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Description
The Life Painter
Part I

John was an ordinary guy, in an ordinary town, filled with ordinary people. If you were able to look down upon a moment of John’s life up to that point, you probably won’t have been very surprised to find that the 20 year old was, in all accounts, typical. There was one notable exception, however: John’s love for the pregnant form. It started around the time when he hit puberty, and he started noticing that in addition to the usual discoveries that young boys make at that time, he was strangely aroused when he saw a pregnant woman. Sometimes, he would see movies with a pregnant character or a woman’s stomach expanding, and he found himself stimulated, big-time. Over the years, his fascination grew into other fields of erotic curiosity, such as body expansion and weight gain. Being somewhat computer savvy, John discovered internet sites and communities that shared his exceptional tastes and was exposed to hundreds of pictures of pregnant women, either morphed or natural, which only fed his lust.

Though John hoped to one day have a family, he was smart enough to realize that pregnancy in real life was a serious commitment, since the end result was a child. Having come to this conclusion, the young man mourned the fact that his dream to live out his fantasy would have to be put on hold, maybe even for years. But a glimpse of hope came on his 18th birthday when his father bought him a simple drawing book. Now, John had dabbled in character drawing for years but it wasn’t until that day that he realized a use for that skill; he would draw pregnant women to live out his fantasies. “I guess it’s the next best thing to real life…” he thought to himself, flipping through the pages.

For the next two years, John worked vigilantly on his sketches, sometimes well into the night. Occasionally the subjects would be princesses in tight lace outfits, sometimes beach-goers in revealing bathing suits, or sometimes even erotic sci-fi characters. Whatever happened to strike his fancy at the time. Eventually, John graduated from high school and started attending the local community college, which, much to his joy, had a abnormal amount of beautiful female students. Now John had some real-life subjects for his fantasies. Often, he would sit in the class, and sketch out the face of a pretty girl sitting near him and then later that night, draw the rest of her body as if she was pregnant. He even got good at drawing the tight and often revealing clothing that girls at his school usually wore. But no matter how good the drawing or how realistic the clothing, John would let out a sigh every time he finished a picture. “I’m missing something,” he always thought to himself, “There’s something that’s not satisfying about this…..” Each time this happened, he would slap himself on the head and conclude that he just needed to improve his skill more.

One day, after a night of sketching and frustration, John confronted his art teacher Mrs. Lancaster (he was taking multiple art classes at the time) about his artistic “block.” Of course, he never mentioned his fetish, but Mrs. Lancaster had helped John break new ground in his artistic endeavors and he knew that if someone could help him, she could. “Mrs. Lancaster,” he started, nervously scratching his chin, “I think I’ve made a lot of progress this semester, but I feel like I’m….missing something….I don’t really know what….I mean, there just seems to be some kind of wall keeping me from getting better.” The teacher, with her thick glasses and quiet demeanor, smiled at John as if amused. “John,” she started, moving over to desk, “I don’t think I’ve seen a student who’s as dedicated and talented as your are at drawing.” She began to write something down on a piece of scrap paper. “Here” she said, handing him the paper. “What’s this?” “This is the library number for a book that I think you’ll find immensely helpful.” John blinked at the paper. A book? How in the world could a book help him? “Oh well,” he thought, “It probably couldn’t hurt any.” He prompted thanked Mrs. Lancaster and headed toward the library.

The campus library was a large, two story building that probably held more books than all of the public libraries in the county combined. Once inside, John walked over to one of the reference computers to find the book’s location in the library. Unfortunately, the computer said that the reference number he entered did not exist. Puzzled, John tried a few more times, before concluding that he needed some help. Maybe Mrs. Lancaster wrote the number down the wrong number…

The librarian was an elderly woman named Miss Hutchinson, and John had always avoided speaking to the woman because of her unfriendly-looking countenance, but seeing as how he was in a desperate situation, he decided to go for it. Timidly walking up to the desk, he asked if the book number on the paper was actually in the library. She took the paper with a shaky hand and didn’t spend more than a second looking at it when she began to snicker quietly to herself. “Joyce sent you, didn’t she?” the old woman said, looking up at John with a quiet, disarming smile. For a second, John didn’t know what to say. “Uhh…yeah!…yeah, she did. Do you have the book?” She snickered again. “Oh yes, we have the book. The reason you can’t find it in the computer is ‘cause it’s only for special request…Here, let me go get it for ya.” The woman turned around and headed into one of the back rooms where some of the more valuable books in the library were kept. Questions swirled through John’s head as to why this particular book was only for “special request” and why Mrs. Lancaster hadn’t told him about it in the first place. But before John could think any longer, Miss Hutchinson shuffled back with a large book, bound in a leather-like cover. “Here ya go” she said, setting the voluminous tome on the desk with a thud. “Thanks,” John muttered as he looked at the curious volume. It had no title, with only the blank brown-red cover boldly staring back at him. Taking the book and stuffing it into his backpack, he thanked the librarian once again and proceeded to leave. On his way out, he could have sworn he heard Miss Hutchinson say quietly to herself, “Be careful with it.”

