It takes the "Arty Farty " sort to understand the "Arty Farty" sort.


Although claiming to be unpretentious, others looking in, smirk and think , what crap...missing the very essence of what makes the brush of a hand, the inhale of scent, the lips on lips rest without any tongue lashing, a slow unrushed rubbing of flesh on flesh...that pause while looking at each other, gaging the effect of each others nakedness .
The courage to trust to let go, even when unfamiliar, the invite of things new.

It was a most "Arty Farty" share where he and she tasted and sucked and rested and laughed and yet, his shaft remained hard and she became more pliable and warm and wet...and he spoke of the shape of her mouth and she threw her head back laughing at his zaniness and feeling shy about his compliments.

He spoke like the true artist that he was and she related to his different ways and felt most comfortable, pleased at his invite to try her ways and she definitely enjoyed his wants and needs.

The promise was to meet again but , this time to talk about what fired the mind to see beyond the offerings of societies limits and expectations and rather talk about colors and strokes and words and writings and how awesome the simplicity uncomplicated living can be.

She loved the thought of having him back in her space whenever the future may deem it right.

RB.