The Love of Painting Ch. 01

Since I first visited a museum, I knew I wanted to be a painter. I was in eighth grade. I liked the impressionists - Van Gogh, Degas, and Gaugin- because of their use of colors and their viewpoints. However, I adored the works of Jaques Louis David, Michelangelo, and Flandrin - How they painted the human body was incredible! Many painters have used women as their muse, but only a few were able to capture male bodies like them.

For my 18th birthday, Mom bought me a nice painter's set. It included multiple brushes, Acrylic, oil, and watercolor paints, canvases, and a standing easel. I had grand ideas but no formal training or experience, so I started using a scratching pad with a pencil and watercolors.

I registered at the University of Illinois in Urbana the following year, knowing they had one of the Midwest's best Arts and Design teaching. I was also accepted to Washington University in St Louis, which had the best fine arts school in the country, but we couldn't afford it. My father died in a freak work-related accident when I was three years old, and Mom was working part-time as a nurse assistant. Our income was OK for day-to-day stuff, but I needed more for an expensive university, despite the grant I was offered.

...

As a child, I was shy and not very social. I was never tall, strong, or fast enough to compete with our athletes, and I preferred to read or watch TV. Until I started college, I had only one good friend, but he got accepted to a school in New York, and we separated.

When I began studying in UI, I told myself it was time to start over and grow up.

Mom was unhappy I moved from our home in Wisconsin to Illinois, but the distance was less than other universities with fine arts degrees, so she accepted it, hoping I'd come home every weekend.

For the first few weeks, I dedicated myself to exploring the campus and the neighborhood and settling in the dorm. Initially, the school material was easy to grasp, and the teachers seemed friendly and helpful.

Mr. Coleman was our primary painting teacher. He was slightly over 6", about 190 lbs, with dark hair. He was smiley all the time, at least toward me. The initial lessons focused on the painting background - History, methods, etc.

Mr. Coleman notified us that if anybody wanted, a dedicated room would be available to those who wished to start drawing or painting after hours. I was one of the six students who planned to paint in our free time.

The following afternoon, I checked the room. Somebody already prepared it for six people with all the equipment. On the first day, there were only three of us. Each one concentrated on his canvas. An hour later, the door opened, and Mr. Coleman entered. He inspected the paintings of the other two before looking at mine. By then, I had an advanced sketch that wasn't complete or colored. I drew a Greek athlete preparing to launch a discus. He smiled, "Unusual! I have taught for 15 years, and you are the first student who chose this subject. Most start with the scenery, women, or flowers." He inspected the details, "You have great potential. Obviously, you never had formal training, but you have raw talent." I was proud but didn't say anything. I stayed until I finished the painting. It was late in the evening - I was the last to leave the room. I left it hanging and went back to the dorm to eat. I was tired and fell asleep several minutes after finishing my measly meal.

...

Our first lesson with Mr. Coleman was at 11 am the following day. He talked about colors - How they were made in antiquity, and the ingredients used these days. His talk was fluid and easily understood. I liked the way he taught us.

By day's end, everybody was leaving. Mr. Coleman asked me to stay, "Ryan, I saw you finished the Greek athlete. For a first painting, it's not bad. I'd use softer background colors and make him more real by enhancing certain lines on his face and muscles."

I grinned, "Thank you, sir. I'll go and do it now. I'd appreciate it if you could look at it again tomorrow, and tell me what you think."

"I'll do it, and before you leave for home, stop by my desk, and we'll talk about it."

I was thrilled! Our teacher noticed me and gave me helpful advice. I went back to the painting room. This time, five people showed up. Two of them stood before my painting and discussed it. I joined them.

One of the guys said, "Nice piece! Mr. Coleman will like it."

I gazed at him, "Why do you think so?"

He chuckled, "Because your painting is an original, it's good, and... he likes the subject."

I didn't understand the last comment, but it didn't matter. I wanted to improve the painting based on Mr. Coleman's suggestions. I made several attempts, and ended up with a painting that was (slightly?) better. I left it on the stand and rushed home.

The next day, I listened intently to Mr. Coleman's lesson. He ignored me. Not once did he look in my direction. I was disappointed - He must have hated the changes...

When Mr. Coleman dismissed the class, he smiled at me, "Ryan, your painting is much better, but I want to show you something. Are you busy now?"

"Not really. I thought I'd grab a microwave dinner and watch TV, but I prefer to learn from you anytime."

He smiled, "A polite answer. Tell you what, let's stop at Panera, eat something, and then I'd like you to come to my house. In my free time, I paint. I want you to see some of my works."

"I'll be honored."

We ate at Panera, and Mr. Coleman insisted on paying for my food. I was in a great mood and smirked, "Sir, if I knew you'd pay for me, I would have chosen an expensive steak..."

"Ryan, they do not make steaks here, but next time, remind me what food you like, and we might find the right restaurant." My teacher's answer was unexpected...

