A Beautiful Canvas.
Normally I needed something to get into my zone and begin creating. It would either be a nice hot cup of tea next to me or some loud alternative music blasting throughout the room to set the ambience but instead, right now I was met by silence. I did however have a gorgeous individual sitting in front of me to entice my eyes.
Normally I was clad in a t-shirt and my cotton panties, letting that little bit of clothing allow the cool air to seep through my skin as I stared at my canvas for hours, the hair on my arms standing up on end. Instead today I was wearing my work polo, the ‘American Tours’ logo noticeable above my left breast. I couldn’t really dress down into a tee and my undergarments when there was this stranger in front of me.
But was he really a stranger? Not necessarily anymore though he never really was. I always knew who Neymar Jr. was thanks to my brother who was a football enthusiast and I had gotten to know him personally over the last few hours after having to take him around Los Angeles and show him and his friends around the historical landmarks and the interesting parts of the city all tourists seemed to want to visit.
I thought my job, this tour, would go along as all the others would. I’d show them around the city for part of the day, return them to their hotel and we’d continue our journey in the morning the next day.
The first day had nearly went like that until we reached the point where Neymar and his friends were supposed to discard of me. Instead, he invited me to join them for a night out at one of LA’s most exclusive clubs. Even as a resident of the city, I had never been inside of those coveted walls. I had no sort of reputation to get into a club like that but he did and so when he invited me, I couldn’t deny the offer.
Too bad the night hadn’t went as I envisioned it.
I mean he did dance with me a few times, he and Gil, but it was never anything too flirty. That wasn’t the problem though.
The problem was the mass of notifications I woke up to from friends who had sent me links to the TMZ article with my picture plastered on the page, a picture of me and Neymar leaving the club. Of course it looked a bit suspect. I had my hands covering my face as Neymar confidently strode beside me. I guess the cameras had decided to ignore everyone else in the group that was at the club as well. The focus was solely on Neymar and I and it was painfully embarrassing. Just thinking about it made me cringe. Day 2 and I was already probably on his bad side.
“I’m sorry,” I randomly blurted out, stopping the paint brush in my hand from moving against the canvas that had begun to take form with the various lines I had created using the fresh, detailed colors of paint.
My eyes dragged from that page and past to Neymar who sat still in the chair in front of me, strictly following my directions not to move too much until now as he leaned to his left a bit to peer past the easel and towards me. “Why are you apologizing? Did you mess up the painting?” His eyes shone concern and confusion, his jaw flexing a bit and creating a bulge in the lower part of his cheek that made him look irresistibly sexy.
I made note to capture that with my brush but for now my eyes dragged down to my lap. I couldn’t stand to look into those eyes for too long. I already had as I tried to recreate those stunning features onto the empty canvas in front of me. I started with those flat, unarched eyebrows, being sure to draw the furrow of lines between his brows and those slits that interrupted the flow of his left brow but then I was left to move down to the eyes…
They were this brown color but not any bland old shade of brown but a brown enhanced by speckles of a honey shade, overtaken by a deep green lining the outer edges of color.
Part of me wished I had ordered him to turn to the side and allow me to paint him profile-side instead of facing forward so I could avoid becoming enchanted by those deep, sparkling orbs of his. They were magical.
I shook my head finally in response to his question. “No. No,” I reassured. “I just…the blogs and such. I don’t know if you read them but…”
“I don’t. What’s on there?” His eyes seemed to grow deeper, his mouth pouting with a slight slant which enhanced their shape. It drew my attention to his mustache and then to the scruff of his beard that poked through his caramel skin in this rough but delicate way. It was as if you knew behind that manly look, if he were to shave it all away he’d look like a teenage boy all over again.
“They’re claiming I’m your new girlfriend.”
His brows furrowed with confusion. “And you’re apologizing for that because…?”
Because, well, look at me! I’m in no way fit to be on the arm of Neymar da Silva Santos Júnior. That would be an insult to him that I was someone who could even be linked to him.
“I’m no person you want to be connected to.” I shook my head, beginning to restart where I was on this portrait. His nose…
Noses were always the hardest thing for me to paint when I was drawing humans. I don’t know why or how such a simplistic feature was so complex but it seemed as my brush glided across the canvas, it moved effortlessly to form a replication of the bridge of his.
Neymar’s amused chuckle echoed through the hotel room, nearly quiet aside from the conversation between us. “Why? Should I be worried? Are you some sort of criminal?”
I blushed at the accusation though I knew well enough I was no form of criminal. “I’d never be hired to take tourists around if I were. I’m just…I don’t know.” I stopped my thoughts while I was ahead. I wasn’t looking to embarrass myself or pity him into giving me compliments on how I wasn’t all that bad to be linked to. I could do without. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I giggled.
“Yes. I don’t like people seeing my work or watching me as I do it.”
I thought of my ex, an artist as well, who seemed to enjoy looking at my work only to gloat about how he could have done so much better or could have enhanced the portrait with this detail or that detail. I guess the put-downs and critiques were warranted. He was the one with his work now displayed in galleries across the United States while I was stuck working as a tour guide.
Welcome to the harsh reality of life. Being that arrogant, cocky asshole sometime paid off.
“Well I’m sure you can paint one hundred times better than me. You could draw a stick figure and I’d be amazed.” He broke out into a smile, those teeth shining behind those pink lips and I cursed myself for choosing to draw him mouth-closed.
