The Art of Lust is a collaboration with fellow Lit writer
Elizaloo
. This story evolved through passing a narrative back and forth over the course of two weeks. Sections are noted to delineate where one author stops and the other picks up the storyline. There was no preconceived plot or plan, just an erotic journey traversing on its own accord. It was a unique experience to write, and we hope you enjoy it.
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'Lizbeth noticed the man lounging on a bench across from her booth purely by accident.
She was puttering, rearranging her display at the craft show, moving some new stock to the front where she'd already sold more than a dozen of her Sea Glass artworks. Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to find that she'd only been selling for half of an hour.
Going to be an excellent day, she thought absentmindedly. Already the streets around the Square of this historic town were filled with people. The early morning sun had arrived, warming the air chilly with overnight damp, and customers were optimistically braving the day in t-shirts and shorts. Quite a few had bags in their hands, which was always a good sign to a vendor.
Thankful that she'd chosen to wear a knee-length dress of a light green jersey material; the jean jacket she wore over the top was enough to keep her warm this morning and once the sun heated up she'd just set it aside until the evening.
The smell of cinnamon wafted towards her and as she thought about dashing over to pick up some almonds for breakfast, she looked across the street to the Roasting Nuts food truck.
There was already a line, and she decided to wait; as she turned back to her tent, her eyes caught those of an attractive older man surrounded by bags, sitting on the park bench. Her eyes lit up and she smiled in sympathy with him; obviously he was shopping with a (no doubt) hard core shopper.
He smiled in return, and 'Lizbeth caught her breath, just for a second; there was something about him that gave her goosebumps despite the warmth of the day. 'You've been too long without a man' she chided herself softly, 'He belongs to someone else, stop daydreaming.'
The pile of bags took her back several years, to the life she used to have. She, too, would hit craft shows hard and fast, shopping only with a mission to buy for family and friends, always looking for unusual gifts for the holidays and throughout the year. But that was when she still worked a corporate job, 9-5ing her way through life, before burnout caught up with her and she chucked everything to buy a truck and camper.
Living out of a camper was an adventure, a week here and then a month two states over, making friends at night around a campfire. Getting to know strangers quickly, then parting as friends shortly after.
Traveling across the country, she'd often see signs advertising local craft shows and she'd stop and this time, take the time to chat with the crafters, to find out about their lives and crafts.
Out of this pastime, a blog was born. She documented those interviews and the various towns she'd been in, and more than once was told she should find her passion and join the crafting community.
One early morning in Florida, she happened upon a woman collecting glass shards from the beach, sifting through the sand for the colorful pieces. After walking along with her, asking questions about how she planned to use the glass and later visiting at her home to see the process, 'Lizbeth was captivated by the idea of using discarded glass to accentuate printed words to create a picture.
Joining the woman on the beach for several days, she collected a jar of glass and set out to make her own works of art. Working inside the camper on rainy days and then outside when the weather was cooperative, she amassed a large number of sea glass pictures, more than enough to display at a craft fair.
Which brought her here today, exchanging smiles with the blond man sitting next to the food truck.
Too bad he's attached, she thought to herself, as she rearranged two pictures on the display.
Several women came into her booth at that moment, and she switched on, greeting them and chatting easily about her art.
Several times during the next few hours she felt her eyes drawn to the bench across the way, but the man and his plethora of bags were gone. Maybe he and his partner had finished shopping and moved on to the music festival happening down on the grassy area of the park. Strains of music occasionally made their way to where the crafters were set up and 'Lizbeth planned to go to the evening festivities once she'd broken down her booth and put the items in the back of her truck. Dismissing a swell of disappointment, she focused on some paperwork during bouts of customers.
Pondering her next stop on her schedule and trying to decide if she'd stay in this humid Texas town, or hitch the camper up and head out of town.
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While he'd contemplated it for years, this was Colin's first time in business as a vendor at a craft or art fair. He'd had some limited success showing his paintings in a gallery in the part of Texas where he lived, but the gallery arrangement didn't allow him to connect in person with art buyers or enthusiasts. He considered himself a social artist, not a reclusive one, so he was enthusiastic about this debut.
Equally excited for this minor milestone in his art vocation, Colin's wife and twenty-something son had come along; her for shopping and him to help man the booth over the course of the long day.
