Zawmb’yee Becomes High Priestess 96, About Chapter 8

Zawmb’yee continues the blog

ENTRY 96

     Geez. Oh Kievifkwa! I’ve been struggling to do a Gijlek in Doug’s hallway. How am I going to do one on the ceiling of the Kmpamew if I can’t even practice a little splash of creativity. Well, I suppose I had demonstrated that I could exercise a certain amount of self-discipline by not removing all my clothes and throwing Doug to the floor right away, but I had struggled to stay in artist mode and only tease Doug and not myself, but he has always been so cute and… oh Kievifkwa, never mind.
     I had finished the sketch when Doug said, “So now you’re going to paint. Right?”
     “Yes,” I said, knowing where this was going, but I wanted to succumb to the emerging seduction, because his transparency of desire has its native charm, and even if he doesn’t know it, I think he is different from the tiger with alpha sperm, as no tiger wears a condom like he does, but his seeds in actuality are more like spiritual teachings by serendipity that would bear orphan followers, if bare essences be known, more like this than the seeds that would create his own child who he would dearly love if he could. So something of him must continue to thrive, and that is why I must keep him alive, because I am his only fun, his only true love, and I do love to play and why should I not be of pure lust sometimes. Philosophy can be written later when we conquer the world gently, when the outgoing tide leaves us oysters and pearls. Oh Kievifkwa, this is nonsense. I’m enough grandiose for two. Never mind. I can’t justify anything. I didn’t care. I’d eat my dessert if not first, then soon.
     So I had done a preliminary sketch and had thought maybe after I got started, I’d just do pure painting from then on — and if necessary, even do more ‘sketches’ but with the brush and paint because it’s acrylic and not oil anymore; I could do quick changes.
     But Doug had said, “You don’t want to get paint on your dress.”
     I said, “OK. I’m going to paint now. I’ll mix up some flesh colors and if the wall is bumpy enough, maybe I’ll do a dry brush technique to get color variations just right.”
     Doug said, “Y’know, you don’t want to get paint on your dress.”
     “OK. Stay there. Stand tall.” I walked back a few steps to where I had dumped my purse and bag. I dumped out some tubes and a board. I squeezed a lot of white onto the palette board, and squeezed dabs of several reds, two yellows, two blues and I had to try to remember which was which: cadmium yellow medium is actually slightly yellow-orange and cadmium yellow light is slightly yellow-green, or is it the other way — oh phooey: mix and see, mix and see. Then oops: I almost dipped my dress into the paint(yeah, I know, I could have changed before I decided to run out into the hallway for this project). Yes, alright, it was time. I stripped off my dress. I carried the palette board in one hand, and my purse and a fist full of brushes in the other. I put them off to the side of Doug where I had started the sketch.
     Doug said, “You don’t want to get paint on your bra, do you?”
     I sat down in front of Doug, and looked up at his endowment. I said, “Hmm, these flesh colors are all different. Let me see the palms of your hands. Hmm, no, it’s not anything like that color; even the tip is darker than that, and the edge is an entirely different color.” I reached up and Doug’s knees bent and shook a little. I ran my hands up his inner thighs. I said, “How do I paint all these colors?”
     Doug said, “Mmmm, uh, mmmm.”
     “I want it,” I said, “to glisten in the sun for the painting. I got up and walked to the side to get my purse, look at the sketch, and mix a little paint.
     Doug said, “How would I glisten in the sun — there’s no sun here and what color would I be in sunlight?”
     I left the palette on the floor and came back in front of Doug with my purse. “Glisten?” I echoed. “Well, I can add a little shine.” I fumbled through my purse and found a tube of K-Y jelly. I put the purse down. I stood and squeezed some onto Doug’s shaft, let the tube drop to the floor, and spread the lotion with my finger tips. I said, “I think this will help capture the light and reflection and give the painting the right touch. Don’t you think so, Doug?”
     Doug said, “Mmmmm, uh, mmmm.”
     I sat down on the floor in front of Doug and looked through my purse. I tore open a package. I reached up and Doug’s knees bent and shook. I unrolled a condom on him, grabbed his hands, and like rowing a boat, pulled him down on me as I lay back onto the floor. He kissed me, thrusting like the artist he is.

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