In Flesh and Stone

by Hal Bodner

  He snatched a tissue from a box on the little rolling metal table, blew his nose noisily and cleared his throat. When he felt he could go on without breaking down into a blubbering mess, he forced a smile and went on.

  “Anyway, it’s a penthouse. The real-estate agent told me it used to be the office of some muckety-muck trustee or someone way back in the days when offices were bigger than the cubicles they have now. I’m telling you, it’s huge – close to three thousand square feet and the ceilings are immense. Big cathedral jobbers all outlined in gilt or ormolu. I forget what it’s called but it’s as gold as the flocking on the damned wallpaper. Even in the bathroom, the ceiling’s gotta be ten, maybe twelve feet high. When I’m sitting on the john, I feel like I’m at the end of some kind of tunnel or like there’s this golden column of light beaming down on me from some Martian space ship that’s about to abduct me. But the best, honey, the best part...the thing that made me sign the papers practically on the spot...”

  He hesitated. Alex wanted to share every detail of his new lodgings with Tony, even if he knew he was in a coma and couldn’t respond. But something about the statues, some deep and intense way they’d penetrated to that same wellspring which was the source of his own creativity, made him pause, strangely reluctant.

  He took a moment to examine his thoughts. Weirdly, he felt his visceral reaction to the thirteen men on pedestals gracing the upper reaches of his new condo was more akin to unfaithfulness than his brief roll in the hay – or roll on the marble, as it were – with Corey had been. He’d never kept Tony in the dark about his occasional dalliances with Corey and, he surmised, Tony never really considered them marks of infidelity. He seemed to take them in stride as some kind of persisting immaturity on Alex’s part. So long as the dalliances never assumed more serious import, and so long as there was never any danger of interference with their partnership, he was patiently accepting.

  Not that Tony was any saint. Alex felt a brief flash of anger, much too intense for the thought and almost instantly admitted to himself that his rage had more to do with Tony’s present physical condition than any indiscretions he might have participated in during the course of their relationship. There had been more than a few such incidents over the years, mostly lasting only for a brief few minutes each in the sauna at the gym or, once in a while, an hour or three at some young man’s conveniently located apartment. Alex had never felt threatened except once, several years ago, but the actor in question had gotten a decent role in a movie shooting abroad and had returned with a charming French boy in tow. In the aftermath, they’d even gone out to dinner a few times – two same-sex couples sipping expensive burgundy and chatting about nothing important. It had all been far too civilized but over time, they’d lost touch and Alex had no idea where to reach them to tell them about Tony’s condition, and no clue if they were still together.

  “There are these...things,” he began slowly, fighting his reluctance to share. “They’re statues, actually. I suppose you might even call them gargoyles of a sort.”

  Once again, he could see them, their smooth marble flesh suffused with the last vestiges of the light from the setting sun pouring through the windows. Oh, if only they were real. If only he could parade them through this sterile room with its metal-framed uncomfortable chairs and its banks of stale laminated cabinets and dull silver-fronted drawers. If only he could bring them here for Tony to see with his own delighted eyes, to banish the annoying hiss of the respirator and the incessant mechanical beeps of the monitors. To bring vibrant, wonderful life into this terrible place of misery and death.

  How he’d love to watch Tony’s reaction to the zodiac men. It would be like their own personal porn film set – not that they’d ever needed DVDs of other men having sex to inspire them. They would lay naked, holding each other in bed while the thirteen magnificent otherworldly bodies stood around them, watching and envying them, willing to trade their own beauty to experience the smallest measure of the passion the two human lovers shared for each other. Tony and Alex, secure in their love, grateful for the gifts they’d been given, would be magnanimous. One by one – or perhaps, two by two even! – they would invite these ethereal beauties to share in their lovemaking.