For the rest of the day, John poured over the art book, but the going was slow, for it spoke of techniques wholly foreign to him. Half the time it didn’t even mention even the most basic of drawing tools, like a pencil or a brush. If he didn’t know better, he pondered, he would’ve mistaken it for a some kind of new age book, for it taught the artist the visualize the subject and “form it through the will of the mind’s eye.” Though the text hardly made any sense, John couldn’t help but continue to read. As he neared the end of the book, he noticed that the term “life painter” was being used over and over again but he couldn’t wrap his mind around the complex techniques shown in the book. Finally, around 2 am that night, John fell asleep right there on the desk with his head resting on the last page of the book. He had indeed finished it, but for some reason, it had taken every ounce of strength out of him to do so.

That night was filled with vivid dreams and strange hallucinations. The words of the book swirled in his head like a tornado, the techniques becoming clearer and clearer in his mind, as if his sleeping brain was subconsciously doing the thinking and reasoning for him. Many of the dreams he had, he could never recall, but the final dream would stay with him for the rest of his life.

In that dream, he was standing in an open field, surrounded by grass and wild flowers, blowing gently in the sweet, summer air. John breathed in the atmosphere and felt a slight ecstatic rush of life surge through him. For the first time in a long time, his mind was at complete peace and serenity, and he felt like he could finally think clearly for the first time in his life. There were no distractions here, no worries, no desires to occupy his cognitive processes, just himself and life. A passage from the book came to his mind: “Only by restoring the mind to its natural state can one begin to restore nature to the mind’s state.” John sat down upon the cool grass and begin to ponder this saying. Suddenly, a small question mark formed in the ground infront of him! John stumbled back a bit out of sheer surprise and immediately the ground around him began to shake. Tumbling around the ground, John collected his thoughts, and the rumbling stopped. He slowly stood up and was about to move his hand to dust off his clothes when a duster appeared out of thin air and promptly began to dust John until he was perfectly clean. He watched the duster in sheer fascination, not so much at the fact that it had appeared out of no where, but that he was able to control it, to direct it, to make it appear and disappear at will. Curious to test this phenomenon, John steadied himself and focused. Immediately, the ground below him shook violently and a gleaming white tower sprang fully-formed from ground underneath him forty stories into the air. He blinked his eyes in amazement, and turning his head surveyed the land before him that stretched as far as the eye could see. After taking in the beautiful view, John turned to look at the floor he was standing on, which had a wooden trap door over to the side. With a flick of his mind, the trap door swung open, and John descended the steps into a bedroom with a single window looking out over the countryside. The floor of the bedroom was covered in a type of material that was soft and light and made John bounce slightly as he moved along it. Of course, this distracted him only slightly, for the bed and what was on the bed fully occupied his mind at the moment.

The bed was made of gleaming silver, and the sheets were silk and white as the snow. Numerous soft, velvet pillows adorned the bed, with some laying idly on the floor. And laying there, sleeping soundly, was one of the most beautiful women John had ever seen. From what he could tell, she was petite with evenly tanned skin that was smooth and cool to the touch. Her face was a perfect oval, her lips were red like rubies, and her hair was long and a beautiful raven black. She wore a silk dress that fit tightly over her body, accentuating every curve of her slender body. John couldn’t help but gaze at the beautiful scene in front of him.

After about a minute, the young woman awoke, and letting out a slight yawn, slowly sat up, gazing directly at John with the deepest, purest green eyes he had ever seen. She smiled an innocent smile and began to speak, “Do you understand now, life painter?” Her voice was like a breeze on a warm summer’s day, soft, comforting, and left you wanting more. John slowly nodded his head. “I think so,” he responded. She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, good!” The expression of joy that appeared on her face made John’s heart melt, but he knew he needed to ask her something. “Who are you?” he finally let out, “….I mean, I didn’t envision you…..I made this tower, but I don’t make you….” John stopped. The young woman had gotten off the bed and had walked over to him. Now he was staring into those hypnotizing green eyes point blank. She smiled again. “I am your teacher….I am your knowledge….I am your power.” She then reached up and pressed a finger to his lips. “Do you accept me, John?” A slight quiver was heard in her voice, as if she was worried. Looking into those eyes, John simply smiled, and wrapping the woman in his arms and he bent down and kissed her. They embraced for what seemed like an eternity. John didn’t want to let go, for the rush of emotion and life that he was feeling overwhelmed his senses. Eventually, the feeling left, and when John finally opened his eyes, he found that he was standing in the field again, and the girl was no where to be found.

That was when John woke up.

