11th of Summer, AV 516
Soterios hummed lightly to himself, dancing around the otherwise empty house. The tune was light and he couldn’t quite place where he had heard it, but it was stuck in his head nonetheless. His nude form, illuminated by the setting sun, danced on the walls in elongated shadows. It made him appear far more endowed than he was, but it still inflated his ego. He looked at his body in the reflecting glass, admiring how his body looked.
Pride was only a sin off the tongues of the priests, and Soterios did not assign them much credence. Instead, he preferred to live in the present, and to deal with the gods when he must. So he found that he could admire himself, revel in his own sexuality, without being reprimanded for his desires. He found himself attractive enough, but frowned at the thin layer of hair that was beginning to grow over his lower stomach and groin. He liked to keep himself expertly groomed in that area, to be more appealing to those paying for his services. If they’re going to pay for something, he might as well make it as immaculate as possible.
Still humming, Soterios lathered his lower abdomen and genitals. His razor was sharp, so he took extreme care not to cut himself. One long drag removed the peach-like fuzz in a line. He wiped the blade, then repeated the action, taking immense care to remove every stray hair he could find. It took more time than he would have liked, but when he was finished, he felt a wave of relief wash over, as if he had removed a flaw from his form. He was the sculptor of his own body, and it would be in reality as it was in his imagination.
Then came the washing. The basin was full of water, steaming still as he peered into it. It smelled vaguely of citrus grass and lavender, scents he found that lulled his clients to be more complacent and open. He took special care to wash his genitals and his arm pits, ensuring after vigorous scrubbing that those parts of his flesh were pink and somewhat raw. Then he set about scrubbing the grime from the rest of his body, gooseflesh raising over his body after the warm rag leaves the spot wet and chilling. His lips curl up in the corners, his eyes going directly to his hardening nipples.
Once he was fully washed, Soterios clothed himself in his appropriate attire, not flashy but form-fitting and showing off his meticulously fit body. The plants were a black cotton, tied around his waist with a golden-thread corded belt. The shirt, a deep blue, outlined his abs and pectoral muscles, and Soterios flexed a bit into the glass. He liked what he saw. It was nearly time.
As the dusk set in and the dark began to creep up, Soterios left his ramshackle lean-to, meandering towards the city proper. He never took a straight path, instead choosing to take his time and allow the mystique of arriving late to deepen the mystery. Not to mention, taking the same path every day is boring, and boredom is the death of life itself. According to Soterios anyway. So along the path he hummed, stopping here and there to admire this or that. Even in the droll, nearly-destroyed remains of Sunberth, there was beauty. And even if it isn’t aesthetic beauty, it had a certain sensuality in its defeated mood.
