Sensuous Stories (2 page)

“
I’m okay. I just have a bit
of a cold.” The woman nodded sympathetically no doubt thinking she
was in the midst of some major life catastrophe.

She’s right in a way. I’m going mad.

She wiped her face with the tissue and
smiled with what she hoped was the appropriate amount of teary
sadness and got up to go into another room. The Dutchman was in
front of a portrait of Nicholas Hasselaer. He didn’t looked at
her.

She stood beside him feeling the wetness of
his semen between her legs. “I don’t understand,” she murmured. He
shrugged his shoulders and turned to her.

“
Neither do I. All I know is
I travel with my painting and over the centuries make love with
women who want something else. Something they don’t get in their
usual lives. Danger maybe, or anonymity. I don’t know.”

“
Are you cursed or
something?”

“
Cursed? My dear woman, I’m
in Heaven. I fuck, something for a variety of reasons, I don’t do a
lot of in my time. God has blessed me.”

She was curious despite the absurd madness
of the situation.

“
You do this all the
time?”

“
No, that’s the beauty of
it. This only happens when my painting is loaned out by the
Rijksmuseum. The rest of the time I live my normal life travelling
around the East Indies, making money and enjoying my country house
with my books and my garden. Every few years I go on a holiday to
another gallery and each time a woman such as yourself is my
partner for the life of the exhibition. It’s an ideal way to
live.”

“
Don’t they miss you back in
your time?”

He laughed. “A minute back there is worth
several months in another time. I’m not missed. And even though I
can’t move beyond the gallery, I’m certainly not bored.
Particularly when I have partners such as yourself. Your cunt is
exquisite. So exquisite that I need it again now.”

He pushed her to face the wall between
Nicholas Hasselaer and Sara Wolphaerts van Dieman, Nicholas’s
second wife, and hiked up her skirt. She heard him fumble with his
trousers then felt his knees between her legs pushing them apart.
She tipped her arse up to let him thrust home. Her cheek lay flat
against the smooth plaster and she dreamily watched Nick. He seemed
to be laughing as the Dutchman fucked her.

After that, she came back every day in her
lunch hour. They made love all over the gallery and he told her
some more about the people in the paintings including himself.

“
Why don’t you marry and
have children?” she asked one day as she was again sprawled out on
a bench with the Dutchman across her, toying with her breasts. His
teeth pulled and bit her nipples making her rotate her hips,
craving him inside her.

“
I’m always off sailing,
looking for goods to sell, never at home. And to be honest, there’s
something about the women of my time I don’t like. They’re so
dependant. I feel stifled.”

She snorted. “Hard to be anything else when
women in your class can’t own property, vote or work. What were
their choices?”

“
You are absolutely right,
my dear. But I still don’t want to yoke myself to someone who can’t
look after herself.”

Men hadn’t changed, Lisa thought. Still
making excuses.

“
What happens now?” she
asked, as he again slid into her and started a slow
stroke.

“
I bring you to another
satisfying release while all these worthy art patrons continue to
wander around us.”

“
No, I mean the exhibition
ends tomorrow. What then?”

“
Ah. That, my dear, is when
our liaison comes to an end. I get packed up and sent back to
Amsterdam. Will you miss me?”

Lisa wasn’t sure. She’d certainly miss the
sex, but she wasn’t entirely sure she liked the Dutchman. He was so
self satisfied and sure of himself. Travelling across four hundred
and fifty years semi regularly could do that to a person she
guessed.

“
I see not,” he said.
Concentrating on his task, he bought her to a quick, hard release,
then stood and bowed. “I think this must be God’s way of ensuring
no unhappiness on either side. You don’t like me much and I start
to want the sea wind in my hair. So it all works out. This is where
we say goodbye.” He bowed again and moved into another
room.

Lisa blinked and found herself in front of
Gerard Pietersz Hulft again. She smiled and turned to leave.

