People often argue about the most erogenous zone. (The mind.) But there are also erogenous places. Besides public bathrooms at wedding receptions, the side of a country road, and restaurants that have long tablecloths, one of the most erogenous places for Lo and me is the fine art museum.
“Sometimes I really feel like this Fornarina,” Lo texted.
“????” — I wrote back.
“But I’d be called, Fornicator.”
“Lo, what have you had to drink?”
“Just some champagne.”
“Then, what the hell are you talking about?”
The next text was a picture of a well-dressed man from the Renaissance with a woman on his lap. The woman looks seductively at the observer while the man looks in the opposite direction from the woman toward a canvass behind him.
This text was followed by a description: “Raphael and the Fornarina: La Fornarina, or ‘The Little Baker,’ was Raphael’s lover and muse. She was significantly younger than the aged artist and legend has it that he died in her passionate embrace. Here he is depicted as only having eyes for his own creation — a portrait of the woman on his lap — while she looks seductively at those who gaze upon her.”
“I see,” I texted back.
“Remind you of anyone?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from my phone.
“Yeah, your love-making will be the death of me yet.”
“Fuck you!” she said. References to my premature demise upset her.
As I have mentioned, I used to be a professor of art history and, as a young man, I even published a book on the subject. But that’s not the reason why I, or we, find the art museum to be so erotic. It has to do with the combination of public and private that is always oddly juxtaposed in museums. They are public spaces, but the people viewing the art are tremendously private — more private than on the sidewalk or at restaurants where human interaction is not a faux pas.
In the museum it is considered bad taste to interrupt someone deep in contemplation of the work of art. There is a magical, powerful relationship between the viewer and the object. Breaking that gaze would be akin to calling out the magician’s sleight of hand and foiling the playful illusion.
Yet, at the same time, the museum is a place to see (other museum goers) and to be seen. It is a private experience in the public sphere where appearances matter. People often deck themselves out for a day at the museum — especially if it is a special collection, opening day, or some other widely acclaimed event. The beauty of the art is only half the delight to the eyes on those occasions. Yet, there is a pretense of not observing the observers surrounding you.
All of these contradictory tensions make the museum a wonderful place to become inspired. And, in addition, there is the art — full of themes and images that are often titillating and suggestive, romantic and sometimes raw.
As a result, Lo and I often try to plan museum trips. The best are the occasional nights when the museum opens its doors for an evening of cocktails, appetizers, and music, inviting guests to linger, flirt, and enjoy the sights under the starlight.
However, today I’m not here to tell you about an erotic trip to the museum with Lo. It is a tale of Lo’s trip to a museum, but not one in which I was her companion.
Summertime and yet one more wedding on our calendar. Lo’s cohort of friends all seem to be following the same “LIFE” roadmap — college, grad school, marriage, breeding, brooding. There has been a burst of these nuptials lately and though I try to be a good sport about them, my work schedule prevented me from being Lo’s +1 for this event. And so it came about that one fine Friday afternoon, Lo packed up her stuff in the car and with a kiss and a wink, off she sped to a distant city. It was a shame, because it was her friend Cammy’s wedding. Though Cammy may have her issues — such as being monogamously challenged — I was genuinely glad that she had found such a loving and doting companion (even if his future marital bliss is doomed ab initio). I truly could have enjoyed myself at this event. As it turned out, I only got to experience it second-hand, through the words and pictures sent to me by Lo.
“I’ve picked up a companion,” she texted.
“In the museum?”
“Yep, tell you about it later. Stay up for me,” she texted, adding a wink-face, knowing I’d understand her double-entendre.
It was a long night for me awaiting her call, but eventually, around two in the morning it came.
“Hi Daddio,” she said in a whisper. “Is it too late?”
“Lo, I’ve waited up this long for you, do you think I’m not eager to hear your voice?”
“Good,” she said, well-satisfied with herself and her powers.
“So, tell me about your night,” I said, a little frustrated that she needed prompting, but knowing that she likes me to ask for it.
“It was good,” she said.
She went on to tell me that she couldn’t talk too loudly because she and three other women were staying in one shared hotel room. The other women were asleep, or so Lo thought.
“And you’re there with them? Aren’t you going to wake them up?” I asked, mainly because I wanted the dirty details, not the dainty ones.
“No no no,” she said. “I couldn’t possibly talk in that small room.”
“So where are you now?”
“I went down to the lobby. There’s no one here except the night-shift desk attendant, but he’s way over on the other side of the room.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I’m still in my black dress. We just got in about an hour ago. I’ve taken off my shoes and I’m curled up by the fire.”
“Fire? Is it cold?”
“It got a little chilly. But I just find it cozy to be by the fire.”
“You must look like a woman of the night then.”
“If there were anyone here to see me, I’m sure that’s the first thing they’d think,” she said seductively.
“So, what are the highlights of the night?”
