hands, he poured his passion on my mouth with unchaste desire.
My lips vibrating with nerve pulsations, I met his advances,
returning his kisses with matched intensity. Tugging, teasing,
sucking, our rhythms matching, we danced this heady dance for what
seemed like an eternity. Like a rock skipping across the surface of
a pond, a thought came glancing across my subconscious. We had an
event to attend and placing the palms of my hands on his chest I
coyly pushed back, putting a little space between us.
“ Down boy.” I said
playfully. “If we continue like this we’ll never make it to your
friend’s gallery.”
“ You are just so delicious.
I can’t keep my hands off of you.” he murmured running the back of
his hand down my cheek.
Grabbing my coat, he
whirled me away to his sporty Jag which he had parked on the
street, floors below. It was uncanny how this guy had a knack for
catching a parking space.
As we drove to the art
gallery we chatted lightly about art and the various galleries in
the city. I couldn’t help but stare at his dashing profile. I
cocked my head to one side and a little forward in order to study
his expressions as he talked. It occurred to me that this might be
a good time to question him about his past. After all, I really
didn’t know much about him. I knew he was confident, persistent, a
hard-charger, but what about his past? I did know that he graduated
from Columbia University but I mused, does he have his success
today because of a well-connected family? Or did he work against
all odds to climb his way to the top? I liked the later of two
scenarios. I preferred to think of him as a self-made man and not
the recipient of favors owed to his father.
And what about his private
life; his love life? He’s 38, not married, has a sister and niece,
but no kids of his own and no girlfriend, or any such relationship
of which I am aware. Humph! I snorted. No
relationship that I know of. Everyone has
skeletons in their closets. Before our conversation allowed a
proper opening for my questions, we had arrived at the art gallery.
A little disappointed that I missed my opportunity to know more
about Patrick, I was bolstered by the chance to finally meet
someone who had known him for years. Patrick had told me that the
gallery was one of several that his lifelong friend, Ryan Barrick,
had started. Tonight, I wanted to pick Ryan’s brain for any
insights into the mysterious background of Patrick
Collins.
We parked the car, and he
came around to open the door extending his hand the ever gentleman.
The automatic reaction was a telltale sign of good manners
instilled by his upbringing.
“ You look good stepping out
of a Jaguar Miss Swanson. It suits you well,” he said in a low
voice pulling me close as I stepped out so his lips brushed my ear
and I melted a little on the inside.
Patrick had told me on the
way over that there would be light hors-d'oeuvres at the showing
tonight and I assumed there would also be spirits of some sort, to
loosen the tongues of all whom I would blithely interrogate,
Patrick to be included. And with a quick kiss on the lips he
ushered me into the red brick building on the lower east side of
the city.
The minute we walked
through the doors I was taken aback at the sight that unfolded
before my eyes. I paused in my tracks.... “Whoa!”
Patrick chuckled at my
reactions and playfully jested, “Oh, did I forget to mention that
this is an erotic art showing?”
“ Yeeaa... you forgot to
mention that detail.” I retorted with a pitch in my voice that made
yea a two-syllable word and taking my hand he pulled me out of my
bewilderment.
“ Come on,” he chuckled.
“You must meet Ryan. We knew each other in college you
know.”
“ Of
course. Columbia, correct?” I replied. Ah, an opening. Let the inquisition begin.
“ Ryan started out as a
business major, like me, well, marketing through a business major.
He’s a great guy, very creative and inspirational.”
“
My lips vibrating with nerve pulsations, I met his advances,
returning his kisses with matched intensity. Tugging, teasing,
sucking, our rhythms matching, we danced this heady dance for what
seemed like an eternity. Like a rock skipping across the surface of
a pond, a thought came glancing across my subconscious. We had an
event to attend and placing the palms of my hands on his chest I
coyly pushed back, putting a little space between us.
“ Down boy.” I said
playfully. “If we continue like this we’ll never make it to your
friend’s gallery.”
“ You are just so delicious.
I can’t keep my hands off of you.” he murmured running the back of
his hand down my cheek.
Grabbing my coat, he
whirled me away to his sporty Jag which he had parked on the
street, floors below. It was uncanny how this guy had a knack for
catching a parking space.
As we drove to the art
gallery we chatted lightly about art and the various galleries in
the city. I couldn’t help but stare at his dashing profile. I
cocked my head to one side and a little forward in order to study
his expressions as he talked. It occurred to me that this might be
a good time to question him about his past. After all, I really
didn’t know much about him. I knew he was confident, persistent, a
hard-charger, but what about his past? I did know that he graduated
from Columbia University but I mused, does he have his success
today because of a well-connected family? Or did he work against
all odds to climb his way to the top? I liked the later of two
scenarios. I preferred to think of him as a self-made man and not
the recipient of favors owed to his father.
And what about his private
life; his love life? He’s 38, not married, has a sister and niece,
but no kids of his own and no girlfriend, or any such relationship
of which I am aware. Humph! I snorted. No
relationship that I know of. Everyone has
skeletons in their closets. Before our conversation allowed a
proper opening for my questions, we had arrived at the art gallery.
A little disappointed that I missed my opportunity to know more
about Patrick, I was bolstered by the chance to finally meet
someone who had known him for years. Patrick had told me that the
gallery was one of several that his lifelong friend, Ryan Barrick,
had started. Tonight, I wanted to pick Ryan’s brain for any
insights into the mysterious background of Patrick
Collins.
We parked the car, and he
came around to open the door extending his hand the ever gentleman.
The automatic reaction was a telltale sign of good manners
instilled by his upbringing.
“ You look good stepping out
of a Jaguar Miss Swanson. It suits you well,” he said in a low
voice pulling me close as I stepped out so his lips brushed my ear
and I melted a little on the inside.
Patrick had told me on the
way over that there would be light hors-d'oeuvres at the showing
tonight and I assumed there would also be spirits of some sort, to
loosen the tongues of all whom I would blithely interrogate,
Patrick to be included. And with a quick kiss on the lips he
ushered me into the red brick building on the lower east side of
the city.
The minute we walked
through the doors I was taken aback at the sight that unfolded
before my eyes. I paused in my tracks.... “Whoa!”
Patrick chuckled at my
reactions and playfully jested, “Oh, did I forget to mention that
this is an erotic art showing?”
“ Yeeaa... you forgot to
mention that detail.” I retorted with a pitch in my voice that made
yea a two-syllable word and taking my hand he pulled me out of my
bewilderment.
“ Come on,” he chuckled.
“You must meet Ryan. We knew each other in college you
know.”
“ Of
course. Columbia, correct?” I replied. Ah, an opening. Let the inquisition begin.
“ Ryan started out as a
business major, like me, well, marketing through a business major.
He’s a great guy, very creative and inspirational.”
“
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