For the love of the arts

I went to an art gallery yesterday. I saw an amazing exhibition that really captivated me. It was so absorbing that I didn't even notice the hot, alternative guy in the room. Later he told me he had been following me since I came in but it wasn't till the last piece of the exhibition that he started talking to me.

We were both watching an installation and he commented about it out loud. At first I thought he was talking to himself, but when he asked how I felt about it I realized he wasn't. That's when I looked at him for the first time. Dark hair, nice lean body, green eyes and a taste for modern art... I smiled and answered.

Soon we were engaged in a very interesting conversation about the exhibition and it's theme. I was really enjoying it. We walked out of the room together, letting conversation shift from art to our personal lives.

He was a starting visual artist, which I already quite expected. He had this concept about shooting different kinds of natural pigments onto a canvas with some quite undefined patterns.Very different than my work, but an interesting and personal way of expressing himself that made him even more attractive to me.

I convinced him to stay at the museum caffetaria with me. We had some warm drinks, sitting around a design table in a room with wall-size windows everywhere.

The october rain outside made the moment even more perfect.

We stayed there for a very long time. We talked about visual art, music, dance and other stuff. I was really enjoying the moment. There was one thing though, that made the whole scene very sexual for me.

While sitting there and talking, the guy was constantly standing up to pull his jeans a little bit down as if they were too tight. It wasn't very effective though. Whenever he sat down I could see them getting tight again. It was very effective for something else. It made me focus over and over on the very prominent bulge in his pants and was really turning me on.

On a certain moment he put his hand on my thigh. A first step.

I played that it was a totally meaningless thing for me. I guess he knew though, as I always know when it's me doing this trick, that no one would think that gesture's meaningless. Still I faked, I just didn't immediately know how to react. It doesn't matter how many times I find myself in this situations, I always need to think before reacting.

“I'm going to the toilet, wanna come with me?” is what popped out of my thinking and excitement.

He arched his eyebrows, laughed and nodded. I tried to hide my satisfaction smile as I stood up and walked towards the toilets. He finished his coffee and followed.

Now comes the part in which trying to have sex in a public toilet designed by a modern artist isn't such an easy task.

We found the “toilet unit”. It was greenish and was almost fully made of papier-mâché. We opened the door of the men's room to discover there was only a wall behind it. It took us some time to figure out how the thing exactly worked.

Once we found the not so cubic cubicles we sneaked inside one of them. We started to make out, which was a little bit hard for the floor of the whole thing was inclined. Despite everything, we had a great chemistry. In no time we had already undressed one another while furiously french kissing. I guess that the fact that we were in a public “toilet” also contributed to that rush. The extra excitement and the hurry.

He turned out to be hiding a beautiful piece of art under his white slips too. This guy seemed perfect. I'll save you further details.

It's enough to say we sucked&fucked all over the papier-mâché and it was fantastic.

But, as we all know, all good things come to an end. One great thing about sex is that when the end arrives you get a final treat to make it less sad.

We were standing naked, face to face, ready for the final sprint. Ready to light the fireworks. Fireworks is a great word to describe what happened. It went high, was awe-inspiring and made my eye burn like fire.

Once I was done “ending” and opened my eyes he was still busy. And, without exaggerating, he stayed busy for about 10 more seconds.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

Loads of sperm were flying everywhere, landing all over the greenish cublicle. An unbelievable volume of sticky liquid raged around me. Our clothes (specially mine) that were lying on the floor also got a good share of irrigation. My eyes, open in awe, made a great target.

Of course he hit the spot.

When the show was over, he just sighed deeply with a satisfied look on his face. I, on the other hand, was getting dressed in a hurry. I just HAD to cleanse my burning eyeball on the washtable. Luckily there was nobody standing outside and I could go immediately. I exited the not-so-cubic-le with this guys “paint” everywhere on me. My clothes, my body... I tried, in vain, to wash my eye.

He started talking about something but I was't really paying attention to him, concentrated on the rinsing. I wasn't until he started talking about his boyfriend. That was the only thing this whole scenario was missing. This guy wasn't even available, my clothes were all dirty wet and sticky and I had a red eye that burned like hell.

I got a deep understanding of where his artistic concept, shooting natural pigments on a canvas, came from though.

I'll just think it's all for the love of the arts.
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