David and Aphrodite

The first time I ever saw her was on a junior-high field trip to the City Museum. I remember it clearly, even though most of the rest of that period of my life is an unpleasant adolescent blur, a hormonal hangover.

I was already enough of a geek that I was really into the museum. Other than my friend and fellow dweeb Emily, my classmates all thought it was boring, or just a chance to goof off. I loved the old artifacts, the pottery shards and medieval weapons, the old paintings, especially the portraits of people long dead, and the big moody romantic landscapes of mountains and tangled dark forests.

And then I saw the statue. It was toward the end of our excursion, the other kids were hungry and irritable, and the teachers were frazzled. She was carved out of white marble, and sat atop a low pedestal. She was looking over her shoulder, as if she was checking to see if anyone was watching, and she was completely nude. Her breasts were out there for anyone to see.

I was at the unfortunate age where the sight of bare breasts was both unbearably fascinating, and somewhat mortifying. The sculptor had done a fine job with hers: they were beautiful, petite and round with perfect little nipples. Her legs were crossed, but you could see, just below the slight swell of her belly, the etched suggestion of pubic hair.

There was a slight smile on the statue’s face, a mischievous look, and I swear her eyes twinkled.

I left the museum feeling deeply self-conscious about the hard-on that was jutting out from my crotch like a signpost. Apparently my classmate Emily, friend, fellow nerd, and sometime co-conspirator, noticed. According to her, I narrowly missed losing my virginity later that afternoon, or if not my virginity per se, I might have at least gained some valuable carnal experience. All I would have had to do was say something. But I didn’t.

I didn’t see my statue again for several years. But I didn’t forget her either. Sometimes when I masturbated, alone in bed at night, she’d be there, peeking over her shoulder at me. As if things weren’t confusing enough.

It was another field trip. This time it was Art I, a high school elective, and we were supposed to pick one thing from the museum to sketch in our notepads. I went straight to her, half afraid that she’d be gone, or that I had made her up in the first place.

She was still there. She hadn’t moved. Or had she? She was in the same place, a non-descript corner near the exit, and she held the same pose; still naked and looking over her shoulder with that ghostly smile on her face; but this time I noticed that her legs were slightly parted. If you looked, you could just make out the crease of her labia. And I did look.

I sat down and tried to sketch her. It didn’t go very well. First of all, it was hard to sit comfortably with an erection bulging in my pants. And secondly, without really meaning to, I kept sketching all her naughty bits in excruciating detail. I’d start trying to capture her neck and shoulder, and find myself drawing her breasts; I’d work on the line of her legs, and end up focusing on her half-hidden crotch. Eventually, I gave up and tried my hand at copying one of the renaissance portraits that I loved. It was harder than it looked.

Emily caught up with me after class. “I saw what you sketched today,” she said. I turned the color of a ripe tomato.

“It’s OK,” she giggled. “I thought it was a pretty good drawing. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Meet me back at the museum after school. I’ll tell you then.”

***

I hustled my butt over to the museum right after sixth period algebra, but Emily was already there waiting for me. It was close to closing time, and the museum was nearly empty; all that remained were a few old ladies and a more-or-less equal number of security guards.

“What’s the big secret?” I wanted to know. She just smiled guiltily and told me to follow. She led me to the Hall of Antiquities.

We stopped in front of an out-of-the way statue in a far corner of the Hall. It was a white marble figure, a young man carrying a bucket. The plaque next to the statue said ‘The Water Carrier”. It seemed like a pretty innocuous statue; he was nude, but they all were. You could see his penis, but it didn’t seem like anything to get excited about: a small and limp-looking noodle resting on a round bulge that suggested his scrotum. But Emily was blushing furiously.

She looked quickly around, checking for little old ladies and security guards, but the coast was clear. Then Emily reached out and touched the noodle with the tip of her index finger. I swear to God the statue twitched.

She stroked it, like she was petting a tiny baby kitten, drawing her finger lightly up and down, back and forth; and slowly but surely the stone penis engorged and grew erect. I was fascinated. It was big, but not huge. It was roughly the size of my own gear. Eventually it was standing straight up, the white marble head peeking out from inside the white marble foreskin. The statue had gone from an ordinary, unremarkable figure study to an obscene pornographic masterpiece, fit to give a House Republican conniptions.

“Lick it,” I heard myself say, and after another quick check to make sure we were alone, Emily did. She bent over, stuck out her tongue, and flicked the tip of the statue’s cock with the end of her tongue. I swear, the statue twitched again, and his penis seemed to grow another half inch.

