Lost Love Lust

Destination: Art Gallery Gherillo Street Nr. 452

Time: 8:30 p.m. 

She walks in alone, tight black skirt, shortened, intentionally. Glasses, Hair-Pulled back. The rest is not of relevance.

Before, she would have never entered this place, now her mission is to seduce, and seduce again.

A man in a dark blue suit, likely Armani, blue eyes, looks at her as she passes leaving only but a smirk on his face.

“You want this.” say her eyes, but her mind has other plans.

She stops at one of the paintings, ironically, it is one of a room full of men in suits.

Staring for an exact 12 seconds, she then turns her head to the group of men next to her.

In a glimpse she sees them as if they were a pack of hyenas drooling at freshly killed antelope.

“Whats new Suzie Q?” dares one to say.

She fakes a laugh, the kind of laugh a blonde bimbo would have.

Now he thinks he is in, the female kind has given man the right of way for centuries, the instinct is embedded in his DNA already, he cannot help it.

“So would you like me to buy this painting for you? By who is this shit anyway?” he asks.

“Some twat from Europe, a bunch of eurotrash anyway.” answers one of his “intelligent” friends.

“Edgar Dega is his name, and this “eurotrash” you speak of is highly renowned for his portraits, considered to be one of the finest in the history of art. Not even if all three of your rich grandmothers died, could you afford to buy me this.”

She licks her lips, raises an eyebrow, and walks away triumphant.

Her first victims.

One is probably imagining how he would beat the sarcasm out of her.

One is probably imagining how he would do her in his penthouse suite. 

Another is throbbing already, and the last one is most certainly disappointed that she did not fall for the fake rolex he was sporting on his left wrist.

She walks past the same man in the blue suit, her head down, as she passes raising it and looking straight into his eyes.

Although attractive to her, he is flawed. She spotted his flaw long before he even knew her name.

They arrive at the nearest hotel, she satisfies him for an hour straight, and reaches her goal.

He is asleep.

She takes out her camera, takes out his wallet, finds his address.

Poses herself on top of him, next to him, in the nude both.

She leaves.

This week the wife of the man in the blue suit will find a surprise in her mail.

And while she is painting versions of those photos, a man will be getting what he deserves.

This is only the beginning.