I traced the script of the Fearless tattoo on Christos’ chest with my fingertip. “Maybe I should get a tattoo across my chest that says Fearless,” I grinned.

“What, and mar those perfect breasts? Nothing made by the hand of man could ever compare to your breasts, agápi mou. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit worried about capturing their perfection when I paint them.”

“You can totally do it,” I said dismissively. When I’d first met Christos, I would’ve cringed at his words and asked for reassurance he wasn’t lying. Now I took it in stride. But the truth was, I wasn’t really into tattoos for myself. I joked, “Okay, how about I get a tramp stamp that says Fearless instead?”

He chuckled, “Definitely go with the tramp stamp. That way, when I’m taking you from behind, I’ll be reminded how badass you are.”

“Because we both know I have a bad ass,” I quipped, “in a good way.”

“The best way. You have an ass that launched a thousand ships.”

I frowned, “Wait, that sounds like something having to do with farts. Like my ass shoots cannon ball farts or rocket fart blasts that blow the sails that power the ships.”

“All thousand of them,” Christos grinned and shook his head. “Your imagination knows no bounds, agápi mou. Neither of limits nor of propriety.”

“And you love it,” I laughed.

“I do,” he smiled.

We began kissing, naked on our knees, chest to chest on our bed. The passion from the mountain top erupted once again, having never completely cooled. But this time it was sweetly, silkily different. Our love making was quiet and intimate in contrast to the savage intensity and wild abandon before. This time, not just our bodies, but our hearts beat together in that timeless, ancient rhythm of man and woman in perfect union.

The bonding of our hearts brought a powerful immediacy. I was intimately aware of Christos as he thrust tenderly into me over and over again. His heat, his scent, his weight. But also his compassion, his tenderness, and his love. I felt our souls joining as our bodies came together. I could tell he felt it too. Our eyes were locked as pleasure swept through us in a shower of orgasmic release.

We lay in each other’s arms on our bed as the embers of our fire cooled and the bond between our hearts strengthened, much like bedrock after the erupted volcano finally comes to rest. Our ritual of love was complete, body and soul.

Together, Christos and I had laid the foundation for our renewal and rebirth. Like Adam and Eve, we were Man and Woman.

We were Creation.

We were Love.

Love.

SAMANTHA

“Do you think pirates ever used their peg legs as dildos?” Romeo asked thoughtfully.

I gawked at him.

An old guy with grizzled white stubble who was dressed in a pirate costume stood on the dais in the center of the room. He struck a classic pirate pose: hands on hips, one pirate boot up on a box, like he was at the front of a pirate ship. A cutlass hung in a scabbard from his belt and he had one of those black pirate hats and a fancy captain’s coat with hundreds of buttons.

The students were all circled around the dais, drawing the pirate, sitting on these cute little benches called drawing horses, which you straddled long-ways like a horse, hence the name. A vertical plank stuck up on the front end, much like the neck of a horse, and you leaned your drawing clipboard on it. I didn’t think they were big enough to be called horses, so I dubbed them drawing ponies. I would need to get a saddle for mine and properly bedazzle it with glitter and silver buckles in my spare time.

The class was Drawing The Costumed Figure. Professor Walt Childress, who had taught Life Drawing last fall, was our professor once again.

“I totally think pirates used their peg legs as dildos,” Romeo whispered as he sketched on the big drawing pad in his lap with his charcoal stick.

“He doesn’t have a peg leg!” Kamiko hiss-whispered while she sketched her own pirate drawing.

“But if he did,” Romeo muttered thoughtfully, “he would use it as a dildo.”

The old guy in the pirate costume suddenly coughed. Or was it a laugh? I wasn’t sure. But I did know that he was facing us and stood close enough to overhear Romeo.

 Kamiko dropped her charcoal dusted hands in her lap, confused, and gaped at Romeo. “What?”

“I mean, seriously,” Romeo whispered, “pirates are gay. All of them.”

This time, the old pirate made a pfft! noise like he was trying to get Romeo’s attention, like maybe he wanted Romeo to stop talking. I couldn’t blame him. It was hard to concentrate once Romeo got going on a tangent.

Romeo was, of course, oblivious. He was totally going to get busted at the rate he was going.

I glanced around the classroom, trying to determine if we were bothering the other students or not, or if the professor had noticed we were talking when we were supposed to be drawing. Luckily, the professor was sitting at a drawing horse on the far side of the room with two students leaning over his shoulder while he explained how to draw the wrinkles of the captain’s coat just right.

Kamiko whispered, “That makes zero sense, Romeo. Pirates aren’t all gay.”

Romeo rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah? Why would any straight man lock himself away on a ship for months at a time with nothing but guys? Sounds gay to me.”

“What does that have to do with dildos?” Kamiko whispered, frustrated. “With all those dicks around, why would a bunch of gay pirates need any dildos? Duh!”

Romeo titter whispered, “When it comes to an orgy, you can never have too many dicks, darling. Wooden or otherwise.”

Kamiko grimaced and shook her head. “I’ve found that one is usually plenty.”

“I concur,” I grinned.

Our old pirate model cleared his throat. His face was turning red. He was totally listening and I think embarrassed. He probably thought our immature banter was offensive.

The young guy sitting and drawing next to me smirked and shook his head at Romeo and Kamiko’s running pirate commentary.

Yes, their commentary was slightly embarrassing. For now. But I trusted Romeo to take it from slightly to extremely in no time. He was the embarrassment express train, and once he got up to speed, there was no stopping him until everybody arrived at the humiliation station. Picture a giant steam train barreling along the tracks with Romeo’s face filling up the big circle on the front of the locomotive, his monocle in place while he smiled maniacally with his mouth wide open. His tongue would be dangling out the side and whipping in the wind while drool droplets flicked off. Smoke would be blurting from his smokestack in clouds shaped like letters that spelled out offensive comments.

Yes.

Romeo, The Loco Locomotive.

“TOOT! TOOT!” blows his whistle.

And we all knew how much Romeo liked to blow things.

I did my best to repress my snicker at the thought. I just hoped Romeo didn’t go off the tracks and kill everybody onboard his shame train.

“Wait,” Romeo said to Kamiko, “I thought your only dick experience was with cartoon penises. Have you finally taken the plunge? Walked a man’s fleshy gang plank?”

The young guy beside me snickered, but did his best to repress it and keep drawing.

“Fleshy gang plank?” Kamiko scoffed. “Only a man could draw a connection between a pirate ship gang plank and a penis.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Romeo frowned. “Gang planks are long, stiff and they stick straight out from the hull of the ship. How is that in any way unlike a dick?”

“But gang planks are made of wood,” Kamiko protested.

“Where do you think the term ‘woody’ came from?” Romeo whispered. “Or ‘morning wood’?”

“Not from gang planks,” she scoffed.

The pirate model blurted out a grunty, “Ahem!” He sounded like he could be clearing his throat or trying to get Romeo to shut up.