The Missionary and the Artist

by Perkes Adam

  I looked at him standing there, so sincere and undisturbed. All my life I had been prepared for what was coming next. There had never been any surprises. Things always occurred according to plan. Now here was Jared, so unexpected and kind. He was the most beautiful living thing I had ever laid eyes on.

  "No," I said with sudden resolve. "I'm here, aren't I? We should do it right."

  He laughed and began to move about the room. "Good. We should do it right, that's the spirit. I'll get my paints set up while you get comfortable." He grabbed a blank canvas from the closet and began to spread colors onto a pallet. I loosened my tie and undid the buttons. Here I was. Here I was in Jared's room. With no thought of the consequences. I was letting go. I was getting naked.

  I stepped out of my slacks and stood there in my garments and socks. Jared looked at them with charming satisfaction. "So that's the fabled Mormon underwear," he said.

  "Yes," I replied, my voice cracking like a boy's. "I'm not supposed to take them off."

  "You don't have to if it doesn't feel right. I get the general idea."

  "No," I said sternly. "I'm making an exception." He sat down on the stool behind his easel. I pulled the undershirt over my head, now almost completely bare.

  "You're beautiful," he said. "You are so gorgeous." Again, his eyes began to twinkle as if they were about to weep. "You put me in a state of awe."

  I began to feel chilly. "Can we please turn up the heat?"

  "Of course." He stood up and left the room. When he returned, I had removed the remaining articles of clothing. I felt attractive. For the first time, I felt desired.

  I lay down on the bed. The sheets were soft and red. Above me, a vent began to blow a steady stream of warm, soothing air. "What do you want me to do?" I asked.

  "Anything you want. You can just lie there, thinking about something. Think about something happy. Meditate on perfection."

  He sat down again and began to paint. I propped myself up with a pillow and let my mind wander. Here I was, doing something that could get me expelled from my mission. And I felt no remorse. It was what I wanted to be doing. I was living for myself.

  Perfection. Perfection would be him without clothes, as I was. He would crawl onto the bed and I would grab his shoulders. His skin, warm to the touch, his body, hard and thin. I would pull him onto me and feel his weight. Our lips would meet, our tongues play, our breath course between us.

  His fingers would paint light strokes on my body, caressing my nipples and sliding down my back. The cheeks of his ass would lift into the air, spread, soft and supple. I could let my fingers glide loosely between them. He would pull me against the wall, teeth searching noiselessly along my neck. We are beauty together.

  His hair is undone, falling across my face. I arch my back along his body and feel his hardness pushing into my stomach. I close my eyes and find his hand with mine. They clasp there. We silently share our secrets. Beads of sweat break out along his forehead. I touch his cheek. He smiles. He looks at me, closer than anyone ever has.

  His breathing is in my ear. His tongue tickles me. I buck suddenly, unaware that I could feel pleasure there. An enormous moan escapes my throat and he squeezes me in his arms, holding me tightly, not letting me escape. The sheets bunch beneath us. He slides his lips down my chest and stomach, following the line of hair below my navel.

  "Fuck," he says. "Fucking damn, you are stunning."

  For the first time, I feel a mouth encircle my cock. It is hot inside, moist and tender. His hair tangled in my fingers. He wants me so badly he lets out a whimper and I push myself

  14 deeper inside. He slides his longest fingers beneath me, playing with my balls. He slides further up to my ass. He rotates there, his head still bobbing. I've never felt so grateful.

  We would twist ourselves so I could return the favor. His penis is solid and thick between my palms. I kiss it, adoring the power I have been given. I can make him feel wonders.

  We are lifting each other up to the stars. Heat pounds through my flesh. Finally I can't take it anymore. There's nothing I want more than to feel him inside me. I want to be part of him.

  They are feelings I don't understand. They are intense. They make me afraid.

  He turns around to face me, kissing me on the forehead. "How are you doing?" he asks.

  I hold his head between my hands.

  I kiss him, and he slides his tongue across my teeth. His breath his sweet and damp. I pull away and whisper what I desire. He embraces me tightly. He rolls on top of me and pulls my legs to his shoulders.

  In dreams, there is no suffering. There is nothing to complain about. There is only ecstasy and passion. He pushes himself deep within me. He stays there for several moments, savoring my warmth. He lifts up inside and I feel my heart break. There is nothing I could say or do that would match such sensation. In the stillness, our breaths are the only sound.

