My Ten Models

MY TEN MODELS by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2007 written on November 14, 1993 translated by the author English text kindly revised by John

USUAL DISCLAIMER

"MY TEN MODELS" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

CHAPER 8 - François of Berze l'Etang (Camargue)

Alain Prevost was a fifty-six years old painter, but seemed younger. With my second-rate French I got to communicate with him. The first three days I was his guest in his Marseille house. But he advised me to move to small village in the Camargue, and helped me to find a suitable lodging in a village called Berze l'Etang. In such a small place it was impossible to find professional models, but I was quite happy about that. During the first days I drew some landscapes and in the mean time I looked around to see if there were some boys I could persuade to sit for me.

I found several boys there who were available to be my models. But amongst them, the one who at once attracted my attention was François, a boy of twenty-four. The first time I saw him, he was sitting in a bar reading a newspaper and sipping his panache, that is a mixture of beer and soda water. Something about his face hit me so that I, seated nearby, was unable to move my eyes from him. At one point he raised his eyes and met my gaze.

With a light smile he made me a gesture of greeting, then went on reading. I was quite amazed, as he had greeted me as one usually does an acquaintance - a recognizing sign, quiet, almost casual. Could he have mistaken me for somebody else?

His black hair was hanging on his forehead, just touching his eyebrows. His dark eyes were underlined by long eyelashes. The nose was small, perfect, the mouth straight and well drawn. He had long and tapered fingers. I took out my pad and quickly drafted a pencil sketch of him. I was just finishing it, when he looked at me again, then at my pad, then again in my eyes.

"Are you portraying me?" he asked with a low and warm voice that sent me an agreeable quiver all long my spine.

"Yes. I hope it doesn't upset you..." I answered, stopping drawing.

"Not at all. You are foreigner, aren't you? A painter?"

"Yes, I'm Irish."

"Just passing through, or are you planning to stay for a while?"

"I'll stay just a few weeks. Did you ever sit as a model?"

"A model? For a painter? No, never."

"Would it bother you to sit for me?"

"It looks as though I'm already doing so..." he answered with a smile.

"No, I mean to my atelier. For an oil portrait."

"Ah, do you have an atelier here in Berze?"

"Yes, just behind the town hall, rented for one month."

"And you would really like painting my portrait?" the youth asked, seeming interested.

"May I offer you a drink? Can you come and sit at my table?" I asked.

He stood up and came to sit near me. He gave me his hand.

"How do you do, mister? My name is François Laval."

"Shaun O'Malley. How do you do? We are just a few years apart, can we just call ourselves by our names?"

"Willingly. Why would you like painting my portrait?"

"Because you are a handsome young man. I'm doing a set of paintings, of Latin beauties, boys. I will hold an exhibition in London."

François smiled, "So you think I am a Latin beauty?"

"I really think so."

"And if I accept, my portrait will be exhibited in London?"

"Of course."

"That's amusing. How long would I have to sit for you?"

"Well, it depends... From a few hours to some days. Are you busy? Do you work?"

"Yes, I have work. I'm working with my father at the local gasoline stand. But I can choose my shift. What time would it be better for you?"

"In the mornings or afternoons... I prefer painting in daylight."

"Very good. I have just to talk to my father to make a change of the schedule. How can I give you an answer?"

He accepted, so, very easily. I told him I would be there in the bar just before supper time so we made a date. That boy was really seductive. I thought I didn't know if I was keener about having him as a model or as a companion in bed ... anyway I was conscious that François was attractive for both roles.

I spent the afternoon drawing perspective sketches of the village. Around seven p.m. I went back to the bar in the square and sat at one of the tables on the outside. After a while François, wearing his soft filling station attendant's blue overall, came. From far he made me a greeting sign and a smile. He came to sit at my table.

"Well, it's done. My father agreed to let me do the afternoon-evening shifts. Thus tomorrow morning I am free. Does that suit you?"

"Very good. What time can you come?"

"Any time after seven..."

