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Drawing on the Dark Side of the Brain

41
Beatitude

ARIEL WENT HOME with Rania ‘to help clean her up and get the paint off.’ We didn’t see her for two days.

“AAGH! YOU’RE HOPELES!” Blankenship screamed when he saw my thirty-inch rendering of The Garden of Earthly Delights. “How can you create something with such detail that is so flat? Don’t you listen in class? The whole point of perspective is to create depth and direction. Stop thinking of the horizon as a point out in the distance. The eye creates the horizon. If the world was truly flat, it would still fade in the distance and cut off at the point where your eye focused. Just because you have chosen to look down at your subject doesn’t mean there is no horizon or vanishing point.”

He scratched out a drawing of Ariel on the whiteboard so quickly I was amazed at how much it looked like her. Then he drew a line in red across the drawing and right between her eyes. He drew a second that cut between her breasts, and a third right through her pussy.

“Decide. Which is the focus? Where do you want the viewer’s eye to begin? This drawing looks like a wallpaper print. There is no depth. No illusion of space. One, perspective. Two, overlap. The shapes you’ve created are all complete, interlinked like the pieces of a picture puzzle. Nothing is behind anything else. Three, size. You have objects of different sizes, but none of the sizes seem related to how far away they are. They are merely different sizes, not different distances. Four, placement. The eye works from a foreground at the bottom to background at the top. It is simply the way humans see. There is no differentiation of closeness or farness as you move from bottom to top or top to bottom. Five, value. You are back to drawing precise even objects without shading or color differentiation. Six, detail. Everything in the drawing is done with the same level of detail. Objects that are farther away are seen with less detail than those that are close. Everything in this drawing is just as precisely drawn and detailed. Flat. Flat. Flat!”

Fuck!

“Two weeks. Same size. Bring it back showing illusional space.”

I picked up my drawing and shoved it in the portfolio. We scowled at each other a couple of seconds before I turned on my heel to leave. I didn’t say anything. Sessions with Blankety, like his class, weren’t discussions.

THE LITERATURE AND THE ARTS discussion group, however, comprised small groups of a dozen out of the class of nearly a hundred that met together to talk about the topic being covered in class and respond to each other’s representative projects. Wednesday was beat on Jett day. Fuck! My project is over already.

“You liberals are all alike. Everything is about gun control. Well, the second amendment guarantees us the right to bear arms. It’s not about murdering. It’s about protecting ourselves from a government that becomes a tyranny. If you take the guns away from Lady Liberty, only the tyrants and criminals will have guns!” declared one of the guys in the group.

I hadn’t realized there was anything about gun control in my painting. I owned a rifle. Granddad made sure I knew how to use it out on the farm. It was a moderately low-power .22 caliber lever action rifle, but it was still a rifle I used to shoot at squirrels and gophers out in the fields. I painted the picture with the most popular mass-shooting weapon in the country because that’s the most popular mass-shooting weapon in the country. Even if I thought there should be a ban on their manufacture and sale, it didn’t mean I was unarmed.

I didn’t get a chance to say anything.

“You and your rights,” a heavyset girl next to me spat at him. “All you have is rights and no reasons. This discussion was supposed to be about the Age of Reason and instead we’re talking about a pornographic portrayal of one of the most sacred symbols of American freedom, desecrating the most precious document of the Revolutionary War. Was it really necessary to have her breasts bared? To show a view up her crotch as she fell back when shot? This stuff is indecent and your model should probably file charges against you for molesting her. She’s one more #MeToo exploited by a man in the name of his creativity.”

Molesting Rania? You’ve got to be kidding. The closest contact I had with her was one hug. The rest was all at the end of a brush or a spray of paint. She’d been a collaborator on the piece. That expression of death on her face was her orgasm instituted at her suggestion without my help. Still no chance to answer.

“I’d trade freedom for security,” a quiet girl with a bandana on her head said. “As a woman, I’m constantly afraid. I looked at the painting and felt that was my life. I expect the bullet, figurative or literal, at any time. It could be a rape, a closed door, a fanatic preacher, an offended brother, or a US Congressman. In the name of freedom, we’ve lost all form of being secure in our lives.”

“You’re an immigrant,” another said. “You came here for freedom. But that isn’t what you really want. You just want someone else to take care of you. The painting is a clear message that the Statue of Liberty is no longer an unguarded invitation to plunder our country in the name of Freedom. We’ve closed the gates.”

What the fuck? I didn’t say anything for the whole class time. It was just too much. Did I mean anything they were saying? I had only one message that I thought I was giving. Liberty equals death; death equals liberty. It’s personal. I never thought it would affect so many others in different ways.

