The Museum Piece

This is a story of love and loss, and finding love again. I hope you enjoy it. Please don't forget to rate it!

The Museum Piece

It was another sexless Friday night and Marissa Morgan was wandering The Metropolitan Museum of Art. She could have been out with friends, probably should have been out with friends, but she wasn't. She was tired of the hunt, regardless of whether she was the huntress or the prey, and when she went out with them they always turned it into the hunt. For some reason, she could not get them to understand that she did not want another man and was happy with her life without one. Well, mostly happy.

It hadn't always been that way, but her ex-husband Rick had put her off relationships. They had been great together. Rick worked in finance, she owned a private investigation firm, and New York was their playground. They were "living the high life" as her parents back in Iowa would say. A penthouse apartment, parties where they rubbed elbows with the New York elite, they were loving life. Everywhere they went, Rick was attentive and gracious, treating her as if she were a trophy wife. And the men flirted with her, they offered to take her away for long weekends in Paris, or Madrid, or wherever she wanted. It seemed every powerful man in New York was looking for a mistress, and a lot of them seemed to want Marissa. Their attention always gave her a rush, her heart would beat fast and she would feel flushed. She never took them seriously, but sometimes she'd think of the latest proposition as she touched herself at night.

The sex with Rick was good, but not great. He pleased her and brought her to orgasm, but he was not very imaginative or open to exploration of their sexuality, he always seemed preoccupied with something. Turns out that something had been money. She yearned for a man who would take her and use her for his pleasure. She wanted to be dominated, not in a BDSM context, but just thrown down on the bed and fucked like a whore. Rick was not capable of that, though she repeatedly hinted at her desire. One would think that with the number of empty rooms in the mansions they frequented, he would have fulfilled her desires.

"Let's go upstairs and find an empty room," she would suggest. He always had an excuse, usually involving some big wig he needed to talk to.

More than once she'd grabbed him in a darkened hallway and pulled him to her, passionately pressing her lips to his. "Marissa!" he would exclaim in hushed tones, "someone will see us!" She'd ask him if he was afraid of someone realizing that he desired his wife and he would mutter something like "You're crazy," and walk away. Sexually frustrated, she kept a set of toys in her nightstand drawer and a set in her desk drawer at work. Marissa thought that perhaps she should buy stock in battery companies.

Once she'd had a handsome client, probably ten years her junior, who flirted with her whenever they spoke, both in the office and on the phone. She had arranged to meet him at a quiet restaurant near the end of the B-Line train at his request. They discussed business over lunch, updating him on the status of their investigation into his wife's supposed philandering. Turns out he wanted a taste of the cheating lifestyle himself. He waited outside the Ladies' room for her and when she exited he grabbed her and pressed her to the wall, he was hard and he made sure she knew it. Passion overtook her and before she could clear her head he had two fingers inside her. Her heart was racing and her body did what came naturally, she was excited and wet. When he pulled his fingers out of her they glistened with her nectar, and he sucked them clean.

"You are delicious, Marissa," he said huskily, "I want to take you right here and fuck you against this wall." He had her blouse open and was about to put his lips to her nipples when a cook came out of the kitchen and saw them. Marissa was embarrassed beyond belief, her face grew red and she ran from the restaurant, not even stopping to button her blouse until she was nearly back to the train station. As much as she was excited, she could not be unfaithful to Rick. She'd seen too many cheating spouses and knew how that situation turned out.

And then Rick got caught. It blindsided Marissa and nearly put her in jail. Rick had been embezzling from his clients, scraping a little extra out of their accounts. He opened shell companies and invested client money into them which ended up in his, and Marissa's, pockets. Perhaps worst of all, some of the companies he opened were owned by Marissa. He had falsified documents, forged her signature, and made her his partner in crime without her knowledge.

It had been a nightmare for her. Years of lawyers combing through her personal life trying to ascertain her guilt or innocence. In the end, it came down to handwriting analysts, forensic accountants, and character witnesses. Rick went away for a long time to some country club for white-collar criminals, they called it prison but that was a laugh. Marissa escaped that fate but was left with almost nothing but her business and whatever they had owned before the embezzlement started, minus the lawyers' fees.

