A gay story: The Love Model Sessions Disclaimer:
The characters portrayed within are all above the age of 18. There may or may not be similarities to persons living or dead, so what? Any alleged similarities may or may not be coincidental. Again…
In fact, have you ever stopped to think that we may all be slave to some inescapable omnipotent cosmic force of Coincidence not unlike that of Karma or Chaos, and that such legal disclaimers hold no power against it, nor the unseen eldritch abominations of this merciless universe in which whole galaxies are extinguished many times daily?
Well, have you?
No! You only think about yourself…
Any views expressed within are not necessarily the views of the author or of Literotica. Don’t quote me on omnipotent cosmic forces, eldritch abominations, or any of that stuff that I just said either. I don’t need those problems in my life.
THE LOVE MODEL SESSIONS
1.
Evening fell heavy and foreboding in the northern English university city beneath a thick blanket of rain, a stormy curtain call between mortal acts, at least concerning the pedestrian side of life. Outside the cafe and its windows dripping with diamonds coloured in dirty old streetlight, the pavements and roads were a crude oil slick splashing beneath dashing feet and spraying under hastened wheels of welcomed taxi fares along the tired and glum journey home.
Clocks struck nine and Wednesday’s world eased into loneliness, and grateful were those still human and appreciative of breathing spaces, the encroaching shadows of silence, places to relax their elbows. The walls were done closing in for the day, returning to their rightful conscious spaces, to bear the load of the looming universe above.
Within that little city cafe, tucked away in the corner of your typical historical quarter – magnificent Georgian architecture reduced to housing adminitrative offices after centuries’ service to empire – a young barista sparingly paid mind to the fascinating looking woman who had sat alone for the past forty-five minutes, and as he loaded up the dishwasher he imagined what she did for a living, and what she did for fun.
With the fingers of one hand Carrie Sledge tousled the short brunette curls atop her head. They came out in coarse shocks of wiry spring coils, thick, dark and naturally oily. Despite her thirty-eight years not a grey hair could be seen amongst them, at least not beneath the warming spotlights of the dimmed cafe that evening.
With the fingers of the other hand she stirred her cooling cappuccino with the tiny stainless steel spoon, seemingly absent-mindedly; fidgeted with her black-rimmed glasses; rested her cheek in the palm of one hand; slouched forth in a way that seemed unbecoming of her, then self-consciously sat up straight with her shoulders back.
The barista was soon unaware of himself, not even aware that he was smiling at this woman’s one-person show, staring, wondering what she would do next. Maybe she was waiting on a date. Maybe he – or would it be a she? – was a no-show, leaving this solitary figure high and dry in favour of a hot bath and an early night.
Maybe she, a regular at Café du Rhone, had no room for companionship in her life for the love of housecats. She didn’t smell like it. Tonight, at least, she smelled of dirty rain and blue raspberry vapour.
Though she didn’t see him looking, Carrie sensed that eyes were on her, because she often felt that way, and so with a casual hand she made sure that the hem of her black floral-print dress was adequately down at her knees before returning to scrolling through her phone.
Or at least pretending to.
2.
Long quiet minutes passed. One of her earlier friends returned. His name, Jean-Luc, carried easily on the air above Chet Baker and the now diminished chatter around the depopulated Café du Rhone as the Carrie welcomed him back and stowed away her phone back into her tassled brown suede handbag, a sudden and quickly forgotten afterthought.
5’8″, slim, fair-skinned, with short thick straw-blonde hair and striking blue eyes, if the barista was any more than closeted and curious he’d have written his name and number on a napkin already, or so he imagined. Jean -Luc carried himself with a grace that seemed both masculine and feline at once – quiet but confident. Also quite pleasant to look at and to listen to.
Jean-Luc came to the counter, said hello again, ordered two coffees, and returned to hold court with the barista’s muse. In quick succession a professional couple passing by bid goodnight and made for the door with a grim determination to get home safe and not so cold and wet.
The barista, neck made of rubber, finally caught Carrie’s eye from afar in an awkward moment, smiled a thin hint of a smile so vague that it went seemingly unnoticed. That awkward moment proved mercifully brief.
Wilfully distracted by the increasingly unpleasant cold late Autumn wind and moisture following the point of least resistance through the open door as that same couple left du Rhone, the barista’s soul stealthily leapt from his body as another customer seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere.
“Hi,” he said to the stranger, a weak token of acknowledgement. That went unnoticed too.
He cut a dark figure, this one. Dark and tall and with the subtle bitter intensity of chocolate. Wildly unshaven to the point of looking dirty, his face etched with the fine lines drawn between laughter and hardship. A man without a name, without a poncho, without jangling spurs on his heels. And tonight clearly a city boy too proud to carry an umbrella.
Unapologetically he dripped all over the floor, wiped his soaked face with one hand and shucked that to the floor too before scanning the would-be saloon. The honkytonk piano that never was gave way to the deathly terse silence before the gunfight never to be.
Carrie smiled and waved. Jean-Luc pivoted in his seat and sympathetically looked the stranger up and down, stood up and offered to take his wool-lined imitation sheepskin jacket, which he then draped inside out over the nearest radiator.
3.
