Luscious Curves Exposed

Adria owns an art gallery that specializes in erotic art. Although it's not well accepted by the local business community, she's a self-confident impressive dynamo- on the exterior. Only with the help of the two Nude Day artists does she discover her naked beauty, and love of her life.

Enjoy!

xo DG

.

This is one of my two entries for

Nude Day Story Contest 2023

. Please vote for my stories!

.

Luscious Curves Exposed

.

.

.***.***.***.

ADRIA the gallery

.***.***.***.

.

As a procession of provocative thumbnails paraded across my thirty-inch computer screen, I squirmed in anticipation. My gallery,

Uncharted Expressions

on Palm Avenue, has the dubious title of the gallery that has all that erotica.

They know I love the risk and excitement, and my unconventional curation no doubt made them wince and wonder what was next. We were in, as my hippie mother would say, a

square

, wealthy, coastal Florida town.

I purchased it nine months ago with the intention that it would not be typical of the many galleries in this Florida coastal city.

"Here is the next group," Maya said smiling, waving the thumb drive between her fingers. "You're going to have a long day, Adria."

I nodded. "This gallery showing will be special in so many ways, which makes it even more exciting than usual," I said, almost bouncing in my office chair.

I loved choosing emerging artists. Those that are marginalized or excluded from mainstream galleries get noticed here. And when they get into my gallery, they get noticed by the many prosperous art investors in this city. In the nine months I've owned this gallery, I have created a nice following of wealthy art aficionados.

The pull is the art is edgy and mostly of nudes. It ranges from provocative to pieces that we put in the adjacent room with an

adult warning

.

"You'll be happy to know there is some photography in this group," Maya said, pleased as me. We had looked at photographers since we opened and so far not found one that was quite what we envisioned. "Also, there are several in that group working in AI."

"Okay, thanks for the heads up. I'm not sure I'm interested in offering that here just yet. But I am definitely following." She nodded.

I tapped the key to start the slide show. A tablet and pen at the ready to jot down any notes along the way. Maya brought a fresh cup of coffee, and I was off and looking.

Many were ruled out just because they were well-represented by other galleries. I was looking for unknown talent. Some just weren't edgy enough. I wasn't looking for painted nudes. There had to be something more and I would know it when I saw it.

"How's it going?" Maya asked, perching on the edge of the desk.

I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my neck. "I'm narrowing it down. There are a few that I like on this first thumb drive, but I still have the next one. Hoping I'll find something innovative. Unfortunately, none of the photographers made the cut."

"They're hard to find it seems," she sighed.

I stood up and smoothed my dress. "I'm going to get some exercise and coffee."

There was nothing like looking at perfect naked women all morning that made your self-esteem take a dive. I had already taken off thirty pounds but had twenty more to go, but I knew, no matter what, I would

never

look like them.

Anyone that saw me would see ​a seemingly self-confident woman with flowing red copper waves, a creamy complexion, green eyes, and flawless makeup. ​My attire speaks volumes about my impeccable sense of style. Every garment is meticulously chosen to reflect both the latest trends and my unique personality. With every step, my stride resonates in sync with the click of high heels, creating an air of sophistication. That is what everyone would see. I have polished my exterior view.

​In this town of ruthless competition, wavering is a luxury I, as a determined businesswoman, cannot afford.

Paulo fell into stride beside me.

"You're looking extra beautiful today," he said, flashing a big smile. He was from Brazil and had all the handsomeness of a Brazilian male. Dark hair, olive skin, and a great personality. He was also a relentless flirt.

I smiled and said, "Thanks, you're looking very handsome as well."

He worked in a hotel across the street from the gallery. They promoted local artists via shows in their wide hallway galleries, artist talks to the town locals in small meeting rooms, as well as scheduled times to watch the artists' paint. I had worked with Paolo on some of the artists we represented.

"So, then you will go out with me?" he asked, smiling expectantly, and I laughed.

It was a standing joke between us. He asked every time I saw him, and I would laugh at his joke. He was a good-looking man that could have any woman in this town on his arm. Monied women were in excess here.

He opened the door and we walked into the coffee shop. He ordered my usual along with his.