Left, Right. Conservative, Liberal. What’s the difference? We have the vicious on one side and the humorless on the other. They both want to control our lives. Fuck ’em.

“WHAT ARE YOU MAKING, JETT?”

“Stuffed chicken breasts for dinner. Friday’s my night now. Um… you kind of missed yours Tuesday.”

“Oh, shit. I forgot,” Ariel mourned. There was something of her old emo self in that expression. I set my knives aside and washed my hands.

“This will wait a few minutes. Tell me about it,” I said as I led her to the living room. It was only noon and I was getting a head start on things for the evening meal using one of the prep techniques I’d learned in my Proteins class.

Ariel hesitated a moment when I sat on the couch and then cuddled up on my lap. She pressed her face against my chest and I had to struggle to hear her whisper, “I’m in love.”

I somehow had a feeling she didn’t mean with me. Or with any of the girls in our family.

“You and Rania really hit it off, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Oh, Jett, she’s wonderful! So gentle and loving and dominant. I want to be with her and obey her and be anything she wants,” Ariel said. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I never imagined Rania was bi,” I mused. “Well I should have realized that when she brought you into the studio to lick her out.”

“She’s not bi. She’s a lesbian. Pure, gold star, lesbian. She has no interest in men at all.”

“Really? I’d never have guessed. She doesn’t seem… well, when we worked together we really got along well. She didn’t seem to have anything against men.”

“Why would she? Being homosexual isn’t equivalent of being either misogynist or misandrist. Far more straight people fit in those categories than gay people. You automatically jump to the conclusion that if she isn’t interested in you then she must hate men.” Ariel scowled at me and started to pull away. I held on.

“Please don’t think that of me, Ariel. I’m sorry about my reaction. You’re springing a lot on me at once and I don’t know how to respond. We all love you, too. Telling us you’ve fallen in love with someone else hurts and I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

“And I love you! That’s why I don’t know what to do. Rania is not only lesbian, she’s very monogamous. She’d never fit in among our family like Mary does. She couldn’t even be tolerant of multiple relationships like Eva is. What am I going to do?” Ariel started crying in earnest and I rocked her back and forth on my lap.

“It sounds like you are leaving us,” I whispered. “I’m sad, Ariel, but I only want what makes you happy.”

“But I’m happy with you, too. I don’t want to give up seven sex partners for one, even if she knows, like, ten times the number of ways to satisfy a woman.”

“Really?”

“You would not believe how she can make me feel!”

“I guess you need to choose.”

“Why? Why can’t I have both? We’ve never objected to you bringing home a potential or actual new lover. The girls all assumed at first that Rania was just interested in you and we’d never get a lick at her. The reality was she was interested in just one of us… but it wasn’t you. But if you can have an outside lover and it’s okay with us, why can’t I have an outside lover?”

“Will Rania be satisfied with that?”

“I don’t know! But I haven’t made any commitments to her. I still love you, Jett. I still love Sarah Lynn, Jasmine, Char, Kelly, Mary, and Eva. Do you still love me? Am I still your little sex doll?”

“I love you, Ariel.”

“Then let’s put your hens away and let your cock out to play.”

I BARELY MADE IT back to the kitchen in time to get dinner ready. Ariel was voracious. Rania might have been loving on her and had techniques that were far superior, but apparently, she didn’t have a cock. And Ariel produced enough juice from her pussy that I was nearly drowned by the second time she came and my cock slid effortlessly into her tight little pussy when she mounted me. I just love to watch her bounce!

“Jett, you’ve come in my mouth and in my pussy. Why haven’t you ever taken my ass?”

“What? I would never hurt you like that!”

“But I want it. I’ve wanted it since the first time you pushed your thumb into my little hole.”

“I wouldn’t want to do that unless you were prepared,” I said. “Char is the only one I’ve done that with and she always prepares first.”

“Char is always prepared. She told me that if I wanted that, I needed to always be prepared. I push my butt plug in every day before I leave for school and wear it inside me, stretching me to receive your cock, all day long. I always keep myself clean and cleaned out before we go to bed. Even this afternoon. I wasn’t just peeing when I went to the bathroom. I’m always ready and you never take me. I’m your sex doll, Jett. I have three holes.”

“I… You… Really? Now?” I wasn’t making much sense to myself, but my cock had hardened in Ariel’s hand as she talked to me and I was definitely ready. She nodded and started to turn over. I held her on her back as I crawled between her legs and shoved my cock in her pussy.

“That’s not my butt!” she laughed.

