I have never done first person writing, it doesn't come so naturally to me writing this way but I have been meaning to try it. This is a request from Happyguyone. Enjoy :)
Breathless.
I didn't know the precise moment that I knew that I wanted to lay naked before Jack Dawson, arranged in some array of pose, hoping to look as beautifully radiant as the French girls who had allowed him to see their most intimate beauty whilst in Paris. They were evidently proud of their nudity, felt comfortably confident to show a handsome, young artist their body in its entirely, complete with imperfections. Even the loss of a leg hadn't caused one model to feel shame. Neither had it dimmed her beauty and what had emerged from that particular sketch was that no matter how you viewed it; Jack had truly seen her. Truly seen her beauty. And captured it right there on to paper. Jack had a gift to see people; not just their bodies, but their souls, too. It was in the gymnasium, when I had felt the difference between us. There was a dangerous barrier which had now been broken down, and it was terrifying to even look into those truthful blue eyes to see them reflecting my most inner thoughts back to me. Jack knew of my feelings.
I love, Cal. I had tried to convince him. But I didn't. I couldn't.
I was scared. Hearing my mother's words from that morning. Recollecting Cal's frightening outburst at breakfast. It had taken an amount of strength to leave Jack behind to return to the bridge tour, as though nothing had happened; as though a chance at freedom had never been offered. As though I didn't wish to take it. Jack was honest, above anything else and it was true. I could only save myself from this. And, so I did. After seeing just how trapped each and every other person was. A young girl, been schooled in sitting delicately at tea. Taught how to eat a piece of fruit cake. That vision of a child was me, now, and then at that age. A perfectly cultured woman expected to behave so well. Expected to marry Cal. Expected every of... everything except the unexpected.
I tipped a cup of tea over into my lap and left the First-Class Lounge, my mother and her society friends with mouths gaping.
I found Jack at the bow. His face so austere, with hair tangled within the breeze and soon after, my fingers had been tangled within it as he had kissed me. His hands wrapped about my waist. As we seemingly flew above the entire ship and soared across the sea like some great bird. Perhaps, it was then, that I had decided to taste my freedom. To wish to feel his gaze upon my body, to see if he viewed it as tenderly as he did into my soul.
Jack had seen into my soul, just by spending one perfect day with him. Jack had saved me; not just from death but from myself as well. His lips were tender, graceful and slow. It was as though, every part of me was on fire and he was the only connection that I had on myself. On life. His grasp at my waist, and my fingers clinging to the ends of his hair were the only depths of reality which I could feel. Jack had stolen my breath, and my heart was beating entirely for him. My trust placed entirely into his hands. I trusted him to see the Heart of the Ocean; and he had taken the weighty blue jewel into his hands, and examined it with such clarity that I had barely cared for the way in which it sparkled, not in comparison to the blue of his eyes.
Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls. Wearing this.
All right.
Jack hadn't taken his eyes away from the diamond. Still examining its icy depths. Until I had spoken once more.
Wearing only this.
His eyes had come to mine. Startled. His lips ajar and it was as though his breathing had stalled. He was surprised. He was nervous. I knew that. Perhaps, that was the power which had propelled me forward to my bedroom to remove my clothes, and strip away every ounce of wealth. Every single item which would make me Rose DeWitt Bukater. My engagement ring had gone with it. The hideous, gaudy diamond a reminder of me being a simple belonging. An object of Cal's affection which he had almost bought. The diamond was the same; a token not of just his wealth but of his consistent need to own me. Tonight, though. I would own myself. I would bound myself to Jack, somehow. Each time I looked at the Heart of the Ocean from this moment, I would never see anything but him.
Nothing. Not even the recollection of every imperfect part of my body was enough to cease my trembling hand from reaching up to part the kimono; a present from Cal as an almost pleading urge to go to bed with him. It was black but sheer; possibly already allowing Jack a peek of my body beneath. His eyes though, had remained on mine; seeing into my soul. A variety of drawing materials were laid out before him but I had barely paid mind to them, instead noting his casual seating amongst the ornate backdrop of her lounge. His suspenders were loose around his legs, his white shirt unbuttoned two or three with his smooth chest visible, the sleeve of his shirts was rolled up to his elbow and his left leg casually slung over his right. He had made himself at home within my world; it was almost funny to see his leisurely ways within the stiff sitting room, a place used to take tea, to read and to discuss the latest fashions, yet, here I was, almost naked before a near stranger. The way in which his eyes had quickly glanced downwards had caused the nerves within my stomach to multiply. I breathed through the nerves. Adopting a confident stance; even as I walked towards him, completely aware of just how sheer the kimono truly was.
The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a porcelain doll. As a paying customer, I do expect to get what I want.
I tossed him a ten cents piece, and he caught it to his belly, with an amused grin, which still was only upon my face. As I reached to part the kimono though, he leaned back and I sensed his breathing stop when mine did.
