The marble arrived at last. Nils and Emma admired the block, which was lying on its side in Nils’ workroom.

“It must weigh a ton,” Emma said. “And you’re going to make me out of that?”

“Or die trying,” Nils said.

“So how do you want me?”

“Nude, of course, but before we start we have to christen the stone.”

“Oh, and what does that involve?”

Nils smiled and helped Emma climb up onto the slab.

“We’re going to fuck up here?”

“It’s the best way.”

“But isn’t it awfully hard?”

“We’ll start out with me on the bottom.”

Together Nils and Emma christened the marble. Then they christened it again.

“Good,” said Nils, resting with Emma atop their marble bed.

“So do you start carving now?”

“Tomorrow,” said Nils.

But tomorrow Nils decided that the stone needed more christening.

The next day it was the same story. And the next day and the next.

“Much as I love all this christening, if you don’t start soon you’ll never get done,” Emma said. “So until that day, I’m staying away.”

Nils frowned, but he had to agree that Emma as a model was too distracting.

Over the next few weeks, Nils worked and worked, always naked himself, feeling it was only fair. He chiseled and hammered, and the sculpture took shape. He chiseled and scraped, filed and smoothed, no detail of Emma overlooked, even down to the opening of her vulva. Finally satisfied, he polished his finished statue until it shone.

The next day Nils couldn’t help adding a final touch. He brought his most delicate chisel to the tip of Emma’s nipple. Something happened, Nils wasn’t sure what. The slighted shudder, the tiniest tremble, and the softest sound: a moan not quite purr or buzz or hum. Nils jerked back. Rather than becoming smaller, Emma’s nipple had fattened. Confused, Nils applied his tool again to the nipple tip.

Again the nipple seemed to grow, and the sound repeated, slightly more intense, and again the shudder came. What is more, Nils’ nose detected a scent, faint but unmistakable: wildflowers, clover filled fields, the aroma of Emma’s excitement. Nils caressed Emma’s nipple a final time. The erect nipple expanded. The sublime sound grew in intensity. The stone shook. The clover bloomed and burst. And then all was still. All but a discernible skein of moisture welling from between the statue’s legs. Nils touched the almost colorless, ineffably slippery liquid. He tasted it.

Nectar.