Strange Art 2: Art Project

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First eBook Edition

ISBN 978-1-939275-64-6

Elder Road Books

Bellevue WA

1 A Crowded Head

I’m not a very good lover. For that matter, I’m not a very good boyfriend. Or brother. The only thing I seem to be good at is painting. That might even be the reason I’m not very good at anything else.

I’m Art. Arthur. Pen to my lovers—short for Pendragon. It’s our own little fantasy.

Lovers. Annette is simply the sweetest, most caring, most loving person in the universe. She taught me the difference between a wet dream and a wet reality. We call her Lady Annette of the Lake—my Lady for short. I’m so in love with her that it makes my eyes water. And Morgan. We were born exactly a year apart. My dad has a strange sense of humor and slipped the names Morgan and Arthur in on my mom without her realizing what he’d done. My Lady and I call her Fay, short for Morgan Le Fay. Fay has always been beside me from the time I was born. She always knew when to comfort me, crawl in bed with me, tell my stories that I couldn’t put in words. On some level, I think we always knew—that our parents always knew—that we would be lovers. But we needed Annette as a sort of catalyst to tie our dreams to reality.

Of course, we have parents and grandparents who are all involved in our lives. The families have been close for many years. Apparently, there was some question years ago as to which grandfather was going to end up with which grandmother. I bet that’s quite a story. My mother and her mother have a strange ability. They can see auras. And it’s not just like some psychic metaphysics. The light from people affects their eyes to the extent that they both wear dark glasses most of the time. Mom’s gotten to the point that she can look at Fay, Lady, and me without turning her head, but she still squints her eyes. Gramma warned her that she’d have trouble with Fay and me when we hit puberty. I guess our auras kind of went wild.

Annette’s Grandma told her she didn’t need to read auras to see the special bond among the three of us. It was right out there in the open.

That bond. I don’t know what I’d do without Annette and Morgan. They get me through each day. You see, I don’t talk much. Never have. Words… I know words! They just get all clogged up in my throat when I want to say them. That’s why I paint. And draw. I can’t put my dreams in words, but I can put them in colors. Fay and Annette are working with me so that I can function more normally in public because we just started college together. I’m trying. Honestly.

I guess I’m a real project.

“Is it done?” Fay asked. I stepped back away from the easel and looked critically at my newest painting. I nodded.

“Think so.”

Fay padded around the easel and leaned against me as she looked at what I’d painted. She’d been studying business psychology at her little desk in our studio. When we opened up the wall between what was Fay’s room and what was my room, we ended up with much more space, even with Annette moving in with us. We had the big bed, closets, dressing table for the girls, and dressers in what used to be my room. We were cozy, but not uncomfortable. What used to be Fay’s room had plenty of space for my painting, two desks for studying, and a small but comfy sofa the three of us could cuddle on while we read our assignments.

Or just made out.

Having a big bed that we all crawled into naked at night didn’t mean we spent all our time there. I guess we kind of did at first. Annette moved in with Fay and me as soon as the wall was opened at New Years’. We almost didn’t make it to school the first day. It was just so… How could I get out of bed with Fay and my Lady taking turns sucking on my cock? And we couldn’t leave either of them hanging. It was overwhelming.

And then I had to draw.

I had to. I tried to tell them how much I loved them, but I got so frustrated with the words that the only thing I could do was draw a picture. I used colored pencils and drew a sunrise over the desert. My life, without them, was a desert. They brought the sun. Only when you looked carefully, you could see that the sand dunes of the desert weren’t really sand, but formed my lovers’ bodies intertwined.

I had to take the sketch to school to show Ms. Clayborn. This was what I had to paint next. Annette kissed me lovingly in the school parking lot and gently took my sketchbook from me.

“I’ll bring it to the studio after last period. I think we’re still on detention,” she said. “Don’t get distracted in class, sweetheart. I know you can focus. I’ll be waiting for you in the studio.”

That pretty much set the pattern for the rest of our senior year. Fay was in college, but living at home with Annette and me. We have awesome parents! We got through it and I added another painting to my collection.

The process added discipline to my painting, as well. I painted seriously for two hours every day in the art studio at school. Having that time set aside and always there made it possible for me focus on other things during the day. As soon as class was out, I could focus on painting. If it weren’t for Annette and Morgan—and Ms. Clayborn—I would probably have failed my last semester of high school because I would have spent all my time drawing and painting.

Eventually, though, high school ended and it seemed like no time at all before I had to face my first week at Dryden University of Art and Design.

“College has you really upset,” Fay said as she examined my new painting. I was just glad it was Friday and I’d only had one class. I could come home and paint. It was different when Fay looked at a painting than when Lady did. Annette attacked it from different angles, looking at it fresh each time her eyes came to rest. Morgan simply stood in one place and let it wash over her as she immersed herself in the story. They were both enthusiastic, but different in their appreciation.

“No. Yes. Maybe. It’s just… I… different from high school. When does Annette get home?” I stuttered.

“I see,” Fay said holding me. “She’ll be home soon. You thought we’d all be together and here we have different class schedules and you don’t know anyone.” I nodded my head. Being with all those strangers without anyone I knew was stressful. “At least you have that required English writing course together. And you really don’t have to do anything in the Liberal Arts seminar but show up and listen. But we have different majors and there will always be different schedules to deal with. We need to make friends with classmates like you did with Rob last year.”

“Wish he was here,” I said. Rob had become a good friend in high school and helped keep me focused. We even double dated after his girlfriend got comfortable with both Morgan and Annette being my date. Fay chuckled.

“Can you blame him? If Annette and I had decided to go to school in Timbuktu, where would you have gone?”

“Timbuktu.”

“So, when Karen decided to go halfway across the country to college, where would Rob decide to go?”

