Art Center

This story is a collaboration with my editor William Burroughs (Literotica name). William and I thought it would be fun to write a story via email. William wrote the part of Paul, and I wrote Henry. Hope you enjoy, and always we would love your comments. "Art Center" is a work of fiction, and unfortunately is not autobiographical.

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Paul:

Seduction is like a work of art. It begins with inspiration, but takes planning and effort to reach a successful conclusion. You encounter problems along the way, but either you work through them, or you decide that your vision is unattainable, and invest your energies and move on to another endeavor. Sometimes though, your work takes on a life of its own, and succeeds beyond what you ever expected. The first time Henry wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly, I knew that this seduction was a work beyond itself.

Most of my seduction "works" have been only rough sketches. A hand-job in the car, a rushed after-hours blow-job in the bathroom. A few times however, my efforts have resulted in lovely, fully-developed paintings. There was the student who furtively visited my house while his wife was out of town, and stayed the weekend for a porn-movie-style suck and fuck fest that surprised even me. There's another student who pops in occasionally to "brush up" on his drawing skills, and stays for a languid, soul-satisfying blow job.

And then, there was Henry.

Henry started in the fall session painting class at the Arts Center. I assessed him as I do every student, even the women. What is his level of skill? What is his interest in art? What is his learning style? What does he look like undressed? Is the student a moaner?

Henry caught my eye for several reasons. Most of my students are older women, many repeat customers. He was one of only three men in the class, and he stood out among them. He dressed well. His painting "grubbies" were nice dress shirts and slacks that had grown slightly shabby with wear, indicating to me that he was a professional with some income. His shirts were open-necked, displaying a nice tuft of chest hair, and he wore them untucked, and draped over a middle-aged belly. This bespoke perhaps a slight vanity, an attempt to conceal a bit of a paunch. His neck had thickened with age, but was not jowly. It was an evening class, and he sported a bit of salt-and-pepper stubble by then. He displayed lovely dimples when he smiled. He was quiet, but when he spoke, he was articulate and was obviously educated and intelligent.

I was so taken, I almost forgot to assess his painting skills. He was actually quite good - surprisingly good. He must have had some instruction before my class. He was obviously intelligent and educated, and knew art, and art history.

Now, you might think, as I stood behind him and observed him work, that I got an erection as I imagined him nude, his slightly hairy buttocks exposed to me, somewhat shyly, a pair of balls swinging pendant as he masturbated. Yes, I was getting an erection, but not for that reason. I envisioned him instead, in the Getty museum, standing beside me and holding my hand, as we discussed a 12th century altarpiece. This was a man to engage me above as well as below the waistline. This was a feeling I had not had in years.

I had a crush on Henry.

Henry:

I had read the reviews of Paul's painting class. Most gave him high marks, especially the reviews penned by women. One review stood out, a post from some one by the name "Artboi." It read, "Paul is a good instructor both in and out of class. He takes special care of his students with a loving hand." This seemed a little odd and out of place in the many reviews about style, subject matter, his approach to criticism. I shrugged it off and signed up.

Tonight is the first class, and Paul is both smart and an engaging speaker. I admit I was relieved that he was not a bore. I was just divorced and I wanted this class to take my mind off my recent trauma. It struck me that Paul might be gay, although that wasn't a problem for me. In fact, over the last year I had spent a lot of time alone, often going online to read erotica. The more I read the more I gravitated to gay sex stories.

I had my own experience with another man in college, but it happened by accident and I wasn't really prepared for it. Now I found myself thinking about what it would be like to have sex with another man. As these thoughts crossed my mind, I felt Paul's presence behind me. Not having painted in some time I stiffened up a bit and wondered how I was doing.

I stammered, "I'm a little rusty, haven't picked up a brush in a couple of years."

"Just relax, you're doing fine. Do you have any formal training?" asked Paul.

"I was a double major in college, business and art. I've been focusing on the business part, as you can probably tell."

"You're doing great just loosen up a bit. Pay attention to the edges. Your name is Henry, right?"