The wind was strong enough to almost push
her along busy St Kilda Road. It was cold and a light drizzle had
started. Lisa pulled her scarf closer round her throat and glanced
over to the arts centre. She hadn’t been there since the Dutch
Masters Exhibition closed.

The whole experience occupied a strange
place in her mind. She’d ended her therapy sessions not long after
her last encounter with the Dutchman, knowing she’d never be able
to talk about what had happened. Not that she wanted to. Somehow
her secret warmed her, made her feel special and chosen.

The Dutchman had been right about how she’d
wanted something different in her life. Five years of therapy
hadn’t solved that. But a few months of fucking a visitor from the
seventeenth century had. She’d ended her relationship with Paul and
felt free and unencumbered.

The wind picked up and the
drizzle turned into rain. She made a dash into the foyer of the
arts centre and saw a new exhibition had started called
Goddess: Divine Energy.

After peeling off all her out layers and
leaving them all with the cloak room attendant, an experience most
Melbournians were used to, she made her way to the exhibition.
Sacred images of Kali, Lakshmi and Tara, all in bright exotic
colors and poses delighted her. She walked slowly around the
exhibition and stopped in front of a terracotta stature of Kali,
who looked ferocious and wild. A string of heads circled her neck
and she danced on a corpse. Lisa could smell sandalwood in the
air.

“
She’s such a show off,
don’t you think?”

Lisa turned to the woman beside her and
smiled. “In what way?”

“
All those arms. She always
went for the overdone message. And she was such a
bully.”

The woman turned to Lisa and gazed at her
with dark, shimmering eyes. The smell of sandalwood intensified.
Lisa felt her skin prickle with anticipation. “I wouldn’t know,”
she said.

Lisa turned back to the figure, closed her
eyes and waited.

The Second Coming

Father James Murphy thought about God a
great deal. It was his business after all. At first, in the
seminary, he rarely felt God’s presence but now, after twenty years
serving in His name, James knew God was with him all the time. Even
as he stood naked with a scarf around his neck, pumping his cock,
he knew God surrounded him. The scarf was tied to a hook on the
door, and as he leant forward it tightened. God felt close every
time the red haze obscured his vision, making his cock swell with
delight.

His discovery of the joy of connecting with
God through his cock happened inadvertently. The seminary had been
a hard, bleak place, made worse without the comforting presence of
God. He thought of leaving but couldn’t face the shame of returning
to his family a failure. A Murphy son always went into the
priesthood. From his earliest days everyone assumed he had a
vocation. His mother told him his saintly otherworldliness was
proof he was destined for a religious life. It seemed she was
wrong. God had abandoned him. He’d decided to kill himself.

With shaking hands he’d arranged the rope
and chair, climbed up and placed the noose around his neck. The
fear of committing a mortal sin made him hesitate. He stood on the
chair and struggled with the need to push it away, all the time
feeling the bite of the noose tighten around his neck. At the same
time his cock hardened. Joy spread through his body.

He was confused at first. A hard cock was
something for a priest to avoid, but as a flood of happiness swept
through every vein and capillary in his body, he couldn’t resist
the urge to touch himself. The movement of his increasingly
vigorous stroke made him jiggle around on the chair which tightened
the noose even more.

As he came, the glory of God exploded in his
mind as well as out of his cock. That’s how he thought of it
anyway. In that moment of ecstasy, he knew his semen was holy, part
of God’s way of blessing his flock.

At first he thought God’s message was
simple. The best way to reach Him was through a holy orgasm. Even
though his teachers preached against this pleasure, in his dark,
cold cell, he was convinced God had shown him the true way. Lying
on his narrow bed, James squeezed his cock, ready to feel once
more, the joy of His presence. Nothing happened except a dark
feeling of shame. He despaired, thinking God had abandoned him
again.

He craved that closeness, that feeling of
almost touching God. So he set up the chair and rope again and to
his relief it worked. When the red haze filled his head, he felt
the presence of God enter his whole body. His holy semen shot out
and when he loosened the noose and looked down at the puddle at his
feet, he saw it glowed with a golden shimmering light. More
evidence he was a container for God’s blessings.

