Starting Over Again By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to winarch47@yahoo.com.
My name is Harry Dickerson. My mother's father had cancer and I was named after him. He died a few days after I was born. From the time I was in grade school, I was called Harry Dick. It was considered funny in first grade and remained funny for the rest of my life. But the time I was in 6th Grade I was good at drawing and painting. I was even better in high school, and I got a scholarship for a university.
I tended to be a traditional artist and was good at portraits and landscapes. Some of the professors wanted more daring works, but they admitted I was a good painter. I tended to win awards a lot. I was still called Harry Dick.
After school I was immediately successful. If you needed a portrait of a retiring college president, I was the man for you. I was unmarried until I was forty. My wife, Alice, was an older woman who loved my paintings and me. Her first marriage was bad, and her husband was imprisoned for embezzling. She had a 15-year-old daughter, Tammy, who idolized her father. She stayed with her grandparents a lot.
My wife was not interested in sex. Her ex-husband was probably a sadist. That was no problem for me. I was a nearly non practicing gay man. My gay friends were high status men, and a gay lover would have been inconvenient.
We were married for twenty years when Alice died of a stroke. I was surprised when Alice left her estate to her daughter. There was one major problem with that. By then Tammy had married an accountant. He did the books for us. He changed everything we owned to Alice's. She left it all to Tammy. For all practical purposes, I was penniless.
I was trying to work out things when I had a heart attack followed by a stroke. I was in the hospital for two weeks and then in a rehab center. I live in San Francisco, and Tammy sent me to a rehab center north of New York City on the Hudson.
After the stroke I knew I was someone, but I couldn't remember who. Walking was an adventure, as was eating without help. I was in the main building for a month and then sent to another building. I later found out it was the homeless ward.
That is where things began to improve for me. My doctor was Emmet Wilson, he was a nice guy. He looked me up online. I was known as Harry Dick, and it turns of there is only one man known as Harry Dick who was a comparatively well-known artist.
Emmet brought in a canvas, some paints, and a small easel. I set it up next to a window and painted the view of the Hudson. It was just a simple oil sketch, but Emmet thought it was beautiful. I didn't exactly know my name all the time, but I remembered how to paint.
I eventually remembered my days at art school and visiting museums when traveling through Europe. The stroke did not damage my painting skills. I eventually remembered a few personal things. At first, I did not remember I was gay, but I remembered I liked men, naked men.
With Emmet's help was able to walk again, and I was close to having a normal life. Oddly, I remembered my wife, but not her daughter. I was happy painting the Hudson but had little memory of California.
One day my money ran out and I had to leave the home. One afternoon, Emmet took me to his house and told me I lived there now. That was fine with me.
A week later I ran into Emmet coming from the shower naked. I remembered, I was gay. I dropped to my knees and sucked his cock.
"You shouldn't do that," he said.
"It's beautiful. I want to take your load. It's been so long since the last time," I said.
"Well, just this once," Emmet said. I didn't believe that for a second. He shot off a beautiful load. It was massive, warm and a bit sweet. I remembered thinking his sweet sperm matched his personality. I also knew we would be connecting again.
On Friday his friend, Raoul, came to the house. I seemed to know they were more than friends. Raoul worked in an art gallery owned by his Uncle Carlo. The gallery was well established and well respected. Raoul knew a great deal about me. That interested me since he knew more than I did. He got the information from articles about me in art magazines.
Raoul was handsome, sophisticated, well dressed, and friendly. I was shaggy and confused when I was working on a painting. I did know the names of artists he knew. I didn't remember their work, but I seemed to think I had admired their work.
He was well traveled, and I could talk to him about London, Paris, Florence, and Venice. Raoul was not a doctor or a therapist, so he treated me as a normal man, not as a patient. Raoul visited every weekend unless there was an opening at his gallery. He normally returned to New York on Sunday evening or Monday in the morning.
I normally went out to paint oil sketches at dawn. I liked the way the sun illuminated features of the landscape while the rest of the view was still in shade. I returned to the house between eight and nine. I usually showered and had breakfast. Emmet left the house by seven-thirty to get to his patients first thing in the morning.
One day I finished my shower and found Raoul waiting for me. He must have been late for his return trip to Manhattan. I noticed he was semi-erect. I smiled.
Raoul interpreted that as an expression of interest. He dropped to his knees and began to suck me. I first thought he had misinterpreted my smile. That was wrong, I loved it. I was an over the hill artist. He was a handsome, experienced, stud muffin.