Ah well, maybe next time.
I let silence overtake the hotel room again as I continued to move my brush against the paper, dabbing into various colors to bring life to the portrait and represent Neymar well. I moved to his hair, that ever-changing style but now he sported a mohawk with strands of his straight brown hair falling over his forehead.
I kept working along that way in silence. It was a minimalistic style portrait. I had really only captured half of his beauty because trying to detail it all would have taken hours but I was satisfied, the outline of the man on the canvas bearing quite the resemblance to the footballer sitting in front of me.
“Done,” I announced. I sat the used brush down carefully into one of the holders and stared at the work in front of me. I was nervous to see his reaction as Neymar quickly got up from his chair and walked over, turning his head when he arrived to my side so that he could see my work.
“Wow,” was all he uttered. It could have been one of those wow’s where he realized I had painted him to be some ugly creature but the gleam in his eyes and the smile that broke apart his lips said otherwise. “It’s amazing. You don’t mind if I take this, do you?”
“No. not at all. It’s yours.” I would have liked to keep it in memory of this moment but maybe I could somehow recreate it. Somehow recreate all of this…
“Mind if I take a stab at it?” He hinted with a motion to the paint brushes and I nodded my approval that he try. “I’ll rip a new sheet.”
“I don’t need the paper,” he quickly insisted and though my eyebrows netted with confusion, he simply bent down and picked up one of the brushes that set in water. Neymar next dabbed the tip lightly in the yellow paint before reaching for my arm, slowly raising it. I didn’t question it and I was thankful I didn’t because soon, the cool brush was slowly sliding against the underside of my arm.
In a weird way it felt as if he was directly touching me, the nerves in my body on edge as a slow tingle grew inside of me. He was delicately moving the brush along my skin and hell, I didn’t care if he was choosing to paint my entire arm in bright yellow paint. I would have stripped down so he could paint every inch of my skin if he so pleased to.
It was as if he could read my mind because he soon dropped the brush to its holder and trailed his fingers in a green color instead, the paint decorating his finger tips and dripping off his nails before he softly trailed them against my neck. I could feel the rise and fall of my chest like some sort of adrenaline was building up within me all because of his movements and the warmth growing within my body at his sensitive touch. I was wishing at that moment he didn’t have paint on his hands so he could touch me where my body longed to feel him, where he could satisfy my cravings all at once.
My breath caught in my throat as we made eye contact, a deep and long staring gaze. I was able to see those delightful orbs again but up close this time and closer than I ever could have imagined being. I didn’t shy away from the intensity this time and I enjoyed hearing his breath flow past his lips.
I had an urge to reach forward and crash those lips into mine and it seemed he had that same urge because within seconds, our noses collided and his lips were pressuring against mine. I gasped, opening my mouth just wide enough for him to slide his tongue inside and I wilted to his demands and met his passion with my own.
His hand rested under my chin while the other paint covered fingers slid under my shirt. I didn’t care about damaging my work polo. I just cared about him finally peeling it from my skin. He met my demands and soon separated our lips so he could pull the shirt over my head and soon followed every other piece of my clothing.
Neymar brought me up from my chair and made me stand while he got rid of his bottoms so he could meet the match of my bare skin. He took my seated position and pulled me into his lap slowly enough for me to slide down onto his member. I adjusted to his lengthy size slowly, biting down on my lip as I felt him fill my insides.
Between the heated kisses, the rise and fall of my body as I moved up and down his member, I watched as he decorated my skin with that damp green paint, dancing his fingers along my back when he wanted to cling to me and when I increased the intensity by drawing my walls tighter around his member.
He hissed with pleasure and my moans became their own soliloquy. My back arched further and further with every movement against him and I placed my hands on his broad shoulders, my eyes taking in the view of his athletic build and that deepened v-line he sported even as he sat hunched over in this seat.
He thrust up every time to meet me mid-stroke, only driving my senses wild and I could feel the sweat beads forming across my forehead. His hands moved along my front, giving my breasts a few gentle squeezes before he was too enticed to resist them. He lowered his mouth towards my nipple, making it so I couldn’t quite rise my body up as high as I was before but I continued to ride him and circle my hips in a rotation.
“Cum for me,” he whispered seductively in my ear and I whimpered with pleasure, unable to hold the satisfaction I was feeling for too much longer but I couldn’t let go just yet. I had to savor this moment. I had to take in all that I could.
My long nails danced along his skin as I enjoyed the warmth of his body, sweat building on him as between my eyes slamming shut when he filled me so beautifully, I snuck glances at the beautiful figure under me.
I was supposed to be the one showing him around, being his tour guide but he was taking me on a ride of his own. Eventually I succumbed to his wishes and I released all that had been building up within me. I let a few curses slip my lips and dug my nails deeper into his muscled back while I continued to work against him to make sure he reached his own peak and he soon followed behind.
I wanted to capture the beautiful sound of that low grunt leaving his mouth once he reached his climax so I could remember it forever. Instead I just collapsed onto his shoulder, my eyes closed until I opened them and noticed the black ink scrawled in cursive on his neck. It was a tattoo I hadn’t replicated in my drawing but was now under my crawling fingers.
“Tudo Passa? What does that mean?” I questioned in a breathy tone. I still hadn’t quite captured my breath from that physical labor.
Like this moment but at least I’d have the paint on me to hold onto for a bit longer.