"Would you like one of those pastries? Mmm, they look so good I'm going to indulge."

"No, I'm on a diet and those would not work," I sighed.

"Diet! Pfft!" he scoffed. "You are beautiful as you are meu amor!" I rolled my eyes and he shook his head. "Adria, what am I going to do with you?" He motioned to a table. "Let's sit here instead of running back." I nodded.

Paolo sat across from me, and I noticed every woman in the place checking him out, but he seemed to not notice. He bit into the pastry with a lusty moan and his tongue flicked out and ran across his lips to gather the powdered sugar.

His dark eyes were intense, and it looked as if he wanted to say something but decided not to. It was one of the rare times I sat across from a male that didn't have his eyes fixed on my cleavage. I never wore deep-cut necklines for work, and this was no exception. But when you wore a thirty-eight D bra, men found them hard to ignore.

He crumpled his napkin, dropped it on his plate, and pushed it away.

"So, what is Adria working on in her gallery? Something sensuous I know," he smiled.

"I spent this morning scanning hundreds and hundreds of thumbnails for a gallery show in July." I sipped my coffee. "I'm looking for cutting-edge, out-of-the-box paintings."

"Nude?" he asked.

"Yes, the showing will be for National Nude Day."

"Really? Is that a thing?!"

"It is. Celebrated every July fourteenth. It's a day to make us aware of body acceptance and embrace nudity."

He studied me for a moment. "And you, my beauty, are you going to shed your clothes and accept yourself?"

"Me?!" I laughed. "Noooo. No way. The gallery will be though!"

He frowned. "I wish you could see how beautiful you are, Adria. I'm sure your body is just as beautiful as what we can see."

I shook my head. "Maybe once I lose more weight."

He took my hand and ran his thumb over my long red polished fingernails. "We have more time later to discuss this," he warned and changed the subject.

Paolo walked me back to the gallery and crossed the street to the hotel.

"Why don't you go out with that poor man," Maya laughed. "He has been shot down so many times by you he looks like a sieve, yet he's back for a beating every day."

"He's joking, Maya! Look at him. He could have any one of these rich gallery-hopping women."

"But he doesn't pay any attention to them. He's looking at

you

, Adria. I wish you could see how attractive you are. You're smart, you're successful, I wish I had half your sense of fashion, your hair is to die for, my god Adria, you're the whole package. No one cares that you carry a few extra pounds—or so you think. No one notices past all that!" she sighed, exasperated.

"I know you mean well Maya, it's just that I've lived with this so long. Starting with my Dad. He monitored every morsel of food I put in my mouth and called me

fatty.

I know I should put it behind me and move on, but those words make deep and lasting cuts."

She came around the desk and hugged me. "I get that. I can't imagine someone you love talking like that. Just maybe think about trying with Paolo."

I nodded. "I will. But first I must find us some artists, or we'll be celebrating Nude Day somewhere else." We both laughed and I turned to my monitor to start the second round of images.

Later I called Maya. She came in and looked at the monitor over my shoulder.

"Check this guy's work. Clay. He does a realism abstraction fusion. Very interesting!"

I ran the slideshow through his images, so they were full-size on the screen.

"They're oddly arousing," Maya said thoughtfully. "They're lewd, yet naïve."

I nodded, agreeing with her assessment. "I'll want to talk to him and see more of his work."

"I'll put him first on the list. Have you found anyone else?"

"Unfortunately, no." I punched the button on my monitor, and stared at the blackness for a moment. "I really must find a photographer like this guy."

The gallery was busy for the following week and Clay was scheduled for a meeting at the end of the week.

.

.***.***.***.

.

With an inheritance from my Dad, I was able to purchase a condo in a high-rise only a block away from the gallery. It overlooked the bay and I'd often sit on the balcony and enjoy the dolphins, and sailboats that frequented the aqua waters. At one end was a tiki bar on the beach that all of us locals loved, the center was a high-end restaurant with a glorious view of the bay from your candlelit tables, and on the right side was the yacht basin and club. I absolutely loved living here.

