Gilded Youth
A story of the love of art
Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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This story isn't based on anyone in particular, alive or dead, so any resemblance to anybody is unintentional.
This copyright is held by the author. This story is dedicated to All my many friends in the #niftywriters Chat Room and with special thanks to Jesse - my editor, dru, Snowy, tubby, will_s, Eliot and Hunkyeric. Thanks for encouraging me to post something at last. Please remember to support Nifty.
Gilded Youth
by Kip
I have always loved art, both paintings and prints. My grandmother's house had lots of things to look at, not wildly valuable things, but a restful collection of generations of conservative New England taste. New England has always had a conventional yet always forward thinking idea of art, a tasteful look with an excellent eye for color, design and sense of proportion, unlike the showy glamour of New York or the edgy-ness of Los Angeles. All objects in my grandmother's house had been chosen with a good eye. Nothing flamboyant, but very pleasing to look at and reflect upon. Tranquility- that was the word I was looking for, it was a peaceful house and I miss it.
I so loved that place. After my grandmother's death when I was 17, the house was sold and objects dispersed. Various possessions found their way into my parents home and a few pieces of furniture and art came my way as well, which I continue to treasure.
It was my love of art that brought me to the Art Museum. It was my wish that day to see a very special art exhibit before it closed. It was an exhibit of paintings from the golden age of portraiture in the early 20th century. Paintings of families of New Englanders at home and at play. It had beautiful folks of all ages, formally posed in their homes, or just relaxing at their leisure. I knew it would be fun and recall an era way before I was born, a time that I heard so much about from my Grandmother. I hoped it would bring back pleasant memories of the golden past of my own New England heritage.
I thought that I would just run in, see it and then back to work on a design project I was trying to complete. I was excited about my new job that I had just started but did have some time-off coming and was glad I could use it today.
The fates had something very different in store for me from what I had planned. Definitely something to long remember. That day would change a lot of things for me. It would bring about a chance meeting that would truly change my whole life.
As I said the theme of the exhibition was paintings of New England life in the early 20th century. It was all about light and color and texture.
As I sat on the couch contemplating what had happened since I went to that exhibit eight weeks ago, it sometimes seemed like a dream and I was afraid I would awake, but I knew it was real and a 'good' real too.
However, I am getting way ahead of my story.
It was the visit to the Museum that had lead me to this moment. It was there that I met Mark. After I first saw him, I was nervous, excited and strangely relaxed all at once. Suddenly my life had taken direction and for once I saw a course of action that held a future. A future with someone, a guy, with whom I was falling in love. How could this happen to me, Kevin, the guy who felt so alone and feared he would always stay alone?
Now, here I was, almost two months latter, in love, in a relationship and wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. I kept reviewing in my mind all that had happened in those eight weeks that led up to today as I walked beside my new young friend back to "my" or as I now thought, "our" apartment.
I turned the key in the lock on the huge walnut paneled front door and stepped back to let this cute blonde youth slide inside in front of me. Then I slowly walked forward down the hall and unlocked the apartment door and entered. He followed me and turned into the huge parlor with its bowed window that looked down Tremont Street and the cross street. He turned and the fading afternoon light picked up glints of gold in his hair. The double bow windows in the room gave a view to the sidewalk and the dimming late afternoon light. Warmly clad folks walled briskly and were bundled up warmly against the damp chill of a February in Boston. My heart raced, what was I getting into? He was in a way still a total stranger. Why am I so scared? It was still early and even after eight weeks I realized that in reality I barely know him. But something inside of me said that I knew him, and that I knew him quite well.
After shucking off my coat and tossing it lightly on a chair, he followed suit and did the same, I turned to look at the eager face beside me. "Tired?'" I said softly. "Yeah, I'm tired," replied Mark. "Why don't you go down to the bed room and take a nap, I'll be down in a few, I gotta make a call and straighten up a bit." I said.
My eyes followed his lithe body as Mark smiled and wandered rather sleepily down the staircase to the floor below where the bedroom was located. I grinned. He is so sweet, I thought. I am not sure I really deserve him. As I began to think that I realized that was very wrong. I have to stop thinking like that ... I am just as deserving as the next guy. I really want to believe it and I hoped so with all my heart.
Downstairs, when Mark entered the bedroom he stripped off his clothes but left on his white athletic sox. Standing beside the low platform bed he stretched, arching his smooth back and then flopped down on the polished cotton sheets that were a bright sunny yellow and contrasted with the deep royal blue of the two large pillows. He pulled a down comforter over him to ward off the slight chill that the setting sun brought to the apartment and he slowly curled up to make himself smaller and conserve heat.
