I lay there naked and spent, below the true Michelangelo cross and could only wonder, "How the hell did I get here?"
In the fall of 1962, a wooden crucifix was discovered with a fabulously forged Michelangelo signature. For years it hung in a Florence museum, and I wasn't about to miss my chance to see it on display in Cleveland. Critics had said the naked Christ, slumping on the cross, lacked the virility of a true Michelangelo. Others argued the work, finished when Michelangelo would have been 18 years of age, was a clear example of his early style.
When I'd left for the museum, I had only one thought in mind: check out the cross, see if it was for real. I was not going to be lured by the museum's other offerings. As the only art history major on my college's baseball team, I was ridiculed for my frequent museum visits. I would keep this trip short and secret, fearing my love of renaissance nudes might reveal something else about me.
As I walked through the towering arches, his gaze caught my eye. Certainly not more than eighteen years old, his graceful swagger told me he had different plans for the museum than his haute-culture, euro-trash parents. A chill went through my body. Unnerved by his boldness, and my involuntary response, I looked away and headed in the opposite direction: German expressionism. Surrounded by images of Munch, I was somehow less than comforted, as my hormones raced and my head swam.
The overly confident voice in my ear did little to draw me back to reality: "The curved lines, the dark colors, it's enough to make one faint." The hint of an Italian accent was enough to make me swoon. I gasped slightly as I turned to meet his penetrating stare, his eyes of the artist taking in every shape of my face. "I should like to sculpt your true form," he traced two fingers along my jawbone, "preserve your beauty for all eternity." Such presence, such strength from an eighteen year old and god was he hot.
My heart raced, my palms began to sweat, and I shifted to try to conceal the bulge in my pants. I opened my mouth, desperate to say anything, but the pressure of his fingers on my moist lips silenced me. I stood there, completely petrified, as he slowly angled his gorgeous face to the nape of my neck, gently inhaling my manly scent. The cool air flowing over my skin sent a shiver through my spine.
Before I knew what was happening he had a hold of my hand, and we were on a mad dash through the museum. Time seemed frozen around us, as we traversed expressionism, pointillism, and baroque to find ourselves among the renaissance nudes. His hands reached under my shirt, gently feeling the curves of my hard pectoral muscles, and playing over the ripples of my six-pack abs before suddenly ripping the shirt off my body. A slight moan escaped me as my ruined shirt hit the floor, and he smiled before drawing me into a hard, masculine kiss.
My hands worked furiously to try and remove his shirt as we kissed, and he only seemed more amused by this. With one graceful sweep of his hands, his shirt was off, and we stood there, glorious body against glorious body, with images of glorious bodies adorning every wall. Passion filled the air as our lips met again. His hands caressed my chest. My back arched, my pelvis strained forward, and he quickly dropped my pants. With one hand around my back, he guided me to the ground with the grace of a dancer. I realized we lay below the Michelangelo cross, but before I could get a look at it, his hands had removed my underwear, and my cock, wet with precum, glistened in the air.
He looked down on my body, and gingerly took the tip of my cock into his mouth. His tongue swirled over the head of my raging dick. He started sucking on me, as if I were a straw, and then unexpectedly lifted up and with a pop my dick left his mouth. I gasped, my wet cock felt cold in the air conditioned museum. Then all at once, he went all the way down on me. The warmth was incredible. His head bobbed up and down, faster and faster on my horny dick.
With his mouth on my throbbing cock, our souls connected in an entirely new way. I felt love, and desire, and pain in a way I had never before known. All of it was centered around the feelings in my cock, as his expert attention brought me closer to the edge. His hand began caressing my balls, encouraging the monster load that was building up within them. His head was going up and down on my cock, catching a lick on the upstroke and deep throating me every time he went down.
I came closer and closer to the edge. As my balls drew tight into my body preparing to shoot, he clamped down even harder and looked straight into my eyes. It was too much, the emotions, the sensations drove me over the edge. My body tensed, my heart shook and it happened.
The orgasm ripped through me. A scream of primal pleasure left my throat, my entire body contracted as copious ropes of cum left my pulsing member. My heart beat irregularly, my eyes went blind and my ears went deaf as I experienced the fullest orgasm of my life, so strong it was like a little death. The swirl of liquid as he swallowed was too much, it sent me over the edge again. In that moment of ecstacy, my head tossed back and I saw it: the face, the body, every detail of the figure on the cross was mine. A tear ran down the side of my face, as the last strings of cum left my cock.
As I recovered, trying desperately to regain control of my breathing, I realized my Italian stallion was already on his way out the door. He looked at the cross, looked at me, and with a coy smile he mouthed, "for all eternity," and was gone.
==== author's note: this is my first attempt at a story like this, if you liked it, please let me know... if you didn't like it, don't worry i probably won't be writing many more! you can e-mail me at muse_hotty@hotmail.com