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Raul's best days were behind him, though his soul still burned for the art, his body was beginning to fail him. For nearly fifty years he ruled the art world, he set the standard from which everyone else was judged. In recent years, he had to slow down; arthritis prevented him from spending the hours at the canvas each day he needed to complete his work. Though curtailed at the canvas, Raul found ways to fire his passion. Over the last decade, several of Raul's assistants took his vision to the forefront and Raul loved seeing them grow, he loved seeing them expand his art and he loved seeing them develop their own voice in their art. Raul understood the natural progression, so when he could no longer bear the hours at a canvas, he turned to teaching. The local university was small, and badly under funded, so they leaped at the opportunity to add Raul to their Art Department. With his reputation and a little support from the administration the university's art school became the premier program in their small country. Several of Raul's former assistants had joined him there teaching, and Raul assumed the role of master. While his position at the university put him in contact with some of the best artists in the continent, he spent his most joyous moments teaching a first year class, a basic introduction to painting. It was here he could touch and inspire the most open minds. They were so pure and pristine, free of most preconceptions that burdened his most advanced students. Raul held class in a small studio in the basement of the old biology building. After the biology department shut down in the early 1990s, the building stood vacant. The basement, which held mostly laboratory space, provided an excellent location for a studio. The space had no ceilings; it was open to the concrete structure above it. To be able to house all the lab equipment and fume hoods, the open space was nearly two stories tall. The building was situated along the river bank, so although one side of the basement space was underground without windows, the entire north side of the space looked out over the river with full height clearstory windows. Facing north, it got a perfect amount of diffuse light, without the glare of direct sunlight. Though this studio was across campus from his office, Raul happily took the long stroll to the building every other day. He even spent most Saturdays at the studio, opening it to his students who needed extra time with their projects. It was on one of these Saturdays that Raul became aware of Pauline. During the first few weeks of each semester Raul would work hard to get to know each student, this was especially true of his first year students. He realized the better he knew the student, the more he could do to fire their imagination. This year, within a week of beginning class, he was well acquainted nearly all of his students. He could watch them work for just a few moments and could immediately determine what they were feeling that day. With some careful but swift evaluation, he could approach them in a manner that would, through a precise mix of criticism and encouragement, fuel their desire for their work. Within two weeks, Raul knew all of his students this way, all of them except Pauline. Something in this particular student baffled him. She was slightly overweight, and walked oddly, not exactly a limp, but an almost shuffle. The clothing she wore, though clean was obviously not in the style most of the students were wearing at that time. Even for the eclectic art students that surrounded them, Pauline seemed oddly out of place. Her jet black hair was short and unevenly cut, almost as if she simply took her scissors to her hair herself. She had very heavy eyebrows that nearly met in the middle above her long nose. A faint covering of facial hair lined her cheeks, giving them a dark, hallow look that belied her overall weight. Even though she was not very attractive, Raul was drawn to her dark eyes. They were black, so black that it seemed you could look into her soul. She seemed so vulnerable and yet at the same time fiercely independent. Raul saw hints of this strange duality reflected in her art, and yet there was something else, something he couldn't grasp. During class he would watch her work, encouraging her, but it seemed the more he lauded her, the more she shut down. "I like what you have done with the sky, the dark mix of colors adds a depth I rarely see in a student," Raul said one day. "Yes sir," she responded, lowering her eyes from his gaze. "Do you see what I am talking about?" "I think so," still looking at her feet. "Keep going, it's very good," he encouraged as he began to wander on. As he moved to survey the work of another student, he saw her stop, rest her head on the table and tremble, as if sobbing. Afraid of agitating her more, Raul left her alone. Later, as he completed his round in the classroom he noticed she had just started to paint again. As the year progressed she remained an enigma to Raul, though at times her work was inspired, at other times it seemed lackadaisical. He felt he understood every other student in his class but her. She attended every class and spent every Saturday working in the studio, and still he could not come to understand her. Finally, on Saturday evening, shortly before Raul was going to lock up the studio for the night, he decided to talk to her of the dilemma. He knew he risked her shutting down on him, perhaps even running out sobbing, but he had to do this, otherwise, he was letting her down. He sat at his desk, pondering the situation until the only other student in the studio, grabbed his supplies and headed for the door. "Good bye Senor Cortina," the student said as he passed the desk. Raul merely nodded, lost in thought. He sat another ten minutes before he finally rose from his chair and headed over to Pauline. She seemed lost in her painting, a stunning, colorful piece, so vibrant for her. "It is very powerful," Raul began. "Oh, ah...," she started. "I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you." "It's okay. Oh my, I lost track of time. You must be ready to leave, I'll pick up my things," she