Mark reached over to the edge of he bed and from the stand, captured the white bear that I had given him yesterday and brought it close to his chest and held it tightly and soon reached a dreamy state of somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.
Up stairs I straighten up a couple of pillows on the couch, picked up the scattered newspapers that they had been reading, off the floor and walked into the small kitchen and placed the breakfast dishes in the washer and rinsed the silver ware and added them also. I grabbed the phone from the edge of the bookcase and made a reservation at Hammonds's for dinner. It was across the street and seemed just right for tonight! Good food and nearby!
A kaleidoscope of events whirled through my mind as I sat down on the edge of the couch. It had only been a few weeks since the chance meeting had occurred. It was almost surreal.
I had been admiring a painting in that exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts of a beautiful boy on a beach. He was stunningly beautiful! In the canvas his hair shown brightly and radiated a golden light, his shirt was open at the throat, showing the blush of young healthy flesh exposed to summer sun and an eager _expression of warmth and affection on the youth's face. It was a splendid painting. I was thinking how I would love to meet him in real life. I stared longingly at this work of an early twentieth century Boston artists.
As I was admiring the boy in the painting with its captivating beauty, I stepped backwards to get a better view and suddenly stumbled into a young man who was walking behind me as well as against the wooden oak bench in the midst of the gallery floor. We were both admiring the same painting.
Half sitting down I guess I looked pretty silly and embarrassed. The kid, still staggering, turned to mumble an apology. I almost freaked out when I saw him standing above me. It was the boy in the painting! As I regained my footing I stood there staring stupidly at him. I was amazed to see the youth in the painting come to life as a strikingly beautiful young man with golden blonde hair. He was probably about 18. He had a delightful tan that told of lots of outdoor activity and good health. Shorter by me only by a few inches, he was just five feet, five inches tall, which made him stunning in his perfect proportions as a boy/man. There was just something totally compelling about him. I started to apologize but he kept protesting it was his fault. I just could not help myself from staring.
"Are you sure you are not related?" I said pointing at the painting? "Nooo. I don't think so," drawled the stranger half smiling, half blushing.
"He really is beautiful, like you," I said, again pointing at the painting. I was embarrassed by what I had just said.
"Thanks, I guess," smiled the handsome youth, suppressing a cute giggle.
"It is a remarkable resemblance though," I replied.
"Do you like this exhibition?" I said.
"Yeah, its great." the blonde teen said.
"You have been away in the sun I see?" I offered.
Well actually, I am from Miami and I was taking in the Boston sites for a few days."
I looked at him and smiled, "What are you gonna see?" I eagerly asked.
"As much as I can in three days," he replied casting his look down at the floor.
"Do you have a plan of what you want to see in Boston?" I enquired. I suddenly so wanted to give him the grand tour of the city.
He brightened up and replied, "Actually I haven't a clue. Any suggestions? I am visiting my Aunt and she is never home and now she got called away on business so I am pretty much on my own."
I glanced down at my Swiss army watch. It was almost noon! I guess he caught me doing that cause he looked a bit unhappy and replied "Oh sorry to be holding you up." He was looking downward again at the polished wood floor.
"No, not at all, I was just looking at the time, it won't be too crowded yet in the museum's cafe, want to join me for something? I would be glad to make some suggestions as to what to see in the city." I was so hoping he would say yes.
"Sure, that would be great," he said. His eyes brightened.
I felt a jolt of happiness in my chest. "Hi, I'm Kevin," I said extending my hand.
"I'm Mark," he said in return.
"Hi Mark." I said smiling. His face seemed to beam sunlight. I was totally taken with him. Silly to say, but it was like a charge of electricity that went through me. We slowly walked to the museum's cafe and so it was that we began our weekend together. It was pure bliss.
That was how it started. We did everything, or tried to. Art Galleries, restaurants, shopping on Newbury Street, dinner, as well as doing some of the touristy stuff.
I sat there on the huge gray couch in the parlor thinking back to that first day. I could not believe what was happening. Here I was at 28 falling for this incredible 18 year old who I thought was the greatest person he had ever met. My head was reeling. How did this happen so fast? I knew I was ready, way more than ready to meet someone. Long overdue in fact. But it happened so suddenly. I almost felt I was not ready for it. It had instantly begun, that was scary. It seemed incredible. Suddenly I not only had met someone, but I was like on some journey that could lead to some kind of a relationship. I was really scared. I wanted it. I needed it. Fuck, we both needed it! It was real and it was happening!