Wiping off my hand with a rag, I extend it to Paul. His hand shake was warm and firm, but not hard. Our eyes met and his gaze seemed to go through me, to reveal my thoughts. He was a good looking man about my age. He was masculine and had a slight tan, as if he spent time out of doors. He looked like he took care of himself as his posture was upright and his chest broad and forward.

"Yes, yes, my name is Henry...it is very nice to meet you. I'm excited to take your class - I hear you are very good with students." I said, realizing my words could have been crafted with a bit more finesse.

I gazed down a little embarrassed and noticed a slight bulge in in his trousers. I think my face flushed as I quickly looked up. I realized we were both still holding hands, the hand shake had gone on much longer than socially acceptable.

Paul smiled at me and said, "Nice to meet you Henry. I hope you enjoy the class, I try to tailor the experience to each individual student's needs. The great thing about teaching is that I often learn as much from the students as they learn from me. I think this is going to be a lot of fun."

Paul:

When I introduced myself to Henry, I was a bit surprised. He actually seemed a bit bashful and his speech was a bit halting. This was not the same self-confident man who had spoken up in class earlier. I wondered if I had misread him. Then it dawned on me. "Paul, you oaf," I told myself, "He's acting like a blushing schoolgirl because he's smitten." As soon my mind formed the words, I realized how ridiculous that thought was. This wasn't some ridiculous gay romance novel where our eyes locked, and we realized that we were each other's soul mates. This guy was a middle-aged professional, and would have a wife and family. Even so, I could not resist a peek at his left hand. No wedding ring. I felt my blood pressure ratchet up.

I didn't want to be "that gay teacher that flirts with all the guys in the class," so after pleasantries, I continued walking the class, making comments and introductions. I kept my eye discreetly on Henry. No wedding ring. Maybe divorced, and trying to get out and meet women. Art classes are a great place to do that, you know. He chatted a bit to the woman next to him. Maybe he was on the make for some female companionship. No long goodbyes or exchange of phone numbers with her at the end of class however. But then, it was a ten-week course, and we would all have plenty of time to get acquainted.

Next week, Henry was beside the same woman. This was not unusual. Students tend to be somewhat territorial, and also little cliques form. I decided to reconnoiter, however. The woman was maybe ten years older than Henry, and wore a whopping big rock on her finger. Both facts worked in my favor, but I decided to leave a trail of crumbs for Henry to see if he would follow. I engaged him as class ended and students were packing up.

"I'm curious, Henry," I told him. "You said that you majored in business and art in college, but you put art aside for some time. Why are you interested in returning? I don't mean to pry, I'd just like to know your motivation, so I can tailor my instruction to your needs."

He smiled, and seemed a bit more relaxed than he'd been at our first meeting. "Well, art has always been a part of my life. It's just something that I had to put aside while I focused on business and family. I'm going through some changes now - I just got divorced - and well, that sucks, but there are also new opportunities you know. For years, I've been working to please and support other people. Now, for the first time in years, I have a little time on my hands. I feel like I can do something that's truly for me, for my personal development and my well-being." He smiled. "But maybe that's TMI."

"Not at all," I told him. I was really impressed that he opened up to me like this. Maybe Henry was the one dropping crumbs for me. "You know, I think everyone has a need for self-expression. It comes out in different ways in different people, but we can't hide it away. It's not good. I'm impressed at your self-insight. A lot of people spend their entire lives with parts of themselves locked away, because they don't really see those aspects, or don't know how to express them, and they end up frustrated or unhappy. I think it's great that you recognized that your art can help make you whole."

"Wow, that's pretty deep," he said. I had a feeling I had overstepped, and that he would shut down defensively, but he looked thoughtful and continued. "You have a lot of good insights. You should have been a psychologist."

I laughed in self-deprecation. "I guess there's a lot of psychology in art. Hell, maybe it's all psychology." This was actually an interesting discussion, not just the old pick-up dance. "You know, you seem to be on a journey of self-discovery. I know that sounds trite, but it sounds like you really want to reshape yourself."

"It's not trite at all, and yes, I do want to be myself, at least a bit, and not what others want me to be. You know, I put aside art for over 20 years. I mean, I literally boxed up a bunch of paintings and drawings and stuffed them in the closet, and now I'm ready to take all that stuff out and start over."

I realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that his double-entendre was not intentional, but a Freudian slip. I tried to stay deadpan, but my delight must have registered in my face. Henry blushed instantly. I did my best to try to help him cover. "I'm sure you have a lot of great stuff hidden away." Jesus Paul, you're making it worse, I told myself. "Do you have a portfolio? I'd love to see it. And if you don't you should start one." That seemed to take his mind off of his verbal gaffe, and he relaxed.

"Yes, I do. Should I bring it in next week?"

"Yes, please do." Henry had finished packing, and put on his jacket. I put out my hand, and grasped his warm, firm hand. As our hands touched, I felt new vistas open up. "Don't forget. I'm really looking forward to seeing it."

Henry:

I couldn't stop thinking about Paul. That night after class I had a dream that we embraced and kissed. I awoke my heart pounding and my cock engorged and throbbing for release. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

I sleep naked, and standing in front of the mirror I took stock of my image. Although middle age, and a few pounds overweight, what I saw wasn't half bad. My shoulders and arms were well muscled, and my chest broad and smooth. My uncut cock stood out proudly at attention and at a respectable 7", my thick manhood was nothing to be ashamed of. Stroking my hard shaft a couple of times I turned around and looked over my shoulder. My ass and legs were always my best feature. Years of playing soccer had built the muscles in my glutes, quads, and calves. My ass was still firm and round, and the thought of a fat cock nestled between my ass cheeks made me even more aroused.

I closed my eyes and began to jack my cock with purpose. I thought of Paul and his warm touch. The signals he sent me in class were unmistakable, his interests went beyond my portfolio. What would it be like embrace him, to hold him, to feel his naked body against mine? I let myself get lost in the fantasy, as I stroked my cock harder and faster. What would it be like to take Paul in my mouth, to suck on his cock? What would it be like to have him fuck me, to ride him, his hard dick deep inside me? Yes, I wanted sex with another man. Yes I wanted to feel a cock cum inside me. Yes I wanted Paul.

I exploded all over the vanity in front of me. My orgasm was so intense I felt my knees buckle. I regained my balance and opened my eyes. My hand was covered in semen and I continued stroking my still rigid hard-on, enjoying the wet sticky feeling of my own cum. I stared at my reflection, as I raised my hand and licked the cum from it, imagining it belonged to my lover. I felt an animal lust that I knew could not be satisfied by anything but man-on-man sex.

The following day I sat in my office, unable to concentrate. I could only think about Paul. How could I wait for the next class to see him? I was a wreck. I chuckled to myself thinking that this was like a teenage crush. But it was about something different, It was like I was in heat. All I could think about was cock. That morning in the shower I had finger fucked my own ass, gleefully inserting two soapy fingers, my cock hard as steel. I knew I had to take action, I thought why not? I have nothing to lose. I picked up my phone.

At the beginning of class Paul had given us all his contact information. He knew that we were not college students, and that we might miss a class, but he liked to know as far in advance as possible for planning purposes. I rang the number, wanting to act quickly before I lost my nerve.

As the phone rang I was formulating what I was going to say. I had anticipated that I would get his voice mail, so I was a bit surprised when Paul answered, "Hello this is Paul."

There was a brief pause, "Hi Paul, this is Henry. Yes, I am fine and you...I called because I thought that if you were serious about seeing my portfolio, well I was thinking that I could offer you dinner and if you wouldn't mind...you could take a look at my work? How about tomorrow night...around 7:00? Fantastic! I am really looking forward to this...I'll text you the directions to my place. See you tomorrow!"

It was done. My horny giddiness faded into fear. It was done. Paul was coming to my home. What would happen? Did I read the situation correctly? Was I overstepping? "Get a hold of yourself." I said out loud. I knew it was going to be fine. This maybe an opportunity, or maybe just a new friendship, I resolved to stay relaxed and see what developed.

During Paul's first lecture he had shown us images of various painters, one being Wayne Thiebaud, whose paintings of cakes and pies are well known. Paul made a comment that they would have been even better if they were of his favorite food, sushi. Remembering that remark, I ordered a platter of sushi from a great little restaurant around the corner and picked it up on my way home.