I carefully hung up my clothes, showered and changed into a floral robe, made a salad, and sat on the balcony to eat. It was still cool enough to sit outside, but it wouldn't be much longer that the Florida heat and humidity would set in, chasing me inside. Even the maritime breezes didn't help then.

I thought of what Maya said about Paolo and wondered if I had been reading him wrong all along.

The intensity of his dark eyes, nearly black hair, full lips, and square-cut jaw. He was three inches taller than me, even in my spike heels. Nearly perfect in my mind.

My balcony was too high to be seen from the street, and no one had a view across or next to me. Fantasizing Paolo was with me, I slipped my hand under my dress. His hand stroked through my wet folds. His fingers pinched and squeezed my nipples, provoking a moan. He flicked my clit rhythmically building the tempo in my body that took me higher and higher. His sensuous lips pressed against mine. Our tongues danced and dueled in each other's mouths. Taking and giving.

Suddenly my body stiffened, and waves of orgasm rocked through my body, curling my toes, sucking air through my teeth, while blood pounded in my ears.

That night I fell asleep thinking if I could just lose the extra twenty pounds, I would go out with Paolo. That would make me feel better about myself to do it.

.

.***.***.***.

CLAY the artist

.***.***.***.

.

My style of painting is a fusion of abstraction and realism. So, they say. In my small town in Georgia, it's considered smut. Pornography. Obscene. Paintings of nude bodies and body parts according to Georgia statutes

lacks serious artistic value.

I sent a representation of my work to a new gallery in Florida. They only take underrepresented artists that were edgy and those that created mostly nudes. That was me. So here is me nervously waiting for a reply from

Uncharted Expressions

on Palm Avenue.

I clamped a blank canvas on the easel and squeezed various flesh-colored and shell-pink paints on my phantasmagoria paint palette. I began painting realism, and then at some point, moved to abstract. The painting dictated when and where. It would sometimes flow between the two, and sometimes boldly stop.

I painted the soft folds and the wetness that flowed through so that it entirely covered the canvas. The clitoris was well-formed and large and abstracted into a rosebud. The full lips surrounding had a thickness of soft nearly transparent blond curls.

This would be the first real gallery representation I've had. Before I changed my style, I painted landscapes. They sold, but it wasn't what I really wanted to paint.

I am continually inspired to portray the human figure through my painting. I want to show the inherent strength, beauty, and vulnerability in a way that's not necessarily sexual. I want the viewers of my art to feel the dignity and grace of the human form. If someone finds sexuality in my paintings, that is just as wonderful, but not my inspiration.

My cell phone buzzed. When I was done, I was scheduled for a meeting with the gallery owner. I couldn't help but think, cliché as it is, this could be my big break.

.

.***.***.***.

ADRIA gallery owner

.***.***.***.

.

I put the word out to my contacts that I was seeking a photographer that was edgy, over-the-top. They would most likely be overlooked by mainstream galleries. A week went by and nothing and I admit I was a bit nervous.

Nude Day was some time off, but it takes a while to prepare a gallery showing. Not to mention giving the artists time to create and prepare for the show.

Clay was around my age, thirty-five or so, and he was a good five inches taller than my five six. His intense dark brown eyes were perfect for his dark brown hair which had some streaks of grey. I was pretty sure he had a habit of running his fingers through his hair, I thought, smiling to myself. I loved the eccentric habits of artists and would often try to guess when I met them.

"I'm so glad you could make the trip down, Clay. Fortunate you're in southern Georgia."

"Thanks, yeah, it's not all that far. I admit I'm excited about showing my work."

He had brought six canvases and I was even more impressed once I saw them in person. The texture was so much more apparent and worked with the subject matter.

"I want to make this an experience for National Nude Day," I told him. "Something to rock this area, bring body image to the forefront, and show that erotic paintings are more than sex."

I pushed the copy that would be used for his images across the desk to him and said, "Subject to your approval."

​

In a world where body image and sexuality often become reduced to shallow representations, it is time to redefine the narrative and bring forth the beauty of erotic art. Beyond mere depictions of sex,

​​

these captivating paintings delve into the realms of desire, vulnerability, and the celebration of diverse human forms. Join us on a journey that aims to challenge preconceived notions, rock the foundations of conventionality, and explore the extraordinary depth and complexity of erotic art.

