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.
