How I Became Lotus Raine...the Porn Star (20 page)

I smiled brightly, loving his answer more than I thought I would.

“Your turn. How would yours be told?”

I sighed. I half regretted even asking him knowing that it was only fair for me to state mine as well.

“I don’t have just one answer. The idea of my story being told through a book is a typical answer, but one I’d hold dear as an avid reader. The thing I enjoy so much about reading are the feelings it evokes. Whether you loved it or hated it, it still made you feel. Anything that makes you feel should matter. But there’s also the fact that there’s so much room for interpretation while reading. Something may come across one way to you, but totally different to another. That’s what’s so cool about books. Then the idea of my story being told out through a CD with song titles claiming chapters of my life sounds appealing. There’d be a time stamp next to each, stating whether that particular part of my life was months, years or a few mere minutes in length. Sometimes the things we have the opportunity to experience for only a short amount of time are the things that stick with us the longest. They can make a bigger impact.”

“I’d buy it.”

“And then return it,” I laughed.

“Just because you don’t think your life is very interesting, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t. Plus, it’s responsible for making you who you are. So, if I think you’re a pretty rad chick, then it’s true. Comprende?”

He won the argument. I had just been stamped APPROVED BY BRENT. And I intended to wear that bitch proudly.

“SO, UMM YOUR tattoo,” he says cautiously.

“Oh yes. My tattoo. I take it you’ve obviously seen it.” I smirk as his face reddens, but he manages to stay on track and keep a professional tone.

“Is there meaning behind it? Where’d the idea come from?”

“Well, actually there’s a lot of meaning behind it. I wish I could take credit for it, but I can’t. Getting a tattoo was something else on the infamous list Reggie and I put together. I couldn’t have found anyone better to cross each item off with then Brent.”

AS WE LAID in bed after telling each other how we’d have our life story told, I started trailing my finger across his tattoos. They were so intricate and beautiful and made me want one. Not because he had them, but because I could see that there was meaning behind them. I wanted one that was full of meaning.

“You know, the idea of getting a tattoo was never ranked high on my want list until all of a sudden,” I said as my finger traced over the fighting birds that adorned his ribs and then let my finger glide over the words beneath, ‘Stay True.’ “But I have no idea what I should get. How’d you decide on yours?” I asked with curiosity, really wanting to know what the deciding factor was for him.

“Well, I’m a firm believer on if you’re going to do something permanent to your body, make sure it has meaning. I originally drew the birds to symbolize how I felt about me and my dad’s relationship, but over the years the concept has changed.”

“How so?” I asked, lost in the detail of each flared out bird feather.

“Because I realized the battle was never between him and I. It’d always been me fighting myself. And one day it finally clicked…along with a lot of other things. Putting ‘Stay True’ underneath was a promise to myself to always be me. And since I’m an artist, I obviously wanted to put my own designs on myself. I wanted to be my own living canvas.”

“I love that idea. You picked a pretty sexy canvas to display your art on.” I smiled as I bent down dropping kisses across his chest.

“I could think of a better one, if you’d allow me.” I looked up into his questioning eyes, unsure of what he was in fact asking.

“What do you mean?” I asked as he grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together.

“Well, two things actually. First, I’d love to draw a tattoo for you. If you’d let me that is. And second,” he flipped me over onto my back, hovering above me as he traced my skin with the tip of his finger. “I have these new body paints I’ve been dying to try out on you.”

“Only if I can play, too,” I had replied. He gave me a quick kiss before jumping up and rushing to his bathroom.

“Since this can get messy, I suggest we do it in the kitchen.” He came walking back into the room with his hands full of paint tubes and a couple towels that I figured he’d put on the floor for cleanliness measures. We were both still naked from the previous night’s events. I already wanted him and could see he felt the same. But I pushed those thoughts away knowing it would happen soon enough. I knew that we’d end up rubbing each other’s body paint off as we got each other off.

Things started off slow and methodical as we took turns intimately painting one another’s bodies. I more than enjoyed getting a front seat to witness Brent combine the two things he did best—paint and fuck. He wasn’t just slapping paint all over my body or making what resembled crop circles like I was his. He was meticulous in the way he glide his fingers across my flesh in mostly slow, torturous ways. My body was humming and I had wished we could just dump the bottles over each of us and be done with it.

