Objet D’art

Description

Objet D’art – Mychael Black

What happens when an artist is a little too attached to his masterpiece? The men in these stories are about to find out. Be it music or painting, each piece of art takes on a life of its own, changing their artists’ lives forever.

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EXCERPT:

His graceful curves taunted me. They would not leave me be, even in my dreams. I visited him as often as I can. He waited patiently, standing like a sentinel, perched on his pedestal for all of Athens to see. His beauty was unsurpassed, even by the most mortal of men. He greeted me with a smile, a serene curvature of his lips that teased me to no end. I wanted him; I will always want him. Not even the gods could rival his beauty.

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 saw him rising above the others with grace and poise.

As I neared his pedestal, I felt his presence. He consumed me, and I climbed, 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 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 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, 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.