Thirty-nine years old
1519
Master’s dead.
Master’s dead!
I still can’t believe it’s true. My stomach knots and coils while I drag myself along the winding, hidden passageways leading to his workshop within the bowels of the monastery. I steady myself before opening the door, thinking about the way I’d left him. Regret tugs at my heart.
Once inside, I slowly walk around the room. Everything is still as I remembered, yet it feels incredibly empty now. At one time, I was happy here, very happy, until the day I grew jealous of another — the kind of jealousy that rips one’s insides apart. You see, I couldn’t bear to see Master with him the way he was with me.
I reach the corner with the painting, and my breath catches in my throat. The last time I was here, it was sitting on the cold floor facing the gray-stoned wall. Now, it rests on the easel once again, patiently waiting for another brushstroke. Except Master is no longer here with a brush in his hand. He’d worked on this one over many years, and I, for selfish reasons, wouldn’t let him consider this painting finished.
Staring at the familiar face, I feel a stirring in my loins. She is beautiful.
My fingertips trace the woman’s lips in the painting. How many times had we talked about the story her smile should tell?
Master leaving me this painting proves I’d been wrong — he’d never stopped loving me — and I cannot imagine this world without him.
I glance toward the door with bloodshot eyes, expecting him to walk through it in a rose-colored tunic with his luxuriously long hair and beard meticulously combed.
Sadly, he doesn’t come and never will again because Master’s dead!
Only the memories remain; some claw, but most caress my aching heart. I think back to how our relationship began and see a young curly-headed apprentice in a messy corner learning the working up of colors…
***
Ten years old
1490
Father wanted to send me away to apprentice with a well-known artist. I’d have to obey his every command, and he’d feed me (hopefully) and let me live with him. When I fussed, Father told me, “I do this for you. You will learn important skills to raise your station in life.” I didn’t care about any of those things but doubted Father's reason anyway. Truth be told, he didn’t want me.
And so, I found myself standing in a workshop before the man I’d call “Master.”
I first noticed Master was taller than Father. Unlike my short, curly ringlets, his dark, wavy hair fell to the middle of his chest, and he wore a knee-length tunic, uncommon as most men wore longer tunics. He tried to talk to me, but I didn’t want to know him. I desperately wanted to return home, so I trailed behind him but said little. When he showed me to my room, he said I must be tired and left me alone. I didn’t want to like my room or the soft bedding against my skin. Miserable and lonely, I lay that first night, scheming how to get sent back home.
The next day, I stood outside the workshop and overheard Master ordering two shirts, a pair of pants, and a jacket to be tailored for me. I’d never had tailored clothes before and was momentarily interested before my anger returned. The moment Master left the workshop, I opened his purse and stole all his money.
I was in the workshop when the tailor arrived to measure me and collect his money. Master found his money gone.
“Has anyone else been in the workshop?”
“No, Master.” I couldn’t help but offer him a slight smile.
“The tailor is here to measure you for your clothes, and my money’s missing.”
I didn’t look away but continued to smile.
“Did you take my money?”
“No, Master.”
He stomped toward me and yelled, “So you are a liar and a thief?”
“I didn’t do it.”
“What would your father say?”
“Maybe send me back,” I offered with a grin.
Master then did something that shocked me. He stepped closer, put his hands on my shoulders, and said, “Did you know I was once a stranger in a new place and confused about being sent to a new home?”
He smiled and gently squeezed my shoulders as if no longer angry and then asked the tailor to proceed with taking my measurements.
He spoke no more about the missing money even though I knew he knew I had taken it.
Over the following years, I tirelessly tested his patience, testing if he’d send me away — like Father. I stole drawings and coins from the other apprentices, caused quite a disturbance at an elegant dinner, eating more than my full, then spilling wine. There were no limits to my thievery either. Anything unattended might find its way into my clever hands. Master fussed from time to time and then bought me more expensive clothes and shoes. I’d never fully understand why he did those things after I misbehaved.
“You’re the Devil’s son,” he’d say, followed shortly by, “I adore you!”
As a result of his peculiar reactions to me, I grew to trust Master and discovered a love of clothes! I sometimes likened myself to a doll dressed in fancy pink stockings and jeweled, colorful clothing. And the shoes — twenty-four pairs of shoes he’d given me! Master himself didn’t own as many!
