Art for Art's Sake

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“Where the f**k have you been all morning and part of the afternoon? And where the f**k is it?”

My head snapped around at the sound of the accusing voice, which somehow sliced through the heavy metal music. In the hallway of my apartment stood one of my roommates, Jeff—full name, Jefferson Pennington Bogart, he of the wealthy Bogart clan who lived upstate in one of those Snooty-Snootyton “exclusive community with tennis courts and swimming pools” type of towns.

Barefoot and wearing, as usual, only jogging shorts and a wife-beater T-shirt—hardly the proper attire for someone who came from one of those upstate Snooty-Snootyton mansions staffed with maids and butlers—he looked a mess. But a damned cute one, for certain, with his dark blond hair all sleep-disheveled and a rather handsome face that hadn’t been shaved for at least two days. My gaze momentarily descended to the top of his T-shirt, where a dusting of chest hair poked out from the scooped collar. I sighed…I never could stop myself when it came to checking out bits of the male anatomy I found sexy.

His muscular arms crossed over his body. He tapped his left foot in impatience, which just so happened to coincide with the same furious tempo as Iron Maiden’s “The Number of the Beast,” thundering from the CD player in the corner. “Well, I’m waiting…where the f**k is it?”

I let the door snap shut behind me, then turned down the stereo’s speakers. “s**t, Jeff, for a moment I thought I’d stepped back in time. You actually sounded like my mother—apart from the foul language, of course—poking her head into my room at home and trying to scream over the music. Besides, what’s it to you where I’ve been, anyway? And to what ‘it’ are you referring?”

“I was hoping you had just crept out to buy us some f*****g beer, especially seeing as how you stole my last two Coronas. I had hoped the guilt of your theft would’ve been too much for your conscience to handle.”

“Ah, you discovered them missing already, did you?”

“I sure as s**t did, you son of a mongrel.”

“And what made you think it was me and not Darrin or Vance?”

“Because not more than ten minutes ago they raced the f**k out of here without even showering first. They forgot to set the alarm clock last night and were late for meeting their family. They hardly had time to find my stash, let alone drink those beers.”

“Wow, Jeff, Sherlock Holmes has got nothing on you.”

“And don’t you ever forget it.” He huffed. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to get dressed and head to the Swift Mart myself.”

“Guess so.” I plopped onto one of the arms of the second-hand sofa—donated to the apartment by Jeff’s parents, of course, along with most of the other furnishings—then yanked off my boots and socks.

Jeff leaned against the wall and shook his head in annoyance. “I had hoped you’d take the hint while you still had on your boots and go get us at least a twelver. Oh, wait, f**k the twelver, since you owe me at least a case by now.”

I groaned. Why is it that the richest guys always seemed to be the cheapest? Or could that be the reason they were so rich, because they always nickel-and-dimed you to death? “Don’t worry, Mr. Penny Pincher, I’ll pay you back.”

“Oh, yeah? When, Mr. Booze Hound, when? f*****g A, you didn’t even chip in this week for our alcohol shopping spree. My wallet is getting a bit thin and—”

“Stop, already.” I tossed my balled-up socks into the corner and tugged my wallet from a back pocket of my jeans. The leather bulged with bills—five hundred smackeroos, in crisp tens, twenties, and fifties—for the first time in what seemed like forever. Actually, today was the first of many important things in my life, I thought with a satisfied smile. “Here. How much do you need?”

“How much you got?”

To make room on the coffee table, I pushed aside two nearly empty Domino’s pizza boxes, several beer bottles that had cigarette-floating swill left at the bottom, a pile of Sports Illustrated and Hustler magazines, and an overflowing ashtray. In a grand gesture, I plucked a bill from my wallet and slapped it on the table. “Will a twenty shut your big yap long enough for me to take a shower?”

The way Jeff’s jaw plummeted toward the stained beige carpet seemed almost cartoonish. It wouldn’t have shocked me had his eyes bulged in their sockets like little Lotto balls. “Where’d you get that kind of cash, Matt? Did you knock off the Swift Mart instead?”

I laughed. “Some of us actually got up early and worked, even after partying half the night.”

“Worked?” He snapped his fingers, and I saw a light-bulb go on in his bright blue eyes. “Oh, wait, didn’t you have that thing this morning? That bizarre nudie thing with that artist you met last night? What was that dude’s name again?”

“The dude’s name is Skylar Novak.”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Novak, artist of the century. Local celebrity and whatnot. I totally forgot you had that appointment today.”