Leaving their son in charge, Colin and his wife made their way through the fair, the growing array of shopping bags in tow as evidence of a successful retail outing for her. As she stopped to answer a phone call, Colin took the opportunity to catch a break on a nearby bench.
Partly resting and partly people watching, he noticed an attractive woman working the seaglass art table straight across from him. His attention was drawn to her white blonde hair and lovely curves. And as she engaged with customers, he noted her confident and engaging demeanor.
Over the years, Colin had become a master of discrete female observation; knowing instinctively where to stand so that his spouse didn't notice, let alone the subjects of his admiration. But there was no hiding his gaze this time, as he intently stared in her direction. They made direct eye contact. He smiled, despite the distance between them and the crisscross of pedestrians in between. She acknowledged with a slight grin of her own.
The woman was busy talking with more customers when his wife returned and Colin knew it was time to get moving. This particular craft fair was close to home, so he toted the day's bounty to her car, then relieved his son at his own art booth before the two of them departed, leaving him to finish the day on his own.
He'd planned to stick around for the evening festival, then drive back home late, since there would be live music and food for vendor participants like him. Plus it would give him the opportunity to mingle with other artisans, picking their brains about the process, the best fairs or festivals, and in general getting a sense of how to make the most of the events.
Breaking down his oil painting setup was more arduous than he'd planned for. The large display panels he had constructed for himself in the shape of a giant letter "E" facing the foot traffic were perfect to support both the weight of numerous frames, as well as the breadth of his work from small to large. "If I keep this up, I'll have to invest in a professional display system," he thought.
An hour and a half after closing time, he finally had everything loaded into his Ford F150, and the artwork housed snugly, although securely in the back seat. Secure storage was looking like another challenge to solve.
The evening's vendor festival had kicked off as soon as the official fair hours ended, so he was plenty late as he arrived at the outdoor courtyard where it was being held.
As he entered, he immediately felt out of place.
Amidst the food and beverage tables scattered about, the crowd was grouped into a multitude of small and seemingly private conversations. An acoustic duo was providing background music, more than they were entertaining, per-se. He didn't know a single person present, and the small groupings didn't invite a stranger to simply walk up and join in.
He made his way to what looked like a self serve beer and wine table. En-route, he was relieved to spot the attractive woman from the sea glass art display. Colin made a point to swing left and approach the table along her line of sight, hoping that incidental eye contact might lead to another smile, and perhaps some conversation, and he wouldn't be left standing around like an awkward teenager at the school dance.
His plan worked, sort of. He made eye contact with her, and she acknowledged with a smile and a half-wave. But she either chose to stay engaged in her conversation or stepping away would have been rude at that point.
So as consolation, Colin ventured toward the back of the courtyard for a dose of what pleased him so much in life anyway, listening to the band.
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Earlier, during a lull in traffic, 'Lizbeth had chatted with her neighbor about the craft show and the artist's get-together afterwards. Since it was the first time either of them had done this particular show, they agreed to go together. 'Lizbeth felt like an awkward teenager, afraid to go alone, but her neighbor, a younger, more gregarious woman was eager to go to the meet and greet.
"My attitude is, if you drink enough of the free booze, you can be friends with anyone!" She told 'Lizbeth, a brilliant smile on her round face. Her pottery was selling quickly, even at $50 per mug, and they talked back and forth about how many years each had been in business.
Lucy, the neighbor, had 'the day off' as she explained. "My mother is watching the kids until my husband gets home from work and I don't have to be home until LATE! It's almost like having a hall pass!"
'Lizbeth choked on her Coke at that statement, wondering exactly what her neighbor had planned for the night...but it wasn't any of her business and she nodded pleasantly in agreement.
The phrase 'hall pass' made her think momentarily about the man she'd seen earlier, and a part of her brain wondered if had ever stepped out on his shopping partner. Dismissing the thought as uncharitable and also none of her business, she returned to the business of selling her artwork.
The end of the day finally arrived, and the two women packed in companionable conversation, helping each other with their tents and other minutia. Once each had finished, they headed over to the courtyard, found a drink and took up residence at a bar table where they were joined by another lone female crafter. The three chatted easily about the day and their personal lives.
Several drinks in, and listening half-heartedly to the other two women discuss children ('Lizbeth had none, and very little interest in them), she felt a prickle along her spine, the feeling one gets when another has eyes on your body.
