A Knight Comes To Bed Read Online Free Page A

Some of them were the old Gothic kind that filled city cemeteries—angels in flight or ducking around stone crosses, old men with laurels on their brows holding stone anchors while looking stoically into eternity, angels with relaxed wings, and big granite obelisks pointing accusingly at the sky. Those made up about one-fourth of the stone work. The other sculptures were from different kinds of art periods, imitations mostly.
    The university had a great artisan stone working program where final term students had to plan and execute a fairly large piece of stone work. Sex, rebirth, death, life, harvest, autumn, equinox, spring turning to summer then to fall then to winter, and all other forms of subject matter could be sussed out of the tirelessly standing and rigid structures erected in the garden.
    It kept from becoming spectacle through careful mentoring from a few of the professors. But in the last few years, a few sculptures had been, at their inauguration, controversial, and considered obscene.
    The latest sculpture to have this notoriety was Kurt's current hiding spot. It was a two-person sculpture—one man, one woman—groping each other. The piece, entitled “Greed”, had roused quite a stir in the feminist community and in Kurt's pants. He always found the image of two pieces of stone twisting together, one groping the other while the other one pushing at the other's chest a powerful one.
    He liked the idea of destroying innocence, and waiting for Rachel seemed to him just like clubbing a baby seal, except not for money, just for the pure joy of wrecking something so beautiful he would never be able to own.
    He would make her touch him, though, and Kurt shuddered as he thought about it. His mouth salivated at the thought of grabbing her hand and shoving it down his pants as he choked her.
    Kurt could hardly contain himself as Rachel slowly stepped onto the path that ran elliptical through the garden, coming back full circle to where she stood, and right by where Kurt hid. Then Rachel slowly padded around the curve of the path that went away from Kurt. He didn't move though. It took all he had but he didn't move to pursue Rachel as she walked slowly away from him, oblivious to the danger and her impending doom.
    Kurt felt powerful, like he was witness to something precious and secret. It had happened like this once before and he had sprung too soon and his prey had escaped. Tonight would be different. Tonight would be the night that he learned from his past mistakes. He would be patient with his prey. Too often he charged head-long into these things and somehow penalized himself by rushing through the experience instead of really appreciating every moment along the way.
    Kurt stood as still as a stalk of Midwest corn, after the summer's heat has sucked the moisture out of it and the sun had dried it, bleaching its long green leaves a sickly yellow. He sucked his teeth while Rachel slowly walked around the trail. And when she finally walked to the sculpture which he hid behind, she walked by with a quickened step, not looking up at the vulgar display but instead looking down the trail past it.
    This bitch, Kurt thought, she would be one of those people who don't like this beautiful work of art. This cunt thinks she is better than everyone and everything. I'm so sick of it.
    Something inside Kurt broke, and hate rushed through the thin walls of his heart to fill him completely. It was exhilarating and it turned him on like it always did. Without conscious thought and acting completely on predator instinct, Kurt sprinted around the monument he loved so much and bee-lined for Rachel.
    She looked back to see him coming as he plunged through a small patch of knee-high flowers by the path. The scream that left her mouth and filled the garden was one as old as time itself, to be repeated throughout history again and again.
    A short ode to the sculpture titled “Greed” that Kurt loved so much. The ballad of the oppressed