  Sweet, innocent Virgo would be first, Alex thought, and they would go slowly, gently stroking his youthful figure with tender caresses, marveling that such a perfect creature could exist. Smooth-bodied, with round, almost androgynously slim muscles not quite fixed in their final form. Clearly no longer a boy, but not yet showing the first signs of roughness or hardening to his body to indicate he was in the full bloom of manhood. Practically hairless except for a light dusting of down where it counted, his dick rising slim and straight from the wispy thatch like soft pine needles crowning plump, walnut-sized balls.

  They would tease him, teach him, delight with him as his body experienced new sensations, drinking in each of his gasps of surprised pleasure as if it were the headiest of wines. They would lavish him with kisses, starting at his feet and tickling his toes with their tongues, moving upwards past the bulge of his calves and along his lean runner’s thighs, avoiding his groin to heighten the anticipation. Wide-eyed with wonder at what was being done to him, he would eagerly accede to their rhythm, urging them to increase the tempo as he absorbed each sensation.

  The boy would tremble, even more excited by being watched by his fellows than he was by the delicious shivers running through him. Discovering his own latent exhibitionism, he would angle his body, sweat-slicked and pulsing with the joy of his sexual initiation, to be better seen by the other twelve. Alex and Tony would each take one of his arms and, pinioning them over his head as he lay back on the bed so he could not push them away when the ecstasy became too much to bear, they would draw their tongues down his arms, from wrists to armpits, one on either side, licking and nibbling.

  He would be shown, this pristine and innocent youth, the sensual delights of the body other than his cock and balls. His feet, the backs of his knees, the long expanse of his sides where the ribs were only thinly sheathed with supple muscle – all would be lavished with attention. They’d kiss the sleek column of his neck and nuzzle the hollow of his throat, pausing only to bestow kisses on his mouth, half-parted in anticipation, and upon one another’s, breathing in his breath as if it were their own, tasting him and savoring the flavor, sweet and heady, like just-churned butter or recently mown grass. They would tease his taut little nipples, licking the tiny tight buds with simultaneous tongues, showing him women were not the only ones who could experience exquisite pleasure by attentions to the breast.

  And when he was begging, even sobbing perhaps, that he could stand no more, Alex and Tony would gently roll dear, cherished Virgo onto his stomach. In front of all onlookers and with loving care, they would slowly introduce him to other pleasures. They’d use their fingers at first, rubbing lightly around the rosebud of his ass, brushing just their fingernails against the opening. Then, their mouths and tongues would come into play, taking turns, one of them teasing his hole while the other massaged and caressed his shoulders and back to reassure him. Cocks would be next, just the tips, probing but not penetrating – not yet – accustoming him to the feeling, priming his hole to gape and pucker, eager to receive what Alex and Tony were all too willing to give.

  Tony would go first. Alex would gladly give him the honor of piercing the previously pristine territory of the boy’s innermost being. Besides, if their pose in stone was any indication, Alex knew the Gemini would by this time already be engaged in a performance of their own for him to watch.

  Virgo might cry out when Tony’s huge dick pushed past the reflexive resistance. He would grab the pillow in slender fingers, clutching at it and biting down upon it to keep from voicing the sharp pain as he welcomed Tony inside. Within moments, passion would overtake the brief, sweet agony and he would respond, clenching and unclenching his newly plumbed butt muscles, urging Tony deeper, ever deeper, until the moment arrived when the
end of Tony’s cock touched that exquisite spot. Virgo would scream with joy, not pain, and his face would be suffused with a rapture of discovery at how incredible he felt. His body would shudder and thrash, and too soon it would be over, and Tony would withdraw, taking tender care.

  The boy would collapse exhausted, imagining he could never again handle such a delicious assault. But Alex would be standing by, awaiting his turn. Virgo would roll onto his back, smiling up at Alex kneeling above him, sadly, as if to apologize that he had nothing left to give. Alex, however, knew better.