The stranger was thankful, shook the Frenchman’s hand kindly. His name, as the barista overheard, was Arthur. Sheepishly he ordered himself an Americano, his brown eyes almost as black and oily as his brew of choice. He too smelled of dirty rain, as though he had swam through the gutter to get here, and yet ironically the scent of Pears soap and fabric conditioner also came through.
“Did you choose the music tonight?” he randomly asked, deceivingly relaxed in posture. The barista nodded and smiled. “What’s the song?”
“You don’t know what love is,” the barista replied absently. Arthur tilted his chin upward in a seemingly arrogant nod. He was merely acknowledging the barista, unaware that moments before he had ignored the lonely sod.
“Sad but true,” Arthur remarked with a cheeky hint of a smirk, paying for his coffee and leaving the young man cutting a solitary figure against the wintery wet shop window. And he went to join the two at their table, to huddle together and discuss their business, whatever in the world that could be.
The barista alone again, with nothing but duty left to live for, decided that the time for sociableness and kindness had passed, and skipped the rest of the song for ‘Autumn Leaves’ in Bossa Nova.
4.
“What an introduction,” Arthur chuckled. He barely even knew Carrie, had worked for her a total of five times within the last two months. His name and number had made their way to her contacts list with recommendations from three of her local associates. He had barely committed Jean-Luc’s name to memory before the proposition was flung at him.
“So what do you say?” Carrie probed – a mischievous, almost wicked gleam, in the dark eyes behind her glasses, threatening to cut him like broken shards of light.
“No pressure,” Arthur replied, refraining from laughing anymore for fear of looking like a clown. All the while J.L., who was quietly but undoubtedly taken by Arthur, sat opposite him with a relaxed smile.
Was it getting hot underneath these spotlights? “You want to photograph me?” Arthur asked as a point of voicing his main concern. Life modelling was one thing. Not even the lengthiest portrait session so far had seen the most talented art student capture his real likeness, his essence.
The fact that Arthur hadn’t made an issue of how he would be photographed pleased both Carrie and J.L. Carrie alone knew she could negotiate with Arthur. He was broad-minded and affable enough, and came with the kind of flexibility and can-do attitude so appreciated within that line of work.
“I want to oil paint you. A series of oil paintings. A photoshoot would be quicker and easier for you, nobody’s watching you. It helps also that it’d be somewhat cheaper for me…”
He couldn’t help it. Arthur laughed loud, almost barked. Jean-Luc was laughing too now. “So you love me because I’m cheap and easy,” Arthur said, feigning disgust all too transparently. “I get that oils are a whole different game but don’t you think you’re selling Jean-Luc and I short?”
Feigning emotional injury Carrie interjected, “Arthur, not at all! I love men who know how to do as they’re told, even more so when they’re being paid to do it.”
“Ha!” Arthur did bark this time, but the rosiness of his cheeks suggested that his humour was genuinely good.
“You’ll both be paid very well considering that the sessions will be a third of the duration of what you’re used to,” Carrie negotiated confidently. “So what do you say?”
“I need to know…” Arthur hesitated, shot the French-Canadian across the table a warm glance. He was maybe five years younger, possibly more. In truth he appeared so youthful, despite his worldly confidence and flirtatious ease, that the word virginal might have otherwise sprung to mind.
“I am flattered, by the way, that you’ve asked me to work alongside this frankly stunning model,” Arthur disclaimed, again casting a friendy glance at the young male opposite him. Jean-Luc’s ocean-blue eyes, heavy-lidded, relaxed, and all-too-knowing, now that Arthur thought about it, fixated on him all the more.
Maybe a reflex that betrayed what he now felt the need to hide, proof of shyness or bashfulness, Jean-Luc entwined the fingers of both hands, his elbows anchored to the table, and hid his lips behind them as the corners of his mouth curved upwards.
“But aside from the typical matter of privacy when it comes to what you’ll be doing with these photos, when you’re asking us to simulate love scenes what are you actually implying here?”
Jean-Luc was grinning from ear to ear now, face flush. Carrie leaned in close and spoke low. “How comfortable would you be with…”
Arthur leaned in, listened carefully, expression now flat and yet thoughtful. When Carrie was done talking, Arthur straightened up in his seat and looked to Jean-Luc, who obviously already knew. Calmly, Arthur nodded, conveying a measure of certainty.
“And you’ve done this sort of thing before, Jean-Luc?” asked Arthur, seeking whatever reassurance he could get.
“It’ll really be no different to what you’re already used to, just with a partner,” Jean-Luc assured. Arthur didn’t bother to deceive himself. The young male was a smooth talker. He felt a little too easily compelled. Excited even!
“A partner who knows what they’re doing,” Jean-Luc added laxly, hands now flat on the table between them. “Don’t worry, we’ll have fun with it.”
“Okay,” Arthur replied after doing nothing for many moments other than nodding thoughtfully, “when do we start?”
5.
It was another rainy day. Two days later and Storm Cherie was showing no sign of forgetting her woes and moving on with her short blustery life. Arthur had awoken feeling fine after a solid seven hours, committed himself to a well-rounded workout of stretches and calisthenics for the day ahead, and then treated himself to a breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, coffee, and rising anxiety.
