by Penny Ward
“Right,” I smile. “He didn’t tell me anything that we didn’t already know. I think he liked me calling him by his alias ‘Mr. White.’ And we didn’t spend much time talking at all really. When I arrived at the hotel, we shared one glass of wine and after that…”
“More please…”
“Under that beautifully fitted Italian suit was the most perfect body I have ever seen. Oh, those abs. He had abs, Marissa! Like real abs. I couldn’t stop touching them. My hand just kept running over the top of them.”
“Oh yum.”
“Hmmm…” my mind drifts back to the night before. “And his arms… and chest… oh, Marissa. He was like a model. He couldn’t have been any better. Just perfect.”
“And the other part of his anatomy?”
“His legs were amazing.”
“Not his legs!” Marissa laughs. “The thing that dangles between his legs?”
“Oh! Well, it wasn’t dangling, it was standing upright!” I join in Marissa’s laughter.
“The size?”
“Massive… the biggest I have ever seen. Thick… hard… long…” my mind wanders back to Mr. White’s perfect cock. “I have never felt so full.”
“No wonder you can’t stop smiling!” she laughs again.
What a night.
It couldn’t have been more perfect.
“And did you stay the night?”
“No, I left not long after our little… interaction,” I laugh.
I don’t know how else to explain it.
“After he fell to sleep?”
“I snuck out after he dozed off,” I giggle. “But I waited a while first. It was so nice snuggling up to someone after the wild session. It just… it felt nice.”
“Wow, lucky you,” Marissa is genuinely happy for me. “And what does Mr. White do for a living?”
“I don’t know. I think he must be in finance. He had that look about him. He was quite arrogant and very confident, so I would suggest that he works in Wall St or something like that. But he was definitely a businessman. I could imagine all the pressure of making money was pent up inside him and he just needed to release…”
I can’t stop smiling. I feel amazing after the highs of last night. The one night with the mysterious Mr. White has filled me with confidence. He has made me confident about my body and confident that I am a woman.
“So will you date him?”
“Date him? No, I don’t think so. As amazing as he was, it felt like he was wearing a mask. It felt like he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t. I couldn’t date a guy like that.”
“So when is the next time for some hard loving?” Marissa asks.
“Nothing else,” I sigh with a grin. “I gave him guidelines at the start of the night and one of those rules was no interaction after our one night together. So next time we have an opening night, you’ll have to deal with him.”
“With pleasure,” Marissa grins. “But we’ll have to start picking out your next one night stand. I have never seen you so happy.”
“No thanks, I am still sore from last night.”
“He was that big?” Marissa laughs.
I nod and smile.
Mr. White isn’t my type, which will make it easier for me to forget him. I couldn’t date someone whose only goal in life is to make money. Life is about more than that.
It is about being creative and pushing boundaries. It is about exploring the deep, dark sections of your mind through art.
It is about being free.
And Mr. White is none of those.
I hope that I never forget him altogether, but he is now part of my past.
A memory of the night I found my self-confidence…
9
I thought my day couldn’t get any better.
Riding high on the buzz of multiple orgasms from the night before, I drift around the gallery completing my jobs for the day. When I turn on my computer after a few clients have been and gone, I realize that my day is about to get a whole lot better…
“Marissa. Marissa,” I call out even though my vision hasn’t moved from the computer screen. “I have a response!”
“A response about what?” Marissa pops her head into the office.
“Joel Mitchell Greene.”
“What?” Marissa moves quickly behind me. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Well, open it then!”
“I just wanted to wait until you arrived.”
“I’m here now so open the damn thing!”
Slowly my hand moves over the mouse until it clicks on the email from the mysterious artist:
Hello Amber,
I thank you for your offer to keep my identity private. As you can imagine, this is very important to me. If people find out who I am, my freedom of expression will disappear. I do not want that to happen.
I want to be able to express myself freely. I want to be able to explore my deepest desires, emotions and faults without fear.
Before we go any further with a commitment, I would like to know more about you.
Regards,
Joel Mitchell Greene
My heart melts.
This man sounds perfect.
‘I want to be able to express myself freely. I want to be able to explore my deepest desires, emotions and faults without fear.’
I read that line over and over again.
It is everything that I want in a man - the ability to understand his emotions and to be able to express them without restraint. I love that.
“Wow…” Marissa says over my shoulder.
“He sounds perfect…” I whisper.
“Perfect?” Marissa questions.
“He sounds exactly like the man I want to date. Imagine meeting a man that feels free in expressing his deepest emotions. I could imagine us in his studio, hiding away from the world, spending long nights exploring things that I never even knew where real.”
“You know, he could be trying to hide from the world because he is hideously ugly.”
