Frederic S. Miller Museum of Art. 3 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
I hate to think of myself as being dense, but I suddenly figured out why I was shot. When I left the museum, I accidentally put on Freddy's overcoat. He wore a Burberry. Mine was similar color. The sniper mistook me for Freddy as I walked down the stairs.
Given Sally Belle's poor relationship with Freddy, I wondered if she wanted Freddy dead before he could change the will. I called Dan and told him my theory. Dan thought the shooter was at a distance and would not be able to tell the difference. He shot the wrong man.
"I wish you had told me earlier," Dan said.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I was busy."
"Shit! You must think I am the most insensitive man in the world," he said.
I laughed. "I never saw the coat again. Blood is hard to get out of camel hair," I said. "I think they had to cut it off of me."
Dan called his men and doubled the security on Freddy and Ellen.
Understanding that Freddy was the target made a lot of sense. Sally Belle and her family were the most likely suspects. The next day I told Freddy about all of my suspicions.
"Oh shit! I was puzzled when you were shot in an obvious pre-planned sniper attack," he said. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I wondered who would benefit from your death. When I die, the gravy train has come to town! It makes sense."
"You've changed your will?" I asked.
"I changed it the day after Sally Belle disappeared. Several of her closer relatives left town too," he said. "As your friend Dan said, that was one hell of a clue."
"I think that Sally Belle is half of the problem," I said. "I never noticed she had any interest in art. Was I correct about that?"
Freddy nodded. "She was beautiful when she married me. As she got older, and her good looks faded, she became increasingly greedy. She was afraid of ageing. The harder she tried to look young, the worse she looked and the meaner she got," he said and then paused. "I need to ask you something. I know you have an unusual arrangement with Ellen. Am I trespassing?" he asked.
"No, not at all," I replied. "As far as I can tell, she is as happy as she has been in years. She has something worthwhile to do with her life. That is good for me, for her, and for you, I hope. You have given her that opportunity." It was a good conversation.
Don was now focusing on Sally Belle's family. He found a lot of unsavory characters. There seemed to have been a tradition of shady deals and scams. This got worse as Sally gave Freddy's money to her relatives. They were the type who would beg you to pay their debts, but when you gave them money, they would bet on a sure thing at the horse races. The sure thing often had three legs. The money vanished.
While Ellen had a problem with nymphomania, she had good taste in men. She was not a home wrecker, and she didn't ruin lives. Biff told me I was like her in some ways, except my ass was tighter than her vagina. Biff intended that as a compliment, but I wasn't sure.
Biff was still working on for me. He came by with friends who shared common interests with me. Most were male nurses and therapists. Biff told me that he was a sex manic, not a lover. The sex was great, but here were no strings attached, no entanglements. His pals had similar interests.
He introduced me to a big guy named Bruno. He was one of Jamie's pals. Bruno worked at a mental hospital dealing with the challenging patients. He told me they called him Bluto for obvious reasons. Bruno didn't share any of Bluto's negative characteristics but used his imposing physical presence to calm his patients. Bruno and Jamie liked sharing a playmate. I knew I had a high tolerance for sex, but I came to realize higher than I thought.
Bruno was all top and liked to talk dirty as he fucked. His cock was a beer can. He would fuck me for ten minutes, pull out, and turn me over to Jamie. Jamie would change positions and fuck me until Bruno wanted to fuck me again. Jamie's cock rubbed different places in my ass. I was still being fucked but with variations. Jamie's cock was relaxing but stimulating. After an hour of joint fucking, Jamie shot off. He pulled out as Bruno's cock entered me and pushed Jamie's cum deeper into me. He then made his contribution to my ass.
I could soon feel the differences between Jamie, Bruno's, and Biff cocks. I enjoyed them all. Fucking a man and breeding him is intense and intimate. When they pulled out it was over except when Bruno tried to tongue my ass to taste the sperm in my ass. There was no embarrassing post orgasm period. I was never sure if group sex if therapeutic, but I knew it was a great sleep aid.
I was doing fine. My leg was healed. My shoulder didn't work right, but it now longer hurt. I could move my arm some and hold a fork and knife. I would come close to being able to shake a hand. Biff moved on to other jobs, but he was living in my carriage house.
Freddy and Ellen were active promoting the museum and contacted Rebecca S. Winslow, the granddaughter of Herbert Winslow. He had owned a factory making ceramic toilet fixtures. This had been a large company that was sold out to a nationwide company after his death. His son, Herbert Jr. devoted his life to the stock market. He had a boy Herbert III, and Rebecca. Herbert married and had six children. Rebecca never married and had life use of her father's estate and his personal property.
Rebecca's grandfather had married a socialite from New York. She was a collector associated with artists and bought paintings. John Singer Sargent had painted her grandmother and her mother when she was a child. The family had two summer houses on Long Island. The family used one, and the other was rented at a low price to artists. Sometimes the artists used paintings and sculptures in place of rent. Rebecca didn't collect, but she was interested in art.
