Tracy was grinding her crotch into his. My husband was moaning. He took off her t-shirt, then her bikini top, and started licking all over her breasts...and nipples. Tracy tilted her head back, and grinded harder on top of my husband, moaning even louder. I stuck my fingers down my own bottoms, rubbing my clit as I watched my little private porn show, starring my husband and my friend. He started kissing her collar bone and neck, his hand holding her neck so she wouldn’t get away. With his other. I hummed, not recognizing the tune. I hadn’t set up my music, so I was stuck with whatever sounds came out of my own mouth as a soundtrack.It wasn’t important to be on key. Just noises, sometimes tonal and sometimes not, but filled with the emotion of my paint on the canvas. It was a counterpoint to color, an aural representation of chiaroscuro. It would never be a symphony, but it was a soundtrack and the more I painted, the livelier my vocal presentation became. Without words, I was letting. More

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