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The Secret Meaning

The Secret Meaning

I was drinking in the painting, absorbing its detail, feeling the colors vibrating on the canvas. I was studying the brush strokes that depicted the subjects on the cloth, wondering if the subjects felt the brush strokes when they were created. Dark shades hiding to push out the ridges and troughs in the subjects’ detail, each hair of the brush carrying a hue to define its purpose.

“Kinda makes you wonder what they were talking about, huh?” She sat close to me speaking a little louder than a whisper. I jumped, not realizing that someone had sat down next to me on a bench in front of this painting.

“I don’t think they were talking.” I said as I shifted uncomfortably to see who it was that sat next to me and was bold enough to speak to a stranger at a museum. Staring back at the painting, I said, “I think the café was too crowded and there wasn’t anywhere left to sit. They were staring at each other in greeting. Making sure it was okay to sit down and join the person who was there first.”

“How do you explain the smile in her eyes? Or the upward turn to his lips at the corners?”

I turned to fully look at this woman who felt that it was so important to share her opinion about this painting with a perfect stranger. I was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and an un-tucked plaid button down oxford. Dirty old sneakers and I hadn’t shaven in two days. My black hair sprinkled with silver at the temples and peppering my head. My hair is buzzed short and my eyes are big and brown.

“I guess I can’t explain the ‘smile’ in her eyes or the upward turn of his lips. I think everyone gets something different from this painting.” I said, staring at my new bench companion.

I’d never seen her before but she was beautiful. She had long brown hair with tan skin. Lips painted red and matching her fingernails and her eyes as blue as the center of diamonds. She was wearing a light colored sundress, as it was quite hot outside this August. Her open-toed shoes showed red painted toenails that matched her lips and fingers. She must have noticed me looking at her toes and she shifted to face me, slightly parting her legs before crossing them.

“It’s as if they are sharing a silent joke; don’t you think? …like they just had sex in the restroom or something; just before there was a rush in the café.” She smiled a wicked smile. “My name is Kristina Morays. I’m an art student.” She extended her hand in the gesture indicating she would like to shake my hand.

I took her hand and shook. She held my hand squeezing gently but not letting go for a little longer than people normally do after a handshake.

I turned back toward the painting, searching for the artist’s name on the placard next to the name of the painting which was, “The Secret”. There it was, “K. Morays”.

“You painted this?” I said still holding her hand in a leftover handshake. “That’s it, isn’t it? They just had sex in the restroom,” looking into her eyes as she began to smile.

She stood up then, taking me by the hand and leading me out of the exhibit. I stumbled turning to pick up my backpack as she hurriedly pulled me from the bench.

We quickly walked though the doorway. Quickly, we marched down toward the front of the museum and then down a narrow hallway, into another doorway. It was the men’s restroom. Straight to a toilet stall. Into a stall, the door closed behind us.

Not giving me the opportunity to say anything, she pressed her body against mine and forcefully slid her tongue into my mouth. Letting my backpack fall to the floor, she took my hands and wrapped them around her waist and onto her firm ass. Pulling my hips into hers and moaning as she felt my erection stirring in my pants.

She hiked up her sundress and let me slide my fingers between the fabric of her mesh thong and her shaved pussy. Swollen, wet and tender. She started to unfasten my belt and unzip my pants. I didn’t wear any underwear that day, so I just flopped out of my pants when she unzipped my pants and she gasped as she took my entire length into her mouth in its semi-erect state.

She seemed hungry for my cock as I watched it disappear into her mouth and down her throat. Her tongue flicked the tip of my now throbbing cock as she squeezed my balls and stroked my shaft, coaxing it to its full hardness. She swallowed my cock again and again. My cock glistening from her saliva as she urged me to fuck her mouth gagging occasionally.

She stood up suddenly, hiked up her sundress, turned around, pulled her thong to the side and pulled my cock into her soaking wet pussy. She put one of my hands onto her slippery clit and my other hand onto her smallish but firm breasts. She moaned as I thrust into her.

As suddenly as it began, I withdrew my throbbing cock and turned her around to speak with her.

“Wait. What’s happening?” I said breathing heavily.

“I’m trying to see what the two people in the painting were feeling.” She said through panting and holding my cock in her hand, squeezing, still pulling me into her rigid, shaking body.

“Not here. I don’t live far from here. We can walk there in five minutes.” I said, as I pulled away from Kristina. A look of disappointment came over her face.

“Just a few more minutes,” as she dropped to her knees and pulled my cock feverishly into her mouth. Swallowing my cock and pulling me into her throat. She urged me to fuck her mouth harder and harder. I felt my cock harden and I put my hands onto her head to guide her onto my hardness. “Fuck me, now.” She said as she stood up again and removed her thong, using the sides of the stall to ease onto my soaking wet cock from her saliva. I moaned as I thrust into her as she lowered onto me.

Holding the top of the stall with one hand and unbuttoning her sundress from the top with the other, she freed her pert nipples from the constricting fabric. She guided her nipple into my mouth. Rolling her hips as I gently flicked her nipples with my tongue. Massaging her areola with the flat part of my tongue and gently sucking the nipples with each thrust of my engorged cock.

She slowly rose up squeezing her pussy muscles, writhing, squeezing my cock. The faster she moved, the easier I slipped into her. I held her by her bottom as I guided her down onto me. I spread my fingers between her cheeks and sliding my little fingers into her ass. Moaning heavier as the climax builds.

Jumping off of my lap, she kneels down again to take me into her mouth.

“I want you to cum in my mouth”, she said as she grabbed hold of my cock and started to stroke firmly and quickly, licking the head and rolling it over and over in her mouth. “Fuck my mouth.” She said as she placed my hands on her head and swallowed my cock. She took in my full length, slurping her moisture from my cock faster and faster. I felt the explosion building inside me as I fuck her mouth harder and faster. She wants my cum. She starts to moan, sending vibrations along the shaft of my cock as she fingers her pussy and squeezes my balls. She stiffens and lets out a groan. She’s coming as I’m fucking her face. I release the flood gates and let it flow, filling her up.

She opens her mouth as I squirt my seed. Moaning and slurping, pulling me into her throat, I pump her mouth and imagine the hot cum running down her throat.

She stands up and kisses me deeply. I taste my cum in her mouth and her pussy from my cock. Tastes mingling as our tongues massage each other. She buttons up her sundress and helps me button up my pants.

We don’t say a word, here. We just stare into each other’s eyes, again no words. She just turns and opens the stall door and steps out to face the sinks. I reach down to pick up my backpack and notice her thong and I pick it up to bring it back to her. I stepped out of the stall just as the door to the restroom was closing. I rushed to the door to catch her. Her name caught in my throat as I began to say, “Kri…” She was gone. A crowd of young people passing by stopped me. She was gone.

I stood there wondering if that’s what she was trying to show in that painting. The brief silence where we just stared into each other’s eyes with attraction, passion, instinct and animalistic urge? If this was the secret she was hiding in the smiles of the painting’s eyes and the upward curl of their lips, then I understood the feeling in the brush strokes.

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