Alisa's Art Walk

The Wells House opening for its summer Gauguin exhibition glowed inside the shamble-stacked home. Outside, the temperature pushed higher even as the sun set behind the city, but each opening of the wide glass doors blew the chill air conditioned interior into the night, where it dissipated as the sounds from the party inside brushed against the apple trees in the front courtyard.

Inside the warmly lit museum, the young and the old rubbed elbows as they pushed past each other to see the traveling collection. The hot evening hung to the crowd, and only the edges of the mass were cool, while those nearest the paintings fanned themselves with museum guides and maps.

Alisa checked her handbag and pressed through the throng to the small bar at the back of the old dining room. Champagne with peach puree was the cocktail of the night, to celebrate the richness of Gauguin's oiled food. She carried her glass across the room and stood by one of the lesser works to gather her breath, and cool herself.

Around her, other young graduates pressed in and chattered about the work. A bowl of rice, half-eaten with mangos piled up alongside.

"It's his wife," the tallest boy said. He had on the light salmon trousers and pressed white shirt of an Oxford man, but his hair had the shag of youth. "She never wanted to finish anything, but she was full of richness."

"Tommy's had an art history class," the girl next to him, closest to Alisa, replied. Her shoulder length blonde hair fell from its perch on her ear as she turned to her small crowd. "He thinks that one semester of Art 101 has made him out to be a genius." She brushed the stray hair back into place and smoothed the front of her green sundress.

Alisa pulled at the tucked in sides of her white buttoned up blouse in response. Her orange skirt brushed against the tops of her knees, its pleats still pressed tight from the ironing she had performed earlier in the evening. She hadn't had a chance to wear the skirt in months, as she mourned the loss of her last relationship.

Edward - the cheat, the rat, the fire that drove her from January to July. She threw herself into the gym, hardly seeing the outside world but for the three blocks between her house and the treadmill. At first, she had loathed the trip. Each new entrance forcing a comparison between her lightly rounded, but not fat, form and the trim, toned girls from the neighborhood.

In the changing room, she hid herself behind the small gym-issued towels, while Jodis and Tiffanis wandered with heads high, their firmly supported nipples bouncing lightly with each step, tracing lines through the room like pink lightning bugs. But now she was beyond their reproach. Her time had paid off, and she was ready for a reintroduction to the world. Her stomach pulled back slightly, and her skirts hung well in the back.

Alisa refocused on the work in front of her and steeled herself for the show, as she thought of it. Stand tall, walk proud and be ready to engage at any point. There is no man here who wouldn't be lucky to have you. She tipped back her drink, and the pulpy peach innards slipped over her tongue. She grabbed another and pressed into the swirling mass.

An hour later, she was in the middle of the growing crush of art viewers, four drinks down but completely lost for companionship. The younger boys all brought dates, while the older men were all slumping toward retirement. With only an hour left in the show, she gave up on the prowl and decided to focus on people watching and the art she had ostensibly come to see.

In front of her, a thin slice of pork rested on a white plate, the surface wet with its own juice. The scene was set in a summery backyard, somewhere in Europe or the Pacific. The small informational sign was crowded with other viewers and Alisa couldn't make it out.

The front line of visitors were students, by the look of them. Three young girls all in similar outfits. Shorts, tucked in shirts, and heels were the look of the season, with the waists of the short inching higher as the legs grew shorter. On the left, the shortest of the three leaned to get a glimpse the sign around an old Asian man in a suit.

Alisa put the drink to her lips but let it rest softly, guarding the fact that her eyes had drifted to the girl's soft curves. Her bending had pulled up the edge of her shorts ever so much, revealing the very bottom of her cheek, where it curved into her tanned thigh. The moment lasted only a heartbeat, and the girl was back upright, explaining the method of the paint's preparation to her friends. Alisa took the long waiting sip from her glass and moved on to the next painting, with a stop by the bar on the way.

A classic Gauguin scene. Tahitian girls in long floral dresses, sitting in a green countryside and looking out at the viewer. On the left, the girl's dress had slipped from her brown shoulder, exposing her breast. Alisa stared.

Around her, the crowd shifted and moved. Pressing and releasing as smaller groups moved in or moved on. She stood transfixed, as a group sidled behind her, talking about their recent trek across town to get to the show.

"I'm literally drenched in sweat," a girl said. "It's like they don't even try to cool those damn trains."

"Well grab a drink, honey," said her boyfriend. "We're here now, even if it's not much better."

