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<v Speaker 1>It's Monday, September twenty ninth, and time for your daily fuck.

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<v Speaker 1>The silence in this wing of the museum is a

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<v Speaker 1>living thing. It's a Monday afternoon, and the only sounds

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<v Speaker 1>are the distant echo of my own footsteps on the

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<v Speaker 1>marble floor and the faint hum of the climate control.

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<v Speaker 1>I'm standing in front of the birth of Venus, or

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<v Speaker 1>at least a very good replica, and I can't help

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<v Speaker 1>it smile. It's been a long time since I've truly

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<v Speaker 1>appreciated the female form. Too long. My ex Joe had

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<v Speaker 1>the body of a Greek god but the passion of

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<v Speaker 1>a marble statue, and since him, it's just been other men.

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<v Speaker 1>I feel a gaze on my back, a prickling awareness

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<v Speaker 1>that's different from the casual glance of a fellow patron.

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<v Speaker 1>I turn my head slightly. Standing near the archway to

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<v Speaker 1>the next gallery is a security guard, a woman. She's tall,

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<v Speaker 1>with her dark hair pulled back in a severe professional

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<v Speaker 1>bun that somehow makes the soft curve of her neck

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<v Speaker 1>seem incredibly vulnerable. Her uniform is crisp and tablored, but

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<v Speaker 1>I can't hide the confident swell of her hips or

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<v Speaker 1>the strength in her posture. She isn't looking at the art.

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<v Speaker 1>She's looking at me, her eyes a startlingly clear shade

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<v Speaker 1>of blue. Hold mine. There's no aggression in her stare

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<v Speaker 1>none of the lazy and title men I'm used to

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<v Speaker 1>for men. It's a look of pure quiet appraisal, of appreciation.

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<v Speaker 1>She isn't just looking at the art on the wall.

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<v Speaker 1>She's looking at me, like a masterpiece she desperately wants

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<v Speaker 1>to touch. It had been so long since a woman

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<v Speaker 1>had looked at me that way, let alone touched me that.

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<v Speaker 1>In that instance, I decide I bleed her. I walked

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<v Speaker 1>slowly toward her, my heels quicking softly. I stopped beside her,

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<v Speaker 1>pretending to admire a nearby bust. It's beautiful. My eyes

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<v Speaker 1>are fixed on the stone, almost makes you want to

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<v Speaker 1>reach out and touch it. Her gaze fixed down on

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<v Speaker 1>my hands and back to my face. A ghost of

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<v Speaker 1>a smile plays on her lips. You're not allowed to

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<v Speaker 1>touch the pieces, but that doesn't mean you can't touch

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<v Speaker 1>other things. Her voice is a low, smooth contralto. She

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<v Speaker 1>gives a subtle nod toward a massive, muscular statue of

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<v Speaker 1>hercules tucked away in a dimly lit alcove. The cameras

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<v Speaker 1>have a blind spot back there. My heart hammers against

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<v Speaker 1>my ribs. This is it. I follow her into the shadows,

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<v Speaker 1>the cool air behind the hulking marble statue, raising goosebumps

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<v Speaker 1>on my arms. The moment we're out of sight, she turns,

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<v Speaker 1>presses me against the wall, her body flush against mine.

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<v Speaker 1>Her hands are on my waist, Her thumbs drive small,

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<v Speaker 1>firm circles. I was hoping you'd come over. Her mouth

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<v Speaker 1>is hovering inches from mine. I was hoping you'd be watching.

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<v Speaker 1>I close the gate between us, kissing her as a revelation.

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<v Speaker 1>It's not the demanding crush of a man, but a soft,

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<v Speaker 1>steering exploration. Her lips are surprisingly full, and she tastes

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<v Speaker 1>like coffee and mint. My hands come up to her shoulders,

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<v Speaker 1>then slide down to her hips, pulling her impossibly closer.

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<v Speaker 1>I can feel the soft give of her breasts against

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<v Speaker 1>my own, the solid muscle of her thighs pressed to mind.