She then told me that the museum, where the wedding ceremony was held, was beautifully decorated with candles and in the courtyard a string quartet played. The guests were welcome to wander around the museum before the ceremony and that Cammy’s lust-interest, Ethan, had accompanied her. “He’s much nicer than Cammy described him. I always imagined him as a real pig — the way she described sneaking off to his house and giving him blowjobs,” she said.
I was surprised he was even invited, but I suppose that Andy, Cammy’s groom, was still completely in the dark about this affair. Yet it irked me to think that that guy was the companion Lo found for the evening in my stead. I tried to hide my displeasure. “What did you two do?” I asked, cutting to the chase.
“Oh, he just walked with me through the corridors of the museum. He knew nothing of art and just cracked bad jokes the whole time.”
“So why’d you stay with him?”
“It’s more like he stayed with me. But, I’ll admit, Cammy has said he has a sweet cock.”
“Lo. Were you bad?”
“What do you think, Daddio?”
“I don’t know what to think. You tell me.”
“Are you upset? Are you hard?”
“Tell me what mischief you were up to.”
“Tell me what you’re doing. Stroking it?”
“Well, take it out and stroke it and I’ll tell you.”
The fact that she was asking me to do that indicated that there was a story to tell and it was getting me more and more agitated. I don’t really know why — because I wasn’t there, because I have some negative feelings toward this guy I have never met, because I was missing Lo — I don’t know the reason. “OK,” I said, “Now tell me.”
I heard her purr into the phone with pleasure. “Well, he followed me around. As I strolled with him, my hand holding onto his arm, I leaned in and said, ‘Cammy’s told me a lot about you, but you’re even sweeter in person.’”
“And I bet you slid your tongue over your teeth as you said it, too.”
“I may have, Daddy,” she said with a guilty giggle. “He told me that he had heard a lot about me as well. I demanded to know what he had heard and he wasted no time getting right to the naughty stuff.”
“What did he say?!” I asked, exasperated at Lo’s slow exposition and that her friend would be talking about her like that.
“Cammy left nothing out,” Lo said enigmatically. “He was really turned on. He sat next to me during the ceremony. While we waited for the grand entrance of the bride and groom, I put my hand on his knee and said, ‘Thanks for being my date for the night. You know, it’s so uncomfortable going to these sorts of things alone.’ I slowly slid my hand up a little further on his trousers and I could feel him growing. We were all seated very closely together and so I only let my hand rest there for a moment, but then, after the bride entered and we sat down again, he let his right hand rest on my bare knee. He caressed it a bit before I took him by the wrist and placed his hand back on his lap.”
“Why’d you do that?” I asked, surprised.
“What do you take me for?” she asked with some irony.
“Well. . .”
Then I heard her moan.
“Lo, what are you doing?”
“What do you think?”
“I thought you were in the lobby?”
“I am. Should I stop?”
“No, but. . .”
“Nothing. What happened next?”
“Then it was time for the reception. We had to take buses to it because it wasn’t at the museum.”
“Did you sit with what’s-his-name?”
“Are you disappointed?”
“No. Just curious.”
“Well, to tell the truth, while we were waiting for the busses, Cammy came up to me and she was furious.”
“Apparently Ethan went up to her and mentioned how much he was enjoying my company. This got her incredibly jealous.”
“Jealous? But it was her wedding day!”
“I know, but it just took her right back to high school again. It was always like that. And I guess some things never change. I didn’t want to ruin her wedding day, so I avoided him the rest of the night.”
“No, I’m not. I just can’t believe. . . Well, I guess you were being a good friend. How were you able to avoid him?”
“Luckily, one of Cammy’s single friends — one of her girlfriends — had a thing for me so the two of us danced together all night. Whenever Ethan tried to cut in, she and I just laughed, danced, and made out a bit.”
“I’m sure that only made him desire you all-the-more.”
“I said I avoided him, I didn’t say I repelled him.”
“I see. And did anything happen between you and this gal-pal of yours?”
“No, unfortunately. Toward the end of the night, she said she had to catch a flight home.”
“So now you’re left all alone with three other women?”
“What are you going to do?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want to hear you get yourself off.”
“Well, Daddio, you’ll just have to wait till I get back home with you.”
“What? You’re not going to jill it tonight?”
“I didn’t say that. I said, you will have to wait till I get home for you to hear it.”
“Then I guess I’m going to bed.”
“Will you be thinking of me?”
“You know I will.”
“Are you gonna jack it?”
“Too late for that.”
“What?! No wait, what?”
“You heard me.”
“You came already?”
“Yes. Are you upset?”
“No. But. . . you were so quiet.”
“Hearing you talk about all your admirers and thinking about you there in the lobby with your shoes off in your little black dress was just too much for me, but now I have to go to sleep.”
“Wait!” she said quietly.
“Do you love me?”
“Lo, there are no words to describe how much I love you.”
[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]