheless, he'd spend his entire lunch hour roaming her booth more interested in the artist than in the artwork.

It was obvious by his daily visits that the more he knew about her the more he wanted to know. With her big, honey brown eyes that resembled the varying color of a Tiger's Eye gemstone and her wide, sincere smile, she was pretty in a unique way. What some saw as happiness and openness, he saw as sultriness and mysteriousness, he confessed to her later. It was obvious to anyone who saw the way that he looked at her that he felt a deep attraction for her, but playing her game of hard to get, of cat and mouse and hunter and huntress, she appeared aloof to his advances. Their backgrounds and ideologies as far apart as their social classes, fortunately, love knows no boundaries. Only, no doubt, he figured, someone like her would never be interested in someone like him.

Accustomed to dating taller, thinner, and stiffer women, who had perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect teeth, and perfect genealogy, culture, manners, and education, she was different in a captivatingly sensual way. Based by the curvature of her full breasts, the silhouetted indentation of her waist revealed by the transparency of her blouse when she stood in direct sunlight, and the gentle movement of her round hips, it was obvious that there was a voluptuous body of a shapely woman hiding beneath her loose fitting clothes.

Unlike any woman he had dated before, no doubt, she was real. She was sensitive. She was genuinely happy. Instead of the spoiled, rich bitch debutants he was accustomed to being around, she was sincerely nice and he bought her paintings. Every day he took a part of her away with him and every night he tossed and turned in a disturbed sleep while dreaming about her being naked in his arms, he confessed to her later. Already owning half a dozen of her canvases, it wasn't until the last day of the open air market that he summoned the courage to ask her to dinner.

"I love your paintings," he said looking at her as if they were alone in a hotel room. Even though she was busy with people who continually visited her booth commenting on her art, buying her paintings, and asking her questions, when they looked at one another it was as if they were alone.

"Thank you for coming," she said to a customer before turning her attention to him.

"I'd like to see you again," he said anxiously fingering the side of a canvas.

She imagined what he meant by seeing her again was that he wanted to see her naked. The imagined thrill of her showing him her naked body, before he touched her for the first time, consumed her with desire for him. He made her so horny every time she saw him. She watched his long piano fingers playing with the corner of the canvas. Obviously, he was nervous. She imagined that his fingers were toying with her nipples and exciting her clit.

"Thank you, I'm so pleased you like my work, but I won't have another showing until the end of the fall season," she said. "I need time to paint more canvases," she said with a giggle while making prolonged eye contact. She gave him an encouraging smile. "Here's my card," she said and wanting to add, I'd be happy to paint you in the nude before we roll around the paint spattered floor of my studio while making love.

He looked down at her card before looking at her and, based upon the duration of his stare, he appeared to have lost himself in her soft, brown eyes.

"Sarah..."

In the way he said her name made her think of him whispering her name in her ear while they were making love or when he told her he loved her the for the first time or fell to his knee and proposed marriage to her or when she presented him with their first baby, a son.

"Yes," she swooned but covered it with a nervous laugh. "That's my name." She refrained from saying, 'don't wear it out.'

"I meant, I'd like to take you to dinner," he said with nervousness.

As if looking at a scene before painting it, she regarded him with a long look before answering him. He was beautiful. He looked like no man she had ever been attracted to before. He could have been a model, he was so handsome. Although she seldom painted people, she couldn't wait to paint him. Maybe tonight, she'd put his face to canvas. Maybe tonight, she'd imagine more of him and paint him in the nude.

"I'd rather eat out," she said with a sly smile.

"Yes, of course, that's what I meant by asking you to dinner," he said with a nervous chuckle. "I didn't mean that I wanted you to come to my apartment or was trying to get an invitation to your apartment. What I meant was that I know of a great restaurant—"

"And by eating out, I meant a picnic," she said giving him a sexy smile that promised him more than potato salad and roasted chicken in a basket. "Wednesday is Earth Day, my favorite holiday, but I'm busy with the show until Saturday. We could have a picnic Sunday. A picnic would be a great way to celebrate the holiday rather than eating in a noisy and smelly restaurant filled with too many people talking at the same time."