“Timbuktu.” We laughed. “It’s okay here, when we’re home. I… hurts… there.” Fucking words!

“We’ll have to give you as much loving here at home as we can so it will carry you through at school,” Fay said. She kissed me and in that moment, everything else faded away. One of my hands cupped her butt cheek and the other crept up to touch her breast. Our kiss deepened and I fell under my sister’s spell. “I need a break from psychology,” she sighed. “Can you think of anything we could do for half an hour or an hour together?”

She didn’t wait for a reply, but led me to our bed and quietly undressed me as I pulled her clothes off. In a few seconds, we lay stretched out on the bed, continuing our kissing.

Everything I know about sex, I learned from Fay and Lady. I know how to use a computer. I type papers and I have email. But poking around on the Internet just never appealed to me enough to learn how to do more than basic searches. I tried to look at porn once and it was gross. It wasn’t anything like what my girlfriends told me they liked. So, I just try to do what they enjoy.

I’m not very good at it. In fact, I’m pretty much panicked about sex whenever we have it. Which, I guess, is quite a lot compared to most of the guys I know. I mean, we’ve all lived together and slept in the same bed since January of my senior year in high school. We’ve had sex together in some combination most of the 240 days since then. And each time I think of either of these most incredible women in the world wanting to make love with me, my heart starts at such a rate that I can hardly breathe. It’s almost like trying to talk. Why do they even want me?

When Fay pulled me into bed my heart started racing and I cursed my cock for getting hard before we’d even settled down. There were so many things she liked and I wanted so desperately to please her. Fay loves to kiss. Maybe not quite as much as Lady, but a lot. That’s fine with me. I treat her mouth like a delicate wine that you are supposed to sip and not guzzle. I roll her flavors around on my tongue, trying to identify everything I can about her. Did you know that a lover’s mouth tastes differently depending on what part of your tongue is in contact with hers?

Lady loves to just play with the tips of our tongues touching. Sometimes we dive in and out of the other’s mouth, but we spend a lot of time just playing with our tongues touching the tips and the lips. It’s sweet. Not just like a nice thing… damn words!... I mean she tastes sweet. Like honey. Only not that sweet. Isn’t there a word for this? She likes to kiss like that, so I make sure I spend a lot of time kissing her softly and not trying to probe deeply inside. Not like with Fay. Morgan likes to have as much of our tongues in contact with each other as possible. Her kisses are a little saltier and that expression that says ‘pucker up’ could be what happens when we’re really deep in each other’s mouth and get a little sourness on our tongues.

I don’t care. A kiss is a kiss is a kiss. Except they’re all different. If I didn’t have to paint, I’d kiss all day. Maybe I’ll just paint the color of our kisses. I’ll kiss the tip of Lady’s tongue and the depths of Fay’s mouth. I just try to kiss the way they enjoy.

And then there are their nipples. They’re very sensitive. But they like different things. I remember the first time Annette pulled my hand under her sweater and let me touch her breast while we kissed. She likes to have her whole breast held and her nipples harden against the palm of my hand as I gently rub. I was lucky the first time. I didn’t know what she liked and was so caught up in my own sensations that I didn’t pay much attention to what she wanted. But her breast fits so perfectly in the palm of my hand that it was natural to do what she liked. Fay is different. She likes to have her nipples attacked, sucked on, and even pinched. She had to show me exactly how she liked to play with them or I’d never have guessed. My quiet gentle sister screamed when I bit lightly on her sensitive points.

Annette loves to have me pet and touch every part of her that I can reach. She wants as much skin contact as possible. And anywhere I touch her pleases her, as long as I’m not too rough. She loves it when I kiss all over her back and bottom and legs. Morgan is a little ticklish and doesn’t like light touches. They make her squirm. She likes it if I bite her shoulder blades or her bottom.

She especially likes it when I suck on her clitoris. I commented on it once and she said, “What girl doesn’t like her clit sucked and licked?” I guess that must be true. Annette likes it, too, but she likes it when I lick all the way up her slit from her little butthole to her clit. And she likes it when I have a finger in her while I’m doing it and just scrape along the topside of her vagina a little. If there is something in Fay’s vagina, she wants it to be my cock. She wants to be ‘as full as possible’ when she comes. I like that, too. Fay really gets charged up when we’re making love and she pumps back and forth as hard as I do. She likes me to be on top with a lot of my weight on her. I know I can’t just lie on her because I’m too heavy and she can’t breathe, but she likes feeling me pressing down on her.

Lady likes any position for lovemaking. I’ve noticed she especially likes being on top so she can control how deep I am and how fast we go. She can draw out our copulation until I think my eyes will cross by just slowing down and speeding up while we are joined. She says she wants to feel me in her for as long as possible. I love to look up at her and tease her nipples with my fingers or my tongue. She presses her breast down against my lips to get me to put as much in my mouth as possible. She isn’t huge, but I can’t get her whole breast in my mouth.

I don’t understand why either of them wants me. They make love to each other and I just know they find all the secret spots they love. After all, they’re built the same. They understand how their clits feel and where their tongues should be. They both have breasts and love to rub them together. I look at them while they make love sometimes and think they are the most beautiful creatures in the world. All I want to do is hold them in my arms and create a little bubble around them where they can love each other and hold each other.

And then they open their arms to me and I join them and they kiss me. I feel so much love in those kisses that I feel like I’m joined to them in the same skin. I try harder to please them and do all the things they like when we make love.

I just wish I was a better lover.

“What have we here?” Annette giggled when she came into the room. “Two hot sweaty lovers sleeping in each other’s arms. I wish I was a painter so I could capture that picture.”

I opened one eye and held out an arm to our lover. She was already stripping off her clothes and slipped into bed beside me. Fay didn’t want to wake up and cuddled closer so she could put her arm over me and hug Lady.

