There. Now he was free.
Daniel wandered. He bought himself a shrieking peacock blue leather vest that laced up the front from a quirky little shop with a cute lesbian couple who had a yappy little dog. He got a fancy-assed box of chocolates that all had liquor in them. And he got a dildo. A giant one. A giant purple one. Life on the road for the straights? Was great. For him it sucked rocks.
It wasn't until he saw the painting in the fucking gallery that Daniel actually stopped and looked.
And looked some more.
Jesus Christ.
It was like.
Like.
Like somebody fucking came on the canvas. Or bled. Or something. Shit. He didn't know there were that many fucking shades of red.
His feet moved before he even thought about it, taking him inside. There was no silly bell over the door like in the leather shop, no sleazy clerk like the adult place. Just those fucking paintings.
Each one was different--one blue, one almost all white, barring a splash of fiery orange. Sex. Pure fury and sex.
"You like 'em?" He turned to look toward where the voice came from, saw a man perched on a stool, naked except for a pair of loose white pants, long black braid over one shoulder.
Flat out, his body went from zero to ninety, just damn. Daniel breathed deep.
"Hell, yes. I like them."
"Good." The man tilted his head, nostrils flaring. "There's more in the back. You'll find one you want."
)