Two days to prepare wasn’t much at all, but as was the nature of being a life model for the sake of a little extra income on top of the income he already struggled to bring in, to be prepared for anything was virtually a luxury.
Clean, trimmed, toned up and relaxed, looking and feeling good was preparation enough to be photographed naked, he imagined. He was, after all, hired for his reliability and agreeableness, not because he was some professional wannabe Adonis with a catalogue of strongman poses.
The studio, the would-be conservatory of Carrie’s up-market suburban home cum art school, was already brightly lit and set to slow-cook at a steady 25 degrees celsius. When Arthur’s metallic grey Citroen C4 pulled up into the driveway Jean-Luc was already there and had greeted him with a warm if not mischievous knowing smile.
Arthur imagined Jean-Luc wanted to make light of the situation. In fact Jean-Luc had awoken that morning to a relaxing shower, a breakfast of spiced oatmeal, fruit and nuts, and a deligtful reverie on the thought of seeing Arthur out of his pants.
With that in mind, Jean-Luc had masturbated to other resulting thoughts, hoping to railroad his youthful hormones long enough to remain professional for the duration of the shoot. The snug blue jeans Arthur turned up in now threatened to undo his bid to remain… impartial.
Because Arthur was a strong looking male despite his own modesty. He filled those jeans with well-chiseled thighs and calves. And he walked with a tautness caused by the crotch of his jeans appearing as well filled out as the seat of his pants, and everything else.
“Good morning, Arthur,” Jean-Luc greeted with a smile, offering him a cigarette as he casually smoked one himself.
“Hey, Jean-Luc, good to see you again, you’re looking good to go,” Arthur obliged readily and accepted the cigarette.
“I’m a bit overdressed,” Jean-Luc chuckled. His smile was sheepish.
Arthur lit his cigarette and dragged deep. “So, you’re from Canada?”
“Ottawa.”
“Is it nice there?”
“No.”
Arthur, if anything humoured, gasped. “Is it any better here?”
Jean-Luc tilted his head from side to side, appearing thoughtful. “Yes, but the papers lie all the same when it isn’t.”
“Yes they do,” Arthur agreed. “And I don’t know who pays them to talk.”
“Speaking of not being paid to talk,” came another voice. Both men pivoted to see Carrie in the doorway – a pillared stoa whitewashed as was the rest of the renovated old detached three-storey building. She was as dressed for business as could ever be expected of her, black slacks and a white blouse, short curls somewhat tied into a frizzy ponytail, and garish red crocs over Spongebob socks.
6.
At 10am they were both sat in the conservatory drinking coffee in nothing but fluffy white bathrobes. Arthur was a little nervous now but otherwise at ease in the company of Jean-Luc and Carrie, the latter of whom now contended with the mechanics of camera, tripod, lighting rigs etc.
A man’s body was prone to reacting in interesting ways when naked before the eyes of others. Arthur had learned this lesson quickly as he began his forays into modelling for art students. What he didn’t count on this time was the prospect of actually becoming aroused by another man, while in the presence of a professional artist with a camera.
Arthur, as has been stated previously, was an open-minded man, custodian to a well-rounded sense of humour, good for a dare, and most definitely not afraid of intimacy or threatened by the sexuality of others.
In fact he could not deny the attractive qualities of his French friend. Jean-Luc was a beautiful male – toned, smooth, a great smile, and with enchanting speech.
And he could not deny that he had been intrigued from the outset by the prospect of not only modelling nude with Jean-Luc, but essentially simulating intimacy with him. Typically what the human mind imagines when contending with so far unchartered territory overshoots the mark concerning the actual reality.
On one hand, Carrie wanted to paint a series of portraits of two lovers in various poses. On the other hand it had not been stated whether said poses were to be classically styled or something more radical and expected of modern LGBT themed art and illustration.
Knowing her the way Arthur did, Carrie might take one single image and create as many stylistic contrasts as suited her, because as an artist she refused to be bound by a single style. Who could call themselves an art teacher after all and not be able to teach more than a single trick?
So maybe the wildcard artist would aim dead-on for the most overtly erotic imagery she could evoke and today might descend into the unexpected, or maybe it would be so tame a session that Arthur would wonder by the end why he had been so anxious.
Maybe, then again, Arthur would prove the messenger of his own prophecy and be left cringeing at the prospect of appearing unprofessional. Indeed, a man’s body had a way of reacting in unexpected ways under the artist’s watchful gaze, and then most often the model’s mind was left with too much time for that not to be an issue from time to time.
Silence and self-conscious nudity could be a blessing or a terrible curse.
7.
“Right, if you’re both ready and finished with your coffees we can get started,” Carrie said, finally happy with her technical set-up around the set-piece.
Grinning at each other, Arthur and Jean-Luc shook off their nerves. Arthur was the first to shrug off his robe and swore he heard the slighest gasp as the warm air caressed his masculine frame. Jean-Luc’s eyes seemed to glaze over as they roamed his nakedness. And how he appreciated what he saw.
Carrie knew. “Come on, Jean-Luc, your turn to bare all.” The quietness of the moment amplified the underlying humour in her words. Jean-Luc blushed and stripped off. Arthur didn’t even try to look away. They would after all spend the morning in each other’s arms, pretending as less than theatrical lovers.
