From: Art_Fish@hotmail.com (Dr. Fish)
Subject: - RENASANC.TXT [01/01]
Date: Fri, 26 Dec 1997 15:02:19 GMT
Organization: St. Dismas Infirmary for the Incurably Informed

Renaissance
by davis trell

    Michaelangelo hated Leonardo's guts. All on accout of that
precocious new artist in town, Raphael. Twenty now, and determined to
be a name. He'd been lover to both older men, and aroused great great
jealousy between the two.
    Raphael had been the model for most of the ignudi on the Sistine
Chapel ceiling that Michaelangelo painted. One model and a zillion
poses. The expressions varied between orgasm and fear. Crotches open,
inviting, and butts thrust out, expecting an imminent rape and anal
invasion. But not one erection, as all the preparatory studies were
made between sex-acts, Michaelangelo continuing to draw until Raphael
was ready to cum again.

    Leonardo had been shown the ways of men, two decades earlier in
the atelier of Donatello, the famous sculptor and notorius sodomite.
For an illustrious client, Duke Medici, Donatello cast a bronze,
Leonardo, as David, naked but with helmet and sword, crushing underfoot
the satyric Goliath, the portrait of the artist as an old man. It was
the first nude that has a sinuous contour and erotic pose for the last
thousand years. Leonardo was a perfect model for the sculpture both in
body and temperament. With his bedroom eyes and hustler smile he
conveyed the power and sexuality of horny youth.
    Ironically, Michaelangelo returned to the subject, age conquered
by a sexy juvenile, when he sculpted his "Victory", this time with
Raphael as the model; and that's when the trouble began. They were the
most two unlike peas in a pod. Small, short, stocky, broken nosed
Michaelangelo, contrasted to the thinker, ten years his senior,
effeminate, sensitive Leonardo.
    You have to remember that sodomy was a death penalty crime; where
you took your life in your cock. How things little change.
    In fact Leonardo himself had once found himself on a buggery
charge. He only beat the rap, by dropping his pants, the judge dropped
the case.
    Raphel always based his compositions on equilateral triagles, and
enjoyed the menage-a-trois he'd set up. Him at the center, the older
artist vying for his favors.
    Their demands on his body differed greatly. Michaelangelo, the
barnyard rooster; with his peasant manner he fucked the youth's butt
till it was raw, so Raphael would move over to Leonardo's place, where
he could do the fucking and give his ass a rest, till he got bored and
returned to Michaelangelo and started the circle over again. He learned
much from the masters but applied little to his own work. He painted
Madonnas, breast-feeding infants with huge big eyes, which of course
sold well, to the fat-chested signorinas who thought his art was cute.
    Michaelangelo loved the boy and created the "Dying slave", a
symbol of orgasm as the statue, holding up an arm to support his head,
eyes closed tongue peeking through lips, the other hand petting a
nipple, knees buckling, as his ejaculated down his thigh. Circumspection
forcing Michaelangelo to miss this detail out.
Self-censorship was better than execution, after all. But he'd made
Raphael's dick too small, and exaggerated his butt, till it came out
quite womanly.
    Leonardo was also a mathematician and would combine drawings with
graph-like notations of measurements. Raphael, apparently, was thirteen
 penis-lengths tall, the unit of measurement Leonardo used. His arm
eight penises long, the length of his thigh six, his buttocks three
penises wide. Leonardo's ass was two penis wide and three deep. An
erection is three penises long, in Raphael's case. The sex was too
numerical and so Raphael left, back to his other admirer.
    Michaelangelo left a statue unfinished, as Raphel walked in.
    "I heard you were taking that shit, Il Sodoma to the unveiling
instead of me." said Raffy, with his courtesan smile.
    "But you've been away, mi amore,... with that screaming lily, of
all people! He paints like a pansy and never hews marble!"
    "Tish, so what? Anyway I'm back, and I want to go with you, or you
don't get any more of this pussy!" He slapped his rump to emphasise the
point.
    "Yes, you have a right to see the ceiling, carrisimo, you were my
most used model, your image is in every nook and cranny. Tell you what,
I'll give you a sneak preview, better than seeing it from the floor, as
my scaffold is still there and you can view it in close-up."

