The Paint Job Pt. 04

There was a loud thump against the door just before midnight, as if someone had dumped something heavy against it. I went out into the corridor to tell whoever it was to remove the item immediately, only to find that it was Adam's unconscious body having been hauled up to the bedroom by two large men.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"His brother's been spiking his drinks," one of the men said. "His wife - or whatever - is downstairs going apeshit."

"He's his husband," I corrected him. "He's called Stephen."

I wondered if these men worked for the hotel or if they were the sort of friends-of-friends one only invites along to the evening do.

We managed to haul Adam's large frame onto the bed before he awoke and managed to slur that he needed to throw up. So then we carried him through to the small bathroom adjoining the bedroom, and I was holding his face above the toilet waiting for him to vomit when Stephen appeared in the doorway, his eyes wet with tears.

I told the other two men to leave - we could take it from here - and Stephen told me what had happened to get his strapping spouse into this sorry state.

"Fucking Tom, his older brother," he hissed, "topping his drinks up with vodka. Ruining my fucking wedding night!"

"It's okay, Stephen... maybe once he's thrown up and we get some water down him, he might be okay for at least a kiss and a cuddle."

"We had it all planned! We'd stick to wine then fruit juice, wine then fruit juice, so we weren't so pissed by now that we'd end up fucking the whole thing up."

Adam seemed unable to throw up and Stephen said he'd already spent half an hour hacking his guts up in the gents downstairs in the bar. So we carried him back onto the bed to get him undressed.

"Jesus, Michael... I can't believe you're the one pulling my husband's trousers off tonight!"

"You'd be surprised how many grooms I've had to help undress over the years!"

We stripped him down to his underpants which were a very tight-fitting pair of white boxer-briefs he'd obviously chosen for his new husband to admire as they'd started to undress each other. The front pouch was bulging attractively with the downward curve of the big man's thick flaccid cock, and as we rolled him over onto his side of the bed, I noticed that the material between the buttocks bore no traces of groomly skidmarks that are so often seen on the backs of men's briefs on their wedding nights.

Stephen, however, seemed oblivious to Adam's efforts to titillate his new husband and was instead determined to salvage something from this mess.

"Can you splash water on his face, Michael... I'll get undressed. We might be able to wake him up enough for us to get into a couple of poses."

"You still want to go through with the sitting?" I asked with surprise. "I think he needs to sleep..."

"We'll get his skivvies off and I'll suck his cock," Stephen said as he took off his waistcoat which I had to admit was indeed very cute. "If we get it hard enough I might be able to work it up my arse."

It's the sort of wedding night little boys dream of, I mused, as I got a washcloth from the bathroom and doused Adam's face with cold water.

"Aw fuck," he grunted just as Stephen was pulling his butt-hugging trousers off. "I'm sorry bud... I'm totally fuckin' sauced..."

"I'm going to pull your underpants off," I told him. "Your new husband is hoping for a little love this evening."

"Aw Jesus, mate... I'm fuckin' wrecked... I can't hardly even see what's goin' on..."

I wondered if his brother had laced his drinks with something stronger than vodka.

I pulled his briefs down, keeping well away from his backside in case he let rip with one of his atomic farts, and Stephen pulled his own skimpy thong off to get on the bed with his groom.

I sat behind my easel and watched him slobbering away at hubby's big floppy for a good five minutes until it was clear to us all that the only cock in the room to be showing any signs of life was Stephen's own which had slowly risen up like a beanstalk.

"Come on, babes... work with me here," he urged his husband. "I haven't wanked off for a week... I'm horny as fuck!"

"I can't do it, sweetheart... the room's fuckin' spinnin'."

"Look," I cut in. "I have all the preliminary sketches I made in my studio. I can put together the six paintings from those. My presence in the wedding bedroom is just to sketch a few souvenir moments of the night itself."

"Well, I want at least some souvenir of the evening," Stephen insisted. "Maybe if he rims me... maybe you could make a few sketches of that..."

Before I could suggest that this probably wasn't the best idea, he'd turned around was splaying his cheeks apart to shove his arsehole into Adam's barely conscious face. Predictably, the drunken man started retching and then next five minutes or so were spent back in the bathroom holding him above the toilet in case he was going to follow through and vomit.

