The Most Stimulating Artwork

I held open the door for the reporter, walked into the art gallery behind him, and continued answering his question.

"Look, I've never done this for the money. Making money was just a means to keep doing my art. Years ago I worked two jobs, may have made $25,000 and spent $15,000 of it on materials, studio space, whatever. Say I made $200,000 last year, then I spent $150,000 on equipment. The more money, the more expensive art. It's a luxury, but I don't know it makes the art better .. the inspiration is the same, maybe with fewer resources to get the same point apart it becomes clearer, more sparse ... more impactful ... better art."

"So when you say you intend to take risks with this show ... you mean?"

"Oh, I have no idea how this show will be taken by the public. It might be the end of my career in a paying sense. I don't care about that. I entered this project with a clear idea of the emotional response I wanted to awaken from my audience. Whether or not they will want to return for more, I don't know."

"That's very coy. What subjects are you covering? A show called 'Speechless' doesn't sound like your typical political and social commentary."

"Maybe so. This is more emotional in nature. There is political commentary, sexual imagery, and also an exploration of more standard deconstructed line/color. Some more multimedia than typical."

That ended the interview, as the reporter left to begin studying the artwork and the gallery owner, Paul, stepped up to introduce me to a pair of his past clients. They were intrigued by the first installation.

The art had begun at the door, a card reader which everyone entering the building was aked to scan their driver's license. Randomly, one out of five patrons was asked to step into a side room, which was a dark room with a window facing the rest of the show. A placard inside the show explained the piece -- that once six people were in the room, one would be randomly chosen and forcibly removed from the show, not to be allowed to return.

The point was to generate an emotional response in that person, and their companions already in the show, at seeing one of their own singled out and discriminated against.

As a joke, the placard said that I was removing some people because I didn't want anyone unlucky around me. I felt the political overtones were blatant enough that the patrons would understand it, but so often you have to be so obvious for people to get it. Of course, the scans of the licenses also served to age-check everyone who entered.

But now the room was largely full, most of the invited guests had arrived and had spent at least an hour mingling and drinking the free wine. I welcomed and embraced the Callahans -- a late-50's couple who had been supporters of mine for years. Mr. Callahan was a fairly generic, but nice, Wall Street type, and his wife Cynthia -- the stereotypical bored housewife who was trying to use her husband's money to make something of herself as a "patron of the arts." It was thinking about her, and how she was using money to accumulate art to try and increase the amount of emotional feeling in her life, that inspired the creation of this show.

She wanted a shock. I think most people need a shock once in a while.

One installation in the room was three clear tubes, mounted vertically in the floor, with a string of LED lights inside of them, pulsing slowly in gentle tones of green, purple and blue. I was ready to begin the creation of the finale piece, so I pulled out my phone, logged into the computer controlling the digital installations, and started a countdown program. The tubes flashed red three times, then resumed their previous cooler tones. A signal to my cohort -- a one minute warning.

The program continued to count down, and also triggered three large screens that had been playing projections of a video I had shot on a trip to a shipbreaking operation in Bangladesh to rotate away from the projector and parallel to the front windows, completely obscuring them.

I moved away from the Callahans and spoke to another patron whose name I didn't catch, apparently he had bought a painting from me some years earlier.

The three tubes pulsed red one more time. The signal to begin.

An attractive woman by the bar, clad in a shimmering purple strapless dress, was finishing small talk with another couple. She set down her glass, excused herself, and stepped away. She removed a small cloth from her purse, set it down and started to walk across the room toward where I stood, facing away from her talking to the former client.

She left her shoes next to the pulsing tubes, opened the cloth -- which turned out to be a black mask -- and put it on. Then without slowing her stride she unzipped her dress and let it fall, revealing her completely naked body.

As she approached me I heard gasps and saw heads turning, then felt her hand on my shoulder. I turned and she leaned up to my lips, kissing me deeply and ground her body into mine.

Chatter spread around the room as the guests saw me kiss her back, slapping my hand onto her ass, pulling it against me. She twisted and ground her crotch against mine.

"What ... How .. Why ... Disgusting ... Is this???" I could hear the confused babbling of my audience. I assumed some were grabbing their coats and heading for the exits, maybe some of the more curious would push closer. But I didn't care. I felt Claudia's incredible figure pressed against me, her breasts straining against my chest, her thighs pushing toward mine. We kissed more deeply, I ran one hand down the side of her face and pressed it between us to cup her breast. Her hand hooked my belt, then pressed between my legs to feel my growing cock.

