45

I hate this as I hate everything....let the truth be told. I want it all to just fade away into nothing. I hate her beauty, the way she loved me and I hate me.

11/03/1993




My birthday was spent with her and I loved it. She wasn't just a girl, you know. she was something that my soul needed. In her, I found Magrite, Renoir and Munch. In her, I found myself waiting to be born once more and again. She was the beauty of the trees and the caress of the air upon my cheek. I imagined this as her hand moved up to my shoulder and played with my long auburn hair. Her eyes met mine with their green/blue brilliance and I was hypnotised. Yes, I guess I was in love with her.



11/04/1993



We spent the whole afternoon in the studio on the top floor of the school. There was no one but us there. Even though she had a deadline to finish her painting, I couldn't keep my hands off her. The assignment was to paint a still life of paper bags and then to paint a still life over the existing still life. The tricky part wast that, as you painted, you could not look at the canvas. The entire painting had to be done with eyes planted elsewhere.



As her brush moved along the canvas, my hand moved into her pants. My lips caresses her shoulder, tongue darting out and along her skin and my body pressed against her paint stained form. As our lovemaking progressed from heated forplay to full blown ecstasy, oil paints and linseed oil bottles were turned over and broken. It wasn't really wild or violent- just uninhibited and without reason.



Her painting got an A.



11/20/1993



We skipped class again, it was Art History. Although I love Art History, I wanted to be with her more. She led me through the low hanging trees in the park , past the museum and behind the Drawing 11 class. There beyond most student's eyesight, we climbed into a tree. Two young girls giggling about our escape, we were so happy. She leaned in and whispered in Norwegian, about how sexy my private area was and I would giggle louder. My waist length auburn hair would fall over my shoulder and tickle my hands as I held my private area in lust. I wanted her all the time and she, me. We were never so happy as then. That was the day she pulled out her pocket knife and carved out names into that tree. Yes, just like other lovers do, she carved a beautiful, S.A. loves G.K. and my cheeks turned bright red. Her boyish, yet feminine smile was framed by her dimples and the short brown hair which fell in her flashing eyes. She spoke to me at that moment and I felt time stand still.



"come home with me,sherrie pie."