A Day at the Museum

I wrote this story for someone. I would love feedback to see if anyone is interested in me continuing the story. Thanks for the feedback!

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It had been years since I had last been to Montreal. It has been one of my favorite cities since the first time I visited it more than 20 years ago. I had stayed away too long, and missed this beautiful city. It was July, and the weather was beautiful. The natives were complaining about the heat, but as a life-long resident of Florida, I was used to much worse.

One of the first places I visited was the Musee des Beaux-Arts de Montreal. As an art lover, this was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon; I could slowly stroll through the galleries, take in the art, and just relax.

As I wandered through the museum, I came across a stunning sculpture, Et toujours!! Et jamais!! (Forever and Never), by the French artist Pierre Eugene Emile Hebert. A robed skeleton is depicted rising from the grave, embracing a beautiful, young nude woman. The piece is an erotic work of beauty, as the skeleton has his right hand on the woman's thigh, his left hand wrapped around her just below her breast, and their heads nearly touching, as if the two were about to kiss.

I circled the piece several times, enjoying it from all angles. That is the one thing I love about sculpture. Unlike a painting, which you view from one position, you have to take in different angles and views of a sculpture to take it all in and truly see it as a whole. If you merely look at the sculpture from the front, you miss so much of the work.

As I circled the piece a final time, I noticed an attractive young woman about 10 feet away holding a large sketch pad staring intently at the piece. She had pretty auburn hair and a serious look on her face. The sketch pad was hiding her from the waist up, but from the waist down it revealed a lovely pair of legs, in a green skirt that ended just above her knees. Her legs were beautifully pale. I quickly followed her legs down to find her feet in a simple pair of sandals.

I walked by her nonchalantly as if to view a piece of art a few feet behind her, but my primary motive was to see what she was hiding behind her sketch pad. As I walked by, I quickly glanced over and found a thin frame wrapped in a patterned shirt that buttoned up the front. Her breasts were not large, but that's okay, as I never was a fan of big breasts. As I passed her, I turned to check out her ass, and was rewarded with a view of an ass that could be framed and displayed very easily in any museum. I stood behind her and continued to check her out. She appeared to be at least 10 years younger than me, but again there was nothing wrong with that.

She was so occupied with her sketch pad she didn't notice me staring over her shoulder as she busily sketched, then erased, and then sketched again. This young lady had true talent. I continued to watch her for several minutes. As I looked over her shoulder, I inhaled deeply; she smelled delicious. Whether it was her shampoo or her perfume, I was uncertain. All I know was that I was entranced.

After a few more minutes, I finally said, "That is beautiful. You are really quite good."

I must have startled her, for she jumped and said "Excuse moi?"

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you, and I am sorry, but my French is very bad."

"It's okay, and thank you. " Her accented English pulled me further in.

I pointed to her pad and asked, "How long have you been drawing? You are really very talented."

She smiled modestly, and said she had been doing some kind of art most of her life. We briefly discussed the sculpture we had both been admiring, and I finally asked her if she would like to join me for a coffee in the museum's cafeteria.

"By the way, I'm Troy."

She reached out her smudged hand, "Lise."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Lise."

After picking up our coffees and finding a table, we started talking about the sculpture again, which lead to a discussion about other artists and art in general. It turned out that we both admired some of the same artists. I asked her if she liked the artist Sir Edward Burne-Jones, and she replied that she did.

"Let's go then. I have something I want to show you."

"I'm not sure if I should"

"Don't worry, you can trust me. I want to take you to church," I said.

"What?"

"Just come on, I promise you won't regret it."

She sheepishly agreed and followed me out of the museum. We took a short walk down Rue Sherbrooke and stopped in front of the Church of St. Andrew and St. Paul.

"Here we are," I said.

"And, why exactly are we here?" she asked.

"You'll see," I said, as I placed my arm around her waist and led her up the steps and through the church door. The place was empty, cool, and silent. As we entered, we were greeted by a member of the church staff, who asked if she could help us.

"My friend and I wanted to view some of your stained glass windows. I hope it is not too much trouble," I replied.

"No sir, not at all. However, we will be locking the church up for the night in about 15 minutes."

"Thank you," I said. "That will be fine." I guided Lise to a small chapel at the front of the church. Before we walked in, I asked her to close her eyes.

"Why," she asked?

"I want to surprise you."

Reluctantly she closed her eyes, and I led her into the chapel and sat us down in the front pew.

"Can I open my eyes now?"

"Not yet. I want to tell you why I brought you here. The very first time I came to Montreal, I wandered into this church, after leaving the museum, just like today. I love architecture and wanted to see the inside of the church. I was walking around admiring the stained glass, when I found this. I had no idea it was here and was amazed at how lucky I was to stumble upon it. It's something I think you might enjoy seeing. You can open your eyes now."

She opened her eyes and found herself in front of a stained glass window designed by Edward Burne-Jones. She gasped and then giggled with delight.

"I didn't know this was here."

"Hardly anyone does. As I said I found it quite by accident."

We sat silently admiring the window together. I reached out and placed my hand on her exposed knee.; she covered it with hers.

After a few more minutes, I said, "We probably should get out of here. It looks like they are ready to lock up."

As we stood up, she reached out and took my hand. I thanked the woman who had let us in, and made a small donation to the church before leaving.