“Hard to remember things when you’re sleeping off a bender, huh?”

“You’re one to talk. This must be the first time in history you’ve gotten up before noon on a Saturday morning, so suck my big fat dick.”

Remembrances of what I’d done about an hour earlier with Skylar Novak filled my mind, and I almost told Jeff to whip it out and I might just accept his offer. Since moving into this apartment at the beginning of the school year, I had wanted to do just that on numerous occasions. Sure, Vance and Darrin, the two cousins who shared the apartment with us, were nice enough fellows and decent roommates, but nothing much to rave about in the “Looks Department.” Certainly not the type of guys whose faces or physiques could get my d**k hard.

But Jeff, on the other hand, possessed that lean-and-muscled-and-hairy type of body that had always so enamored me. Though not quite as handsome, not quite as “perfect” as Skylar Novak, Jeff definitely had what it took to send blood to my groin. Frequently seeing him strut around in his jogging shorts and wife-beaters usually had me in the shower m**********g. Especially after the night I’d seen him completely naked with an erection.

During one drunken bash several months ago, he had dragged me into his bedroom, where his girlfriend du jour lay nude on the mattress. She’d wanted a threesome, he’d explained, and for the next hour, he and I took turns f*****g her mouth and p***y. I’ll never forget that night—my first ménage and my first real-life observation of another man in action. I had maintained an erection simply by eyeing his perspiring body, watching those muscles flexing in his arms, torso, and ass as he f****d the girl, and fantasizing about what I really wanted to do to him. I wonder what he might have said that evening if I had joined the girl in sucking his d**k and sharing the load he’d delivered into her mouth like I’d so desperately wanted.

But after what happened today, I had actual experience in that particular area. What would he do now that I had confidence and no more fear of the “first time with a man” crap that had kept me from making a play for him? I pondered the idea, imagining myself creeping into his room in the middle of the night and showing him all I had learned today. Yes, I could definitely picture myself slurping on Jeff’s seven-inch rod and swallowing his load. My d**k stirred at the notion, but more so from my remembrance of Skylar Novak and his delicious body…and damn, the taste of him still lingered in my mouth.

No, although quite tempting, Jeff would remain “off limits” to me since I wanted no strain in our friendship and roommate relationship.

Now, the left side of his mouth curved upward in a cocky grin. “So, how did it go, stud muffin?”

“How did what go?”

“The posing s**t. I clearly see you took my sage advice and got cash from that dude instead of a rubber check.”

“He offered cash, so I didn’t need your sage advice after all.”

“But is the painting done?”

“Done? You think he uses magic or something? Not even close. I don’t even think he’s started it yet.”

“Not started it? Then what the hell did you do over there today?”

I got up and stepped into the kitchen, hoping Jeff wouldn’t see the blush I felt seeping into my cheeks. From the refrigerator, I grabbed the nearly empty bottle of orange juice and swigged down the last mouthful. “Nothing much,” I said over my shoulder. “He took a lot of photos of my face and stuff and talked about how he would use those as his guide in doing the actual painting.”

“Sounds weird, as weird as the guy himself.”

“He’s not weird at all. Indeed, I liked him very much.” That had to be the understatement of the century. “And the way he works makes sense if you think about it, since the photographs sure save me the trouble of standing in the same position hour after hour after hour while he paints.”

“And also saves you from having him ogle your d**k all day long, too.”

“Ah, who cares about that?”

“I’d sure care, ol’ buddy.”

Proof positive that I’d made the right decision about not crossing a line with my roommate. If I did, and he rejected my advances, he’d probably try to kick me out of here, signed lease or not.

I tossed the empty OJ bottle into the trash bag beneath the sink, then turned to face him. I twisted my lips in a snide smile. “Well, that’s what makes us different, Jeff, ol’ buddy. Those of us with sexy bodies don’t care who sees us naked.”

He laughed. “f**k off, model man. So, do we actually get to view the damned thing when it’s done?”

“Not sure. Are you that anxious to see me nude again? To ogle my d**k?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Besides, once you’ve seen one d**k, you’ve seen them all.”

Wow…a variation of that same phrase had come to my mind just after walking into Novak’s studio, viewing all that diverse artwork, and realizing the inaccuracy of that statement. “You’d be surprised,” I mumbled, padding back into the living room and removing my Disturbed T-shirt.

“What?”