I was too nervous to cook, so take out was the perfect solution. I went over the checklist in my head, white wine and beer in the fridge, a fully stocked bar, sparkling and still water, appetizers and dessert all ready. Looking at my watch it was 6:20, I jumped in the shower, shaved for the second time that day, and splashed on a bit of cologne. I was nervous but happy This was exciting, like dating when I was younger. I put on a button down shirt and a nice pair of jeans. I looked in the mirror, not bad.

After my divorce, I moved out of the suburbs and into the city. I lived in a one bedroom loft. The kitchen/living room/dining room were one big open space. One wall was all glass facing the sparkling night time cityscape. I thought about how different my life was now. Here I was waiting for a guest, a male guest, and I wanted to get into his pants.

"Buzzzzzzz" I went to the intercom and pressed the entry button. "Here we go."

Paul:

I was so surprised and delighted that Henry had called me and set up a date. This was moving better and faster than I had ever dreamed. I had to remind myself that he had invited me for dinner, not a porn-movie fuck session. Still, I didn't perceive any negative vibes. Maybe this was the real thing.

On the night of our date, I made sure that I was prepared for whatever might transpire. I brushed my teeth and showered. I made especially sure that my groin and ass were squeaky clean, but then, those areas usually get special attention when I shower. I selected a pair of low-cut briefs to wear beneath my jeans. I decided to wear just a bit of jewelry, a gold chain and a bracelet, not enough to be swishy, just enough to make me feel good. Finally, I slipped a condom in my pocket and popped some Cialis. "Be prepared," isn't just a Boy Scout motto. I promised myself that I would take things slowly and not get depressed if things did not pan out sexually, but just in case they did, I wanted to be ready.

Henry hadn't said what he was serving, so I picked up a red and a white wine on the way. Good excuse to over-imbibe and lower inhibitions. I felt that delicious fluttery feeling of excitement as I buzzed at his apartment. I reminded myself that as excited as I was, getting to know Henry and to build a friendship was why I was here.

Henry greeted me at the door. He was scrubbed and clean like me, obviously wanting to make a good impression. I caught the faintest whiff of cologne, and felt my cock begin to grow.

"Do you want the nickel tour," he asked after he took the wine from me.

"Of course," I replied. It was a short tour, but I was impressed. It was a small loft, but it had a nice view of the city. It was a bit spare - not much furniture, but it was nice to see that he had put together a pleasant space, and was not wallowing in the kind of depressing post-adolescent crib in which so many divorced men find themselves.

"Is sushi OK?" he asked. "I got some takeout from Song's" I was touched and a bit surprised that he'd remembered my offhand comment that I like sushi. I had started out with the intent that I would try to seduce him, and here he was playing me like some bitch that he wanted to bed. I liked it.

The wine was good, and the sushi was delicious. And the talk - the talk was wonderful. It reminded me of the late night bull sessions that I used to have in college.

The topics ranged from art to science, and Henry continually surprised me with his depth. Here and there, we added a few pieces to our personal mosaics. Henry had majored in business to please his dad, who was paying for his education, and he majored in art to please himself. A marriage followed immediately after college. With marriage followed the expectation of a stable career, so that led to a job in marketing. Judging from his position of responsibility in his company, he must be quite good at what he did. The family came, two children. Henry had intended to continue with art as a hobby, but due to his commitments, he relegated his portfolio to the closet along with, I suspected, some of his dreams and at least part of his sexuality.

"So Henry," I told him, "you invited me here to see your portfolio. Am I going to get to see it?"

"I'd love to show it to you," he said, and smiled. He seemed happier and more relaxed than in class, and I suspected the wine and after-dinner drinks were responsible for some of that. I was feeling pleasantly muzzy myself.

Henry retrieved an old, cracking portfolio with a balky zipper from his closet. We started laying pieces on his kitchen table. They were wonderful. He had concentrated on landscapes. They were a bit conventional, with bright, almost Fauvist coloring, but they sparkled with energy. There were some lovely figurative drawings and some abstract works to demonstrate his depth.