If you're feeling bullish on love, stake some basic attention into reading this Erotic Crypto story!
John Condor's work is off the charts. Light yourself some green candles. You will yield a passionate return on your emotional investment! And who knows? You might Blow off Top.
Part 1
'Those emerald eyes were the first thing I noticed about her. They drew me into her. I couldn't escape... not that I wanted to, not by any means. In those eyes lay green pastures, ancient woods, green galaxies...
“Are you okay?” she said with an unmistakably German accent. I zoomed out, noticed a perfect oval face, in which a cute nose pointed slightly upwards. She was about five foot five, her slender body was packed neatly in a elegant green dress. The way her gold blond hair flowed over her shoulders and back reminded me of Botticelli's painting of the birth of Venus.
“I'm fine, yes I am,” I stammered.
“You seemed startled by something,” she said.
“Yes, ehm, by this painting” I lied clumsily.
She turned to the painting next to which we had just encountered each other. The painting was hanging in the Renaissance wing of the National Museum in London. It was a portrait of a middle aged man who was wearing a silk robe with gold stitching. He wore a quite peculiar hat, that looked a bit like a funnel that had been wrapped in silk.
“It is a great painting,” she sighed, “I thought I was the only one who loved it so much.”
Did she not realize that I was not speaking the truth? Was she playing a game with me? Or was she too polite to acknowledge my awkwardness? The last option seemed most likely to me, so I decided to go along and therefore had no choice but to continue my lie.
“Okay,” I spoke, “some people might say it's just a portrait of some man in a really weird outfit, but I'd say it's much more than that: the juxtaposition of those colors, his refined gaze, that typical Renaissance confident optimism, it's all just so classy and inspiring. Damn, I love it!”
I looked back at the girl, hoping that I had not just convinced myself. She beamed a brilliant smile and said: “I'm glad that you think that too. I love it so much!”
“I'm just admiring it for its artistic merits,” I said, “I don't know much about who we're looking at. I mean I can read Doge Loredan, but that doesn't mean much to me. Would you know more about it?”
“Yes,” she spoke enthusiastically, “I do. Doge Loredan was the leader of the Republic of Venice around the year 1500. He was an important and wise doge, eh leader. During his reign, the Venice School of painters flourished, foremost among whom was Giovanni Bellini.”
“...Who painted this.”
“Yes...”
“Thank you so much! How do you know all that?”
“Oh, it's not that I go around telling people everything about anything, it's not like that...”
“I'm not saying that,” I spoke and smiled friendly at her.
“No, you are not. Oh, haha, I can be a bit chaotic at times... so, well, I know this because I'm supposed to, it's my profession.”
“Are you an art historian?”
“Yes, I work as a curator in the K20 Modern Art Museum in Düsseldorf.”
“Very impressive,” I said, “but if I'm not mistaken this painting is anything but modern. You are also specialized in older art?”
“Yes, I also work at Christie's auction house... I have to know many different styles and periods.”
“That's very interesting, I'm glad to have met you. It's a real pleasure! I'm John,” I said.
“I'm Hilda.”'
The barfly to whom I had related this story too, nodded. 'So that's how eh, that's how you got yourself an artsy fartsy German piece of ass.'
'That's how it went,' I sighed, then I turned towards the barman and ordered two more beers. I had chosen to pour my heart out to this man because... well, because he happened to be there and I couldn't help it. I had told my story before, to others, in other joints, it always gave some relief... for a while, like a dose of morphine.
That first day had been so special, so fucking exciting, wild, erotic... Just three hours after we had left the museum we stood in an alley kissing like drunk teenagers. I had the audacity to ask her to come with me to my hotel room, and she had said 'yes'.
We lay on the bed, kissing, fumbling, caressing for hours. All the time I saw those green pastures, ancient woods and green galaxies... traveling into this new world. And that was eventually literally so, after we had undressed and I had admired her half moon breasts that kind of reminded me of her face because of how her nipples were bent upwards like her nose.
She had a small triangle of gold blond hair between her legs... those silky soft legs that soon parted for me in order to reveal her secret treasure. The first time I beheld that perfect pink pussy. I was so hard when I dove in. Yet I managed to hold on for a long time, because I could ride the waves in the emerald sea that her soul emitted through her eyes.
'Hey man, are you okay?' my drinking companion grunted.
'Yeah... sorry, I was distracted.'
'Ah, you filthy old bastard, you were probably thinking about when you was fucking that broad, weren't you?'
'Yes, I have to admit that's indeed the case.'
'Was she good?'
'The best. I never imagined someone like her.'
'Did she suck a good dick?'
'Oh man... oh man... never in your life... I'm telling... you have no idea,'
'Yeah, you're telling me. But you're here and she's not. You must have screwed up big time.'
'I did... and barman, please do give us two more Heini's and two Jacks.'
I looked at the man next to me: he was your typical rust belt wreck, floating from bar to bar like so much flotsam. The neon letters behind the bar that read 'Alcohoin Distillery' bathed his face in alternately red, or green light.
It was one of those polar cold nights in which the pitch darkness was lit up at regular intervals by flashing blue lights of fire engines. I had been sitting at home, fretting, not knowing what to do with myself and had eventually decided to jump on my red Honda bike and drive around through the endless industrial wastelands that were so abundant in this cursed city of mine, Detroit. Eventually I stumbled on Alcohoin's Distillery and decided to drink the rest of the night away.
To be continued
Written By:
John Condor
Illustrated By:
Floris Pieterse
Floris is a Dutch illustrator, storyboard and comic artist based in Amsterdam.
Follow him on Instagram @florispieterse