Then there had been the divorce, at least that had gone smoothly. With no children to consider custody of, and with Rick in jail and proven to be a cad who had framed his wife for crimes he committed, the court granted the divorce quickly. She was free . . . but she was damaged. It took several years of therapy to deal with the aftermath of it all. How had she missed the signs? She ran a PI firm, it was her business to be suspicious, but Rick was her husband, someone she trusted implicitly. She felt blindsided and afraid. Who wants to hire a PI firm if the head of the business has been bamboozled by their spouse? Eventually, she came to terms with the damage he had caused, and with Rick fading into her rear-view mirror, she moved on with life, vowing she would never let another man fool her.

But of course, being so cautious resulted in leading a life nearly devoid of men and the physical pleasures associated with them. To be blunt, she hadn't been with a man in over a year, not that she didn't want sex, her nightstand drawer bore witness to her need for sexual satisfaction, what with the assortment of toys, lotions, and lubes cached there. No, she just didn't want to risk an emotional attachment. All she wanted was some young, big-dicked stud, to pry her open and please her. I should have gone out with the girls tonight, she thought to herself, This is New York City, after all, there are plenty of men to choose from. But no, instead she was at The Met exploring an exhibit of paintings by Louise Bourgeois. She had been around the room examining the works and was standing in the middle of the room now, taking it all in one last time before leaving for the evening. She had stopped for a few moments, gazing at "The Birth". The depiction of a woman bringing life into the world was overtly sexual though decidedly un-erotic. "What I wouldn't give for tits like that!" She chuckled to herself.

************

Blake Anderson was enjoying his weekend in New York City. His job as an engineer for the U.S. Navy had taken him around the country and the world but not often to NYC. He'd arranged with his boss to take the weekend and enjoy the city after spending three days in meetings. He planned to travel home on Sunday and be back at work on Monday but there was so much to see and do here that he wished he'd taken a week of leave. Tonight he had decided to visit The Metropolitan Museum of Art. He wasn't an art aficionado by any stretch of the imagination, art was a foreign subject to his engineering mind. It had been the realm of his wife, his Calista.

His job had provided him with travel opportunities, and a way to serve his country, but it had also provided him with the love of his life. They met while he was on travel to the Naval Support Activity Souda Bay, on the island of Crete. The Navy had introduced a new system to the Fleet and he was training the staff on operations and maintenance. Calista was an administrative assistant working for one of the American contractors supporting operations at the base.

To say she took his breath away the first time he saw her would be a gross misrepresentation of the event, it was more like she sucked all the air from the narrow corridor. This vision, this Greek goddess, was approaching him and it was all he could do to not stare. She had that light brown Mediterranean complexion; long, thick, and curly dark-brown hair, and was as curvaceous as a mountain road. She had the most beautiful face, a classic sharp jawline, and a long slim nose. He had managed to smile at her as she neared, she smiled back and then quickly diverted her eyes. As she passed, he stopped and turned, admiring her sway as she proceeded towards whatever her ultimate destination happened to be. He found her as attractive going as she was coming, with a generous bottom that seemed to be begging to be touched. She started to enter one of the offices and then stopped as she noticed him in her peripheral vision. She smiled sweetly and blushed, pushed her long hair back behind her ear, glanced at him and smiled again, then disappeared into the room. He noted which office she entered and committed to visit before the day was through. His infatuation with her was instantaneous.

Blake ended his training class a bit early that day, using the excuse that he had been driving the students hard all week and wanted to recognize their hard work by giving them an early start to the weekend. What he truly wanted was to get back to that office before she left for the day. He nearly sprinted through the building and found the door she had entered. A wall plate next to the door said Public Affairs. Perfect, he thought, they would be expected to have information on the local area, things that a single guy stationed here for a month would want to know. He turned the handle and stepped inside, and there she was. His skin flushed and his heart beat a bit quicker in his chest. As he closed the door she looked up from her desk and smiled.

