After a long week in the office, Oliver pushed his way onto the Friday afternoon busy subway. Even though the weather was warm, he just wasn't in the mood to do the usual Brooklyn Bridge walk all the way home to his brownstone. While riding, Oliver was reflecting back on the hard week, actually the hard month. Even though he is a six figure employee, he feels he is too devoted to his job because he never gets out to do anything fun. He thinks all he needs is some excitement in his life. After getting off the train and still having to walk 3 blocks, he arrived at his front door. Going through his normal routine, he used his left hand to reach into the mailbox and his right hand to insert the key into the deadbolt. Oliver walked into his home, flipping through bill after bill, as Beamer, Olivier's cat, purred around his ankles, there was an unusual chocolate brown envelope with beautiful penmanship in gold ink mixed into the mail. Suddenly, the bills had no interest to Oliver as they landed on the foyer table next to teal-green vase. He opened up the pretty little envelope. It was an invitation! An art opening, tonight! Tonight? Being that he just received it,"it must have been lost in the mail" Oliver said to himself. It was at that point he noticed, it was addressed to his neighbor, Lucas. Disappointed, he stood up to take the letter over to him, as Beamer hopped off his lap and onto the coffee table, Oliver thought for a second... I can't stand Lucas. He's an asshole! He and his gay friends are all assholes. Why should I give him my invitation? It came to my address anyway. He set the invite down and went into the kitchen to open his Friday night bottle of Pinot. Looking back across the room at the opened invitation laying on the coffee table, he kept contemplating. A rough week and no excitement in his life, he put down the cork opener and headed upstairs to start getting ready. He's going to live a little! He was going to the art opening!
Around 8:12pm, the cab driver dropped Oliver off in front of the building where the gallery is located in TriBecA. He was so thrilled to be there. Walking in, he was passively greeted by a snooty lady with black hair chopped into a bob cut, wearing a tight maroon dress, small framed glasses, and an obnoxious black mood ring . He handed her the opened invite and started his walk-through. Admiring the art, as well as the people, Oli downed 3 glasses of the complimentary red wine while snacking on h'oderves. Around 8:50pm, sipping on the 5th glass, he looked up & spotted a painting he was almost sure wasn't there before. How on earth did I miss this intriguing and wondrous piece? he asked himself ...as he gazed intensely at this work of art. He tried to swallow but his throat seemed as though it was plugged with a gigantic candy jawbreaker. Even with a glass of wine in his hand, his tongue was dry. The painting was of a woman. A curvy sun kissed-skin woman looking over her shoulder from the back. She had very short blondish hair, and a luscious bare ass. Oli moved in closer so he could study every brush stroke of this stunning painting. Mesmerized by what he was staring at, he was following her from the tip of her head, down her spine, past her calves, to the bottom of her feet. The jazzy lounge music that played in the studio background to create ambiance was silenced to Oli's ears because there was a feeling about this artwork hanging on the wall. It's as if she were looking over her shoulder directly at him. Still holding his glass of wine, his empty left hand slowly and naturally started reaching up to touch the painting...the same hand that, just 4 hours prior, pulled the mistaken invitation out of the mailbox. Right as his index finger and middle finger was about to lightly touch her smooth neck, a familiar yet unwanted voice said "Excuse me." Oliver yanked his hand away and almost spilled his wine on the shellacked concrete floor. When he turned to look, it was the bitchy greeter of the art gallery. "Please don't touch the work;" she said. Oli stepped back and just nervously nodded his head. As the greeter turned away to talk to another guest, Oliver's eyes fixated themselves back to the painting. The gallery spotlights lit her up like a stage play. Still having that feeling as before, he eased down to the small creamy colored card attached to wall next to the painting. It was there that he saw the name of the piece as well as the price. It read "LJM, $3200." Oliver finally blinked, twice...then three more times... Then backed away. He gave her one last look before turning and walking away. He tried to walk fast because she was still looking over her shoulder at him. He bumped into a couple of thritysomethings discussing the polarities of a sculpture. "So very sorry." He mumbled.
