An Eros by Any Other Name

It’s been a long time since I dated a classy chick like this.

She’s an artist, and seems keen – I mean, she asked to ‘capture me in oils’.

After I‘d  got over my initial disappointment that this wasn’t, in fact, some kinky sexual invitation, I kinda got on board with the idea.

I pictured myself sitting, all dignified, in a smoking jacket, or looking drop-dead handsome in a tux, or even wearing some kind of military get-up, you know, with a whole load of shiny medals on my chest.

What I didn’t picture, was me standing here on a plinth in the middle of her studio, butt friggin’ naked, except for the red rosebud I’m holding – and trust me, that’s not big enough to cover anything important.

So, apparently she wants to depict me as Eros, the Greek God of love and sexual attraction; and, looking here at myself, clearly Eros was some douchebag who’d never heard of a toga, or whatever they wore in ancient Greece.

But anyway; maybe after she’s done, she’ll give me the opportunity to show her a few of my awesome  Eros-like skills.

Ah …

In the meantime, it looks like she might need a bit more paint.

xxxxx

end