"I think it might be worse," said another girl, almost in Alisa's ear. "There so many people here."

The girl moved shifted to look at the crowd and her bare calf brushed against Alisa's. "Sorry," the girl mumbled.

Alisa felt the slight damp of the girl's sweat left against her leg. Her heartbeat was picking up, and the drinks had given the whole museum a soft, gently drifting glow. She took another sip and turned sharply to move on. As she did, she found herself facing the young thing that had bumped her.

The back of the girl's yellow sundress was inches from her. Her light brown hair was up in a tight bun, but the heat of the outside was still too much for her. Beads of sweat hung to the small of her neck, and Alisa watched as one broke free of its hold and ran down her back.

She eyed the path to the next painting, a bowl of fruit she would skip. There were only two paintings left, and she needed to feel the open air outside before she lost herself. The final piece was just around the corner.

Even so, she moved as if to approach the fruit. She laid a hand gently on the girl's shoulder and slide past, making sure to push her breasts against the student's back. "Excuse me," she whispered as she moved.

Once out of the crowd, she took deep gulping breaths. Her legs were shaking from the adrenaline of her encounter, and she should feel her heat rising. The blouse hid a lace flecked bra, with the thinnest of cups, while under her skirt, a matching pair of panties slowly accumulated moisture. Some of the wetness she attributed to the heat of the crowd, but some was of her own doing.

She finished her last drink and dropped the glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Setting herself, and brushing her hands down the sides of her torso, she turned toward the finale. Around the corner, Alisa was met by a dense group of twenty-five gawkers, all staring at the painting and gabbing amongst themselves.

Alisa pushed deep into the crowd, until she was just two rows back from the masterpiece. Gauguin's view was of two women, bared breasted, staring down the painter. One held a plate of freshly picked fruit in front of her, with her soft breasts hanging over the edge of the platter.

Alisa's ears filled with the white noise of the crowd around her, and her hungry stare drifted in search of final satisfaction. The heat and the pressure of the place, combined with the rich oils and the smell of the crowd overpowered her.

She found her quarry in a tight standing circle near the edge of the row. A ripe college student in the same style of high waisted shorts from earlier in the evening. The dark blue fabric had word its way back and forth all night, and now the seam was pulled tightly between her cheeks, rubbing ever so slightly as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Alisa slide closer, taking care to keep a wall of viewers in front of her as she did so. Her shaking arms shifted in front of her, and she clasped them together in as calm a fashion as possible. Just another viewer, keeping her hands to herself, looking at the painting.

Her viewpoint put the girl's pert ass between Alisa and the painting, and after another look to ensure anonymity, she gave up on even pretending to look at the painting. The girl looked like the women from the gym, her legs flecked with sweat and shining in the bright indoor lights. Her white t-shirt was laid wet against her back, and she rubbed the wetness from the back of her neck as she spoke to her friends.

Alisa twisted and bent ever so slightly, as if trying to get a better view, until her two hands fell against the front of her skirt. The heat seeping out from between her legs pulsed against her palms. Ever so slowly, she pressed her fingers against the fabric.

Pulse, pulse, pulse she pressed. Her legs had thin rivers running down them, dripping over her ankles and into her sandals. She pressed firmly again, devouring the pink peach bottom of the young girl, her tongue running over the edges of her lips as she imaged the taste of the sweat in her mouth.

Her thin panties were wet through their lace, and her fingertips could feel the moisture seeping through the front of her skirt. Quietly, she worked her fingers back and forth over the top of her mound, working the pink button between her lips back and forth. She picked up and slowed down the pace as she went, rising and sinking to keep herself from crying out in the crowd.

The girl rubbed a hand over herself, sliding along the seam pressed into her. Alisa pulled up short to stop herself from going over the edge. The girl held the sides of her short and pushed the down slightly, then grasped the the base of the legs and gave the a quick tug to pull the back from between her cheeks. The little crowd moved off, and Alisa stood motionless in the crowd.

Her lips were soaked, and she could feel every small movement of the air against her legs and her wet sex. Quickly, she straightened, looked around to make sure she was still unnoticed and pushed out of the mob. She broke through the edge, panting and overheated and walked quickly to the end of the room.

The restrooms were down a short hall, and she made her way to the single stalled handicap entrance. The sound of a dying hand dryer met her as she approached the door and it opened as she reached for the handle. The girl in the blue shorts stood in front of her, smiling. She passed out next to Alisa and said, "All yours," as she passed. Alisa glance at her as she walked away, then quickly pushed inside the room.

