Please note this story does not reach climax like all my other stories do. This story is about the adoration and sexuality of the female form.
It was a typical New York gallery opening. The din of humanity clashed and echoed against the hard white surfaces and the art jumped off the walls in a Munch silent scream. I had been in and out of the New York art scene for the second half of my fifty plus years and, while the faces and places changed over the years, the basic vibe of an opening had somehow stayed the same. With complimentary glass of cabernet in hand, I circulated through the high-ceilinged gallery, surveying the crowd, separating the world into starving artists, moneyed patrons and the rest of us.
I was scanning the large space for the fourteenth time, wine goblet tipped to my palette when I saw her over the rim of my glass. She entered the gallery with a flourish and my attention was riveted by her sudden presence and purpose. She strode confidently, cutting a swift arc through the gallery crowd and up to the owner, whom she embraced as an old friend. I was drawn to her immediately.
Now Manhattan has way more than its share of beautiful women. They're everywhere; on every street corner and in every neighborhood. One gets inured to the preponderance of beauty after awhile and begins to accept it as commonplace. So I am always intrigued by the sensors that go off in my brain when I see a beautiful woman that strongly draws my attention more than most. It's some sort of unspoken vibe or pose that sets certain women apart. Perhaps it's their confident demeanor or otherworldly allure. I've never been able to put my finger on it, really. But certain women attract me at a visceral level that transcends good looks and a beautiful body.
She was tall and had a slender model's build. Her high heeled boots added a couple inches to her long lithe frame. Her long wavy hair was brown and parted to the side. It came below her shoulders and bounced lusciously as she walked. Her face was strong and intense with deep set brown eyes and well defined bone structure. She was beautiful in a sort of Germanic way. Her skin was pale and glowed with a smooth luminescent quality.
She wore a short denim jacket over a white blouse and a flowing mauve silk skirt that swayed with her body as she walked. I couldn't help but notice the pert round ass that twitched beguilingly under the thin fabric. I found myself wondering what kind of panties, if any, she was wearing. She'd been in the gallery for less than a minute. How could I be having such intimate thoughts?
She moved and stood with the grace of a dancer. She engaged Mario, the owner of the gallery, in an intense exchange, with hands on her hips and her proud butt protruding at a judicious angle. The thin silk hugged her tight little ass, then flared loosely to just above her knees.
I felt her seductive force as I orbited the room, spinning in her gravitational pull, and observed her from varying angles and viewpoints. I wanted to cup her buttocks and knead her buns through the thin silk. I suddenly realized I was entering into that erotically charged zone I sometimes stumble into and I took a sip of wine, cleared my throat and began to circulate again, my line of sight never straying far from this strident beauty.
"What's up Ozzie?"
I was brought back to the real world by the voice of my long-time buddy, Brian.
"Hey Bri. Not much bro. But, you might be able to help me out."
Brian smirked at me with a knowing look.
"Who is she?" he chided.
"Am I that transparent?" I mumbled.
"Most of the time. Yes. Now, how can I help you?"
"Well, see the young lady talking to Mario?" I jerked my head in their general direction. Brian surveyed the scene quickly and smiled at me broadly.
"Jesus, Ozzie. You know how to pick 'em."
"Enlighten me."
Brian gave me a bemused look and continued.
"Her name is Nata, short for Renata. She's a sculptor, former model, perpetual student, entrepreneur, and a man-eater. And, from what I've heard, she is hot beyond hot."
I hadn't heard much past the Nata part.
"Lord, she's beautiful, Bri. You need to introduce me to her," I pleaded in my most beguiling voice.
"Not sure she's your type, or vice versa. You're old enough to be her father. But if the opportunity arises, I'll steer her your way. You may hate me for it in the morning," Brian joked.
"I'll take my chances. Thanks."
I figured this was going nowhere, despite our clever repartee, so I headed back into the fray and was in the middle of a meaningless conversation with an art dealer when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Brian smiling broadly and the lovely Nata at his side.
"Ozzie, I wanted to introduce you to Nata. She's a very fine sculptor. And Ozzie here is a renowned portrait photographer. You may have seen some of his work around."
Nata smiled in a sultry way and held out her hand. I was transfixed.
"Can't say that I have, but I love photography," she said to no one in particular.