said nervously. "No, no, it's quite alright. In fact, I wanted to talk to you some." Pauline tilted her head. "Okay, did I do something wrong?" "No... no nothing like that. I think it is I who did something wrong." She looked puzzled, "You?" "Yes me, I have failed to help you, to guide you, to understand you. Normally, I can look into a student and know what to say to inspire them, to encourage them. But it seems whenever I talk to you, I fail you." "I am sorry," she said averting her gaze. "No, please look at me. Let me see your eyes. It is my fault, not yours. I am doing something wrong with you. I want to inspire you." "But you do inspire me." "I watch you listen to me, I see you paint, but I fail. What can I do to inspire you? What can I do to make you see what your brush produces? What can I do to touch you?" She raised her eyes to meet Raul's and whispered, "You can paint me." "Paint you? No, I can't. I can't because my hands, I can't spend the time at the canvas," Raul replied. "No, I don't want you to paint my portrait; I want you to paint me." Raul squinted, not understanding, "But I cannot paint, my hands, when I turn them to the canvas they ache." "You don't understand. I want you to touch me with your brush, I want you to paint your colors on me, on my body." "But," he started, wringing his hands. "I will lie on the ground, you stand above me. It won't hurt your hands as much and you can paint just a little at a time." "I don't..." She took his hand and rubbed it gently. "I need this," she whispered. "But the paint..." "It's body paint, it's safe for me. There is some on the back shelves, I've seen it there." "But..." Raul moaned pensively. "Please," she said, tears rising from the black depths of her eyes. "Brushes, I will need brushes." "I have brushes. Will you?" Raul leaned on the table and nodded his head. "I will paint you." Pauline immediately began removing her sweatshirt. "But, wait, you want me to paint here?" "Yes, it's perfect." "Let me lock the door at least," Raul pleaded. "Yes, lock the door, I will grab the paint," she said. Raul stood staring at her naked breasts for a moment, frozen until she turned and headed for the paint shelves. He quickly walked to the door and locked it, as he returned to the work area, he watched her breasts bob up and down as she walked. They were full and soft, sagging so that the nipples pointed downward. He stood and watched as she removed her sandals and her jeans. Finally she wiggled out of her panties, and lay down on a towel she had pulled out of her bag. "How do you want me to paint you?" he asked, feeling a stirring in his groin he had not felt in many years, not with a woman at least. "You are the artist, I am the student, teach me." Turning a moment, as if to grab a brush, he adjusted his erection and then turned back to her and whispered, "Let me just look a moment." She smiled, for the first time, Raul saw her smile. "Take all the time you like." He took his brush and lightly touched her breast, "I will start here and then I will whirl over here." Raul noticed her flinch as the dry brush passed over her nipple. Her breathing was quickening as he continued his consideration. "I will not be able to paint here," he said, touching the short black curls on her Venus mound. "The paint will not like the hair." "I will shave that tonight," she gasped. Raul dipped his brush into the bright red and began with the brush tip beside her nipple. He began to curl his stroke around the nipple as he watched the subtle change in the shadow as the nipple hardened. The light glistened off of the wet paint as her breath got deeper and her breasts heaved in a rhythm. He changed to yellow as she spread her legs and ran her hand along her thigh. As he spiraled off of the other nipple, her fingers slipped between her lips, and now moistened, moved to her clit. He mixed to magenta, and ran his brush off her breasts down her stomach. She moved beneath the brush, moving her hips up to the motion of her fingers. He circled her belly button and then returned to the palette. Blue on her shoulders, curving in waves, a flowing liquid as she moaned in ecstasy, she arched her back, and then settled onto the towel. Raul cleaned one of the brushes, considering the next color when he felt her hand caress him in a place no woman had touched in many years. He stood motionless as she opened his pants and took out his organ. Leaning back onto the table, Raul put the brush down and braced himself. Pressing his hips forward, he watched as she slowly stroked his cock. "You painted me with your colors, now paint me in your white," she whispered, quickening her stroke. She slipped him in her mouth, as he moaned at the sensation. As she continued stroking his shaft while she sucked the head, she felt the slight thickening that announced his impending explosion. Quickly pulling her head away, she slid her hands over him wildly as he came in small spurts, dribbling out of the tiny hole. She carefully milked his softening cock, letting his come drip onto her breasts. The gray-white liquid glistened on the drying paint. Raul felt his hands tremble as Pauline helped him re-fasten his pants. He found a chair and sat down as she, still naked, worked on cleaning up his brushes. Once she finished, she tested the paint and come on her, confirming it was dry and then pulled on her panties, jeans and sweatshirt. She heard him snoring lightly as she slid on her sandals. "Senor Cortina, it is time to return to your office," she whispered while gently nudging his shoulder. "Oh yes, yes, I am awake. I was just resting my eyes," he said, blinking wildly. "I will walk back with you. Tomorrow is Sunday, if you wish we can finish this painting." "I would like that." "And then, another day, when you are ready," she said, smiling and nodding at his crotch, "I will paint you in my colors." "Your colors?" "Yes, my colors," she replied. Raul smiled, realizing he had finally touched her. Watching as she grabbed her things with a contented smile, he knew, he had finally found her. They walked together across campus, each longing for the next day, each newly inspired in their art. |
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