“I don’t care. That wouldn’t worry me at all. He could be the world’s ugliest man, but I would still want to know him. I want to know the man, not the body. I want to know this man’s deepest thoughts – not how well he is hung.”
“I’m sure that he’s not ugly, though. But for me, perfect would be the man you slept with last night, if he was ten years older. That is my idea of a perfect night.”
My mind jumps back to Mr. White.
Yes, he was amazing. Yes, it was the best sex I will probably ever experience. Yes, it was unforgettable.
But he was just a man…
Joel Mitchell Greene is everything I ever dreamed of.
An artist.
“So what are you going to write back?” Marissa questions.
“He says that he wants to know something about me? What could I possibly tell the world’s greatest contemporary artist? What could I have that would impress him?”
“Oh girl, your personality could impress anyone. Just write what you think sounds good. He wants to know something about the one person in the world that has tracked him down. You should tell him something.”
Marissa and I spend the next twenty minutes discussing the best ideas to put into the email, until we finally hit send:
Hello
Thank you for the quick response to the email. It is much appreciated.
As you can imagine, I am very excited about this email. I love your work. I have been to see all your recent shows and each time I am blown away by your artwork. I can feel the emotion jumping out of the paintings and sculptures. I am truly in love with your ability to show the world your deepest feelings.
I will protect your anonymity. I am not interested in exposing you. I would hate to see your work lost to the world.
About me: I am an assistant at the Nelson Gallery and I absolutely love my job. I am able to interact with artists, collectors and the general viewing public
and talk about the artworks. I feel truly blessed to be able to work here.
I am generally quite shy and would prefer a night in with a good book than a crazy dance party. I love to read and hours can disappear within a good book. I love good coffee, good wine and good company.
I would love to meet you one day soon.
Kind Regards,
Amber Spencer
Nelson Gallery
10
It has been two weeks now since two exciting men entered my life.
I have not forgotten my night with Mr. White - how could I? - but Joel Mitchell Greene has been taking over my thoughts.
We have been exchanging emails on a daily basis and have become quite friendly. He has told me how his love of art was born out of deep sorrow. He lost his younger sister to cancer when she was only ten and he was fifteen. That experience had a profound effect on his future path. He found that his art was the only way to express the anger, guilt, fear and heartbreak that he felt about that moment.
After the death of his sister, he threw himself into the artwork. He would shut himself off from the world for days and just paint, or create, or destroy. He would try and express himself anyway possible. Luckily, a friend found his artwork and thought it was amazing.
Without his knowledge, his friend gave the artwork to a gallery and everyone fell in love with his work. Although he was reluctant with the praise, he continued to create the artworks as an honor to his sister.
He said that he never wants to be identified for the work because he feels it might dishonor his sister’s memory. He only became an artist because of her passing, so he feels that he should keep it a secret. In reply, I told Joel about my life journey. About my lonely childhood in a small country town, about my very bad college experiences, and about my big move to New York City. I have told Joel more about myself than I have ever told any man.
And I feel like I know him better than I have ever known anyone. I feel like we have a connection. I have always thought that I would marry a man that was an artist, and I feel like Joel is my perfect man. I offered to meet for a coffee but he avoided answering that question. Maybe Marissa was right? Maybe he is the world’s ugliest man? But that doesn’t worry me. I like him for who he is.
“He’s here,” Marissa distracts me from my thoughts.
“Who?” I ask in hope.
Maybe Joel decided to come to the gallery opening?
“Mr. White.”
Oh. Of course, he comes to every gallery opening. I feel my heart sink a little that it is not Joel, but then I catch a glimpse of Mr. White walking about the room.
My mind dances back to our night together. It was the most amazing night of my life. Nothing I have ever done has ever come close to that moment. Only now can I really understand what I have read in erotica books about uncontrollable passion. I never really understood that level of lust before. After that one night, I also realize how bad Richard was. He was a selfish lover that was lazy in bed. I experienced more orgasms in one night with Mr. White than I ever did with Richard. I close my eyes and instantly my thoughts are filled with Mr. White - that smile, those eyes, and that body.
Yum… It was the most amazing body I have ever laid hands on. Perfect in every way. Oh, those abs…
“Are you still thinking about that night with Mr. Perfect?” Marissa whispers as she walks past me.
“Was it that obvious?”
“Oh yes. You’re standing still, gazing off into the distance. That could only mean one thing,” she smiles.
“How do I forget him?”
“Do you want to forget him?”
“No…”
“Enjoy it, Amber. That amount of lust and passion doesn’t happen very often in life. You have been very lucky to spend it with such a tasty man. You will forget about him eventually, but you should enjoy this moment.”
I sigh as I stare off into the distance.
