All he was wanted was his dinner, plain and simple, and then he would be on his way.
She suggested that he try something different for a change. That is how the night began. A man. A woman. An order of vegan macaroni and cheese. That is how the night began. It became an evening of conversation. The talk was of art, literature, history, until… This Is a story that addresses that age-old dilemma: When you have gone home with someone you have just met, to a mysterious house on a dark and foreboding street, and that person wants to draw you, and asks that you pose in… a certain way… what do you do? ~ Excerpts ~ "You don’t have to eat alone,” she said. “You could come with me, and we could share dinner and continue our talk." Maggie paused. "If you are interested…" I looked at her deep round eyes peeking out above her scarf. Of course I was interested. "Art is not just something you hang on a wall. It can be something that you use. Artistry and design should be a part of daily life, don't you think?" "Yes," I agreed, "though I have never used art in quite this way." "I bet you have,” she said. “A hot sex scene in a movie. Online porn. An erotic novel.” I was startled to find in front of me twenty or thirty bodies hanging from the wall. They were just the torso: no head, or hands, or legs. All were from the neck to the thigh, pudendal. All were female. As I recovered from my initial surprise, I noticed Maggie standing in a doorway, silhouetted by the light coming from behind her. She was studying my reaction. "One of the household did that,” she said. I was not sure how to react. "I see," was the best I could muster. "There is a theme,” Maggie said, “She had a message." The dark sweater that she wore was loose but not baggy, creating a tension between concealing and suggesting the shape of what was covered. The loose fit of the sweater only accentuated the snug fit of her skirt. The shortness of the skirt only directed attention to the stockings with their multicolored bands, which only called attention to her legs. “Don’t be so judgmental,” I said, adopting a tone of mock recrimination. “Be more tolerant. There must be a letter for such types in the Longest Acronym.” Maggie was chastened. “Is that your...” She struggled to find the proper, politically correct, term, “…identification…?” She did not look at me.