We went to his bedroom. He lubricated my cock. Soon he was on his knees and my cock was deep in his ass. He was moaning in pleasure. I was in heaven. Suddenly, I recalled how much I loved fucking. "I'm afraid I'm going to shoot off in you!" I moaned.
"That's why I'm here," Raoul replied. I shot off for a while. I seemed I had exaggerated the length of the orgasm to be ten minutes. That could not have been true. I began to pull out.
"Please keep it in and churn it up some," he moaned.
I did as he asked, and I got hard again. A few minutes later I shot off a second time.
When I pulled out, we talked. "I have no artistic talent. I pretend to hope that if I take a real artist's load, I might get some," he said.
"Is this a problem for Emmet?" I asked.
"He knows I have this obsession. He told me he has had sex with you. He said it was good, I think this is the first time he had fucked an artist before I had." He was still hard; I leaned over and sucked him. When he shot off, I took every quivering drop of cum. I told him it was sweet and plentiful.
"You've done this before?" he asked.
"I don't remember exactly, but I think I have," I said.
"Was it as good as the others?"
"Somehow I think it was better," I said. "Sometimes sperm tastes stale. Other times it tastes of desperation. Relief and thankfulness sometimes adds flavor to older guys' sperm,"
We talked a little more and he dressed and went to his gallery in Manhattan. I had breakfast and returned to working on my sketches for the morning. By the time I finished it, Emmet was home. I work very quickly. I like to record my memories as fast as I can so the memories from the morning remain fresh. The new painting was on a large three-by-four-foot canvas. Emmet was shocked. From a distance it was a vivid photo realistic work. Up close it was almost pointillist.
I know that some artists ponder every brushstroke to make sure it is perfect. Even after my heart attack and stroke, I just put every brushstroke where it was supposed to be. That was aways obvious to me. Even post stroke, I was decisive. Emmet loved it.
After dinner he said that Raoul told him about our sexual interlude that morning. I was surprised that he was worried that I preferred Raoul to him.
"I have realized that I like sex with men. I guess you could say I love it. I am in love with all of it, not just one man. I don't want Raoul or you. I want both of you." I said.
Emmet looked relieved. "Some of the stuff we do is really personal," he said.
"I know what you like. I've sucked you off and shot off in your ass. Watching you suck and fuck with another man will not be a shock. I seem to remember fucking a guy after two men had shot off in him. Sperm is a great lubricant. I could almost feel the extasy of the previous guy's orgasm. One of the fuckers ass was still drooling cum. I bent over and licked the dribbling sperm. Damn if he didn't feed me a full-scale orgasm seconds later. It was a good night."
"I don't know if Raoul and I could promise that to you," Emmet said.
"You can't promise, but you and Raoul are hot men. Opportunities are endless." All was well.
Our neighbor, Rufus Broadbent was born and raised in the area and knew every inch of the county. He was a retired Forst Ranger. Sometimes he did an "aw shucks I'm just a county boy" routine. Rufus had multiple awards for bravery. He was also the leader of every search for lost persons. He dropped by whenever Emmet was out of town.
I didn't think this was a coincidence. Emmet was always worried about me. Rufus liked my paintings and took me to obscure places of exceptional beauty. Several were secret places. He was afraid the delicate and rare nature of the place would be destroyed if tourists discovered them.
Rufus was a big, muscular man and he would carry me over difficult terrain. I gave him paintings that he had particularly liked. While I painted them, I titled them "Pastorale or Forest Fantasy."
Rufus had a pool at his house. After a long day trekking in the woods, a dip in the pool revived him. It faced south so the sun warmed it. It was good for me too since I could more easily move in the warm water.
One day a young man joined us, Tom Lewis. He stripped and jumped into the pool. Tom was a local cop who was also good at finding people lost in the woods. He was a great tracker. He was also good looking and well hung. My cock is not good about keeping secrets, so it got hard. I was embarrassed.
Tom and Rufus noticed my erection. That could have been bad if they had not been erect too. We were all what might be called open minded. We realized the recreational potential of three erect cocks. I must have taken an entire minute to realize we were all into it big time. Tom liked his meat aged; Rufus and I liked fresh meat.
Rufus preferred oral rather than anal sex. Tom loved to fuck a tight ass. While I had many problems after my stroke, my ass was still tight. A half hour later, I had drunk and swallowed the contents of Rufus' balls, and Tom's man seed was safe deep in my ass. An hour later both Rufus and Tom sampled my sperm. Everyone felt good about sex and life in general.
