She stood there, in the middle of her studio, beckoning me to join her amongst the scattered paintings and drawings.  Her clothes were splotched and dashed with dried colors, glimmering, overlapping each other like tectonic visions of a different world.  My body vibrated; excitement, anxiety, adventure.  I stepped forward, the paper laden floor crackling beneath my feet, and she stepped forward to meet me.  Without hesitation she leaned into me, planting her lips on my neck.

     Eyes shut, no thoughts, I focused solely on the gliding wetness of her tongue sending bolts of euphoria down my spine.  She pulled her mouth away and dipped her brush: red.  Her hand led the bristles towards the patch of wetness on my neck.  She gently pushed the bristles into my neck, running them up and down, a second tongue, marking its path in red.  The tingling poured from the bristles on my neck like a fountain, running over my chest and maneuvering down my stomach until it was captured, filling and expanding my loins.

     She unbuttoned my shirt, bringing glistening pink lips towards the top of my chest.  My skin bumped upward, meeting her in the air, and her mouth pushed against it.  I let my mind fall backwards, staring at visions of colored ecstasy in my personal darkness.  Her mouth opened and her tongue licked circles of dominance over the area of flesh and bone encasing my yearning, lusting heart.  She dipped her brush: blue.  Holding the brush by its heel she created a circle of blue, an opening, a window to serve as an exposition of my lust and desire.

     My shirt slid off my arms, falling somewhere on some plane that no longer existed in my thoughts.  Her lips marked a path of moisture from my chest down to my stomach.  Somewhere, muffled, I heard my own voice laughing childishly as my body cringed, tickled, excited.  Her tongue drew an invisible, upside-down triangle on my stomach.  She dipped her brush: yellow.  The bristles were smoother, softer, dripping with color.  She completed the triangle, escaping drops cascading through the rim of my jeans.  She followed their escape, unbuttoned, unzipped, and let their hider crumple to my feet.

     She grasped my organ, full, yearning, and placed her tongue at its base, her face pointed upwards, her eyes watching mine for reaction.  Gracefully she pulled her head backward, snaking the tip of her tongue towards the head.  From the bottom of my stomach plumed a moan that vibrated every inch of my form.  She took me fully into her mouth, wrapping lips, massaging tongue.  Intense pleasure ran up my body, my face flexed, my throat moaned, my hips rocked.

     Her mouth left me, my organ still rocking in the air, begging her to return.  She dipped her brush: green.  She brought the bristles to the base, and ran them in a spiral to the head, soaking, encasing, cool.  Once more I threw my head backwards, feeling her brush spiral back from the head towards the base.  Then her brush left me, and I looked down at her eyes, waiting, her smile, mischievous.  I threw my hands downward, pulling at the bottom of her paint encrusted shirt, and she lifted her arms.  Her shirt landed somewhere, lost, forgotten.  I pulled at the cuffs of her pants.  She leaned backward, sticking her legs out, and the pants came off.  I tossed them somewhere behind me, disappearing, gone.

     I climbed atop her, my circle of blue rubbing against her breast, my yellow triangle smearing against her belly.  She pulled my head into her and connected her lips with my red marking.  Her hand pulled and massaged my manhood, painting her palm green, pointing it towards where it yearned to be.  I pulled my palms upwards on the paper floor, ripping tears, exposing concrete, and entered her.  She pushed her head backwards, moaning with red colored lips, extending her neck.  I pushed my mouth into the nape of her neck, kissing, tonguing, biting, as my hips waved on top of her, as I tried to connect deeper into her with each thrust.  Our rhythm was perfect; her body would lift to meet mine each time, deeper, fuller.

     Her eyes opened, colored the deepest and fullest blue, and I stared into them.  For a moment, our bodies were separate, mechanical, motioning, while our eyes tethered and communicated.  Her eyes told me she wanted me to release inside of her, the deepest in possibility.  Her eyes told me she wanted me to put life inside of her.  I told her, with my eyes colored gray, that I wanted the same with every facet of my soul.

     My muscles were flexing more intensely, my loins growing hotter, my motions faster and intensified.  My lungs escaped all air, my mouth releasing gasps.  She moaned and screamed, fingernails digging into the flesh of my back.  My body was overcome with a wave of tingling ecstasy and I pushed myself fully inside her.

     Breathing no longer.

     Seeing no more.

     My muscles flexed, my body jerked, my mind flew.  I released wave after wave of my seed into her, she pushed and jerked her body into mine intensely, moaning and flexing with her own orgasm.  Time was lost, surroundings non-existent.  Eternal euphoria.  Passion so intense, pleasure so great, my body churned with the endless orgasm.  Our hips grinded together, bringing us closer, and closer, and closer.  Her womb, fertile, wanting, was being filled by my release, her moans only extending our nirvana.

     Some eon later, the physical realm in which we lay was reemerging.  My body was relaxing, my mind clearing.  The golden glow of the light returned, and I lay there, on top of her, drained, satisfied, blissful.  Our eyes connected, the sincerest shades of blue, the most loyal shades of gray, and bathed in life as one.

     I pulled myself upward and placed my hand on her stomach now colored yellow.  Imagining, hoping.