John's art was compelling and whenever I visited his gallery I'd lose myself for hours, often sitting before a painting enraptured in its sheer beauty. The images went beyond erotic, transcended beauty, almost touching on divine. As blasphemous as it may sound, each and every image John revealed in his paintings was a religious experience.
As I wandered through the gallery I could watch as the most tender parts of a woman would flower in an amazing progression of images. I could savor the classic innocence of the tight slit nestled between wavy curls of hair, with only the slightest hint of the clit bulging at the top.
Wandering a few steps further, I could witness the emergence of longing with the curving pink lips opening to the light. The delicacy of flesh, the light, flowing curves turning outward, then suddenly inward could jumble the senses of any art lover viewing the work.
The next image might show the first hints of feminine moisture, the faint glistening as longing became desire. In the image the clit would begin to protrude, exposing its smooth tip to the possibility of touch. I could only ask myself, "Will it be a fingertip, a tongue or something more?"
After observing most of John's display, I stumbled across one set of paintings that simply took my breath away. The images were simply so stunningly exquisite, exotic and erotic that I felt a tingling completely through my body. Only when I spent nearly half the day studying the seemingly infinite appeal of what had to be the most beautiful pussy in the known world, I simply had to ask about it.
"John," I said, feeling dizzy from the exertion it took to draw me away from the voluptuous vulva, "I know you told me never to ask who posed for the individual paintings, but those in side gallery B are simply too incredible. I just have to know."
"You know Jerry," he replied, "that group of paintings have always been my favorite."
"I have to know, John," I pleaded.
John ran his hand through the thin wisps of hair on the top of his head. He then squinted and looked from side to side. Looking back at me, he stared deeply into my eyes and said, "You must promise to never tell anyone what I am about to tell you."
I nodded my head.
"Seriously Jerry, promise you will tell no one."
"I promise never to tell anyone for as long as I live."
"Okay then," he replied. He then leaned to me and whispered the name of the woman who posed for the paintings, the paintings of the most beautiful pussy I could ever hope to see.
After hearing the name I was stunned, mumbling, "I would have never guessed." I had seen her on TV and in the tabloids as she fought her way through the paparazzi, fans and admirers. I absent-mindedly thanked John, wandered out of the gallery and stumbled to my car.
I am not proud of what followed in my life, but the information I had and what I had seen at the gallery were all simply too much for my mind to handle. Looking back on it all I guess it got pretty obvious as my face suddenly began showing up in all the photographs of the woman who posed for those incredible paintings. Whenever a newspaper, tabloid or celebrity gossip magazine carried a picture of her, I was there clamoring with all her fans, trying to get close to her.
For a while my friends got a kick out of spotting me at all these events, the TV blurbs and everywhere else the woman appeared, but it wasn't too long before they started calling me, telling me I needed to back off. In several of her appearances, the security guards recognized me and dragged me away.
Shortly after that I finally snapped and found myself jumping over the barricades and rushing up to her. I clasped her hands gently and exclaimed, "You have the most beautiful pussy I have ever seen!"
I was ecstatic for the half second before she pulled her hand away and swung it at me to slap me. Before her tender fingers touched my face I felt a sharp pain in my chest as one of her bodyguards slammed me with his shoulder, knocking me to the ground. He stepped on me, pulling the woman behind him, trying to rush her to safety.
Before I felt myself trampled beneath her entourage I looked upward as she stepped over me and in the bright sunlight transfusing though her light dress I could see she wasn't wearing any panties. There above me, illuminated in the diffuse sunlight, I saw her legs open up as she made a long step over my body and watched as that beautiful pussy blossomed only for me. I tried to reach up and touch it, but she was whisked quickly away and loaded into a limousine.
After experiencing that nirvana I felt pain all over my body as I was trampled by a number of people. Somewhere along the line I must have passed out because the next thing I remember was finding myself leaning against a wall. There was a large, sticky, damp spot in my pants and I could feel the spittle running down my chin as I just kept repeating, "So beautiful, so beautiful."