She locked the door and leaned against it breathing hard. In a second, she spun on her heel and walked to the sink. She turned the faucet on full, listening to the white noise of the water as it drowned out her breathing.

Alisa pressed her fingers back into her crotch, rubbing gently again with the girl's smile in the front of her mind. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, pushing her fingers harder against her. She placed her palm against the top of her slit, as her fingers worked her opening through her wetness below.

In her mind, she buried her her face in the girl's taut pussy. She imagined the student pressed against the wall, her legs spread, ass pressed back into the air as Alisa knelt behind her. The sweetness of her juices running like nectar down Alisa's tongue, as she pried her cheeks apart. Alisa dug her fingers into the folds of her own skirt.

Her eyes popped open and she stared at herself in the mirror. Her breasts rose and fell with the weight of her breath and sweat ringed her neck like pearls. She stared into her own eyes, and paused in her manipulation.

She broke her own gaze and looked down at her skirt. It was rumpled and creased, the font patched with dark orange where it had been pressed almost inside her. She made up her mind in a flash and ripped the side zipper down, tugging the waist over her hips as she wiggled out of it. She threw the skirt on the hand dryer and grabbed the sides of her panties to drag them off, as well. She stopped with the waistband pulled down a half inch and turned sideways.

Her tummy was small and light in profile, and her ass bulged out in a soft arc. The soaked lace thong ran up through her ass, and she could see the wetness of her pussy on the inside of her thighs. She let go of the panties, and slowly, still staring at herself in the mirror, pulled the thong out from in between herself.

The only sound was the water rushing into the sink as she lifted her right knee up onto the edge of the porcelain. Her panties pressed into the softness of her thighs, as she arched her back and slid her hand down the front of them.

Wetness ran out of her lips and into her waiting fingers, as she pressed the heel of her hand against her clit. She resumed her pulsing, but this time kept her eyes locked on her own face in the mirror.

Her pace increased, and she pulsed the palm of her hand as her fingers worked back and forth in the folds of her pussy. The tips flitted into her opening, but she kept them resting outside as she worked. She gained speed, and her hip started to work in conjunction with her hand, pressing down with each push. Her muscles flexed in the mirror, and the sides of her panties pressed into her flesh.

She gained pace and suddenly switched hands, pulling her right hand away as the left dove in. The right she pulled to her lips, sucking on her fingers and rubbing the wet and heady juice over her chin. She licked her fingers again, slicking them with her mouth and then slowly, slide the hand back toward her ass.

She kept her eyes straight ahead and her left hand working furiously on her sex as the right trailed along her lower back and over the top of her displaced panties. She pressed her index finger down against her pink, puckered opening, applying a light pressure as she rode her left hand.

The girl came to her mind again, and she shoved her nose deep in the girl's ass, inhaling the cork smell of her sex and anus. Alisa pulled her right hand back to her face, and inhaled her own aroma. The combination of sweat and lubrication overwhelmed her nose and pushed her hand even faster against her click. She wet the hand again, reveling in her own tanic taste.

Her right hand flew back to her ass as she rode harder, and after tracing the edges of her opening, she thrust a finger into her asshole. Her hips bucked back, taking the whole finger inside her in a heartbeat. She twisted her right hand, brought her left down hard on the sink to steady herself, and thrust her middle and ring fingers into her pussy.

Her climax washed over her like bomb exploding in her stomach. She bucked harder, let go of the sink and shoved her hand over her mouth as she screamed into in, deep and throaty. Her insides flooded and juice dripped from her slit with each thrust, spraying the inside of her thighs. She moaned and rolled her head, inhaling the scent of her pussy off of her hand and bringing her back up after the initial crash started to wear off. As the second wave fell she twisted again, dropping her hand back onto her clit and pulling her fingers out of her folds. Just as quickly, she repositioned them and slammed two fingers deep into her ass. It pushed her over again, and her leg shook and threaten to collapse under her weight.

She pressed into her ass and slide off the sink, falling against the hand dryer and clicking it on as she sunk down onto the floor, one hand on her pussy and one buried in her ass. She lay down sideways and twitched and moaned as she worked herself over again as she calmed.

When the dryer died down, she lay still, fingers still inside her, her shirt soaked in sweat. The skirt on the dryer slipped off onto her legs and she pulled out of herself and rolled onto her back. Alisa stared at the ceiling as her breath slowed. "This," she thought, "is the beginning of a very interesting summer."