Triptych

Russ kissed her.

Their lips parted, their tongues slipped inside one another's mouths, and their kiss became deep and passionate.

"I was worried about you," Sheila confessed, after they ended their lip lock.

"Worried? About me?"

"Your health. You weren't eating or sleeping. You were hardly breathing." She gave him an intense, penetrating look. "You weren't even fucking!"

Taking her hand in his, he led her from the studio, down the hall, and into his bedroom.

They removed their clothes, climbed into bed, and made wild, passionate love. It seemed to Sheila that, at the moment of her climax, semen spurting from her erect cock, she left her body and ascended into the heavens far beyond the confines of earth, transcending the maleness and the femaleness of her hermaphroditic body and the restrictive, socially dictated roles of masculinity and femininity. It seemed to her that she'd become the goddess that her beloved artist had depicted in the triptych that showed the transformation of a transsexual to a state beyond the flesh. Only the semen spewing from her prick-and the warm, thick seed that gushed from Russ' cock, buried within the depths of her rectum-kept her bound to her body and to the earth, keeping her in the flesh as she entered the realm of the spirit, a new Eve, not merely born, but reborn, of man.

She was no longer a work in progress; like Russ' triptych, she was complete.

She was a masterpiece.