The Unfinished Mural

I graduated from art school last year and I am 20. "A comedian on television said that having a bachelor's in fine art is equivalent to a Felony conviction. He is not only funny but right."

I got hired today, a shit job at a book store. That is what artists do in a big corporate, big finance, big pharmaceutical, big tech, capitalism horror show, get shit jobs. I walk over to my best friend's house a few blocks down.

"Did you get the job," Keith said.

"I did, eight bucks an hour with possible benefits," I said.

"Congratulations Perry," Jessica said.

Jessica is Keith's mom. She is Irish and English and something else. But her skin is tan. Her breasts are very large and her behind is like an onion. I don't leer but take notice.

I met Keith several years ago on the neighborhood basketball court. He is a year younger and we both loved McDonalds, playing video games, and then basketball in the hot summer Georgia heat. We bonded because we both fear the same shit: nonsense. We stayed far from any trouble and troublemakers and got good grades.

"Did Jessica tell you about the mural we want in the bathroom?" Jake said.

"No," I said.

Jake is Keith's dad. He builds websites and plays the Congo drums at night while getting sauced on wine with Jessica. It is funny to watch. Sometimes Keith and I join in with acoustic guitar. We both are self-taught from guitar tab magazines from the local grocery store.

I follow Jake upstairs into the master bathroom. There is a small walk-in closet by the shower with the shelves removed.

"We want sort of a Mexican style sunset maybe with some Aztec figures," Jake said.

"When do you want it done?" I said.

"Today Perry," Jake said.

"I need to fun to the store and get..."

"In the other room. On the table is a bucket of acrylic paints with several brushes. A six pack of "Monk in the Trunk" beer, a joint, and a Bluetooth speaker," Jake said. "How is 100 bucks?"

"Holy Shit," I said. "I am in."

I start out with a desert with cactuses. And then some half nude warrior with a spear against the departing red sun. A few hours pass and I can hear the Congo drums down stairs. I walk down with paint on my t-shirt and cheek.

"Grab some pizza," Jessica said.

"Where did Keith go?" I said.

"He went on a date," Jake said.

It is Saturday night and the pizza slices are delicious. I judge pizza first on the taste and quantity of the sauce under the cheese. If there is lack of sauce or sauce flavor, I never order it again. I drink a glass of wine and pour another for the trip back upstairs. Jessica follows.

"I cannot wait to see, how much longer?" Jessica said.

"I am almost done," I said.

"I am running to the office, be back in a bit," Jake said. His voice echoing from down stairs.

Jessica's mouth drops and she starts clapping. "This is splendid, I love your style," she said.

Jessica is late afternoon wine-buzzed and claps and marches around the bathroom. "It is beautiful, and you are so talented Perry," she said.

"Thank you, I am just going to finish the warrior a bit and call it a day," I said.

"You go on and do that. I am taking a quick shower but don't let me get in your way, I know you mustn't' be interrupted."

I kneel down in shock. I am not sure if she plans to shower with me there. I am now tucked inside the closet corner and can hear the shower running. I paint. I look at the unfinished warrior. I can hear Jessica humming. I almost saw her naked form a few years back when she ran down a hallway. The glimpse was a blur.

Jessica hums and I can hear the shower door. There is the right f open closet door with horizontal crevices separating us. My legs are shaking as I put down the brush. I crawl backwards to the door and look through a crevice.

The shower door is spotless. Jessica's hair is peppered with shampoo suds. I can see her huge bare tits. The hot water drips down them. She faces the faucet and her wet bubble ass is the most beautiful fucking thing on Earth. I listen for any noise downstairs but cannot hear anything above the shower. I am sure Jake is gone but still terrifying.

Jessica's eyes meet my area as she handles her grapefruits with foamy palms. Then she turns and smears a spiral each booty cheek. I pull down my cargo pants, the cold air condition freezes my bare ass. My cock is curved up and harder than ever. I watch Mrs. Rose play with her tits then ass. I stroke my cock and become dizzy. Drool drips down my cheeks as I study her. I masturbate faster and know it will be quick. She abruptly shuts off the water and opens the door. I stroke my cock in the new silence and the noise can be heard. I flood the wood closet door as I suppress a parade of moans birthed from my testicles to my stomach. I pull up my pants and grab a brush.

Wrapped in a towel she peaks in. "Looking good," she said.

"Thanks," I said.

"Come on down and join me for a glass of wine you are done," she said.

"Sure," I said.

I hear her walk out. I wonder if she knows. I turn and see it immediately. Impossible not to. The closet door covered in so much seamen it looks like its melting. There is a puddle beneath. I know she saw all of it.

Bob Marley's "Redemption Song" plays downstairs. I hear Jessica clapping.