Naked Portraits Pt. 09

I looked up to see Alyson standing over us looking down. Hawk got up and stood beside her. They were the same height ... the chick was impossibly tall. She remove her white lab coat. Hawk slipped behind her and buried his face in her blond hair breathing in her scent ... a move he's done with me a thousand times before. A pang of jealousy gripped me as he pushed her hair aside and kissed her creamy smooth neck. I watched with jealous fascination as he helped her out of her top, slacks, bra and panties. The chick was spectacular naked. Her flawless desirable body seemed to glow from within.

"You're beautiful," I told her. Too beautiful, I thought seconds later.

She made me feel inadequate with my tiny chest and slim frame. Matt started to move his hips creating a sweet friction. I closed my eyes to enjoy his attentions. Each thrust of Matt's hips sent ripples of pleasure through me but everything seemed off tonight; feelings were jumbled, overlapping and confusing. Alyson was clearly disrupting the flow.

Then weirdly, I smelled damp earth and I opened my eyes to find Paul Gleason's face hovering above me. Somehow I had misplaces Matt. I looked around for him in confusion ... then my lizard brain said, 'Paul feel real nice in us.'

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea about this," I warned him.

"I can't see how I could possibly misinterpret this?" he said as he started to thrust his hips making me gasp with each fleshy impact.

Naked Alyson Reese stood nearby in my darken studio. Dappled light from the ventilation windows high up crisscrossed her voluptuous curvy body. The weak dirty light made her look like one of Sally's bronze Venuses. She stepped closer and I saw that her skin was grayish brown and lined with wood grain, her hair seemed solid as if carved of light oak. Around her bellybutton was a black circle with a red hand print at it's center.

"Stay away from Hawk," I told her.

"LOLO!" she said to me quite rudely. For some reason she sounded like Betty.

"I'm not stupid!" I yelled at her.

Paul no longer lay on top of me. He stood nearby, fully dressed in a tang top and baggy shorts holding his bike by the handles. Alyson stood beside him, her skin gray-brown woody look. Then I realized that this wasn't Alyson Reese ... it was the forest goddess Wahine Lani!

Annoyed that Paul was no longer fucking me, I said, "I'm not done him!"

Both of them receded into the darkness of my studio with Paul's bike clicking indifferently. I got up to followed but found myself kneeling naked before Hawk stroking his long sleek erection. A naked Li Hong floated nearby like she was underwater, all pale blue-white and eerie, her hair black-blue floated around her head like an inky cloud. She held Meka's video camera to one eye filming the action. Hawk gasped and started spewing warm white jizz at me. Annoyed, I made a grab at his erection to stem the flow but his messy seed spattered everywhere: on my face in my long dark hair, on my arms and chest.

"Sorry for the mess," I said looking up at him

"Beats being stung by a Portuguese man o' war," he said.

That I had to agree with.

I got up and headed for the flight of stairs to get to my studio to clean up. Covered with Hawk's semen, I felt uncomfortable and filthy, but yet, excited at the same time. Coming down the stairs were Stephanie Santos; naked pale, slim and elfin, accompanied by Iceland Erickson dressed in a green security guard uniform with gleaming silver badges.

"You like watch?" Stephanie asked in her guttural harsh local accent.

Iceland's hands crept around and cupped her small breasts. "Not too bad for a hammer ya?" he said sounding lake Arnold Schwarzenegger. Was he still Governor of California? I wondered pointlessly.

Ashamed of my messy appearance, I sprinted up the rest of the stairs. I got promptly lost in the rabbit warren of halls in the grad student section. With every turn, I encountered one of Sally's bronze statues. The corridors ... and statues seem to go on forever and with every turn my panic grew. Around one corner I encountered Alyson Reese—or was it Jessica Alba?—going down on Harry and Rudy the Hawaiian hunks from Meka's movie. Alyson popped an erection from her mouth and gave me a sweet smile that I felt compelled to return.

"You wanna fuck these guys?" she asked.

Meka appeared out of nowhere ... I was so glad to see her.

