Still Life

A spring breeze is fluttering my curtains. I’m lost in faraway thoughts, dreaming a fantasy scene, a selection of thick oils squeezed onto the palette set before my easel. Seduced by the dream of going far, far away, I can actually hear the wind rustling the palm leaves, smell the burn of tiki oil in the humid air, feel the waves washing onto the shore and caressing my toes. Handsome island men surf on long boards, racing with the waves. White sand. Bare feet. Orange-red sky. Sun dripping gold onto the ocean.

The strangely exciting juxtaposition of fantasy and reality is the sound of clapping, then the rich National Anthem being sung at the baseball stadium just down the hill from my high rise apartment complex. Cheering. Crack of the bat against the first pitch. Then laughter. High-pitched giggling. More laughter. But the giggling is nearby, not from the stadium. The smell of something…..divine. Lemongrass? Coconut ? Peanuts and spice?

As I move my brush across the canvas in bold, swift strokes, bringing it to life with color and inspiration, I see movement in the amber light of the apartment across the courtyard. I lean forward and pull the curtain open just a peek. A dark haired woman is standing in front of the stove in a short backless red satin negligee. A candle flickers on a small dinette. The woman’s hair is thick and shiny, a tangle of spirals that dance in a waterfall shape down to the middle of her back, sweeping across strong, angular shoulders and offering an occasional glimpse of her graceful neck as she sautés with flourish.

She is laughing, her head tilted back – joie de vivre! A man wearing only faded jeans is on the floor as she cooks, on his back, lifting the hem of her gown, peeking – while she laughs. She swats at him with a wooden sauté spoon and he leaps to his feet, wrapping his arms around her waist, caressing her breasts through the satin.

The island scene is quickly forgotten and I long to capture the not-so-still life unfolding before my eyes. Will they notice me in the window? I shouldn’t. I won’t. I must. I set my half-painted seascape on the coffee table and place a blank canvas on the easel.

As the evening light fades, the love scene unfolding in the fourth story window is intensifying. I light a candle of my own to paint by without drawing attention to myself. I work swiftly, filling in background details, the small stove, red pillar candle, dinette, floor, a shelf stuffed with cookbooks, well-used pans dangling from a ceiling rack, onto the canvas as the man and woman flash about the kitchen like Quetzalcoatl birds.

The man lifts the lid on a small pot, a blast of steam puffing into the air. A few moments later I inhale the sweet aroma of Jasmine rice. The woman holds out two glasses in her hands and spins, the little red gown flaring up like a splash of spilled wine to reveal a sparkling black beaded thong. The man pulls a bottle from a cupboard and leans it toward her, showing her the label. She lowers the glasses to the bright stainless steel countertop and takes the bottle gently from his hands, caressing it, pressing it between her breasts.

Maybe it is the soft light, the eroticism of watching them open window to open window, the smell of their cooking – I don’t know exactly, but whatever it is, everything that it is, these people are just too perfect to be real. They are like performers, so fluid in their movements. Their romance is breathtaking. The electric love between them is so alive! She lifts her hem, slides the thick bottle between her thighs and tilts her pelvis towards him, her hands grasping the rounded fullness of the glass. He leans down and slowly works a screw into the spongy cork, pulling it part way out before removing the screw and setting it on the dinette. Did I say romance? Did I say love? He tips his head forward and – oh my God. Romance? What I meant is Sex with a capital S. Undiluted Lust. Pure Passion. Man places his entire mouth over the neck of the bottle, his hands cupped beneath Woman’s ass as he loosens the cork with his teeth. Woman’s head is back, glossy lips parted slightly, a pearly ledge of white teeth flickering in the candlelight, hair spilling across her arms, her hands gripping the counter edge. Man stands up with the cork in his teeth and pops it high in the air before filling their glasses.

Is the paintbrush heating up my hand or is my hand heating the paintbrush? I shift in my chair, my sweat-soaked ass bare beneath my tennis skirt, sticking to the seat. I work quickly in this momentary interlude of wine sipping, painting Lust and Passion as naked bodies in motion, the smell of their spice infused dinner filling my apartment.

The intensity is overwhelming, their heat warming my skin, their sweat becoming my sweat, their desire-filled bodies coming to life on the canvas through my eyes and by my own hands! I pull my sticky skin from the chair and run to the kitchen for a glass of cold water – and a shot of tequila with a cooling squeeze of lime.

When I return to the window, Lust is vigorously rubbing spices across a reddish pink slab of meat set on a large wooden cutting board. Passion is working Lust’s jeans down, lifting his feet out of the cuffs, massaging his shoulders, back, butt, thighs. The muscles on Lust’s back are etched as a dark relief in the waxy light. Passion lifts Lust’s wine glass to his lips for a long, slow drink as he continues massaging flavorings into the meat before finally cutting it into thick cubes and tossing it, sizzling and popping, into a pan of hot oil.

