𝖡𝖤𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖸𝖠𝖫 𝖲𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 #2
"Stefano..." I open my eyes and awaken from the lust. My hand is still on his erection. I'm about to protest to how wrong this is. How friends don't do this to each other.
"Please...just- fuck it."
He placed his lip...
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RAENI
Sculptures are the most primary way of art. I didn't learn sculpting until later on in my life and even then, I didn't master it right away.
When I was younger, I was limited to what my mama could afford and if she couldn't, then I wouldn't want it. I always wanted sculpting tools and all things necessary but I knew it would be very expensive to keep up with especially since mama was doing everything she could to get me my art supplies. She did it because she knew how much I love it.
I remember I got my first sculpting kit at twenty one. Lory got it for me. She didn't know that it was my first one ever. She just knew that I had been talking of getting one so she got it for me. So there I was sitting in my quiet corner, away from all noises, just sculpting something.
At first it started out as a round ball with spikes but then I decided to do a puffer fish when it's already puffed up.
It didn't look like it but since it was my first time, I wasn't too hard on myself.
The sculpture looked cute after I painted it but when I decided to more, I got progressively better at it. Or so I thought.
After about ten little sculptures, I stopped to look back on my work. I shouldn't have stopped because they all looked back at me and I could see the tears in their eyes from hurt. Hurt that I caused for making them look like that. I can never get the nasty image out of my head. I haven't tried much sculpting since then but its safe to say those sculptures won't be hurting anymore eyes.
I washed my hands out and cleaned my small room up before sitting down and reading. I enjoyed the silence in this room more than I enjoyed the silence of my bedroom. I went from reading back to sculpting for fun and not for perfection.
Whenever I'm painting or sculpting or doing pottery, I don't think. I just do. I don't looked for perfection because ones man's trash is another man's treasure. I may strive for perfection but others might see it as imperfect. When doing art, the only thing needed is imagination and the ability to let go and let the brush stroke its way around.
So while I was painting away, not listening to any of my surroundings or to my own sane thoughts, I didn't hear the repetitive footsteps until they got louder. I didn't hear the feint rough grunts from the other side of the wall. Footsteps mingled and slurred all over the floor, stopping immediately.
I neared the white wall with my green brush and placed my ear on the wall. I knew I wouldn't hear much but my guess was that Derek was home. I couldn't smell the air but by the slowness of his movements, I could guess that he was drunk. Just how drunk, I couldn't tell.
I could never tell how drunk he was, ever. I don't know whether he is a light weight or not. I just know that Derek drinks and this time he promised me not to drink yet here he is.
