Gemotions

He'd kept his ceramics private, the clay molded into forms that were suggestive, evocative. And now, they were here, on a pedestal, bathed in the judgmental glare of spotlights. A wave of heat washed over him, making him dizzy. His breath caught in his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture somehow frantic. A woman walked past, her eyes lingering on a particularly phallic sculpture. She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips that made him feel as though his very bones were melting. He struggled to maintain his composure, feeling like a predator and prey at the same time.