I found out that Tom worked weekends he had Thursdays off. Rufus liked to share, and Tom loved no strings sex. We were the prefect trio.
A week later Raoul came to see me with a visitor, Moses Kaplan. Moses was half owner of Raoul's art gallery. Moses was a silent partner, and several minutes after I met him, I knew why. Moses was stunningly opinionated, and he expressed his opinions in the most abrasive way possible.
He was not at all interested in me or in my paintings. He claimed to be the man who discovered Andy Warhol. Moses did not like the Hudson River, trees, or forests.
We went to the barn-studio and Moses went quiet. He looked over the ten or so paintings and said nothing. "I have one new painting in the workshop, I said we went into the work room. The painting was of one of Rufus's secret places. It was a large work, about five by eight feet.
After a prolonged silence Moses exclaimed, "Shit, you are Andrew Wyeth on steroids, He's dead now and there still is a market waiting for a replacement. Raoul, you done good, sign him up." I pulled out several other large paintings. Moses loved them all.
"They are different," I said.
"Never use the word different. That is the kiss of death. Exceptional, that's the word," Moses demanded. Moses went home the next morning.
As he drove away in a taxi, I asked Raoul if Moses was an asshole.
"Yes, but he's also brilliant man who can identify a forgery using opera glasses a mile away. He is also rude and graceless. Dealers and curators called him in when evaluating a tricky artwork that needed to be identified. He was almost always right.
"My family has known him for years." Raoul explained. "My grandfather was an Argentinian diplomat in Germany in the 1930s. When they returned to Argentina, he claimed Raoul's family as his servants. They were the only members of the family to escape the gas chambers."
He explained that Raoul's family were art collectors. My Grandfather saved their best paintings. Moses' parents assumed the paintings were to pay for their escape. His grandfather returned the paintings to the family. That was the difference between being destitute and penniless and a good life."
Raoul's gallery was little known, but high prestige. It specialized in showing works by little known artists before they were discovered and became well known. That would normally be a good way to waste money. Raoul's Uncle Carl, and Moses had an eye for quality. They were perceptive. They recognized talent and ability. They also knew who to invite to see works by a "newly discovered artist."
Artistically, I was at the top of my game. My memory, however, had a mind of its own. I still could not remember much of my past. If I had a better memory, that would have bothered me. Most of my past was in a void.
Four months later Raoul sent a photographer to record my paintings for a small exhibit of my works for his elite customers. The photographer was an old man who was trapped in the 1970s, Judson Merryman. He arrived in an antique VW van. It had been all but rebuilt, but he saved the exterior paint job. He had a deep, Sam Elliot type voice and knew his business.
"What are we going to do for lights?" I asked as he looked over my studio.
"I painted then outside," I said.
"I can do that," he replied. He didn't talk much for a while. He told me that most of his work was photographed in a studio. He needed to adjust for natural light.
Emmet was finishing his shoot, when Rufus came over. He asked us over to his house for a swim, adding, "I need to warn you it's skinny dipping."
"That's the only way I ever swim," Judson growled. Somehow Rufus knew Judson was gay and the three of us had a good time alternating swimming and fornication. Judson volunteered that he liked the bottom and his ass needed attention. Rufus and I took the hint.
It was a relaxing afternoon. Judson was affable and sexually generous. He spent the night at Emmet's house, and the next morning he was up early taking pictures. Judson was a perfectionist, but fast. He knew when the sun would be in the right place, and he took the picture at the right time. I was a good visit.
Back at Raoul's gallery he, Uncle Carl and Moses developed the guest list. I suspect they told their guests about my history, but I wasn't sure about that. I had a dozen smaller paintings, and three six-by-ten foot panoramas.
I am a fast painter and I rarely correct or redo a painting. Things look right to me. I automatically put the paint in the right place. I had a feeling that displeased my professors at college. I seemed to think I had done well at school, but I wasn't sure.
Raoul's staff were professional, and the gallery looked good. The afternoon of the opening saw the arrival of the florist and the caterer. The florist has seen photos of my painting and had incorporated woodland plants in the design. The caterer had produced rustic appetizers.
The food was good, as was the pianist, Teddy. He told me he wanted to get together sometime if I was interested. He wasn't exactly good looking, but I liked him. For some reason I thought he was well hung.
Everyone was nice at the opening party. Two older ladies came over to me and we had a long conversation. Their father had recently died. He had donated generously to his college. There was a building bearing his name. They wanted a painting of him.
