Objet d'art

"Artistically speaking, it really makes you think."

"About dicks?"

"Obviously, about dicks. I assume that was the point. It's colourful, but it's not exactly abstract." Rachel knew instinctively that her friend's latest masterpiece was exactly the pièce de résistance she needed for her debut art exhibition. It fit the brief perfectly: fun, colourful, unashamed studies of the human body. All she had to do was get over the fact that, while the other contributing artists had interpreted the brief as everything from simple pastel life drawings to nude photographs rendered as Warholian pop art, to papier-mâché vulvas formed from oldPlayboy magazines, what Violet had brought her ultimately was little more than a painted table covered with dildos.

"I'm offended," smirked Violet, the artist, "that you would be so narrow-minded about my work. As the protégé of Mari Chapelle, the greatest artist this town has ever known, and as my best friend, I expected more from you. Can't you tell this is a commentary on how our society is being led into the future by unavoidably phallic technology like planes, guns and rockets, and that all global politics, despite the best efforts of honest people, boils down to a macho pissing contest?"

"No, my friend. I think it's a commentary on how, given the opportunity to make anything colourful and sexy, you decided to make a load of plastic dicks."

"Aw, youdo understand me," laughed Violet, throwing her arms around Rachel and squeezing the air out of her. "It's not strictly plastic, though. It's silicone. Get it right."

Rachel wriggled out of her friend's grasp and smoothed her clothes. Wanting everything to go perfectly, she had even bought a new outfit specially for the occasion. Her bow-fronted satin blouse and tailored pencil skirt, along with her shiny new black leather pumps had cost more than her first wage out of college would have allowed if she didn't want to starve. She had even paid a stylist to pull her long dark hair into a professional updo, and a technician to work wonders on her fingernails, which had been the primary casualty of a few weeks of stress. She considered both beauticians to be artists in their own right. Violet, who wore paint-spattered dungarees and was a beret away from being a Google image search of an artist, had spent the first half of the evening calling her 'Paris Fashion Week'. Ironically, Rachel knew that, despite the relative cost, no part of the outfit was branded well enough to ever make it onto the catwalk.

"Saying my silicone willies are plastic," Violet continued, "is like telling Bob Ross there's no difference between oils and watercolours. Come on, we're artistes here."

"Fair point. Bob Ross, though? Of all the names you could have invoked, I wouldn't have thought he was to your tastes."

"Hey, I love a wet-on-wet technique as much as the next girl. More so after finishing this bad boy. I've had enough dicks for a while."

The word 'dildos' kept flitting through Rachel's mind as she looked at the artwork, but the multi-coloured members lined up before her weren't of the shop-bought variety. Violet had spent the last few months casting the silicone facsimiles of real erect penises from real men, some of whom were artist friends, and some from her little black book. There were ten specimens on display -- a nice round number -- in all shapes and sizes, each cast in a different vibrant colour. Each one was cast with a base shaped like a paint-splash and positioned on the table in a region of the same colour, as though the dicks were growing out of, or melting into the surface. From there, the various colours covered the table in sharp, irregular shapes like abstract graffiti, and more silicone had been employed to give the impression of the paint running over the edges.

Violet hadn't invented the idea, of course. Plenty of artists made copies of real genitals, and anywhere you could buy sex toys on the internet, or on the high street, you could probably find a penis moulding kit. But this was very on-brand for Violet. This latest work did indeed make a statement, though not about politics and technology. Violet had always been intrigued by the issues modern society had with nudity when so much classic art depicted bare flesh, and with graffiti when all the best works were displayed on walls. Her final art project in college had involved her sneaking into the art room over a weekend and graffitiing graphic nudes onto the ceiling, before submitting the accompanying essay which argued that such seemingly unacceptable behaviour was indistinct from Michelangelo's celebrated work in the Sistene Chapel. The art professor freaked out, then gave her full marks, then insisted she return the following weekend to help him paint over it. Meanwhile, Rachel's meticulously researched project, wherein she attempted to reinterpret several classic pieces in complementary contemporary styles, received barely a passing grade.