“Okay boyfriend or husband,” Arthur playfully jostled up against Jean-Luc, “let’s do this… what are we doing?”
Carrie, one moment deadpan and deep in concentration, lightened up with an unexpected woo. “You do make a lovely couple. I really lucked out there, I must say.”
“Ice-breaker,” Jean-Luc suddenly said flightily, which didn’t register with Arthur until he felt himself wrapped up in Jean-Luc’s arms. The moment lasted maybe two seconds at most, and it was a moment in which the ambient silence within the room was broken by all-round laughter. But in that moment body touched body in an instance that was still intimate, and it felt good. So good that Arthur relented, wrapped his arms around his smaller companion’s smooth body and lovingly kissed him on the cheek.
“Okay, tell us what to do,” he said to Carrie, whose sideways smirk betrayed her thoughts.
8.
The set-piece was a simple pile of satin cushions atop a mess of crumpled white bedsheets. Not a minute had passed before both men were sat astride each other amongst the plush mountain of cushions, legs splayed, and – as instructed – gazing into each other’s eyes.
Arthur’s initial thought had been, “wow, so much for the art of escalation,” but he kept the thought to himself as both he and his partner focused on not laughing anymore than they already had as they got to grips with Carrie’s demands thus far.
To begin with, Carrie was taking free-style shots, over-shoulder close-ups to capture each man’s facial expression as they tried to convey the emotions wanted of their characters. Then Carrie started becoming more confident in her directional skills as she presided thoughtfully over the scene before her, and the one playing out before her mind’s eye.
“Come closer,” she said quietly to Arthur from over Jean-Luc’s shoulder. He did and his face was no more than a foot away from Jean-Luc’s.
“Caress his cheek…”
Arthur stalled, hesitant for his own very valid reasons. Breaking character, and the intensifying eye-contact with Jean-Luc, his dark eyes darted to Carrie. Cautiously he said, “this is probably going to sound stupid…”
“What is it?” Carrie asked.
“Am I caressing him in a motion or do you want me to hold it still?” Arthur explained calmly.
“You won’t rub me the wrong way either way,” Jean-Luc chuckled rogueishly.
“Hmm, good point,” Carrie thought aloud. She stalled. “Let’s try still-life for now and after a few shots we can try to capture something live?”
Both men were agreeable. Arthur’s hand hesitated at first, upon turning his attention back to the cute French-Canadian before him.
“It’s fine,” Jean-Luc said, cultivating a sense of character with a very believable expression filled with love and adoration, which was completely unexpected. To make matters all the more confusing, Arthur was now very aware that he was developing some physical signs of arousal, or at least the visual impressions that could lead to such connotations.
They were already of close enough proximity that both could feel the body heat of each other, even with the room heated at such a temperature as it was. Naked, hot, flirtatious, undeniably mutually appreciative.
“Really,” Jean-Luc said, reaching out to take Arthur’s hand. As he did, his eyes broke contact and touched down on the perceived growing problem. It was a very impressive problem in his eyes and it was going to put some strain on Jean-Luc’s ability to remain as professional as he might try.
Jean-Luc took Arthur’s hand and directed it to his cheek and laid it there, leaning into it and conveying with his eyes that it was the rightest thing in the world.
“There?” he asked.
“Okay?” Arthur relented with relative ease, although he was aware of his own nervousness now. In Carrie’s eyes, and again in her mind, the contrasting looks between both men spoke true of very real moments. Stars after all are never born aligned.
Carrie snapped away now, filling the silence with the slide and click of the camera’s apperture. Moving to find another view, snapping away, and the same again, she inevitably came to rest over the shoulder of Arthur before seeking to develop the situation further.
“Okay, Arthur, keeping your hand on Jean-Luc’s cheek, Jean-Luc, I want you to hold onto Arthur’s shoulder right at the neck… good…
“Now pull in a little closer… I love that eye-contact!”
Arthur felt compelled to say something else. Nothing in particular, just something to break through the next layer of ice – his own growing sense of hesitation as he wondered too late just what he’d gotten himself into.
Jean-Luc’s touch sent shivers down his spine. He felt gooosebumps develop on his skin. Clearly Carrie noticed as she immediately began snapping away again, adjusting the lens to capture more detail than she would in fact be able to paint with even the slightest tuft of sable.
Not that she would admit it, but she suddenly felt the urge to squirm and to squeeze her upper thighs together.
All the while, that eye-contact with Jean-Luc had Arthur’s sense of confusion tying his stomach in knots. Again he could not deny the beauty of this man. He could not deny that there was something about being naked before him, his own unexpected arousal now leading to a sense of defiance, and acceptance of something.
Arthur was getting harder and even though he couldn’t see any telltale signs on the fringes of his visual periphery, he already knew that Jean-Luc was feeling the same effect. And they both knew that Carrie knew, but since such masculine displays weren’t an issue to her personally as an artist, the fact that it didn’t matter made the moment all the more curiously delightful.
Falling deeper down this strange rabbit hole dared Arthur particularly to fall deeper into Jean-Luc’s striking blue eyes as the man continued to convey his character’s love, subtly permeating Arthur’s being like the smoke of a now much needed cigarette travelled through the lungs, into the blood, and directly to the brain.