We arrived at his three-bedroom apartment. "Ryan, do you want something to drink?"

"Mr. Coleman, if you have coffee or black tea, it will be perfect."

He brought me tea with some cookies and disappeared into his bathroom. I held the mug and checked the living room. There were no paintings but photos of him with a woman and a young child.

I didn't hear him coming. He stood behind me, "These are my wife and child. They are at her mother's for the next two weeks. Come with me to my art room."

When he was away, he changed his clothes. Now, he wore a short-sleeve shirt and shorts. He was tan and in great shape, apparently exercising regularly."

I finished the tea, and he led me to his workroom. On a stand was a finished painting of a young guy sitting on a chair and staring through a window at the neighbor's building. There was a lot of attention to detail. The face displayed pleasure.

"Mr. Coleman, it's a wonderful picture!"

"Thank you, Ryan. By the way, the model was my student five years ago. I wanted you to come here to show you we both think about similar subjects. You and I painted young guys, which painters rarely use these days. If they paint males, it's usually the faces of older men. Let me show you another painting."

He grabbed a frame inside a pillow protector, placed it on the stand, and removed the cover. It was another young guy hitting the ball during a tennis match.

I looked at my teacher admiringly, "It's stunning. Do you pay models for the paintings or use photos?"

"Most of these have been my students at one time or another. I made a deal with them, making two paintings in different poses. They'd take one, and I'd get the other. They posed for less than half an hour for each painting, so they spent a little time and ended up with a free painting. You look like a good model - If you are interested, I can use you."

"Mr. Coleman, your offer is flattering, but I wasted much of YOUR time already..."

He laughed, "My family is not here, so instead of watching the news, I'll do what I like best - Paint!"

I hesitated, "OK, but if it takes too much of your time, say so, and I'll leave."

"Ryan, I am not shy. I'll tell you if you become a burden, but I think I won't need to do it."

"Sir, how do you want me?"

He smiled (mischievously?), "How would you feel about sitting on the tub's ledge in profile, staring at me with a smile?"

"I'll let you decide."

"So I'll start by making the initial sketch and then begin the other. This way, I can continue both paintings after you've left."

"Sounds good."

He showed me the bathroom and asked me to sit straight on the ledge. I thought I understood what he wanted, but he wasn't happy, "Let me help you." He stood behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and turned me slightly sideways. His palms were firm and demanding. I felt a little shiver in my spine.

He moved away and looked at me, "That's better. Stay like that for ten minutes."

After five minutes, I felt my body getting frozen and caved slightly.

He glanced at me, stopped drawing, and approached me again, "I know it's not easy to keep the same position for a long time. Sit back, lean on me, and I'll massage your shoulders so you can stay another five minutes."

I leaned on his tummy, noticing his strong muscles. He started gently massaging my shoulders. It was a different touch than when he turned me in his direction. It felt very pleasant. I closed my eyes, and one time, I caught myself moaning softly.

Mr. Coleman's hands moved lower on my upper back and kneaded my scapular areas, relieving hidden knots. He was a great masseur! From my back, he moved back up to my shoulders and descended to my upper chest. He tweaked my covered pectorals lightly. It felt wonderful and even somewhat erotic... My penis twitched.

Next, he left me and continued the drawing for another five minutes. Then he stopped, smiled, and said, "I'll continue this one later, and tomorrow, I'll tell you if I need you for another short session to fill in some details. I have an idea how the second painting is supposed to be."

I looked at him quizzingly.

"Sitting on a tub will look much more natural if you are topless. It will look as if you are about to go in. A much better painting will be if you remove your shirt, assume the same pose as before, and think that the prettiest girl in the world takes your picture. Give her a lusty look!"

Mr. Coleman's idea sounded interesting. Perhaps unusual but intriguing.

I removed my shirt and undershirt, and my pale skin was revealed. Mr. Coleman had a strange expression momentarily and said, "On second thought, it is even better if you loosen the belt and unzip the upper part of your fly. A man preparing to shower is usually half-dressed when he is ready to check the water temperature."

There was logic in what he was saying. I freed the belt and slid the zipper about a quarter way down.

He signaled thumbs up and began drawing. Two minutes later, I must have crouched somewhat, and he came in my direction, "Let me readjust your position."

His hands brushed my naked shoulders, and I trembled mildly. His touch excitedly shocked my groin, and my dick started growing. The light contact of his fingers with my skin lasted no more than seconds, but it felt like hours. He stood very close to me, and I could smell his musky, masculine odor.

I couldn't understand it, but my organ continued hardening. I wasn't gay and never fantasized about sex with men, yet the combination of his smell and soft touch was overpowering... I opened my eyes and tried to look back at him. He was staring at my groin!

I felt my lips getting dry and licked my lips. Mr. Coleman grinned, "Ryan, you are anxious; let me help you." He put his thumb over my upper lip, now and then pushing slightly. I spread my lips, and he inserted it into my mouth.

