Across the wide marble floor of the art museum, I think I see your face again. It's too much of a coincidence! I saw you earlier, I'm sure at the fountain in the park. I was watching the cute little stone cherubs peeing into the water, while you were staring up at the muscular nude goddess towering above the main geysers. And I'm pretty sure that was you last night standing on the bridge over the Seine, gazing dreamily into the churning water. Now, here at the museum, our paths intersect again.

I decide to follow you for a while. First you are drawn to a huge painting that depicts maybe a dozen nude men and women cavorting in a Springtime glen. Next you stop in front of a realistic sculpture of a nude man and woman in a deep embrace. Their polished granite surfaces remind me of the sheen of sweat that would be covering my skin if I was in such an embrace. My curiosity about you started as an interest in the coincidences. but now I am feeling the very first tendrils of desires snaking up through my muscles. These desires seem out of place here in this public place.

Finally, there you are in front of a gigantic abstract painting that is filled with massive swirls of intense colors. I'm not sure if this is what the artist had in mind, but the power of the painting is, for me, absolutely sensual and even erotic. The crimson reds and flesh colors evoke images in my minds eye of all sorts of body parts: open vulva... rounded buttocks..... erect penises..... rubbery nipples.... wet lips and tongues.

It was obvious to me what was on my mind, and as I pulled my eyes away from the magnetic image, I turned to look over to see if you had moved on. No, you are still staring up at the gigantic tableau. I can't help but to let my eyes travel down your body. You too have sex permeating your experience of this painting, for the front of your khaki trousers is tautly stretched over an upthrusting erection. In staring at the result of your interest in the painting, I almost think I can see your cock pulsing slowly inside your thin pants.

I've never been a particularly brave or upfront person with strangers. But here I am alone in Paris. Nobody knows me or will scold me for being brazen. So I take a deep breath and move quietly towards you. Paying no mind to the dozens of art lovers wandering around the gallery behind us, I sidle up silently beside you and turn my face up toward yours. I say in a husky whisper "the painting is having the same effect on you that it is on me". And with that, I let my head turn slowly downward and give an obvious stare at your tented crotch. I can't believe that I am doing this, but what the Hell!!

When I look back up, you have turned towards me and we stare into each other's eyes for what seems like hours. Part of me wants to run away as fast as I can, but instead, I take your hand in mine. I know my palm is moist, but yours feels even hotter. I start to lead you across the floor, but you seem bewildered. When you start to ask a question, I reach over and put my finger over your lips to silence you, and then I press the tip of my finger between your lips, against your teeth. After a moment of resistance, your teeth open, and I slide my finger in over your tongue and worm it around slowly. The surprise in your eyes melts away, and I can see that you are willing to trust me about this. You know that I have your pleasure in mind, as well as mine.

I take your hand again and continue to lead you, till we stand in front of the elevator. Getting in, I press the lowest button, which takes us down to a dark vaulted hallway. It seems like we have gone back in time to the Middle Ages. But I know my way around, having been an art student in Paris many years ago. In the dark, we shuffle down the hallway, and I open a door into a huge storeroom, lit by bare bulbs way above us in the echo-filled arches overhead. It's so eerie and mysterious, and I tingle with excitement. Just as we pass through the door into this room, I circle behind you and reach around to cup your crotch, quickly confirming that you have not lost your erection. A quick squeeze, and then I push you forward from behind, 'til we stand in an area surrounded by erotic paintings and sculpture. This is where the museum stores away the masterpieces that are considered too libidinous to show to the public. The museum staff keeps them on display for their own research (we know why they really keep up the display, don't we?).

You stand in awe, body rigid with curiosity and shock, and I don't feel any more inhibitions about what I'm doing. I drop suddenly to my knees (the cold hard concrete is such a contrast to the feelings coursing through my veins) and pull open the button at the top of your fly, then rapidly yank down the zipper. And without wasting a moment, I hook my fingers into the waistband of your tight designer jockey shorts and pull down your pants and shorts all at once. Your cock thrusts up into the air, arching up toward the faraway ceiling. I tell you to step out of your loafers and pants, and then I blow a stream of air onto your cockhead, which is fat with your hot blood engorging it. I tickle your balls and you spread your legs. You almost seem to be in a trance as I purse my lips over the tip of your cock and gently milk your balls. When I take one hand and press the tips of my fingers up behind your balls and press upwards and forwards right in front of your asshole, I push a dollop of precome up through your rigid cock, and it drools out onto my lips. The taste is so salty and enticing. When I draw my head away, a thin string of your come stretches between my mouth and your throbbing cock. It's clear and glistening, like a glass-blowers string of hot drawn glass. Suddenly, I thrust my head forward and suck your cock in as far as I can stand and give you a series of short, hard sucks that make your knees shake. Then I pull away.

You look down at me in seeming disappointment; but I smile broadly, lips still wet with your come. And then I lead you over to a large stone sculpture depicting two figures that are maybe twice life size. The man is sitting on a smooth stone, and the voluptuous woman is seated on his lap, her back against his muscular chest. She is impaled on his cock. Actually, all we can see are his balls, but it takes little imagination to picture his penis far up inside her belly. Her face is turned upward and she is obviously is in the throes of ecstasy.

I pull your turtleneck up and over your head, and then tell you to climb up onto the sculpture and seat yourself on the woman's lap. The marble must feel icy cold on your sweaty ass, for I see you squirm and your cock bobs around. As you finally settle into a comfortable position, I tease you with striptease that is not in the least subtle. I feel so absolutely brazen and wild, but not a bit guilty about it. And I love the feeling of being so much in control. Not once have I given you any choice about what is happening. Not that I think you are complaining. Far from it.