By now Stephen was crying and I tried to sooth him by again assuring him that I could produce a really lovely set of paintings from the sketches I already had.

We got Adam back onto the bed and he muttered something incoherent before rolling onto his stomach and starting to snore.

Stephen looked at his lover's big bare arse and I could see in his eyes exactly what he was thinking. His cock steadily grew larger again until it was standing high between his legs, and he suggested tentatively, "Maybe if I lie on top of him... keep my legs wide open... you could sketch me inside him..."

"Isn't that a little bit... well... rapey?"

"Oh yeah, I guess," he nodded glumly. "Forget I said that."

"If it's any consolation, Stephen, you're not the first newlywed to share a bed with an unconscious groom and I'm sure you won't be the last. It's why I make the preliminary sketches... this sort of situation is not exactly uncommon!"

"Well, I want to cum on my wedding night," he asserted. "I guess the only thing left is for me to wank off over his arse."

"I'll leave you to it," I smiled. "I don't expect you want me to sketch you ending your wedding day like that!"

As I packed away my things, I averted my eyes from Stephen masturbating as he squatted over his unconscious husband's large chunky buttocks. When I noticed his face bobbing down towards Adam's arse, though, I couldn't help but look over. He was sniffing the large man's hairy butt-crack - first above it and then venturing lower to push his nose right into it.

He saw me looking at him, pumping his big cock at full pelt, by now snorting hungrily at his groom's dank bum odour.

"It's the smell of our lovemaking," he muttered, as if needing to explain what he was doing.

As I left the room, I looked back over at the matrimonial bed and saw him using a finger and thumb to part Adam's cheeks and lapping hungrily at the hairy trench he'd opened. He saw me looking and I saw him blush as he frantically wanked himself off licking his husband's shitter. Then I left him to enjoy the rest of his wedding night, a pleasure which I suspected would be very short-lived.

===

About a month later, a few days after I'd posted the six completed paintings to the two men who were still my only gay clients, I had a phonecall in my office from newly double-barrelled Stephen Cooper-West.

"I just wanted to say how much we absolutely loved the set of paintings you made for us," the voice on the other end of the phone gushed. "They were everything we'd hoped for... better, actually!"

Other than a brief e-mail with an attachment containing the photos I'd requested, this was the first contact I'd had with either of the men since I'd left the marital bedroom.

The morning after the wedding, at what been jokingly billed as the 'bridal breakfast', only Stephen had appeared, immaculately suited but looking tired and ashen-faced. Adam was still feeling too ill to breakfast with his guests, apparently. Stephen had gone around the room, thanking everyone for coming and wishing them a safe journey home, without so much as making eye contact with me.

I realised that as the only person in the room who knew how he'd been reduced to gratifying himself over his groom's slumped backside, he really didn't want me hanging around to remind him. So after a couple of slices of toast and a black coffee, I'd quietly left him to conclude the proceedings.

"I'm pleased you liked them," I said into the telephone, smiling. "I told you I could put together a proper wedding night for you guys from the sketches I'd made!"

"They were everything I'd dreamed of... what we'd both dreamed of. Looking through the paintings was like experiencing the wedding night we'd planned. I have to tell you, Michael... I was actually in tears!"

"Wow... I couldn't hope for a better endorsement than that!"

"We looked at each one over and over, spotting little details you'd put in and loving the way you'd made it look like that had been our real wedding night."

"I'm really sorry the night itself didn't work out."

"Oh, don't remind me of that!" he laughed. "We still haven't spoken to Adam's brother... I mean, how could he be so stupid!?"

"It's what brothers do," I chuckled back. "At least you've got the paintings to remind you of what should have been!"

"Yeah, in a way we think it's actually better this way. You've given us the perfect wedding night... much better than anything we probably could've managed after such a frantic day... so this way we get to see things exactly as we would've wanted them."

I smiled again. I'd worried that some of the paintings might be too explicit or too restrained so it seemed from the men's reaction that I'd got the balance just right.

"Which of the paintings did you like best?" I asked.

"Oh God! I don't know... they were all so amazing in their own individual ways! The frot scene was lovely... really cutesy and romantic... just how I wanted it."

