Page 12 of Scarred Mountain Man
When I hand him the business cards, he widens his eyes for a second but doesn’t look up, instead he’s carefully studying them.
“They’re beautiful, Miranda. You’re so talented. I wish I could see the originals.”
He takes a sharp breath, like he's pondering what's the best way to approach what's in front of him. “So you paint naked bodies.”
Straight to the point like I expected.
“I do.”
“Did you think I’d think less of you because of it?”
“Not really, it’s just awkward. I bet you thought I painted landscapes.”
He scratches his beard. “Maybe. Since you said you liked to be around nature.”
“Well, they’re naked bodies in a landscape.”
He smirks, waiting for me to elaborate.
“I’ve always found the naked human body fascinating.”
His eyes flash with something lethal. Like he wants to murder someone.
“How many guys did you paint? There aren’t any here.”
“Oh. I don’t really paint men. I should have said I find naked female bodies fascinating.”
“So you've never painted men?” His jaw is clenched, his right wrist closing on itself.
I shake my head.
“Good. Because I’d kill those guys.”
I burst out laughing. My laughter stops when he asks me why.
“Why? I think I’ve always been intimidated by the male body. It frightens me. Not that anything ever happened to cause this reaction. I don’t know really but I’ve never been interested in it.”
He studies me, he’s wearing such a serious face, like he’s afraid I’m going to break.
“I've never wanted to... explore. But I’m interested in your body,” I say boldly.
His stance changes, there’s still a lot of seriousness but his expression is softer now.
“Are you saying you’re a virgin?”
Crimson tints my cheeks once again. He doesn’t beat around the bush, I’ll give him that.
“Yes, I am. The first time I had an orgasm with someone else was earlier today.”
He drags his hand across his face like he's regretting it. I hate it. “Fuck, Miranda. Fuck.”
“I wanted to!”
“I’m practically forty-years-old. I’ve nightmares every time it rains. I’m a broken man who lives deep in the mountains who hardly talks to anyone. These types of experiences should be with someone closer to your age. And yet, just hearing you say that makes me want to be the first to ever touch you, to ruin you so no one else ever does, to make you come so hard you’ll never leave. I’m a selfish bastard, you should know that. And the only body I want you to not be afraid of is mine.”
“I want you to be my first too.”
He stands up, lifts me up from my chair and kisses me. “Fuck, you can’t tell me that. You shouldn’t tell me that.”
