An Artist from the Past - Sex Stories

An Artist from the Past

... once during the day. But he was indefatigable. He was ready always. Only I demanded a bit of foreplay. Ultimately, I cajoled him into letting me top. And I can say without question, looking back on that time, that he was the most active and dominant bottom that I've ever had at the business end of my cock. We did it a few more times, and he was beginning to enjoy it, I thought. Certainly he came to appreciate and love the ass play that I used to arouse him in foreplay.

In all we had about six months of the most intense sex of my life. But, we both knew it wasn't love. It was pure lust. A chance to experiment with the most exotic dreams that we had ever had about sex.

Once I arrived home to find him fucking in our bed. She was an incredibly gorgeous blonde woman—with blonde ringlets almost to her waist, full rounded breasts and long legs ending in one of the most spectacular pear-shaped asses I've ever seen. He motioned me to the bed and arched his eyes in question. I stripped and took his ass while he pumped her. She loved it. And I think he loved it. He was willing to bottom for me so long as his dick was buried deep inside a woman. It was an experience I will never forget.

Another time it was a man, or rather a boy, probably just out of high school and just barely legal. He was a swimmer and diver with long stringy muscles, an incredibly small tight ass, and of course a big dick, with a snow white complexion and blonde hair. (Jerry tended to like to paint curly ...

... blondes for some reason. He had absolutely perfected the brush strokes which created highlights on the tips and outsides of the tight curls.) He pulled out and motioned me to plunge. I did and, as I was stroking, I felt his monster knocking at my back door. It didn't take long. By then, I was becoming accustomed to his size and impatience. He plunged, filling me like always, crowding my prostate like always and started stroking. We got into an incredible synergistic tempo as I fucked and was fucked. Finally, I exploded as the young guy orgasmed and his ass muscles squeezed my dick. And of course my own explosion began the milking of Jerry's horse dick.

Toward the end of our time together, I arranged for a show of his work at the East Village gallery. He exhibited more than a dozen realistic, nearly life size scenes of intimate hetero sex, homo sex and orgies. In the largest, there were eight figures, all acting like it was an everyday part of their lives: drinking, smoking (what was obviously weed) and stroking each other. Two couples, one hetero, one homosexual, were in full intercourse. The others barely seemed to notice. In fact all the characters appeared to be incredibly bored by the whole thing.

The show was a smash—although the major critics didn't use photos of the work in their reviews. Jerry was not only an accomplished "photo-realist" but also a social commentator. The liberal press loved it. And every painting sold opening night—three to museums.

I didn't ...