They lay there together, boy and girl. It was the morning after a night of many firsts. The sun crept in through the shades, illuminating her figure. She lay on her side, facing away from him. He watched as she breathed. Her shoulders rose and fell with each gentle breath. This beautiful woman who showed him love. He delicately caressed her shoulder. She stirred and trembled. He pulled her close. They held each other and basked in the little sunbeam.
Finallt, she stirred and tied her hair up in a pony tail. “Come on, let’s go to the museum.”
They sat together over breakfast. As he ate his toast, he noticed a change. Everything was different, and yet nothing had changed. Perhaps *he* had changed. Perhaps *she* changed him. He saw her slender fingers sitting on the table. Her hand was open, waiting. She didn’t know what for. He took it and gazed into her eyes. They said nothing but communicated everything. His finger delicately danced on her wrist as she met his gaze with a smile.
They walked hand in hand to the museum. It was a special Saturday show. She loved to admire the oil paintings.
On this day, the museum featured a Van Gogh. She touched his hand and led him into the exhibit–excited, giggling, blushing. Then she saw the marvelous work of art.
As he watched he realized that there were two works of art that day. One made by man, the other by God. She gazed upon the oils with awe. Her eyes enraptured by the hues.
As people appreciate art, so he appreciated love.
She took time to appreciate the choices that went into each color, each brush stroke. As she took the time to see the choices in hue, how the light danced on the water, how each cloud was formed with care, how the colors worked together, so he took the time to appreciate her.
An artist may make many paintings in their life. Though similar, each one is endowed with little nuances that make it unique. So too are women unique. Though similar, each one is endowed with little nuances that make them special.
He savored her beauty. He savored how she looked, how she felt, how she smelled, how she tasted. He savored the memories of each detail while she savored the nuances of Van Gogh. The way her chest had small blotches when she was close, the way she let out a small whimper when she came. The way she trembled as she lay down. The way she asked to be held as she held back tears from the power of the moment. They gave each other the gift of pleasure. There is nothing more sacred.
Every little detail made her stand out. Every little detail made her unique. Every little detail made her art. So love is the most beautiful work of art in all of nature.
As he gazed upon her with awe, he recognized why the ancients worshipped Aphrodite with such zeal. He was not the first to see the beauty in love. His knees were weak with passion. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest as he realized the full impact of their simple, sacred act. He would worship at the altar of love.
They created love. They created beauty. They created art.
Nothing was different. Everything had changed for the boy and girl.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/tjqxy4/a_trip_to_the_museum