Listening to Whispers

I’d chalked most of this up to Jerry’s need to joke about almost anything, but still, the information came from older men, and I wondered how much was true and how much was Jerry’s imagination.

For the next month, I went to Debra’s place every afternoon, right after school, and I spent at least six hours there every Saturday. I drew everything from spoons and thimbles to the shiny globe in her garden and the broken barn door. After I made each drawing, she would critique my work, and the comments would usually end with the words, “that’s wrong”, “that’s not right”, or “what were you thinking about?”. If I had screwed up really bad, the comment was always “that stinks”. The rejection of my efforts would have been hard to take had she not then shown me what she meant and why. She also seemed to be a touching person, because she often punctuated her points with a touch on my arm, or by picking up my hand and moving it to feel some surface irregularity I hadn’t seen. On a few occasions, she stood behind me again, and the same intense tension snapped my senses to attention. On those occasions, I fear I was not very attentive to much of anything except the growth of my cock, but she didn’t seem to notice.

The first Saturday in October, as had become her custom, Debra met me on he porch.

“I think you’re ready to graduate to something a little more challenging. Let’s try some pastels and see how you handle that oak tree out back.”

Pastels are indeed a challenging medium. They allow the subtle blending of colors with a fingertip, and the pictures tend to be soft in tone and texture. I had worked with them a little, and found that they allowed almost no error. It was nearly impossible to cover a dark shade with a lighter one without everything looking like dark grey mud.

Debra led me around the house, and down the lane toward the barn. The old oak was enormous, and it’s massive trunk had once supported a mane of brilliant green, lobed leaves. Now, the trunk was rotted with age, and the massive knarled limbs held only patches of foliage bronzed by the sharp chill of the Tennessee fall nights. The tree seemed in it’s final throes, and the scent of it’s death was palpable on the light fall breeze. A large blanket was spread over the freshly mowed grass, and on it were a pad and the box of pastels. I plopped down on one side, and was taking my first appraisal of the tree’s potential when a movement in my peripheral vision made me turn.

Debra had pulled her long dress completely to her waist in order to sit without ripping it, and I saw that she wore no underwear. Her rounded, naked hips pushed back in profile as she kneeled before sitting down. I had never seen a woman’s hips before, at least not in a naked state, and the sight left me agape. Debra turned to hand me the pastels and saw my startled expression.

“Mark, what’s the matter?” She paused for a moment, and then placed her open palm on her chest. “You’ve never seen a naked woman before, have you? And I just flashed my big butt right in your face. I’m sorry, Mark, but, with no one around most of the time, it seems silly to wear anything but this dress.”

I shook my head, still unable to speak. Debra chuckled.

“Here I am, old enough to be your mother and then some, and I’ve got you speechless. You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself. Now, close your mouth and draw that oak tree.”

I composed myself as much as possible, and started to draw. As I got more into capturing the painful elegance of the twisted, bare branches against the deep blue of the autumn sky, I was pulled into the drawing, and time seemed to stop as I lightly brushed and blended the colors of trunk and golden leaves with the grey-green moss that coated much of the exposed bark.

I was aware of Debra shifting position to look over my shoulder, and jumped when she placed her hand along my thigh to support herself. I could feel the soft kiss of her breath when she exhaled, and hoped the pounding of my heart was not as audible as it sounded in my ears.

“That’s very nice, Mark, but the colors are too solid. Look harder at the variations of browns and blacks of the trunk. These variations give you the depth and texture you’re looking for. Just use the edge of the crayon to accent and give you the feel of the different layers.”

The technique did give nice results and the trunk of the old oak came to life under my fingers.

“Now, look at the clusters of leaves. They’re maybe a little too defined. They look stiff. Blend the edges a little, and use the white and yellow to put in some tiny highlights. With practice, you can make them almost seem to move.”

I finished, and held it up for her to see. Debra leaned into my back, and this time there was no mistaking the fact that her breast was pressed against me. I could feel the soft mound as it flattened into my ribs. Debra didn’t seem to notice; she just kept talking and pointing out good places and errors. I tried my best to listen, but the pressure on my back made it difficult, and I was glad when she leaned back.

