The Mercury Gallery, New York, is proud to announce a forthcoming solo exhibition and sale of recent paintings by Leo Kauffmann. November 1st-30th.
- The New York Herald Tribune, Thursday, October 28th, 1965.
~~~~~~
When Leo’s studio loft apartment doorbell rang at 7:30 pm on December 24th, he was carrying two bottles of vodka. Deftly slipping one under his arm, he slid back the door’s security catch.
“Just a minute!”
“It’s me, Heather.”
The door opened to reveal a beautiful, green-eyed, red-haired girl dressed in short denim shorts. She also wore a cropped, sun-flower print top matched with a light blue, fringed suede vest and strings of coloured beads. Heather stood, regarding him candidly, with a bottle of vermouth in each hand. She had been his neighbor for just over a month and was the new receptionist at Beauregard's Modelling Agency which occupied the building’s ground floor.
“Hey there, Angel Face!”
She flashed him a toothy grin and swung her head to the side.
“All ready for the party?”
Heather strode into the studio. She was a good three inches taller than Leo and never failed to impress him with her riotous, rippling cascades of fiery hair.
“Sure thing Angel Face and we can have martinis now that you’re here.”
But she wasn’t listening. She turned and rapidly locked the door. Swinging back, she looked him straight in the eye,
“You know, I caught your exhibition at The Mercury late last month.”
“Oh? What did you think?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she gripped his head with both hands and kissed him deeply. He soon felt long, nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt and then unbuckling his belt. Surprised but quick to reciprocate, he slipped the suede vest from Heather’s shoulders causing her to pull back momentarily and strip off her cropped top. But he hardly caught a glimpse of her breasts before she backed him into a corner and removed his jeans and boxers.
Down on her knees with a thud, she looked up and gritted her teeth. With lust beaming from her beautiful green eyes, she took firm hold of the base of his cock. Slowly at first, she pumped it and ground the back of her palm into his balls, licking his head from time to time as he gradually hardened. She smiled and giggled quietly until he saw more and more of his shaft disappear past her lips. Tongue and lips worked frantically together while Heather’s deft hand massaged and teased Leo’s balls. In seconds he was hard and marveling at the sight of this passionate and beautiful woman licking and lapping at every inch of his shaft. But it was her eyes; points of pure and precious jade, framed by a crown of crimson that made his heart beat faster and his nether regions tingle. Now his balls slapped against her glistening chin with growing ferocity, as she took every inch of his shaft deep into her throat. Suction and friction began to overwhelm him. Adding to that the sheer beauty of her perfect face buried snugly in his loins for several seconds then rising rapidly only to plunge back down, sliding his cock deeper and deeper into the abyss of pleasure that was her mouth.
Gradually, Leo took charge of himself and thrust back into her drooling mouth as though it were her pussy. Hitting the very back of her throat only served to excite her further and she gripped his hips tightly as he lunged forward again and again. Then, with one final, decisive foray, three barrages of seed exploded into her mouth. True to his fondest expectations, she swallowed every drop, pausing at last to clean every last trace from his cock. She then met his eye with wonder,
“Oh, the show was...inspirational.”
~~~~~~
8:30 pm
“What do you call this type of camera again Leo?”
“A Polaroid and this magic blue crystal box here is the auto-flash. You point, press this button here and the camera does the rest.”
After Leo showed Heather how to use the camera, he busied himself mixing cocktails and serving hors d'oeuvres. Finally, he poured himself a bourbon on the rocks and began to mingle. Most of the guests were fellow artists or girls from Beauregard’s. Several were collectors and a few had bought his work in the past. He was inundated with compliments about the November exhibition; all of which he greatly appreciated.
As the night wore on, the party ramped up; everybody drinking and dancing late into the night. A few couples settled down to make out and Leo noticed stray items of women’s clothing increasingly adorning the floor.
As people started to leave around 2-3 am he shook hands, kissed the girls and wished everyone a happy Christmas. Finally only Heather remained; she had lost her shoes and vest and now lay asleep on the couch surrounded by silk cushions; like a magnificent odalisque by Ingres.
He wandered around her, looking at her from every angle and taking special note of her perfect profile, her long supple legs and her riotous red hair; hair that would have made Rita Hayworth envious. He started to sketch her in his mind until his attention was caught by a trio of Polaroid photos on the floor by an empty martini glass.
The photos all showed a young woman taking a picture with the camera pointed at the large mirror in the bathroom. Behind her she had placed another mirror; creating an effect that had always fascinated him; an infinite regression of images, with herself at its centre. He recognized the second mirror as his great-grandmother’s hall mirror. Reassuringly, it was now back in its place. The photos had all caught the camera’s auto flash as well as the photographer’s crimson mane but the middle photo also featured a delicious pair of rose-bud crowned breasts, that must have been revealed for only an instant – long enough for their owner to click the shutter.
Leo smiled and whispered, “Mirrors of Infinity.” He then bent down, kissed Heather on the forehead and went off to fetch his sketchbook, pencils and chalk of bright vermilion.
