canvases, and brushes—they are all here, mocking me. I’ve avoided it all this time, unable to connect with anything other than anger.
I used to paint a lot back in Ohio, relieved to have the fresh start. I used that optimistic feeling as a guide to create new inspirations. However, after Ryan’s death, I hadn’t been able to focus on anything at all. I only thought of him. Then I’d see his face in my mind and be absolutely disgusted with myself that I allowed so much time to pass before we could make amends. But now that time was useless. I waited too long, and I hated myself for it.
I get out my old easel that I had tucked away. I set my old brushes and tubes of paint up and stare at the blank canvas in front of me.
Blank canvas.
That’s what being back in California truly represents. That’s what I need to stay focused on.
In fact, it’s what Natalia and I should both be focusing on.
I only hope it’s good enough to actually help her move on—to help us both move on. However, six months wasn’t that long ago, and I know she’ll be hurting and grieving for years, but it’s something we need to work on together.
You should try it sometimes…you might surprise yourself.
Aspen’s words repeat in my head as I look at the canvas. Taking a breath, I close my eyes and search for the courage to paint again. Moments later, I open my eyes to the same blank canvas and no desire to change it.
Frustrated, I throw the brushes down and walk out. I know Aspen’s probably right. If I can get out of my cluttered mind and connect my frustration and anger to that creative side of myself—the part that takes control when the brush is in my hand as if it’s another extension of myself—I could use it as the motivation to paint again, but it’s just not there.
I head back upstairs and undress before getting into the shower. After the day I’ve had, and the intense encounter with Aspen, I need a cold shower. I’ve never had someone affect me the way she does, especially a student. I’ve always been professional and kept my distance, but she’s making it nearly impossible, even though I know I should be making more of an effort.
As I wash my body, thoughts of her in those leopard print fuck me heels and tight painted on jeans surface, and I feel myself getting hard again.
Just as I remind myself that I need to be more careful around her, I find myself lost in thoughts of her. My mind goes blank on what’s right and wrong, and my body happily responds to the image of her.
Her voice, her lips, her soft skin.
It all taunts me as I try to think of anything but her. Unable to erase thoughts of her from my mind, my hand reaches down and grabs my cock, stroking it back to life. I know it’s wrong and that I shouldn’t be fantasizing about her, but fuck it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since the moment I first saw her. Hell, since the moment I started looking through her portfolio. The emotion she pours into her work and the way it captivates me is something I can’t explain.
I rest a hand on the shower wall, letting my head fall forward. I tighten my grip, wrapping my fingers around my cock tighter, feeling the need to punish it. I hear her soft giggle in my head and picture her perfectly curved body as I pump harder, groaning as my body hums to thoughts and images of her. My eyes close tightly as my hips thrust wildly into my hand as I imagine being inside Aspen’s tight pussy instead of my rough palm. Her eyes would look up at me with intense pleasure, begging for more, as I thrust deeper with each solid movement. I wouldn’t stop until she’d cry out my name, screaming in ecstasy as I filled her deep, releasing my own orgasm inside her. I pump faster as I feel my body tighten at the thought of her wet juices covering my cock.
I’d look down at her, pleased with how her body looks flush and sated. Those pert breasts would bounce every time I buried myself deep, my name falling from
I used to paint a lot back in Ohio, relieved to have the fresh start. I used that optimistic feeling as a guide to create new inspirations. However, after Ryan’s death, I hadn’t been able to focus on anything at all. I only thought of him. Then I’d see his face in my mind and be absolutely disgusted with myself that I allowed so much time to pass before we could make amends. But now that time was useless. I waited too long, and I hated myself for it.
I get out my old easel that I had tucked away. I set my old brushes and tubes of paint up and stare at the blank canvas in front of me.
Blank canvas.
That’s what being back in California truly represents. That’s what I need to stay focused on.
In fact, it’s what Natalia and I should both be focusing on.
I only hope it’s good enough to actually help her move on—to help us both move on. However, six months wasn’t that long ago, and I know she’ll be hurting and grieving for years, but it’s something we need to work on together.
You should try it sometimes…you might surprise yourself.
Aspen’s words repeat in my head as I look at the canvas. Taking a breath, I close my eyes and search for the courage to paint again. Moments later, I open my eyes to the same blank canvas and no desire to change it.
Frustrated, I throw the brushes down and walk out. I know Aspen’s probably right. If I can get out of my cluttered mind and connect my frustration and anger to that creative side of myself—the part that takes control when the brush is in my hand as if it’s another extension of myself—I could use it as the motivation to paint again, but it’s just not there.
I head back upstairs and undress before getting into the shower. After the day I’ve had, and the intense encounter with Aspen, I need a cold shower. I’ve never had someone affect me the way she does, especially a student. I’ve always been professional and kept my distance, but she’s making it nearly impossible, even though I know I should be making more of an effort.
As I wash my body, thoughts of her in those leopard print fuck me heels and tight painted on jeans surface, and I feel myself getting hard again.
Just as I remind myself that I need to be more careful around her, I find myself lost in thoughts of her. My mind goes blank on what’s right and wrong, and my body happily responds to the image of her.
Her voice, her lips, her soft skin.
It all taunts me as I try to think of anything but her. Unable to erase thoughts of her from my mind, my hand reaches down and grabs my cock, stroking it back to life. I know it’s wrong and that I shouldn’t be fantasizing about her, but fuck it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since the moment I first saw her. Hell, since the moment I started looking through her portfolio. The emotion she pours into her work and the way it captivates me is something I can’t explain.
I rest a hand on the shower wall, letting my head fall forward. I tighten my grip, wrapping my fingers around my cock tighter, feeling the need to punish it. I hear her soft giggle in my head and picture her perfectly curved body as I pump harder, groaning as my body hums to thoughts and images of her. My eyes close tightly as my hips thrust wildly into my hand as I imagine being inside Aspen’s tight pussy instead of my rough palm. Her eyes would look up at me with intense pleasure, begging for more, as I thrust deeper with each solid movement. I wouldn’t stop until she’d cry out my name, screaming in ecstasy as I filled her deep, releasing my own orgasm inside her. I pump faster as I feel my body tighten at the thought of her wet juices covering my cock.
I’d look down at her, pleased with how her body looks flush and sated. Those pert breasts would bounce every time I buried myself deep, my name falling from
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