“Come on,” Emily said, “Let’s try yours!”

We waited while a little old lady with an oversized black umbrella shuffled past. My statue looked perfectly ordinary, her legs crossed primly, her head turned, looking over her shoulder behind her. The octogenarian finally tottered out the end of the hall, and when I looked back at my stature, something had changed. Her legs were no longer crossed, but were in fact slightly parted. The hint of a crease between her thighs was no longer just a suggestion, but a carven valley, a crevice between puffy sculpted labia. When I looked closely, I could even see a tiny white marble clitoris.

“Touch her!” Emily urged.

Hesitantly, I reached out my arm and did just that, insinuating my outstretched arm between her thighs and petting her stone crease. She was cold and hard and smooth as polished glass.

As I ran my finger up and down her stone labia, she blossomed. It was like watching one of those time-lapse films of a white flower, a lilly say, blossoming. Her lips puffed and pealed back, her clitoris emerged from its carven marble hood.

“Put a finger inside!” and I did. It felt weirdly non-erotic, my finger slipping into a tunnel of finely polished marble. The statue sighed softly and her legs parted a little wider.

Just then, the loudspeaker informed us that the Museum was now closed, and a security guard ambled along to kick us out. We high-tailed it out of there, double-time.

***

I still can’t believe we did it; I can’t believe how easy it was; I really can’t believe we got away with it. We just ducked into the Museum later that same night through a propped-open side door while a security guard took an illicit smoke break.

Once inside, we both got a wicked case of the giggles. “Who goes first??” We couldn’t decide, so we played rock-paper-scissors for it. Emily picked rock. I picked paper.

Together, we went into the Hall of Antiquities. Our footsteps seemed to echo all out of proportion.

We found ourselves in front of Emily’s statue. He looked normal and unassuming. His penis had returned to its original state; small and flaccid but not soft.

“Touch him!” Emily said, and I did, reaching out and petting his marble penis. He twitched visibly under my touch. “Lick it!” Emily urged. Why not, I thought, it’s only a statue. I got down on my knees, stuck out my tongue, and slurped the marble of his penis. This time he definitely twitched, jumping and growing in response to my touch. I gave him another experimental lick. His dick was pointing up at the heavens now, carved in exquisite detail and, of course, hard as stone.

“I think that was the sexiest thing I’ve seen all day,” Emily said. “I’ll just take it from here.”

I moved out of the way, and she got down on her knees and starting slurping up and down the statue’s penis, taking him between her lips, swallowing most, if not all, of his shaft, swirling her tongue around the alabaster head, playing with his stone balls. My own cock was at least as hard as the statue’s.

I opened my big fat mouth. “You should take your shirt off.” Emily stopped what she was doing and gave me a sharp look. She didn’t say anything, but she did pull her t-shirt off, up over her head, and she unsnapped her bra.

Her breasts were small, freckled, almost conical affairs, with tiny, dimpled, pink nipples. They jiggled as she moved. I thought they were beautiful.

Emily sucked his dick a little bit more. By this time, his penis was straining skyward, fat and thick, and it glistened with her saliva. She got up off her knees, glanced around and shrugged. “Here goes nothing.”

She shucked her black pants down around her ankles. Pink panties emblazoned with white unicorns followed. She had a fluffy puff of pubic hair, and I could see her pussy pouting open. A glistening strand of wetness lingered, stretching from her pink pussy lips down to the crotch of her panties. This is actually happening, I thought, this is for real. It was far and away the sexiest sight I had ever seen.

She waddled forward, stood up on her tippy-toes, and nudged the crease of her pussy up against the tip of the statue’s cock. “Mmmmm,” she whispered to me, “Shit yeah. It feels amazing.”

Slowly, gingerly, Emily lowered herself down his dick, impaling herself. “Shit yeah,” she said again, “It’s so fucking good!”

She started moving up and down, lifting up until his penis was just barely nestled between her labia, and then plunging down again. Faster and faster she moved, her breath becoming husky, her breasts bouncing, her skin flushed, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. She looked gorgeous like that, awe-inspiring. I wanted to touch her, but I was afraid. I wasn’t sure what she’d think.

“Oh,” Emily cried in a small voice, “Oh, I’m coming!”

She bore down hard on the statue, burying his entire cock in her pussy, scrubbing hard between her legs with her head thrown back, her eyes clenched shut. Her entire body shuddered. It was amazing to watch.

Finally, almost sheepishly, she disengaged herself from the statue and pulled her pants back up.

“That was SO hot!” I told her.