“No. I’m just getting a little extra lube. I want to look at your face. I want to see your eyes when I push into your bottom. I want to watch your mouth stretch as I stretch your asshole with my cock. I want to feel your pussy juices running down your crack onto my cock to keep me lubricated when I fuck your ass.”

“Yes, Jett. I’m ready. Yes!”

I pulled out of her pussy and pushed her legs up onto my shoulders. Ariel is extremely flexible and can be a little pretzel if she wants to. As her ass rolled forward, my cock slipped down. I didn’t need my hands. I could feel the pulsing opening against the head of my cock as I moved against her. Such a tiny butt held in both my hands. I pushed.

Ariel began to whine as I applied more pressure. I was afraid I needed more lubrication or that I was just too big. Then there was a sudden relaxation and the head of my cock slipped past her rectal ring and Ariel’s eyes popped open almost as wide as her mouth.

“Okay?” I asked. She couldn’t say anything, but just nodded her head. I bent to kiss her and my cock slid in a little farther. She whined into my mouth and clutched my arms to pull me forward. Deeper. I thought of Char’s butt as being buttery when I slid into her but Ariel’s was a furnace. I was about three-quarters into her when her eyes popped open with a gasp.

“There! There! Stop! That’s as far as you can go. Stop! That’s as deep as I am.” I pulled back a little.

“Do you want me out?”

“No! But don’t go any deeper than that. I can feel you hit the bend in my colon. You can’t push straight any farther. It hurt when you hit it. But don’t stop fucking my ass now that you’ve started. Now I want to feel everything. I want to feel you coming up my poop chute.” Ariel pushed a hand down between us and began furiously strumming her clit as I pulled back and moved forward again, careful not to pound into her too deeply.

It didn’t make a difference. Being in my little Asian lover’s bottom was ramping me up fast. Such an incredible feeling.

“Your sex doll has three holes and you can have them all,” she chanted. “Fuck my mouth, fuck my cunt, fuck my ass. Fuck me over and over again. I’m going… again… I’m…” The rhythm of Ariel’s fingers on her clit changed and I could feel the pressure increase as she started a wordless scream of orgasm. When she came, her ass relaxed and clenched and repeated over and over again. I pulled back and pushed into her one more time to the limit she had set and started spraying my come on that bend in her colon. Yes!

I was fine with her having an outside girlfriend. Especially, if I continued to have access to this!

“I DON’T KNOW. I’m thinking the crucifixion theme isn’t going to work,” I sighed. Mary cuddled up next to me and guided my hand to the piercing in her left nipple. We were seeing more of each other since she was with us for dinner at least five nights a week and we shared our drawing from hell class. But it seemed like we had less time to be intimate with our late study nights and projects. This evening, we’d been going over my plan for painting a transsexual crucifixion scene to accompany the themes found in The Idiot. That got us to comparing male anatomy—mine—to female anatomy—hers—and trying to figure out exactly where her cock would originate if she had one. Eventually, we were cuddled together on the couch just touching each other and making out.

“What’s the biggest problem?”

“Well, the unit is basically the transition from realism to impressionism. First off, it’s rare to find a crucifixion scene among the romantic impressionists. We’re talking Cezanne, Monet, Manet, Degas, and Renoir. They are more likely to paint a picture of a picnic where everyone is happily sitting around a blanket with food and all the women are naked.”

“Gustave Courbet started that. Real subjects painted in a new and sometimes erotic way. Lips held inches from nipples. Direct view of hairy crotch. Casual embraces. Why not go with a romantic scene with our trans Christ that foreshadows crucifixion? Sarah Lynn can put her lips next to my nipples. You can show my cock right above my pussy slit.”

“That’s more futa than transgender, but we could go that way. I wonder what I can come up with.”

“Come up me, lover. It’s been too long since I’ve had your cock in my vagina. I know life has been crazy lately, but I want you, too. Do you still want me, Jett?” I could feel her tremble beneath my fingers and detected a bit of anxiety in it, not just the tremors she so frequently had.

“I want you, Mary. Let’s go to bed.”

I DREW. I painted. I wrote papers. And for my 3D class, I even made a hanging mobile. I made kebobs, stuffed breasts and porkchops, teriyaki marinated beef strips, and tied roasts, fully seasoned and ready for the oven. And we studied.

