All of my friends told me I needed to visit this gallery. “The muse in the paintings looks just like you,” they all insisted. So I packed a bag and flew across the country…back home.
When I stepped into the gallery, it was just as everyone said. All the paintings, every last one resembled me. Not just resembled. They were perfect replicas of my face, my body, my aura. The mystery artist had captured my essence from early adulthood to my current middle-aged self.
As I make my way toward the back of the gallery, I hear shuffling. I clear my throat to make my presence known. And then, there you are…”I’m Fiona-” I start, but you interrupt me.
You rush to me and grab my hips as if they belong to a long-lost lover. You kiss me so passionately, so deeply. Your tongue desperately searches for mine. They dance and roll over each other when they finally meet. I playfully nibble your lip as your right hand slides from my hip and hovers just over my pussy on the outside of my skirt. Your left hand slides from my hip to my round, luscious ass. When you grab me, my skirt lifts a little, exposing my skin. Your greedy hand wants my flesh. You grab my exposed ass and smack it. This pushes me further into your other hand that finally meets my crotch.