Page 11 of Aries

I lifted the remaining t-shirt up over his head. “You should save this.”

“You took pictures, right?”

“I did, but we should both get cleaned off before we look at them.”

As Ash leaned back a little, I admired the strangely dotted hickey markings on his body. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason behind it, but I knew, and he knew it was where I’d put the fabric inside the space of the rope.

He pushed himself off me, his knees buckling and wobbly like a newborn animal.

I looked back onto the bed and yawned. I was getting old. I just wanted to sleep now. But I refrained from laying back, otherwise I would’ve been asleep.

5. ASH

There was no way I’d ever want him to leave. I’d ever felt so much passion before, maybe there were times in my life I’d told myself that, but those times were straight up lies, because right now was the only time I’d ever felt a passion like that.

Gael slept right through the night with me cuddled up in his arms. He didn’t even wake up when my phone went off at seven. My friend, Naomi was calling. I rushed out of bed with my phone and ran to the bathroom.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“What’s up?” she asked. “I’m in the neighborhood, I wanted to see if I could take a peek at those pieces, you promised the other day.”

“What pieces?” I asked, playing dumb. I was actually far too preoccupied with the new body art I’d acquired from Gael. I hadn’t really noticed it in the mirror last night, but right now, there was a vibrancy to them. Almost like I’d suffered a traumatic beating, but they didn’t hurt.

“You know the ones, Ash. Don’t play new with me. The ones you said were far too personal. The blue ones. I have a collector looking for pieces, specifically any pieces with the use of blue, and you’re the first person I thought of.”

Not every painting I created was for public consumption, and by that, I meant not for sale. “Naomi, you know those are my personal ones,” I continued to whisper, turning to try and get a view of my ass in the mirror. I could make out smaller marks on my ass. “But if you’re looking for blue, there were blue paintings in that collection hanging in the gallery. The ones that didn’t sell.”

She huffed and hummed. “But those have other colors in them, my client wants blue. Please, Ash, let me just have a poke around and—wait, why are you whispering?”

“It’s—” I looked at my phone. “Just after seven in the morning. My voice is—”

“Oh my god. Ash, who is he?”

“What? No. It’s—”

“I can’t believe you’ve got a man over there. You never let anyone in. He must be special.”

“Nobody,” I lied. “I’m tired. I was up all night.” Another lie, I’d slept like an actual baby in Daddy’s arms. “If it means that much to you, I can pick out a couple pieces that I might be persuaded to part with.”

She giggled. “Are you sure you’re not a salesman?” she laughed. “That would be great. Thank you so much. And with a story, I can get an extra fifteen percent for you.”

They weren’t personal pieces of art for the sole reason of a story, they were personal because of the period of my life I’d created them in. Not every piece of art had such a fun and thrilling emotion, some were dark and depressing, those had good stories, but they were mine and I didn’t want to part with them.

Once I ended the call with her, I continued to explore and examine the markings that Daddy had left behind. It sent an excited trill through me each time I referred to him as Daddy. He was older, and had much more experience than me, so it really felt like I was learning something.

After taking a picture of my ass in the mirror, I got a good luck at what he’d left there. A nice, solid handprint and several small hickeys. I wondered what had him like that, and quickly, my mind knew the only way to answer such a question was through art.

Daddy was still sleeping, spread out in the bed, the sheet covering his body nearly pulled off to show his soft cock. I didn’t stop to get excited by it and went straight to my small studio at the other side of my loft.

I grabbed a fresh canvas and grabbed an easel that was free. I had three of them, but one was occupied with the red heat from yesterday. Today, I didn’t know where the paint was going, but I knew it wasn’t my decision to make, it was wherever the vibe took me.

Before painting, I preferred the canvas with a clear gesso. It primed the canvas and stopped it from absorbing paint. There was usually a wait time before going in with paint after it had been primed. Instead, I had a large fan blow cold air on it in hopes of speeding up the drying time and it was only a thin layer.

I liked to think I was being possessed or taken over when I was creating art. I mixed colors and splashed them against the canvas. My brush swirls over certain parts were often precise, depending on how the mood had taken me, other times, brushstrokes were wide and slashing.

Daddy Gael had made me feel all the colors, but more specifically, a rainbow of bruises, and that’s what I put on canvas. I layered the colors in different orders across the canvas, providing strange contrasts with each of the bruises I’d attempted to mimic in my artistic variation.

I’d lost so much time and focus on the painting, that I hadn’t even heard Gael call to me, even when he was standing to the side of the canvas.

---