The World Is Ugly, But You're Beautiful To Me

She whined and moaned and gasped as I slammed in and out of her body. She slung an arm around my neck and grasped my sweat-soaked, black strings of hair. I grunted with each thrust, feeling the ecstasy build up in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't look her in the eyes. Just couldn't.

Instead I looked around at our surroundings. An art studio, mirrors on every wall. I looked ahead of myself and came face-to-face with a pale-skinned man with long black stringy hair covering his face, with lipstick-smeared lips, baring teeth. He was naked and had a thin pale arm around his neck. He panted like an animal and scowled.

The release was euphoria!


She and I shouted in unison and whisperd sweet nothings. I finally looked her in the eyes, staring at the-


I jolted awake to the sound of a raspy alarm clock with a bad attitude. I yanked the cord out of the wall, sighed, and looked down at the tent below my waist. Another sex dream. 5th time this month. And of the same girl I never know the identity of. My inner artist really hates me.


I rolled out of bed and into the shower without thinking about searching for clothes and a towel. I needed to get rid of this hard-on. Masterbation was my best friend at the moment. Ha fucking ha.


After my shower, jam-packed with three rounds of jerking-off and screaming orgasms until I was hoarse, I dressed and brewed coffee in the kitchen. For entertainment I watched the Hallmark channel as a lady of about 50 years old crafted photo frames. I thought about the blind harpist I'd met yesterday. We didn't talk much. She told me her name, I told her mine, and we discussed our class schedules. After lunch, we went our seperate ways.


In my home studio, I stared at the depressing charcoal sketches and acryllic paintings on the wall. One symbolized my childhood history of abuse and molestation. It was a little boy slicing the fingers and hands off his father, a cruel scowl set on his face. I painted this at the age of 12 when I was living out in the country with my nani, Helena.


I couldn't stop thinking about my sex dream...
I sat in front of my easel and stared at the blank canvas in front of me.
My inner artist was escaping, sniffing out the wisps of seduction and hormones in the air. My hand lifted the charcoal stick and went to work.
Curving and angling.
Shading and shadowing.
Outlining and blending.
Creating...


I studied the creation and fell...

Fell into the dream.

I was thrusting and panting, and dripping with sweat.
She's moaning and grinding and whining.
I looked ahead into the eyes of the sex-beast and-


I was pulled out of the dream by laughter echoing from the living room. I draped a sheet over the provocative sketch and retreated to the living room.


"Gerard, heeyyyy!" Frank slurred, getting in my face and hugging me. "Whaddup, Geezy?! How's college?"


"What the fuck are you doing in my house, drunk and uninvited at 8 o'clock in the morning?" I asked him sternly, slowing shoving him away from me.


"Man, I'm not just drunk, I am high outta my mind, too!" he giggled. When I didn't respond, he got serious and said, "Jamia kicked me out. I need somewhere to stay."


Frank's been my friend since kindergarten. We do anything for each other. But I just got my own house, away from my other life, where I can escape and be happy. Why can't I just say no? Just say no!


"Fine. Tomorrow. Right now, you're drugged up and I've got work today." I didn't finish beause, well, this isn't the first time this has happened. Frank nodded.


"I gotchu. I'm gonna stay at my mom's for a night and come by tomorrow. You know me. I always check in before I barge in."


I just rolled my eyes and grabbed my car keys.


"You better be at your mom's when I get home. I'm not kidding. You're my bro and I can't have you getting in trouble. I'll see you tomorro morning, sober."