The Critic

Harry Edwards was lost, completely lost. The man thought of as the most influential art critic in the city couldn't tell the difference between a fine art gallery and a sixth grade art exhibition. He'd find himself wandering though junkyards finding works of art he enjoyed more than at the museum.

There, a rusted out 1992 Nissan Maxima, rear quarter panel badly dented, headlights smashed, windshield spotted with cracks and stars and yet, in the waning light of sunset, when the shadows hit it a certain way it became breathtaking. Later, the crushed remains of some Ford might catch his eye and he'd spend hours considering the proportions of the torn steel, dented iron and seared plastic.

Later, while in the museum he'd find himself questioning whether a Picasso sculpture even approached the dynamics of the dented bumper of a Dodge Ram pickup truck. Van Gogh's Starry Night became just another crayoned page hanging on his refrigerator and Harry wondered which of his grandchildren would look best missing an ear.

Artisans desperate for the notoriety that a positive review from Harry Edwards would bring, quickly recognized his dilemma, but instead of trying to recommend he take some time off, perhaps rest awhile; they tried ways to capitalize on his sense of lacking. Sculptors would highlight their rusted works, painters would move the burnt oranges, and umber works to the front, in what they called their train wreck sequences.

But Harry found himself wandering through the galleries and writing up his reviews while yearning to wander free in a junkyard or even the city dump. The resulting lackluster reviews had the city art denizens in a quandary. "Was the city sinking in a mire of substandard art?" Individual artist complained about Harry, but it was all just dismissed as a reaction to an unfavorable review.

Cherlyn Rae owned a small studio and although she was considered by many to be quite good, she had never really made enough money with her studio and art to support herself. She had to work as a librarian during the day and then try to ignite her artistic side after an eight hour day. Of course she was able to do some significant research while at the library so when she was finally able to pull together an exhibit and showing, she was ready for Harry Edwards.

When she previewed her exhibit to her friends, most were shocked that she started with some of her earlier, more abstract works and then finished the show with her more mature works. Most recommended she follow the course the other artists tried, but she held firm, telling them how she planned to intensify the lighting in the beginning. Her friends did agree the demonstration was mesmerizing.

The evening of the showing she arranged to walk the show alone with Harry. Carefully controlling how slowly they walked past her works, how much attention they paid to the flashing and swirling lines, focusing his attention at just the right time she was able to enthrall him with her early works. From there Cheryln Rae, with just a bit of voice control led him from piece to piece.

When they finally reached her final work, he seemed a bit confused for a moments. "Why it's just a chair," he commented.

Cheryln Rae simply said, "Focus now Harry," and he changed before her, captivating himself in the simple lines of the chairs wood grain. "Now Harry let me see your cock."

He reached down, unzipped his pants and as a matter of course he pulled his cock out of his pants. Cheryln Rae kneeled and took it in her mouth, sucking and licking it until it hardened to full erection. She then stood up and said, "Now Harry, I want you to look at the piece again."

She then stepped between Harry and the chair, hiked up her skirt over her hips, then bent over, placing her hands on the seat of the chair. "Move closer Harry."

The critic moved up behind her while she reached back between her leg, grabbed his cock and guided it into her pussy. She then instructed him, "Harry, I want you to meld with the art, I want you to come inside the art."

Harry immediately began thrusting and withdrawing in and out of her pussy while she reached underneath and toyed with his balls. Almost immediately he began breathing heavily and in just a few more quick thrusts he arched his back and came, spurting his cum deep into Cherlyn Rae, deep into her art.

When Harry finished coming, Cherlyn Rae fixed her skirt, then helped Harry get himself arranged. She then opened the doors to the public, clapping her hands loudly three times. Afterwards she turned to Harry and asked, "So what do you think?'

"It is all so mesmerizing, I've never felt so much a part of the art as tonight. It's like I came with it from the very start."

The next day the lead story in the Style section of the paper read, "SO MESMERIZING." Cherlyn Rae quit her librarian job the next week as she led the city's artistic renaissance. Over the next few months, Harry regained his focus and while getting laid all around town, his reviews brought art back to the forefront of the city's attention. It was a whole, new world for the artists.