“Oh, never mind. Anyway, I’m not sure how long it will take before it’s done. Sky says it could be several weeks, maybe longer, depending on his schedule and the pose he decides to use. He told me just before I left today that I’ll probably be needed for some additional sessions.” Actually, just before he gave me a heated kiss goodbye, Novak had said that he wanted to see me again, not just to pose for him, but on a social level, for more “playtime.” Of course, I had readily agreed, and the thought of our next meeting made me shiver in anticipation. But I had no intention of sharing that information with my roommate.

“I sure hope he’ll be paying you for those extra sessions.”

“Why are you always so damned concerned about everyone else’s finances? Don’t have enough money of your own? Isn’t your thousand-dollars-per-week allowance covering your expenses?”

“Because we’re always out of beer, that’s why. And I seem to be the one who’s always paying for it.”

“Not always,” I said, pointing to the neglected twenty on the coffee table. It didn’t surprise me when Jeff snatched it up, as if fearful it would miraculously vanish before his very eyes. “Anyway, Sky said he would pay me each time I sat for him, and I believe him.”

Jeff folded the twenty in the center, then stuffed it beneath one of the shoulder straps in his T-shirt. “I don’t know, pal, you sure have guts.”

“What makes you say that? Big deal, so I posed nude.”

“Not just that. It takes guts going into a spooky old building and stripping for some strange dude who may or may not pay you in the future as he promised. He might be a lying pervert or something.”

“He’s not. Just a very talented artist who gets top dollar for his work.” I patted the billfold in my back pocket. “And his word is good, as you saw firsthand. He won’t shaft me—” Oops, bad choice of words. “He’ll pay as promised.”

“But, God damn it, even though he didn’t look it, he might be a fag and put the moves on you—”

“And if he is gay, what does it matter? No big deal. Besides, what exactly do gay men look like anyway? What are the signs? Do they have a scarlet symbol on their foreheads or something? Maybe a special T-shirt or a badge or something that the law requires them to wear in public to identify themselves? What?”

Jeff held up his hands and backed up a step. “Yo, buddy boy, get off that soapbox and take it down a notch, would ya? The neighbors might complain about the noise yet again.”

“Huh?” Only then did I realize just how loudly I’d raised my voice in anger. “Oh, sorry, but you know how much I hate bigotry of any kind, and your choice of words, Jeff…well…”

“Listen, I really didn’t mean anything by it. Really. I was only saying it might be a little weird and a whole lot of creepy to have a fa—err, sorry, a gay dude—looking at you in that way.”

“Yeah, it might be, but it wasn’t. Trust me. Sky’s a great guy, and whether or not he’s gay doesn’t matter. Besides, I’m proud of my body and I can take care of myself.”

“Last night at the party it was nothing but ‘Mr. Novak this’ and ‘Mr. Novak that.’ Now it’s ‘Sky.’”

“Yeah? So?”

“Sounds like you’re buddies with him now.”

“We are.” Actually, “lovers” is the more appropriate word, Jeff. Or perhaps you’d prefer “faggot suck-buddies” instead. I clamped my lips shut before I could voice the rebuttal. “Now, if you’re through interrogating me, may I please take a shower?”

“Not a problem.”

“Thank you,” I said, heading for the bathroom.

“Besides, I need to go out and get some Coronas anyway, on your twenty bucks, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Hey, Matthew, one more question. If we bought that painting and it’s small enough, do you think we could use it as a drink platter? Or better yet, how about a dartboard? It would be a challenge, of course, seeing who could get a dart close to that really tiny, itty-bitty target of yours. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?” His chuckle filled the hallway.

“Yeah, Jeff,” I said over my shoulder, exasperated. “A hoot. You’re always a regular riot.” I stepped into the john, shut the door behind me, and dropped my voice to a whisper. “And a f*****g oaf.”

I cringed. I’d only half meant that. Jefferson Pennington Bogart really wasn’t a bad guy. Certainly not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree—fascinating, since his parents had paid top dollar to give him a first-rate education—yet I had never found him to be purposely cruel or hateful. Just a tad snobbish and condescending when it came to money issues, and more than a touch on the ignorant side when it came to other races, other religions, and alternative s****l preferences.

Could I ever tell him the truth? Perhaps, but it had to be done the right way. Had I hit on him without warning, he probably would have freaked out to no end, and I had already decided that would never happen. But simply coming out of the closet to him? I truly didn’t know how he’d react, especially since we’d engaged in that ménage. Maybe I’d tell him one day, but definitely not when we were living together. I just couldn’t take that chance and possibly ruin what had been a generally harmonious living situation.

