Chapter 4

My dreams were both vivid and confused. And sexual. I’d only had sexual dreams like this when Fay slept with me. And not always then. I mean... Words! Damnit! How can I explain without words? I call a dream sexual when I wake up with come all over me. That happened three times when Fay slept with me. And it happened this night after my date with Annette. It didn’t happen the last two times Fay slept with me, even though we’d been mostly naked, kissing, and petting before we slept.

I had many dreams that included loving my sister and several that included loving Annette. But they didn’t make me paint such intense passion on the paper. My hand didn’t shake as I shaded the soft curve of their breasts. The colors didn’t leap out at me from the joining of their legs. I’ve studied art. I know anatomy. I’ve seen pictures of women’s sex. When I painted Fay, and could see her pink panties tucked up tight against her slit, I knew what was under them. I knew the parts. Objectively, I could draw a woman’s genitals. But when I painted after a sexual dream, the area was a mystery to me.

And this morning, I painted with abandon. Explosions of color erupted from her ... their ... our groins. I stepped back to examine the painting. There were too many breasts. There were too many legs. There were too many lips. Yet, they were all the ones that should be there.

Sometimes, it was painful to paint.

Mom greeted Annette with a smile when she answered the door.

My mom ... I think we’re related.

Of course, we’re related. That isn’t what I mean. Exactly. I think she sees the world differently than other people. Like I do. I woke up one morning when I was ten or eleven with the most amazing dream. I painted for hours. I couldn’t quit to go to school. I simply couldn’t.

Mom understood. She brought food to my room. She checked throughout the day to see that I had water or if I needed anything. She baked my favorite cookies and brought them to me with a glass of milk. But she would never look at me. She kept her head down. It bothered me. Why was my mother avoiding looking at me? She was doing nice things, but she must be ashamed of me.

At dinner, with Fay sitting beside me and occasionally reaching over to touch my shoulder or pet my hair, I finally couldn’t take it any longer.

“Mom, why won’t you look at me today? Did I do something bad?” Dad sort of snorted and patted my shoulder before turning to embrace Mom.

“No, Arthur. You didn’t do anything bad,” Mom said. “You’ve been shining so brightly today, it hurt my eyes to look at you.”

Mom’s like that. She sees people glow. Sometimes she even shields her eyes a little when she looks at my paintings.

Mom was smiling at Annette when I got downstairs. Annette looked up at me and all of a sudden, Mom was shielding her eyes and turning her head like someone just took a flash picture.

“You two have a nice afternoon,” she said. “I need to run to the grocery store.”

Just then Dad came into the room and looked at the two of us.

“That is not a license to misbehave and do whatever you want. Be respectful of each other and of your parents,” he said sternly. “I’m going to drive your mother.” The two of them left.

“Wow!” Annette said as she stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “Do your parents always leave the house when you have a girl visitor?”

“I guess,” I said. “I’ve never had one visit before.”

“Will you show me your painting?”

“Of course I will.”

We went to my room. The painting was still on the easel. I hadn’t started anything else, so I didn’t need to hang it from the drying line. Annette walked around the room and sort of attacked the painting from different directions. I’d never seen anyone approach a painting like that before.

She went over by the bed and then turned to look at the painting. Then she stalked toward it and stopped a couple of feet away. She backed up a step and turned to the window. At the window, she turned suddenly and stalked toward the painting again. It was like she was a cat investigating some stray bit of lint that had landed in a sunny spot on the rug. Eventually, she backed away from the painting and leaned into my arms.

“You love her so much,” she sighed.

“I, um ... What?”

“I know, Arthur. I know you love Morgan,” she said. She leaned heavily on me until I put my arms all the way around her as we looked at the picture. Morgan? I was sure the dream was about Annette, but ... yes, I could see the shape of Morgan’s breast over there. Her nipple. It was my turn to sigh.

“I’m so sorry, Annette. It’s true. I love her.”

“It’s all right, Arthur. Baby, it’s all right.” She turned in my arms and kissed me. “I love her, too.”

“But, I...”

“What’s cool is that I can see you love me, too,” she continued. “Like I love you. Don’t say it. This isn’t the time for words. Look. We are both there. Um ... my boobs don’t exactly look like that, I don’t think. But you haven’t seen them yet, so all is forgiven. I can still tell that it is me. Look at us, all wound up together and just popping with excitement. Mmm. My nipples are getting hard and my panties are getting wet just looking at the painting. It fills me with so much ... hope!”

Annette turned back into my embrace and kissed me again. Deeply. Passionately. She took my breath away. My hand slid from her waist up under her sweater. She pulled back slightly before grabbing the hem and pulling the sweater and camisole off over her head.

“Touch me. Kiss me. Take your shirt off and let our bodies learn to know each other. And look at me. Look and then you will know what to paint tomorrow.”