Unknown - Posed For Pleasure

And Steve completes his posing routine, as though competing for the title.

He finishes and puts his robe back on, leaving the auditorium by an exit to the side of the chalkboard, to enthusiastic applause.

And only now does Jessica, seated in the audience, realize how she missed a chance, how, blinded by her own ambition, she overlooked what could have been a golden opportunity to have, for her very own, that which is the envy of every man, the desire, whether of fantasy or of active lust, of every woman here tonight.

For the very first time, she wants Steve, really wants him-now that it is probably too late.

“Transformation,” Armand continues. “Let’s think about that together here. Far too large a concept to be cavalierly, flung out, en passant, is it…

But Jessica doesn’t hear the rest of Armand’s lecture, her mind now turned to Steve-to Steve and to the possibility of hitching her wagon to that particular star in some way, now that Armand has apparently been inspired by a concept so esoteric that, try as she might, she cannot grasp it.

If they were still on speaking terms, she could have asked for an explanation; still,’ the only valid part of that explanation where she is concerned, the bottom line, would be that they are finished.

For the rest, she will simply have to wait and see what comes out of his inspiration.

To the astonishment of those over whose feet she must step, Jessica leaves the lecture.

Male and female created he them, Armand says to himself, as Steve and the sun-bronzed, muscular female bodybuilder writh and intertwine on Armand’s bed while he takes photo after photo of them, his camera whirring and clicking as he extracts one film cartridge and’ inserts another, sweating, red-faced, as excited, as aroused as are Steve and his partner.

The masterpieces that will come from this! He tells himself, now pulling back for the long shot, now zeroing in on the juncture of cunt and cock, zooming in to capture the lunging, plunging action of the meat piston as her cunt sucks Steve’s cock, the mighty boulders of his buttocks clenching and unclenching, big balls locked to the base of his cock, her ass hole clearly exposed beneath her articulated, working mouth of a pussy.

Flesh on flesh, flesh in flesh, intimate and yet depersonalized, idealized and yet with the reality of the physical contact, its thereness before him indisputable.

The play of the muscles, strutted, sweating, ruddy beneath the tans in their passion.

And the canvasses, the painting suggesting themselves to him now,’ one, two, three, right on up and up the scale of numbers, the task not daunting but eagerly embraced.

Naked, Armand works, so that his own cock is huge, is bobbling stiffly as he moves this way and that, now crouching at the foot of the bed, catching the juncture in intimate detail, now springing up onto the bed, standing there, his bare feet digging into the mattress as he gleans the overhead shot of the action.

The action and the action and the action!

The aura, the spirit of it! The generality, the universality of it!

Because, as in all things, as the real approaches the ideal, it becomes generalized.

Steve is not Steve, nor is the woman herself alone; rather, they are both of a type, are paragons of that type, the ideal of every man, every woman- and redefining themselves with every repetition of exercise, with every set, with every workout.

And now, in a workout of a quite different kind, they are transforming themselves, moment by moment, building and building the pleasure within those ultra-developed bodies of theirs, interacting with it, merging with it, as Armand envisions painting after painting, all in the surrealist mode now, all exploring in intimate detail the juxtaposition of flesh and iron, flesh and flesh, flesh and its own ideal, the striving for that ideal, the agony and the ecstasy, the frustration and the achievement and all points, all phases, all aspects in between.

They move unbidden, from position to position, in a kind of horizontal mixed couple posing routine.

So that now she is on top, giving full, physical vent to her lust, rolling her hips round and round, reaming her pussy with his wonder wand now, and now pumping, forcing the piston action atop him.

And now, they disconnect and reconnect, she lying atop him, back to chest, the insertion their most prominent feature, the look of sexual transport on her face and his making them look quite other than themselves.

And this is also valid, also a part of the truth of it all, Armand tells himself, capturing their expressions.

As it all comes together, as man reveals himself here as ultimately, exclusively a sexual, a sex- driven creature, his desire for transformation itself a part of that deeper, that atavistic desire.

And Armand will show it all, all! through his art.

Roll after roll of reference material, he shoots, as the muscular couple build toward climax.

And that too, he is most careful to capture in intimate detail, as well as in the long view.

And they do not disappoint, Steve’s muscles strutted and gleaming with his sexual perspiration as he swims upstream in the bed, humping his partner ardently, thrusting with each injection of his sperm into the depths of her hot, flowing cunt, even as her pussy lips convulse, again and again, milking him of his load in the throes of her series of multiple orgasms.

Were he not so busy recording the event, Armand would probably come in sheer empathy, he tells himself.

But he dares not miss any of this exquisite reference material.

But, on the other hand, he must, he must get closer to the action, must, must know, must more than behold, must feel, must, mustCloser and closer to the humping, pumping Steve’s ass comes Armand, jaw slack, drooling as he spreads the cheeks of Steve’s ass, as he seals his lips to Steve’s bung, as he works lips and tongue over his balls, down the pulsing, plunging shaft, tasting the mixture of jism and pussy juice which coats it, as he explores the juncture of pussy lips and cock with his flickering tongue, as he descends to the woman’s ass hole, coated with the overflow of mingled fluids running down from her pussy, running out of it as Steve holds her there, doubled up, mighty arms and shoulders holding her bent, impaled on his cock which continues to service her as the two of them come and come.

Only when the last spasm of the hot action has passed, Steve settling down on the woman, releasing the backs of her thighs so that her muscular legs descend on either side of Steve’s own legs, only now does Armand pull back, satisfied that he has captured within his own sex-fevered brain the essence of the action.

Steve stands up, offering the woman his hand, which she accepts.

As the two of them shower together in Armand’s cinderblock, plastic-curtained shower enclosure, Armand, ignoring his own hard-on, sketches furiously on a spiral-bound pad, making visual notes on the series of paintings he intends to create.

Yes, this exhibition will be as great a success as his others, he knows.

In the others, his works spoke of the individual’s experience, calling out to the viewer to recognize, to see in themselves, in their memories, the moods, the attitudes, the realizations so clearly and diversely expressed by Irene.

With Darlene, he spoke to his audience of their lusts-for power, for fame, for fortune, for every experience catering to the senses life has to offer.

Yes, to speak to the individual of his and her own past and desires, each viewer beholding in each painting a personal reflection, whether experienced or desired, whether of thought or of action.

But now, he will go the other way.

From the specific to the general, reaching down, down, down into the depths of our drives, our desires, our dreams, our yearnings, devoid of the veneer of civilization, shown naked, bared for all to see.