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."
