I left the flat to go shopping, collected what I needed, and decided to sit on the bench in the High Street. I had no intention of striking up conversation with the man sat next to me on the bench. Lost in my own thoughts, I hadn’t noticed him.

Pigeons waddled around my feet as crowds of office workers rushed past, on their lunch breaks. I’d never felt part of their world, not really. I kept strange hours as a painter, working day and night. I slept when I needed to, breaking away from the studio for supplies without being sure what time it was.

“I hope that’s paint”, he said.

I turned, taking a moment to focus, a slack-jawed idiot. “Huh?”

“Your hands.”

I looked down, turned my hands palm up. I’d covered them in vermilion, a bright red that looked inappropriate in the mid-day sun.

“It’s either that or you work in an abattoir.”

My gaze went from my hands to his face. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed him. The sun played there, making him magnificent. Grey eyes, unshaven, strong jaw, pink, pursed lips, smiling.

Art and fucking


I felt a stir. It was so long since I’d been with a guy, since I’d communicated with anyone. He was beautiful, and my cock rose in appreciation. It was only then I remembered I’d come out with dungarees, but no underwear. I became coy.

“I’m a painter,” I said, in a rather pathetic voice.

“I gathered that. Would I like your work?”

“Ummm, I don’t know.”

He laughed again. I wasn’t sure if he was needling me, getting a rise out of me. He seemed to be enjoying my awkwardness.

“That’s the part where you say ‘Yes, would you like to come to my studio and view some of it?'”

“Would you?”


We walked fast, me trying to re-position my awkward boner without him clocking it. Was he a buyer? Did he already know my work? It had been a while since I’d sold a piece, and I needed to eat. All I could think of, though, was the light falling on his face, glittering in his stubble.  I watched the way he licked his lips as he talked, his tongue darting in and out in pinkish blurs.

Back at the studio I gave him the pitch, showing him this work and that. Describing my latest stylistic experiments and comparing them to my old.

He wasn’t interested. All he did was hook his hands in the pockets of his flat fronted trousers and stare at me.

“I didn’t come to here to buy. I came here to be fucked…”

There’s was no hiding my arousal now. I didn’t stop to question it, but walked in strides across the wooden floor towards him. We kissed, teeth clacking, tongues teasing, back and forth, licking, sucking, biting each others lips. He kissed my neck, lifted up my t-shirt. Tongued my hard nipples and sent jolts of pleasure straight to my groin.

He undid my dungarees and they fell to the floor in one easy movement. Following them, he dropped to his knees to take my cock in his mouth. He sucked me for a while then stood up and undid his own trousers, dispensing with them. His briefs came next, leaving him standing there in only his socks and shirt.

Art and fucking


Turning from me, he leaned against my workbench. Spreading his legs, he pulled at one cheek with his free hand, exposing his hairy, pulsing hole.

I dropped now, pressed my tongue into him, made his hole wet, felt it become more accommodating. He moaned, sighs of pleasure that drove me to further depths of exploration. I pulled both cheeks wide to gain full access. Spitting on it, till it was glistening.

I stood up, unwrapped a Johnny that had sat on the shelf for too long. I rolled it quickly but carefully over my solid cock, spat on my palm and greased it up.

Art and fucking


“Yes, yes, fuck me,” he moaned, and I obliged. I pressed my cock against his hole, feeling it open to me. I pushed gently at first then harder, pulling back and pressing forward in rhythm with his own fluttering, pulsating hole. Soon I had my full length inside him and all I could feel was his warmth massaging every inch of me.

He worked his own cock as I thrust mine into him. Paintbrushes fell to the floor, the smell of turps hit my eyes and nose. I remembered what it was like to be alive. Here, now, inside him. I’d missed it, and hadn’t even realized. This stranger was now the center of the universe.

The sounds he made drove me wilder and I pounded him hard. His cheeks rebounded, my balls slapped. The soft wet ‘shuck’ my cock made as it entered and retreated again and again pushed me higher and higher.

Our moans mingled, louder and louder, until I felt him shudder as he came. The waves of pleasure transmitted through him, his hole clenching around my cock. I couldn’t hold it back any more, and I came, spurt after spurt filling the condom.

I didn’t withdraw immediately but fell forward onto his back, wrapping my arms around his torso. Sweat dripped from me onto his sodden shirt. We stood there, twitching and vibrating, the room silent but for our heavy breaths.

True to his word, he never did buy a piece. Instead, fully-clothed and heading for the door, he handed me his business card.

“Any time you’re at a loss,” he said, and left.


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