Triptych

"He is an artist," Arnold advised her. "Let him create."

Sheila sought a second opinion, this time from an actor, James Laudell.

"All true artists are obsessed," James told her. "Russ is an artist; therefore, Russ is obsessed."

Although James' logic seemed fallacious to her and Arnold's advice seemed dubious, Sheila decided to bide her time another day or two before insisting that Russ take a break from his work. Maybe, she thought, she could seduce him, keeping him in bed for a day. At sex, equipped as she was with breasts and womanly buttocks as well as a cock and pair of balls, hands, and a mouth, she could entertain him for hours. Maybe, after she'd sucked his cock and he'd fucked her ass, he'd forget about his masterpiece long enough to get a few hours of sleep.

When she went to his studio, Russ was putting the finishing touches on his third painting.

Sheila gasped, astounded at the work.

Hearing her, Russ turned, smiling. "What do you think, my love?"

"It's beautiful!"

Russ chuckled. "Of course, it's beautiful," he agreed. "How could it be anything else, based as it is upon you?"

The third painting in the triptych, Woman, showed Sheila, still a shemale, ascending from the ribcage of her male body, which lie sleeping. The male version of Sheila, Stephen, had been rendered in muted tones, almost as if he were a corpse or a marble statue of one, but the female-or, rather, the shemale-was golden-hued and so perfectly executed that the flawless figure seemed to be an angel or a goddess rather than a mere mortal being. The azure sky into which the transsexual rose, streaming with brilliant sunlight, suggested an apotheosis. The painting combined the image of a strange birth, similar to Eve's arising from the sleeping form of Adam, with that of a goddess' ascension, or the deification of a woman-or of a man-woman, a hermaphrodite.

"It's fantastic," Sheila said.