I wasn't ready for his move and tried to back my head, but his chest blocked my move.

He whispered, "Ryan, don't fight it. Suck on my thumb, and you'll feel better."

I did as he said. His fat thumb filled my oral cavity, and while initially it felt weird, the taste wasn't bad. It was like having a pacifier in my mouth. However, following this interaction, my pecker engorged further. He watched my groin like a hawk as I was helpless to change the trajectory of my organ.

He kept one hand on my shoulder and the other thumb between my lips as he moved to my front. His strong legs spread mine, and he whispered, "Ryan, you enjoy your new pacifier? I like the way you suck it. You are a natural!"

My mind was on overdrive, yet confused. The thumb in my mouth had a surreal calming effect, but I couldn't grasp why my cock continued climbing up. I've never felt like that before and wasn't sure how to handle it. I hoped Mr. Coleman knew...

His hand moved from my shoulder and gently lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. He said, "Ryan, do you trust me?"

I hesitated for a moment, but his warm eyes reassured me. I mumbled with his big finger still inside my mouth, "Yes, Mr. Coleman, I do."

"Good boy. We both know why you got an erection, don't we?"

I lowered my face. I didn't want to know.

He whispered, "That's OK. You are like a son to me. Like a son who's afraid of the dark and needs help. Sucking has a calming effect not only on babies. It works on adults, too. The only difference is the size of what one sucks on. You are confused, scared, and aroused, all at the same time. I feel the same way. Let's solve the situation for both of us. Are you with me?"

I mumbled, "

"Yes, sir."

"Good!" He grabbed my hand and put it on his bulge. "I became aroused like you. I want you to feel it. Please unzip me!"

I raised my face, looking into his eyes. His stare was commanding.

I lowered the slider slowly and carefully, feeling the hard cock pushing against my hand. As the slider crossed the halfway line, it jolted before my face. Mr. Coleman was not wearing underwear, and his member was much bigger than mine, both in length and girth. He wasn't circumcised, but the erect tool protruded from its natural envelope and stood with all its glory- Reddish, stiff, veiny.

"Ryan, touch it. It won't bite."

My reluctance lasted a few seconds before my curiosity took over. Except for watching my two friends in the nude many years ago, I've never seen an adult-size one. And this one was rock-hard...

I touched it gingerly. It was velvety, and on top, the spongy head was wider but softer. Underneath, his ball sack was massive and hairy. As I caressed it, a colorless drop formed on top.

Mr. Coleman whispered, "Ryan, my cock is crying. It wants you to lick, kiss and suck it. Can you do it for me?"

My mind was rushing 100 miles per hour - I am not gay! How come I like holding his cock and playing with it. Why do I have the urge to taste it? Kinsey was right. It's not that one is homosexual or heterosexual. There are gradations. What the hell? I wanted to try it; I could stop if I didn't like it. I licked the drop. The taste was very mild.

"Good boy! Now wrap your lips around it and suck it as you did with my thumb."

I opened my mouth wide and was able to envelope the soft head. My tongue massaged the underside of the spongy material. I liked the feeling. Mr. Coleman gave me a loving look. It made me feel good - I pleasured him!

I have never been sucked, so the whole blowjob act was unfamiliar, but from the little literotica I've read, I knew the expectation was to shove the organ deeper and then bob it. I continued slowly and gradually to push it in. I started gagging when half of it was inside my mouth. My first instinct was to pull it out and take a breather. I tried again. This time, I could insert about 3/4 before gagging and coughing.

Mr. Coleman was patient with me and let me choose the pace. The one thing I DIDN'T want was to disappoint him, so I tried repeatedly. At last, I could accommodate all of it, and my chin hit his sack. I gave Mr. Coleman a winning look. He smiled. I began bobbing, but my inexperience showed.

After several moments, Mr. Coleman blurted, "Ryan, excellent job! Be ready and swallow it all."

I got scared, but his large palms held my head in place, not letting me move. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. I expected a gush or powerful jets, but except for his cock jolting five times powerfully, only a tiny amount of slimy viscous fluid poured into my mouth. It was tough to describe - a mixed taste of tangy, slightly bitter, and salty oily stuff... The good news is that I didn't choke, and the taste was not bad!

Slowly, his organ deflated. I kept it in my mouth, sucking gently the remaining juice.

Subsequently, He pulled the shriveled penis from my mouth and zipped his fly. He grinned at me, "Ryan, you were a great sucker. It wasn't awful, was it?"

I smiled, "Not really..."

"You are a natural. I am too tired to continue your painting now. So we'll have to skip it. By the way, I've read your file, and it said your father died when you were very young."

"That is correct. Mom raised me without help from a father."

He chuckled, "I like you and think you want me, too. In class, I'll continue being your teacher. But after hours we can spend time together. I'll let you use my cock, protect you and be the father you never had. What do you think?

I whispered, "Yes, Daddy..."