by Kay Derwydd
(11/02/05)
His graceful curves taunt me. They will not leave me be, even in my dreams. I visit him, you see, as often as I can. He waits patiently, standing like a sentinel, perched on his pedestal for all of Athens to see. His beauty is unsurpassed, even by the most mortal of men. He greets me with a smile, a serene curvature of his lips that teases me to no end. I want him; I will always want him. Not even the gods on Olympus could rival his beauty. I await the time when Zeus strikes me down for such thoughts, but until then I will enjoy my lover without remorse.
I went to see him this evening. I waited until all others were gone, when I could be alone with him without interruption. When the last visitor shuffled out of the garden, I left my space within the maze and moved quietly through the courtyard. I could see him, rising above the others with grace and poise.
As I neared his pedestal, I could sense his presence. I climbed up, grasping on a delicate fold here and there to ease my way. When I came to stand before him, he looked upon me with knowing eyes. I bit at my lower lip, knowing he saw me.
I leaned close and pressed my trembling lips to his. Soft and smooth, they were cold to the touch, but they warmed quickly to mine. I slid the barest tip of my tongue along them, shivering as the chill seeped into me. How I wished he could return my kiss. How I wished I could feel his fevered tongue slide along mine.
I ran my hands over his nude form. One arm was poised behind his head; the other was extended down, as if he were pointing to his feet in demand of worship. I placed another soft kiss upon his lips, and then I lowered myself to my knees. I ran my hands down his sides to his hips. He was cold, but I was the one who shivered. I followed his extended arm, tracing the lines of his muscles with my fingertip until I reached his hand. I bent and kissed his palm before stroking his fingers softly with my tongue. He tasted of the rain and the bitterness of time.
I stood and lifted my robe. I was erect, more than I ever knew was possible of a man, and I placed my penis in his hand. I sucked in a breath as the chill shocked me, but I did not pull away. With my hand around the shaft, I stroked his palm, reveling in the smooth hardness of his hand. I felt myself grow closer to climax and stopped. It was not how I wanted him this time.
I reached into the small bag I had placed at my feet and found the jar of oil. I had used olive oil with others, and knew it would work well with him. His phallus was erect, jutting out at me, level with my own. When I closed my hand around the shaft, I couldn't help the moan that escaped my lips.
So soft. So smooth. I stroked his cock, marveling at the care the artist had taken when forming him. When every inch was slick and glistening beneath the moonlight, I turned around and bent at the waist before him. I backed up and gasped as the tip of his hard, slick penis pushed against my opening. I pushed against him in turn and shuddered as he slipped inside me. I braced myself with my hands on the pedestal below me and impaled myself further on his erection.
Almighty Zeus. I could have been struck down by one of his lightning bolts then and died a happy, happy man. With my lover's cock buried within my body, I slipped headlong into oblivion.
I pulled away and pushed back once more. Every slide of his cock inside me drew a soft moan of pleasure from my lips. His once-chilled phallus was now hot, the hard surface of the marble heated by the tightness of my own body. I backed into him again and gasped as he slid smoothly into the core of my body. My heart leapt into my throat, signaling the start of my climax. I pulled away, not wanting it to be over yet.
I turned around and climbed up his front. Grasping his shoulders and locking my legs around his waist, I lowered myself onto his cock once more. Oh sweet Hera! My body shook and I fought to stop it. I wasn't ready to climax; not yet. I gripped his shoulders tighter and lifted myself up. When I slid back down, I threw my head back, moaning softly as he stretched my body open around him.
As I neared my climax, I knew there was no more stopping it. I cried out into the night as I shuddered in his arms. My cock pulsed between the softness of my flesh and the hardness of his body. As my seed spilled between us, I shuddered as a deeper wave hit me. My body tightened around his shaft and I whimpered, the tears coming as forcefully as I had.
When my body could handle no more, when I stopped shuddering in my lover's arms, I pulled myself up and off of him. My legs were weak as I stood, and I had to lean into him to keep my balance. When I felt that I could move once more, I lowered my robe and placed the oil back in my bag. I turned and kissed my lover's marbled lips, then crawled down from his pedestal.
When dawn comes once more, the citizens of Athens will pass by him, marveling openly at his virility, his stature, his presence. Little do they know that I know him intimately. He is my lover, and I his. When an artist creates, he wants the world to love his creation. And love this creation, I do.