Description
The Life Painter
Part I

John was an ordinary guy, in an ordinary town, filled with ordinary people. If you were able to look down upon a moment of John’s life up to that point, you probably won’t have been very surprised to find that the 20 year old was, in all accounts, typical. There was one notable exception, however: John’s love for the pregnant form. It started around the time when he hit puberty, and he started noticing that in addition to the usual discoveries that young boys make at that time, he was strangely aroused when he saw a pregnant woman. Sometimes, he would see movies with a pregnant character or a woman’s stomach expanding, and he found himself stimulated, big-time. Over the years, his fascination grew into other fields of erotic curiosity, such as body expansion and weight gain. Being somewhat computer savvy, John discovered internet sites and communities that shared his exceptional tastes and was exposed to hundreds of pictures of pregnant women, either morphed or natural, which only fed his lust.

Though John hoped to one day have a family, he was smart enough to realize that pregnancy in real life was a serious commitment, since the end result was a child. Having come to this conclusion, the young man mourned the fact that his dream to live out his fantasy would have to be put on hold, maybe even for years. But a glimpse of hope came on his 18th birthday when his father bought him a simple drawing book. Now, John had dabbled in character drawing for years but it wasn’t until that day that he realized a use for that skill; he would draw pregnant women to live out his fantasies. “I guess it’s the next best thing to real life…” he thought to himself, flipping through the pages.

For the next two years, John worked vigilantly on his sketches, sometimes well into the night. Occasionally the subjects would be princesses in tight lace outfits, sometimes beach-goers in revealing bathing suits, or sometimes even erotic sci-fi characters. Whatever happened to strike his fancy at the time. Eventually, John graduated from high school and started attending the local community college, which, much to his joy, had a abnormal amount of beautiful female students. Now John had some real-life subjects for his fantasies. Often, he would sit in the class, and sketch out the face of a pretty girl sitting near him and then later that night, draw the rest of her body as if she was pregnant. He even got good at drawing the tight and often revealing clothing that girls at his school usually wore. But no matter how good the drawing or how realistic the clothing, John would let out a sigh every time he finished a picture. “I’m missing something,” he always thought to himself, “There’s something that’s not satisfying about this…..” Each time this happened, he would slap himself on the head and conclude that he just needed to improve his skill more.

One day, after a night of sketching and frustration, John confronted his art teacher Mrs. Lancaster (he was taking multiple art classes at the time) about his artistic “block.” Of course, he never mentioned his fetish, but Mrs. Lancaster had helped John break new ground in his artistic endeavors and he knew that if someone could help him, she could. “Mrs. Lancaster,” he started, nervously scratching his chin, “I think I’ve made a lot of progress this semester, but I feel like I’m….missing something….I don’t really know what….I mean, there just seems to be some kind of wall keeping me from getting better.” The teacher, with her thick glasses and quiet demeanor, smiled at John as if amused. “John,” she started, moving over to desk, “I don’t think I’ve seen a student who’s as dedicated and talented as your are at drawing.” She began to write something down on a piece of scrap paper. “Here” she said, handing him the paper. “What’s this?” “This is the library number for a book that I think you’ll find immensely helpful.” John blinked at the paper. A book? How in the world could a book help him? “Oh well,” he thought, “It probably couldn’t hurt any.” He prompted thanked Mrs. Lancaster and headed toward the library.

The campus library was a large, two story building that probably held more books than all of the public libraries in the county combined. Once inside, John walked over to one of the reference computers to find the book’s location in the library. Unfortunately, the computer said that the reference number he entered did not exist. Puzzled, John tried a few more times, before concluding that he needed some help. Maybe Mrs. Lancaster wrote the number down the wrong number…

The librarian was an elderly woman named Miss Hutchinson, and John had always avoided speaking to the woman because of her unfriendly-looking countenance, but seeing as how he was in a desperate situation, he decided to go for it. Timidly walking up to the desk, he asked if the book number on the paper was actually in the library. She took the paper with a shaky hand and didn’t spend more than a second looking at it when she began to snicker quietly to herself. “Joyce sent you, didn’t she?” the old woman said, looking up at John with a quiet, disarming smile. For a second, John didn’t know what to say. “Uhh…yeah!…yeah, she did. Do you have the book?” She snickered again. “Oh yes, we have the book. The reason you can’t find it in the computer is ‘cause it’s only for special request…Here, let me go get it for ya.” The woman turned around and headed into one of the back rooms where some of the more valuable books in the library were kept. Questions swirled through John’s head as to why this particular book was only for “special request” and why Mrs. Lancaster hadn’t told him about it in the first place. But before John could think any longer, Miss Hutchinson shuffled back with a large book, bound in a leather-like cover. “Here ya go” she said, setting the voluminous tome on the desk with a thud. “Thanks,” John muttered as he looked at the curious volume. It had no title, with only the blank brown-red cover boldly staring back at him. Taking the book and stuffing it into his backpack, he thanked the librarian once again and proceeded to leave. On his way out, he could have sworn he heard Miss Hutchinson say quietly to herself, “Be careful with it.”