Arthur took it upon himself to reposition his hands. The one on Jean-Luc’s cheek skimmed down to hold up his chin, and the other slid down to caress one arm. Again, goosebumps, and this time for the both of them. Carrie, unbeknownst to both, suddenly felt them elsewhere.
“Brilliant!” she encouraged almost gutturally. “Arthur, you’re doing great, love!”
Arthur smiled. Kept eye-contact with Jean-Luc all the while. Jean-Luc smiled back. Something happened between them then. Arthur’s eyes began to sting. Emotion came. Breathng deep and even, his chest and shoulders rose high and fell low.
Jean-Luc’s hand gripped him firmly by the fine musculature of his shoulder and Arthur instinctually brought up his free hand to caress his partner’s neck and shoulder. Frantically now Carrie began to shoot.
“You’re very beautiful, you know?” Jean-Luc suddenly whispered. If Arthur expected anything this day, he didn’t expect tears of all things. Or to grow harder at hearing those words. Somehow a great deal of minutes passed before he became aware that the shooting had come to an end.
Again, purely triggered by instinct, Arthur reached forward, wrapped his arms around the model before him, and kissed him on the cheek. Jean-Luc smiled, glassy eyed, and returned it. “Thank you,” Arthur said.
“You two go and have a ciggie break and unwind,” Carrie recommended. “We’ll do a different position in a bit and then finish for the day.”
9.
“Sorry about the little guy,” Arthur offered, jocular and somewhat relieved that he’d gotten this far without wigging out. He was at a loss for the appropriate words to frame his racing thoughts, “I really didn’t know what to expect this morning.”
He was stood just beyond the porch and driveway, in nothing but his bathrobe, rain coming down in rivulets. Jean-Luc, cigarette in hand and huddled under the front door’s pillared stoa, stood looking amused at his fictional lover’s apparent obliviousness to the weather. Either Arthur was soaked from the rain or he was sweating heavily.
In disagreement Jean-Luc questioned, “little?”
Generous inches when standing, definitely more than six inches, and thick, and uncut, from where Jean-Luc had been standing, he imagined how big it might look with Arthur’s pelvis thrusting outward.
Arthur chuckled, still a little nervous, but appreciating the response. “It happens, as you saw for yourself,” Jean-Luc reminded him. “Nobody here to judge.”
Confident that the snake between his legs had gone dormant now, Arthur took a long drag on his own cigarette and grinned back. “We’ve gotten to know each other a lot over a short amount of time, haven’t we?”
They both laughed quietly. Jean-Luc smiled and shrugged. “I can think of worse ways to make money. What else do you do?”
Arthur couldn’t deny being affected by Jean-Luc’s first comment. “Me too,” he agreed, and then, “I make commercial music – radio jingles, TV themes, video game music.”
“It isn’t paying so well,” he wanted to add, but pride didn’t allow him to.
“Wow, I have to hear some, eh?” Jean-Luc reacted eagerly. “Remind me to get your number later and you can link me.”
Arthur beamed happily at that. “So what do you do?” he replied swiftly, wanting to avoid a lull while he enjoyed the feel of the rain cooling his heated cheeks.
“I model mostly and I illustrate comics when I can,” Jean-Luc started. “I was in university in Ottawa. I didn’t finish before I got the opportunity to leave and be somewhere else…”
“What made you leave?” Arthur was already set to ask next. Before he could, Carrie had come outside to join them with a subdued smile on her face.
“So are you boys ready to take it to the next level?” she asked.
There was a pause. Both men looked at each other.
10.
In the centre of the studio set-up there now stood a wooden chair, ancient dark walnut. Arthur had sat in its eroded seat of balded grain twice before for portrait sessions. Before he was struck by the necessity of that very chair it was all explained to him.
He had wanted to visit the bathroom quickly to freshen up before carrying on but before he could say so Jean-Luc was out of his fluffy white bathrobe and gazing up at him expectantly. It could wait, the bathroom. Arthur slipped out of his robe too then and assumed the position.
And again he tried not to think about that familiar sense of building pressure, subtle at first but no less noticeable when it was building within the very organ created for the purpose of sex.
He tried not to think about the inevitability of getting hard, and because now he was secretively battling with the objective reality that it was not just one of the dangers of the job, but the very predicament of being sexually aroused.
Feet placed to the side of the chair, Jean-Luc’s butt – a very nice specimen indeed – was right there, right in his face, fuzzy and pert and smooth like a perfect little peach mere days from sweet mouthwatering juicy ripeness.
Jean-Luc turned to look down at Arthur with another knowing smile, reserved and yet telling. Carefully he reached around with an arm and steadied his hand on one strong shoulder, looming a moment before perching himself in Arthur’s naked lap.
“Comfy?” came Carrie’s voice from behind her now tripod mounted Nikon. She wasn’t peeking, not directly. But the lens saw all it needed to, and through the lens so could she.
Arthur said nothing. Jean-Luc’s body heat seemed centred on one particular spot where he sat and it just so happened to be on that one particular spot where Arthur’s arousal was becoming centred. To make matters worse, Jean-Luc flexed his glutes and gave a little wiggle.
