clothes, unslinging my camera case from around my neck, kicking off my sneakers, removing my socks, the lightweight golf shirt, all the while keeping my eye on Hannibal the Docent. I hoped he would turn away or sneeze or something, so that I could get past him and out, but he remained as impassive as the solid rock wall that he leaned against, his eyes on me and his right hand on the short sword. I slowly unfastened the belt from my walking shorts and withdrew it from the loops, thinking that it might make a weapon later. I dropped it on the ground near the couch, and then slowly stepped out of my shorts and briefs.

I stood before him totally naked now, and waited. (If he thought my nudity would make me less willing to run screaming, he would find himself mistaken - if I ever got the chance…) He said gruffly, “Lie down on the couch, Sir, on your stomach – it’s best if we start with the back.” He moved closer to the couch, standing squarely between me and the only door – no hope of escape there. I slowly lay down on my stomach on the couch, hoping that he would move to the other side and give me a clear running shot at the door. I kept myself tensed and ready to spring up from the couch and hit the ground running. In one swift motion, he removed his tunic and placed it on a peg next to his cloak – seeing him bare-chested, I realized that I stood no chance against him physically. I was in fairly decent shape, but he was solid lean muscle – beautifully defined pecs hung from those broad shoulders, his biceps the size of my thighs. I understood clearly why there were so many statues from antiquity of impossibly buff men, for here was one such statue come to life. His hair was black, and cropped short like Julius Caesar’s in some of the busts we see of him, not in a buzz-cut like my brother’s. His eyes were as black as his hair, and as hard and glittery as anthracite coal. His ruggedly handsome, manly face was clean-shaven, but luxuriant, silky dark hair spread across his massive pecs, and funneled down between them across his taut six-pack abs, the black down outlining the valleys on both sides, until it converged into a waterfall below his shallow navel and spread down to his pubes, hidden by the short leatherish skirt.

I was so busy taking in the beauty of this drop-dead gorgeous hunk that I momentarily forgot about escaping. He never took his eyes off me, but reached behind him with practiced ease and took the lid off one of the pots. He took some sort of unguent from it and spread it on his hands, and a pleasant herbal scent filled the room. He walked slowly over to me, like a horse trainer approaching a skittish colt, and standing beside me (still between me and the door), he placed his hands gently on my bare back. Starting at my neck, he began to slowly work his way down my neck and across my shoulders, and then down the center of my back to my pelvis. I didn’t know if it was something in the unguent that he had on his hands or what, but as he kneaded my