“Let’s fuck.” I suggested.
“What?” Carey replied…
Chapter One: Stendhal Syndrome
Now that Carey Rose—the guy that got away ten years ago—was in my presence, I wasn’t beating around the bush.
We’d been standing before Sir Francis Dicksee’s, “Romeo and Juliet” at the Getty Museum. Its romantic realism was like a sublime black hole, sucking my consciousness into Juliet.
My mind turned the painting’s location into the balcony of my senior college dorm room from ten years ago, and Romeo became Carey Rose, the hot guy living across the hall.
After flirting with him all semester long, he finally succumbed to my feminine charms and we had a date at my place on our last night in the dorms. We talked, drank vodka blush, and he confessed that he liked me too, but was painfully shy and afraid he’d screw things up. His honesty and vulnerability really turned me on.
Things were getting hot and heavy, then he got an emergency call and had to split. As he stepped over the railing to get to his car I felt the opportunity of a lifetime slipping away. I pulled him in by the nape of his neck, placed my lips on his, and we fell into such a serendipitous abyss, I nearly fainted.
Sensing someone staring at me, I opened my eyes and saw two people in a museum gazing at us. Quizzically, those people were us, but judging from Carey’s manicured salt and pepper beard, we’d aged about ten years. He stood behind me, and they—I mean, we—studied us so unashamedly, it was as if they were caught up in watching a painting…
Wait a minute, it was happening again. I’d fallen into Dicksee’s piece.
Oh my god.
It was Carey! And he was behind me, so he didn’t know it was me. His eyes broke contact with us in the painting and began looking around at other works. He was probably about to leave. I couldn’t let him get away twice. I had to stop him. Annie… Annie… Snap out of it!
With a jolt, I was back in my body.
“What’d you see?” I asked without turning around. “Are—” He bent forward, trying to see my face, but I turned away and said, “Yes, Carey. I’m talking to you. What’d you see when you look at the painting?” “How do you know me?” “It doesn’t matter how I know. What’d you see?” “I see an opportunity missed. Seriously, who are y—” I turned around and Carey turned pale. “Annie?” He asked.
Like two rare earth magnets, we gravitated toward each other and embraced. Memories flooded my mind: that he was tall enough that I could nestle my nose in his neck, but not so tall that I couldn’t feel his belly rise and fall with mine, that I loved his mixture of slightly more perspiration than musk cologne, that he knew exactly how much pressure to squeeze me with.
Every time I exhaled, he squeezed harder until I became lightheaded and my knees weakened.
“I’ve missed you.” I whispered. “I missed you too.” He replied.
From his inner jacket pocket, Carey pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the tear from my cheek.
Chapter Two: In The Closet
“You look gorgeous. Haven’t aged a day.” Cary said. “You’re even more dashing than I remember you.” I replied. “Thanks… Let’s exchange—” “Let’s Fuck.” I intercepted his sentence. “What?” “I get on a plane in 9 hours. Let’s just handle unfinished business.” “Here? Now?” He asked. I led him toward an ajar door. “Why not? The janitor just left this closet. I bet we could do a quickie before he returns.” “If you’re comfortable with it, sure!” We entered the closet and closed the door.
Zero visibility forced us to read each other like brail. Though we kept bumping into gross mops and trash cans, I dug the dirtiness. I wore a thin dress, which clung, to my body in the stifling humid air. My back faced him and he pulled me close. Heat from his hands enveloped my tits.
After I whipped my hair to the side so he could smell my pomegranate perfume, his gentlemanly veneer degenerated into animal instinct. I soaked my panties as he squeezed and twisted my nipples then ripped open my dress exposing my bare breasts and belly slick with sweat. Tearing my dress even further, releasing the heat from my hottest spot, he clawed my panties from my body and his fingers thrust into my wet pussy. His rod bulged between my ass cheeks and I rammed myself into it.
The man-beast bunched my dress up above my ass, I reach between my legs and felt his stiff cock throbbing against my juicy outer lips. I gave it a gentle upward nudge and he glided blissfully inside, like Leviathan through the deep.
Feeling him from the inside, his flesh slapping against mine, his ball sac thudding my clit, and the feeling that we could be discovered at any moment was enough to escort me to boundless pleasure.
We became an entity of darkness.
“Annie, can you hear me?” Said a familiar voice. “Maestro? Yes, I hear you but I can’t see or feel anything. What’s going—” “She’s still unconscious.” Maestro said to someone. I panicked, “No! wait! I hear you—” “You’ve outdone yourself with this Annie model. Especially the upgraded emotion chip. She was moved to tears by a painting. Exceptional creation, Maestro.” Said Carey Rose. “Perhaps too exceptional.” Maestro was saying, “The emotion chip is incinerated. Probably precipitated her short circuit.” My feelings were returning.
Were those plugs in my skull?
Wait. Was I not a real person?”
By Alice LaVey