He read it and looked up at me, surprised. "Wow, this is wonderful. You don't even know me and know what I'm about."

"Your paintings told me," I said simply. "Now if I could just find a photographer to round out the show, I'd be delighted."

"Really? I taught art last summer. The students camped out and painted. That was all they did for five days. Immersive. There was a photographer there that specialized in nudes. He had quite a local following, but his real love was nudes bordering on pornography, as he put it. He showed me some of that work and it was. No mainstream gallery would take those photographs on."

"He sounds perfect!" I said excitedly. "Do you have his contact information?"

"I do, but it's at home. I can give it to you as soon as I go back."

"Great, thanks!"

We went over all the details and walked around the gallery. He was very creative and offered some good ideas.

"Say, did you ever think to have the artists here working? I'd be painting and if you had a photographer, he could be set up too. Just a thought."

"Hmm, no I hadn't thought of that," I admitted, although immediately liking the idea.

"Since it will be on Nude Day, the artists and patrons should be nude as well?"

I tapped my freshly manicured fingernails on my desk. "I'd say that would rock this town and I like it!" I grinned. "Let me consider some of the logistics for it and we can do some brainstorming?"

"Absolutely! I'm going to go check out this town. It's quite artsy I see. You want me back here tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," I said. "By then I should have some things worked out and we can make some plans."

.

.***.***.***.

CLAY the artist

.***.***.***.

.

Adria was a knockout. I didn't know if I wanted to paint her or ask her out, or both.

I walked down Palm Avenue, which was lined with galleries on both sides, with a few high-end boutiques interspersed. I understood why she wanted to get an edge considering the competition. Turning onto Main Street, I couldn't believe how bustling the town was.

An outdoor table opened and I grabbed it. I ordered a beer and burger to people-watch, but my thoughts kept going back to Adria.

I got the impression she didn't have a clue as to how attractive she was. She had the air of sophistication that she needed for this city. The impeccable choice of dress, shoes, and jewelry, and the stunning coppery red hair and hazel eyes.

I would love to paint her, I thought, and wondered what my chances would be. She had curves in all the right places, which was my style. I was never into women that were too thin.

I slugged down the rest of my beer, paid the bill, and continued walking and learning the town.

.

.***.***.***.

ADRIA gallery owner

.***.***.***.

.

"Maya, can you come in here for a few?"

The gallery had been busy today and this was the first time we were empty.

She plopped into the chair. "Phew, we did very well today!"

"Great! You know Clay was here, right?" She nodded. "He knows a photographer that might be just the one we need." She perked up.

"That is good news!"

"He suggested we have working artists on Nude Day. He thinks he should paint a nude while he was nude." I waited to see how receptive she'd be.

She blinked and didn't say anything for a while.

"That is an interesting concept," she said, thinking. "We could do it. What if we had paintings covering the windows so the people would have to come in and not be peering in the window? I think it would be classier."

Whoa, Maya quickly warmed to the idea.

"Great idea! I agree, we need to make them come in, so it doesn't turn into a peep show. We'll work on the logistics of where in the gallery. I just hope we find a photographer that's what we need that will also want to shoot nudes while he or she was nude."

Maya nodded solemnly. "That's not asking for much. I think we can swing it."

We both laughed.

.

.***.***.***.

CLAY the artist

.***.***.***.

.

I knew she was anxious to get the info on that photographer, so I called my sister to get his name and phone number out of the book on my desk.

The next day I went to the gallery and put the paper on her desk.

She shook her fists on each side and squealed, "Eeeeeeeee," then stopped, cringed, and looked out into the gallery.

"Your last customer just left with a wrapped painting," I laughed.

"Phew," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "Thank you so much. I'm still looking at portfolios daily and not finding anything. I don't want to get another painter, but I'm afraid I'll have to if I don't find someone soon." She waved the paper between her brightly painted pointed nails. "And this might be my last chance.

"Do you have a few minutes? I'd like to talk to you about something.