Freddy was hunting for gifts the museum and knew Rebecca. Rebecca didn't like Sally Belle at all. Rebecca was educated and lady like. Sally was rude and loud. Her voice carried, and she tended to say inappropriate things in loud whisper. The phrase, "dried up old biddy" was poorly received
Paintings were all over Rebecca's home. When Freddy and Ellen visited the home after Sally Belle fled, Ellen admired the taste and refinement of the collection. She knew what Rebecca owned and was impressed. They hit it off. Ellen marveled at the grand-parents good taste and judgment. She knew with an older lady, complimenting her family was more effective than laying on thick on the lady herself. Freddy was always polite and courteous to ladies. After several visits, the phrase, "fitting Memorial to your family," popped up.
A cook and housekeeper took care of Rebecca every day. She was alone at night. The house was burglarized one night, and Rebecca was terrified. Most of the family had moved to Florida and her nieces and nephews were scattered. One nephew, Roger lived nearby. He was the outcast of the family, but after the burglary, he moved into the former maid's room in the back of the house. The house was three blocks from the museum so our night watchmen could swing by the house several times a night.
Rebecca had good financial advisors. She mentioned a potential gift to the museum to them. They thought that had financial advantages. A gift would reduce taxation on the rest of the estate. Freddy's people met with her people, and they worked out a plan. Freddy discovered the paintings were not insured. Rebecca decided to give the paintings to the museum, so we added her paintings to our policy.
Three months later, there was a second burglary attempt. This time Roger interrupted the burglars and ended up with a serious concussion. The second attempt was an eye opener, especially since the burglars left a clue as to their intentions. A Childe Hassam painting of flags on a New York Street had been partially cut out of its frame. I immediately knew that we were dealing with big time art thieves. Hassam is a well-known painter, but you had to be into American impressionists. It was unlikely the basic house burglar was into American Impressionism.
I called Dan and told him about the incident. He was shocked. I said I would talk to him the next day. I had promised Rebecca I would go to the hospital to check on Roger. In the back of my mind, I wondered if there was a chance Roger was involved, and the injury was just to divert suspicion. I knew most of the doctors at the hospital and Roger's doctor was a friend. He told me it was certainly an attempted murder, not a mugging gone bad. The assailant's blow was an inch away from crushing Roger's scull.
I went to see Roger and he looked like shit. Remarkably he was conscious. His skull was bandaged, and he had broken bones in his hands too. He was talking with difficulty with a police artist. He had seen one of the men without a mask and he was trying to describe him. I asked the officer in charge, Detective Smithson to send a copy the sketch of it to the museum and we would check with our staff and the cameras.
When I got back to the museum. Maxwell was waiting for me. Dan had called him and was sending additional staff to protect the Winslow house and Rebecca. He had done a check on Roger. He was the black sheep of the family because he was gay. He ran a small restaurant near the museum. He had no record and there were no irregularities on his bank account. He had been disinherited by his father but was getting an income from the restaurant. Maxwell was sending two maids to protect Rebecca. Maxwell told me the maids were delicate looking women who took prisoners only after the castration.
In the late afternoon, I went to see Rebecca Winslow. Ellen was there with Freddy. He was outside with a gardener planning to prune and weed the overgrown plantings to increase the visibility around the house. He had old photographs of the garden and told Rebecca he was restoring it to its prime.
Ellen and Freddy were reassuring and calm. Ellen introduced me and we got along well. Rebecca said she was worried and confused and asked if I would tell her what was going on.
I told her that I didn't know what was going on, but I had suspicions. Roger had foiled a major art theft. I told her I had our security staff was on the way to protect her and her home. I suggested that we move some of the paintings to the museum to insure maximum protection for them.
"Should I give you the paintings now?" she asked. I told her to talk to her financial advisors to get advice. "We are just being neighborly," I explained. We talked and she relaxed. Freddy came in the house to discuss the garden. I left and returned to the museum.
Later that day Freddy came to see me with a document from Rebecca stating it was her intention donate her paintings and art works to the museum after discussing it with her advisors. Should anything happen to her before the official gift, the artwork was to immediately become the property of the museum. She had signed the document with four witnesses. Rebecca was what my grandmother called a "smart cookie."
I was worried that things would be confused and messy. I called a meeting of the senior staff. I had nothing to worry about. This was minor compared to the attack on me. The registrars and curatorial staff felt battle tested were not into confusion or mess. We had a waiting list of potential professional staff, including researchers available to hire. Tim, the assistant director took care of the Winslow Collection and I returned to full time at the museum.
I had one other obligation. The Winslow house did not have an elevator, mine did. Roger was having co-ordination problems due to the brain injuries, so Roger came to live with me. Roger was the worse for wear.