Still kissing, she shifted her body away from me a little and unzipped my pants expertly (we had rehearsed this performance already, of course). She reached inside to encircle my shaft with her hand, squeezing and judging it ready to make an appearance for all of the art lovers in the room.

We stopped kissing briefly and looked in each other's eyes, gazing at each other as she removed my cock from my pants and began stroking it as it became fully engorged. The room continued to buzz as people realized that what they were seeing ... was not going to stop.

Claudia looked down at my cock, back at my face, then knelt before me, taking it deeply into her mouth.

"Oh, myyyy," I exhaled loudly, looking upward and then around the room. I had clearly gotten everyone's attention and gotten the reaction I had hoped for. Some people had left, for sure, but most remained and were watching with a mixture of shock, enjoyment, and anger on their faces.

Claudia worked my shaft loudly, humming and slurping, making me quiver with excitement. Exhibitionism had never been a thing for me before, and I had been a little nervous about performing sexually in front of people.

I watched the faces of the other people -- the Callahans looked mortified. Paul, the gallery owner, was leaning against the bar, head in his hands. The reporter had a huge smile on his face -- obviously excited to actually have a story to write. One couple who I didn't recognize were standing close to each other, whispering excitedly. Seemed like they were deciding whether to fuck each other later or to head for the bathroom now.

I placed my hands on Claudia's head and pressed into her mouth more deeply, leaning back and letting out a loud moan, which silenced any conversation in the room. I pulled upward, and she rose, off of my cock and standing.

Wordlessly, I guided her into the next part of the gallery, around the corner from the main room. We stood before an installation of a large white lucite block, about three feet square, before a framed LCD screen which cycled between a series of grayscale images alternating between urban and rural scenery.

Claudia leaned forward, spreading her arms on the lucite block and laying on her chest, offering her pussy for me to take from behind. I stepped behind her and entered her, sliding into her warm, wet pussy, and she stifled a squeal of delight. She was supposed to remain quiet but the exhibitionist in her was enjoying what she was showing the audience.

I began thrusting against her, fucking her from behind as she twisted and lifted one heel to let me in deeper.

I had timed it perfectly -- not 10 seconds after entering her pussy the timer counted down all the way and the computer sent its final signal of the night -- every LCD in the panel in front of us fired went dark turning the glass in front of the screen to a one-way mirror, reflecting myself, Claudia and everyone behind us in its image.

I saw just what I had wanted -- almost all of the guests had followed us out of the main room, enraptured by what they saw. I noticed the couple who had been talking -- the woman was massaging her companion's crotch. The Callahan's had come in as well, and their expressions had softened into something more curious and accepting.

I watched the scene and fucked Claudia harder, making a slapping noise that echoed through the hall. I had to slow as I felt her wet insides rub me perfectly, bringing thought of an explosive orgasm to mind.

Claudia twisted and writhed under my body, watching the image in the reflective frame excitedly.

"Oh, next position please," she moaned quietly.

I backed away and she rose, turning and regally surveying the assembled audience. The gorgeous, naked woman strode past them and around another wall. I followed, and the assembled guests trailed behind.

A larger installation was around the corner, a deconstructed statue of a pair of horses. Made of iron and wood, I had purposely avoided any materials with sensual connotations -- no leather or cloth. Claudia stepped into the middle of the statue, carefully lifted her leg, and leaned back into a wooden platform carefully built into the statue, her legs sticking out provocatively.

It was actually a sort of sex swing -- her reclining body comfortably wedged in place, her warm pussy laying open for me.

I stepped in and could see her wetness. Breaking our script, I slipped two fingers inside her, and was happy to see her writhe in joy, taking one hand to tweak the nipple of one breast. Her wetness swirled around my finger and she breathed loudly, looking at the crowd filling in behind us.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw people filling in as well, some moving closer for a better view. Claudia twisted and moaned and I slipped my fingers out, pressed my thumb to her clit and pushed my cock deeply into her. She inhaled in surprise and twisted again, starting to shake.

At the edge of the crowd, closest to Claudia's head ... the Callahans? It was ... and as I turned my attention to an effort to stimulate Claudia to orgasm I looked at Mrs. Callahan out of the corner of my eye.

She was looking at Claudia's body, as the woman lying inside the statue was twisting her nipples, her belly rising and falling in passion, I saw Mrs. Callahan gently ... unconsciously perhaps .. lift her own hand, place it to her own shoulder, and let it fall, tracing her own breast as it did.

