Don't Touch the Art, Touch Me

Oil paints. The smell, the texture. How they stay wet for so long after being placed on a canvas. Those oils that are squidgy, with a dry surface layer that you can push and a small amount of wet paint leaks out. Like pre-cum on the end of a cock.

I'm in a gallery. I know security is watching. I move as close as I can to the paint. The smell fills my nose. The texture. I want to touch it. I'm not allowed. Security would see. But I can touch you, handsome stranger. I'm sure Security wouldn't mind seeing that. As long as we don't fuck on the art.