Susan was a young woman who enjoyed the finer things in life. Cordon Bleu food, designer clothes, cellared wines, as well as various forms of art. It was due to her interest in the arts that she had become involved as a volunteer at Hilton Galleries. Although her involvement was limited to leading a guided tour through the ‘touring arts’ gallery every few weeks, it suited her well, as her main employment was as a receptionist at a busy medical practice. At least at the gallery, she may meet ‘the man of her dreams’. John, her partner of 2 years, had debated that backpacking around the World was more important to him than settling down, so after much discussion, they had decided to go their separate ways, and see what the future had in store for each of them
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Nearly 2pm, Susan thought, as she led the art appreciation group past the final print from “The Art that Hitler Hated” exhibition.
“That concludes today’s tour. Thank you for your interest, Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope to see you here again soon. Enjoy the remainder of your afternoon.”
The crowd dispersed, and Susan’s eyes met the gaze of a very familiar face.
“Susan, you certainly did your research” the voice said, “I am a great admirer of German Expressionist Printmaking, and I am very impressed with your knowledge! ”
“Ben?” Susan questioned.
Susan had met Ben nearly a year ago. The doctors at the medical practice, in which she worked, had invited several medical professionals to a get together at a restaurant. Ben was second in charge of the cardiology dept at a large hospital. Obviously of Germanic descent, he had blond hair and blue eyes, and a build which was much more muscular than she had remembered.
“How quickly you forgot me.” he commented, with a wry smile.
Susan blushed, wondering how she had not noticed this link from her past in her tour group. “A large group today, you must have kept to the back,” she stammered. “How lovely to see you again. You look different somehow, have you been working out?”
Ben laughed. “Forever the flirt, Susan, but yes, I have!”
Susan cast her mind back to the night of the medico’s party. The conversation had flowed freely, as had the wine. Many of the older professionals had left early, but others had made a night of it, and had stayed to the wee small hours. When the restaurant had closed at 4am, the last few revelers, of which Ben and Susan were a part, hailed taxis, and made their way home. Susan, Ben and Kathy, another receptionist, all lived in the same direction, so they rode together. Kathy climbed in next to the driver, as her destination was closest. Susan and Ben sat in the back, and, maybe because of their state of intoxication, they had started to feel rather horny, and began fondling each other. The cab soon arrived at Kathy’s home, and she bid her farewells, and the driver continued on his way, to Susan’s house, which was several kilometers away in the outer suburbs. Ben and Susan continued the exploration of each other’s bodies, each becoming more and more lustful, clothes were being loosened, hands and mouths feeling and tasting bare skin, breathing labored, as the driver continued on his way. Finally, the taxi arrived at Susan’s address; the Greek-looking driver flashed a toothy smile in the rear vision mirror.
“21 Lakes Ave, Ma’am” he announced.
“Oh Ben, come inside for a while, have a nightcap,” Susan pleaded.
“ I would love to, Susan,” came the reply, “but I have an early shift tomorrow, and I really do need to have my wits about me. Perhaps some other time?”
Although a little tipsy, Susan was stunned at the obvious ‘Thanks but no thanks’, and alighted the cab, barely turning back to bid farewell as the cab drove away.
Susan turned on the lights in the darkened house, and made her way to her bedroom, where she undressed, perusing herself in the full length mirror.
His loss, she thought to herself, feeling a little disappointed at the unsuspected turn of events.
She admired her petite frame. Almost boyish, but the soft curve of her hips, her pert breasts, and trimmed pubis stood testimony to her womanhood. She removed 3 clips from her hair, her long locks falling to envelop her body. She again admired her image, a true English rose. Such pale soft skin, her auburn hair like a cloak falling down around her arms until it caressed the fullness of her buttocks.
Perhaps some other time, he had said. We’ll see, she thought to herself as she climbed naked between the cool sheets, and lost herself in a dream of what could have been.
Her mind snapped back to the present, already scheming on how she may bed this elusive Teutonic God.
“Well Ben,” Susan purred, “What brings you to the gallery this fine afternoon?”
Ben was feeling a little uncomfortable, memories of that night coming flooding back, what a fool he had been. Maybe his love of fine art would give him a chance to take things further with the lovely Susan.
“I don’t know if you really want to know, Susan,” he quipped, “it is all rather boring and mundane.”
Susan flashed him a quick glance with her emerald green eyes. “ I don’t think you could tell me anything boring,” she flirted.
Ben swallowed hard, sensing he was about to become the prey of this auburn haired lioness. “OK, Susan,” he confessed, “This is the truth. A few years ago, in my Grandmother’s will, I was left an etching. It was by an artist who I had never heard of, Wilhelm Wagner, was his name. Apparently, in 1920, he did a series of 20 nude etchings, only small drawings, but my Grandmother had posed for several of them. As payment, he gave her one of the drawings, the one titled ‘Frau bei der toilette’, roughly translated, ‘woman getting dressed.’ Ben watched Susan closely, noting a definite look of interest on her pretty face. I do not know all the details, but I suspect he may have been her lover. The print is not worth a fortune, but I see it as a part of history, and now it is mine. From this one etching, I have developed an interest in German Impressionism; that is why I am here today. I know the story may seem far-fetched, but if you would like to come to my home sometime, I would revel in the thrill of showing a very beautiful woman with an understanding of these things, a piece of art that could tell a thousand tales.”
Susan stood in awe of what she had heard. “Why, Ben, are you inviting me to your home to see your etchings?” she giggled girlishly, feeling that her plan was falling into place.
Ben laughed, “May seem like a pick up line, I suppose, but yes. Have you eaten lunch yet?’