Ever heard of Gyotaku? Well it’s an art form started by Japanese fishermen in the eighteen hundreds. They recorded their fish catches by rubbing the fish with an edible ink, before making a print of the fish on paper. Naturally, as time went on they began painting in the eyes etcetera. I won’t bore you with too many details, suffice to say, that as an artist this process captured my imagination and I was beginning to dabble more and more with this technique. My greatest problem, however, was acquiring the fish to press. Living inland, the fish shop closest to me had a very limited assortment.When a friend of mine therefore, offered me his seaside apartment, I decided to take a three month sabbatical and really get stuck into my latest obsession. After a successful recent exhibition I also had the funds to pursue my latest passion. The apartment was the corner unit of a two-story block and very comfortable. I was particularly delighted to find an excellent fish shop very close by. When I visited the fish shop the following day, the owner was very engaging and fascinated by the example of the print I had brought along.We struck a pact and after promising to give him one of the art pieces in a barter deal, told me I could select any fish I liked. After selecting three fish and placing them into my potable ice box, I was soon on my way back to the apartment to commence my work. A few hours later I Avrupa yakası escort returned his fish, promising to call again in two days’ time.Upon returning to my apartment I got to meet my neighbour, Barret Foley. When I introduced myself as Barry he let out a laugh, saying that it would be very easy to remember my name due to the similarity of our names. Barret was a large and unattractive widower in his early sixties. He had a big gut, was bald, and looked like a total slob. He was barefooted, wore dirty shorts, and a t-shirt with an array of condiment splashes. His false teeth seemed too big for his mouth, which was surrounded by a nicotine stained goatee.After explaining the reason for my vacation, he asked if he could take a look at an example of my art. Returning to his apartment with a print a short while later, I placed the piece on his dining table. As he looked at it I scanned the living area of his home and I clearly saw that he was indeed a slob. When I pointed out the various aspects of the piece, he moved in close to me and placed his left hand on my right shoulder. Observing the print his fingers began to open and close on my shoulder. Barret’s left hand then moved to his crotch, before he began toying with himself.I was slightly uncomfortable at this point and said that I needed to be on my way. As I was leaving he praised the print, Ataköy escort bayan saying that he would like to pop in from time to time, if that was okay with me, to see more of the work. How I refuse?The following afternoon there was a knock at my door. After inviting Barret in, we approached the new piece I was working on. Standing next to me again, his right arm moved across my back and onto my right shoulder. As he did so his left hand once more began to clamp his crotch. Sensing my discomfort his hand tightened on my shoulder, leaving me in no doubt that he wanted me to remain put. After what seemed like forever, he removed his hand before sauntering towards my front door.“Well, fish also needs to be eaten,” he said, before concluding, “Dinner, my place, tomorrow night,” in what sounded like a command.Late the following afternoon, I returned the fish I had used for pressing back to the fish shop. As it was closing time, however, the owner of the fish shop insisted I stay for a few beers, which I did. After three beers, I made my way home mentally preparing for the dinner ordeal that lay ahead. Somewhat apprehensively, I arrived at Barret’s home as instructed. Again, the smell of cigarettes and body odour assailed my nostrils. Barret was wearing one of his splattered t-shirts, which looked like a culinary tribute to Jackson Pollock.In fairness to him, Escort Şirinevler he really cooked well and the dish he made was very tasty. After dinner and three more beers, we moved through to the lounge. I am not a big drinker and by now I was slightly on my ear. After I was instructed to sit on the sofa, Barret sat down next to me. As we chatted his leg moved ever closer to mine and soon our knees were touching. A rubbing action followed as he began lifting and lowered the heel of his foot. Not long after, his right hand again settled on my left shoulder and began its pulsation. I felt totally cornered by him and imprisoned by his large presence.After finishing our beer he asked if I liked cognac. I gave a noncommittal shrug. Next, getting up he moved to the kitchen and retrieved two balloon glasses, before pouring us each a large tot. Upon returning to the couch he lit a cigar. When he sat down I got a cognac lecture and a demonstration of how to warm the glass in your hand. He also revealed the art of blowing the cigar smoke into the balloon glass, before savouring it. Truthfully, the drink wasn’t really to my liking. There was no doubt, however, that I was expected to consume the full contents of my glass.After twenty minutes a strange thing happened to me. I began to feel physically drained having consumed way more alcohol than I was used to. My mind was fuzzy and my body felt sapped of energy. It was if the slightest movement had become an ordeal for me.“Are you okay?” Barret asked.“Yes,” I replied bravely, “But I’m just feeling a bit slack.”Placing his hand on my forehead he tested my temperature.“You aren’t feverish,” he answered with a look of concern, “But maybe you should lie down for a while.”