James felt driven to share his new found
glory with others, but in a cold burst of reality he knew no one
would believe him. They hadn’t believed Christ either. So it was up
to him to ensure God’s glory was passed on to His flock.

The problem was how. It seemed terribly
wasteful for his holy semen to end up on the floor in front of him,
only to be wiped away and discarded. But he was a priest in
training and didn’t know yet how best to share his semen with
others.

His mentor at the seminary, Father Alvarez,
often stared at him, burning judgment in his dark eyes. James
feared that Father Alvarez knew about his holy masturbation. He
would stand, lean and ascetic in front of his class of young
priests and lecture them on the need for strength and resolve
against the temptations of the flesh.

In his individual counseling sessions with
Father Alvarez, his mentor would again tell James, in a severe and
compelling voice, to resist temptation. Father Alvarez would make
James kneel next to him on the hard, stone floor while they prayed
for strength. Out of the corner of his eye, James would watch
Father Alvarez clasp his hands and sway back and forth begging God
for His holy intercession. His knuckles were white and when he
finished his prayer, James sometimes saw semi circles of blood
where his fingernails had pierced the skin.

One day it was too much for James. He hated
to see Father Alvarez in so much torment. He reached out and placed
his palm against Father Alvarez’s feverish cheek, wanting to sooth
away his pain. The older priest’s eyes flew open, but whatever he
saw in James’ eyes made his own fill with tears. James held his
head gently and pressed his mouth against Father Alvarez’s
lips.

Later, as James stood in Father Alvarez’s
study with his cock down the older man’s throat, he knew Father
Alvarez was wrong. The devil twisted God’s words to so that
pleasure was equated with sin. But James knew the truth.

His increasing resolve to spread God’s word
made connecting to Him easier. Soon he was able to feel His
comforting presence any time he touched himself or let others touch
him. The connection was always best when he demonstrated to God his
willingness to join him in the after life, but increasingly he
didn’t need the rope to experience the flood of happiness through
his body.

It was immediately obvious to him that his
holy semen helped others connect with God as well. Every afternoon
he stood in the Father Alvarez’s study and watched the avid lust in
his mentor’s eyes as he sucked on James’ cock. Father Alvarez was
desperate, James knew, for the healing grace of James’ semen. James
held his head, feeling the wiry dark curls scrape against his
fingers as he thrust into Father Alvarez’s mouth, urging him to
take him deeper.

“
That’s right,” he’d murmur
with soft reverence, “take it right in.”

Father Alvarez would squeeze his balls and
James would again feel the presence of God explode into his body.
As he shot off into Father Alvarez’s throat, James held the older
priest’s head hard against him, not wanting one drop of the
precious fluid wasted.

He knew Father Alvarez was unhappy and
believed the more semen he took in, the closer Father Alvarez would
move toward God. It seemed to work. Within a few months of their
afternoon sessions, Father Alvarez disappeared. The rumor among the
young priests was that he’d left the priesthood and returned to
Venezuela to work with his people. James was glad and knew Father
Alvarez had come to his truth through the semen. He was sure it
would happen with others.

It was the same with Father Ryan. As James
eased into his tight arse, James knew the young priest wouldn’t
last long in the seminary. He didn’t know why he knew, but it had
something to do with the way Father Ryan begged him to fuck him. He
wanted it hard and rough, wanted James to dig his fingers into his
hips and pump his cum into him. James hoped Father Ryan would
realize he needed to serve God some other way. He was pleased when
he too, disappeared. The rumors indicated he moved to New York to
become an actor. James lit a candle for him.

When James became a parish priest in a
deprived suburb in western Sydney, he was confident better
opportunities would arise to share the grace of his holy semen with
others. The most obvious way was through the host. Not only would
his parishioners ingest the body of Christ but also his life
transforming holy semen.