She stands alone, her back to me. It’s a gray and rainy day here in the city. Not much to look forward to, except a new art exhibit a MoMA, the museum of modern art. My expectations aren’t high, but they are rising with every second I look at her. Coming in from the cold, she wears her coat. It’s open in front, I can tell. Her heels are just a little higher than I would have expected for a museum visit.
I wonder, is she meeting someone? Maybe she’s on a date? She seems mesmerized by the new exhibit, a stack of books, then another, and another, covering the entire wall. There is no sign of hurry, barely moving, her hands glide down her coat and disappear from my sight.
Still fixated at a stack of books, she blends in with the exhibit. Maybe that’s the idea. There is nothing that distinguishes the books, just blank covers, fake fronts, and an all to real blond-haired woman standing in front of them. “Beauty in Books”.
That’s the name of the exhibit. I read further, “A combination of traditional and modern techniques, the Artists reinvents the concept of what it means to explore a book. He makes his audience search for meaning where there is none, playing with the primal core of the human mind. Searching for meaning, for pleasure, for self-interest. Georgia Cumming’s work fills this void by leaving hints of seduction within each display, to be explored, to be found, and enjoyed. Her work is for the patient, the bold, the creative and imaginative. Others pass, never knowing what they could have found.”
Should I ask her? Maybe she is looking for the ‘hint of seduction’? I walk toward her, stopping next to her, just close enough to be noticed, but far enough to avoid coming across as creepy. We’re alone on this rainy day. This can’t be a coincidence, can it? She’s gorgeous, her body looks warm, inviting, not a hint of arrogance. Her eyes, remain locked on the display, searching, curious. She hasn’t even turned around once in the time that I’ve been watching her. Who is she?
She moves, taking just one step closer to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her face. No make-up, a natural look. Not sure I would have turned around for her on the street, but here, she is the exhibit. Everything about her says ‘talk to me, read me, open me up’. Her body language says more than any book ever could. The way she holds her coat, leaves her hair slightly messy, fresh raindrops still sitting like pearls on her shoulders.
Then she turns toward me; I freeze in my spot, hoping I didn’t stare at her. My eyes try to focus on the exhibit, but my brain looks for any hint of attraction. What I wouldn’t give for her to talk to me. I’m shy, it’s hard for me to make the first move.
“Curious, isn’t it?” Her soft voice, looking at me, she reaches with her hand down the front of her open coat, leaning slightly forward. I now dare to look at her. Hazel eyes, a few freckles, the perfect girl next door. I don’t know what to say. Of course, I’m curious, but I could never tell her.
“Curious, how the bulge in your pants found the hint of seduction long before the brain.” She walks away, brushing up against me, and sliding her hand over my hard cock. “Georgia, Georgia Cumming.”