"Let say at eight, then?"

"Alright, good."

I explained him where my atelier was, offered him an appetizer, and chatted. And then I asked him the decisive question...

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No. Also my mother always asks me when I will get one. But, at least for now, I'm not at all interested. I love my freedom too much."

"How do you spend your free time then?"

"I play bowls with my friends. I read. I like reading very much, especially detective stories. I play cards. I'm never bored. Anyway, no girls!" he concluded with a light smile. Then he asked, "And you?"

"I don't have one either. Like you, I enjoy being free better."

"Yes, you are right." He assented lifting his glass to his lips.

With a gesture he greeted some friends who were passing.

"I never went to London. Is it beautiful?" he asked.

"Yes, I like it very much."

"I never travelled. Well, besides a few times to Marseille, Avignon, Nice... Mainly to Marseille. I went to Lyon just once, but I was a child so I don't remember it. It must be great to be travelling. You can meet lots of interesting people, can't you?"

"That's true."

"Do you travel a lot?"

"No. This is my first real tour of some length. It is a kind of... pilgrimage to look for, to discover the young men of the Mediterranean. Italy, Spain and now France."

"Right, the Latin beauties!" he smiled, then asked, "Where have you found the most beautiful boys? In Spain, in Italy or here?"

"Everywhere. You Latins have a special fascination. At least in our Northerners' eyes."

"Yes? Here, on the contrary, we feel that Northerners are fascinating. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, right?" he concluded with a smile.

He had a calm, quiet expression, just slightly clashing with the liveliness of his glances.

"The Latin male has a more sensual body than the northern one..." I threw out.

He looked at me as if he was reflecting, and then said, "I think sensuality is in the eyes of the one who is looking, don't you agree?

"Well, possibly."

"Yes, I think it is so. The same as for beauty. Things or people that I can find beautiful, can seem totally uninteresting, not even to be liked by another person, and vice versa. And happily it is so, at least there is room for everybody. Just think if we all had the same taste, what a misery! There would be people who nobody likes, and they would only have suicide left!"

"But you, for instance, you are beautiful. I think that it is impossible you are not liked."

"That's not so. I seem beautiful to you, and possibly to another not at all."

"Don't you believe to universal beauty?"

"No. I've no culture, but... I think that we consider beautiful what we were taught to feel is beautiful. It's something like fashion, don't you think? When something is fashionable we think it's beautiful, but a few years later we think it's ridiculous. And then, there is also a beauty we discover little by little. Things or people that at first I thought were ugly, can gradually seem me more and more beautiful. And vice versa. Something that once appeared beautiful can gradually seem less interesting and one day will be discarded without a second thought."

The depth of thought of that boy with "no culture", as he defined himself, was fascinating to me and was adding beauty to his physical aspect, strengthening his words.

He smiled at me, "You have a peculiar way of looking. Possibly all painters have a special way of looking, or else they would not be painters. Possibly you painters are able to see beyond things, beyond their external aspect..." he said.

"But you also have a special way of looking, François..."

"Really? Well, it could be... I always try to understand whomever I have in front of me. To understand what he thinks, what he believes, who he really is..."

"And who am I, then?" I asked.

He smiled and shook his head, "Give me some more time. For the moment I just know I like you, you interest me. You make me curious, so I'd like getting to know you better. Knowing other people is enriching."

"I too would like getting to know you better. The more I know you the better I'll be when painting you."

"Yes, that's understandable. If you stop here for some weeks, we'll get to know each other, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Even though at times, in front of others, we wear masks..."

"Your mask is beautiful anyway." I said.

He again smiled without replying.

We parted. I went to have supper in a small inn. In the evening, back at my atelier where I had a bed behind a curtain, I laid down. I didn't fall asleep at once. I was recalling my meeting with François. That boy was attracting me very much and I really liked him. He had wonderful hands and a fine looking face. But also a fascinating personality.

