On a rare day of leisure, I decided to visit some old friends at the Art Institute. As always, I was delighted to see Degas, Renoir, Cassatt, Van Gough, and Seurat but that day, I was especially excited to see Mondrian. It had been a very busy few weeks, and I was looking forward to spending some time with someone so clear, blunt, and orderly.

As I made my way through the museum, someone caught my eye. He had a furrowed brow, and a needful, earnest look about him. He walked with purpose, as though he, like I, knew exactly what he required from his time at the museum. We crossed paths, and as we made eye contact, one of the straps on my sundress fell of, exposing my collar bone. I blushed and averted my eyes, though I could still see a slight smile playing his lips.

I made my way through my Impressionist friends, lingering on "A Sunday on the Grand Jatte," but pressing on to my goal. Alighting in the modern wing, I finally found him: Mondrian, the man I wanted to see. I can get lost in his work like no other artist's, and so I did, feeling as though I was somehow looking at everything and nothing at once. A gentle voice interrupted my reverie: "I don't know what you see in it." I started and whipped around to see the man from before smiling playfully at me. "You don't know what I see in it?" I repeated, unable to contain my skepticism. "No, I don't," he answered, his smile growing broader. "The Impressionists, now those I can understand. I can easily spend an hour contemplating their detailed brush strokes and their ability to mix and create color. Not to mention that the frames around the Impressionist works are art in their own right. But this is so... simple. It's a black grid filled in with solid colors. How can you spend so long lost in simplicity?" "Do you enjoy math?" I responded, "Personally, I love math. I love the feeling of solving for x. I love writing proofs. The sense of order, the simplicity. Everything is as it should be, as it must necessarily be. And that's what makes it so beautiful. It needn't be ornate or elaborate- It's at its most beautiful when it is minimalistic."

He looked at me for a moment in silence, then asked, "Would you like to have some lunch?" "Why yes, I would," I responded, and we set off. Discovering our shared love of New American food, we quickly found a suitable restaurant and ordered. We talked a while, making fun of each other's taste in art, until he excused himself to go to the bathroom. As he left, I noticed the bathroom was single-user, which gave me a delicious idea. Just as he was about to return to the table, I met him at the bathroom door and asked if I could come in. "I was hoping you'd ask that," he responded, and he stepped back to let me in.

I heard the lock click behind me, and I pushed him against the door, running my fingers over his chest and leaning in to let my lips graze his. He responded to my light touch with a more forceful one, taking hold of my jaw and pressing his lips hard against mine, his tongue invading my mouth. A moan escaped my lips and my hips involuntarily ground against his. I was pleased to feel him responding favorably through the fabric of his pants. I moved one of my hands down his body, stroking him over his clothing, and I felt his cock pulse under my fingers. His hands, meanwhile, had left my face and were busy with my dress. My straps had both fallen off by now, and my dress had slipped down enough that the lace of my bra was showing. He slowly ran a thumb into each cup in turn, grazing my nipples briefly and causing me to shudder. I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor, standing in the bathroom wearing nothing but my bra, underwear, and heels. He considered me for a second, then led me over to the bathroom sink, which had a large mirror over it. He bent me over, rubbing his clothed cock against my eagerly grinding ass. He unbuttoned his pants, his incredibly erect cock repositioning itself gratefully, and our eyes met in the mirror. "In my purse," I said, knowing that safety was on both our minds. He retrieved the necessary implement, slipped it over his cock, and pulled down my underwear. As he momentarily paused to stroke himself with one hand and slip two fingers into me with the other, the loudest moan yet escaped my lips. I clapped a hand to my mouth and he tore his eyes away from our nether regions to wink at me. Then in one smooth, fluid movement, he pushed into me, causing me to shudder. Holding eye contact in the mirror, he bounced me against him over and over again, his thrusts getting faster and faster until he made one last, incredibly deep thurst and slowly halted, a low growl emanating from his gritted teeth. He stayed there for a second, then pulled out, starting to position me to return the favor. "Wait," I said. "That's desert." He chuckled and stepped back, pulling up his pants. "That seems an awfully long time for you to wait," he said. "Oh, I don't mean to go our whole meal without stimulation," I said, making sure he saw me putting my underwear in my bag and pulling my dress over my naked lower half. He raised an eyebrow at me, but returned my mischievous smile as we slipped back into the restaurant.

My legs were not crossed the entire lunch.

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