This weekend I spent a lovely few hours taking advantage of living in a major metropolitan city and FINALLY got to go back inside one of our museums. Far too few of us still take the time to remember that there is beauty in this world that is created out of the imagination of people, and we’re all not just a sorry lot, doing each other dirty and wallowing
in cruelty. The museum is also an amazing place to get hit on by the kind of men who open the car door for you and eat your pussy. If you have an exhibit pamphlet stuffed into the jacket pocket of a Brioni suit, I’m already wet before you’ve made your first witty observation to me.
So I was there with my friend, drinking in masterpieces while scoping out yummy MmmmmBAs and juicy JDs when we paused on this oil on canvas painting of a stunning young woman that, frankly, could have been either of us had we lived during the Renaissance. We both silenced the intoxicating click-pop of our Parisian heels in front of that graceful and fascinating creature, frozen for all time and all I could think to myself was, “good for you thot!” Now, don’t get me wrong, i almost fucking wept at the beauty that was captured by the artist, but this was no famous woman, she was some hot girl that some guy ponied up the cash to commission an artist to immortalize her.
Now, I go insane for the perfect pic of me… and people are the same, throughout time. In the 17th century, you maybe got to look at yourself in a shop window and say, “fuck, I’m a smoke-show today!” But to have a picture of yourself… that meant you had better get a damn good artist and pray for the perfect hair day… so this girl in the painting most likely got picked up but some lucky, lucky dude and the pussy was just… exquisite… so good that, maybe, none of his buddies believed him… he just had to commission a painting because, well, “Oil on Canvas or it didn’t happen!” THEN I thought about how thirsty boys get over my pictures and how, 300 years ago, unlucky boys would look at the high-cheekbones and bewitching eyes of the woman in the painting and think to themselves, “I would straight up murder that puss!”
And, don’t you know it but as we starred at this stunner, two of those affable, affluent, and (hopefully) affectionate men in stylish casual gear rolled up on us with their witty remarks and Chopard watches. When the man whose attention was focused on your favorite 23-year-old Latina hottie made the bold request to take us out of the museum and see how the day progresses with a Moscow Mule in our hands, I posed a question to him. “Would you have me painted, like this woman?” I asked, holding back my answer to his invitation. Now, this clever boy thought about my question and quipped back, “maybe if we’re in Lourve.” It was an AWFUL pun, but his delivery was spot on. We had drinks and a fun outdoor bar and yeah, it turned out he was a painter himself, and I was his canvas, but that wasn’t until after my fourth Moscow Mule out of one of those perfect little copper cups.
Alice
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/ps00y9/23f_what_it_would_feel_to_be_a_nude_model_and_be