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art made flesh

art made flesh

I lay back on the bed, my body ached from the pleasure he had given me.

‘Oh Sal’ I moaned, my lips quivering as endorphins coursed through my blood.

He turned towards me, his honed body glistening with sweat. I could see his stomach muscles ripple as he moved. He wasn’t just a man, he was art made flesh.

‘All right my lover?’ he asked.

Everything about him seemed unreal, first discovering that he spoke with a heavy Dorset accent when he was away from the cameras. Then when he took off his baggy gray cardigan to reveal his action-hero body. You’d never suspect that underneath his badly chosen clothes and shuffling manner was a highly muscled body like that of a Greek God.

This was nothing compared to his love making, he might make his money through writing but his real talent was in the bed.

‘Again?’ he asked, raising one bushy eyebrow in question.

‘I, I don’t know if I could. I’m, I’m not sure I could take much more.’

For the last forty eight hours he had been pleasuring me, I was raw in some places from his expert skills but I didn’t want it to stop I just feared for my heart. I feared I might die of ecstasy in his muscled embrace and yet I could think of no better way to slip from this world in the next.

‘Once more Sal, but please, be gentle.’

‘Right you are. Eer we go’

He took me again and as I drifted away in a sea of pleasure he softly hummed the tune to ‘I’ve got a brand new combine harvester.’

June 2017
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