I gotta admit the past weeks have been a blur. I had finally found a guy who was so sweet, so gentle and so special. The amazing thing was that not only had we so many interests in common and we had totally similar ideas about life, love and sex. Yeah that was important, really important. Ideas about love, respect and friendship. It was something that I had been searching for since my teens.
I walked down the stairs and turned down the tiny corridor to the bedroom. I went in to the bathroom, took a whiz in the john and washed my hands and face. I found some body lotion and rubbed it on my arms and face. It felt good. I grabbed the bottle of shampoo conditioner and poured some on my palm and ran my hands through my hair. It smelled of strawberries and the sent permeated the small bathroom. I love the way it smells and I wanted to put it on cause I thought Mark would like it! I really liked it's fragrance too as Strawberries have a sweetness and essence that is great at bringing up memories of summer days and open fields of New England.
I paused at the door looking in, Mark was gently dosing with one small foot peeking out of the of the bed covers. I sat on the edge of the bed and took his foot gently in hand and peeled off the white sox, and then carefully the other. Mark stirred. I took off all my clothes and lifted up the covers. Mark stretched out a bit more and rolled over on his left side. I got in behind him and got us covered up by the down cover. Then I kind of edged over and scooted up against him.
My chest against his smooth back, his cute butt against my crotch. God it felt so damn good and just so right. I could feel him move a bit backward as I moved a bit closer. With my right hand I could stroke his chest and ruffle his hair. With my left hand I could rub it up and down his smooth chest and tummy and squeeze him closer. I also reveled in the great feeling of his smooth body against me. It was so hot feeling his smooth balls and growing dick and I pushed my hand against his crotch, all smooth where his pubes had been trimmed. There was just the tiniest bit of stubble with made it incredibly sexy.
As I pressed my crotch against him I could feel myself getting aroused, feeling my own cock getting kind of hard and fitting in the crack of his cute ass. Like it was so gentle and way sexy and totally erotic all at the same time. I knew the way he was reacting he was getting kind of hard too. He also seemed to be enjoying it. Like we were half hard, half on the edge of being boned totally. I was hoping it felt as great for both of us. Mark kind of went "ummmma.... nnnd" as he sweetly moaned to himself.
I keep whispering into the ear and as I nibbled on his ear lobe: "Oh God you are sooo perfect, soooo beautiful! I just want to hold on to you forever and never get out of bed!" I held him tightly. I never had felt so at peace, so fulfilled and so happy in my entire life. It was like a missing part of me had now had been found. It was not possession but completeness. I wanted to make love to him and be with him, not as some object or toy but as a person in his own right, who both wanted me and needed me the way I loved him.
I knew we would make love later, but the wonderful beginning of increasing passion was just right. I liked his feeling of intense sexiness, pressing him so closely to me and feeling we were one. The sensuality of the moment was made even more visual by the infused grayish yellow light through the partly drawn draperies. It was four in the afternoon. The fading winter light filtered in through the window that looked out onto the snow-covered garden at the rear of the house. Urns and shrubs were frosted with a bit of snowy glaze.
"Mark I so love you," I whispered. "Ummm, I know you do, and I so love you too," he whispered back, as he was approaching sleep I rubbed my hand over him and gently squeezed his smooth balls and stroked his smooth silk-like teen cock. I could feel my own dick harden a bit more and feel his smooth ass against me as he pressed a bit closer.It was the perfect afternoon! It was pure heaven, to hold that someone that I was coming to so strongly love in the most beautiful way. When we both drifted off to sleep Mark was still holding the little white bear, and I was holding on to him with my left leg draped over his. It was to me a kind of flawless perfection. A closeness of both skin and soul. I felt I was floating in a cloud of bliss. I know that things had forever changed for me, and I hoped for him. I felt at last I had found that piece of the gilded New England past I had always been searching for.
The end
My thanks to my good friends Mike & Rich for the loan of their apartment for the setting of this story. Also thanks to the Copley Society and the American Painting Department of the MFA for the continuing excellent exhibitions of Boston paintings from 1890 to 1930 which inspired this story.
Again I want to thank dru, Jesse, will_s, Eliot, and tubby for their support and faith in me and their hope that I would finally post on Nifty. Thanks to all you guys in #niftywriters and #niftyorg chat, you are the best!
As a beginning writer on Nifty I enjoy letters and to hear what you like or what ever. But flames will be ignored.
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