By the end of the first week of April, I had a sketch that I felt was appropriate for my painting of the hermaphrodite Christ. I liked the concept better because it was in keeping with Christ. He was supposedly a complete human and a complete god, ‘fully human and fully divine,’ the way the church put it. So why not fully man and fully woman? This time, there would be no body painting. I was doing a canvas. Not even a really huge one, but the setting was reminiscent of the pastoral scenes of Monet and the sensuality of Courbet. I used Sarah Lynn, Jas, Kelly, and Eva in the scene as Mary’s picnic companions or disciples.

I didn’t need them all at once nor all the time so everyone was able to pose a while and then go do their own work. I started painting and just used my own normal freestyle strokes. I wasn’t trying to mimic the impressionists but was using the subject matter of both the painters and of Dostoevsky to create a contemporary scene with my own social commentary.

I was relaxed painting this. I decorated three pair of underwear for Kelly while I worked on my first piece of truly flat art since I started bodypainting. Yes, my rendition of The Garden of Earthly Delights was progressing, but even though I was now using shading and getting more depth in the drawing, it still wasn’t paint. I was painting a piece I’d decided to call Beatitude. That would give it a Biblical name without really calling attention to who was who. Nonetheless, I figured at least half my class would be offended and the other half wouldn’t get it. But I figured everyone in my class hated me already so what the fuck. No matter what Dante said, I figured you went to the same hell if you killed one person as you did if you killed a dozen.

Unlike the excitement and tension of Liberty and Death, I was having fun with Beatitude. Each of my girlfriends got at least one orgasm after a posing session. And usually, so did I. Sometimes they were in the middle of the session.

“Kelly, let me see what this position looks like,” I said casually as I moved her right hand over Mary’s pussy. She looked at me and grinned as she started fingering our girlfriend.

“Let me know if I should be higher or lower so it looks like I’m stroking her cock, too,” Kelly grinned.

“Higher,” Mary squeaked. “Just… yeah… right there.” I didn’t sketch or paint anything while Kelly was getting Mary off, but as soon as she finished, I slid my hard cock into the well-prepared channel. I love being in Mary! I loved her up to another orgasm and then Kelly straddled her to get some kissing in. I pulled out of Mary and slid into the fabulous tightness of my redhead camgirl. I love being in Kelly. Am I getting repetitive?

BLANKETY WAS STRANGELY QUIET as he looked closely at my new drawing of The Garden of Earthly Delights. I’d come to realize a few things over the past weeks. I still hated him, but I was learning. I was learning more from this exercise than I was from his classes as he led us through each phase of creating composition, illusional space, perspective, proportion, and form. He set my drawing on a display easel at the end of his desk and sat down. No drawing? Did I do it?

“It’s almost art,” he sighed. Oh shit. “Your model—I saw her when you displayed the painting in Professor Merck’s class. He was kind enough to invite me, no thanks to you. She is five feet and one inch tall and weighs one hundred six pounds. Why can I not tell that from your drawing? You have managed to show distance, shape, texture, but I can’t see the form. Oh, it is here in parts of the drawing, but this flower—is it weightless? It doesn’t even bend the stem. Is this thorn sharp? It looks like a paper cutout, flat on the drawing instead of pointing at me. Here, you have almost captured an appropriate chiaroscuro, but with its intense contrast between light and dark and the rest of the image’s dullness, it looks like it is jumping from the page and is the only thing real. This carefully concealed yet delicately exposed female is what needs to lift from the page. I should be able to reach out and lift her with my hands. I should feel the size of her breasts, the depths of her sex, and the weight of her body with my eyes. Yes. It is almost art.”

He turned to a stack of papers on his desk and started reading. I packed the drawing in my portfolio and left.

BEATITUDE WAS DISPLAYED at the front of the class with half a dozen other paintings and drawings and several students stopped to look at it on their way in. I wasn’t the only artist in this class. I’d just made a splash by bringing nude models into the room with me. A little conversation sprang up around it. I think that most people moved past too quickly to identify that the central woman with arms outstretched along the back of a park bench also had a cock that was partially erect. Of course, just below that was an open pussy. Her knees were spread apart, but her feet were crossed one on the other.

She whispered in a woman’s ear on her right, their breasts nearly touching at the nipple. On her left, a woman was close with lips almost touching the pierced nipple of that breast. At her right knee, a woman knelt with hand outstretched but not quite grasping the stiff cock. And behind the figure, a dark beauty stood, running her fingers through the blonde hermaphrodite’s hair as if it were a halo around her head.

It was a peaceful scene, despite reflecting a crucifix position with the women kneeling around her and an angel tending her head. When Merck projected the much bigger than life images of the drawings and paintings that had been displayed there were a few restless comments as more people grasped what they were seeing. Not enough, though, to relate the painting to the fact that tomorrow was Good Friday.

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