  With Virgo splayed before him, he would lean down, licking the drops of cum from the end of the boy’s dick with torturous patience, gradually bringing his lips into play. His tongue would lap the sides of the shaft, darting to tantalize the sensitive spot underneath where the shaft met the head. Virgo would feel his dick hardening, amazed it was capable of such a miracle so shortly after he’d thought it could never rise again. Alex would begin to work in earnest, swallowing the shaft so completely he could feel the wispy softness of the youth’s pubic hair tickling his nostrils. Then he would retreat, almost freeing the dick entirely – but not quite. He would allow his lips to stay wrapped around the very end, his tongue flicking the opening to elicit maddening results. His head would surge forward quickly and then the withdrawal, agonizingly slow, again and again until Virgo could scarcely breathe.

  The boy’s fingers would scrabble wildly at the sheets as if seeking purchase to escape, but his body would betray him. His hips would buck forward to meet each of Alex’s downward motions, the timing perfect. Tony would smile knowingly, having many times been on the receiving end of Alex’s skills himself. And then, just when Virgo could stand no more, Alex would take pity upon him and...

  “Sir?”

  “Huh?”

  Alex was abruptly jolted out of his fantasy. An older woman in a white skirt and blouse stood in the room, her silvery hair tucked neatly under her cap with only a wisp or two escaping, looking at him with an expression made up of two parts concern and one part embarrassment.

  “Are you all right? We could hear you moaning from the nurses’ station.”

  “Uh... I’m fine. Really.”

  Alex locked gazes with the woman, praying it would be enough to keep her from glancing down to where he could feel a hot stickiness spreading across the front of his shorts. Without looking away from her, he reached to the tray table and snatched up an abandoned magazine, whipping it onto his lap to conceal the stain. He hoped she hadn’t noticed anything, but from the redness of her cheeks, he rather doubted it.

  “If you’re certain?” Fortunately, her tone was nothing but professional. Otherwise, Alex felt he might have just sunk into the linoleum floor from shame.

  “Just...I mean... sometimes, it’s hard to....” He grimaced at his poor choice of words and then motioned with his free hand to where Tony lay insensate; the other hand was occupied with making sure the magazine didn’t slip. “It’s a lot to deal with and sometimes...”

  “I understand,” she assured him, warm and kindly. But was that just a hint of a sparkle in her eye as if to say, “I know what you just did, you naughty, naughty boy”?

  “Tragic. So tragic for such a handsome young man.” She shook her head and sighed. “We didn’t want to disturb you...interrupt your time together but...” The nurse tapped her wristwatch with one unpainted fingernail. “The shift change started ten minutes ago and...”

  “Oh! Of course.” Alex rose, careful to clutch the magazine firmly in place, and hobbled to Tony’s bedside.

  “There’s still hope, you know,” she said. “There’s no effective treatment, as I’m sure the doctor told you. But sometimes patients just come out of it with no warning at all.”

  “I know. No warning at all. Just like when he took sick.”

  She lingered in the doorway for a moment. “I can give you a minute to say goodbye. To finish up whatever you were telling him, okay? I know what the doctors say, but,” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “I’ve always thought they could hear. Every word.” Then she was gone.

  “It’s not important, sweetheart,” he whispered when he bent down to kiss Tony’s cool, still forehead. “I’ll just save it for tomorrow. So you have something to look forward to.”

  A few moments later, Alex had reached the parking lot and was rummaging through his gym bag for a spare pair of shorts. While he was waiting for a family of five to pull out of their space so he could duck behind the car to change out of his soiled clothing, he had time to think.

  He’d wanted to tell Tony about the zodiac men; in fact, he’d been looking forward to it. He’d thought he might have actually started in before he was...distracted, but he couldn’t remember. Keeping Tony apprised of the little details of his day was one of the things that made it easier for Alex to cope with the disaster that had invaded their lives. He should have felt cheated of the opportunity.

  Why then, this guilty feeling of relief?

  CHAPTER 3

  “It’s about time, is all I can say!”

  Alex winced. During the fifteen years he’d known the older woman, he’d never grown accustomed to Nadine’s bray. At the beginning of every conversation, he had to stifle the urge to clap his hands to his ears to shield his eardrums so his hearing could adjust to the volume. The gallery owner-cum-agent claimed she’d become hard of hearing in her early sixties, thus the reason she tended to shout when she spoke. Alex suspected it was only an excuse. Hard-bitten, abrasive, and with a killer instinct for a profit, Nadine, he suspected, simply enjoyed yelling at people.