It was her eye for good art, rather than her ability to create it, that resulted in Mari Chapelle taking Rachel under her wing. Rachel had since spent several years learning how to run Mari's grassroots art gallery, which the renowned artist had opened in her hometown to give back to the community that had supported her on her road to success. The gallery provided a stage for up-and-coming artists, raised money for local charities, and gave Mari somewhere to hold a party any time she was in town.

Ms. Chapelle herself was presently doing her thing somewhere on the other side of the space. She had brought some friends with her, either artists themselves or art enthusiasts on the wealthier side. Most of the other people in attendance were either the exhibited artists, or friends of the same. Art students from the college had been drafted in to work the event, serving drinks and finger food from platters. All the locals were Mari Chapelle fans, and Mari had no issues conversing at length with anybody who approached her.

Since presenting Mari to make a speech to open the event, Rachel hadn't had to do much beyond making sure everybody had a drink if they wanted one. She was available to answer any questions, but the local artists were so keen to talk about their work to Mari and her friends, that the demand for Rachel's expertise wasn't especially high.

"Did you say Mari suggested you fill this place with genitals because she was so excited to see what I'd come up with?" Violet asked coyly.

"Not exactly," Rachel laughed. "I just think she guessed I'd play it too safe the first time she left me to put an exhibition together by myself, and then how could I ask my best friend to participate when I knew I'd end up with a dick table?"

"Well, after handling so many dicks in the last two months, if you want me to paint a sunset or some happy little trees for the next one, I'm down."

Rachel found herself wondering which particular penis had been the most work. There was a thick orange one that looked like a hand cramp waiting to happen. Then, there was a long green one that curved rather sharply to the left and a shorter red one that widened towards the tip, both of which seemed manageable enough, but must have been difficult to turn out of a mould.

She didn't know if any of the contributing men were in attendance. None had come to introduce themselves if they were. She looked around, trying to guess who might be likely candidates, but there was no easy correlation to any other part of a man, despite the common myth about shoe size. Unless any of the men in question were wearing very tight trousers, she wouldn't have much luck. It was a unique experience, seeing a man's manhood first, rather than it being one of the last things to discover about him.

Rachel soon realised she was staring intently at the crotches of the male guests. Not very professional. She turned her attention back to the table, where a different kind of curiosity drew her gaze over a purple member near the edge. It had taken Violet a while to convince her that it was cast from a real man. Not that it was particularly extraordinary. It was, if anything, more ordinary than the others, like an actual real dildo. It wasn't the biggest or the thickest, though it was above average among the samples on display. It was smooth and consistent with a slight upward curve towards the tip, which was nicely shaped and proportionate to the shaft. When it came to the real thing, Rachel had seen her share of bendy and veiny, and odd shapes and sizes. She wasn't precious about such things -- it's not shape of the boat, it's the motion of the ocean -- but given all the possible varieties, it was rare to encounter one that seemed so perfect. Did she even want to know who the real version was attached to? What if the rest of him ruined the illusion? Not that she doubted Violet's ability to find ten conventionally good-looking guys willing to have their cocks copied.

"The real things were all normal colours, right?" Rachel asked, trying to complete the fantasy of the ideal cock. "I mean, these Crayola colours you used don't match up to anything?"

"Just the blue one," laughed Violet, "but I took care of that afterwards."

"I appreciate you suffering for your art, Vi, and it's good to know I have a friend who's willing to handle a whole bunch of dicks for me."

"Handling a whole bunch of dicks sounds more like when we worked weekends in that phone shop. By the way, whendid you last handle a dick for yourself? Knowing you, you haven't even thought about it since Mari asked you to put this thing together."

Rachel stared at her new shoes. Her friend was right. The last time she had touched a real penis, or any part of a man, was well before she'd started working on the exhibition, and she hadn't given it much thought in the meantime. The closest thing was her trusty silver bullet, which was nowhere near as lifelike as any of the rainbow of cocks currently on display, and even her vibe had gone mostly neglected while her focus was on her work. Not to mention the late nights that saw her sleeping at the gallery while the toy remained in her bedside cabinet at home.

