Max
Every day is filled with inspiration. I paint every day from early morning until late at night, my appetite only grows, leaving me with not enough hours in the day. Maybe Polina really is muse?
The need to convey emotions, feelings, worries and hopes, my own view of the world the canvas was born, it seems, together with me. I remember my mother was delighted that
I painted everything I saw. She hired a teacher who came several times a week to teach me the of painting. Subsequently, my parents chose a school for me where I would develop , but my mother, encouraging my passion for painting, enrolled me in courses at art school. There I could improve my abilities. But as soon as my parents divorced, I lost her in an instant. However, the thirst that consumes me from the inside pushed me to paint, the obstacles arranged by my father. He was furious that I preferred to paint rather than out in gym class. The next year I asked my grandmother to enroll me in an extra course in my subject. She and my grandfather were very proud of my gift and bragged everywhere about drawings. One of them still hangs in my grandfather's study. He took it in a frame and jokes that ten years he will sell it at some auction for crazy money, because no one will believe that it was by an eight-year-old boy.
Perhaps my passion for painting was the only link I had with my mother. It was almost the pretext for our communication. She attended all the exhibitions with my works, and always kind words for them. Every year until my graduation I gave her my best work, and sometimes . Perhaps I hoped to buy her love in this way. My time with my mother was always limited, lion's share of it reserved for my second husband. He was always the center of her universe.
As I grew older, my father changed from outright disgust at my work to a restrained disdain.
He considered it a sinful thing to waste his time on such an endeavor. To meet his standards of a personality, I was enrolled in as many courses as I could physically attend during hours. My grandmother intervened in my upbringing only after I fell asleep one day from in class.
No matter how well I did in my studies, my father would find reason to doubt my future, and the height of his grandeur would repeat that I did not deserve his encouragement until life proved or disproved his beliefs. The right to make a mistake was out of the question in my . Any mistake meant that he would come up with another punishment worse than the last.
The punishment could be anything: cleaning up after animals in the barnyard, social services hospice work that I had to do during the vacations, gardening, or volunteering at big events.
Growing up, I recognized that it was the right upbringing, but in my youth it was a challenge and even torture. I wanted to paint, but I had to go to my place of "serving time." Along the , I had to learn to solve my own, internal problems that invariably arise with such treatment my father. But my painting was also undergoing changes. Faced with human pain, I learned more than chasing a ball around a field or having fun with my classmates. The subject matter my paintings changed. Now I was bringing out the dark side, the emotions in dark colors that had in me after encountering another life I had never known before.
One day my father punished me by sending me to help our chef Giovanni in the kitchen. If 'd known what a gift he'd given me! I fell in love with the art of cooking. Giovanni was a true ! Now I could not be lured out of the kitchen, I ran there every day, wanting to help in any I could. I was mesmerized watching him work at the cutting table or listening to his to his assistants. It seemed to me that the kitchen was something like an alchemical and I tried to guess what would be the flavor from mixing the seasonings.
Noticing my frank interest, Giovanni began to teach me his tricks. It got to the point where I in the kitchen from morning to night, trying to get at least a rough approximation of our chef's . We became friends. I found in this man everything I was looking for in my father. He always supportive, helpful, straightforward, but at the same time, an older comrade with a great of humor.
When he died a few years ago from cancer, a whole world went away for me. That loss still me to this day. I know there is guilt on me for his death. I didn't have time, I didn't have to help him! Too late I found out about his illness, then any help was already useless. No , no specialists could save him, and he died before my eyes.
All my paintings from that moment on went dark. Paradoxically, they were sold out before dried. Apparently, people love the dark energy of pain that belongs not to them, but to someone , and they buy paintings that act as a "black hole" that fills the space and takes away all the .
During that period I became interested in photography, I finished a course of professional shooting. It absorbed me and I left painting for a while. My hand could not go up to paint, I creating canvases darker and darker. For a whole year I didn't touch a palette, I didn't take a in my hands, having replaced it with a photographic lens. I traveled around the world, shot I was interested in, ordered a website where I posted the most interesting, in my opinion, . Suddenly, orders started coming in. That's how professional photography entered my life.
Back in the studio, I started writing what excited me about traveling. I was particularly by China, India, New Zealand and Sri Lanka. Finally, a pulse began to beat on my . The blues and reds appeared, which for me symbolize life.
And now, in the works, a sea of light, a riot of color, as if the jungle jumped out of me the brush and spread a living river on the canvas. It's all her. Polina. Woke up the part of me is responsible for joy. The floodgates of inspiration have burst, and I can't and won't stop the . Millions of images flashing through my head like silent movie slides. And I only wish I had to realize all that I see, feel, experience these days.
