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The Million Dollar Bathroom
Julie works in the museum's catalog department. She says for all practical purposes she is the catalog department. She has a small office on sub-level one. She says there is no way I should have gotten to the gallery to which her office is attached, which is not a real gallery at all but a practice gallery. Several doors should have been locked. That first time, she was making her way back to her office, locking the doors behind her. "And there you were."
"And there we were," I reply.
Sometimes I visit her at her work. I watch her sitting at her computer doing her cataloging. I stand behind her and rub her shoulders. I do a little work of my own on my laptop.
Then there are the bathroom breaks. Because of all the locked doors, we go together. That's not the only reason.
It's a little bathroom, only a sink and a toilet. There's a frosted window which looks up at a courtyard. There are several paintings by Miro and on the wall behind the toilet a Picasso, which I can contemplate while I piss or while Julie, seated on the toilet, sucks me.
I asked Julie how much the paintings are worth. "They're priceless," she said. "But at auction?" "A million or two, maybe." "Tell the truth, these are just copies, aren't they?" "No, they're real."
Also in the bathroom on the ledge below the window is a little pot. "How 'bout the pot?" I asked her. She was confused at first. She thought I was referring to the toilet bowl, which her grandfather called "the pot." "Oh, that," she said, after I indicated the pot on the windowsill. "It's priceless, too." "Now I know you're kidding," I said.
She told me the story of the pot. Her sister gave her mother a miniature tree, but her mother either gave it too much or too little water, and the tree turned brown. Julie told her mother maybe repotting the tree would help. "No, no," her mother said, "it's a goner." Julie took the tree home and then to the office, where she repotted it and set in the bathroom window.
"And you revived it," I exclaimed.
"No, no," Julie said. "It was a goner. In the end I threw it out and put an air freshener stick in the pot. Raspberry chocolate, or maybe chocolate raspberry."
Sometimes when Julie sucks me she makes me come in her mouth, and sometimes she stops short, leans against the sink, and has me fuck her from behind. That is what I like the best. To the sides of the mirror I can see the two Miro paintings, and in the mirror I can see the reflection of the window and the raspberry chocolate or chocolate raspberry pot, but I prefer to look at Julie's face as she gets closer and closer to climax. I like to draw it out as long as possible, for her orgasm, when it comes, is truly priceless.
story and illustrations by Mat Twassel |