    They had to lie on our backs up there, the same way he'd painted
the three-years in the making, the homo-erotic masterpiece, with it's
preponderance of male nudes in throes of sexual ecstasy some of it
covert, some overt. Tongues would wag when it was shown. Raphael would
look at an individual figure, and remember what had happened before,
and after he'd held the pose. Michaelangelo rolled over on top of him,
crushing him, and a pig-skin of lapis lazulae burst, covering his ass
with the blue paint.
    "So, sorry, let me lick you clean," he said with a blue stained
mouth. Raffy knew what was coming.
It was wonderful feeling the agony and ecstacy as Mike buried his cock
deep in his ass. The scaffold shook, the earth moved, but they did not
fall.
    Il Papa, the Pope was worried. Savranola had written another
letter. And ever since the misadventure in the Cascina Bathouse, Pope
Julius had reason to be worried. A man in his position, had to worry
about blackmail, so he thought he'd talk it over with Il Furioso, his
pal, Michealangelo, so went into the Sistine Chapel, where he knew the
great artist would be working, painting the finishing touches to the
ceiling painting, al secco. He'd been portrayed as God, he with the
fine long Grey beard and physique of a stallion, he especially liked
the centerpiece of him trying reaching for the sublime Adam,
reclinining, looking hot as hell. Blue paint dripped on his aquiline
nose and he looked up. The scaffold was shaking, trembling. Il Quako!
He ran out, looking for cover.
    As usual, Michaelangelo began big and got bigger. Though small of
stature he had a Belevedere torso and a cock as big as the one that
threatened Lacoon (Where is the umlaut when you need it?). This mortal
Jupiter threw forward a thunderbolt, and Apollo-like, Raphael took it
into his quiver, liquid arrows of lust. Coitus over, Michaelangelo
fell into a gloom, refused to speak and complained of a goiter.
    I'm fucking going back to Leo thought Raffy, at least he smiles
after sex.
    Raphael crossed the courtyard, avoided Bramante with his peephole
machine that he used as a drawing aid, walked down the Pont de
Vecchio, slipped into the local tavern, drank some Umbrian wine and
sauntered over to Leonardo's place. The older artist was into towers
and so had rented this odd, almost gothic castle like apartment
building down by St. Peter's square.
    He opened the oaken door, went up the wooden stairs, all three
stories, to the top of the building.
    "I've built a machine, a glorious machine." said Leonardo
excitedly. Raphael had seen of the madcap's drawings before, but
hadn't actually heard of one going beyond the mock-up stage before.
    "What does it do?" enquired the youth, bemusedly looking at the
wooden slats, hanging cross-wise supported by chain-links of shiny
metal.
    "I call my invention, Il Butt-trap! Let me show you how it
works!" Leonardo said excitedly. "Remove your vestments, quickly!
Come over here."
    Taking off his outer garments, and then the under ones, Raffy
looked at the contraption. It was like a shelf array made of planks of
wood, and gingerly he stood back against, as instructed by the
inventor.
A Brass shackle was locked around the youth's throat, and hands
manacled to the sides. Ankles were similarly pinioned, and the back of
his body was resting against leather straps which Leonardo, wrapped
aroung Raffy's upper torso, midriff and separate thighs and calves.
Leonardo moved to one side and rotated a silver wheel, connected to a
series of pulleys, and the frame to which Raphael was attached, was
turned into a horizontal position. Leonardo grasped yet another wheel,
rotated again, and the frame turned again until Raphael faced the floor,
hanging some three or four feet above.
    "Sunny side up?....or down?" and rotated the wheel again, facing
up,legs higher than body at approximately 35 degrees.
    "Not high enough." and wheel turned again till Raphael's crotch
reached head height. Another wheel turned and Raphael's legs were spread
wide apart, just wide enough so Leonardo could stand effortlessly
between and sniff Raphael's pubic hairs, or taste Raphael's trenchant
dick, or stick a tongue between Raphael's parted buttcheeks.
Leonardo alternated between these activities, as Raphael squirmed.
This was not the usual way things went at Da Vinci's!
    "Ecco, Umberto! Help me! I need you to turn the wheels!" he
shouted to his dwarfish hump-backed assistant. "I got the idea studying
Foucalt's Pendulum," said the white bearded, balding sage, who removed
his cloak and showed a pronounced erection, that had been aided by yet
another mechanical device; Il Penis-Enlarger.
    Umberto, the hump-backed dwarf responding to his master's command,
turned yet another wheel and the frame on which Raphael was ensconced,
folded together, forcing Raffy's knees toward his chest. A wheel was
spun, and Raphael was lowered backward into a perfect position for
rear-entry.
    "Mi, bellissimo! You always complain that I'm the compliant one!
Today will be different, I shall give to you the pleasure, you've given
to me for so many months!" And saying so, stabbed his enhanced dick
into Raffy's puckered asshole.
    "Umberto! Hit the lever!"
    Cogs grinded, gears churned, chains on pulleys tightened,
released, pushed, pistoned Raffy against the old man, and did all the
work. Leonardo just stood there, occasionally clenching his buttocks
and performed a perfect man-ram into Raffy's constantly moving body.
    Umberto, having put the wheels in motion, rushed forward, stood
behind his master, acted as a buffer, and took the buffeting shocks as
Raphael swung back and forth, riding along his master's rock-hard
erection, each swing more penetrating than the last. The tempo
increased, the anal invasion became more intense as Leonardo buried
himself deeper with every swing as the pace increased. Raffy began to
moan, nay, groan, nay howl. Finally, Leonardo grabbed hold of Raphael,
held him against the forces of the machine, stopped the motion abruptly
and came and came into Raffy's hot insides. Trembling, held in an
inertia he filled the boy's bowels with a liquid eruption and bathed
his cock, the youth's insides, dripping his ejaculation, until he
released, the boy swang back, they were disengaged. Raphael unshackled,
knees buckling was taken to the bed chamber, to recover and was kissed
lovingly on the cheek.

    It was a re-awakening, a rebirth. Raphael decided that from now on
he would be his own man, he started out hanging out in underground
grottoes, fashionable haunts and sought striplings he could dominate,
take home, service, subjugate, subsume, overpower, overwhelm and
overcome. Sadly he caught a terrible disease and died.
    Strange to relate the two older artists, only met once, at
Raphael's funeral; they were polite, flattered each other, and went
their separate ways. The Renaissance was over.

Savaronola was a religious homophobe burned at the stake;  sort of like
Jesse Helms on a spit.

God is a magician, 
Reality His trick, 
and it's all done with mirrors.