I've never been a very modest man. You could actually classify me as full-blown voyeur, a peeping tom. I have the added infliction of enjoying removing my clothing when people don't exactly expect it. It only took a couple of visits to the local holding cell for me to realize that this was one urge I would keep suppressed. I used to be married as well. One of my best memories of time with the Old Fossil (we had such dear names for each other) was a trip we took to Paris together in the early 80s. All the fashion houses were coming out with their wacky undergarments, and the Fossil and I strolled down the Rue Sous-le-Bois, she admiring the lacy curtains in the windows and I the lacy brassieres and corsets of the nubile frenchwomen inside the curtained establishments.
We had no children. My wife saw the way I admired the young curves on the schoolgirls that walked home along our street. She didn't understand that I was in my peak; I was still not that much older than the high school kids. When we married, I was 22 and she was 31. She had a home and had been in the same job for almost 8 years. I was still eating Cheetos and playing Atari on my days off. Anyhow, we married in '79 and divorced in '89. It's now '99 and I've had plenty of time to develop my penchant for unsuspecting subjects. The other day I hit upon my personal mecca.
I had been invited to some gallery opening at the local museum for a travelling Monet exhibit. Lots of posh people stood around sipping champagne and exclaiming about the divine this and the gorgeous that and those lovely, darling little whatevers. I blindly circled the rooms, looking through the paintings and guzzling the Moet. In one of the last rooms a woman in red caught my eye. What a cliche, but she radiated. I was probably 20 feet away, watching the back of her head as she animatedly told the group of men she was in the midst of some titilating story. Her hands helped weave the tale, her drink almost spilling out a half dozen times. How long did I stand there watching her? She threw her head back and the most addictive peal of sultry laughter rang through the room. I felt the corners of my mouth curl up in a smile, which I quickly hid behind my glass.
I didn't want to just stand there like an ass, but I didn't want to move on to the next room without any direct contact with this woman. "Tess," I heard. One of the men surrounding the woman was talking to her. Tess? The curator of the exhibit's name was Tess...
I decided that it was better to look like a fool and satisfy my need to see this woman up close than to just walk away. I straightened my jacket and walked over, quietly joining the group of men. They were talking about the antics of one of the security guards from a past exhibit. So these guys were employees of the museum.
"You're the curator of the exhibit, are you not?" I figured No was the worst possible answer.
"Yes, I am!" She looked slightly surprised as she held her hand out to me. What I touched was as soft as satin, long fingers with the tips painted off-white, perfectly groomed. "Tess Christianson, and you are...?" I could tell she was trying to figure out where I might know her from. I introduced myself and told her I had heard one of the guys say her name and I had seen it listed in the program.
"So you were eavesdropping on our conversation," she said with a wry smile. She had wicked green eyes that sparkled and danced in the light. "No matter, we don't mind another addition to the group, do we boys?" The guys kind of uniformly guffawed and shook their heads. The Group? My mind is so permanently fused into the gutter, all I could think was...gang bang? Duh, these are civilized people...on with the boring banter.
I stood and listened for awhile as Tess explained that the Louvre had given her a hard time about a couple of the pieces. They had borrowed four total from that particular museum, but the French officials had demanded they take out four times as much insurance on them as for any of the rest from other museums. I watched the movement of her lips as she spoke, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way the material clung to her fabulous shape, the slope that led to the cleft between her legs... this woman was perfect. Probably a size 10, 5'9" or so, long auburn hair, the aforementioned green eyes, and large breasts that were pushed up and together by her dress to form a deep cleavage.
"Don't you think so?" What? Shit, she's looking right at me. I had no clue what had been said, or what SHOULD be said now.
"Probably, but I think it's all a matter of personal opinion." Please get me off the hook here, damn! She smiled and nodded in agreement, so I suppose I passed. I looked down at my watch and realized that it was almost time for things to be winding down.
"Need to be getting somewhere?" This woman caught me on everything..
"Not particularly, but people are leaving, and I don't want to keep you from museum buiness.."
She looked at the other men and laughed. "Museum business. Such a formal way to say it." She turned back to me and continued, "The museum will be open for awhile to the people already inside, not that I expect many to stay. We've gotten a lot of new things in the permanent exhibits, and if you wanted more time to check out the Monets without hundreds of people mulling around you, this is the time. Besides, it's nice in here without other people. You can hear a pin drop though. Echoey." She was looking at me with an expression of lust, I swear. It made no sense, but it was there. So I had to decide what to do. I felt like I would do anything to continue to be around her, but the idea of walking around looking at paintings was kind of boring. Also, I was beginning to think that these guys were permanently attached to her side.