He had to be pretending to know none the better now. With one arm wrapped around Arthur’s shoulders, he leaned in, relaxed, moulding their bodies together, and shot him a glance up close and personal.
“Ready,” he replied to Carrie’s question.
11.
Arthur’s hand snaked around behind Jean-Luc’s neck and raked carefully through his hair. Essentially after a number of slight alterations in pose, it had come to Arthur cradling the boy in his lap, faces achingly close, the other hand come to rest on Jean-Luc’s outer thigh up near his hip.
Only Arthur was not the only one aroused, but he was the only one able to hide it. Jean-Luc had never quite experienced feelings like this during a modelling session. Arthur’s hand on his hip was the only way now to hide his erection.
Every breath between them was hot against the face, not too close for comfort but too close for such intimacy to go unanswered in ordinary circumstances. Restraint had gone from both men failing to remain flaccid in the beginning to the both of them struggling not to give in to the amplified sensations of touch and feel.
But something else was now becoming apparent and not only to Arthur. He hadn’t needed to go to the bathroom needing to pee. He had needed to go to the bathroom to freshen up and to wash the pre-ejaculate from his cock, because not only women drip when turned on.
Jean-Luc’s exposed glans, bulbous, pink and shiny, was not only shiny because it was engorged and straining skyward. He too was slippery with the lubricant of the male sex and their combined scent was beginning to permeate the hot air within the confined conservatory studio.
Sweet and seminal. The stuff of life and pleasure. Arousing in its own right.
And mouths so close together. Eye penetrating eye.
Fuck.
Unbeknownst to both males, Carrie was by now creaming herself. She knew only from Arthur’s Facebook account that he’d had girlfriends in the past and that he still had a fair amount of attention from attractive women.
That didn’t mean at all that he wasn’t attracted to men too, but there was more than unexpected chemistry between these two. Jean-Luc had been vocal that if he would be happy posing with any of her handful of male models, he had to be the one.
What Carrie did not expect at all was that Arthur would be so physically responsive. She could see through the camera’s eye how every fibre of the muscles in his strong arms thrummed with excitement.
And that smell, the musky scent of masculinity in the room, was a scent she knew well. She knew the smell, the taste, and every muscle now aching from her loins to her thighs carried the memory of what a woman gets when she inhales it into herself.
This session had to end soon before she lost all confidence in herself as a professional woman, but all other remaining instinct screamed that the essence she sought in her art was now happening before her eyes.
It had to go on. At least a little until the next session. Just enough to break through the barrier between her live specimens.
Hardly politely, Carrie interrupted the moment with a cough she failed to contain within her throat. The dry heat suddenly overwhelmed her, irritated her with a nasty tickle.
“Umm, are you okay?” Arthur asked. When Carrie managed to contain herself she looked to him, found him looking dazed and droopy-eyed. “Anything I can do?” he asked.
At that last question Carrie spluttered all the more, barely managed to stay upright.
“Sorry,” she gasped, struggling to compose herself. A silly little laugh escaped her. “It’s suddenly very hot in here, isn’t it?”
The room erupted into laughter. Hard loud laughter, and more coughing.
“Okay, I’d say we have time and energy enough for one more position,” Carrie thought aloud, and then quickly rectified, “erm, pose…”
Both men remained quiet, knowing, maybe a little awkward, and definitely a little glued together with the amount of perspiration that had occurred over the duration of the shoot.
“Erm…” Carrie fought with every fibre of her being to remain impartial and to appear unfazed by the sight before her. Jean-Luc was clearly squirming atop Arthur’s naked lap. “Would you two like a moment or two to allow things to… go down?”
It was Arthur who turned and regarded his model partner, his fictional companion, with a closeness that wouldn’t have been expected of him only an hour earlier. And he covertly smiled with his eyes alone and supposed that they had gotten this far without any trouble.
“Are you certain?” Carrie had to ask.
“Unless it’s a problem…”
“Hmm…” Carrie let slip another giggle. “No, no…”
“What’s the next pose?”
“Jean-Luc straddling you, face to face?” Carrie said, immediately grimacing the moment she could compare how that sentence sounded in her mind with how it sounded aloud.
Jean-Luc stood up and stretched, obscuring Carrie’s view of Arthur completely. She was faced, from only five feet away with the sight of Jean-Luc’s fully engorged penis – pale, smooth, thickly veined and circumcised so that the head faced her like the tip of a fleshy spear.
“Christ!” she whispered, attempting poorly a straight face.
Wringing his hands and shaking out the kinks from his arms, a grinning Jean-Luc apologised politely and stepped away to stretch his legs, leaving Arthur sat there trying to hide his own erection and swollen testicles. It took his entire hand-span and the most of his forearm just to fail to do that.
“Fucking hell you two!” Carrie spat before hiding her face behind both hands.
“Okay, nearly there,” said a calm and resolute Arthur, amused at the irony that only now was he coming into his element. Though he might never be allowed to participate in a life class for Carrie ever again after this day.
Patting his thigh, he waved Jean-Luc back over to him, with nothing but mirth and mischief plastered across his perspiration-beaded face. He was flush and breathless now. Part of him was relieved this was nearly over – at least for the day – and yet another part was looking for a view to how much further this would continue down the line.