“You two stink!” Lady laughed. “We need showers before dinner.”

“I might have used him all up,” Fay sighed. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Mmm. Just cuddle me.” We wiggled around so we could get Annette between us and sandwiched her. “Now I’m going to smell as yummy as you do. What inspired this little afternoon delight while I was slaving away listening to medieval poetry?”

“Pen was feeling alone and stressed about college,” Fay said. I just stayed quiet. Anything I could say I’d put on canvas. “We wanted to be together. I remember last year when I was cut off from home and Pen and had to live on campus. I felt the same way.”

“Do you feel less alone now, my Pendragon?” Annette asked me, lightly brushing her lips across mine. Her tongue slipped out and lightly licked my lips. I nodded. “You taste like my lover,” she whispered. “Kiss me again, Pen.” We kissed. I could feel Fay’s hand between us, fondling Annette’s breast. I cupped My Lady’s butt in my hand and Fay rocked against it. Our kiss was deep and heartfelt, exploring each area of our mouths. Annette moaned softly.

“Dinner is in fifteen minutes,” I heard Mom call from downstairs. It was nice that she always gave us a warning—in case we were involved in something we needed to put away. Or something.

“We really need that shower,” Fay said as she rubbed her mons against the back of my hand again. She rolled away and extricated herself from the covers. Annette kissed me one more time and gave me a light shove. We all headed into the bathroom to shower.

“Well, how was your first week of college?” Dad asked at dinner.

“Pretty cool,” Annette said. “I’ve got this unbelievably tough prof for poetry survey. But the rest of the classes will be okay.” She grinned at Dad. She was the only one who had a class with my father.

“I’m so glad I don’t have any of the intro classes this year,” Fay said. “You guys must be dying in that Liberal Arts seminar. Do you have Henderson? He is soooo boring.”

“That’s a class to see if you can stay awake,” Dad laughed. “I fell asleep when he made a presentation to the faculty.” Annette nodded, but I had a different prof for that requirement. I had his name written down somewhere.

“What about you, Art?” Mom asked. I looked at her and at my lovers.

“Wanna quit.” I couldn’t get anything else out. It was all jammed up in my throat. I didn’t want to go back to school. I wanted to stay in my room and paint. I didn’t know anyone there. I hated it!

“Arthur, what’s the problem,” Mom said gently. I looked at her but I couldn’t say anything. It was… There were… so many people! I looked at my sister, pleading for her to talk.

“Arthur is feeling alone and isolated, Mom. He only has one class with Annette. He hasn’t seen anyone else he knows on campus all week. And the number of people is overwhelming. It’s really stressful.”

“Damn it!” Dad said. “We should have seen this coming. I’m sorry, son. It just didn’t occur to me.”

“I should have known,” Mom said. “What can we do?” Annette leaned close and hugged me.

“It will be all right,” she whispered. “Trust me, my beloved. We’ll make it work out.”

I left a perfectly good pork chop on my plate and fled to my studio.

Color. Push color into the black that surrounds. Chase it back! More color!

“I didn’t realize how bad it is, Pen,” Annette said as she held me in front of the canvas. “You’re so comfortable and open and loving with Fay and me, I forget how hard it is when you are in a room full of strangers. We hardly had any classes together our senior year, so I just assumed you didn’t have a problem.”

“Rob,” I said.

“Yeah. And there were others who you at least knew. Remember, you didn’t really know Rob when he walked to class with you that first day. You thought he was going to steal me away from you,” she laughed.

“It was… In high school, I knew people. I didn’t talk to them, but I recognized them. I knew who to avoid. I don’t know anyone on campus.”

“Maybe that’s where we should start,” Fay suggested from the bed. We were all ready to go to bed, but I’d stopped to look at my angry, frustrated painting. Lady and I joined Fay and the two sandwiched me between them. We had a big bed, but I spent most nights with both of them lying partly on top of me. When I was in this position, I felt secure and happy. Nothing could bother me. I turned my head and kissed Fay lightly.

“Where?”

“Start with recognizing people you see every day,” she said. “Right now, they are just a big blur of unknown faces. Maybe if you cataloged the ones that you see most often, you’d realize they aren’t all strangers.”

“You mean make a list of them? I’d have to talk to them and ask names.”

“No you don’t, sweetheart,” Annette said. “Just spot them and make up a name. ‘Girl with blue hair,’ for example. I think this is a case where it would be acceptable for you to carry a sketchbook to classes. Don’t get so involved in doing portraits that you don’t listen to professors, but when you identify someone, say, that always sits two seats away from you, do a quick thumbnail and give him a name. You might even find some models.”

It was an interesting concept. Of course, what I heard was ‘carry a sketchbook’ and the rest of it sort of floated past as a good idea. We had a family meeting and Fay explained the idea to Mom and Dad. They’d been firm about me not sketching during classes, but nodded their agreement as Fay talked.

“It might work,” Mom said. “Arthur, you simply have to stay focused on your class and not on your drawing. Can you do that?” I shrugged and then nodded.

“I’ll try.”

“Well, we can’t afford to hire a companion to go to all your classes with you. Son, we’ve talked about what goes on in your head and it isn’t anything to be ashamed of. People cope differently with different abilities. We’ve always avoided getting a doctor involved and trying to get you okayed for disability assistance. No matter how the laws are stated, that kind of thing follows you around all your life. We’ve wanted you integrated normally as much as possible. But if you are at a stage of not being able to function in class, we’ll do whatever is necessary, son.” I didn’t think most people would even describe my condition as a disability. I was just terminally shy and overwhelmed by people, wasn’t I?

“I’m still concerned that you will become so immersed in drawing that you won’t listen,” Mom said.