"Well, hello again! Did you not get a good enough look earlier?"

Blake blushed. "I — I was h—hoping that you c—could help me," he stammered.

"I'm sorry, this is public affairs, not medical, I can't help you with that speech impediment," she said as a huge smile graced her face.

Fuck, she was gorgeous and had a perfect smile, AND she was a bit of a smart-ass.

He looked at his shoes, as engineers are wont to do. "I suppose I had that coming."

"Seriously, is there something I can help you with? Or did you just come in here to admire me more?"

"I'm on temporary duty for about a month and I was hoping to get some information on the local area. All work and no play makes Blake a dull boy,"

"Well, Blake, you're in luck," she said as she stood and came around her desk, approaching a file cabinet in the corner, "we happen to have information packets from the local tourist bureau that should help."

She opened the top drawer of the cabinet and removed a bright blue folder. Turning towards him she caught him admiring her backside again. She handed him the folder and then crossed her arms. "This should help you out. Now is there anything else I can help you with?"

Blake hesitated, wanting to extend his time in her presence, but with no other pressing need, he was about to thank her and leave. He glanced at her hand and noticed no engagement or wedding ring, and then it hit him. "I could use someone familiar with the area to act as a tour guide . . . perhaps I might impose on some of your time this weekend? That is if you don't have plans. Transportation to and from the Base is extremely limited unless you have a vehicle."

"Oooohhh , I bet you'd like that!" she squealed sarcastically.

"Would it be so horrible to show off your beautiful island to someone who's never been here before?" Blake said, almost whining.

She stood there, arms crossed, tapping her foot. "I suppose not, and unfortunately I have no plans for this weekend."

"Wonderful, could we start this evening? I'm dying to sample some of the local food, something authentic."

"You're a smooth one Blake," she chuckled, "wrangling a dinner date out of a tour guide gig. Fine, we can start this evening, seventeen hundred hours. Where are you staying?"

"Navy Gateway Inn and Suites."

"Very well, I'll pick you up there. And Blake? So we're clear, you are responsible for all expenses this weekend."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, but can I know your name?"

"Calista," she said with a smile. Later that night Blake looked up the origin and meaning of her name, most beautiful, and he thought it fit her perfectly.

The work days were long but Calista took evenings and weekends to show him the island of Crete. They visited the ruins of Knossos and Malia's Palace and the Arkadi Monastery. They hiked Samaria Gorge and toured countless beautiful towns. One weekend they took a cruise to Balos Lagoon and spent time on the beach. Several evenings she took him to Kyani Akti Beach on the Souda Bay where they lounged and talked. One day she took him to Koutalas, a secluded, rocky beach, and there they had sex for the first time, it was fast and passionate, bordering on animalistic.

What with spending all this time together, Blake developed feelings for her that went well beyond his initial sexual attraction. Before he left for home, they spent his final weekend on the island in her bed. Their lovemaking was gentle and tender, they took their time exploring each other's bodies. Blake quickly learned what drove her wild — slow, lingering thrusts. She craved being filled by him, in any position. Blake loved it when she mounted him and slid down over his erection, giving him the ability to watch her face as she enjoyed being filled. When she orgasmed she would throw her head back and groan as she quivered on his shaft. On Saturday of that weekend, he took it upon himself to drive her wild, bringing her to orgasm repeatedly while he refrained from orgasming until the end. It was a major feat of self-control, and before he'd finished with her she had screamed his name eight times that day.

His work took him back to Souda Bay repeatedly over the next year. Officially he was staying in Navy lodging, but most nights he could be found with Calista, making love to her. A year later they were married and she moved back to the States with him. Blake and Calista never had children but they were happy. Whenever his travels took him to Souda Bay she would accompany him so she could reconnect with her beloved Greece. Many times they vacationed in Greece and she showed him more of her beloved homeland, often staying with her parents in Delphi.