Oliver abruptly walked out of the gallery. Fresh air smacked him in his clammy face. Frazzled in a cold sweat, he just stood there. He took deep breaths. He started to look back again, but could only turn his head half way around. He continued to breath hard while thinking to himself "what is your problem Oli! Get a grip on yourself. It's a fucking picture!" But his curiosity controlled his body... as well as his desires. Before he knew it, he was hailing a cab ride home, $3200 spent with the "LJM" masterpiece wrapped in brown paper locked tightly in his hands. The entire ride home, he couldn't think of nothing but the painting in the taxi trunk. He wanted to get home as fast as he could. Friday night traffic in NYC can be nightmare...and it was. Oliver would not sit still in the car. He moved from side to side. The cabby watched Oli in the rear-view very concerned but said nothing because he was used to Friday night fares acting this way. When they arrived at the drop-off back in Brooklyn, the cab driver was surprised that he got such a large tip...but it was because Oliver just tossed him a hand full of cash since he just wanted out and wanted his painting from the trunk and into his place as fast as possible. He jammed the key into the deadbolt, pushed the door open, letting it slam behind him leaving the keys dangling in the door. He jotted upstairs and propped the wrapped work of art up against the front of his bed. Pacing back and forth in front of it, he couldn't understand what the obsession was that drew him to this point. Then he stopped the walking. He stopped the heavy breathing. He stopped everything. Just paused in place. It was a that moment that he moved towards her. Easing his semi-shaky hands towards the paper that was still covering her like clothing. His hands froze and he bowed his head for about 6 seconds...then a rush of power consumed him! He began shredding the paper off of the painting so he could see her fleshy skin once again. Torn pieces of paper fell to the floor. Tape that held that same paper on was still hanging on to some split pieces. He was moving so fast to undress her! Then, there she was, looking directly over her shoulder at Oliver's pants that were easing down past his knees. His underwear stretched around his thighs. His black shirt partially unbuttoned. The beads of sweat laid across his forehead. His stiff hard dick in his masculine hand while his other hand was smoothly rubbing his balls. Standing right in front of her. He stroked himself as she kept watching him, over her shoulder. She was everything he craved. Nothing else mattered at that moment but the two of them. He moved in even closer to her. His cock going through his palm faster and faster. Squeezing tighter and tighter. They were face to face alone in his room. His dick got so close to her ass. He looked into her eyes as she stared deeply into his. Then, there it was...the pint-up explosion of hot thick milky cum was all over her lower back. So of the paint ran down with his load, but he didn't care. A feeling he desperately longed for. A feeling like no other he had ever had with any other woman. Oliver dropped to his knees. It felt so wonderful that his eyes whaled up with tears. He layed down in front of her, still holding his crotch with sticky hands, and crying for 15 minutes before falling asleep.
The next morning, the sound of the doorbell woke Oli up ...his eyes popped open and he realized he slept all night on the floor in front of the painting. The bell continued to ring and ring. He got up off of the floor and pulled his pants mostly up. He walked at a stumbling pace down the stairs to answer the door. As the bell rang again, he jerked the door open. There stood his neighbor, Lucas. Oli thought for a whole second that maybe his neighbor knew he used his invitation. Yet, after what he felt last night, he really didn't care. Oliver, obviously annoyed and hung over from too much wine spouted off “WHAT! What the hell do you want!” Lucas held up Oliver's keys that were left in the door. These were left in your door last night. I got them for you to be on the safe side. Lucas said. Oliver snatched the keys and grunted a thank you as he quickly and rudely shut the door. He threw the keys down on the foyer table next to teal-green vase and bills from the day before. As he walked towards the kitchen to get some cold water as well as start up some espresso, Beamer was standing on the coffee table and meowed at him for some attention. Oli stopped and patted him on the head. Beamer hopped off the table where the brown envelope still layed. At that instance, Oli's eyes ran across the gold writing with thoughts that flashed through his mind of the hard work week, the subway ride, the opening of the invite, the wine, the lady with the bob haircut, and the $3200 LJM painting that he shot his long overdue load on. The envelope addressed to his neighbor was titled “Subject: Lucas Johnathon Miles.” Immediately, Oli charged back up the stairs and into his room. He walked right up to the painting and looked at her looking back at him. At that very second, he discovered why he hated his neighbor so much... Lucas was looking over his shoulder, and Oliver loved it.