“All in all, not bad for your first time. You have a good eye for hue, and you’ll learn more as you do more. To me, the colors and textures are whispers waiting to be heard above the noise that most people see, and you have to listen carefully with your eyes. I know that sounds crazy, but that’s the way I think of it, and if you let the whispers speak to you, your work will come to life.”

“I think I know what you mean. It’s like when you said I had to look past the surface and see what is inside.” I stammered as I blurted out what I had been thinking about since she sat down. “An’...and, it’s not big.”

“Not big? What’s not big?”

“Your...er, bottom.”

“That’s just pure bullshit, Mark. I’m a lot bigger than any of the young girls, can’t you see that?”

It was the first time I’d heard her cuss, but somehow, it fit the Debra I was learning to like. She wasn’t very polished, as were most of the older women I knew, but the difference was really refreshing. The thing with her dress, and now the word “bullshit” made me feel really at ease with this woman. She just didn’t really care what anybody else thought. She lived for her talent, and for a while at least, for the task of teaching me the things she knew.

“I don’t like the girls in my class. They’re too silly, not grown-up like you. And some of them have bigger bottoms than you do. I think now it’s you that doesn’t look.”

Debra chuckled. “Well, thank you for the compliment, anyway, but I’m way too old for you. And, I guess you’re right. Young girls don’t do anything for me either, and I don’t look at them. Anyway, I’m glad you’re starting to know what I mean.”

The rest of the week, Debra took away all the pastels except for the eight simple colors found in every child’s box of crayons, and we concentrated on blending colors. Her skill was amazing, and as she revealed the techniques by correcting my mistakes, I realized that this woman, although called “odd” by most people, was one of those special people who chose to share the gift with which they have been blessed, rather than use it for personal power or gain. I was growing to like Debra a lot.

The next Saturday, Debra wasn’t on the porch when I drove up the lane. I found a note on the door that said to go up to the third floor to the studio. I had always wanted to see where Debra did her own work, and quickly climbed the stairs at the end of the hall. I arrived on the third floor landing and saw another note on a small table.

Mark, here is paper and the box of pastels. Walk down the hall to the open door, and sit in the chair at the window. When you look out toward the barn, you’ll see two figures on the grass. Make your drawing from what you see. I’ll be up to see how you’re doing in an hour. Debra

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw through the window. On the green expanse between the house and the barn, a blanket has been spread, and on the blanket were two nude women. There was no mistaking Debra’s long black hair, but the other woman truly was a shock. The tiny body could only have belonged to Barbara. Although both women were lying on their stomachs and the distance was too great to really see facial features, the bobbed, brown hair was the same style as Barbara’s, and there were no other women in town as small as the petite art teacher.

The two women lay side by side, and Debra had her arm over Barbara’s back. I started to sketch the outlines of the picture, but stopped when Debra moved her hand to Barbara’s little butt cheek. In a few moments, the hand was on Barbara’s neck, and then slid over her back to her thigh. It was obvious that Barbara was getting a back rub, and the back rub was making it difficult to draw. Not only were these the first real, live women I had seen nude, but I had never seen one woman touch another as they were. Everything on that blanket was soft and gentle and although Barbara’s small rounded bottom was smaller than Debra’s, they both had the full curves of maturity. After a few minutes, Debra’s arm returned to it’s original position, and after a few more, I had calmed down enough to get back to the pastels and paper.

The picture sort of took shape without my knowing how. I matched the pale, translucent color of Debra’s skin and the slightly darker tone of Barbara’s; the outlines of their bodies were distinct, but a little soft compared to how I usually drew. Their curves were softly shaded to hint at roundness without really showing it. The hair of each was the right color, and the highlights made by the sun shone up at me from the paper. The blanket was an out-of-focus blaze of white against the grey-green autumn grass, and the rest of the paper was the original white velour. When I stood back to look at the work, the overall impression was of soft colors blended into the blanket. It was a little surreal, I thought, but when I thought about changing any of it, my mind just said no. I studied for the things that would make Debra say it stunk, but I couldn’t find anything we had talked about before. I looked out the window to check on my perspective again, but the blanket and women were gone.