12.
Chuckling uncontrollably, Jean-Luc was nonetheless game. Cock bobbing out in front of him he marched back over to his modelling partner and placed a foot either side of the chair, looking down on Arthur with a look that passed for nothing other than seductive in the moment.
Both men naked, sweating, erect – very impressively erect – grabbed hold of their aching cocks and aimed them upward in the attempt to avoid injury.
Back arched, Jean-Luc straddled Arthur’s lap, certainly deliberately aligning them to cross swords.
Carrie heard nothing but boyish giggling transpiring between the two. Or were they conspiring?
She did not see the looks Arthur and Jean-Luc were giving each other now. Maybe it was for the best.
Her hands hadn’t trembled like this since three years earlier when a near-miss case of road rage left her violently shaken at a busy roadside.
Silver linings, she was trembling so hard now because she needed her clit clapped on the back of a good pounding. Literally thirty seconds would do her the world of good right now.
Just a good deep dicking, a frantic plowing, coupled with a nice hard clitoral orgasm. Oh she could gush at the thought alone.
She was not going to be able to free-style, not like this. Shakily she continued to snap away on the spot, a voyeur to Arthur’s exploring hands, Jean-Luc fighting with all his might not to gyrate and grind atop his lap, his butt elevated by the strength of Arthur’s amorousness.
Solid fucking gold! The boys were putting on a disgustingly erotic show without even technically breaking the rules – not that there needed be any this morning.
Arthur’s hands snaked from Jean-Luc’s peach-shaped behind and up along the strong ridges of his spine, ran through his hair and tugged at great tufts with clenched fists.
Jean-Luc gasped then. Carrie instinctually leapt to ask if he had been hurt. Before she could her mind corrected her. That had been a gasp of pleasure, of arousal. Now another escaped Arthur’s lips.
Carrie’s legs felt like lead. Her bladder, if it was indeed her bladder, felt fit to burst. All up inside her built the sensation of molten heat and liquid. Shakily she stood up straight and dragged the tripod-mounted camera with her to the side of the erotic show.
And all she saw when she got there were two of the biggest hardest cocks she had ever seen outside of PornHub, slick with their combined arousal as both men clung to each other for dear life. Carrie set down the tripod and frantically turned the crank to raise the camera higher so the lense could look down on Arthur and Jean-Luc as she had done when the sight had stolen her breath away.
Lips so close, breathing heavy, every muscle straining to carry the immense weight of sexual restraint…
The camera was set up as good as she was going to be able to get it. Carrie licked her lips as the exhibition played out in front of her. And as the pressure building between her legs built and built atop the automatic thoughts created by her own “little brain down there” until her heart was bobbing in her throat like an apple in a Halloween game of Duck-Apple, she knew that there were only going to be two ways for this to end.
One, she could literally put a stop to it there and then, and allow both Arthur and Jean-Luc to go home and cool off until the next session.
Or two, she could utter the words that were screaming in her mind now since the moment her logical north and biological south first aligned. In the silence she chose…
Barely containing a perverted guttural giggle, Carrie whispered, “go on, I dare you to kiss!”
13.
Arthur had never kissed another male in his life, at least nowhere other than on the cheek. Now one was sitting naked in his lap, and not only very mutually sexually aroused but virtually on fire and ready to go off like a rocket. Jean-Luc was not the only one.
Who’d have seen it coming?
Those fateful words passed by their ears and, as if paused by the button on a remote, time stopped. The two men regarded each other closely, already close enough to taste of each other.
On one hand Carrie daring them had snapped them out of the moment. The imaginary scene cut. But the reality was not the same one as when they had first arrived that morning. It was not even the same as the moments before Jean-Luc’s job had been to sit in Arthur’s lap to simulate a lover’s embrace. Lines had been crossed and not just for the one supposedly straight man in the room.
So on the other hand, really all she was doing was giving them the go ahead, that one final push, to explore something racy and emotional in the name of art. And really it was all they needed to hear.
Arthur’s heart was still no less in a fit state to explode, which was the only thing holding him back other than the one last thread of professionalism that he now dangled by. Jean-Luc was right there with him, otherwise very certain in their shared “deer in the headlights” moment that, yes, they both would really like to.
Jean-Luc searched Arthur’s eyes then in a palpably tender moment. In his lap he was now the taller of the two. He could lean into Arthur and look down into his eyes from above. As he did, Arthur’s hands continued to explore and caress and stroke his body, his naked thighs, hips, his arms, his face.
And as Arthur did, Jean-Luc’s hands pawed playfully at his shoulders, caressed his neck, his throat, and he ran his fingers through his hair as Carrie frantically began to snap away once again.
Such adoration conveyed lovingly, hands touching faces, fingers touching lips, lips nuzzling eyes, ears, noses…
“Do it!” Carrie cried internally. “Do it!”
Arthur licked his lips. No idea when or how, his mouth had run so bone dry, within the space of ten or twenty rapid pounding heartbeats. Jean-Luc inhaled the scent of his skin up close and personal now, daring their newfound magnetism to cross that last line, to shuck off the invisible shackles. But self-control was more important than ever now, because no matter what they were about to do…
Professionalism…
Yeah whatever…
Arthur’s lips looked dry, his mouth parted, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and yet no less piercing. So he drew close, so temptingly close, as the both of them held each other by their faces and instinctually gravitated.