  The need is unbearable. We ravish each other's bodies. He pounds into me, sliding in and out with greater intensity. The bed shakes beneath us.

  "Fuck, oh fuck." He repeats this mantra as if he is in pain. But I know he is not. I know that only I can save him. I clench down harder as he thrusts. I pull his head back by the hair and sigh. He pushes even harder and I edge along the wall. I begin to feel myself sliding upwards.

  He is holding me in his arms. The hair on my legs glides down his biceps.

  My toes curl. I want him to go deeper, I want it to be possible. If we could become one person, I would not hesitate. I would let him destroy me.

  I grab my own cock and stroke in unison. Together, we beat out the rhythm. Sweat pools in the muscular definition of his strength. His face contorts in that unbearable bliss. For one long second, I believe he is an angel. "You've saved me," I whisper. "I love you."

  Then the dam breaks and he shoots up inside. I hear music. Semen shoots onto my stomach like a Pollack painting. He pulls out and straddles me. We are coming together. We have made each other happy. And God doesn't mind. In fact, he approves. After all, it was he who made such connection possible.

  Fantasies can only be followed by sadness. All reality is bittersweet in comparison. I became aware of my surroundings. I was lying on his bed with my eyes closed. Alone. I had an erection. He was painting me. On his face was the same expression I saw represented in his work: a melancholy hope.

  "Would you like to see it?" he asked.

  I felt embarrassed by my arousal and placed a pillow over myself. "It's done? Already?"

  "Yes. It took longer than I expected, actually."

  "Really?" I said, feeling my penis shrink back to its usual size. "How long has it been?"

  "A little over an hour," he said laughing. "Time flies when you're having fun, right, chum?"

  "I suppose." I grabbed my garments off the floor and put them on. Strange feelings were forming behind my chest, a mixture of remorse and exhaustion.

  "Here, come see it."

  I walked around the easel and looked at my portrait. A gasp of surprise escaped my lips and I clamped a hand over my mouth. The painting was on fire with color. The coolness of his other works were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he had painted me solely in reds, yellows and oranges. I was, however, even more taken aback by his choice of framing. He had painted me from the shoulders up with a stern look of resolve. I was looking beyond the canvas like a classical statue, as if to conquer the world.

  It mortifies me to write, but for unexplainable reasons, I began to cry. Not slow, elegant tears, but rather heaving, ugly sobs. Jared did not look the least bit startled by my outburst.

  Instead he embraced me.

  "I'm sorry," I wheezed. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

  "Shhhhh," he said. "It's fine. Don't worry."

  He smelled like wood and cinnamon. The stubble on his cheeks mingled with my own.

  Then he kissed me. He cradled my tear-stained face in his hands and took away the pain. For so long, in my darkest nightmares, I had longed for a man to
touch me. My shame had always been unspeakable and foul. But there was no fear in Jared's kiss. It was filled with tenderness and hope. Even now, the thought of that moment awakens me. It was my introduction to a life filled with miracles.

  We stood there with our foreheads pressed together. Time had stopped, but outside the world kept on turning. "I need to be getting back," I said. "My companion is probably wondering where I am."

  "I doubt it," Jared said with a goofy smile. "I seriously doubt it. He's probably grateful for your absence."

  "To be honest, I don't know if he made it home. He might still be in a pile of bushes next to the street."

  Jared laughed raucously. Then he took the painting off the easel. "Here, you can have it."

  I didn't know what to say. "No...I mean, thank you, but... I rode my bicycle here. I wouldn't be able to carry it. You can keep it."

  "Are you sure?" I nodded and he sighed. "Thank you. I actually would like to have it for my personal collection. But promise you'll come back and see it sometime."

  "I don't know," I said honestly. "I don't know if I'll get the chance." I put on my clothes and walked into the hallway. Jared followed alongside me.

  "Well, if you ever do, I would love to see you again." He opened the front door. A blast of cool air mixed with the fragrant heat of his apartment.

  "Yes. I would too," I said, suddenly determined. "I'll call you when my mission ends. It shouldn't be too long." He motioned for me to wait and ran into the kitchen. When he returned, he was holding a box of tea.

  "For the road," he said, handing it to me.

  "Thank you," I whispered.

  He patted me on the back and shut the door. I walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. I looked inside the box. Written on the lid was a phone number and this short message:

  "Come back to me."

  Someday I will. My salvation depends on it.

  THE END

  Visit www.ravenousromance.com for more great books.