The Page of Wands

A MUSEUM STORY

One of my pals took me to an art gallery. I remember that was in winter because in those holidays I was hanging out consequently with Lisa, a fine woman that was bumped into me by destiny.

I guess I found her interesting for the way she walked in high heels and smoke along me.

I had never been in an art gallery. It is not an affair a boy like me was often invited to. My worlds were more filled with ordinary items and unscrupulous personae.

Gammill then fished out a pack of Boro's and whispering told me to grab one. He was indeed insane for wanting to smoke inside an art exhibit. I just took the stick and logically, saw some cracks in this plan.

We were watching a photography. Gammill said it made him puke. I only deemed on the fact that this chubby engender had some crackpot that invited him to an event his very brains did not understand fully. For what I've seen from Gammill, I can tell you he's not smart at all and loves to rub his body in filth.

I was lost in the photography. Nailed onto a creme wall.

It was a naked man. His smile was telling me to enjoy my life the most as I could and detach my soul from worldliness, that tying my life to common sense wouldn't ever permit me to smile drugged in happiness.

Somehow, those words were inside me. It wasn't the smile of the man in the picture, this philosopher's stone was inside my heart time ago, embedded in the manners I walk by. But I wanted to justify my egotistical procedure saying something cosmical told me to be a rebel.

Another inch of the picture that tingled my curiosity was the lines of hairs that came out of the man's ass. It made me wonder, 'If I stick my cock inside, would it come out covered in hairs?'

I am telling you and do not fear me, we are all prey of filth. It is in our own thoughts and it goes down to your crotch, and swell your dick up.

Art museums are interesting.