She gave me an unreadable little smile, located her bra, and pulled her t-shirt back on.

“Your turn.”

My statue was back to her more-or-less prim self, lounging with her legs crossed at the ankles, looking back over her shoulder with a secret little smile. I swear I saw her legs part a little bit as we approached.

“Lick her pussy.” Emily told me. The way she emphasized the word pussy punched me in the gut.

Indeed, the statue’s legs had parted just enough that I could squeeze in between her knees. I crawled in between her stone thighs, and found myself face-to-face with the crease of her marble vulva.

I felt faintly ridiculous, down on my knees, licking the sculpted marble. It was cool and smooth under my tongue, and tasted like nothing at all.

My licking, however, had an immediate and dramatic effect. There was no shade of primness now, my statue’s legs were splayed wide apart. Her pussy was wide open, her marble clitoris was bulging out, and her inner lips practically glistened.

“Fuck her,” Emily urged. “Fuck her pussy.” She savored the word, enjoying the sound of it rolling off her tongue.

Feeling a little bit self-conscious, and more than a little bit ridiculous, I unzipped my jeans, and fished out my straining erection. I could feel Emily’s eyes on me as I maneuvered myself in between the statue’s wide-spread legs. “Here goes nothing,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. I slid my dick straight up that stone pussy.

The sensation was amazing. At the time I didn’t have anything to compare it to, other than my own hand, which it felt nothing like. She was smooth as silk, hard as granite. It was a little like fucking a tube of Reddi-Wip, straight out of the refrigerator. It felt so damn good!

My statue’s head was now lolled back. Her nipples strained out, her toes pointed at the ceiling. If Emily’s statue would give House Republicans conniptions, my stature would give them a collective heart attack in its current pose. I glanced over at Emily. She was staring at my cock, watching it slide in and out of the white stone portal. One hand was down the front of her pants.

“Play with her asshole,” Emily whispered.

I reached under the statue’s buttocks and found her carven anus, which yielded to my probing finger.

“Oh fuck Emily,” I swallowed hard, “I’m not going to be able to last much longer…”

“Fuck yeah,” Emily responded, never once taking her eyes off the action, “Come inside her. Come in her fucking pussy.”

I was already there. It just felt too damn good! I was fucking her faster and faster, grinding my cock in and out of her tight stone orifice, bucking my hips in an over-excited frenzy. A part of me felt like I must look ridiculous, a goofy-looking kid with his jeans down around his calves, humping away like a madman at an old Greek statue; but mostly I just surrendered to it. I came, gasping and grunting, pumping what felt like gallon after gallon of semen deep into my statue’s vagina.

When it was all over, when my dick was finally waning soft, I reluctantly withdrew. My come leaked from the statue’s vulva like the trail of a slug. My heart was thumping and I was all sweaty and sticky. I felt sheepish and un-sexy, but Emily was grinning from ear to ear!

“Now, THAT was the second-sexiest thing I’ve seen all day!”

While I put my dick back in my underpants, and pulled up my jeans, Emily got down on her knees and gingerly stuck out her tongue and lapped a little of my come off of the marble pussy. She noticed me watching and turned bright red. “I just wanted to know what it was like!”

We slipped out the back of the museum, out into the night. It was late and the stars were out and the moon rode high above the city. We walked along cracked and deserted sidewalks, hand in hand and hip to hip. I don’t know about Emily, but I felt like I was glowing.

END

7 Comments »

  1. cliffmichaels said

    A concise gem of a story…

  2. Weird said

    Reminded me of the good old days when you could reserve the grand piano room at the downtown library. I learned a lot about nipples and clits in that reserved room, but there was never any music coming out of that piano, just music from that girl whose name i can’t remember – but what the hell? it was more than 40 years ago. Good story once again.

  3. advizor54 said

    Fantasy, mythology, high art, low fucking, and stone hard cocks of both kinds. another great mix of passion and imagination. Thank you.

  4. mattdyne said

    What a cute and touching little tale of friendship, young lust, and make-believe magic. You’re still at the top of my list of favorite WP writers.

  5. Kurt said

    Elsie, after reading several stories here, I can see why you do not post on literotica.com, your work is both erotic and believable. You are very talented. Thanks for writing.

  6. Da id said

    Great imagination, even better writer. I think I’ll head over to MOMA later today. 🙂

  7. Aetrun said

    As I read through this again, some months after first finding this site, I found myself wondering what kind of magic could create such a statue. The Gorgon perhaps? Whatever the source, it is a beautiful tale as are all your works I have read here.

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