I decided I was going to tease him the way he was unintentionally teasing me. Except I planned to be intentional with mine. I grabbed the yellow and green and started painting his dick, turning it into a real life anaconda. It was like Stretch Armstrong as I swirled the colors around it. It just kept growing. He looked down and laughed once he figured out what I was attempting to paint.

“I have a feeling it’s your snake that’s to blame for the fall of man,” I said, grabbing the red paint.

“Haha,” he laughed. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I know it’s going to be blamed for the fall of me.” My admission caused all traces of humor to leave his features. I quickly looked down, fearful of what I might see if I stared to long into his eyes. I swiped my finger across the tip of his penis adding the tongue.

“Perfect,” I peered up with a smile. His eyes were intently watching me, trying to gauge me. He had nothing to figure out. “What do you think?”

He looked down and then back up. A smile covered his face. “Umm. Ahh.” He looked back down shaking his head. “I think it looks like one scary snake.” He laughed and his dimple made its grand entrance. I loved that dimple of his. It was the only form of insta-love I’d ever experienced. I pushed up on my knees, shocking Brent and lightly licked his dimple. It was a crazy urge that I could no longer resist.

I leaned back, shyly looking up at Brent. He had the cutest, dumbfounded look on his face. “Well, I’ve definitely never had that done before.”

I stand up, and put my hands out for him to grab. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I saw you.

He stood in front of me, a colorful mess. “Glad to hear you finally admit you liked me from the get go.”

I took off, running toward his bathroom, giggling. “Laws of Attraction, babe.”

“Oh, so it’s babe now?” I heard him tease, running behind me.

“HAVE YOU EVER played with body paint?” I ask Shepard. His body tenses momentarily at the idea of me asking him a sexual question. I can tell that he’s a bit shy about it, but I intend on opening him up the best I can from the short time I have with him today. I want him to walk away from this interview with just a smidgen of what I took from mine.

“No.” He gulps as he continues to stutter, “Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, it’s something I highly recommend.” I wink. “Now where was I?” I tap my chin with my finger as I try to get myself back on track.

“I think you were somehow getting to the point of your tattoo and where it came from.” He says and I can tell he’s trying to figure out where my body-painting story plays into all of this. It doesn’t fully, but why leave out parts that I can tie together?

“Oh yeah. Body painting. Really hot. You have to try it sometime. It’s one of the most intimate things I’ve ever experienced. Yes, it’s completely sexual. And playful. But yet, so sensual. That could’ve been because I experienced it with an actual artist, but I think if it’s with someone you have a deep-rooted connection with, any sexual act can be completely sensual and erotic. Even brushing your teeth with that person. If you have that kind of honed in connection with someone, all they’d have to do is look at you and you’d wither. That’s what Brent does to me anyways. I was putty in his hands from the very beginning.”

AFTER WE SPENT plenty time in the shower cleaning each other off in the same manner we had dirtied one another up, we lounged around the apartment and enjoyed the rainy day inside. Since we had missed breakfast, I started making us lunch while Brent sat on the couch with his sketchpad and colored pencils. I wanted to sit next to him and watch as he drew whatever it was he was drawing. I wanted to watch his face as he shut out his surroundings and focused on his art. I wanted to watch his hand while he tightly gripped the pencil between his fingers while he purposely guided the color across the off-white paper.

But alas, I did none of the above.

I pulled out the domesticated card I had been dealt back in childhood when I had to fend for myself, and started making our lunch. I didn’t get crazy with it and break out my mad skills. I kept it simple, pulling everything that could be considered a sandwich fixing out of the fridge. I grabbed the hoagies and cut two in half, layering each with an abundance of ham and cheese. Before adding the salad, as I liked to call it, I popped the four hoagie pieces into the toaster over. Afterward, I layered them with lettuce and tomato with salt and pepper then lathered with mayo.

I walked our plates into the living room and sat them down on the coffee table before I returned to the kitchen to grab our drinks.

“Finished!” he boasted as I made my way back.

“Perfect timing.” I sat down next to him and eagerly awaited for him to show me.

We held each other’s gaze as he passed over the sketchpad. He seemed nervous all of a sudden.

I looked down and gasped. I glanced back up to see Brent intently watching me as he bit his thumbnail—cute little nervous tic of his.

The picture I held in my hand rendered me speechless. No words could possibly give it justice. I wasn’t in need of some explanation of what it stood for. It rang loud and clear in my heart and mind. It was me—he captured me. Or the essence of me. And it was breathtaking.