“Here’s an idea,” Dad said. As a college professor, himself, his ideas were something we’d listen to. “Why don’t you make it part of your notetaking? Associate things that are being said in the lectures and discussions with a quick sketch of someone you want to remember.”

It all seemed to be a good idea. I’d just have to see if I could pull it off in class.

2 Scary Girl

It hadn’t been this bad since my first couple of weeks in high school. At least when I started high school, my sister was always nearby to help set me straight. And keep bullies away. No one crossed her. I knew my panic would pass and I’d be okay, but knowing that didn’t make it easier. I clutched Annette’s hand as I approached the classroom for my Liberal Arts Seminar. It would have been so much easier if we were in the same section.

“See the bench over there?” Annette asked as she squeezed my hand. I was glad there were no stupid rules about holding hands or public kissing in college. I could even see a couple making out down the hall. I nodded my response. “After the lecture, come out and wait for me there. I have to get here from my living writers class, so don’t panic. I’ll be here and we’ll go to writing class together. Okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry to be such a baby, my Lady.”

“Pen, don’t even go there. I love you. I know how much you love me. You aren’t a baby.”

“Okay.” I didn’t quite believe her. I knew normal people didn’t have this problem.

“Do you have your sketchbook?” I nodded. “Then go pick a seat where you can see people enter and pick out one or two to sketch. Love you, sweetie.” Annette gave me a kiss that told me she was serious and waited until I walked through the door before she ran to get to her first class. I found a seat toward the back of the small room where I could watch people come in. I wouldn’t be able to draw much once class started because I wouldn’t be able to see faces. But I couldn’t very well sit up front with my back to the professor, either.

I was more stressed out about this class than any other I was taking. We were told there were four parts of the liberal arts core that we were to show proficiency in: critical thinking, information literacy, written expression, and oral expression. Just thinking about the last one made my throat close up. There were fifteen students in each section, supposedly so we could all participate in discussions. If I got called on, I’d run.

I sketched the first girl who walked into the room. I was sure I recognized her from my Freshman Studio or Art History class. She had long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, but about an inch closest to her scalp was almost black. She wore a hoodie and jeans and looked right at me. I almost closed my sketch and ran for the door, but I’d have to go right past her to get out. She turned a row ahead of me and worked her way to the center seat. I got my heart calmed down and labeled the sketch ‘scary girl from art hist’.

I made four more sketches during the class, but they were of the back of people’s heads or a partial profile. I labeled one ‘critical thinker’ and another ‘doesn’t believe anything’. The good part was that I could pay attention to the professor and made some notes on my sketchpad about what he was saying. I was careful, though, never to look directly at him when he tried to get a discussion going on what people believe on Facebook. I had nothing to offer because I don’t use it. When class ended, I bolted out the door and ran for the bench where Annette told me to wait. I was way ahead of the rest of the class. When the scary girl came out, she looked around and saw me. She started to walk straight toward me again.

Annette came down the other hall and I jumped up to go meet her.

I confirmed that Scary Girl was in art history. It’s a lecture hall with doors on both sides and we entered the room at the same time. I sat at the end of the row closest to the left-hand door. When she stopped at the same row my heart started racing, but she sat at the opposite end. She turned her body toward me and her head toward the front of the room and then froze.

I already had my sketchbook in my hands, so I quickly captured the position and a couple details about her face. She had kind of puffy lips and a slightly upturned nose. Then people excused themselves from each end and shoved by me to get to the middle seats in the row.

Art History is a required course for freshmen art majors, whether in studio arts or applied arts, on a BA track or a BFA track. Everyone takes the Art History survey first semester. It wasn’t a bad course. The professor turned the lights in the room down for a slide show and started back in prehistoric times with cave paintings. He promised we’d be in contemporary art by the end of the semester. At least with the lights down, it was easier to ignore other people. Some asshole behind me kept kicking the back of my seat, though. As soon as the lights came up, I was out of there.

With three of my five Tuesday classes out of the way, I got to meet up with Annette and Morgan for lunch at the Student Union. I stopped in the middle of the quad to watch a guy doing Tai Chi. He was inviting people to join him. I did a sketch and then ran to the Union.

“Was it better today, Pen?” Fay asked me after she’d kissed me. Annette reached us just about that time and I had to delay answering so I could kiss her.

“I guess. Drawing helps. Except for Scary Girl. She makes me uncomfortable.”

“Show me, show me,” Annette pled. I pulled out my sketchbook as soon as we settled down with our lunch trays and Annette and Morgan had their heads together. “I know her! I mean, I don’t actually know her, but I’ve seen her. She’s the girl who’s letting her roots grow out and looks kind of two-tone, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right. I don’t know why she keeps looking at me, though.”

“This picture…” Fay said. “Is this how she was sitting or did you make some adjustments?”

“I didn’t have time to make adjustments. It was just a couple minutes before class began and I was afraid she was going to come right down the row toward me. But instead, she sat at the other end and ignored me. I sketched it before people started crowding into the row between us,” I said. Remarkably, the tuna salad sandwich I bit into was really good. I closed my eyes as I chewed.

“She wasn’t ignoring you. She was posing,” Fay said. “This could be really good, Pen.”

“Good? She’s scary! She looks right at me.”

“So do I, honey,” Lady said. “I love looking at you.”

“But I love you… and… you…”

“And I love you. But you’re kind of a hunk, in a geeky sort of way. I’m glad we talked your mom out of getting your hair cut before school. It’s cool. Girls like looking at cool guys,” she finished.

“But… um… What if she talks to me?”

“Just say hi and tell her your name. And draw her some more. She might become that new model we’ve been saying you need for the past six months,” Fay said.