The following morning, when François tugged the little bell rope at the gate, I had already prepared everything. I went downstairs, passed through the little yard and went to open the gate for him. He was wearing tight jeans and a kind of light cotton coat. I made him enter and took him upstairs to my atelier. He looked around. I had put on the floor, leaning against the walls, some of my paintings, both of landscapes and nudes. He looked at them then looked at the white canvas on the easel, then again at the nudes.

"Should I sit nude?" he quietly asked.

"Only if you feel like." I answered.

"Well... I'm not a puritan, but... Well, I'm not used to showing myself around undressed. Anyway... I can do it, I think." He said and again looked at my paintings of nudes. "You are a really skillful painter. Were those boys really so handsome, or was it you who portrayed them to be more beautiful?"

"I just painted them as I saw them." I answered.

"You evidently saw them with sensual eyes." François commented.

"If you prefer, you can also start sitting just bare chest. Or anyway keep your underpants on you." I said taking my sketch pad and sitting on my stool.

He looked at me. "It doesn't matter. If I have to undress... it will be easier doing it now, I think." He said quietly and started to take off his clothes.

As he was discarding them, he carefully folded and put them on a bench. I saw he had a lean, nimble, elegant body and dancer's legs... and a magnificent tool between his legs, such as I would have never suspected he had. He remained totally naked in front of me, without seeming to be bothered by my gaze.

"Can you go there, François? Standing or sitting as you like. For a start I will do a set of sketches, in order to understand your physique well, and your proportions and fix them."

"Yes, sure. I sit here, so... is that good?"

"A little more at three quarters, please. No, a little less... Yes, good, just like that." I said and started to draw him quickly. And to desire him.

"You have a beautiful body..." I said while drawing, "and you are also... well endowed."

"The last is right. During my army service, at the showers, my mates said so. A little above average." He quietly admitted, without bragging but neither being ashamed.

I drew. Made him change his pose and drew some more. As he was not used to sitting, after each drawing I made him move, and he always came to see how I had represented him. He seemed satisfied.

"Yes, you are really skilled, that one is really me. And you are fast. I have never been able to draw decently. One needs a lot of training, isn't it so?"

"Yes, of course."

"That's why you do so many drawings?"

"Also. But also because making these sketches I fix in a better way your shape, or possibly this helps me to see better. Thus, later, I can do better paintings."

"You sell also all these drawings?"

"Some of them, but only a few. I normally keep them. I sell the paintings."

"The thought that somebody can keep in his home the portrait of a naked man he doesn't even know... well, I seems funny to me."

"If the painting is beautiful..."

"Yes, I agree, it can be agreeable looking at it. But I would feel ashamed having in my home the nude of a man... Or also of a woman, it doesn't matter..."

"If you visit museums, there are many nudes. Nudes that previously were in somebody's home."

"I never visited museums."

"And there are also nude statues. A naked body is one of the most beautiful works of art of nature."

"When it is beautiful, yes, it's as you say. I agree, a naked body is beautiful."

"Yours, for instance, is a real work of art. It's a pleasure looking at it and drawing you."

"How comes, Shaun, that you paint only male nudes?"

"At first I tried to paint women's bodies too. But I soon saw that I produced better work with men's bodies. I find them more interesting, more beautiful... and therefore also easier for me to draw, to paint."

"Yes, I too think that the male body is more beautiful than the female one." François said, looking at me seriously.

"It's much more beautiful," I declared, "more proportionate, harmonious. More sensual, erotic..." I then added.

François continued to look at me, barely nodding, but said nothing. I wanted to get to understand if I could have a hope, a possibility with him.

Thus I added, "At times it happens to me to feel even some attraction towards a beautiful man's nude..."

"Attraction?" he asked.

"Yes, desire to touch, to caress it..."

"Like a statue? A work of art?" François asked.

"Like a living being. Enjoying his beauty, his shapes, but not only with my eyes..."

"Children need to touch in order to understand..."

"Yes, children and lovers." I said, almost in a whisper.