“Let’s see what you have.”

I turned at her voice, and could say nothing. Debra stood before me clad only in the moccasins and a man’s white shirt. Her legs were long and slender, and flowed from the long shirt tail. The shirt was unbuttoned to the middle of her chest, and sweep of her long hair across her shoulder instantly drew my eyes to the open expanse of skin in the v-shaped gap.

“If you can stop trying to see my boobs for a second, could we look at your picture?”

“God, I’m sorry, Debra. It’s just that...well -”

“I know, you’ve never seen two naked women before. You’ll have to get over this before college. You’re going to spend a lot of time drawing nudes.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Oh, well then, what is it.”

“You’re really sexy in that shirt.”

Her raucous laugh made me blush. “Me, sexy? Mark, I’m anything but sexy. The other woman was sexy, but I’m just forty-seven.”

“You mean Barbara, don’t you? The other woman, I mean.”

Her face instantly changed from the laughing smile to taught lips and a wrinkled brow. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to recognize her. She’ll kill me if anybody ever finds out. Mark, Barbara did me a huge favor by posing for you. If the school board gets wind of this, she’ll lose her position, and I’ll lose a good friend. Please don’t ever tell anybody about this.”

I had never seen the soft side of Debra before, but I liked it too. She wasn’t worried about herself, as usual, but the thought of having injured someone else worried her. I promised not to tell.

Debra liked my picture; for once since she had been teaching me, she actually liked something the first time.

“This is what we’ve been talking about, Mark. The lines are very subtle and sensuous, and the way the figures stand out above everything else tells me you were captured by the two women. The soft shadows to indicate the curve of their bodies gives them depth but keeps the overall soft texture to the whole. This is pretty good..., no, by God, it’s really good.”

“I guess I saw the whispers in you and Barbara.”

I saw both Barbara and Debra in a different light after that day in October. Barbara became the girl of my dreams, and it was a little hard to face her on the next school day. I didn’t think she suspected anything, and other than the staring I did when she wasn’t looking, our relationship was relatively normal. Debra became more than an odd person who taught art to an over-aged high school senior. She became a sensitive woman, and I began to see more in her than just someone who helped me with my art. She became someone I thought about at night, and someone I needed to see every day. Sunday’s were hell, because I couldn’t be with her.

We had been working on oils for a couple of weeks, and I expected more fruit and pottery on my Saturday visit after Thanksgiving. Debra didn’t meet me on the porch because of the cold weather, but she quickly answered my knock, and we climbed the stairs to her studio. The studio was really warm for some reason, and I was about to comment when Debra pulled the dress over her head. She walked to the padded posing stage under the skylight and sat down with her legs crossed.

“Today, you’re going to paint me. We have all day, but that won’t be long enough for anything very big, so start small. I’m going to have to move once in a while, but I’ll get back to this position as well as I can. OK, stop staring like you’ve never seen me before, and get to work.”

Well, dammit, I hadn’t seen her before, at least not like this. She had always covered her body with shapeless clothes, except for the time she posed with Barbara, and then all I could see was her back. The Debra I saw nude was a beautiful woman with small but proud breasts and wonderfully sensuous thighs and hips. She was slender, but not skinny, as I had thought she might be, and I was getting really aroused by the nest of black curls that hid the area between her thighs. I could make out the fuzzy outline of soft, pouting lips that stuck out through the curls, and when she lowered her knees to get comfortable, the lips opened slightly to reveal the erotic, pink shaded inner surface of her sex. I had an erection that I couldn’t do anything about, and Debra saw it.

“I’m sorry, Mark, but you really do have to get used to naked women, and naked men too. Figure drawing is an important part of art, and you’re going to study a lot of it before you graduate. Maybe this will help.”

She frowned and stuck her tongue out at me. “Bladladladladladl.” The babbling sound caused by her tongue as it flipped in and out of her mouth cracked me up, and also caused the tent in my jeans to fall a little. I had to laugh, but not so hard that I missed the wonderful jiggle her breasts made when she burst out in giggles.