"I saw the look on your face when I started," I thought. "Shock, revulsion fear ... but you are enjoying it now. You've seen something and it's awoken something inside you."

Mrs. Callahan's hand lifted once again, making the same motion. She was transfixed.

My thoughts about her continued. "You've finally experienced the art. For the first time. There's no way you get changed by seeing this and go back to who you were before. Embrace it." I felt good for her. All those years buying art, from me and others. Maybe now she could finally see it.

Claudia started to squeal, and my thoughts returned to her. I rubbed her clit, the wetness spreading from my cock to my finger and over the rest of her pussy as I felt her insides tighten. I thrust deeply and more slowly, letting the orgasm overtake her.

"Aaaahhhh ... " she moaned, as her body shook.

The orgasm faded and she opened her eyes. "Fuck me more," her tone demanding.

I resumed thrusting harder, building the pressure up inside myself, admiring the handiwork of my statue/sex swing -- all the welds were holding perfectly, the installation wasn't swaying at all. Perfect.

"Move on," I told Claudia, withdrawing from her pussy. She slipped out of the swing gracefully and stepped to the back wall, where the final art installation waited.

Another, smaller lucite cube sat on the floor, about 1 foot high. On it rested a deep blue ceramic tile. Claudia kneeled next to it, and I stepped up to her. She once again took my cock and slipped it back into her mouth. She sucked on me deeply, as we angled my body so the onlookers could see the blow job taking place.

As my body started to shake from the cum rising inside me, I stole another glance at the crowd of onlookers. Mostly still, they watched expectantly. The Callahans stood in the center, bodies close together. The couple who had been touching each other earlier -- the woman had her hand pressed deeply into her partners' pocket, and he was openly twirling a finger across her blouse-covered chest.

I was close to coming and Claudia could feel me beginning to shake. She removed her mouth from my cock and started stroking it, pointing it toward the blue ceramic tile.

Claudia's hand brought me to the brink instantly, and as the orgasm hit me, I started pumping cum in strong thrusts onto the tile -- which was atop a liquid nitrogen cooled chiller plate. My hot cum froze the instant it touched the tile, hissing and steaming from the nearly 200 degree difference in temperature between my bodily fluids and the tile.

The noise from the cum landing on the tile shocked the crowd, which gasped in surprise. My body shook as I came across the tile, and I felt weak in my knees and leaned against Claudia's shoulder for support. After a few seconds the hissing stopped as the temperatures equalized, and the spray of cum was left as an icy lattice across the tile.

I glanced around at the crowd, removed my phone from my pocket and took a picture of the pattern of cum on the tile. Instantly, the picture flashed up onto a screen hung next to the cube installation.

Claudia stood, bowed to the shocked audience, and disappeared through a side door. From there she would dress, take a cab to the airport, and within two hours be on a flight back home to Italy. She is an art student I had met a year earlier at a lecture, and discussion of her attitudes toward performance art -- and exhibitionist fantasies -- had led me to propose her participation in this installation. As part of the deal, to keep her anonymous (and partially to keep the focus of the creative inspiration on me -- what an egomaniac) we agreed she would remain masked and would leave immediately.

I turned to the group of people, numbering about 25, when there had been about 30 to begin with, and theatrically put my cock back into my pants, zipping up loudly.

I motioned to the photo of the cum-stained tile on the wall. "I guess the most obvious title for this work would be 'Climax' or something like that, but I prefer to leave it 'Untitled.' The true meaning for the piece is what you, the witnesses feel now. I'm sure you are surprised, maybe feel that I have used you, shown you something that may be considered gross or immoral and forced you to confront your feelings about sex, passion and desire. Maybe some of you will go home and fuck tonight (I looked squarely at the couple that had been fooling around with each other) and maybe some of you will be so disgusted with me you hope to never see or hear from me again."

"As history progresses perhaps it becomes harder and harder for art to move people, to bring true introspection. So many lights and electronic devices scream for our attention that we see something and move on to the next with little thought for what it all means. My goal with this piece was to challenge the stimulus of life and to leave you with feelings that will be remembered beyond tonight. That is what art is supposed to bring to each of us. Thank you for accepting the experience."

And I walked out that night with no idea if my career was over or about to be catapulted ahead, but not really caring.

Paul never had me back for another show at his gallery. But he did sell the cum-streaked porcelain tile -- my ejaculation permanently scored into the tile through the freezing process -- to an unnamed client for $8,000. I never found out who bought it, but I had an idea.