My legs started to get weaker and my breath picked up. It wasn’t until I felt cold hands on my face that I realised he stood in front of me, smile on thinner lips. Soft greetings exchanged and softer kisses. My whole being turned into a furnace against the stark cold as his hands roamed down my face and neck the kiss becoming more and more intense as the minutes passed; full lips caressing thinner, two separate muscles fitting together and massaging the other in unison. A slight groan left my lips and his moved down my throat and hands wondered beneath the soft fur of my coat. I tilt my head back so he can pay more attention to my neck, my eyes fluttering closed and my hands gripping at clothed shoulder blades wishing so much they were bare. The need to be closer over took my senses, the need to feel that thick long member in my waiting mouth making me moan loud into the peaceful night’s sky. A feral smirk crossed across my lips as I pull away and drop down slowly to my knees feeling. More likely, my jaw dropped open on the left side, giving me a dumb, lop-sided grin that I can’t stand but always end up with when my guard is down. She stifled a laugh. This was bad.“You know,” I said, gesturing to the painting in front of me, “This represents a fear of the unknown.” The painting was a dark maroon rectangle, with a single yellow dot in the top left corner.“Does it?” she replied, her eyebrow arched. She moved towards me like a cat that had cornered its mouse.“Well, of course, it’s not immediately apparent. It’s easy to be overwhelmed by the sheer expanse of… colour. But the maroon is the unknown, it’s danger, it’s v******e. The yellow is home. It’s the lights left on on a dark night. It’s a lighthouse. It’s safety, the familiar.”I hoped that if I blathered on enough she’d not look at the card underneath the painting that said the exact same thing a thousand times more eloquently.“I’m not sure that’s true,” she countered. “To me the maroon is lust, it’s like a mist.
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