"I can make you a star," she said. Her long wavy hair undulated and moved like it were alive. She handed me the glass net float from Maui. Naked, I sat in lotus position right in the corridor and plopped the net float in my lap. Images of the Hawaiian hunks fucking me from all kinds of cool angles filled the globe. Although I was just watching, I could feel hard dicks pushing at me ... bodies pressing against me ... lips on my flesh everywhere. The money shot arrived and in the globe, short hair me from Betty's painting knelt on the floor with her back to me. The two Hawaiian hunks, gripping their velvety, brown, hard cocks, flanked her and aimed the tips at her face. In tacky movie slow motion, jets of white stuff flew at short hair's head. I couldn't tell how she was receiving the mess because her back was still to me. Then slowly, she turned to face me. I screamed! There was a blank rectangular space where her eyes should have been.

... I sat up in my bed in my Waikiki apartment.

"What the fuck!" I yelled.

After gathering myself, I got out of bed and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Before coming home, I had found Hawk and we had talked things over. I decided to meet Alyson Reese next Friday. I told Hawk that I wanted to be the one to bring it up with Matt. Hawk had student papers to read so he drove me home.

"No more manapua and tequila before bedtime," I scolded myself. I let out a humorless laugh and said, "I'm glad I don't have to report that ripe Freudian mess of a dream to doctor Ling and the psych department."

I slipped back into bed. The vivid intensity of the dream dissipated as I fell back to sleep. No more dreams of debauchery, blond Asian Amazons or goddesses bothered me for the rest of the night.

Chapter 47 Break In and Surveillance

I sat on the ratty loveseat in my tiny little studio staring at the confusing mess of a painting on my easel. It was a self-portrait with Edouard Manet's Luncheon on the grass in mind. The female figure (me) sat totally nude, her body in profile staring out of the canvas. Hawk and Matt were the models for the two male figures. Hawk sat behind me in a loud ,silky, red aloha shirt, Matt reclined in a Cleveland Indian's ball cap, jeans and a black t-shirt. I had no idea what inspired me to paint this parade, but here it was. The painting was skillfully done but lacked heart, purpose, and most of all passion.

Nothing I did on the thing worked. I threw down my brush in frustration. "So much for pagan offerings," I groused.

After cleaning off my brushes, I grabbed my backpack and headed to the stairwell. At the ground floor I made a beeline to the art office. It was the first Monday of the month and my pay check for teacher's aid should be in my mail slot. I stopped walking when I remembered that on Monday mornings Paul Gleason attends the Common's gallery.

I groaned, embarrassed about kissing him the way I had on Friday night.

"Stupid lizard brain," I said and promised no more pagan offerings after tequila shots from here on out. I turned tail and took a round about route to the art office to bypass the commons.

I slipped into the art office. My eyes fell briefly on the still life painting of coffee, cake and newspaper that adorned the entryway. Ever since I officially noticed the painting a few months ago I feel compelled to look at it whenever I entered. The simple still life has more spit and passion than my painting up stairs.

"Hello," the sweet but stern voice of Sandy Agato, the head secretary of the art office greeted me. Sandy is Japanese, in her mid sixties and is the undisputed alpha female of the art department. Students, and even department heads, gave her a wide birth.

"Your check is on my desk deer," Sandy said. "And by the way, you still haven't returned your spare studio key."

"What do you mean?" I asked in total confusion.

"You said you left your key at home and asked for the spare," Sandy said.

My heart skipped remembering the unknown woman at my studio door last night. But what do I have worth stealing?

"I didn't ask for the key yesterday," I said slowly.

"Not yesterday, at the beginning of the semester," Sandy said like she was correcting a child. "I've been meaning to ask you about it. I just keep forgetting."

I relaxed for no one was trying to break into my studio and steal my stuff. Sandy was simply mistaken about the key. Too culturally entrenched to correct an elder, I simply nodded, plus I was deathly afraid of the woman ... yeah, I know, what a wimp.

Sandy nodded back and I followed her to her desk to get my check.

"I haven't had time to put the checks in the mail slots because of all the excitement."

"What excitement?" I asked.

"Someone broke into the commons gallery last night," she said as she shuffled through the stack of envelopes. "Security was here most the morning," Sandy handed me the envelope with my name on it.

Positive that she could see the guilt in my eyes, I avoided looking her in the face and made a big deal of opening the envelope and studying my check. With a lump in my throat I asked, "They know who did it?" I was totally freaked, sure that I had gotten Paul in serious trouble. Then panic gripped my heart as I thought of hidden security cameras.

"No," Sandy said, "Whoever broke in had a key.

