‘Paint it Black’ by The Rolling Stones is a curious beast of a song. From the lyrics, It feels like it is coming from the mind of a manic depressive.
But on a tangent, on a stream of consciousness, I want to add something that I’ve always, personally, taken away from the song.
“I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes. I have to turn my head until my darkness goes”
Every time I heard that part, I would always think of something animalistic.
Kind of like a Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde duality happening. The primal. The animal. That thing that wants to ravage these, well, poor young women.
And so, will you kindly step over the threshold and into my mind? Do watch your step and don’t wander off. Things may grab you and take you.
That lyric makes me think of a man. A single father, if you will. A painter. Or at least, he is painting his home when his daughter, a pretty little thing of 18, comes home with her best friend.
This daughter, raven hair, blue eyes, no make up, effortlessly pretty, slinks off to the shower, leaving her best friend, freckles, red hair, eyes like ice, with this single father.
Now…I’m a fan of magic. I’m also very tired, it’s 5 – no, 6-38am upon reading this and despite my best interests, I’m writing. I don’t know why. Forgive me if this is garbage and feel free to write so in the comments below. I trust you to.
But I’m a fan of magic with my stories. Hence sea creatures and cults and demons invading bedrooms. And this scenario? Say the paint fumes affect this best friend. Say this single father, this awkward, lanky, but charming dark haired man, despite his best intentions, gives in to the part of him that flirts a look at this younger lady.
What if…with one hand, he grabs her and pushes her against the wet wall, tears off her stockings, rips down her girly panties, something cute like tinker bell light blue panties. And tinker bell’s face is right where this girl’s slit is, yeah. Starting to be soaked.
What if this best friend doesn’t stand a chance against this father. And while her head shakes off the paint fumes, she’s getting her clothes torn off.
The single father, he’ll throw her down along the ground, a tarp softening her blow. And I see a pale ass. A freckle is on her right cheek. And it’s utterly delightful. This freckle is like a highlight. As her lightly trimmed cunt that can be seen as she falls to the ground, defenceless. But also weirdly aroused.
And while she squirms, maybe groans and cries – cries drowned out by the daughter’s shower – this single father grabs her by the legs and drags her back to him. And you know, I can feel the floor on my stomach drag as he drags her. It’s like I feel her. And see her. Weird.
I did, only once, witness a dream come to reality. I dreamt of two elements and then the next day, those two elements appeared in my life. Right where I was in that exact moment. I was travelling overseas so the chances of these elements appearing were slim. Maybe there’s a minute part of me that is psychic? Hm. But I do feel her. Just as I see her.
And this single father, maybe he grabs a paint brush, dips it in the nearest point and he’ll paint her black.
Maybe he’ll paint all of her black. Her arms, breasts, ass, stomach. He’ll mark her. And she’ll squirm at the coldness. And she’ll feel repulsed but aroused. She’a being claimed in an aggressive animalistic fashion.
And then, once he’s done marking her, randomly I might add – he doesn’t want her to asphyxiate – he’ll take her by her blackened hips and fuck her from behind. And he will find that she is so aroused that he slips right into her. And she’ll be caught off by it because there’s a tickle in her stomach that says this is wrong. And she secretly likes said tickle.
They’ll fuck until she comes first, at which point this single father will slip outside of her to come on a nearby cloth that he had been using to wipe his sweat from his brow.
What happens then is up to you. Not me. I’ve already painted the image, now it’s your interpretation.