“But don’t worry, Pen,” Lady said. “We’ll make sure she stays a dry reality. I think, though, that she might be a friend.”

“I guess. I think she’s in my next class, too. So she must be a studio arts major. Freshman Studio is required of all of us. I’m glad it only meets Monday and Wednesday. We’re supposed to get introduced to all the various kinds of art supplies and uses, but I think we’ll end up washing paintbrushes and sweeping floors.”

“There’s a class like that in every discipline,” Fay said. “Last year I had an information technology course and we rebuilt and reformatted all the computers for the business lab.”

“At least next year I’ll actually have more classes that are art,” I sighed. While Art History and Freshman Studio sounded like art classes and Liberal Arts Seminar had the word in its name, the only real art class I had was drawing. We were focused on form and space. I could see the benefit of exploring the basics, but some of the projects looked like kindergarten art.

“Be thankful you don’t have to sit through four hours a week of poetry from Beowulf to Angelou. I could easily sit and read a nice poem once a day, but reading a dozen or two dozen poems a day is a little much,” Annette giggled. “And I have so much to read for my living writers class. I hope you’ll be painting at home tonight because I’d feel awfully alone if I was the only one who had to study.”

Scary Girl was in my Freshman Studio class. There were only twelve in the class and it was held six times a day with different professors to get all the majors through it. We didn’t really sit anyplace. Not like a regular classroom. We walked around a lot and looked at what other people were creating. When we were in the photography studio, I managed to get behind the group and did a drawing of her back. That was interesting. She wore a hoodie most of the time and the folds draped across her shoulder blades. Her ponytail was tied up high enough that I could see the back of her ear and about a dozen piercings in it. Then there was the slope of her neck where her shoulder disappeared beneath the hoodie.

She was nice looking, but not exactly what you want to think of as a model. Not drop dead gorgeous like Annette and Morgan. Maybe that was why they wanted me to have another model. I mean… not that I should paint someone who didn’t compete with them… I mean… Damn words! So, maybe when I use Annette and Morgan as models, my figures end up looking too perfect. I know they aren’t exactly perfect. They are human. But I love them. I would never paint the imperfection of a mole on Annette’s butt or Fay’s one nipple that points just a little farther left than the other. I have to really think about it to identify even those tiny imperfections in my lovers.

But Scary Girl was different. I didn’t even particularly like her. Not that I had any reason to dislike her either. But I could see the dark roots of her hair, too many piercings in her ear, the ski slope of her nose, and her puffy lips. I had no difficulty drawing her as I saw her.

Wednesday was Annette’s day with only one class—our shared writing class. I was glad it was a short week with Labor Day on Monday. At least after today I only had one more day of classes, sort of. I felt bad that both Annette and Morgan had Friday classes and I only had one. But then, Annette only had one class on Wednesdays and Morgan was free on Mondays. I guess it all balances out.

All that to say that Morgan walked me to class Wednesday morning and kissed me thoroughly before I took my seat. I got settled and looked up to see Scary Girl a row ahead of me. She was turned toward me and had an eyebrow raised. Okay, she knew she was going to get sketched. I started drawing and she didn’t move until the professor called attention for class to begin.

Annette met me with a kiss after class and we walked to our writing roundtable. Our first assignment was due. It was a pretty lame piece. About the same as “What I did this summer” in grade school. This was supposed to be three convincing paragraphs that told two truths and a lie that no one knows about us. I had trouble playing that game when I just had to come up with something on the spot, but having had all Labor Day weekend to compose three convincing paragraphs was different. And as long as I didn’t have to look up at anyone, I was okay with reading my paper when my turn came. Thankfully, we didn’t have to admit which ones were true and which one was false. There were a dozen people in the class and each one got to comment on the piece after it had been read.

I was put on detention for an entire semester in high school. It started with me not paying attention in class because I was caught up in drawing. Mr. Kowalski, my history teacher, sent me to the art studio and Ms. Clayborn made me develop the sketch and turn it into an acrylic painting. When I presented my portfolio to qualify for the BFA in Studio Arts here, the committee identified that painting as the best in my portfolio. I was really surprised, though, when they chose it for the ‘Incoming Artists’ display in the hall.

I had a really great opportunity last summer when I was invited to be a guest lecturer at the Idyllwild Arts Conference. I’ve been experimenting with some new paints from Windsor and Newton and they asked me to do a demonstration and talk about the flowability of their paints. It was kind of exciting to meet the guys who are doing research into new paint formulae and to be part of their research. They even paid my expenses to stay for the whole conference.

I don’t know how it happened, but I ended up living with my two girlfriends in my parents’ house this year, so I don’t live on campus. They are the two most beautiful women I know and are the models I use for nearly all my paintings. At least those that have nude females in them. I am a little backwards socially, so it always amazes me that two such smart, beautiful, outgoing, and loving women want to be with me. They are both students here, so I’ll decline to provide their names.

Two truths and a lie. You decide.

The class all laughed at the last one and yelled out that it was too obvious. Professor Denham, the instructor looked over at Annette and smiled. Annette blushed scarlet.

“I don’t think it is all that obvious,” Professor Denham said. “I do want to address an issue that I’ve heard in several papers, though.” She held out her hand and I gave her my paper. She glanced down at the paper and then up at the class. “What is the difference between ‘really surprised and surprised’? Arthur? Comment?” I shook my head. “What’s the difference between a great opportunity and a ‘really great opportunity’?” she continued. “I would encourage you all to look at your papers and search for the words ‘really’ and ‘very’. Then see if there is a difference in the meaning if you simply eliminate the adverb. Arthur’s is the last paper today, so I’m using it as an example, but he is not the only one to whom this is directed. Is there an alternative you could use that makes a difference? ‘I was astounded.’ ‘I was shocked.’ ‘I was amazed.’ The English language is rich with words that are clear and concise. Stephen King wrote, ‘Search for every occurrence of ‘very’ in your manuscript and delete it. Save your editor the task.’ I think that is everything for today. Well-written paper, Arthur. Very persuasive.” We all laughed at her phrasing.

