Devon Hartford - Painless

“Nude?” I gulped. “As in fully?” I winced.

“Is there any other kind?”

“You mean nude nude? Not just bathing suit nude?”

“Nude nude. Fine art and bikinis don’t go together. Bikinis usually go on hot rod magazine covers.”

“I know you talked about doing things differently after hanging out with your dad the other night. But I was thinking maybe you meant finding different models or something.”

“I did,” he grinned his dimpled grin.

Nervously, I said, “I didn’t think you meant me.”

“You,” he murmured seductively.

I squeezed the neck of my T shirt together, as if it were hanging wide open like an unbuttoned shirt and I was braless. But I was covered. Why did I feel the desire to wrap myself in blankets or maybe step into a deep sea diving suit with one of those giant old fashioned diving helmets? Oh yeah, because Christos was suggesting not only that he paint me nude, but that he show off the painting in a public gallery where anyone could come in and see it. Worse, someone was likely to buy it and hang it over their mantelpiece.

How to break the bad news to Christos that his idea made me a tad uncomfortable? “Ahh…It’s awesome that you want to paint me. I’m totally flattered. But can’t we do it with me all dressed up? Like a regular portrait? Like your dad’s portrait of your grandad? He’s all dressed up.”

“I could do that, but I don’t think it would be the same.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” I joked, “it would be a painting of me. Problem solved.”

He shook his head and smiled his dimpled grin. As always, it had panty dropping powers. But I wasn’t going to let it work its magic on me this time.

I shook my head defiantly.

“Here’s the thing,” he said confidently, “there’s a woman inside you that I’ve seen from day one. But usually, she only comes out when you’re backed into a corner. Most of the time, that woman you are meant to be is hidden from the world. You’ve spent so many years hiding that strong, confident side of you, you barely know she’s there. But I see it all the time. I want to paint that woman and share her with the world. I want everyone to know how amazing Samantha Smith is. Not can be, but is. You are amazing, agápi mou . And I want everyone to know it. I suspect that if you can find the courage to sit nude, your confidence will shine through in the portrait.”

“Can’t I be confident with my clothes on?” I asked nervously.

“You can, but it’ll be that much harder for your confidence to shine through,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because posing clothed doesn’t require the same courage as posing nude. If you’re gonna pose nude, you’re gonna have to dig deep and bring out your courage.”

“What if I end up being nervous while you’re painting me nude? Won’t that show up in the painting?”

“Yup. That’s why I’m asking you, not telling you. Feel free to say no. Because if you’re doing it because you feel obligated, that will show through too. You have to dig deep and find that intrinsic strength of yours and willingly bring it out so I can capture it in paint. You have to want me to paint you nude. Then we can show the world together how amazing Samantha Smith really is.”

“Wow,” I smiled, “I kind of like the sound of that! You know what would make me really look strong?”

“What?”

“If I wore a Viking helmet.”

“Huh?” he frowned.

“Like one of those Valkyries from Norse mythology? They’re totally badass. I would look awesome!”

He made a funny face. “Take a moment and picture a portrait of you, sitting in the nude, wearing a horned Viking helmet, and tell me that’s not ridiculous.”

My brows pinched together. “You were the one who suggested I look strong. Horns are cool.”

“Yeah, but nude? Maybe with a sword and chain mail armor and a big shield. But that would look like you were pretending to be strong. Strength doesn’t come from armor or weapons. It comes from inside, from your heart and your determination. That’s what I want to paint.”

“You have a point. But I still think nude with a Viking helmet could be awesome.”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically.

I frowned and folded my arms across my chest, “You’re the artist. Figure out a way to make me look awesome. It would be a first. I mean, you said it yourself, how many nude portraits of women wearing Viking helmets are there?”

“I’m guessing none,” Christos said.

“See? It’ll be a first!” I was totally into my idea now.

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said thoughtfully.

“Really?” I was kind of surprised.

“Really. Let me mull it over. It might actually work. But you’ll have to wear pigtails like Brunhilda.”

“What? I hate pigtails. They make me look five.”

“That’s the deal,” he grinned.

“Seriously?”

He shook his head. “Maybe not. Pigtails might be a bit much. But I’ll think about that helmet. So you’ll do it?”

“I guess?” I smiled nervously. “But no spread legged crotch shots, right?”

He grinned, “What, no wide open beavers?”

“You keep talking like that and you can forget it,” I giggled.

“I’m kidding. You only see beavers in porn, or maybe tattoo art. I don’t want to scare off the fine art buyers.”

“What! Are you saying my lady bits are scary?” I stood up from my chair and turned to face him.

He jumped out of range. “I’m sure some men might feel that way…”

I lunged at him, but he dodged. “Take that back!”

“I was thinking of gay men!” he said as he jogged out of the studio. “They’re probably afraid of your beaver because they’re worried about getting their dicks too close to those huge teeth!”

“Huge teeth? Is that supposed to be an apology?!” I shouted as I chased after him. “Anyway, mine doesn’t have any teeth! And it doesn’t look like a beaver! Come back here! I’m going to tear your nuts off and feed them to the squirrels outside!”

“Wouldn’t you rather feed them to your beaver?” He called as he ran into the living room.

“It’s not a beaver!” I shouted as I followed him around the couch. “It’s a pussy! You said so yourself!” As I was about to grab his shirt tail, he jumped over the couch, out of reach. “At least you could call mine a lion or a jaguar. There’s nothing sexy about beavers.”

He ran to the far side of the living room and stopped. “What do you mean? I bet male beavers think female beavers are totally hot. The guy beavers are probably like, ‘Dude, check out that chick’s tail. It is so big and flat and rubbery, you could use it as a swimming pool cover.’”

“Swimming pool cover?” I scoffed, creeping toward him, one step at a time, hoping he wouldn’t notice I was stalking him like the jungle cat that I was.

Christos frowned, backing up a step. “What? Beavers spend a lot of time in the water. They think about these things.”

“Beavers build dams! What does that have to do with swimming pools?” I asked skeptically, inching toward him.

“Duh. A dam causes water to pool up, hence pool covers.”

I shook my head, moving slowly forward. “I don’t think so. Anyhow, why the obsession with beavers all of a sudden?”

“You’re the one who’s been drawing wombats all the time.”

He was almost at the base of the stairs. If I moved slowly enough, maybe he’d be lulled into a false sense of security so I could catch him. I cracked a smile, “You’re incorrigible.” I took another step toward him.

“What are you and your jaguar gonna do about it?” he taunted.

“My jaguar is going to eat you alive,” I growled. If he ran upstairs, he was mine. There was no way he could escape.