"I didn't overdo it with the slight exaggeration I gave your penises?" I asked. It suddenly seemed inappropriate to keep calling these guys' willies their 'cocks'.

"No, you were spot on. Adam loved the painting of me preparing him with my mouth, and quite a few of our friends have asked for copies of that one!"

I was about to point out that only I hold the right to make copies of my work, but I thought in this case I'd let that one go.

"The rim piece was absolutely gorgeous," he went on. "You made my opening look so full and sumptuous without making it seem at all feminine."

"I suppose the inclusion of your testicles and penis also helped with that!"

"Well, that's a good point!" he laughed. "And well done you for keeping our scrotums so distinct... you could really tell in each painting whose balls you were looking at!"

"What about the consummatory pieces?" I asked. "How did you like those?"

"The first one was beautiful. You were so right to give our lovemaking context in that piece... without all the historical references around us, the position we were in could have looked really crass."

"Yes... it was a very interesting one to paint."

"Well, we've actually had that one framed and put it up in the guest room. When friends come to stay they'll see four thousand years of men making love in the classical position... including their hosts taking centre-stage to continue the tradition!"

"What about the fifth piece? I hope it wasn't too graphic..."

"No, it was amazing. We loved seeing ourselves enjoying really energetic and powerful lovemaking and, of course, feeling our two explosive climaxes together!"

"I didn't overdo the use of... er... the browns in my palette!"

"Absolutely not!" Stephen chuckled. "You got it just right. We felt really proud to be shown sharing intimacy to that very intense degree."

"How did your friends react when they saw how thickly I'd coated your penis emerging from Adam's bottom?"

"A few smiles... a few high-fives... our friend Dan admitted to growing a raging hard-on from what he called the 'gritty realism'."

"Sounds like mission accomplished!" I chuckled.

"And the last piece was just incredible," Stephen went on. "The way we were kissing not just with our mouths but with the tips of our penises! And the beautiful aftermath of our double consummation you captured so movingly between our legs."

"Yes, I rather underplayed that..."

"I think you were right to. Adam and I should probably have underplayed it that evening in your studio!"

"No worries," I laughed. I'd thought about that 'one... two... three...' moment a lot when I'd painted their final piece and I'd decided to show the release of semen from their anuses as sort of concluding orgasm. It might have been a discharge far less powerful than the frenzied climax of the fifth piece but it represented a physical symbol of their love for one another nonetheless.

"Is Adam there, actually?" I asked. "We need to sort out the details of his solo sitting."

"Adam's very embarrassed about what happened," Stephen replied. "There won't be a solo sitting, I'm afraid."

"He has no need to be embarrassed," I smiled. "As I told you on your wedding night, lots of grooms end their evenings sprawled out unconscious!"

"There won't be a solo sitting, Michael," he said flatly. "I just wanted to thank you for what you've done and... well... to say goodbye, I guess."

"Oh," I said, realising this was Stephen severing contact.

At first I wondered if he was worried that his new husband had been flirting with me when they'd been in my studio. After all, I had initially thought Adam might be trying it on with me until I'd realised that he just liked showing his body and cock off to anyone who would admire him.

But then it dawned on me that this was about those final few moments I'd spent in the marital bedroom when I'd looked back to see Stephen pounding away at his dick while he'd lapped at the pungence of his sleeping groom's arsehole.

So I said, "I fully understand, Stephen. I wish you and Adam the very best going forwards."

The phone clicked dead and it occurred to me that looking back at the matrimonial bed at that moment had cost me not only a nice easy fee but more importantly contact with a couple whose love I had grown to find both beautiful and fascinating.

"Fuck," I said, as I put my own phone down. Why the hell had I looked back? Why hadn't I just given the guy the privacy he'd obviously desperately needed after enduring such a humiliating wedding night.

After a few days of kicking myself and thinking of other ways I might have depicted a form of love that until now had been completely unknown to me, I decided that actions were better than regrets and that I should do something constructive with my new-found surge of creativity.

I dialled the number I'd brought up on screen and after a few rings a deep voice at the other end answered.

"I'd like to place an ad in your magazine, if I may," I said. "I want it to say: 'Wedding night artist. Erotic and sensual paintings. Gay weddings a speciality.'"