Heaven Tastes Like Peaches

Konrad released a lock of hair and turned heavily on his back. He wanted to groan, shout, but he did not want to signal Sławek that something was happening to him. A lot was going on, of which Konrad understood almost nothing. Why, for example, did he feel such a strong physical need to get closer to Domejczuk? Why did his closeness make Konrad's heart and groin feel anxious?

It's all because of Sławek's sculptures. After all, these were sensual, male nudes, and some of the scenes he depicted were extremely erotic. Although Skalski had seen the art depicting two men connected in this way more than once before, Domejczuk's works were the only ones that evoked an emotional and physical reaction in him. They were beautiful, innocent and seductive, alluring and disturbing, and the longer Konrad stayed in the company of his friend, the more he felt that they were exactly the same as their author himself.

Konrad squeezed his eyes shut.

Not good. Really not good. If he stays at this boy's house longer, if they hang out together, if they sleep in the same bed, there was a high probability that something would happen that they both might regret later.

Suddenly he remembered the moment when Sławek landed on him, falling off the ladder. He remembered the hard shape he felt on his hip then and what happened to his body after that. For the first time in his life, Konrad relieved himself thinking about the man. If he stays here longer, it could happen again… many times.

He should leave, or at least move to a second bed. Only he couldn't. Not because he promised Sławek help. He won't change the bed not because someone in the other one has died. He would not do any of these activities, because that would mean being further away from Domejczuk, and although decency and common sense dictated that he should move out or at least move, something in Konrad forbade him to do so. Being by Sławek was dangerous in many ways, but exciting in a way Skalski had never experienced. The tension in his body, the strong beats of his heart, the desire for closeness that attracted him more than magnet were new to him, and although they were disturbing, his curiosity was stronger.

***

Sławek stared into the darkness of the room, afraid to make the slightest move. Ever since he went to bed, he had the feeling that he was being watched. He felt a piercing, pleasantly unsettling gaze on the back of his neck, making his heart beat faster than usual, his cheeks ablaze with almost living fire.

Sławek Domejczuk did not understand why Konrad looked at him that way. He didn't even know if his imagination was deceiving him. Maybe he just thought he could feel his eyes on him. After all, for the first time in a long time, he was spending time, a lot of time, with someone other than his grandfather. So long ago no one else devoted his time and attention to him that when Konrad was with him now almost always, Sławek felt so good in his company that he did not want this impression to end, and maybe that is why he imagined a little too much.

He felt a hint of air against his neck, like someone's breath. Someone touched his hair, which wasn't unpleasant, and his heart was pounding like crazy. What… what is actually going on? Did Konrad, thinking that he had fallen asleep, come closer to him? Only… what for?

A new stroke of warm air made goose bumps on his body. He wanted to feel them even closer, even stronger, but what would happen then?

He froze as he waited for further developments. His head felt empty. He couldn't think. He was waiting. He just waited when the warm breath, pleasant like a touch of a summer breeze, would come even closer and ...

Konrad rolled over as he was informed by the soft creaking of the bed and the sudden chill where his breath warmed him. Sławek felt disappointment. Then relief. His heart was beating so fast that it was almost painful. What was he expecting? What was he waiting for?

Nothing.

It just felt so good to be close to another person. It was so wonderful to know someone was there, not because they had to, but they wanted to. Someone wants to be next to him, with him, and has some kind of sympathy for him.

But these were only illusions, nothing more. Sławek shouldn't expect anything more than he has. Hopes are for someone like Konrad, someone who has a family, money, a secured future and doesn't have to worry about anything. It is not true that the poor has only hope and that she is the last to die. Sławek did not have her and he knew that what he felt at times was only her illusory shadow. In fact, all he had now was sadness and loneliness.

***

"Mr. Henryk, Mr. Henryk!

Kowalski looked up from the catalog of the new exhibition he was preparing on the computer and looked at Agnieszka. A girl who studied art history and apprenticed to him was extremely excited.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Some sheikh has come to see you."

"Sheikh?" Henryk looked at the door.

"Yes. From Fuji…" she stammered by the name.

"From Fujairah?" He asked, getting up.

Agnieszka nodded her head energetically.

"Is he young or old?"

"Young."

Kowalski jumped up from behind his desk and immediately left the office. In his gallery there were three bearded men in dark suits, with a dark complexion and black hair. Two of them, stiff, looked at the surroundings with haughtiness and deservedness, but their eyes were alert and there were bulges under their jackets. Bodyguards, Henryk judged instantly. The third had his hands clasped behind his back and a nonchalant demeanor. He studied the painting of a sleepy woman lying on her back, almost completely submerged in the dark waters of the lake. The silhouette of this man, his face, Kowalski recognized immediately.

"Prince," he bowed, coming closer. He spoke Polish because he knew that the young sheikh was fluent in seven languages, including Polish. It did not escape his notice that the prince's almost inseparable secretary was absent.

Kowalski immediately remembered the prince's wish.

"We are preparing the sculptures for transport" he explained. "They're not packed yet. I invite you."

The prince, without delay, followed him to the warehouse at the back of the gallery. It was here that the works of art that were not currently displayed to the public were stored. Most of them did not find a buyer for a long time and had to make way for new exhibits. Only a few waited to be handed over to a merchant or displayed in a gallery. Henryk led the sheikh and one of his bodyguards into the room, where on the table there were figures carved by the young Domejczuk.

The Arab stood at the counter. His black eyes lit up and his lips smiled gently as he looked at them. He seemed to have something nostalgic in front of him, a memory of other, better days.

Kowalski expected a completely different reaction. Sławek's sculptures had something exceptionally charming about them, but the theme was reminiscent of something more erotic. It seemed more obvious that the eccentric prince had only bought them for an unusual topic.