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It was another long, pointy appendage that caught most of my attention, though. The satyr’s face was handsome, if a bit bestial, with a neat little goatee adorning his chin and horns erupting from his forehead. As one might expect of such a being, his legs were hairy and ended in hooves. He was a satyr with a beautifully muscled body.
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Turning the page, I found myself face to face with one of the most attractive men I had ever seen. I began to get aroused as I read the poem and my mind filled with images of the woodland orgy. The name Pyrogismos came up several times. It described, graphically and at length, a wild gay orgy in the woods involving human men, satyrs, and centaurs. I suspected that was just a conceit on the part of the poet. The first page of the book was a lengthy bit of poetry, claimed in a note to be a translation from an ancient Greek original. I eagerly flipped the page, expecting to find out about some previously unknown lover of the artist. Who was Pyrogismos? It sounded Greek but I had studied a bit of ancient Greek in university and this name didn’t seem quite right. The Book of Pyrogismos was the title, written on the first page in Turcotte’s usual ornate calligraphy. Taking the book over to the desk provided for researchers in the collection, I put it down and opened it. His work was far better and more arousing than any porn I had consumed. Turcotte had perfectly captured their moment of ecstasy and used it to illustrate an erotic poem on the joys of anal sex. One of my favorites was a drawing of two young men, maybe in their twenties, making love. The other manuscripts and sketchbooks from the collection that I had perused were filled with erotic poetry and drawings of his lovers, some of them very explicit. It was possible that no one but me had seen what was inside since Turcotte himself. From hints and accounts in Turcotte’s journals and the reports on his disappearance, this strange book should be the manuscript of his unpublished final work. This was not the first time I had delved into the collection, but it was the first time I had looked at this particular book. It was a large, dark brown, leather-bound volume with no title on it, just some Greek letters vaguely scratched into the leather. Once they realized there wasn’t much money to be made, they had sold what they could and then donated the rest to the library.Īlmost shaking with excitement, I unlocked the cabinet and pulled out the book I sought. Family had eventually come out of the woodwork and managed to get him declared dead on various bits of evidence. The artist had gone missing in 1990 and had never been found. Those rumours were less credible, at least to me, for obvious reasons. Even darker ones spoke of ritual sex and consorting with strange, perhaps supernatural, creatures. Rumours abounded of orgies and other wild sexual activities. He was infamous for his hedonism, enjoying endless parties and a string of lovers, mostly young men. Turcotte had been openly and flamboyantly gay in an age when fewer gay men were “out” and his work reflected that. The papers of notoriously decadent poet and artist Paul Turcotte had come into the library’s possession a few years earlier. Feeling more relaxed and secure, I walked straight over to the cabinet holding the Turcotte collection. Once inside, I quickly switched on the lights and shut the door behind me. Tense with excitement and anticipation, I unlocked the door to the rare books room.
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There were no windows down there so there was minimal risk of the light being seen from outside. At the bottom, I switched on the basement lights. I descended the stairs in semi-darkness, counting on my intimate knowledge of them to avoid stumbles. Really, there wasn’t much of extreme value in there but someone apparently thought some degree of security was needed. One of the privileges of being the Public Services Librarian was control of that key. Returning to my office, I retrieved the key to the rare books room in the library basement. That left me alone with the building all to myself. The rest of the library’s staff had gone home and the library itself would be closed until Monday. I locked the library door and turned off all but the security lights.