"A picnic? I don't think I've ever been on a picnic. Yeah, sure, that would be fun," he said with a wide smile. "I've never celebrated Earth Day before, for that matter."

"I'll make us something special to commemorate your first Earth Day celebration."

"Do you cook as well as you paint?"

"I'm Italian," she said talking with her hands and giving him a shrug. "We're born knowing how to make tomato sauce."

Now that the show was over, Sarah had time for herself. Instead of wearing her Bohemian clothes of peasant blouse and skirt or jeans with a paint splattered top, she bought a new outfit, a white button blouse and a feminine free flowing skirt. She even had her hair, make up, and nails done at the salon. She hardly recognized herself when she looked in the mirror.

That next Sunday, she had Jeffrey pick her up at her place in Vermont. Although it was a bit of a drive from New York, where he lived, she took him to her favorite spot, a grassy hill crowned with a giant three-hundred-year-old oak tree. She had painted this spot dozens of times in all four seasons and she never tired of returning to it. This is where she found Domenic or more appropriately, Domenic found her. She imagined being married beneath her favorite tree. Now, this spot was made even more special because this is where Jeffrey kissed her the first time and this is where they made love.

He was as stiff making out as the crease in his designer jeans and as gentle making love as he was with his words not to offend her or anyone. More vocal, more athletic, and needing to talk dirty to enflame her mood and unleash her passion, she was more emotionally charged making love than she was when painting her landscapes. In the way that she shocked him and encouraged him along, it was obvious that he had never been with a woman so sexually proactive. Never had he experienced a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it, he admitted to her later. Certainly, she'd be a better painter if she could harness some her emotions, sexual energy, and lustful desire and put it to canvas.

It was important that he had to be a good kisser and he was. It drove her wild when he felt her full breasts through her blouse while kissing her. Pushing her back on the soft grass and putting one of his legs over hers, she had no intention of going this far with him so soon, especially on a first date, but it felt so right and it felt so good. As much as she needed to know how he truly felt about her, she needed him to know how she truly felt about him. Alone in a grassy field with no one around for miles, she couldn't wait for him to strip her naked, but he was taking his sweet time about it, so she started stripping him.

She unbuttoned his shirt and felt his chest, shoulders, arms, and stomach before reaching down to feel more. Then she unzipped his pants and reached her hand inside feeling the head of his cock through his underwear. He was hot and hard and she was hot and wet. She was attacking him in the way that most men attack women. She was horny and he was beautiful and it had been quite some time since she had sex.

"I love feeling your cock through your pants," she told him. "Do you like my tits?"

"I love your breasts."

"Feel them. I want to see you touch them and watch you feel them," she said excited by telling him what it was she wanted and needed to get her even more aroused that she obviously was. "Twist and pull my nipples through my blouse and bra."

Obediently, he followed her direction in whatever she wanted. He felt her body through her clothes as they kissed while rolling around and flattening the soft grass.

"I want to show you my body," she said making sensual eye contact with him with her fingers poised on her blouse button. "Do you want to see my body?" She loved teasing him.

"Yes," he said staring at her fingers while watching her about to unbutton her blouse.

"Undress me, then," she said removing her hands from her blouse and allowing him to take over. In an instant, he had two buttons of her blouse unbuttoned and was working on the third. "Slowly," she said. "I want to savor the moment before showing you my body."

He deliberately removed her blouse and skirt.

"You have a beautiful body," he said feeling her tight stomach and moving his hand around her to feel her round ass through her panties.

"I'm already wet for you. Touch me through my panties. Feel how wet my pussy is for you."

"Yes, you are so very wet. I love touching you and it excites me to hear you talk dirty," he said reaching down and touching her while making eye contact with her before peeling off her panties.