More than anything, I liked how he cared for me, and I enjoyed the other apprentices’ grumblings that I was his favorite. And while he traveled to fanciful lands, meeting kings who wished to secure his talents for their designs, he kept me attached to his side, and I believed I belonged in this world.
Although he cared for me and, despite our ages, I never viewed him as a father. No, I’d never do that. He was much too kind to me.
***
Seventeen years old
1497
Oh, no!
I returned to my bedchamber to find Master standing at my desk, thumbing through my sketches I’d forgotten to put away.
He stopped at my sketch of a penis on legs, as if a kind of animal, moving toward a man’s anus.
I didn’t know what to expect from Master, but he surprised me.
“You know the penis is a creature with an intellect all its own.”
“A creature?”
“Yes, it does what it desires without permission from you. Have you not noticed your own?”
“I have, but never thought about it in those words.”
“What prompted these drawings?”
“Just thoughts I’ve had. Pictures I’ve seen in my mind.”
He released the sketches and turned to face me. “Your lovers?”
That question shocked me, but his calm tone told me I could answer truthfully.
“In my mind, yes.”
“You’ve yet to take a lover?”
I simply shook my head back and forth.
Master picked the sketch back up. “Which one are you?” he asked, pointing from the penis to the anus.
Unable to find my words, I simply took the sketch from his hand and wrote my name above the anus.
Then, Master pointed to the penis. “And who is this… in your mind?”
My head bowed in embarrassment, but I rolled my eyes to look at his handsome face. “It’s you, Master,” I mumbled.
“I see,” he quietly replied.
We both stood silently for a moment, just staring at one another. The lines around his eyes softened, and he reached his hand to touch my cheek. He smiled as his gaze roamed my face as if seeing me in a new light.
He finally spoke. “Come with me.” And I followed him to his bedchamber.
He closed the door behind me and pulled me into an embrace. Master had hugged me from the side many times, but this hug felt different. I lay my head on his shoulder, enjoying our new closeness.
He raked his fingers through my curls, caressing my scalp. I trembled.
“This is our sanctuary, and we can be uninhibited here. Understand?”
I pulled away and nodded, not yet understanding what would happen between us, but excited. I liked the way his eyes were gazing at me, somehow different than before.
“Let us show ourselves to one another,” he said and began undoing his belt.
I matched his movements until our clothes lay pooled at our feet. His member stood erect and pointed right at me, and mine pointed at him.
“I want to touch you,” I blurted out, unable to contain my need.
He took a step toward me, reached for my hand, and guided it to his penis. Of course, I’d held my own, but this was Master’s penis, so I wasn’t sure what I should do.
His hand covered mine and guided my strokes until I’d established a rhythm. His hand moved to my penis, and I thought I’d collapse at his first touch. We stroked each other, our breath coming faster. I could no longer stand still and instinctively leaned into him to where our penises touched. Hands working together, we rubbed our penises together. I grew dizzy and lay my head on his shoulder, wrapping one arm around his back to tightly mash our bodies.
“It’s time for me to meet Rosebud.”
I shot him a questioning look, and he continued, “Your anus is now known to me as Rosebud.”
I smiled, very much liking him naming the most intimate part of me. He led me to the bed and gestured for me to climb on top of the bedspread.
I sat down and inched my way toward the headboard. He climbed up beside me, then pulled my face to his with our foreheads touching. We locked eyes, and then Master kissed me for the first time. His lips were soft, and his mustache tickled. I was tentative in my response, having never been kissed before, but soon found a rhythm with his kissing. His hand cupped the back of my head, mashing our mouths together. His hand guided one of mine back to his penis that stood erect again. Like in the workshop he was teaching me.
When he pulled back from our kiss, his breath came noticeably quicker. “Roll onto your knees.”
Once in position, I looked over my shoulder and caught his eyes focused on my backside.
“How do I look, Master?”
He ran a hand up the back of my thigh to rest on my hip. “Pleasing.” His eyes looked into mine, penetrated my very spirit, and I saw the truth in his words. “You are very pleasing to me,” he repeated.
Unable to wait any longer, I pressed my cheek to the bed, then reached back to spread myself open, showing him my anus.
He moved behind me and, without hesitation, pushed against my tightness. Filled with a mixture of fear of the unknown and excited curiosity, I held my breath and tightened the muscles in my body.
