ART IS MORE INTIMATE THAN SEX (This is the part where I’m going to lose a few of you haha)

She traced her fingers across my chest, her breathing still staggered and heavy. “So what IS your fantasy? What do you really desire with a woman?” She asked softly as she lay with her legs intertwined with mine. I looked down at her with my fingers in her hair- sifting through the endless ideas of what I could possibly want if I could have anything in the world with someone. “Art.” I replied in one word. She giggled. “Art? No ropes? No balconies overlooking the city? Multiple women?” the uncertainty in her voice was apparent. “There is art in sex and there is sex in art but I cannot have one without the other. It just isn’t that simple for me.” I said in an almost whispering tone.

“I want to travel somewhere far away and meet a woman in an art gallery or book store. We lock eyes and engage in the most intimate of conversations. Her hand finds it’s way to mine and we explore the town together, finding our way back to her place. The breeze through her windows sweeping over us as we share glasses of wine over mental stimulation. Pens and loose leaf paper with ideas on love written in haiku strewn about her table or canvases with the remanence of our bodies in black and blue paint litter the floor. Rolls of film with stories of lust and passion etched in silver nestled safely in between the clothes we’ve left at the foot of the bed… and then we leave each other with our experience in tact. Having known only the best parts of each other for those moments. We may never speak to or see each other again but we have the best pieces of each other the remember each other by. That’s my fantasy”