The kimono had fallen to the floor in such a delicate whisper, pooling about my feet. It wasn't cold, it was suddenly very warm. The heat from the fire in the hearth expelled a dry warmth about the small room but it was the flow of heat which radiated from Jack's dazed gaze which caused the flush to come to my cheeks. As slowly, but not greedily, his eyes glanced down the length of my body, then back up to meet m curious watch I felt as my hands instinctively came to my stomach in a moment of self-awareness but I stopped, the awed wonder of Jack's gaze rooted me there as though she was the doe and he, the hunter with a flash lamp. I felt confident for a moment. It was erotic.
Over on the bed, I mean, the couch.
Jack had stumbled, soothing out my worries with that small fumbling of words indicating just how nervous he was, also. It was ironic, how a man so sure of his purpose in life, of his feelings for me, just as he had stated in the gymnasium and how I should be able to be free from Society's grasp and yet, he became a wreck of some sort just from a naked woman; the sort of thing which could be a daily occurrence just weeks ago in Paris. I had thought of the naked prostitutes and if their moments with Jack had felt as beautifully erotic and slightly tender as this one did.
Once instructed, I seemed to be able to grasp full use of my body once more. Stepping away from the security of the kimono, I went to the divan, laying down slowly and in a way which could be a pose. Everything, each part of me was now available for his view. In another wave of awareness, I moved my arm in a variety of poses, not quite knowing just how to be a beautiful model about to be drawn from life. The subjects of his other drawings were gorgeous, elegant and—bohemian, and I was a woman submerged into a world of fools and having never even kissed another man before just that afternoon, I was at a complete loss of what to do. What to say. What to think. How do I do anything without his seeming tuition but then, I was suddenly recalling what Jack had said to us all at dinner. Make it count. Make each second count. I had spent far too long been told just what to do, and suddenly, I was doing simply what felt natural to me.
Tell me when that looks right.
That had been an indication of my own nerves. My own inability to know what to possibly do when laid without the security of any clothing.
Put that arm right there, where it was.
I moved my right up above my head.
And that other hand, up by your face right there. Now, head down, eyes to me. Keep them on me.
How could my eyes possibly be anywhere else than on Jack Dawson?
Jack exhaled, possibly through some nerves. I felt my own nerves fluttering about in my stomach. Pounding my heart. Sending my head flying about as though I was spinning, just as I had at the dance last night.
Try to stay still.
I must have been shifting, nervously. It was as though he then returned to his natural state, as his hand started to move, creating the lines which would become my body on paper. Through my hazy vision, I could see the concentration within his eyes, how he seemed to smudge to perfect creation. Each glance he took back to me was filled with such intensity. Did he watch every girl he had drawn so intently? The thought was unsettling but I seemed to already know the answer. This moment between the two of us; neither of us had felt before. I knew that.
The thud of my own heartbeat filled my ears, and I fought the urge to twitch in case it disturbed his reverie. The beauty of his face, framed by his hair which kept falling into his eyes in the process of him drawing was intoxicating. The blue of his eyes sparkled in the dim lamp light and the only sound was his scratching upon the paper and the odd crackle of the fire but, surely there was my heartbeat, too? Pounding so loudly that he could hear.
I exhaled slowly through my lips to allow my nerves to calm a little more as though I was knowing that he could see every inch of my body was the most daunting thought. He would glance up, every five or so seconds, with another intense look at me, in my entire most vulnerable state but one which made me feel beautiful, it made me nervous but above all, it felt salacious.
Jack's cheeks turned into a blush, and then his eyes fell to the area between my legs. I felt goosebumps appearing across my chest and I felt my nipples tightening as I suddenly felt a cool chill but it wasn't because I was cold, but something else as it travelled throughout her entire body like an electric current. If he noticed my reaction to him, he didn't voice it but the flame colour of his cheeks did amuse me, just a second. I was tempted to speak, but didn't, for a moment, until it came out in a low tone.
I do believe that you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste.
Jack's lips turned into a smirk. I don't think that he could speak.
I cannot imagine Monsieur Monet blushing.
That is because he does landscapes. Just relax your face. No laughing.
Sorry.
I had to exhale. To breathe out my nerves. To consider just what was happening to me. It was changing me entirely and I felt it then, but unknowing on what scale. My heart hammered in my chest, and I twitched now and again feeling the adrenaline running through me.
His hands were mesmerising; how they worked so quickly, smudging the lines and how the vision his eyes saw would be transferred onto a sheet of blank paper. He was wonderfully talented and recalling just how rough his hands are to touch, from their work and yet, how strong they were to pull me over the rail and save my life. The hands which I had held whilst we danced and the hands which had touched my face in the gymnasium that day when he had come to me.
The coldness overcame my body again, but it was like a shiver without the breeze. My lips felt dry, my body rooted to the very couch as he continued his gaze upon me whilst he completed the drawing. The sparkle of his eyes seemed to simmer with something unspoken between us and every now and again, I could hear him sigh or gasp for more air, just as I felt herself; breathless but—alive.