Annette walked me to Art History and kissed me at the door before she headed home. I went in and took my usual seat then looked around the room. Scary girl was standing at the front of the room and as soon as I made eye contact, she moved toward the row I was sitting in. She didn’t stop there, though. She went one row farther and slipped in to the middle. I followed her with my eyes and when she sat down, she tucked her feet up under her and leaned forward slightly. She put the index finger of her right hand against her chin, tilted her head slightly and looked at me. She froze and I started drawing.

Yes. She was posing. People crowded into the room just ahead of the professor and the lights went down as the lecture began with a slide of African art.

The next week continued like that. Each class we had together, Scary Girl would find me with her eyes and make a show of posing before class. We were both arriving earlier for our classes than most others. One time, she went so far as to sit in the professor’s chair for Liberal Arts. He’d rearranged the chairs in a circle so we could all see each other. He came in, looked at her and then took the seat two away from me. Generally, though, she was taking seats that were closer to me. She still scared me a little, but I was getting used to her. It was after Liberal Arts the next Tuesday that she followed me out of the room closely and stopped beside Annette and me. I kissed my lover and turned to look at Scary Girl.

“Hi,” she said to Annette. “Just wanted to ask if you mind if I talk to your boyfriend. Don’t want to create any waves, but we’re in three classes together. I thought we might be able to share some notes and discussion.”

“Hi. I’m Annette. We’ve been encouraging Arthur to make some new friends. I’m sure it would be okay if Arthur is okay with it. Are you okay with it, love?”

“Um… I guess.”

“We?”

“Oh, I’m one of his girlfriends. Why don’t you have lunch with us at the Union today after Art History and meet Morgan, too. What’s your name?”

“Oh. Sorry. Kendra. You sort of threw me for a loop there when you said he had another girlfriend. Are you the one who wrote that in your Writing Roundtable assignment? I’ve got Professor Denham after our freshman studio class. She read the paper to the class as an example of good writing. Nobody believed the one about two girlfriends. You’re either a stud or a deviant. Maybe both,” Kendra said.

“She read my paper?” I croaked. I clutched Annette’s hand.

“We’ve got to get there now,” Annette said. “See you at lunch, Kendra.”

“Are you going to let me see them?” Kendra asked. When she came into the classroom for Art History, she came straight to where I was seated and sat down next to me.

“Um… what?”

“The pictures you’ve been drawing of me. I tried to be cooperative. I’d just like to see if you’re any good.”

“Oh… uh… sure.” I handed her my sketchbook. She was too close to draw her this morning. She opened the drawings and, of course, her picture was on the first page.

“Scary Girl? That’s what you call me? Oh, well. It could have been worse. I’ve been calling you Sketch Boy. Arthur, right?”

I nodded.

“Art the Artist. Cool. I like this one. Prof Leitner is obvious. That’s a good one.” She kept a running commentary up as she leafed through the pages. Each one was dated with the class at the top of the page and all my class notes were written next to the sketches. “This is like a da Vinci notebook except you don’t write backwards. I’d freak out if I saw that. But the drawings embedded in the notes… Does that help you remember? Cool idea.” I just nodded. “Poser? You called me a poser?”

“You posed.”

“Well, yeah. You were drawing me every day. I wanted to put my best foot forward, so to speak. You just noticed that day?” I nodded. “You don’t talk much, do you? That’s okay. I never shut up. Oops. There go the lights.”

The lights went down and slides started. At least it shut her up.

“You’re sure it’s okay to join you and your girlfriends for lunch? I don’t want to horn in on anything. I just don’t have many friends here and you seemed nice. I’m not interested in having sex or anything. Not with you. But really, just being able to pal around with some other people would be nice. Oh, look! There’s the guy doing Tai Chi that you sketched.” She’d started talking as soon as we walked out of the lecture hall. At least I didn’t need to say anything.

Morgan was waiting for me at the door of the Union cafeteria and we kissed like there was no one else in the world. When we finally parted I just got lost in her eyes.

“I missed you so much today,” Morgan said. “Our Lady got her cookies this morning, but I’ve been horny ever since.”

“Oh, wow! You really do have two girlfriends,” Kendra said. Morgan looked over at her.

“Morgan, this is Kendra. Kendra, Morgan,” I said. I just wanted to go back to kissing my sister.

“Hi,” Kendra said. “Um… Annette said I could join you for lunch. Is that okay?”

“Oh! Kendra! I’d recognize you anywhere from Art’s drawings. Of course you can join us. Here comes Annette now.” Indeed, Annette rushed up to us and pulled Morgan into a kiss that left even me weak-kneed. I about collapsed when she kissed me.

“Oh, hi, Kendra,” Annette said. “Sorry, I couldn’t greet you until I’d greeted my lovers.” She moved toward Kendra and the girl held her hand up in front of her mouth.

“That’s okay. You don’t need to uh… greet me!”

“I meant, ‘say hi’,” Annette laughed. “Let’s get lunch. I’m starving.”

“So, the first time I saw him sketching me, I thought it was pretty cool and I’d vamp for him a little. Then I realized he was insanely shy. So, I’ve been kind of treating him like a wild animal I was trying to befriend and just moving a little closer each day. Then I saw Annette pick him up after Libs and bring him back for History. I figured he had a girlfriend, so I’d talk to you first instead of just plopping down beside him and demanding to see the drawings,” Kendra said. “I didn’t know he had two foxes for girlfriends. I’d have figured out he wasn’t so shy after all.”