"Well, no wonder you're so tightly wound," Violet chirped before Rachel could confess the truth. "Good job I brought you a selection of pussy fillers to choose from. The silicone's body-safe, by the way. Take your pick."

"That would make this a very different kind of exhibition," Rachel mused. "Hiking up my skirt and mounting the dick table in front of everybody."

"I for one would love to see that, but you wouldn't have to mount the table, because I didn'tmount the dicks." Violet reached over and snatched the purple dildo off the table. They were all just free-standing on their paint-splatter bases.

Rachel eyed the purple penis again, unsure if Violet had worked out it was her favourite. It was a coin toss whether Violet was messing with her, or actually thought she should take one of the silicone willies for a ride. Now she knew she could abscond with Mr. Purple at any moment, Rachel couldn't help being tempted. She had gone from not thinking about sex at all, to being fascinated by a fake cock in the space of minutes. Not that 'thinking' was the right word for what she was doing now. More reacting. And it wasn't just the tickle of academic curiosity in her brain. She was starting to get a tingle lower down. As artistically minded and professional as she was, it was forgivable to have some sexy thoughts with the kind of art that filled the room. Despite that, nothing else had stirred her. It was her new purple friend that was reminding her body of needs that had gone too long unmet. It wasn't just aesthetically pleasing. She had a good idea of how it would feel inside her. That was true of most of the dicks on display, but she knew Purple had what worked for her.

"I could give you a quick diddle instead, if you prefer," Violet purred, wiggling her fingers and her eyebrows.

Rachel shook her head but smiled. "That's not what I meant when I asked you to help me with the finishing touches."

"Now, this is a piece that speaks to me," said Mari Chapelle as she appeared next to the table with a few of her friends, a mixed bag of fashionable older ladies adorned with so many necklaces and bracelets that they jangled as they walked. "I'd like to buy it and take it with me, but I confess it's not the whole work I'm interested in. Anybody want a table?" Her friends laughed.

Rachel laughed too as her boss gripped her shoulders and air-kissed her on both cheeks. Violet, ever the Mari fangirl, merely blushed.

"So, these are all from real men?" Mari asked. "My, you have been busy. Tell me, Violet. Was it hard to keep your volunteers, well, hard, during the process?"

"Nah, that was the easiest bit," Violet shrugged, her bravado returning as they all laughed again.

"Have you considered a companion piece with vulvas?" Mari asked nonchalantly. "My artist friends and I have been talking about some kind of celebration of our womanhood, and it might be fun to put together a yonic centrepiece akin to this."

Rachel stifled another laugh. Violet potentially was being offered a chance not just to work with Mari Chapelle, but to workon her, so to speak. Violet looked as though she might faint.

"Let me introduce you to some people," continued Mari, steering Violet away. "Rach, I'm going to borrow your bestie for a bit."

"Ok, Boss," said Rachel, shooing Violet away as she stared at her, wide-eyed. "Bring her back in one piece, if you can."

"Hey, Rach? Heads up!" called Violet, throwing the purple dildo at her as she was dragged away.

Rachel liked to think of herself as a competent gallerist, but catching flying dicks wasn't one of her skills, even if they were part of the artwork. It whipped past her and hit the floor with a slap. It bounced and skittered before coming to rest against one of the legs of the table. Rachel looked around but was relieved to find there were no witnesses to the display. At any other time, she would have been disappointed by the lack of interest in Violet's art.

Rachel snatched it up with one hand, as though gripping the hilt of a floppy sword. Then, she cupped it with the other hand, cradling it. What was the proper way to hold a dildo in a public space? It felt plasticky, of course, but softer than she expected. She thought it would be flexible, but hard on the outside. Sort of the opposite of the real thing. On closer inspection, she noticed a few more creases in the silicone that hinted at veins. The surface still seemed pretty smooth, and she wondered how much definition had been lost in the casting.

It was also now covered in dust. Annoying, since the gallery floors had been vacuumed, mopped and buffed earlier in the day. Perhaps she should invest in a silicone broom, if it was such a good material for picking up dirt. Rachel couldn't just put the dusty cock back. She didn't want an example of damaged art on display. Luckily, she didn't need to call a professional art restorer. Soap and water would do.

