AllFreeNovel
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All the air I was holding onto vanishes.
“Who I used to be.”
My mouth twitches to respond when he interrupts.
“Finished.” A single throat clearing returns his voice to the loving one I’ve come to adore. “You can open your eyes now.”
In doing so, I’m presented with a beam so bright that I find myself willing to do whatever necessary to keep it shining.
Even if it means dropping the subject, I think he needs to talk more about.
Tucker points to the nearby full-length mirror to allow me the opportunity to admire my reflection. “Check it out.”
Stepping away from where he’s sitting over to the object, I’m immediately excited and mildly confused.
“Venus,” he announces, mirth having replaced sadness, “the only female Ninja Turtle back in the day.”
“Huh,” I grunt while visually tracing the lines of her shell corset like top.
“The blue near your neck and falling down in the braid her mask used to have.”
“I don’t remember her at all.”
“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Her creator did his damndest to eradicate any traces of her from his creation.”
Wow.
Please tell me he isn’t turning a blind eye to the irony there.
“I’m gonna have Bonnie – the chick we passed in the first booth – paint me on a shell like Michelangelo.”
Bouncing in excitement absentmindedly occurs. “We’re gonna match?!”
“Of course, June Bug.” He reaches for a rag to wipe his hands with. “I want the whole world to know you’re my Venus.”
It takes everything in me not to hum the jingle out loud.
Unfortunately for me, Tucker can hear my inner most thoughts because he chuckles, “How bad do you wanna sing that commercial, right now?”
“So. Bad.”
We laugh in unison prior to him hooking our hands together, snatching up the bag containing our shirts, and guiding us to the artist who will be doing his painting.
It doesn’t take long for the tattooed woman – who apparently did his very first tattoo among a few select others like the sketched rendition of Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam focused solely on the nearly touching fingers that is featured on the back of his calves – to create his airbrushed shell nor does it take long for us to get our personal items locked away in the storage bin.
Once the key is tucked safely out of sight into his turquoise green pants, we stroll over to the set of double doors being protected by two more members of a security team. Upon our arrival, they grant us access inside, revealing to us an artistic masterpiece all its own. The loud, vibrating music, thrums through every crevice, creating a heartbeat to the sea of bright colors that are only visible because of the blacklights. Each design covering a frame moves. And glides. And gyrates to the point it appears as though a gallery of paintings have managed to grow legs.
Walk among the living.
Become living.
“This is incredible…” I mindlessly mutter under my breath.
Tucker offers me an almost bashful grin during our journey further into the experience. “Your body is living artwork here, June Bug.” My boyfriend carefully leads us towards the nearest corner along the back wall. “It’s allowed to be viewed.” He kicks his chin to where a tribute to the Le Rêve painting is pulsing courtesy of a woman – whose face I can’t make out – being lost in the dance move she’s executing. “It’s allowed to be admired.” There’s no need for him to gesture towards an example. Various guests are perched around the room, some on the floor, some flocking to the wall, yet all of them are frozen. Like breathing still life piece. “It’s allowed to be touched.” His casual point is to where a well-built male is leaned against the edge of the bar area with two other men caressing the intricate markings on his lower half that resemble the inside of the human body. Being able to observe whatever is going to happen next is unexpectedly interrupted by Tucker turning me around so that my back is to his front. Tugging me closer. “This art experience is meant to be sensual. That’s the connection created between the artist who painted you and you the piece of art.” His warm breath becomes hot as he brushes the shell of my ear. “It’s meant to be sexual. That’s why no one is gawking at the women to our left as she makes that guy come all over her feet.” I can’t stop my gaze from cutting over to catch a glimpse of the erotic sight described. “This entire experience is meant to be a person’s passion for art being expressed in a free form.” Tucker’s hands snake themselves along my inner thigh forcing my frame to press tighter against his. “Be free here, June.” His airy declaration receives a soft whimper. “Be free with me.”
I brace myself for additional sexual exploration, yet it doesn’t occur.