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<v Speaker 1>It's a feeling I'd almost forgotten, and my body sings

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<v Speaker 1>with the memory of it. Her hands are magic. One

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<v Speaker 1>slides up my back, pulling me tight, while the other

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<v Speaker 1>vetch hers south her palm, pressing firmly against the fun

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<v Speaker 1>of my dress, right over my mound. I cast into

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<v Speaker 1>her mouth as a jolt of electricity shoots through me.

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<v Speaker 1>She grinds her hand against me, and I can feel

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<v Speaker 1>my own wetness begin to soak the thin fabric. This

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<v Speaker 1>isn't enough. I need to feel her skin. My hands

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<v Speaker 1>dyed under the hem of her uniform shirt, finding the warm,

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<v Speaker 1>soft skin of her stomach. At the same time, her

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<v Speaker 1>hand is up my dress, her fingers finding the damp

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<v Speaker 1>lace of my panties. She doesn't hesitate. She slips a

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<v Speaker 1>finger underneath the elastic, finding my slick, swollen clod. A

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<v Speaker 1>choke sob escapes my throat. Her touch is perfect, knowing

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<v Speaker 1>she knows exactly where to press, hot to circle. I

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<v Speaker 1>break the kiss, panting, and bury my face in the

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<v Speaker 1>warm curve of her neck. My hips start to move

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<v Speaker 1>on their own, a frantic rhythm against her expert hand.

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<v Speaker 1>By turn, I managed to say, my own hand finding

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<v Speaker 1>its way under the waistband of her trousers. She's not

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<v Speaker 1>wearing panties. I find her just as wet and ready

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<v Speaker 1>as I am. Her fingers dance a desperate, phantic ballet

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<v Speaker 1>in the shadows of the museum. I'm grinding against her,

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<v Speaker 1>She's grinding against me, our hips locked together. I can

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<v Speaker 1>feel her clit hard and pebbled under my fingertips at

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<v Speaker 1>the same time she's stroking mine. It's an overload of sensation,

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<v Speaker 1>the coal marble at my back, the soft press of

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<v Speaker 1>her breast, her fingers inside me, my fingers inside her,

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<v Speaker 1>the muffled sounds of our phantic breathing. I'm so close,

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<v Speaker 1>the pleasure coiling into an unbearable knot in my stomach.

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<v Speaker 1>I look into her eyes and I can see the

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<v Speaker 1>same imminent explosion reflected there are going to come together.

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<v Speaker 1>Don't stop. Her voice is strained. I push my fingers faster,

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<v Speaker 1>grinding my hips against hers with everything I have, pressing

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<v Speaker 1>our hands together inside us, the world narrows to this single,

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<v Speaker 1>perfect point of contact. The orgasm hits us both. Her

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<v Speaker 1>body goes rigid against mine, a sharp cry muffled against

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<v Speaker 1>my shoulder, and it's all it takes to push me

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<v Speaker 1>over my own climax rips through me, a silent, body

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<v Speaker 1>racking spasm of pure bliss. My vision goes white, and

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<v Speaker 1>the only thing I feel is her. All around me,

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<v Speaker 1>sharing the same shuddering release. We stay like that for

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<v Speaker 1>a long moment, clinging to each other in the dark,

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<v Speaker 1>our body's trembling with the aftershocks. Slowly we pull apart,

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<v Speaker 1>a slick mess of shared pleasure. We fix our clothes,

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<v Speaker 1>our hands, brushing the intimacy still hanging in the air.

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<v Speaker 1>She gives me one last searing look, a look that

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<v Speaker 1>says everything, before she melts back into the shadows and

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<v Speaker 1>resumes her post. I walk out of the museum and

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<v Speaker 1>into the bright afternoon sun. My leg's unsteady beneath me.

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<v Speaker 1>I can't hear to look at priceless art. But she's

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<v Speaker 1>the one who turned my body into a masterpiece.