Soon she'll be near me. Her breath, her heart will beat beneath my palm. I'll look into her , chocolate eyes and be able to kiss her eyelids. Excitement rolls through my body, tugging at deepest corners of my soul. What is her secret? Where is it hidden? Will I be able to solve her ?
Do I want to solve it?
- -
The day before Polina's flight, I get a phone call from my father.
- Hey, Max. I'm in New York. I'm flying out tomorrow. You're welcome to come to the club at 7:00.
- Okay, I'll be there.
I would prefer to meet him at my club “The Norwood Club”, but my father is not a member he would never go to something he has nothing to do with. I arrive at “The Union Club” at sharp. The receptionist informs me that I'm expected in the cigar lounge.
Dad hasn't gotten older, he hasn't gotten younger. He has been unchanged for a dozen years.
He's as taut as ever, with a straight back and a turn of the shoulders, an army bearing. He shakes my firmly.
We sit across from each other, the waiter pours cognac into my glass, I choose a cigar. My waits until we are alone:
- Are you going to grow a beard? - He rustled his cigar, rolling it in his fingers, and scanned with a scalpel-like stare.
- As you can see, – I stroked the vegetation on my chin.
- You look older than thirty in that image, – he snickered.
- I'm thirty-three, – I pick up the cigar too and rustle it, groping it, checking the fill.
- I know. Used to seeing you forever young, – his lips curved into a sardonic smirk, and he a cigarette and squinted.
- Uh, thank you. I take that as a compliment.
We smoke in silence.
- What are you doing now besides your scribbling? - he takes a sip of cognac.
- Same thing I've always done. Painting.
He nods his head dismissively. This is our standard communication. I don't say anything, , because, in fact, I have nothing to say to him.
- I'll be in the States at the end of August for an open golf tournament. We can get together spend some time together, – he finally suggests, finishing his cigar.
- Okay. I'll be sure to see what's up with my schedule and let you know, – I leave the cognac .
It's our standard, routine communication. Formally the meeting has taken place, now we can until the next one. His invitation to meet at the competition is out of the realm of the . Although it's strange to hear, I keep a completely unperturbed expression on my face.
Maybe it's just words on his part and he'll forget about it by then, either way I'll let him know my .
We shake hands and part ways.
I leave the club, put on my helmet, and ride my Harley toward home. I smile ironically to . I wish he could see me riding away on the bike. I know that this gesture of defiance would like a red rag to a bull.
I have a few things to do before Polina arrives. I'm hurrying to get everything done on time.
- - -
On the day of her visit, I get up earlier than usual and go for a run. I hope she likes the I've prepared. Today I let Emilie go out all day. The apartment should be free. I should have to make salmon tartare for lunch, but I have this item on the program scheduled an hour before
I leave for the airport.
At noon the staff of the event-agency comes to fulfill my order. The result looks even better I expected. I pay them back, rewarding them with a generous tip for their excellent work.
I arrive at the airport just in time to board the flight from Amsterdam she took. I park the car the first terminal and take my time, calculating how long it will take for her to go through and customs checks. Fuck it! I try to keep control of time as I push every minute, waiting see her.
I choose the position from which I can best view the passing flow of passengers.
Less than three quarters of an hour later, I see Polina pushing a cart with luggage in front of . She's looking for me with her eyes, but through the dense mass of people meeting me, it's not to do so. The smile doesn't leave my face, I don't even try to hide my joy. I squeeze between a man waving a cardboard card with someone's name on it and a large family discussing matters. I rush toward her so briskly that we literally collide.
I pick her up, she gasps in surprise, and my lips immediately find her tantalizing mouth. She and jumps on top of me, wrapping her legs and arms around me, covering our faces with her hair. Our tongues meet. I've been waiting for this moment since the second she undressed for in front of the camera and I couldn't touch her silky skin.
- Hi, – she whispers, taking my face in her palms.
- Hi, – I smile, touching my lips to hers. - Welcome to New York, Babe.
She rubs her nose against mine, quickly touching her lips to mine in short kisses.
We go to the parking lot and unload her suitcases into the trunk of the Gelandewagen.
- Do you like Mercs too? - Polina laughs.
- I love the Harley-Davidson, but I doubt we'd haul your stuff away on it, – I wink at her.
- Oh! I really like the Harley-Davidson! - Polina puts both thumbs up. - Will you take me for ride?
- First, I'll take you for a ride in the Gelandewagen.
"I can't wait for you to ride the Gringo, Baby."
We get into the jeep and drive towards my house.
- I'm gonna take you back to my place now. I hope you don't mind. We can take your stuff to apartment tomorrow. How do you feel about that?
Polina sits half-turned, considering me:
- Dad made arrangements with the agency for me to contact them myself. So we can do you're suggesting.
That's fine.
As we pull up to my house, Polina's eyes round.
