This is my offering in response to the Week Twenty Flash Fiction prompt from Thain in Vain: ‘Staring at the painting (or sculpture) in the museum, I was horrified to discover…’
I’d met Darryl at my local art class, he was tall, well-built, and a handsome man who any single (or married) woman would swoon over. I’d only gone to the class because my circle of girl friends had pushed me into going out to ‘socialise’ with normal folk.
To get away from their constant pecking I picked the first available class at the local college. It was only a short walk from where I live and so I thought, ‘What the hell, I’ll give it a go.’
Art had never been my strongest subject at school and as I snuck quick glances at the other students offerings, I began to feel my heart fill with dread. There was no way I could keep up with the others, most who were much more advanced than I was.
“You’re new here.”
His voice was liking runny honey – soft and yielding. He’d softened me so much with those three words that I dropped my paintbrush and splashed yellow ochre all over the floor and my new Louboutins.
Without realising it, I’d already begun preening myself like a peacock, trying to make myself as desirable as possible to this handsome stranger. My preening must have worked; we spent the whole art class swapping personal information and eventually ended up back at my place for the obligatory ‘cup of coffee’.
We began a torrid affair and met most nights, either at his place or mine. As we got to know each other better, Darryl started to have some strange requests when it came to our love life. Caught up in the passion of our whirlwind affair, I agreed to each of requests – if only so that my lust for him could be sated.
To tell the truth, I quite liked being handcuffed to the bed while he ran a feather duster over my quivering and needy body. I didn’t even mind when he took candid photos of me at my most intimate and vulnerable. In fact, I found the whole thing highly erotic and began suggesting new things we could try in the bedroom.
Then suddenly he was gone.
No phone call, no note to explain where he’d gone. It was like he’d just upped and disappeared for no reason. My body felt his loss keenly and I was surprised to find my heart yearning for him too. Had I started to fall in love with him?
I moped for days that soon turned into weeks. I moped until my friends couldn’t take it anymore. They dragged me – kicking and screaming – to a new exhibition at the town hall. I only went to shut them up.
Familiarity teased at my mind as I looked at one of the paintings – a woman trussed up like a turkey and in a most vulnerable position. Realisation dawned on me slowly as I recognized the female figure – it was me.
The initials in the corner of the painting?
DC – Darryl Cutler.
The bastard, I’ll kill him!