Body Heat

Watching the freshly condensed water droplets slowly slide down her glass, Diana Federault thought: "I can't stand this sweltering heat anymore." It was only May, to be more precise, it was May. It was May 30th, but the temperature, whether indoors or outdoors, was already unbearably hot.

　　Sweat dripped freely between her buttocks, caressing her like an invisible lover. And she couldn't imagine that the sweat trickled down to her vagina and gathered there, making a tiny sound. She felt that her whole body was as hot as the steamy gallery, but in the peach-soft grooves of her buttocks, the heat was almost volcanic.

　　"It must have something to do with this annoying art exhibition,"

　　She thought with emotion. "This art exhibition is enough to make a single librarian nun's blood boil, let alone a hungry little bastard like me!"

　The fancy promotional brochure of "Erotic Visions - Exhibition of the DeGuerre Collection" is too gorgeous, but the word "erotic" makes it milder. The collector was a complete sexual pervert and a connoisseur of fine art and erotica. Diana had done a lot of research on nudes, so she knew that any work based on weird inspirations was likely to be both. Diana once had such an inspiration, but she hid the results in her pants drawer. But Jay. Kay. De Guerre, the collector of these Rabelaisian works, (Note: Rabelais was a French satirist famous for his vulgar humor in the 16th century) seemed to be happy to show off archival photos of his own masturbation. For the general public to see.

　　This exhibition has it all: masturbation, success, group work, explicit depictions of coitus, heresy and narcissism. It depicts every evil and perverted idea in the dreams of an extremely indulgent man.

　　"It also depicts the dream of a loose woman."

　　Diana thought, she seemed a little embarrassed, worried that someone could read her thoughts. Sometimes Deanna did like the feeling: the congestion in her belly, the burning in her private parts, her extremely sensitive clitoris. But it's not fun to feel like this when you're alone, in public, and there seems to be no chance of relief in sight. She sipped her wine, hoping helplessly that it would quell her thirst, but it failed. She had an absurd urge to touch herself, right here, in the middle of this gallery, just to satisfy, if only temporarily, this nasty, painful sexual desire. Ever since she told Jimmy that their fling was over, this nagging desire had haunted her.

　"It's all your own fault, Diana."

　　she told herself, taking another sip of wine and trying to concentrate on the Mozart trio playing in the background. Only an idiot or a masochist would come to an erotic exhibition when his desires are unsatisfied and he is miserable. But when a person has celebrated his birthday and is full of food, what else can you do?

　　Delia is the one who should come to see the exhibition tonight, after all, it is her name on the invitation. Having Deanna come in her place was just a sisterly way of saying sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't spend their birthdays with her like before.

　　Deanna wasn't angry with her twin. She even felt sorry for her sisters. Although coming to see DeGale's collection exhibition is a kind of sexual curbing, it is far more interesting than eating with the nasty and disgusting Russell. Delia doesn't know what she likes about him?

　　She made her way through the chattering crowd of celebrities to the next fairgrounds, but almost regretted it immediately. She saw a floor-to-ceiling, full-color picture of a man and woman having sex. And not the ethereal and graceful ones with clever shadow arrangements. In the twisted steel frame, the man and woman were really having sex, their wet and shiny genitals violently hitting each other, "and the exposed little groove was right in the center of the photo."

"Oh my God?"

　　Diana whispered, taking another sip of wine. Just as the cold and crisp taste filled her mouth, she had two thoughts. First, this was her third glass of wine, and she was already tipsy. Second, the picture made her feel even worse. Or better yet, depending on the perspective you look at it from. Wine and sex were inextricably linked in Deanna's mind, and suddenly she wished she had not broken up with Jimmy so hastily. She needed what they had between them so badly. In fact, even if Jimmy was an unimaginative bastard, at least he was good at simple, intense and continuously exciting sex.

　　Relying on the instinct of her artist's imagination, Deanna put herself into the image before her. She saw a slender, graceful woman with black hair, dark eyes and warm, apricot skin. She is a simple woman with a good figure and a heart-shaped, pretty face. Her eyes are big and bright, and her naturally rosy little mouth pouts, begging to be kissed.

　　Diana smiled at her vanity, but still started to take care of herself. She pulled up the thin black dress she was wearing, from her slender waist to her soft, curvy hips.

　　If it weren't for the tightness at the chest, she and her black cotton dress would be a perfect match 99% of the time. In fact, she already knew about this dress when she saw it on a market stall, but she still liked it and wanted to try it on anyway. The stall owner peeped at her through the curtain of the temporary dressing room. He must have known from the cut of the clothes that she couldn't try them on in underwear, and he also knew that he was going to have a free show to enjoy.

　　But for some reason, Diana didn't mind his peek. She hated being happy, because in many ways, she loved being looked at. Especially a smart-looking rough guy like that boss.

　　But she couldn't imagine Delia feeling the same as she did. Even my taste in clothes is the same. Old Indian cotton, fringed and sequined, nothing like her sisters. With a sudden unease, Diana wondered if she should dress more like the woman she was supposed to be.

　　When it comes to faces, it's easy to get a look-alike. She and Delia were identical twin sisters.

　　Moreover, their portraits are different from those of ordinary people, and even their parents sometimes cannot tell them apart. But lately their taste in clothes and their behavior have become very different, which makes it easier to tell them apart. For an occasion like this, Delia might wear some elegant, light gray, "Jean Muir" style clothes. Her hair would probably retain its original luster and not be wavy, tangled and tend to be mousy like Diana's. In addition, a sensible Delia would probably drink Peliya mineral water and lime to avoid losing her mind - she would never drink glass after glass as if staying sober was no longer fashionable.