Sunlight is yellow. Autumn leaves are yellow and sometimes so is gold. All these things are beautiful but Rebekah is the most precious. She has hair like wheat, her eyes like burnished gold, and her skin is tawny. I paint her monochromatic, only hinting at all the shades of yellow that color her. She becomes simply yellow, like smiling suns and cheery fires. It seems a bright happy color, a children’s color, and so full of innocence and light. It is this innocence and light that I want to capture. This is Rebekah’s essence.
Here is one where she is arrayed like a child, gussied up like some plaything. She is a Victorian doll that stood on her bookshelf, with her ruffles and butter cream lace. Flowing ribbons tie under her chin in a large bow, securing the bonnet. Her silk stockings and leather shoes are clearly visible as one small hand lifts her skirts. There, you can see each detail, each golden curl of her sex and the illusion of lingering moisture. When I see this, when I paint this, there is an intimacy that I never felt, even when I held her.
There are other portraits in this series. This is Rebekah as a ballerina stretching at the bar, the light just catching the curve of her ass beneath the stiff skirt. See the way her hair falls from the tight bun? Pieces of it curl around her neck and she looks at you from the corner of her eye, a half smile on her lips. She knows she is being watched. Is she merely stretching there before she dances or is she already performing for her audience of one?
This one is Rebekah as a daisy with her yellow skirts the petals and her ass the center. It is a bit of springtime whimsy that came to me after too much time at the park with her. We laid in a field cluttered with daisies and she wove a chain to wear about her neck. I couldn’t resist painting her as the flower. I only hope that she never fades as those daisies did. I hope she never feels the tough of winter.
My masterpiece though is this one, Rebekah as the morning star. She’s floating bright in the middle of a sunrise sky with arms stretched above her head and her hair fanning behind her like a halo. An exultant expression graces her face, a smile on her lips in this transformation from woman to light. Her body and face are suffused with a glow and eldritch sparkles. She is long and lean and smooth with Art Deco lines.
Looking at this painting I can see the swirls and scatters of yellow that become her face and skin. In my mind this is how I have always seen her, as a beautiful, ethereal woman cloaked in all the shades of yellow starlight. With these pristine lines and perfect Euclidean curves I liken her to the pinnacle of womanhood.
When I touch her I see her as I will paint her. In the thick grass of the park she became my daisy. Floating in the pool all I can see are her breasts and face and belly. For this scene she will be the fallen sky lord’s daughter floating in drops of liquid fire. When she laughs and dances in a circle next to the camp fire with the embers moving around her ankles and calves I will give her life in a swirl of hair and with fireflies rising up to the backdrop of the lantern moon.
I can see so clearly the light that blazes in her soul. Its pure and flickering like strong candlelight. I want to touch it when I make love to her. When the tip of my cock presses into her I dream myself plunging into that pool of light and stirring its depths. I want to taste this essence when my tongue invades her mouth. I’d lap it up like cinnamon fire from the folds of her sex. I want it, but it’s a fleeting ephemeral thing that spreads away when the waves of her orgasms finally subside. I must capture it with palette and brush; try to recall the exact color. I want the world to see her as I do.
It is therefore, truly a shame that I have never been able to find that perfect shade of yellow for these paintings of her that cluster on the walls of my mind.