The pretty student with the short purple bob was struggling with the large glass entrance door of the gallery. She was carrying an untidy bundle which was clearly a number of canvases held together with bubble wrap, and Mr Neville Richmond, the owner of the gallery, noted that his balls were giving a little twitch.
He grinned to himself, leaned back in the executive leather chair behind his desk and folded his hands behind his head.
The little student was wearing an impossibly short zebra print skirt, black tights and calf length black fashion boots with high platform heels. This did not help her with balance, and as the whole parcel of paintings threatened to slip from her grasp completely, Mr Richmond could enjoy a good view of her very round breasts falling forward and without hindrance in her sleeveless tank top.
He sat up a little straighter, ran his tongue over his lower teeth and stood up just in time as the flustered, flushed girl teetered towards his desk.
Mr Richmond was an older gentleman, a little on the portly side, wearing an unremarkable grey suit, white shirt and charcoal tie, with tousled grey hair that was receding slightly at the front, giving him a high forehead and the air of a scientist or a lecturer, the kind of man who might say, you can get undressed over there, pointing to a silk screen and it would seem normal, acceptable.
Now, he was struggling to control his grin as the petite student finally managed to pile her paintings on the corner of the great light wood desk which sat at the entrance of the Richmond Gallery.
It was a bright early morning, a Wednesday, just after opening; Mr Richmond's assistant had not yet arrived.
The flustered girl finally looked up at the older man, swallowed, licked her pretty bright pink lips with the tip of a pierced tongue and said, "Ahm, who I could I speak to about ... ahm ... possibly ..."
Mr Richmond smiled fatherly and held out his hand. She took it. Her hand was very cool and small, slim in his.
"You can speak to me. I'm Neville Richmond, the owner."
"Oh," she said, producing a perfectly round little mouth and Mr Richmond's balls gave another twist.
He could see an opportunity when an opportunity itself. Or rather, he thought to himself, I can feel it. I can feel it so very perfectly ...
He cleared his throat to mask a chuckle.
"I take it you have brought some examples of your work with a view to displaying them here?" he asked the girl who nodded immediately and started stroking the bubble wrap covered tower of Pisa with a small, thin hand, covered in silver fashion rings and many bangles.
"Alright," he said, "Let me lock up and we'll take them in the back so you can show them to me."
He went to the door, flicked the latch and walked past the girl, towards the end of the shop without looking back.
She picked up her stack of canvases in a hurry and clip clopped after him.
The Richmond Gallery was a large rectangular building that sat right on the beach front in a premier position; as the girl followed Neville Richmond, her eyes flashed from left to right, taking in the paintings on the white walls and the objects on the tall white square plinths. If only .... She gathered her canvases closer to her and crossed her fingers. Please, please, please ... she thought.
Richmond led the way into the very back of the gallery, where a large empty work room awaited. There was a run of trestle tables at one end and various x-frames and lighting rigs leaning against the walls, numerous types of partitions and more plinths.
"You can put them on here," Richmond said, pointing at the run of trestle tables.
The girl nodded and set to work immediately, taking the first canvas from the stack and beginning to undo the sellotaped ends.
Richmond stood back and looked at her lovely little arse; the super short skirt left very little to his imagination.
There really was no need to go very much further.
Finally, the girl with the purple hair was pulling the canvas from the wrapping.
Neville put his head to the side and looked at it.
It was actually quite interesting; an abstract in black and white, with a big red swirl in the middle. He liked it and knew he could sell it to trendy gays who were always looking for more interior decoration, easy.
The girl, whose head barely reached to his nipples, looked up at him. She was holding her breath, her bejewelled fingers twisting nervously and her eyes were big and wide. Richmond's balls were hot now, as were his hands.