I painted for four hours before stepping back to look at the canvas from a distance. Debra had hardly moved except to stretch out about every fifteen minutes. The effect when she raised her arms over her head was devastating to my concentration. Fantasies were rampaging through my brain. I kept picturing those arms falling on my shoulders and pulling me into the little brown nipples that alternately lay flat and then rose to strain against the lighter, puckered circles on which they sat. I pictured myself holding her, kissing her, and then making love to this woman that everybody thought was so different. After an hour, I finally got somewhat accustomed to her body, and by the time I finished, I could look at her carefully without getting more than half hard.

“Can I look, or do you still have more to do?”

“I’m about as done as I can get. I’m a little stumped by something. I can’t get you to look right, somehow. The body is there, but the life isn’t. You can probably tell me what’s wrong.”

Debra didn’t bother to dress; she walked over to stand beside me, and I became acutely aware of her. I could smell the scent of her skin. It wasn’t body odor, at least not like I had before a shower. It was a clean scent, and different than the cloud of lavender or lilac that enveloped my mother. Even today, I can’t describe a woman’s natural scent; I can only enjoy it, and the impact of Debra’s on my mind was impressive. I again achieved that state I had experienced when drawing the oak. Every sense was tingling with anticipation, of what I didn’t know, but I felt as if I was going to leap from my skin if something didn’t happen.

“The problem is in my eyes, Mark. Eyes are the most important part of a painting, because so much emotion is played out in them. Here, look at mine now; can you see what I’m talking about?”

I turned to face her, and stared into the almost-black depths. The play of light over the tiny patterns surrounding the pupil was entrancing. The eyes drew me in, drew me closer to her, and it wasn’t any task at all to just keep going until I kissed her.

Debra didn’t push me back, but she didn’t return the kiss either. I backed up, and said “I’m sorry”.

“Sorry for what, because you kissed me? Didn’t you want to kiss me?”

“Yes, I did.”

“So, why do you think it was wrong and you need to apologize?”

“I don’t think you liked it.”

“Oh, I liked it all right, but don’t you think this is a little silly? After all, I’m at least as old as your mother. Would you kiss her like that?”

“No, but I don’t feel the same way about her.”

“And how would that be?”

“I really like you. I want to hold you. I want to...well, you’re so pretty and I want to make love with you.”

She gave me a strange look, and then laughed a nervous sounding laugh. “I like you too, Mark, but I just think we’ve been together a lot over the last few months, and we’ve gotten very comfortable with each other.” She looked down at her body, and then back into my eyes. “Besides, I don’t know why you would want me over a girl your own age. I’m wrinkled and starting to sag in places.”

“Debra, that first day, you told me I had to look past the surface to see what was inside. I’ve been doing that with you since the day you and Barbara posed for me. I think you’re beautiful on the outside and beautiful on the inside, and that’s why I feel the way I do.”

She put her arms around my neck and pulled me to her chest. “Mark, you mustn’t feel this way about me. It’s...it’s not right.”

She didn’t sound very convincing, and she also didn’t pull away when I put my arms around her waist and pulled her closer. I raised my head and kissed her again, and this time, Debra kissed me back. It was a special kiss because it was my first, and as we stood there, Debra made it an exquisite experience. I guess it was some instinct that made me start gently rubbing her back and then drop one hand to cup her hip. God, the feeling of her skin under my hands was wonderful. I didn’t want to ever let her go, but she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me away. We stood and stared at each other for what seemed like hours. Her eyes seemed to be searching mine for something, although she gave no clue as to what, and asked no questions for me to answer. Finally she said “Dammit, I don’t care what they think”, and led me to the posing platform.

Debra silently undressed me, and then pulled me down beside her on the platform. Mom had told me the basics of sex, but most of my knowledge of technique had been learned in the locker room at school. I clumsily started to maul her breast, and this lasted for about five seconds.

“Ouch, that’s not a tennis ball you’re squeezing. It’s a woman, and women like to be treated gently. Here, let me show you.”

Debra took her hand and gently caressed her breast with her open palm. She cupped the small mound and squeezed very gently, and then rubbed her index finger around the nipple. The little brown nub quickly extended and became wrinkled at the tip. She whispered, “like this, and very gently”.