She carried the dildo across the room, trying not to draw attention, still unsure how she should hold it as she walked. She let herself through a side door that led upstairs to her office and private restroom. It would have been easy enough to quickly use the public restrooms at the back of the main space, but she wasn't thinking in her haste. Was this how it was for men all the time? She had a boner she didn't know what to do with, and suddenly couldn't think straight.

Rachel deposited Mr. Purple gently on the counter next to the wash basin. Standing on its base once more, it wobbled as she released it. She couldn't help but smile. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her face and neck were flushed. How long had that been giving her away? It was probably more embarrassment from her failed game of catch-a-cock. Or not.

"You got me all worked up, Mr. P," she said as she filled the basin with water. "Maybe Vi was right, I am too tightly wound. Know anybody who can help me with that?"

Instead of continuing flirting with the dildo, Rachel hummed a tune as she lathered it up, thankful that she'd selected sensitive anti-bacterial pump soap instead of the cheap perfumed stuff. She always prided herself on the care with which she handled all the pieces in her gallery.

Rachel's hands twisted over the shaft of the purple penis as she washed it. As soft as it was, there was an obvious difference from the velvety touch of the real thing. Even so, she could only imagine how the actual real thing would feel, and shewas imagining. Did it get fully hard, or was there still some flexibility to it? Did it really stand up straight like its copy did on its base, or would the weight of the real thing pull it down? Was it circumcised? Was it hairy? What colour was it really? Would it twitch involuntarily at her touch? Normally, if she were working her hands on a cock this way, she could expect more of a reaction. From the cock's owner, that was. She was getting plenty of reaction from herself.

She didn't need to look at her reflection. She could feel the heat now. In her cheeks. In her neck and chest. Between her legs.

Testicles, she thought, fingers trembling slightly as she cleaned the paint-splash base where they would have been. What were those like on the real thing? Did they pull in close to the body with arousal, or did they hang heavy? What sounds would their owner make if she touched them?

It was a twist on a game she always played when she was hooking up with a guy, whether it was weeks or hours after first meeting. It was easy to know if he had broad shoulders, or a beard, or a dry sense of humour, but there was some build up to finding out what he was packing downstairs, and she liked to try to guess first. After all, there was no tried and true method to prepare for a penis, and not just plastic purple ones that were thrown across the room. It was a fun, sexy private game that worked to get her in the right frame of mind, and body.

She was as close to experiencing the real thing as she could be, yet the more she thought about the differences on display, the more she accepted her little purple friend as another beast entirely. The real thing was a fantasy to her, while the artistic interpretation was tangible, and literally within her grasp. The mix of fantasy and reality was turning on the waterworks between her legs. While Mr. Purple stood on the counter to drip dry, Rachel was dripping wet.

"I think I'm going to need a little clean-up myself here, Mr. P," she said as she drew down the zip in the back of her skirt. "Or maybe it's time I took a break."

The heavy fabric tickled her skin as the skirt dropped to the floor. As she stepped free of it, Rachel spread her legs and slipped a hand between her thighs to probe the wet crotch of her cotton undies. Luckily, she kept a change of clothes in her office since she'd become used to sleeping at work. She slid her knickers off with both hands, the fabric covering her wetness resisting the pull.

She leaned back with her bare arse against the counter and ran her fingers over her smooth waxed mound. It was months since she'd put on a private show for anybody, but still she kept up maintenance. Not just good at curating public displays. Mr. Purple jiggled as she pressed against the counter, a friendly reminder it was there.

Rachel shifted her weight from one foot to the other in her heels. She could already feel her juices trickling down the inside of her thigh. She sighed as she parted her swollen lips and caught her clit between her fingers. The throb of her pulse tingled her fingertips, as her heart raced in her chest. She teased around her hooded clit, circling slowly to the nub. A shiver ran through her as she hit the bullseye. She flattened her palm over her clit and teased her vulva with her whole hand before easing two fingers inside herself. With another shudder, her thighs clamped involuntarily around her wrist. Rachel reached out with her other hand to steady herself against the counter. Her grasping fingers closed around the purple dildo.