With my appointment with Doctor Fitch coming up tomorrow, I thought I’d better add something to my journal, even though I’m not planning on showing it to him. Also I was curious about that painting at the gallery of UBoy. Would I have the same reaction to it on a second viewing? So I went over there.

I couldn’t believe it. The painting wasn’t there. I felt really disappointed. Disheartened. Probably someone bought it. My heart sank even more at this thought. Maybe I should have bought it. But it wasn’t something I could come close to affording. More despair.

Hanging in UBoy’s place was a painting of a lion and a lamb. The lion looked a wee bit sad. The lamb had a faint smile. Almost a grin. I didn’t know what to make of that. Surrounding the lion and the lamb were various pretty flowers and butterflies. Probably these flowers and butterflies were intended to be symbolic of something. Or emblematic. I remember in school we learned the difference, but it’s one of the many things that more or less, mostly more, slipped out of my head. If I had to guess, I’d say the flowers were meant to be somewhat sexual, though I was not exactly sure how that applied to these creatures.

Then I noticed something. A tangle of hair or fur covered the lion’s penis. But you could tell that underneath the hair or fur was the penis. I would have liked to see more of the lion’s penis, but I think the concealment was artful, and it aroused me almost as much as if some part of the penis had been actually visible.

Gosh, I’ve been writing penis a lot. Something about the word turns me on maybe more than say cock or dick. Maybe because it grows. Unfolds. Cock and dick are just out there all straight and stiff. I wonder what Doctor Fitch would make of that. As for the lion’s dick I think

I left the lion and the lamb and strolled to the next gallery. Immediately I recognized what had to be UBee, or the model of Ubee, in a painting. He was fully dressed, standing in front of a building. Like the picture from before, Ubee was looking right at me and had an expression I couldn’t read. I studied him and his expression and his shoes, which were quite fancy, and I had a sudden urge to wonder about his toes. In the other picture one couldn’t see his feet because he was standing in that tall African grass. I had the weird vision of him sitting on a chair and me removing his shoes and then pulling off his socks. I could picture that, but I couldn’t picture his toes. If I were the artist painting this guy, I’d paint his toes. But did I want to do more than that? More than look at his toes? Did I want to hold them? Did I want to kiss them? It’s a question I can’t answer. Why don’t I know myself better? Okay, there’s no telling what I’d actually do were I to have his naked foot in my hand. Just now I sort of reversed the equation: if Ubee had my foot, my naked foot, in his hand, would he want to kiss my toes? To suck them into his mouth? The idea of it makes me squirm a little bit. More in pleasure, I think, than not. But when I think of his tongue probing between my toes ... Gosh, now Fitch is going to think I have a foot fetish. I don’t think I’ve ever had a fully sexual feeling about toes or feet before.