The gallery was a bit dark. Raoul made a brief introduction. He then clapped his hands and turned on the display lights. The guest gasped. The colors in the paintings appeared to be almost luminescent. They were dazzling. It was as if you had been in a dark, dim forest and the sun had come out. One guest said my paintings were like the Hudson River school on steroids.
Teddy's piano was able to suggest birds and insects frolicking in the woods. At ten Raoul's uncle announced the show was over and he thanked he guests for attending and me for this spectacular exhibition.
I spent the night at Raoul's apartment along with Emmet, Teddy, and Raoul's younger cousin, Sebastian. Sebastian had been the waiter and bartender. Somehow, around 11:30 we were in an orgy-free-for-all. Whatever it was, it was fun.
I had remembered that at one time I liked "fresh meat." I was pleased that Emmet and Raoul had the same interest. Teddy and Sebastian connected with me. Teddy told me that talented men turned him on. Sebastian told me he had never sucked vintage cum before. It was a busy night, but I felt good the next morning. Teddy and I sixty-nined and I fell asleep licking cum drool for from his cock. When I woke the next morning with my cock in Sebastian's mouth,
This may have been the first time anyone used a cock as a wake-up alarm. After my cock twitched a few timed, Sebastian got into it. I fuckee him too hard cock in a welcoming ass can only be so bad.
When I pulled out, sperm leaked from Sebastian's ass. Raoul slid his cock into the dribbling ass and pushed the sperm deeper into Sebastian's needy ass. No body asked me, but I wasn't sure adding additional sperm to a well fucked ass was a good way to keep an man from drooling cum. No one complained.
I returned to the gallery in the late morning. Uncle Carl was in his office. "We did well," he said. "The exhibit was well received. It was a great success. I have four patrons who would like to meet you and they have some potential commissions for you. Two are quite large."
"Are they projects I would enjoy?" I asked.
"Harry, we are most selective about our guests," he said. "We also sold several works. I have taken our commission from the sum, but I hope you will feel that $245,000.75 will meet your immediate needs."
I was astounded and was silent for a minute. "Why don't you round it off. Keep the seventy-five cents," I said.
Dour, conservative Uncle Carl was all but rolling on the floor with laughter. I went to Emmet's house feeling good about myself. Feeling good understates my feelings.
When Raoul arrived at Emmet's house the next weekend, Teddy and Sebastian were with him. Rufus dropped by for drinks on Friday evening, and he seemed to get along with Teddy and Sebastian. The two young men surprised men when they got along well with Rufus. I am not sure they had met a man like him before. Rufus was not a typical type you meet in Manhattan. He asked if they would like to go on a hike the next morning to find new views for me to paint. They said yes.
Much to my surprise Teddy and Sebastian were up at six and we were off with Rufus at six-thirty. I was a little afraid that Teddy and Sebastian thought Washington Square was a wilderness preserve. They were good sports and in good shape. Rufus was a bottomless pit of useful hints about the woods and the easy way to hike.
We went to the site of a long-vanished mill. Only the millrace survived, and it looked like a natural waterfall at first. I started an oil sketch, as Rufus gave the boys and lesson in forest flora and fauna. They went off and an hour or so later returned. My college professors accused me of being a painting machine. I never spent any time pondering what I wanted to paint. I would see something that attracted me and then paint it. That was obvious to me.
Teddy and Sebastian were shocked. It was just a sketch to me, but it was a finished painting for them. We had a simple lunch and went back to Rufus's house. It had become a hot summer day and the pool beckoned. No one had a problem with the pool dress code.
It was cool and refreshing. Rufus's pal, Tom Lewis dropped by and joined us skinny dipping. Rufus had called him.
"I think it time to get into some heavy-duty fun," Rufus said. "Tom and I are versatile. We suck and fuck. We also top and bottom. We understand it if you are saving your hole for Mr. Right. Is anyone saving himself?"
"Is it okay to cum in the hole?" Sebastain asked.
"I kind of think that not trading sperm is like skipping desert," Rufus said. "It's ideal as a taste treat, or as a the top-of-the-line anal lubricant. I would hate for you to think I am a wild man, but I have never sucked too much cock from a cock, and there has always been room for one more load in my ass."
"Have you ever had a guy tongue fuck you to taste the cum in your ass?" Teddy asked.
"Not until today!" Rufus replied. Several men laughed, and the group reorganized into couples.