I thought I had gone far enough, possibly even too far. But François seemed not to grasp the real meaning of what I was trying to make him understand.

But he suddenly asked me, "Did you ever fall in love with a man?"

I looked at him astounded, but he was looking at one of my portraits, turning me his back to me.

"In love? Possibly not loved, but desired..." I then answered, feeling I was blushing.

He didn't stop looking at that painting which was a portrait of Antonio.

But he said, "It happens also to me, at times..."

"To... desire a man?" I then asked in a low voice.

"Yes. To get aroused looking at him. To think I would like... making love with him." He admitted, almost in a whisper.

"And..." I asked, "did you ever made love with a man?"

"No, never. This is a small village. People like me are despised, if they are discovered."

I went to his back and rested a hand on his side. He shuddered but remained still, in front of Antonio's portrait.

"Do you like him?" I asked him.

"Yes, very much. I would like him to be here, in flesh and blood."

"His name is Antonio. He is from Naples. He too never had sex with a man before."

"Before?"

"Before doing so with me." I explained in a murmur.

Then François turned and looked into my eyes, "And... would you make love with me, Shaun?" he asked, almost in the accent of a prayer.

"From the first time I saw you. But I was afraid you would refuse."

"I... I too, when I saw you there at the bar, thought... but then it seemed me impossible..."

"And on the contrary... we are here. I desire you, you desire me... aren't we lucky?"

"Yes, I think so. But now I'm feeling embarrassed being in front of you all naked. Before I wasn't... But now, with me naked, and you clothed... it's embarrassing."

"Do you want me too to undress?"

"What? No! No, it would be better if I dress again."

"But why? As we desire each other..."

"With my clothes on... I could possibly be able to court you..." he said lowering his eyes.

I felt moved. He was not asking me to fuck. He wanted to court me. It was tender, gentle, delightful.

"Wear your clothes, then..." I said, "... and... let's court each other."

He put on his clothes, turning me his back. Then turned again and looked in my eyes.

"I'm glad I met you. I'm glad being here with you."

I took his hand between mine and gently squeezed it, caressed it.

"I like you very much, François, and not only physically. I would like to embrace, to kiss you."

He nodded, "Allow me some time to get used to you, to get used to the thought that..." he said and caressed my cheek.

His eyes were looking at me with such an extraordinary intensity that gave me quivers of emotions. He gently passed a fingertip on my lips.

"Do you know, this is the first time I can touch a man like this,?" he said in a dreaming tone, "I have desired it for years... for years..."

"When did you become aware you desire a man?"

"Oh, I don't know for sure. But I clearly understood it before leaving for my army service, five years ago."

"And in these five years, you never had the occasion to..."

"No, never. I was possibly somewhat scared of it. Everybody always talked about girls... Two or three times I understood that another boy was like me, but each time they were wretched people that didn't appeal to me, who on the contrary made me run away. You are the first who... And if it was not for your portraits, if I didn't come here to sit for you..."

"But now you are here." I said with a smile, lightly caressing his arm.

He then leaned a hand on my chest, caressing it through my shirt.

"I still feel like being in a dream..." he said.

"No, I'm real. Touch me..."

"Yes."

I put my hands on his waist and gently pulled him to me. He didn't resist. Our eyes seemed magnetized. I brought my face near his and lightly brushed my lips on his.

"I desire you, François."

"I too desire you, but..."

"But?"

"Do you promise me not to laugh at me?"

"Of course."

"I never made love. Never, not with men neither with women. In my bedroom there is a closet with a wide mirror. I often staid all naked in front of it, and caressed myself, masturbated, dreaming it was another man doing it with me. I don't know how... how to make love."

"Now you have me in front of you. You can do it with me, if you want. All what you have dreamed of, and even more..." I murmured and gently took him in my arms.

