"So,Frenchie, tell me what she's like?" Clay asked with a wink and nudge.
"She's like what?" Rene responded.
"Rene, I mean, what type of girl is she?"
"Ah," Rene said with understanding. He couldn't help but look down at his smooth chest and bulging chest, before he added, "Rene is full of surprises." He winked back.
Clay grinned.
Rene crinkled his nose and sniffed. "You know Monsieur Clay, you must have worked up quite a sweat coming over here. It will be a little while before Rene is ready for you. There is a shower in the corner of the studio, if you would like to refresh your, uh, aroma?"
Rene led the way into a large room that was flooded with light from skylights, but was otherwise windowless. Tarp covered paintings and statues filled the room. There was a large platform with drying bits of clay on it. On one corner of the room was a large kiln, and the other was bare concrete area surrounded with a black rubber curtain.
The blond Frenchman pointed at a three-legged stool.
"Put your clothes on that. The shower's behind the curtain. Ah, me oui, here is a bottle of body wash for you. They claim it will make a new man of you!" Rene said with a wink.
The unopened bottle contains at least 20 ounces and is a murky greyish-black. It doesn't look much like soap to Clay, but - well, he sniffs his armpit. He doesn't smell that ripe, or does he?
"When will Rene be ready for me?" Clay asks.
Rene glances at his watch, "At this rate another hour." There is a tone of irritation in voice.
"Guess, maybe I do have time for the shower...hey, wait, an extra hour. Do I get paid for that? I could run home and shower and come back."
"You're here. Rene may be ready for you sooner than an hour, so the sooner you shower the better," he crinkled his nose as he spoke, "Believe me you will be repaid tenfold for this job. I'll give you some privacy." Rene left.
"Cool. Thanks for the soap," Clay called out as the door clanged shut.
Clay took the stool over to the curtain. He stepped behind the curtai, stripped, and opened the liquid soap. He sniffed the soap and it was his turn to crinkle his nose. He looked at the bottle but could make neither head nor tails out of the few lines of writing other than Formula 69 Pour Homme. He knew "homme" was man, so this was formula 69 for men. It smelled a bit antiseptic, but he was game, or a bit gamey. He snorted at his unspoken choke, and turned on the water.
Rene was panting. He had run up two flights of stairs to the roof, and was peering down through the open skylight at naked Clay as he started to lather up.
Clay smiled under the hot spray, as he felt the soap making his skin tingle it felt really good. He squirted a big glob of the stinky liquid on his chest. He massaged the soap into his skin. He kept putting more of the liquid soap on his body. It felt so stimulating, so erotic. It really was so invigorating that he just had to keep adding more. His lather covered body betrayed the changes to his tan body as he rinsed off the lather. His brown tan faded. His skin had acquired a shiny wet grey like tone. He washed his hair, he wanted it to glisten for Rene. He hoped the chick was worth it. Foamy lather slipped into his mouth. It tasted odd, but Clay had to taste more. He squirted the greyish liquid straight from the bottle into his mouth, and gulped it down.
"Damn, that's good. It must be organic!" He smacked his lips, and took another swig. Lather up, take a drink, lather up, take a drink. In no time the 20 ounce bottle was empty.
Clay shrugged. Rinsed one last time and turned off the water. When he turned around he saw that the black drape had been pulled back. The blond Frenchman was seated on the stool. No one else was anywhere in sight, and neither were Clay's clothes.
"Rene is ready for you now," the Frenchman announced.
"She is? Bout time. Got a towel?"
"A towel won't be necessary. You will be Rene's most interesting creation to date."
"Creation? You mean statue?"
"Statue? Yes and no. Rene makes functional art. You know the one-of-a-kind pieces that rich people like to flaunt."
Rene pulled back a tarp to reveal a stylized figure of a man that was recognizable as a backyard birdhouse. It appeared to be white painted wrought iron. The man's erect cock served as a bird perch as did his outstretched arms. His mouth, ears, and eyes were the openings into his oversized hollow head.
"Rene made this for a bird lover in Connecticutt. She had it modeled from an assitant whose indiscretion resulted in her spending some time behind bars. She is an avid birdwatcher and has cameras arranged throughout her estate. He - this bird house - will be one of her more popular camera subjects."
"Ookay, so Rene's going to make a birdhouse that looks like me?"
"No, no. Not at all!" Rene waved his hands, and shook his head. "No, this time Rene has been commissioned to make a locker room fixture for the local stadium's home team."
"A locker room fixture? Ha ha, that'll be rich. I went to high school with Nate Brimmer their new "star player". I even dated his old girlfriend. That'll be funny with him looking at my nude physique everyday as he gets ready to hit the field. What'll I be a towel rack or soap dispenser."
Rene paused, and grinned even more. "Step up on the platform, Clay."
"Uh, okay, uh, you know I accidentally drank some of that liquid soap, and I'm feeling a might sluggish. Oh!" Clay said and he broke wind. The fart escaping from his butt cheeks sounded odd, and to his embarrassment a large opalescent soap bubble expanded between his butt cheeks, then drifted across the studio.
"Huh, no, you'll be something far more functional than a towel rack, Clay. You'll be the new centerpiece of the locker room bathing area - the team urinal," Rene exclaimed.
Clay felt suddenly very heavy, and unable to do more than let his jaw drop.
"That's perfect, I just need to stretch it a lot wider," the Frenchman said with a smile.
"What about Rene? What's going on?"
"Silly boy, Rene is a Frenchman's name. I am Rene, and you are my clay!"
Clay found he couldn't even scream as Rene sunk his fingers into the former rock hard stud's soft maleable body. Clay couldn't resist. He wasn't sure what was happening to him. When Rene put him in the kiln the first time, Clay was sure he'd die. He didn't know what he looked like now, but he felt awful. It was like his mouth had opened wide enough to expose all his insides. He was glazed and fired again. He seemed to have shrunk somewhat in the process, or everything else had grown. He was now under a tarp. He had felt metal pipes being connected with wax to parts of his anatomy that it shouldn't be connected to anything except him. He felt the cool water running through his cock and filling his mouth. It was so weird, there was a waterfall in his mouth. He could hear male voices speaking.
"A ceremony for a new urinal? Does this team have ceremonies for new toilets too?" asked Nick's familiar snide voice.
"Hey, Nicky, cool it. I heard they're dedicating this one to you.
But we all get to use it, okay?"
"To me? A urinal? I'd rather have a bonus."
"Hey, according to the fruity artist, it's going to be really inspirational for us."
"An inspirational urinal?"
"It's probably a ram or one of our other rival's mascots. We piss on it before we piss on their team on the field. Right, Rene?"
"Something like that, but a bit more - or perhaps less animalistic," Rene said cagily.
The sheet was removed, as they announced that Nick would christen the new urinal.
He looked down at Clay and his face lit up. He laughed! "Oh, yes, I'll christen this baby. This is face of the other team just before they lose to us!" He opened his jock and pulled his cock out, and let fly a torrent of hot yellow liquid.
Salty, thought Clay as the taste filled his being.
When Nicky stepped aside, in the moment before another player stepped forward, Clay saw his reflection in the opposite mirrored wall. He was more gargoyle than urinal, but he was still clearly recognizable - at least to himself and to Nick. He kept hoping he'd wake up and the nightmare would end.
After a few months, Clay wondered if the other urinals were jealous. The players rarely used any of them. They all would huddle around Clay and spray in unison into his eternally hungry mouth.