  Not that she didn’t care about Alex, perhaps even love him in her way. Nadine Shermer had certainly taken him under her wing when he’d first started painting, nurturing him and providing helpful criticism when he’d started meandering down paths she felt unworthy of him as an artist. She had convinced him not to undersell his own talent. But hers was a brand of tough love that Alex sometimes found hard to take. He knew she meant well, but the stress she invariably inserted into the time they spent together often left his nerves all jangled and raw; he always felt like a schoolboy who had been called into the principal’s office for punishment.

  Tony, on the other hand, knew how to handle her. She pretended to be annoyed by his shameless flirting but it was obvious to anyone who knew her more than casually that she was flattered by the attention. He could coax and wheedle her into docility in no time; she seemed to soften the moment he walked into the room. If Alex and Tony were, as she sometimes claimed, the kids she never had, Tony was undoubtedly her favorite child.

  “Not your usual stuff, I see.”

  Nadine’s eyes narrowed while she carefully inspected the painting, taking her time, absorbing each image and every stroke of the brush. She wore her usual frown – if she won the lottery, Alex doubted her expression would change – and it was impossible to tell if she liked the piece or not.

  “Were you trying for some kind of symbolism?” she asked. “Or just experimenting?”

  Wisely, Alex didn’t respond, knowing she was talking more for the sake of working through her mental processes and not to garner an answer.

  “Or maybe working out some inner demons?”

  One eyebrow arched knowingly and she glanced at him to see if her comment elicited a reaction. Alex kept his expression carefully neutral.

  The piece in question depicted the grotto of a classic English garden maze. Tall bramble hedgerows draped with vines of trailing flowers filled most of the canvas. Unkempt and ill-tended, it was obvious the place had been abandoned long ago and left to grow wild. In the center, a moss- and algae-covered fountain, its basin cracked and worn, stood waterless and empty, surrounded by a chipped granite bench and a few toppled and broken stone vases.

  Alex was largely an impressionist and even in this realistic scene, the work evidenced his style. Most of the age of the place was suggested by color rather than carefully structured details. The stones of the fountain and be
nch were bleary-edged with ochre and umber, the moss painted with greenish-gray brush strokes; even the abundantly wild flowering vines were muted, darker versions of their natural colors. The main tone of the work was somber, yet peaceful but there was a slight overtone of something dark and troubling, mostly due to the choices of color.

  Breaking through a gap in the hedge at one side was a young man, naked from the waist up, his fine, almost effete musculature suggested by the paint. Brown and maroon marred the creamy beige of his skin, suggesting he had been scratched by thorns and branches while fighting his way through the thicket. Alex had somehow managed to capture two conflicting emotions within the figure. There was a penumbra of vague fear, overlaid with a sense of relief. It was clear the young man had been lost for some time, had become terrified and panicked, and was grateful to have stumbled into the open space.

  On the other side of the canvas, deeply shadowed, stood another man. He was somewhat older, perhaps in his thirties. Naked, his genitals masked by a clump of vine, he seemed only to have partly emerged from the dense foliage; perhaps some of his body had originated from it, as it was unclear where the vegetation left off and the human flesh began. Obviously, the boy was unaware of the other’s presence, but a feeling of peace and safety emanating from the mysterious figure pervaded the painting and evidently was having its effect upon the youth. An observer could not help getting the impression that the boy would be saved.

  “Amazing,” Nadine finally breathed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it from you before. Couldn’t resist the nudity, though, could you?”

  Alex’s propensity to paint exclusively male figures with at least one figure in each painting without clothing had been a bone of contention between them for years. Nadine believed he was limiting his audience. Alex felt he needed to paint what he knew, what most intrigued and fascinated him. Fortunately, at least so far, the buying public had tended to weigh in Alex’s favor.