He too, then, embraced me, and his lips leaned on mine, and he closed his eyes. I then kissed him in an intimate way. At first softly. He pushed against me. I held him tighter. Our erections met, strong, and recognized each other through the cloth of our trousers. He shuddered. I kissed him more deeply. He returned my kiss and pushed his tongue into my mouth. Then parted from me and I let him go. He was trembling.

"It's beautiful... too beautiful..." he said, looking at me with bright eyes.

I took his hand and guided him behind the curtain. I sat on the bed and made him sit between my legs, his back leaning against my chest, a little on a side, and he abandoned himself against me. I embraced him from behind and caressed his chest. He was caressing my hands. I slipped a hand inside the wide collar of his coat and caressed his naked chest. He shuddered and curled himself more against me. I bent over him and our mouths met again.

He then unbuttoned my shirt and his hands touched my chest. I pulled out his coat and he helped me. I caressed his torso. He ended unbuttoning my shirt and pulled it off. I made him lie on his back and laid on top of him, my naked chest against his. We kissed again. Our erections once more brushed one against the other. My hands lowered to his jeans and started to open the belt buckle, then to unbutton his fly. Then he too busied himself with my trousers. So, gradually, we undressed each other. Our bodies were mutually searching each other, brushing against each other. Our hands were gently but insistently exploring the companion's body.

Then François pushed me onto my back and climbed on top of me.

"I want to look at you, to see you naked, to touch you..." he said.

Half stretched out at my side, he looked at me, caressed me, and finally his hands moved, warm and gentle, onto my genitals.

"You're beautiful..." he murmured. "You are a beautiful male... and you have... a beautiful cock... May I... kiss it?"

"Sure. Do anything you desire, François..."

"My comrades, during the army service, when talking about fags, said that they sucked each other and they put it in the ass... I would like to try these things but... but not today."

"How and when you feel like doing so, François..." I said gently caressing his body and his beautiful genitals.

I then raised my trunk a little and bent down to suck one of his nipples, then the other.

He moaned aloud, "Shaun! Oh, Shaun! More, more, please..." he beseeched, arching his back.

I sucked them again, while gently fingering his beautiful member and his firm and round testicles.

"Oh my god! It's too good! Too good!" he panted throwing back his head and groping my body.

I then went down to lick his chest, his belly... and finally reached his glorious rod that I freed of its foreskin and licked his beautiful, smooth and swollen glans.

"Oh... oh... Shaun... what are you doing to me? So you make me come! No... no, please... It's too good... oh, Shaun!"

He sat up, took my head away from his rod and guided it towards his head and we kissed.

"I... I wanted to court you, Shaun, and instead... instead we are already making love..."

"You waited for this moment for a long five years long, didn't you?" I murmured softly.

"Yes, it's true, but..."

"Then, let yourself go. I want to take you to heaven... and giving you your first orgasm with a man."

"Oh, Shaun... not yet, please! If you do those things to me... you will drive me crazy! Let's go slowly, please... please!"

I caressed, cuddled him, made him relax.

"Yes, so..." he murmured.

He wanted to resume exploring all my body with his hands, lips, tongue, with all his body. But that first day he didn't want to reach an orgasm. The noon bell made us part. When we were dressed again, he embraced and kissed me.

"I will dream of you all this afternoon long, all the evening, all the night till tomorrow morning... until we will be together again. Are you upset we didn't come?"

"No, but... I don't know if tomorrow I will be able to control myself again..." I said with a smile.

"I don't know either... I would like not to have to go, now... I would like to start it all again... now at once."

"Stay here..."

"No, I cannot. Tomorrow morning... at eight o'clock?"

"Even earlier, if you want..."

"Yes, even earlier..." he said and after a last kiss, he left me.

It was not just him to think of us during the hours that separated us. When he rang the gate bell, I was already awake. It was just past seven o' clock. I went down to open the gate, wearing only my tracksuit trousers and already fully aroused. He noticed it, and as soon as we were upstairs in the atelier, he put his hand on it, while we were kissing. He quickly undressed, this time without bothering to fold his clothes, and went on my bed.

