Bittenfeld stood in front of the luxurious home of Ernest von Mecklinger, which he expected to have a decorative outside appearance. Not that Bittenfeld cared for his comrade's taste and appreciation for aesthetics. Mecklinger had called Bittenfeld, and that he had something urgent to tell him.
Bittenfeld knocked on his door twice.
There was no answer. He turned the knob only to find that the door was open and there was no sound. Bittenfeld looked down to find a trail of red rose petals leading down the corridor. Bittenfeld's became suddenly hostile and thought Mecklinger's was being infiltrated. Naturally, Bittenfeld pulled out his gun and followed the path prudently. After climbing the stairs Bittenfeld saw that the petals led to Mecklinger's room. The door was partially open and Bittenfeld cautiously pushed the door open and quickly aimed his gun at a figure. He was shocked to see that he was pointing his gun at Mecklinger. The rose petals lead to the top of his bed, where Mecklinger was lying on his side in a…revealing position with his cheek in his hand, wearing a mischievous smile. The rose petals covered his bed as well as his crotch and nipples, as if he intended to censor them to tease Bittenfeld.
"W-what's the meaning of this?!" Bittenfeld asked as he tried to connect the dots.
"I think you'd be more comfortable if you stripped, Bittenfeld. After all, we are both fellow men," Mecklinger said as he got up and walked towards Bittenfeld with a fist of petals. He showered him with petals. "You don't seem to understand, Bittenfeld. I have homosexual feelings for you," Mecklinger said as he placed petal on his nose and the repeatedly pecked him on the lips while stripping Bittenfeld, until he was completely naked.
"I wrote you a poem, my sweet Bittenfeld," cooed Mecklinger as he pulled out a slip of paper from his mustache and began to read it:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Please be gay
And appreciate art too
"No, no! I will never appreciate art. It serves no purpose!" Bittenfeld yelled.
"I see you only declined the latter part of my plea. Does that mean Fritz Joseph Bittenfeld is a raging homosexual?" Mecklinger smirked. He kissed Bittenfeld on lips.
"Yes Mecklinger I love and crave men. I love cocks because they remind me of fleets" Bittenfeld admitted. He turned dramatically. "However, I can never love art. It can never go hand-in-hand with war, Mecklinger," Bittenfeld said with a grim voice.
"They can. I'll make you understand my view. Through art" Mecklinger replied.
"But…how?" Bittenfeld asked.
"Lay down on my bed and I'll make you understand. I'm going to paint you," Mecklinger said as he led him to his bed and pulled out his paint and paintbrushes. Bittenfeld was lying on his stomach, showing his bare body. He suddenly felt cold liquid on his back and then the bristles of a paintbrush.
"You didn't say you were going to paint on me!" Bittenfeld said as he tried to see what was happening.
"No, you don't understand," Mecklinger insisted, "I'm trying to learn the curves of your body with my brush." He moved towards his buttocks and began to paint it with red.
"Ahhh yes, this is butt of the Roman god of war, Mars. I will paint it with red to represent blood" Mecklinger whispered.
"Such a divine behind! Now do you understand Bittenfeld?! Do you understand the connection between art and war?!" Mecklinger howled as he wildly traced his butt with the brush.
"Yes" Bittenfeld replied.