His Portrait of Longing

This story was written for the750 Word Project 2026, below this line are exactly 750 words:

Elegant, 40ish, spirited and sensual. I'd been casting glances at her and her friend three tables away in the cafe. Then it hit me: my high school art teacher!

How? That was ten years ago and a continent away. Locked in conversation with her companion, Gwen was weathered but just as captivating with her mop of short hair and confident face. She laughed—an unbridled peel cutting through the cafe chatter like it had in class so long ago.

"Excuse me, Ms. Valasco?" I said, standing sheepishly. Pushing her mirth aside, she looked up with those electric eyes whose essence I could never capture in my secret sketchbook. Crow's feet at the corners now made them more dazzling.

She studied me askance before recognition bloomed. "Oh, my God! Shane?" She rose, giving a lingering hug, smelling of oranges and spice. "You're here for the conference too?"

She and her friend had flown in for an "Art in Business" conference. I explained I lived in the sprawling city now.

"You've really filled out," she said, dragging a chair to their table for me.

"Exercise was the key to beating depression," I said.

Gwen gushed to her friend how I was the most promising student she ever had. Even through my foreboding charcoals and unnerving watercolors she said she saw my talent.

"And I think he had a little crush on me," she said with an impish smile. "Did you pursue your art?"

How that question cut me. "Couldn't afford to. Days, I work in an office. I do commissions on the side. Book covers. Posters for local theaters. A graphic novel. Other stupid stuff."

Gwen's understanding and sympathy brought back why I'd fantasized about her in school. That and the contours of her face, the line of her sleek body.

"I'm doing corporate branding now," she said. "No budgets for school art teachers anymore. We're booth babes at the conference." They laughed.

After chatting for an hour, they had to go. The paper she pressed into my palm as we hugged goodbye had her hotel and room number.

"Bring your portfolio," she whispered. "I might have an opportunity for you. But only if you want."

My heart leaped. I wanted. I'd always wanted.

She greeted me at her door in a men's shirt and long bare legs. A warm breeze wafted through the open balcony doors, city lights sprawling.

"Show me what you've got, Shane."

We studied my portfolio spread open on a bed.

"Wonderful compositions," she said. "Balanced, dynamic. No more morbid angst, huh? Purposeful and original. Controlled vibrancy. Yet there's ennui. Longing. And your nudes... intimate but disquieting."

Straightening, Gwen smiled. "Will you do me?"

In school, that suggestive quip and devilish grin would've got her fired.

We weren't in school.

Gwen was naked under her shirt. I left it on her, unbuttoned, posing her on the bed. Using her supplies and sketchpad, I sketched, heart racing seeing her reclining, eyeing me, one heavenly breast exposed, the V of her sex a bewitching distraction.

Entranced by her form, her gaze and my lust, I lost my hand to the muse, channeling the spirit of everyone who's ever yearned for beauty beyond their reach.

After 30 minutes, I showed her. Gwen gasped, rising to study first the work, then my flushed face.

"Breathtaking," she said. "But... is this really how you see me?"

"That I'll never get," I said. "I can't capture the celestial."

"I'm a woman, not an angel. Come... let me show you."

The bedside lamp made our naked forms chiaroscuro. We explored each other's contours and textures, her elegant body vibrant and supple. She was oranges and spice between her legs, my tongue brushing strokes until her euphoric cry rewarded me.

Entering her, her luminous eyes met mine with lewd delight. Our bodies entwined, forming a shared canvas of lust we layered in strokes both refined and bold, eclipsing all my teenage fantasies. Oh, my gifted muse.

"Talented in bed too," she said as we cuddled, recovering. "Remember when you left your sketchbook behind in class once?"

"My secret book," I said.

"I peeked. Exquisite sketches, all of me. I wanted to drag you into the supply closet when you came back for it." She laughed. "Now I regret I didn't. Shane, your gift has been secret too long. I have contacts. I'll make you famous."

"I don't want fame. I only want you."

Rolling on top, she said, "Why not both? Now, let's make more art."