reetings Lords and Ladies of Literotica, it’s me, Gina and I am back with the second installment of my tale.
I wanted to thank all of you who read and responded to my first story. Thank you for the praise, comments and yes the occasionally criticism. It may not always be pretty, but I promise to keep it true. Well as close as I can recall on some things....;-)
Enjoy
Gina
Can I take your picture?
So this is something that happened to me about three months after my divorce cleared. ( Note- The divorce was the saddest portion of my life. I was no saint, playing an equal part in the break-up. But Daryl was by no means guiltless in our years together. Anyway, I wished him luck, he could have the house, I took off and shared an apartment with one of my coworkers from the bookstore.)
So my life now revolved around a few things.
1) Rekindling and nurturing my artistic side.
2) Living my life, on my own terms and on my own clock.
3) Meeting, dating, becoming intimate with or plain ole fucking men that were once unattainable to me.
Well my attempt at rekindling my artistic side ended up blending nicely into the last thing on my new list of “to do’s”
I attended an exhibit of Cambridge an other area artists one Friday night. It was fantastic group of writers, sculptors, painters and photographers. I was in the mix and felt woefully inadequate. I mean after years of not touching a single pencil I was taking baby steps back into the world of figure drawing and life studies.
Well I went alone, not too sure if I might meet someone. So I got all dressed up,( Guys pay attention- a tight sleeveless lilac colored sweater and a black silk mini) and arrived an hour after opening. The place slowly filled up and I waited on the edge of the groups forming. I used this time to take a spin around the galleries. Some of the stuff was fantastic, real emotionally driven sculptures, while there was abstract paintings that looked like a drunk monkey threw it together.
I wander into a series of prints, large digital reproductions in black and white. I was stunned. I saw lines of bodies, naked, fully revealed or partially clothed. Black, white, Asian. It was gorgeous. And the photographer waited at the end of the line surrounded by a small flock of friends and groupies.
So dare I describe him? No, I wouldn’t do him justice. But I will anyway.
He was a cross between Lenny Kravitz and the gorgeous guy on CSI.
hair was slightly grown out, a bit kinky, light coffee skins, he wore great jewelry around his neck, tucked inside a simple white button down shirt and perfectly baggy worn jeans. His foot wear, some freakishly large bowling shoes.
Anyhow, I manage to slowly nudge up to the group and introduce myself.
Oh I forgot to tell you his name, the photographer, Ashton.
Ashton Richardson, dad is Jamaican, mom an Italian, from what I read of his bio at the opening of the gallery. Hmm....something we have in common. The Italian blood.