Unfortunately, that meant I couldn’t tell Vance and Darrin either. They would likely be fine about it; they seemed rather accepting of most people and situations. But if I came out of the closet to them, I ran the risk of word getting back to Jeff. Too much booze flowed into the bellies of my roommates, and secrets always have a way of popping out of the mouths of drunken fools.

So no, my roommates would not know about what happened to me today, or what I planned to do in the future. Thankfully, the “posing for a painting” excuse would come in handy for a while and I planned to use that for all it was worth.

Nevertheless, that also meant that, for the time being at least, I was unable to share my joy with anyone. Hell, I wanted to scream my elation from the rooftops, but that couldn’t happen, and the thought saddened me.

After stripping off the rest of my clothes, I stepped into the bathtub and turned on the shower. Seconds later, steamy, invigorating water cascaded over my body. As I lathered my chest and belly, washing away any remnants of c*m that might have dried on my flesh, my mind returned to the exciting events of the day.

As I expected, my c**k started to lengthen when I recalled the shared blowjobs, and especially the way Novak’s warm cream tasted as it coated my tongue and slid down my throat. Even now, I wanted to be in his strong arms, feeling his body pressed against mine. I wanted more of his hungry kisses, his luxuriant caresses. I wanted his big c**k in my mouth, feeding me another hot load of semen. I ran my soapy hands over my erection and began to vigorously pump myself. After two enormous climaxes today, my horniness had definitely not subsided, so I guess I truly was, as Sky had joked during our s*x, “one horny fucker.”

At least I was when it came to him, sure enough. s**t, I had known him for less than twenty-four hours and already I couldn’t get enough of him.

As the shower spray hit my flesh like tiny needles and I nursed my boner, I imagined Novak standing before me, holding the back of my head as I sucked him. I closed my eyes and recalled the taste of his stiff meat, the way his sweet pre-c*m flowed so freely into my mouth, and the way his c**k-head stabbed the back of my throat. I also envisioned being able to deep-throat him the way he had done to me, to bury my nose in his pubic hair while his plump knob wedged into my gullet. To feel his ass clenching beneath my hands as I yanked him toward me, making him f**k my throat. To hear his sighs and moans as he neared the brink of release. And, finally, to once again taste that spicy-salty juice as if spilled into my greedy mouth. I would suck him until his c**k went soft, then lightly nibble his foreskin or bathe his nuts with my tongue, lick every inch of his hairy torso, his legs, and kiss and suck his toes. And eventually I would head back to his groin where I would tease him into another rock-hard erection. Then I would suck him off again and again, all f*****g day long if possible, or until my jaw ached from exertion.

I opened my eyes in time to see sperm shoot out of my c**k and splat against the shower wall. The next few blasts I directed into my free hand, creating an ivory ocean in my palm. I rubbed the warm cream over my chest, even licked some from my fingers, all the while imagining it was Novak’s load.

Fuck…oh, f**k…I want him so damned badly I could cry…

Panting, my heart galloping against my rib cage, I adjusted the shower spray and temperature. The water cooled to almost icy levels, making me shiver, but it still took a while for my c**k to fully deflate. I resigned myself to the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I would probably never be able to recall today’s activities without popping an erection.

Damn it, Sky, what marvelous thing have you done to me?

Yes, as Jeff has said a few minutes earlier, it had been a weird day. From the building, to the outrageously hot artwork, to the way Novak had elevated my libido into heights unfathomable. And even the stranger…

I shut off the shower and shivered again. Not from the coldness of my flesh, but from the remembrance of that odd and sexy man I had met just before entering the studio.

Fuck! I had completely forgotten about that bizarre encounter.

As I listened to water drip from my body and strike the porcelain tub in an agitated rhythm, my mind continued to race. Had that man been another of Sky’s models? Or a spurned lover, as I had originally thought? And how could he have disappeared so quickly? And to where?

Perhaps I would never learn the identity of that stranger, but I’d be certain to raise the question with Novak during my next visit to the studio.

Novak…Novak…Novak…

Yes, I had already grown obsessed with him. With the thought of having s*x with him. He had freed me from my s****l prison, and in doing so, had created an insatiable beast. His introductory tutorials in the ways of man-love had provided me with previously undiscovered pleasures, and I craved to learn even more.

So much more…

I shook my head to clear my brain, but ended up doing nothing but flinging water from my hair and spattering the shower walls.

Groaning, I stroked my dripping d**k a final time, then climbed out of the tub, wondering how long it would take before the luscious memories of my new lover required me to jack off again.