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Art Appreciation


He was late, this time by about forty minutes. Not only is my
husband rarely on time, but he is also extremely forgetful, and the longer
I stood the more certain I was that he had forgotten all about our dinner
plans. "Damn him anyway," I thought, shifting from foot to foot in the
chilling cold. The steamy breath rising from between my clenched teeth
was a perfect match for my fire-breathing mood, and I remained there
another five minutes, alternating between fuming and freezing.

Finally, I turned on my heel to march off in a huff, and noticed that
I had been standing my lonely vigil in front of an Art Gallery. "Cooper
Gallery," the sign read, with a small clipped advertisement touting "The
Photographs of Andres" taped to the inside of the window. I couldn't
really see inside, because the windows were mostly fogged up. "Warm," I
murmured, and forgetting everything else I swung the door wide and
entered.

After basking in the blessed heat for a long moment, I opened my eyes
to see a tall coffee-colored man sitting behind a desk. He flashed a
small smile at me as I thawed out. "Welcome," he said quietly, and he
gestured toward a bound guest book, which I signed, smiling back. He
gestured with his head--I caught the sparkle of a metallic earring out of
the corner of my eye--to his right, and with a quick "thank you" I
followed his head-shake and walked with measured steps (my feet were just
getting feeling back, and I was in heels) into a large, carpeted room
sectioned by grey cubicle walls. "Andres Presents the History of Sex,"
read a plaque to the left of the entrance, and I began to wonder exactly
what I was in for.

Nudes, mostly, or so it seemed to me at first glance. I walked
slowly around the room, mostly unseeing, my senses dulled in the muffled
environment of the padded walls and thick carpets. Idly I paused before a
portrait of "Alessandra," a lantered-jawed, tanned brunette who gazed
directly back at me with pursed lips, the fingers of her big right hand
resting on her bent knee. Musing, I noticed the odd effect caused by her
chiselled face and jaw, her broad nose, and then down to her curved
shoulders, thin arms, and large breasts, the brown erect nipples pointing
out in different directions.

As my eyes continued their downward journey I noted the lighter patch
of her bikini area, her massive-looking thighs...and suddenly I blinked.
I rubbed my eyes twice and stood a little closer, bending at my waist as I
brought my face close to the photograph. Yes! There it was--I DIDN'T
imagine it! Hanging between Alessandra's spread thighs, directly beneath
the round, tanned breasts, was a penis!

And not a tiny, shrivelled little one, either, but a life-sized
downward-pointing shlong--I couldn't repress the word--jutting out from a
patch of pubic hair, with one testicle showing behind it and to the left.
My head spun for a moment, and I stepped back to take in the total effect
of this shocking image. Of course--the masculine face, the large hands--a
man's hands--but still...nothing looked fake either. From neck to waist I
saw a woman's body, the heavy breasts and hairless torso narrowing down
toward the waistline. Hormones? Some kind of bizarre surgery? The
unexpected pink penis-flesh at the lower center of the image, covering the
flat mat of pubic hair I had expected to see and even imagined at first
before I really looked carefully, had put me all out of whack. In a daze,
I turned away from Alessandra to the next large, glossy photograph, and
all my breath went out of me with a whoosh.

A couple stood before me, again staring imperturbably out of the
picture directly at me, their heads tilted to face me and their bodies
faced to the right, so I stood looking at them from the side. Two young
lovers, both in their late teens, blond, Nordic-featured. "Christiaan &
Rose," the caption read, and I drank them in. She stood behind him,
snuggled up against his back with her arm curled underneath his and her
hand bent up, resting on his muscled shoulder. Her long hair, parted in
the middle, hung down behind her face, which displayed the barest of
smiles; his head, framed by close-cropped hair and his lips slightly
parted, rested against hers.

They were gorgeous, young, beautiful naked bodies, his chest and her
breasts modestly shielded by their loving, interlocking arms. Below his
impossibly chiselled waist I could see the curve of his buttocks, from the
side; in front of them his penis--so much like Alessandra's, I could not
help thinking--emerged from a fine spray of light brown pubic hair. And
behind him, her hips slightly angled away, was his lover. Her hips were
framed within a black V of two leather straps, her pubic area covered by a
patch of black leather, and with a bright white penis--no, a cock,
surely--angled down, resting, it seemed, between his buttocks.

My face grew hot, and suddenly I felt I could not breathe. Dabbing
at my forehead a little I casually shrugged myself out of my coat,
glancing quickly all around me to see if anyone was watching me, staring
at me. There was no one...but it did not matter, for I could not look
away. My eyes were riveted by the image before me--Rose, who was smiling
at me, yes, I could see that now, clearly. And Christiaan, his head
tilted slightly back and resting on hers, his lips parted perhaps in
passion, in pleading? "Yes, Darling...take me now"...I imagined his
moans, his desire to open himself to be penetrated, be entered. be
fucked...by Rose, his Lover, perhaps under different circumstances his
Woman.

And she, her hips tilted back but ready to thrust forward, and up,
and in, to fill him and fuck him and do him and push into his body until
the two of them were connected at the genitals, but with her behind him
and her pubis against his ass cheeks and the depths of his body filled...I
was flushed, and shaking, and aroused beyond belief. Somehow I tore my
eyes away from the sight of the young lovers and staggered to the Ladies'
Room, washed my face, and stared into the mirror. Rose looked back out at
me, smiling her blissful half-smile. I emerged quickly and headed
straight for the door, and was leaving but, without knowing why, stopped
and turned back to the man at his desk. "Uhmm..." I cleared my throat,
and moistened my dry lips. "Excuse me...was there some kind of a
catalogue of this show...for sale?"


End of Story