“But be careful,” Marissa says.
“Why?” I ask.
“Don’t confuse lust with love. They are two completely different emotions. Lust is what you feel with Mr. White. Love is another thing all together. Lust is fun but love is much more powerful. Never sacrifice love for lust.”
“What if he asks me again? Should I spend another night with him?”
“Absolutely. Why not? You’re still young, you need to create the memories that will last a lifetime. Just don’t fall in love with him.”
I sigh again as I gaze at nothing in particular and Marissa leaves my side to go and discuss the new exhibition we have in the gallery with some of our other clients. As I start to look at one of the paintings, I feel a large presence behind me. I don’t want to look. I want it to be him. I want it to be Mr. White. No. I don’t. Do I? The presence behind me doesn’t move. I can’t help but turn around.
Damn…
It is Mr. White. My heart skips a beat and my whole body melts. He stands in front of me, confident and so very, very handsome. Those eyes are so seductive. I am lost.
What do I say to him after our last encounter? Mr. White smiles with confidence, nods, and pulls a white business card from his pocket.
Without a word, he holds it out for me to take. When I take the card, he turns and leaves the gallery. I stand still for at least a minute - too nervous to look at the card. What could it say?
Turning over the card, I almost fall to the floor.
‘Same hotel. Same room. Tomorrow night. Nine o’clock.’
Oh my.
11
My hand shakes nervously as it knocks against the door of the penthouse.
This time, Mr. White is quick to answer.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry,” I reply meekly.
I’m only late because I couldn’t figure out what to wear. Mr. White has already seen the only outfit in my cupboard that could be considered sexy. I had to run to the nearest clothes store and grab the sexiest, but affordable, outfit I could find.
That was a task that took a lot of time. When you have to meet up with the sexiest man you’ve ever seen, it can be hard to find the right clothes. Not that it really matters anyway, I am sure that the clothes will be on the floor within no time. It took me a long time to convince myself to come here tonight. I wasn’t sure whether I could handle another wild night with this man. I wasn’t sure if it would be as good.
But then I remembered his naked body. His hot, sexy, smooth naked body.
Damn.
No woman would be able to say no to that. Even if I decided not to come here, an inner desire for that body would have taken over. I have a deep urge for this man to be inside me.
I want it. I need it.
I thought about Joel and how much I desire his mind. I want to know everything about that man and his inner most thoughts. But with Mr. White, it is just sex.
Passionate, lustful, heart-pounding sex.
“Why were you so sure that I would even come tonight?” I ask as I walk into the penthouse suite.
“Because nobody says no to me.”
He is so confident. So strong and dominant. I gaze into his eyes and they are deep and endless. His handsome features would not look out of place on the cover of a fashion magazine and his toned body would not look out of place on a football field. He is wearing a different suit tonight. This one is light gray, beautifully fitted and immaculate… yum. Mr. White pours two glasses of wine and hands one to me. Nervously, I thank him and take a sip.
“Wow… this is delicious,” I say.
“At one thousand dollars a bottle – it should be.”
I almost spit the wine back out. I could take this single glass to the bank and it would double the worth of my bank account. Some people spend too much money on little things. We stand in the lounge room of this magnificent hotel suite, not saying anything else to each other as we sip the wine. Usually, I am good at starting conversations but what do you say to a man who is about to fuck you senseless? The air in the hotel room is filled with
passion and electricity but Mr. White does not seem at all nervous. He walks to the large window and looks out to the city below.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I state. This one glass of wine has given me the confidence to demand something from him.
“I work hard and I play hard.”
“No,” I respond. “Tell me something real.”
“What would you like to know?”
I ponder the thought for a while; “Tell me about your childhood.”
“My childhood?”
“Yes. A childhood usually shapes a person’s life.”
“But we are not products of our past. The present is what matters most.”
He is elegant and confident when he talks. It makes my pussy tingle in anticipation.
“We make choices about our future, but childhood is the starting point. I always think that it is a good way to understand someone,” I explain.
He doesn’t answer but he continues to stare out the window to the lights below.
Eventually, he breaks the silence; “Our family suffered a terrible tragedy when I was in my teenage years. That tragedy changed the direction of my life.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
What a stupid thing for me to ask. I have just brought the tone of the night down to the saddest level.
Mr. White turns, nods, and then looks back out the window.
He continues to stare out the window with his back to me, slowly sipping at the wine. I don’t know what else to say.
Finally, he finishes his wine and pulls himself away from the window. I am too nervous to move.
Mr. White places his glass down and moves around the side of my body.
“I think it is time to stop talking,” he whispers slowly into my ear.
“And what are you going to do instead?”
“I’m going to fuck you.”
The softness of his tone sends shivers through my body.