My heart sank, this will all point right at Paul. I better let her know that the whole thing was my idea.

"Almost every instructor and half the grads have keys," Sandy said. "Nothing was broken or taken. But Adrian has decided to change the locks on both galleries. Adrian will have to keep better track of who has keys in the future."

"Sound's expensive," I said doubly avoiding her eyes, but relieved that no one was pointing a finger at Paul.

"Gotta be done. That's why I asked about your spare key since keys were on my mind," she said with a shrug. "They think it may have been one of the Hawaiian activist students making some kind of religious statement. There was a ti leaf wrapped offering found in the gallery. I wonder if the Christian groups have gotten wind of this?" There was definitely a twinkle in her eyes as she mentioned the Christian groups.

A year ago, a show, featuring art from lesbian and gay arts from all over the state opened in the main gallery. An ultra conservative student Christian group decided to flex some muscle. The group marched to the doors of the main art gallery and tried to stop people from entering the show. Sandy single handily cleared out the protesters sending them running with their intolerant tails between their legs. She is now considered a living saint in the eyes of the campus's gay and lesbian communities. Whether or not Sandy gives a hoot about gay and lesbian art is neither here nor there. Simply, Nobody fucks with her art department.

The compulsive need to confess all my sins to the woman gripped me. Before I started flapping my tongue, I cleared out quick. I went in the opposite direction of the commons gallery. The old cliché about how criminals always return to the scene of the crime prompted me to pick up the pace. Also, I was still avoiding Paul because of the kiss thing. Five minutes later, I slipped into my advanced art history class and sat in the last row.

The lecture was on Picasso's years in France during the Nazi occupation. I didn't hear a thing the teacher was saying because Alyson Reese had returned to the forefront of my crowded brain. I was now regretting the decision to meet the woman. This wasn't like Emiko and Kira. Emiko was Married and deeply in love with her husband. Alyson was unattached ... and according to all accounts, beautiful. A panic seized me for the thought of letting her have her way with Hawk and Matt totally freaked me out.

In mid lecture, I slipped out and headed in the direction of the biology department. After wandering around a bit I found what I was looking for, a bulletin board with the postings of all the biology lab locations and instructor's names. I looked for the name Reese and found it; she had a bio lab coming up in twenty minutes in lab 6A.

Lab 6A was squeaky-clean smelling of cleanser and rubbing alcohol. Several long, heavy, white linoleum tables lined the room; all chairs faced a wall dominated by a white dry-erase marker board. I took a seat at a table nearest the door. My plan was to get a quick glimpse of Reese and then bolt.

The class filled with each passing minute. A Filipino girl sat next to me. She was young, perhaps a freshman, pretty but on the skinny side. She looked familiar. She caught me looking and I quickly looked away. As I hunted the dusty corners of my brain as to where I've seen the girl before, a bang, like a dropped cooking pot startled me from my thoughts. It came form out in the hall. A rhythmic metallic clacking followed the bang. Seconds later, Alyson Reese entered the room pushing a cart stacked precariously high with white metal trays. Since I was nearest the door, she unceremoniously dropped a tray in front of me first. In the tray were two brown, egg size hairy balls, a scalpel and three kinds of tweezers. She then handed me a stack of papers.

"Pass these out for me will you?" She asked hardly looking at me and went about plopping trays in front of every other student in the class. "Two people per tray please," Reese instructed. "One will dissect and one will take notes and draw. Switch off if you like, up to you. But everyone needs to turn in their own worksheet."

I got up and handed out the work sheets. From the corners of my eyes I watched Reese move about the room handing out the trays. She was impossibly tall for an Asian girl with shoulder length sun streaked blonde hair. No way she's a natural, it had to be a dye job, although I had to admit she pulled it off well. The chick was stunning. Even in her lab coat and slacks I could tell she had a full spectacular figure. My vision of her looking like Jessica Alba was way off, Hawk's comparison to Marilyn Moore was much closer. I handed out the last worksheet and headed to my seat. I needed to get out before Reese got a good look at me. I picked up my backpack and made to leave.

"Notes or cut?" the Filipino girl asked shyly in accented English. I looked around and noticed everyone had already partnered up and she was the odd girl out. She gave me such a sad puppy dog look that I just couldn't bring myself to abandon her.

I sighed. "You cut first," I said sitting back down. The class was large, my face one of many. If I avoid getting up and doing the hula on the table, Reese won't remember me.