Lust gives the glistening cubes a quick stir, then turns down the burner and faces Passion. He pulls her hair to one side and slowly lifts her gown up higher and higher. She raises her long graceful arms into the air as he pulls the satin over her head, her breasts freed and pressing against his bare chest, her nakedness nearly complete. Lust hooks his finger into the band of beads slung low around her hips and caresses Passion’s curves with a slow-burning intensity. She pulls away, sips at her wine and giggles softly, her nipples dancing in rhythm with the silvery bells of laughter. She opens the refrigerator, bends down low, reaches deep inside and retrieves a slender swan-shaped Asian cucumber.

My brush stops mid-stroke as Passion pulls a large knife from the wooden block on the counter and beheads the swan with a swift whack! She selects a small paring knife and begins peeling the glossy green length of it in triple slow motion. Lust shifts the pan of sizzling meat to a back burner and turns off the flame. He stirs the peanut sauce, swirling honey and coconut milk into it and sets about chopping a handful of cilantro. Passion continues removing the green skin from the cuke in long, wet strips that fall in curls into the sink. When the vegetable is fully stripped, she retrieves the flat-headed wooden spoon and taps Lust lightly on the ass. He turns, his hands speckled with herbs and rubs them across her breasts, leaving green, juicy fragrant flecks clinging to her skin.

Passion smacks him harder, his cock now as stiff as the naked cuke she is gripping in her hand. Lust drops to his knees and removes Passion’s black thong with his teeth, pulling it down her legs. He tugs it loose from where it is now dangling from the ankle of a raised leg, shakes his head violently, and flings it clattering across the kitchen. Rising slowly, kissing every inch of her damp skin from her toes to her neck, Lust winds around her like a vine, flowering her with kisses. He places the candle on the counter and picks Passion up in both arms, turning with her in a circle, kissing and biting her neck and breasts. The candle flame flickers and bends at their whirling. Lust sets her gently on the edge of the dinette before taking the perspiring cuke from her hand and gliding it upward along the inside of her leg.

The brush drops from my hand as Lust slides the cuke between Passion’s thighs. Passion swings the wooden spoon, spanking Lust so hard on the ass that he yells out in pain, a bright streak blooming red across his skin. I have forgotten all about painting now and am straining towards the window ledge. Passion strikes him again and again as Lust teases her pussy with the cuke, her feet perched on the edge of the table, knees spread wide.

Lust pulls the cuke free and lifts Passion from the table, turning her so that she is facing my window. He drizzles honey down her spine and licks at it slowly as he buries his cock deep inside her from behind, wrapping his hands around her pelvis and tenderly pleasuring her pussy with honeyed fingers. The spoon falls to the floor. I can hear the table banging against the wall below the window ledge. Passion’s hair is now a messy tangle, bouncing crazily across her soft face as Lust thrusts faster and faster. Passion yells out shamelessly. “My desire, my lust! Yesss! You feel so good! Yes! Oh yes! Long moments later she falls forward onto the dinette, breasts cradled in Lust’s hands, her silvery giggle mingled with soft moans of pleasure, her ass lifted high and shaking slightly. Lust pulls himself deeper into her and grinds slowly against her quivering body, his butt flexed, his body rounded into her back, cock pulsing……pulsing with all that Lust has to offer….and more.

I literally fall off of my chair and onto the floor. I lie there panting, heart racing, pussy aching, before pulling myself to eye level with the window sill, crouching between the wall and the curtain and resting there for a moment before I can finally stand. The baseball game suddenly returns to my consciousness, the pleasant sounds of clapping and cheering again audible in the background.

Lust and Passion kiss and nuzzle for a few moments, then rise together from the table and resume their kitchen duties as if nothing has happened! Lust spoons large soft mounds of fluffy white rice onto plates. Passion carefully tops the mounds with the rubbed meat and stir fried veggies, finishing the presentation with a generous drizzle of creamy hot peanut sauce and a fluttering of cilantro. Suddenly I am famished.

I gulp water and gaze at the canvas before me. Man and Woman are captured in sweeping strokes, a picture of seduction, locked in a naked embrace. She is arched elegantly, head back, Man’s arm around her hips, his lips reaching toward her breasts, the spoon lifted slightly in her hand. Whether the utensil is meant for spanking or stirring is left to the imagination.

I feel a gaze and look up, startled. Passion is looking right at me, smiling and waving, motioning at me to join them, holding a heaping plate, blowing steam towards me, swaying her ass back and forth. What a tease Passion is!

The paint is still damp, but I am certain it will dry quickly in the heat of their apartment. I smile and head towards the door, the moist artwork cradled in my palms…..the perfect hostess gift.

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