“Oh, it’s not an act,” Morgan said. “Pen, do you want to tell her? We practiced for this.” I didn’t want to, but now that I’d gotten to know Kendra a little, she wasn’t quite so scary. I nodded.

“I um… don’t speak very well. Words… I know words! They get caught in my… here.” I pointed at my throat and then moved my hand down onto my chest. I took another deep breath. “I panic. Almost ran away from you.”

“Oh, man. That must be really hard on you!” Kendra said. “I told Arthur already that it was okay if he was quiet because I like never stop talking unless someone shuts me up. I just thought what he was doing with sketches was cool. Then when he showed me his sketchbook… Wow! It’s like the illustrated version of our class notes. He’s da Vinci or something.”

“Helps remember,” I said.

“All through high school, Art was forbidden to carry a sketchbook to class because he wouldn’t pay attention. Our dad suggested he sketch as part of his notes,” Morgan said. “I mean… um… his dad.”

Kendra’s eyes got big as she looked back and forth between Morgan and me. It was too late to correct that error. She’d already made the leap.

“My god! I thought you looked a lot alike. You’re brother and sister!” She turned and looked at Annette. “And you fell in love with both of them. Wow! You really are deviant, Arthur. And a stud.”

“Please don’t think poorly of us, Kendra,” Annette said. I had one hand in hers and the other in Morgan’s I eased up the pressure when I saw Morgan wince. “The key word you used was ‘love’. We love each other. All three of us.”

“Yeah. I get it. I pick words carefully, too. I said deviant, not perverted. It’s obvious that Arthur adores both of you. Your pictures showed up in his sketchbook, too,” Kendra said. “And you really all three live together in his parents’… your parents’ house? So they know?”

“I think they knew before any of us did,” Morgan said.

“Uh-uh,” I laughed. “Dad said you asked when you could marry me when you were eight.” It was odd how I had less difficulty talking to Fay and Lady than anyone else. It made me feel good.

“Well, maybe I knew first,” Morgan laughed.

“What’s your major, Kendra,” Annette asked. The conversation about our relationship was obviously at an end.

“I’m in studio arts, like Art the Artist. But I can’t draw worth shit. I work in three dimensions. Clay, metal, stone, you name it,” she said. “I wish I could draw like Arthur. That would be so cool. I had to bring a portfolio to my audition that was all photos because I couldn’t haul it all to the University. I don’t know what I’ll do when I graduate and move back home. I’ll have another ton of 3D stuff to haul around by then.” She stopped abruptly. “Sorry, I told you I talk a lot. What’s your major, Annette?”

“I’m in creative writing,” Annette said. “I can’t draw or sculpt!”

“You’re in his Roundtable group, right? Did you know Professor Denham read his two truths paper to her other classes? Everyone thought the two girlfriends thing was a lie. Now that I know you a little, Art, it’s easy to see it was the thing about lecturing at Idyllwild, wasn’t it?” I nodded. Kendra brought herself short again. “Um… How about you, Morgan?”

“Oh. Art got all the creativity in our family. I’m on a BBA program in arts administration. I’m a sophomore.”

“Hey, it’s time to get to class,” Annette said, gathering up her scraps. I took them from her and took Morgan’s, too. Then I looked at Kendra and held out my hand. She gave me her tray and tilted her head a little to the side.

“Thank you, Arthur. That’s really kind.”

3 Practice, Practice, Practice

The day I was dreading finally came. Professor Leitner called on me in Lib Arts seminar.

“Arthur, what are the principles of good communication?” he asked. I panicked. Be clear. Be concise. Leave room to respond. I had them written down somewhere in my sketchbook and if I could find them, I could read them to him, but my heart was beating in my throat.

“Professor Leitner, if I may…” Kendra started. She was sitting right beside me.

“No, Kendra. I understand your concern, but this one is not for you,” he said. “Take a deep breath, Arthur. I’m not a mean guy and I’m not trying to force you to say something that you can’t. Can you answer a yes or no question for me?”

“Yes,” I croaked.

“Very good! Arthur not only answered the question, but demonstrated the response,” he said. The class laughed. “Arthur, are you stupid?” The class gasped. I clenched my fists.

“No!” I almost shouted it.

“I didn’t think so. You see, class, we talked about three basic principles last week, but they are not all there is to good communication. A good piece of advice is not to make judgments based on partial information. Or, as an old proverb states, it is better to hold your tongue and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and prove it.” Kendra lowered her head and blushed furiously. “Are you willing to answer more yes or no questions, Arthur?” I could do this. I started to nod and then opened my mouth.

“Yes.”

“Great. Leonard, within the context of our school environment, please ask Arthur a question that he can answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“Me?” the kid squeaked. He sat over to my right. After the second week, Professor Leitner had rearranged the chairs so we sat in a semi-circle. I thought the expression on Leonard’s face must have been the same as mine when I was asked a question. Though he was heavier than me by quite a bit, he had that same panic on his face that I felt. I quickly sketched him as he struggled to come up with a suitable question. “What is your…” he started and then stopped himself. “That’s not yes or no. Um… Was this university your first choice in colleges to attend?” he got out.

“Yes,” I said. That wasn’t so bad.

“Florie. Your turn.”

“Oh. Um… Arthur, is… um… Kendra your girlfriend?” My eyes must have popped as wide open as I saw Kendra’s. Florie blushed.

“No,” I squeaked. I practically scribbled my sketch of her and wrote next to it, “My girlfriend?”

“Susan, I’d like you to ask a reasonable follow-up question to Florie’s. Remember, we are not attempting to embarrass anyone.”

Susan thought carefully for a minute and I sketched her biting her lip. Then I sketched her tummy. There was a gap of about eight inches where her shirt stopped and her pants began. She always dressed sexily.