From the front of the class, Alyson Reese started the lesson.

"What you have in front of you is an owl pellet. It is the regurgitated remains of the owl's meal, stuff the bird's stomach cannot digest like hair and bones."

I looked at the Filipino girl and she at me and we made the same yucky face.

Alyson continued.

"I want you to take the pellet apart and catalog the bones. you get extra points for correctly identifying a bone. For anyone who finds a skull, you get a frozen ice cream bar stored next to the frozen chicken heads in the lab freezer."

The class laughed.

"What if I want a chicken head instead?" a young man asked from up front.

"Honestly Ralph, you Chinese will eat anything," Alyson said to the young man.

The class laughed again including me.

My impromptu lab partner got to work cutting up the owl pellet. The hairy clumps pulled apart easily so she abandoned the scalpel for two pairs of tweezers. She held up a tiny bone for me to see. Years of drawing the human anatomy kicked in, I was sure I was looking at some tiny animal's equivalent to the human thighbone. I even remembered the scientific name for it and wrote it down next to my pencil sketch. Soon, a whole array of bones were lined up on the surface of the linoleum worktable.

My lab partner gasped and then said, "Look," as she held out a delicate tiny skull. "We get ice cream!" she said in Filipino accent excitement.

I did a small quick sketch of the skull on the lab sheet. I liked my little drawing so much that I broke out my 9 x 12 sketchbook and went to work on a larger drawing of the thing with a charcoal pencil.

"You draw good." my lab partner said. I heard awe in her voice like I was doing magic.

"Art major," I said with a shrug.

"Those drawings are very accurate," came a deep female voice from behind us.

I turned and looked up into the face of tall, blonde and beautiful, Alyson Reese. Busted. I may as well have done the hula on the table.

"You know your bones too," she added looking at my lab sheet. She glanced at the array of bones on the tabletop. "You got several animals here, the delicate bones are some kind of mouse. The hardier ones are voles, so is the skull." She gave us both a warm smile and moved on.

"Do you have a regular lab partner?" the Filipino girl asked.

"I'm not enrolled in this class. I came here to, um ... check something out," I said honestly.

"Oh, too bad," the girl said with a sad pout.

"There are disposal cans up front," Alyson said from the front of the class, "One for pellet remains and one for the bones."

"What if we like keep em?" someone asked. I think it was the same guy who asked about the chicken heads.

"As long as you don't eat them," Alyson said. The class laughed. Then the noise level heightened as people made to leave. Alyson shouted over the noise, "Leave your lab sheets and make sure your names are on them. Skull people, come get your ice cream bars!"

The Filipino girl stared at my drawing of the vole's skull. She seemed so impressed.

"I'll give you the charcoal drawing if you let me keep the skull and go get my ice cream," I said.

"Really? I can have it?" she asked with awe.

I tore the drawing from my sketch book and signed it G. Yoshimura.

With ice cream in hand, I bolted from the scene. How the fuck was I going to explain my sudden presents in her class next Friday night, I didn't know. Maybe she won't remember me. I could only hope.

Chapter 48 Meeting Alyson Reese

I staring at my version of Manet's 'Luncheon On the Grass' finally satisfied with it. I had exaggerated the length and flow of my long hair pushing it to the black side of brown. It was the hair that did it for me. Too much identity and mystique is tied up in an Asian girls hair. That thought was a left over my angry young feminist days. I wonder if blonds have the same problem?

That thought took me to Alyson Reese and my covert blundering. A heated feeling of betrayal aimed at Hawk followed. For most the week, I waffled from liking the idea of adding the chick into the mix to loathing it. At the moment, I was in loath mode.

I looked over at Matt stretched out as best he could on my studio's ratty loveseat. Lately he has been distracted and kind of morose. He's working on a couple of stories and claims that writing does that to him sometimes. Knowing exactly how he felt, I tolerated the moodiness.

Hawk wanted to tell Matt about the Reese girl but I insisted that he let me. The whole week drifted by and I haven't said a thing and now we were set to meet the girl in one hour. I should have let Hawk do it; I'm such an idiot.

Matt asked a question braking my reserve.

"If your hair has such a stigma or prison like you said, why don't you cut it or dye it?"

He and I had been discussing the mystique behind an Asian woman's hair just minutes ago.