CléaHe walks into the room and everything stops. The hostess greets him with a flamboyant “Hullo Dahling!” and kisses both cheeks. The ones on his face. At least that’s where your mind has wandered, where your thoughts were heading. Immediately you sense your body stiffen. You’re standing more upright. Your posture emphasises the curve of your breasts and the outline of your hips and thighs. You suck your tummy in. And hold it. Unconsciously. Until your cheeks start to tingle and you think about exhaling.
He works the space like a professional on stage, moving around the art gallery admiring the hostess’s work. While you admire the work of art before you. That sculpted body. That chiselled face. The warmth in those ice blue orbs. The biceps that bulge from beneath his fitted white T-shirt. The bulge. Yeah… And the cute tight pinchable ass. The kind you would hold on to while… Stop it. Your body is betraying you.
You turn your back and remember to breathe. And you smile wickedly to yourself as a flash fantasy paints the high ceiling, above your head, like a spectacular bolt of lightening. You capture the moment and bottle it. Ethereal. Ephemeral. Ensnared.
You sip your red wine and look away. You can’t let him know. Your body shouldn’t be a transparent canvas for your wanton thoughts. You’ll savour these in the quietude of the night, when your mind wanders off with the possibilities. Later. After the moment has passed. After you’ve seared his image in your memory, after the instant animal attraction has passed. Later. Much later. When you’re lying in bed in the dark, eyes wide open fixated on the ceiling, working that piece of art.
Tags: art gallery, cbmused, physical attraction
It’s not too often I find a new piece of art to admire. When I come across one, I savor it just like you. Yummy.
Now how come when guys do this it’s sleezy???
Yes, I know the feeling though… and sometimes it’s all to much and it just floors you. On rare occasions I have lost the power of speech. On rarer occasions, I have lost the power of upright standment.
You turn your back and remember to breathe. And you smile wickedly to yourself as a flash fantasy paints the high ceiling, above your head, like a spectacular bolt of lightening. You capture the moment and bottle it. Ethereal. Ephemeral. Ensnared.
>He walks up to you silently, gazes into your eyes, and after a pregnant pause, says, “Duh…do they validate parking for douchebags here?”
You’re welcome,
Your Editor.
Almost Loved: We are talking human art? Just checking…
Gboy: How come? Because they can’t hide it!
Losing “the power of upright standment”… wow. Glad I’m not a man!
Zen:
Dear Editor/Douchebag Spotter
What did I ever do before you??
With kind gratitude.
Troubled Writer.
You know, as soon as I read “bulging biceps” I knew you were setting me up for another kind of “bulge.”
And full disclosure here – when I first read your last sentence I took it in a different context (a naughtier – I’m losing my halo – and blushing context) then the second time I read it and connected the reference to an earlier paragraph. Did that make any sense? Part of me hopes not
I love masturbation posts.
GSR: GSR!!! Are you saying that you’re swapping that halo for a ‘bulge’?
Mwahaha…. I can be evil!
Now I love it when someone analyses my writing and tries to work out where I was going. You, Sir, get bonus points for being correct on both counts of the last sentence. If only you knew what went through my mind as I wrote it…
Egan: Please follow me into the Martini Lounge…
Are you going to undress me with your eyes?
Egan: What happens in the Martini Lounge, stays in the Martini Lounge…
Ha, je vois! I will take that.
“Nah, she can handle a couple martinis at once.”
Egan: J’aime les secrets.
“But he can’t handle Cléa.”
Hot stuff Miss Clea …. I always find my mind wandering when I see a hot piece of ass.
EM: Hot comment Miss EM… Nothing like hotness disguised as a moving sculptured piece of art.
I’m in dire need of some walking sculptures around here….
*books a flight for YOUR city & art galley*
LB: Come on down! Though I remember those were of the look-but-don’t-touch variety…