"Wait, let me see your cock first."

He started removing his clothes, but she stopped him.

"No, let me do it."

She felt his prick through his boxers again. Then, she reached her hand inside and pulled out his cock. He was already erect and he felt so good in her hand.

"You have a beautiful cock," she said wrapping her hand around it.

She stroked him while staring down at him. Then, still holding his cock in her hand, she looked up at him while stroking him. With her still stroking his cock, they kissed while he fondled her tits and fingered her nipples.

"Would you like me to go down on you?" She whispered in between kisses.

"Yes," he returned her whisper.

"Would it make you excited to feel your cock in my mouth," she whispered again, now more breathlessly while he fingered her nipples through her bra.

It was a game she loved to play, talking dirty. She hoped that by initiating him to her little game that he'd want to play, too.

"Oh, yes, I'd love to feel my cock in your mouth."

"You have to promise me something though," she said with a sexy laugh.

"Oh, don't worry, Sarah, I won't cum in your mouth. I promise. I'll tell you before—"

"That's not what I want you to promise."

"What then?"

"You must promise you will cum in my mouth, but not now, later. I want to taste you, of course, but first I want to make love to you first. Then, after, I want to experience all of you."

"I promise," he said before kissing her deeply.

She lowered her body to his and took his cock in her mouth. She could feel him tense before he relaxed with the warm, wet sensation of her mouth sucking him.

Still clad in her bra and panty, she couldn't wait until he stripped her naked. Once he was finished fumbling with her hook and removed her bra, once he removed her panty, she loved kissing him while he fingered her nipples while fingering her clit. She loved it how he went from her lips to her neck and to her breasts before starting the cycle all over again. He gave her goose bumps everywhere. She could orgasm just by having him pay extensive attention to her breasts while she felt and stroked his cock. Only, he was slow to tell her what he wanted and was a bit too reluctant to take what he wanted.

She figured he was shy. She figured he was inexperienced. She decided to take more of the lead and to show him how to make love to her. As it turns out, he was more than deeply enamored with her. He was already in love with her. He told her later that from the time that he first saw her at the open air art show that it was love at first sight.

"Make love to me. I need to feel you inside of me," she said throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.

His slow movements revealed, as he confessed to her later, that he didn't want to ruin anything with her by rushing her. He didn't want to make her feel pressured. He didn't want her to think that he was only after one thing. He wanted more than that. He wanted everything she had to offer and more.

"I've never had a lover like you," he said stopping her from answering by kissing her lips. His cock was still buried deep inside of her and he returned her slow humps with his.

"In the way you allow me the control, I thought this was your first time and I thought you were a virgin," she said with a coy laugh.

"Being here with you now is like being with a woman for the first time. You make it feel all so new and exciting. Every women I've been with before, not that there were a lot of them, but they were all rich bitches and Daddy's princesses. They took the fun out of sex. They made it too serious. You make it fun."

"Thank you," she said "I like sex, but only with a special someone." She made eye contact with him. "I hope that special someone will be you."

He had a beautiful cock and she loved fondling it and staring at it before taking him deep inside her, as he was now. He was a beautiful man and with his blonde curly hair and deep blue eyes, she imagined that he'd make her beautiful children. She loved the feeling of running her fingers through his thick blonde hair while kissing and kissing him. Although she didn't paint people in the way she painted flowers and trees, now that she knows what he looks like naked instead of how she imagined he'd look like, she couldn't wait to paint him in the nude. She imagined them making love before, during, and after she painted him. She imagined him painting her body with watercolors.

Just as he confessed that he had never met anyone like her before, she had never met anyone like him before either. It was a whirlwind romance that lasted three months before they started talking about marriage and children. Of course, his parents didn't want him to marry her, an artist who sold her paintings in the street.

"She was a dirty girl. She had dirty feet. She didn't even wear shoes," said his mother.

"With or without your blessing, Mother, we are getting married. I love her," said Jeffrey.

