She paints me naked

She paints me naked. She brushes fluidly onto the canvas, inspired by (I like to think) my manful good looks. I pose awkwardly, there is no chair in the studio room so I stand spread-eagled, knowing that an artist’s eye misses nothing, and I can only hold my stomach in so long.

Only when the painting’s finished am I allowed to look, seeing myself as she sees me. I have the pot belly of a pig, complete with 7 large and dangling udders. I am smiling, though my cubic head is far above my body, talking to a horse-shaped cloud. I have two feet protruding from my left leg and a chicken where my right foot would expect to be. Hanging down by my side are my arms, though not my arms, they are eagle’s wings, mighty and proud. My penis, well this has been removed and is imbedded in her naked body on the right of the picture, where she is lying in the throes of sexual ecstasy.

I am lost for words, but find them anyway and she is pleased with my response. We talk and laugh. I strip her naked and insert my penis, just like in the painting, well, not much like the painting actually. We fall onto the floor, not caring that paint is smeared all over our birthday suits, feeling as we do, born again. I pause mid-fuck to smear her breasts with blue and purple oils that take weeks to wash out, and continue ‘til the final splash of white is added, at which gesture she giggles appreciation.

The affair lasts six months. We make love every night, on sofas, tables, even in bed, where we sometimes sleep exhausted after a hard day’s art and sex. She paints us in every position, sometimes our limbs are joined together forming a two-headed beast, at other times I am absent and only my penis is attached to her, though always my penis is attached.

Eventually she ends it, painting me naked with her words. I am fat, a repulsive sight, she doesn’t know what she saw in me. I spend my life with my head in the clouds. I am a coward, clumsy, a useless lover, an appendage, when we make love she feels that I’m not even there, her dildo has more man behind it.

I want to protest, to explain my merits in detail, one by one, underlining the main points, to counter her every argument. But, sensing the futility, I just slowly spread my eagle wings until they are extended in full splendour and, leaping through the open window, fly away.