"Won't you take them off ?" he asked, pointing to my trousers.

"You pull them off..." I proposed, drawing near the bed.

He at once did so and seized my stiff rod and bent down to lick it. I tried to reach his own, but he stopped me and kissed me in the mouth. Our limbs intertwined and as soon as I went on the bed, we started making love. After several acrobatics, we finally found ourselves united in a sixty-nine. We spent all the morning on my bed. François seemed never to be satisfied. And we drank each other sweet tribute three times, during that morning of inflamed love.

And the following morning, we finally penetrated each other. He offered me his virginity with trembling anticipation, his eyes bright, and he was so eager to have me inside him that when I took him, after a long preparation with gel, he was so relaxed that he received me inside him without pain or difficulty. While I was finally taking him, his face was radiant, a moving beauty!

For almost all a week, we made love every morning, for hours and hours, alternating moments of passion with moments of sweet abandon, talking, admiring each other, loving each other. We were literally competing to give ourselves to each other, and I think that both we were certain we had found heaven, each in the other's arms. We never found time to resume the sittings and the drawing.

Then François gradually calmed down, so I resumed to drawing and painting him, even though we always found the time to quietly make love. He didn't miss even one morning, except the Sunday when the gasoline stand was closed and he preferred to come at my place in the afternoon so that in the morning he could go to the mass with his family.

It was three weeks, or a little more, since we first met in that bar on the village square, when François one morning came to my atelier with a parcel and an envelop in his hands. As he entered, he gave them to me.

"For me?" I asked.

"Yes, for you. But don't open them now. I have first to talk with you..." he answered with a shy smile.

"Tell me..."

"I... well, it's not easy... In a few days you will go away, right?"

"Yes, unhappily."

"Well, I... I think I'm falling I love with you. No, let me speak, please. I know very well that... I would not be ready to leave everything to go with you... even if you asked me to. And even less can I ask you to stay here. I thought about this all the night, after yesterday evening I became aware of what I am feeling for you. You would stay here possibly one more week... just the time for me to be totally in love with you. And so, at least for me, leaving you it would be even harder than now. Thus... I thought that... from now on it will be better we don't meet any more. After you have left Berze... but please, not before... you can open this parcel and this envelope."

"François!" I exclaimed without finding suitable words.

He sadly smiled, "It's better this way, don't you think?"

"I... I shall miss you terribly, François..."

"I'm sorry I can't sit for that portrait any more... I hope you can finish it all the same..."

"I think I can, but... Isn't there the problem. I too was getting more and more fond of you..."

"I know, I realized it. But... what can we do? If we knew each other much better we could possibly take the risk... you and I... to try to stay together. But we have not enough time to get to know each other more deeply. Not in one or two weeks or a little more... Thus, Shaun... it is better we say farewell now."

"That's very sad..."

"Yes, it is sad. And yet, I am happy I met you, I made love with you. I am happy you have been my first man. And nobody can ever take this happiness away from me. And those..." he said pointing at the parcel and the envelop in my hands, "are just to tell you about this happiness. So that you will not forget me."

"Oh... but I have your drawings, your portraits..."

"You will sell them. And you have drawings of other boys too."

"And I... what can I give you to remember me? To remember these wonderful days?"

"I don't need anything. I will never forget you."

"Would you accept one of my drawings, one of my paintings?"

"One of your paintings? You really want to give one of them to me?"

"Yes, sure, the one you like best."

"Well, then, the little one, this one..." he said picking one up from the floor.

It was a view of square at Berze, with the bar where we had met. And at a table there were two men sitting and I had said to him that they were him and me.

"Can I have this?" he asked.

"Of course you can..."

He looked at it with a smile, "There is your signature, and also the date. It is perfect."

He put it on the stool, turned towards me, embraced me tightly and said, "Farewell Shaun. And thank you! We will never forget each other, am I right?"

"Never ever." I promised.

He went out hurriedly, my oil painting in his hands, without turning back.

And I wept.

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 9

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