Mansplainer

** Just because I don't agree, doesn't mean I don't understand...**

I'm on top of the NYC art world, so when I hear about the elusive potter, Henry Garrison, at my boutique gallery, it yanks my chain. I'm known for booking the hottest indie artists in NYC, and I've never even heard of this guy. As soon as I meet him and see his vases, I know I've got to showcase his work.

Even though some of the artists I feature are hot, I've never crossed that line. They're my clients, nothing more.

But Henry awakens my body in way I haven't felt in years. In a way I've worked hard to avoid.

Watching him mold the clay buzzes my lady bits back to life. The way his sinewy forearms work the wheel. The way his fingertips can transform a misshapen, brown lump into an exquisite piece of art ... I want to know how it feels to be renewed just like the clay. To be worshipped, body and soul.

Even career women have needs, and he's got the* hands* for the job.

After I feature his work in my gallery, we'll count our money and go our separate ways, right? Keep everything casual.

Too bad life always seems to have other plans. And I'm about to get mansplained.