Drawing Stuff Novels & Stories

Firm. I closed my eyes. I tried to paint in my mind. The lines were still wrong. I opened my eyes. She was licking my underarm now. Her tongue traced the muscle. The hair. The scent of me. She moaned against my skin. Her hand never stopped stroking my cock. I reached for the sketchpad beside the bed. Charcoal in my other hand. I started to draw her. The line came out clean. Sharp. Alive. I drew her eyes. The way they looked up at me. Endearing. Devoted. I drew her mouth. The way her lips wrapped around my balls. I drew her hair. The way it fell across her shoulder as she licked my underarm.

No matter what happened or was lost in the past, life goes on. Standing at the door of time photo shop, Ada Wood takes a deep breath and walks in. Vivien knows what happened last night. Judging from her lost eyes, he knows that the plan has failed. Sitting in front of the canvas, Ada Wood is holding the brush, unable to draw for a long time. She has not touched these things for five years. She has no way to master the strength and adjust the colors. "If you forget how to draw, I'll show you a video and draw after watching it."

We arrived at their tent to find them drawing. “There are my favorites.” Karson beamed, kneeling in front of them for a hug. “Daddy!” Carl and Karin squealed, jumping into his arms. “What are you two drawing?” I asked. They pulled the papers to show two figures that look like male caricatures and a female caricature of me with crazy hair fighting someone on the ground. “Let me guess, that is me, your daddy, and uncle Lucas fighting the evil lady.” I gestured at the drawings.

Professional labels. "Yes, sweetheart. A long time ago." "It's really good." "Thank you." Alexander has dropped his pile on the floor and is kneeling next to Madison, flipping through pages with no regard for order or care. "MAMA! You drew SO MUCH! There's like a MILLION drawings! How did you draw a million drawings?" "It wasn't a million—" "Look at this one! It's a whole HOUSE! But it's tiny! Is this house tiny?" "That's called a scale drawing, Alexander," Ethan says. Still standing. Still holding his stack. Still looking at the red sketchbook with that focused expression.

Drawing would be a good way to kill time, and it would help her relax. Crystal smiled as she went into the living room. She sat on the couch, pulled out her book and a pen from the coffee table’s drawer, and began to draw. She had only been drawing for a short while, though, before the cut on the back of her hand split open. She bit her lower lip as searing pain ran up her brain. Luckily, the wound was covered, so she did not bleed on her book, but red roses pressed through the cotton. Fu*k it! - she thought, and she kept on drawing.

Damn the fact that I couldn't fucking send him away, Scarlett would simply hate me the more if I did such. I looked around the fucking room, there really wasn't anything to appeal me? Except.... I stood up and went to my drawer, taking out a plain paper, a pencil and an eraser that I had to frustratingly search for. I resettled back on the cushion, bringing forward the table that was not too far from me. So I settled down, preparing myself to sketch out something and truly, my hand seemed to work just fine. I didn't know what I was drawing or how I'd complete the sketch without letting it look odd but then I couldn't stop.

“I don’t know how to draw. This isn’t working.” Darryl buries his face in his hands in frustration as he lets Goldie stare at his chicken scratch scribbles on the notepad. He had spent around two hours trying to draw a man shoving Goldie’s head into a bucket of water, but he can’t quite figure out the anatomy and physics behind it. Goldie tosses the notepad back to him and gives him a thumbs-up, only to receive a scowl from the other male.

"Ugh, you’re always working. Live a little." Jack snorts. "Yeah, Rach. When’s the last time you did something fun?" I don’t answer. Fun? What’s fun about watching you stare at her all night? I sit on my bed, sketchbook open, charcoal smudged across my fingers. The page is still blank. What’s wrong with me? I used to love drawing. Used to lose hours to it. Now, every stroke feels forced, like I’m just going through the motions. My phone buzzes. A text from Jack:

“Maybe this will help you stop fidgeting. It helps me.” Then he turned up the volume of the Ipod docking station before picking up his tattoo gun and diving back into work. I opened the sketchbook which wasn’t empty by the way. It had many designs, each one better than the last. Pictures of a skull covered in flowers, lady nurse, butterfly, orange orchard and many more drew my attention in so many ways. I finally found a blank space and started to draw, taking my mind off everything including the man sitting across me. Croix was still working so I decided to draw the bird I saw earlier flying over the water. I visualized the image in my head and I started drawing.

I love you <3' I texted back and sent. Seconds later, she replied with, 'I love you too baby doll!! Hope you spend a great time with your family. Maybe one day you'll introduce this lonely lady to them.' 'Maybe one day.' I sent before putting my phone aside, grabbing a pencil and my sketch pad, suddenly in the mood to draw. Drawing was my escape from reality but then it became a passion or hobby however you call it. I was good, really good. I never once made it become a work, like tried to make money out of it. Thing is, I enjoy drawing but if I start to do it under pressure, I would not enjoy it and it sucks, really. And I definitely did not want to receive comments about my works.