- You live in Dakota? - she exclaimed in surprise and tilted her head back to look at the , her palm visored against her forehead. - We were shown this house on a tour.
- Maybe you'll want to stay here longer than a day, – I kiss her on her parted lips, her gaze meeting mine.
The receptionist helps me lift the suitcases up to the apartment. I open the door for her:
- Welcome to my home, – she steps over the threshold, and as she enters the hallway, she , wincing.
- This is for you, – I hug her from behind and kiss the top of her head.
The whole hall is decorated with baskets of flowers - delicate creamy French roses. Each is topped with cute birds resembling birds of paradise, and in the center of the whole stands a sport bike.
- I picked you a Stringbike with a women's frame. Do you mind? - I whisper in her ear. She's for a long time, covering the lower part of her face with her palms.
- M-a-a-a-a-ax, – Polina exhaled very quietly. - I had no idea that you would give me such a . It's very beautiful!
She turns her head, leaning back against me, and I kiss her and pull her against me. She's now, in my arms, and I vividly recall my own agony, staring at the monitor screen, where she'd herself on the bed at my request.
- If we don't stop, I'm going to take you right here and now, – Gringo is ready to jump out of pants and I rub lightly against Polina's thighs so she can feel my erection.
- Can I take a bath first? - she asks in a muffled voice.
- Sure. Come on, – I lead her behind me, fetching water and pouring foam.
- This foam is odorless, but it's very silky and relaxes well, – I explain, filling the pause. It's . We both seem to be thinking about something other than water. - I'll undress you . May I?
Polina nods silently.
I take off her clothes. Very slowly, stretching out the pleasure, which only heightened my impatience, I exposed her delicate body. Her panties are wet where they pressed against her place, and I can't help but smile.
- You're making fun of me, – she swallows noisily, blinking her eyelashes in confusion.
- No, no, – I hold back an internal tremor, trying to muffle the rising fever. - I rejoice, –
What more can I say. It's true. My palms tingle with lust. I throw off my shirt, and when Polina slips the tub, I sit down next to her, staring into her lidded eyes.
- I want to give you a bath.
- Y-e-a-h – Polina exhales almost silently. She seems as worked up as I am.
I wash my hands over the sink, pour shower gel into the palm of my hand, and lather her . My own body burns from the inside out like liquid lava. My lower abdomen fills with a , tugging languor. I want her desperately, but I can't deny myself the aesthetic pleasure of this sensual, eroticized torment. My hands slide down her arms, traveling to her neck.
Tilting her head back and giving me more access to her throat, Polina covers her eyes, her lashes . I caress her neck, tracing her jugular with my fingers, moving downward. I cup her , rolling the quivering, hardened nipples in my fingers. I make her rise to her full height and her belly, her back, the girlish smooth triangle between her legs. I caress her thighs and with my fingers, reach between the firm halves and touch her most intimate places. My , like a pump, pumps blood through my veins faster and faster. I myself straighten up and I wash her body from the foam under the stream of water, our lips and tongues dancing their , I breathe with her, catching her quickened breath. Polina sighs softly, longingly. I pick her up my arms and carry her into the bedroom, swinging the door open with my foot.
I put her down on the bed, hovering over her. With my other hand, I pulled down her jeans, with her boxers.
- Now... condom... – I mumble confusedly, swallowing, afraid to startle her with the groan bursts from my chest.
- Don’t... – she breathes out barely audibly. - It's okay.
I lay down between her legs and pull her tightly against me.
- Oh Gods.... - Involuntarily bursts out of me as I plunge into her hot, tight body. The gringo explode at any moment. Polina moves her hips toward me and wraps her legs and arms me, tilting her head back in bliss.
- Polina, umm... Wait a minute....
Angel,
Don't move, – I realize I'm losing control.
He's slipping away from me. My breathing is hitching.
- Why, – she moaned.
- Now. Now, Baby, – I can barely breathe. Oh gods, help me. Kissing her lips, I press my into the bed, hovering over the abyss. A coarse shiver rolls through my own body.
- Polina, – I bit my lips, and shuddered with lust, unbridled desire, overwhelmed by lust. -
Please... O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o... M-m-m-m-m-m... Don't move....
I'm amazed at the power of my desire. For the first time in my life, I am not the master of body. I feel my cock throbbing in her depths.
Polina begins to move her hips voluptuously beneath me, squeezing me inside so hard I can't it anymore... Oh, God! I can't help it.
I explode. A loud moan escapes my lips, and to muffle it, I cover her mouth with mine. I my hips inside her at an incredible speed. The orgasm literally shakes my body. I'm pounding.
A strange, hitherto unknown mixture of wild shame and fantastic pleasure fills my bloodstream.
Completely off the brakes, completely immersed in pure thrill, I slam into her almost full , so that she arches up against me under the pressure, scratching my back and crying out in .