I had heard Roger was an unconventional wild man and not prone to follow rules. Neither Biff, nor the cook, Marco, were tolerant of that attitude, and they both expected to be obeyed. Roger was too weak to put up any fight. His health improved steadily. Biff's therapy and Marco's food were a success.
I had the big handicapped friendly bath. I shared it with Roger, Jamie, Marco, and Biff. Eventually we explored the therapeutic use of using oral and anal sex to hasten the recovery after brain injuries. This sounds like a joke, but Roger responded to it.
Biff and Jamie were trained therapists, so they eased Roger into a sexual routine. Jamie thought Roger was handsome. Biff would support Roger as Jamie sucked his cock. Biff asked Roger if Jamie could take his load. The answer was yes. I was afraid Jamie would choke as Roger shot off. It was not a problem.
"Shit, I feel like I have died and gone to heaven," Roger said when he stopped shooting. Jamie felt the same way. All was well. Roger's approach to life brightened considerably. He realized he could have a life again.
Several months later, I was invited to give a lecture in New York City on lost and found artistic treasures of the countryside. The Miller Museum had a good collection of regional paintings. In New York, I was staying in the home of Rufus Van der Lynn, the director of the sponsoring institution. Rufus was Marlboro type man who wore Brooks Brothers suits. While he was handsome, he had a direct straight forward personality. He also knew my wife.
He asked me right away if I had any mobility problems. I told him I could not drive and since my right arm was only semi-functional. He said that I would be chauffeured everywhere.
"Ellen called me and gave me a rundown on your health," he said. "All meals will be cut into bite sized pieces. She recommended you wear a sling on your damaged arm so no one will be tempted to shake your hand. We have informed all the guests that no hugging and no slapping on the back is allowed."
"My assistant Saul Kaplan with be near you at all times," Rufus continued, "Saul is much interested in regional art. He is also a black belt if any assault is attempted."
"That seems like overkill," I said.
"Let me assure you that Saul is firmly committed to over kill," Rufus said with a smile.
My lecture was in the late afternoon and discussed art for the home. I suggested that most contemporary art was meant for offices and corporate headquarters. Much of 19th century art was to hang on the walls of private residences. Some was for the very wealthy, but much was for the modest homes of people who wanted something beautiful. A big landscape was perfect in the dining room of middle-class home.
I had hired a good photographer to record our museum's collection. The slides looked good, and the lecture was well received. There was a reception afterwards and a small private dinner afterwards. We were back to Rufus' apartment by eight.
"An old friend of mine, Biff, said you were a good man," Rufus said as we had a beer.
"Does Ellen have an alumni association?" I asked. Rufus laughed.
"I never thought of it that way. It could look that way," he said.
"Do you exchange notes?" I asked.
"Not formally, but Biff gave you a good review," Rufus replied. "Would you be insulted if I told you he gave your ass a great review?"
I laughed. "I seemed to have reached a point when anything short of sniper's bullet is okay with me," I said. "Biff discovered that my sexual equipment was still functional."
Resisting sexual temptation is not one of my defining virtues. A few minutes later I was naked on my back with my legs held open by Saul. Rufus was nudging his cock into my ass. I had a strong sense this wasn't the first time he had fucked a man. It was strange that Ellen and I had the same sexual tastes. The cocks that worked for her worked for me. It was even stranger that her vagina and my ass had the same effect on her lovers.
Rufus's cock was slightly thicker than Biff's cock. It was a tight fit. My prostate loved it. When Rufus got close, he would pull out. He wanted more time in my ass. Saul filled my ass as Rufus went to calm down.
Saul had worn a suit at the lecture. He was clean shaven and bald. Under the suit he was a muscular, hairy, gorilla. Rufus pulled out and went to shower as Saul slipped his cock into me.
"I'm just here to keep your ass open until he comes back," Saul said. "I'll pull out if I get close to shooting off."
"There's no need to do that. I have a warm spot for sperm," I said.
"Rufus doesn't like it," Saul said.
"Can he tell?" I asked.
"He hasn't noticed yet," Saul said. I smiled.
He shot off. Rufus returned and didn't notice the extra lubricant. Rufus had a four-alarm orgasm, and I went to bed. At five in the morning, Rufus left to catch a morning plane. He had a meeting in Atlanta.
I was to repeat my lecture that afternoon in front of a different audience. I had breakfast and took the morning off. Saul was at breakfast with me and the cook Abe. Saul introduced Abe as a friend. Abe had been a nurse and burned out. He like to cook so he came to work for Rufus.
"Are you worn out by last nights events?" Saul asked. "I had a call from your wife asked how you were doing. I told her you were doing fine. You went to bed early. She liked that."
"I'm not an invalid," I said. "Some things wear me out, other pump me up. You were relaxing and exciting." Saul and Abe took turns sucking and fucking me. It was pure recreational sex. There were no inflated expectations, and no secret agendas. It was pleasant and enjoyable. There were modest bursts of emotion associated with orgasms. We all knew that good sex is good sex, not true love.