For the rest of the day, John poured over the art book, but the going was slow, for it spoke of techniques wholly foreign to him. Half the time it didn’t even mention even the most basic of drawing tools, like a pencil or a brush. If he didn’t know better, he pondered, he would’ve mistaken it for a some kind of new age book, for it taught the artist the visualize the subject and “form it through the will of the mind’s eye.” Though the text hardly made any sense, John couldn’t help but continue to read. As he neared the end of the book, he noticed that the term “life painter” was being used over and over again but he couldn’t wrap his mind around the complex techniques shown in the book. Finally, around 2 am that night, John fell asleep right there on the desk with his head resting on the last page of the book. He had indeed finished it, but for some reason, it had taken every ounce of strength out of him to do so.

That night was filled with vivid dreams and strange hallucinations. The words of the book swirled in his head like a tornado, the techniques becoming clearer and clearer in his mind, as if his sleeping brain was subconsciously doing the thinking and reasoning for him. Many of the dreams he had, he could never recall, but the final dream would stay with him for the rest of his life.

In that dream, he was standing in an open field, surrounded by grass and wild flowers, blowing gently in the sweet, summer air. John breathed in the atmosphere and felt a slight ecstatic rush of life surge through him. For the first time in a long time, his mind was at complete peace and serenity, and he felt like he could finally think clearly for the first time in his life. There were no distractions here, no worries, no desires to occupy his cognitive processes, just himself and life. A passage from the book came to his mind: “Only by restoring the mind to its natural state can one begin to restore nature to the mind’s state.” John sat down upon the cool grass and begin to ponder this saying. Suddenly, a small question mark formed in the ground infront of him! John stumbled back a bit out of sheer surprise and immediately the ground around him began to shake. Tumbling around the ground, John collected his thoughts, and the rumbling stopped. He slowly stood up and was about to move his hand to dust off his clothes when a duster appeared out of thin air and promptly began to dust John until he was perfectly clean. He watched the duster in sheer fascination, not so much at the fact that it had appeared out of no where, but that he was able to control it, to direct it, to make it appear and disappear at will. Curious to test this phenomenon, John steadied himself and focused. Immediately, the ground below him shook violently and a gleaming white tower sprang fully-formed from ground underneath him forty stories into the air. He blinked his eyes in amazement, and turning his head surveyed the land before him that stretched as far as the eye could see. After taking in the beautiful view, John turned to look at the floor he was standing on, which had a wooden trap door over to the side. With a flick of his mind, the trap door swung open, and John descended the steps into a bedroom with a single window looking out over the countryside. The floor of the bedroom was covered in a type of material that was soft and light and made John bounce slightly as he moved along it. Of course, this distracted him only slightly, for the bed and what was on the bed fully occupied his mind at the moment.

The bed was made of gleaming silver, and the sheets were silk and white as the snow. Numerous soft, velvet pillows adorned the bed, with some laying idly on the floor. And laying there, sleeping soundly, was one of the most beautiful women John had ever seen. From what he could tell, she was petite with evenly tanned skin that was smooth and cool to the touch. Her face was a perfect oval, her lips were red like rubies, and her hair was long and a beautiful raven black. She wore a silk dress that fit tightly over her body, accentuating every curve of her slender body. John couldn’t help but gaze at the beautiful scene in front of him.

After about a minute, the young woman awoke, and letting out a slight yawn, slowly sat up, gazing directly at John with the deepest, purest green eyes he had ever seen. She smiled an innocent smile and began to speak, “Do you understand now, life painter?” Her voice was like a breeze on a warm summer’s day, soft, comforting, and left you wanting more. John slowly nodded his head. “I think so,” he responded. She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, good!” The expression of joy that appeared on her face made John’s heart melt, but he knew he needed to ask her something. “Who are you?” he finally let out, “….I mean, I didn’t envision you…..I made this tower, but I don’t make you….” John stopped. The young woman had gotten off the bed and had walked over to him. Now he was staring into those hypnotizing green eyes point blank. She smiled again. “I am your teacher….I am your knowledge….I am your power.” She then reached up and pressed a finger to his lips. “Do you accept me, John?” A slight quiver was heard in her voice, as if she was worried. Looking into those eyes, John simply smiled, and wrapping the woman in his arms and he bent down and kissed her. They embraced for what seemed like an eternity. John didn’t want to let go, for the rush of emotion and life that he was feeling overwhelmed his senses. Eventually, the feeling left, and when John finally opened his eyes, he found that he was standing in the field again, and the girl was no where to be found.

That was when John woke up.