Their only child, he had always been a pampered boy, especially with the health issues that he had as a child. He was never allowed to run and play games with the other children.

Without ever having met her, his parents already knew everything they needed to know about Sarah to jump to the wrong conclusions. Even though she wore shoes to walk the city streets, she kicked them off once she reached her spot to sell her paintings. Their private investigators gave them a full report on her with erroneous details and unflattering photos.

Jeffrey's parents had hoped it was a just Spring thing, a fling that he'd get over once he sowed his wild oats and once he was ready to settle down and be part of the family's successful real estate business. Back then, she was just a free spirit who loved to paint and never having met anyone like her, Jeffrey was taken with her. He was amazed by her dedication to her art, as much as he was astounded by her painting talent.

Head over heels in love, they married, and had children. It wasn't the big wedding that Jeffrey's parents wanted him to have, albeit with another woman more his kind. It was a wedding that Jeffrey and Sarah wanted, exchanging vows before a small gathering of family and friends standing upon a Vermont hill, beneath her beloved oak tree. Only, as a last, unsuccessful effort in hopes he'd reconsider his mistake; his parents declined the invitation to attend the wedding of their only child.

In loyalty to his wife, the love of his life, Jeffrey severed any contact with his parents. Growing up in a close Italian family, Sarah didn't want him to do that. Nonetheless, Jeffrey abandoned his family's real estate business and took a job with a competitor. Now, out from under the grasp of his controlling mother, it had been seven years since he saw his parents.

Then, tragically one day, suddenly and unexpectedly, at only 32-years-old, the sole heir to the family's fortune, Jeffrey died. A non-smoker, thin, fit, and in the prime of his life, no one expected the worst to happen. When he was born the doctors said that he had a heart murmur and with the best of medical care, it was something that he had learned to live with by modifying his daily routine of diet and exercise to pamper his condition. Nonetheless, on this fateful day, after a rousing game of racket ball at the club, his competitive spirit instilled in him at an early age by his parents is what killed him. It was reported from the coroner's autopsy that a massive heart attack was the cause of death. From death do you part and for better or for worse, that was when everything changed for the worse for Sarah.

After her husband died, the love of her children and the passion of her work as an artist was what sustained her. His parents were of no help to her. They had never even met. Only now, mourning their son's death and once Jeffrey's parents saw photos the kids, after refusing to even acknowledge their birth, the spitting image of Jeffrey, when he was their age, platinum blonde, blue-eyed, and rosy cheeked, they wanted them in the same way that they wanted to build another mega real estate development. Sarah would cut off her hands and never paint again rather than give up her kids to the state's court ordered custody decree delivered by her late, husband's rich family.

Powerfully influential in the New York community where they lived in Manhattan, the father routinely played golf and had real estate business dealings with the judge. Even though the honorable judge excused himself from the trial, that didn't excuse the positive, political climate of favors that were unfairly given to the family behind closed doors in the decision found by the court against her.

They said she was an unfit mother because she left her children with friends while she earned the money she needed to support them by selling her paintings at the flea markets. They said that she not only couldn't properly care for her two children but also that she couldn't support them. Truth be told, she wasn't an unfit mother and somehow and someway, she always managed to support them.

She loved her children. She'd do anything for her kids. Only, with her family living so far away and unable to go there anyway because she absconded with the children and was in violation of the court order, it was impossibly difficult to be the sole provider and sole caregiver when her deceased husband's wealthy family refused her their help.

His parents, Robert and Emily Laughton, never having met her, didn't even give her a chance to like her. From a black and white photo taken on an overcast day from the parked car of a private investigator, she was as dark as an Arabian stallion, a bit too full in the hips, too short, and as foreign appearing as a terrorist they said. They figured she was a heathen and a gypsy, but she was a God fearing Roman Catholic and a third generation Italian-American whose ancestors came from Florence, Italy. As it so happened, she was a direct descendent of the great painter and sculptor Michelangelo.