Lips wetted, Jean-Luc made the first move, brushing his full pink lips against Arthur’s. He thought the sensation would be rough; not like sandpaper, not like stubble, but prickly rough; like tufts of wire wool and iron filings, so thick and coarse appeared his facial hair.
He couldn’t have been more wrong but he couldn’t place it. He returned to brush his lips against Arthur’s once more, chuckling dryly as Arthur’s lips responded this time. Was his beard like cotton wool?
No, too soft… but his lips were…
Jean-Luc gasped and went back for more, just a little taste, and licked his lips again. And this time Arthur pulled him in for another kiss. Was it like paint-brush sable?
No, again not coarse enough… but again his lips were so lovely and full, and sticky-dry…
Sheep’s wool? Maybe that was it. He went back for more just to be sure, kissing and nuzzling this beautifully gruff man while straddled in his lap and thinking that he’d like to have sex with him, if Arthur would ever like for things to go so far in the not so distant future.
Before long, other than for the sounds of Carrie’s Nikon clicking away, all else that filled the silence were the sounds of lips smacking and slurping, and two hot young males panting and sighing, virtually making love to each other before the bewildered eyes of Carrie Sledge, as the clock seemed broken and the session failed to reach an end.
Again, Jean-Luc’s hips began to gyrate and as they kissed he danced playfully in his partner’s lap, very blatantly simulating raw passionate sex before Carrie Sledge’s bulging eyes.
Somehow she did it. Neither man knew, but as she stood watching, no longer taking photos, she climaxed hard and didn’t betray the fact in the slightest.
She came almost telepathically, in her own mind at least. Technically failing to prevent an orgasm doesn’t count as psychically willing one to happen.
14.
Again her head was buried in her hands. She was practically sobbing by this point, her shoulders shaking. Arthur and Jean-Luc were stood in their robes once more, for the last time that day. Nothing was said for some long moments, though it became apparent that she wasn’t crying at all, but silently shrieking with laughter. Gone mad.
“It was not my intention to shoot a gay porno,” she finally said, before giving in to another fit of silent cackling.
“You’re the director,” said Arthur, who was more concerned now with the painful blueness of his balls.
“Yes!” Carrie snapped, covering her eyes again, because she could not think straight while looking at the previously very enamoured men now stood before her in matching bathrobes. “Erm… I’m going to have to review the material so far and think about how to proceed with this?”
“I’m free next Tuesday all day,” offered Jean-Luc too innocently for his own good, and for anybody else’s.
“Tuesday evening and Thursday morning,” Arthur said, then stopped to think. “Oh and Sunday if you do Sundays?”
“Sunday is good with me, eh?!” said the French-Canadian. “Oh and let me get your number so you can message me that thing.”
Hearing that, Carrie just wanted to implode. So she paid them both, very handsomely, with interest, and counted the minutes until she was free to “excuse” herself. She had a class to run in half an hour and her knickers were by now virtually glued to her intimate parts.
15.
Arthur was first out through the door after getting dressed. The rain fell, the day seemed as gloomy as it was ever going to be for as long as Storm Cherie continued to lament her own existence. And yet the day seemed brighter, despire his bruised balls and the sleepy feeling that came after a lengthy spit-swapping session. The terrible things a man had to do for money!
“See you next week, my friend,” sang an amused voice. Arthur turned on his heels, laughing to himself. Some art students were now walking up the driveway, he didn’t want to draw too much attention.
“Well that was…”
Arthur was still lost for words. “Hey, can I give you a lift somewhere?”
“So long as you’re going my way,” Jean-Luc beamed, his ocean-blue eyes darkening and yet sparkling.
“Which way would that be?” asked Arthur, opening the front passenger door of his C4 for Jean-Luc. He climbed in, simultaneously nibbled at the cork coloured filter of a cigarette and effortlessly fished it out of the carton. Smiling knowingly.
“How about a coffee at that place we were at the other night before work?”
“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, closing the door and strutting around to the driver’s side, chuckling to himself. “I could wet my lips…”
TBC.
Afterword:
This is one of those instances where I had a fermented and distilled product in mind, and as soon as I’d gotten past the recipe part of the play it took on a more unique flavour than expected. Originally I’d planned for it to be a lot more graphic and brief, and non-chronological.
As is often the case when I get into that trance-like writing state of mind, that can’t happen if it doesn’t feel natural. Best laid plans are so often best laid to one side.
Along the way I decided to go for an escalation of the homoerotic rather than to specifically write either a direct sex story or a deliberately non-erotic gay story, and I really enjoyed planning out my own individual path with this one once I could rationalise my change of heart and find a way to be more creative with it.
Again, I am aware of some weaknesses here and there that I just didn’t give myself more time to work on. But I am also positively surprised with myself for being able to do this within the space of a day. I got some great vivid mental imagery out of writing it, which I was careful to weave back into it at every opportunity as I sailed along.
I really hope you did enjoy it as I’m looking forward to ramping up the chemistry between Arthur and Jean-Luc as soon as I can get more time to myself. Thank you so much yet again, dear readers.