Calista had been the thing that brought a spark to Blake's life, the thing that brought him joy. He was always the quiet one, introspective, and slow to make decisions but Calista was outgoing and impulsive, full of life and energy, always telling him, "Cut loose Mr. Engineer!" Though they were personality opposites they had always treated each other as equals in their marriage. She was the love of his life, and he was hers.

Then one horrible night he lost her. A drunk driver fleeing from the police T-boned them at an intersection, impacting the passenger door at over twice the legal speed. The full brunt of the impact took Calista in less than a heartbeat. When he awoke in the hospital and asked about her, the news of her death nearly destroyed him. A friend who was down the hall in the waiting room later told him that his scream shook the walls. Blake considered himself fortunate to have been knocked unconscious so that he did not have to see her lifeless body there next to him, he knew that he might not have been able to recover from that sight.

He spent two weeks in the hospital, beginning the healing of his body; and two years so far in therapy, trying to heal his mind. He was still dealing with his grief and his PTSD. He accepted that the accident had been totally out of his control, and he had worked through his grief to the point that memories of Calista still hurt, but it was a good hurt. He missed her but was thankful for their time together. That's what drew him to The Met, a place where Calista would have taken him.

Blake needed a woman's touch, he desperately missed sex with Calista and did on occasion go out to a bar and hook up with a willing woman. Lying in bed watching porn videos on his phone and masturbating was a fine way to relieve sexual tension, but sometimes he craved the feel, the scent, the touch of a woman against my body. Fortuitously as it turns out, this particular evening he had chosen The Met instead of a local bar.

************

She stood an unusual distance from the painting in an art museum where most people tend to stand fairly close to the exhibits. They want to examine it closely, see the brush strokes, and feel immersed in the artist's world. She, unlike the others, stood, unmoving, nearly in the center of the room. The work she was admiring was part of an installation of the paintings of Louise Bourgeois.

Blake approached her from the side and circled her, gazing admiringly and looking her up and down, as one might circle a statue to admire it from all sides. She was, after all, still as a statue. She was so absorbed in the painting that she didn't notice him until he blocked her view.

She stood about 5'3" and wore a red draped v-neck dress that hugged her body and red heels to match. Her wavy blonde hair fell over her shoulders, reaching midway down her chest. From the side, one could appreciate the view of her round buttocks. Her legs, like the rest of her body, were very shapely, and he figured her for a dancer. She had piercing blue eyes and full red lips. Blake was immediately attracted to her.

"Excuse me, may I help you?" She appeared to be annoyed that he stood in front of her, examining her.

"Sorry, I was trying to decide if you were part of the art installation. You were standing so still."

"Well, I'm not, now please move."

Blake stepped beside her and turned to the painting. "Bourgeois was best known as a sculptor, hence my confusion over your presence here in the center of the room, I thought you were perhaps a later work. Anyway, these early works reveal her artistic voice."

"You admire her work?"

"I admire what I like, things that invoke emotion, be it fear, joy, love . . . lust," he said. Might as well let her know that I'm on the prowl, he thought to himself, though until he saw her he hadn't been particularly looking for a hookup.

"And what emotion do I invoke in you?"

Blake thought for a while, he didn't want to scare her off.

"Scientists at Berkeley claim that there are 27 discrete human emotions. According to them, I'm feeling . . . entrancement I believe is what they would call it."

"Entrancement," she said, "a feeling of delight at being filled with wonder and enchantment." She had read the same study because she knew their definition.

"I'd say that's a good description of my feeling."

"So who is this man that I've entranced? I don't know your name."

"Blake," he said, extending my hand, "Blake Anderson, and you are?"

She took his hand, he felt an electric surge. "Marissa Morgan."

"Well, Marissa Morgan, I am very pleased to meet you."

She smiled and blushed slightly, releasing his hand.

"Marissa, would you allow me to continue to be entranced over a drink? I'm staying at The Mark just a few blocks from here and their hotel bar is quite famous."

"I know the place, but I don't know about going with you for a drink. I've only just met you, what if you're a serial killer," she said with a grin.