Female Nudes in Darxination: A Pinterestic Novel

Female Nudes in Darxination: A Pinterestic Novel

Mute Nudes

Reclined on the sofa, Carola’s naked body conjures nudes painted. A tableau she saw at the Prado Museum obsesses her intuition—La Maja Desnuda.

Maja’s physique challenged nudes painters at that epoch depicted. Too modern a body, too slim, too tight-fleshed.

Newfangled yet, screams Velázquez’s Venus, Carola’s ideal of feminine nudes. Worked out in gods’ celestial gyms to suit today’s male, gender-neutral, art lovers’ taste.

Neither a Venus nor a Danaë, Carola finds her nude ridiculous lying sprawled in shameful splendor on the couch.

Oh, the sophisticated, rose-fresh Danaë painted by Chantron. Her nude nonchalance magnifies human splendor, to the glory of female nudes and painter.

Another Danaë flies hither from Carola’s visual memory, to ease her choice of utmost femininity. Beyond nude, the effigy of absolute cleavage.

An icon of the split between conscious mind roaming in ethereal spaces and flesh absolute, earth’s clay—mushy, moist, fecund, ready to receive life seed.

The cleavage between limbless nudes of chimeras in dreams—genderless—and lavish meat slouching. Earth’s fecund soup swarming with hungry spores, eager to slurp life force through mysterious swirls.

And the supreme of occult cleavages, slashed in warm flesh, the simplest split that generates the unfathomable. The thinner the greater the swirl’s slurping force.

The deeper buried in mounds of flesh, the more tantalizing—for humans and gods.


In a twirl of visionary irony, Klimt’s Danaë plays a dormant vessel vacuumed of gender, but resonating with clashes. Unaware, she lends her painted nude to the universal impregnation experiment performed by the supreme deity.

Klimt’s painting reads future meets archetype, the primordial impregnation in vitro closing humanity’s cycle.

Her nude slouching, thighs thick, eyelids shut, Carola embodies Klimt’s symbol, ha.

But what? The mythical impregnation instrument touches her skin, probes her flesh. Scorches, bulky and bold. Paul hovers above, with one hand pressing against her copious hip.

Carola wakes to mighty reality. “What are you doing?”

“Making. Love to you.”

“I feel awkward.”

“It’s the haunting music you played. Come back to me, please.”

“I will, Paul. But not now. I don’t picture myself doing this.”

“I thought you were doing it.”

“Your thought, and my thought, they are two different things.”

“I want us to be one again. Are you still mad at me?”

Not a whit, no. Carola’s madness has nothing to do with Paul.

“Not a whit, no. It’s myself. I need a little time by myself.”

Paul climbs off her body—thank God—and sits on the next cushion.

The darkness in the room effuses mute vibes impregnated with a strange familiarity. A sense of power comes over her, although she is stark naked.

Venus or Danaë

Paul hauls his hips, tucks his shirt in his pants, and pulls them on, decent again. He then straightens his long frame, pushing his nape against the back pillow, and gets busy with his hands on his crotch.

Carola sits bolt upright on her cushion. “What are you doing?” she asks flat on the spot.

“Zip up my fly.”

“Right. That, you should do.”

“No, it’s not right. This is not what a man does.”

She feels at fault, somehow. It has been a night so fantastic. The music she loves and the gallery of nudes that she treasures.

Tame, she asks, “What does a man do?”

He turns to her, searches for her eyes, takes her hand in his lap, and just as she suspects he is up to some dirty male business, her mouth receives a kiss—soft and short. Paul clasps her hand between his palms and gives her lips one more kiss.

Should she dance with the mute nudes in her gallery, let herself be a Venus again?

Still holding her hand, Paul rises to his feet, upper body bent forward. He pecks her on the cheek and says, “I must be going.”

“So soon? We can talk.”

“You need to rest. We’ll talk tomorrow, if that’s OK with you.”

“Tomorrow, yes.”

He says goodnight and departs, leaving her nude mute on the settee. Of painted nudes, Danaë waiting.

. . .

From Chapter 10. Scream

Photo by Fisher-Photostudio — Envatoelements

About the author

Solar Writer walking on the dark side to bring mind's secrets to light, in romances with a psychological edge. Next Woman blogger showing you how to use the power of SELF to stay young, confident and magnetic.