“Art, one of our professors read a paper and rumor has it that you were the author. So, I’m going to ask a question directly from it. Is it true that you have two girlfriends?” Well, that was my own fault. I never thought Professor Denham would read that to other classes or that anyone would identify me as the author.

“Yes,” I whispered. She didn’t give the professor time to ask someone else.

“Do they know about each other?”

“Yes,” I said. Kendra giggled. “We live together.” Uh-oh. I wondered if I’d broken the rules. I said more than just yes or no. Prof Leitner didn’t mention it.

“Jonathan,” he said.

“Um… Do you have a sketch of everyone in this class in your book?”

I looked around and quickly leafed through the pages. I looked at him and quickly sketched his interested face before I answered.

“Yes, I do now,” the class laughed.

Everyone in the class got to ask me a question, and it wasn’t too bad. I hardly noticed that I was regularly adding a few words after my yes or no answer.

“Kendra,” Prof Leitner said. She was the last one.

“Arthur,” she almost whispered. Our classmates leaned forward. “Will you paint my portrait sometime?”

“I’d love to, Kendra,” I said.

“He was the star of class today,” Kendra said when we met Morgan and Annette for lunch. “I was so scared for you, Arthur. I know that had to be stressful and then when Prof Leitner shut me up, I was just plain embarrassed. I know I talk too much. I can’t help it! You really knocked it out of the park.”

“What happened?” Annette asked.

“He asked me questions,” I said.

“And you did okay?” Morgan said. She was practically squirming in her seat, she was so excited.

“Yeah.”

“It was really cool,” Kendra said. “After everyone in class had asked a yes or no question, Prof Leitner talked about the process of meeting a person on their own grounds as an effective means of communication. Even though everyone asked simple yes or no questions, Arthur’s answers evolved into whole sentences. When I asked my question, he didn’t even say yes or no.”

“Sure I did,” I objected.

“No. You said, ‘I’d love to, Kendra.’ That made me feel like an absolute queen!”

“So, what is it that you’d love to do to Kendra?” Annette giggled. “Do we need a bigger bed?”

“No!” Kendra squeaked. She really did have a habit of blushing. Almost anything could cause it.

“Paint her,” I said. “Her portrait. Portrait of a Scary Girl.”

We all lost it and started laughing. I was beginning to breathe more easily now. School wasn’t quite as scary with a friend. I sometimes even talked to her. When she shut up.

My drawing class had progressed to where we were drawing things instead of shapes. The last assignment before the change was to draw a design that had no background. It’s harder than it sounds. We had to create black and white shapes in such a way that you couldn’t tell if the white was the foreground or the background. Then our first still life—just a vase without even any flowers in it—we had to draw without looking at the paper and without lifting our pencil. The instructor had us do it with each hand and then turned the vase upside down and made us do it again. We drew that damned vase all week, including drawing it upside down while we looked at it right side up. On Thursday, we were allowed to choose our own perspective and actually draw the vase as we saw it. All the drawings were good. Much better than at the beginning of the week.

“When you repeat an action over and over again, it is called practice. With practice comes perfection. This is true of athletes and artists. A figure skater does not take the ice and leap into a triple axel without having practiced a simple Waltz jump from one foot to the other and building up the body’s memory of how a takeoff feels and how a landing feels. Each step is repeated again and again. The same is true of your art,” Dr. Robinson said as we hung our first of the week art and our end of the week art. There was a big difference.

“Repeated action, in the context of art, takes you further and further into the subject. There is a substance produced by the body called myelin. It is a white fatty substance that forms an insulating layer around the axon of some nerve cells. This layer is an insulation from surrounding electrical impulses that allows the connection from the thought to action to move much more rapidly and accurately. In other words, the more you practice each individual element of your art, the better you will become at it. Over the years ahead, you will do this with nature, drawing a single leaf in a landscape or the reflection of the moon in a teardrop. When you begin drawing life figures, you will fill pages with just fingers, chins, eyebrows, nipples, or what have you. Practice increases your talent.”

I guess lovemaking is like that, too. The first time Annette and I made love, we only really knew how the parts fit together and what we did to ourselves that felt good. Of course, it was exciting. Taking her clothes off was like opening a new box of paints or placing a fresh white canvas on the easel. Even thinking about it was enough to send shivers down my spine and directly into the base of my penis. And when we added Morgan to our loving bed, things became even more exciting. But like Dad told me, newness and excitement won’t carry us through the hard times. I started to notice little things as we made love more frequently.

And we practiced a lot!

I’m not a great lover, but I am observant. Ms. Clayborn said that was what made me a good artist. I observe things and remember. Like I noticed that when Annette and I are making out, there comes a point when I’m lightly sucking and tonguing her right nipple that she becomes desperate to have me inside her. If either Morgan or I happen to be playing with her clit or fingering her pussy at the time, the desperation is not so intense. But if we’ve just been making out and getting progressively more passionate and I dip my head to that nipple, Annette claws at me to pull me on top of her and into her. As soon as my cock opens the folds of her sex and she begins pulling at my hips to get me inside, she lets out a deep sigh like all her dreams have just come true. I was learning the exact correct time to lick her right nipple.

It was funny, but the left nipple didn’t have the same effect. She liked it, there was no question about that. When I bent to take her left nipple in my mouth, she cooed and held my head to her, petting my hair and pushing her breast to me. But she didn’t grab me and try to get me inside her right away if it was her left nipple I was paying attention to.

I wondered what there was about her right nipple that seemed to connect so directly to her pussy. Maybe it was the myelin that was built up through practice. I needed to investigate.

That was a preview of Strange Art 2: Art Project. To read the rest purchase the book.

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