For Love of a Dream 7
FOR LOVE OF A DREAM - 7
Copyright 2012 by Carl Mason
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "For Love of a Dream" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Further, as in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net
If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.
This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.
CHAPTER 7
(Revisiting Chapter 6)
Thank all that's holy for Mississippi-Pacific's award-winning absorbent toweling paper! Without it, his first stop in the Big Apple would have been a disaster.
(Continuing Our Story: Two More Bites from the Big Apple)
Jacob Kantofsky
Laughing their fool heads off, arms around shoulders, the young man and his dad headed for the subway station across the street. Nels hadn't felt this...loose, this off balance since he'd had a few too many highschool friends now in college. What's this? The secondary station had closed for the weekend due to renovations? "No matter," his dad exclaimed cheerfully. His friend lived only three or four blocks towards the river. (He neglected to explain that New York City blocks hold the national record for length!) The youth didn't say anything, but, frankly, this was not a neighborhood in which he would have chosen to spend vacation time. It was poorly lighted; the buildings were old...and dirty; the few people still sitting on their stoops in the fast-chilling air looked somewhat...predatory.
His fears receded as Jason began to tell him about Jacob Kantofsky. It seems that Jacob was around when he had been a college student in Manhattan. In truth, had it not been for his kindness, he would have had to drop out during his junior year, for his money had run out. In the best tradition of wealthy parents, his mother and father joined in demanding that he work for additional support. He still had to discover the meaning and value of a dollar! Jacob took him in, fed him, and gave him work. Jason said that he treasured many of the photos that Jacob had taken of him early in his artistic career and would share them once they returned to Hillsborough. "When I spoke to him by phone, it was as if he were a young man again," Jason mused. "I think that he will ask to photograph you," he added. "Indeed, I suspect he will ask you to sit for a painting before we're through. While I know it's not important, I should add that he pays well."
Nels thought to himself that Jason wasn't entirely correct on that one. While his dad was very generous, he still chafed under the pressure of having practically no funds of his own.
"Would it bother you for him to photograph you in the nude?" the older man asked abruptly. (Pause.) "No, not as long as he keeps his hands to himself," the youth snickered "I'm an exclusive...exclusively yours!"
On arrival they stood for a moment on the sidewalk outside the artist's brownstone. The ornate door with its Tiffany fanlight at the top of the stairs abruptly opened and a colorfully dressed old man shuffled towards them. "Jason!" he almost cried in happiness as he embraced his older guest. "Jason..." Without pausing, he asked, "And who is this beautiful hunk?" "Meet my son Nelson, Dad (an honorary title bestowed when Jason was at NYU)!" "Come in, come in," the ancient one sniffled as he wiped his eyes. "The kettle's on."
It could not have happened differently. Within the hour, Nels' grandfather had dragged out his ancient Rolleiflex and professional lighting of sufficient vintage to have served early Hollywood epics. Gently he guided mine gelibt malekh [Yiddish: "my beloved angel"] into one glorious pose after another. He used nothing on the boy's naked perfection but his hands and fingers. Later over dinner Rob told his dad that the experience was almost mystical...so deeply erotic as to defy description. "I'll never forget the way in which he began by first tightly grasping my shoulders and looking deeply into my eyes. For a moment I was reminded of Hitler reviewing his troops! Then, ceremonially, he took my cock and laid it out on his palm. Dad, the moment was electric. Quivering, sweat running down my body, dripping precum, I became his slave. How in the world could a person at one and the same time be so completely at peace and so aroused as to be nearly out of his mind!" Jason only smiled...a smile quite reminiscent of a male Mona Lisa. Whatever... He understood!
Finally, artistically draping the youth's heavy but shapely genitals over a muscular thigh, the old magician rose and murmured, "Enough! More is needed, for without love beauty turns to decay." Speaking to his model, he asked, "Would you consider allowing me to ask a young man, a student, who lives on the third floor to join us? I assure you that he is both beautiful and a sexual Grand Master."
Nels' response was clearly unexpected. "Grandfather," he said softly, my heart bleeds, but I can't give myself to him, even for you. I would rather die than hurt you, but I can't...I just can't..." The ancient one turned to Jason and said in a tone that was simultaneously sad and proud beyond all comprehension, "Ah, my dear son, you are creating something very rare in this world, ein wahrer Mensch" [German: "a true human being"].
"Grandfather," Nels said hesitatingly, "Would it help if you were able to photograph me showing my love for the one who holds my heart?" "It would be a supreme moment in my art," the old man replied, but how...?"
Without comment Nels rose and walked over to his father. "Dad," he said, leaning down to whisper in his ear. Lifting his eyes towards those of his son, the tears coursing down his cheeks, Jason momentarily rested his forehead on the youth's naked chest, nodded, and held out his arms in order that his clothing might be removed. Then, pure of heart, they lay down together.
Jacob tried to press a very generous model's fee on the lad, but he might as well not have tried! Granddad did extract a promise from the youngster to come back for a "real shoot" and to consider sitting for an oil painting of him, presumably au naturel. Strictly on his own initiative, he announced that he wasn't going to post photos on the 'Net that showed both his son and his grandson . Would he always look at them with pride - and lust? Indeed, and so would they once their set arrived by post on a CD!
The Baths of Budapest
"Are you beginning to feel hungry yet?" Jason inquired as they walked towards the subway station in the direction that Jacob had pointed. "No, sir, not quite yet," Nels answered. "Good!" snickered Jason. "Miracles do happen!" "Huh?" responded the blond one, most of whose mind was still back at grandfather's house where the stroking of his body was promising to send him over the edge. "There's a problem, Dad?" "No...no," Jason reassured him. "Everything's fine. It's just that if you're going to enjoy it, I need to prepare you for dinner." "Explain," Nels grunted. Jason made a great show of shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands before saying, "Magyar Gulyás tálalva kiváló kenyeret, és a "Bika Blood", egy klasszikus magyar vörösbor. A rétes a desszert." "I repeat: 'Huh'?" Nels play-snarled. Striking a superior pose, his dad replied, "Right. That's what I have to prepare you for! Now if you will allow me to lead you to the correct subway car... Let's move!
Again climbing to the street level after a ride of ten minutes or so and a short walk, they found themselves facing a cluster of very strangely shaped buildings. In the main, they were octagonal...definitely not western. "What in heck is that?" the young man asked in confusion. "That, my dear son, is a true "Turkish bath" as interpreted in Budapest. No surprise there. After all, the Ottoman Turks ruled the city for 160 years in the 16th century. The look on Nels's face hadn't changed appreciably. "It was the great public bath house of the East," Jason continued. "There are other variations. For instance, you have the Russian banya and the Finnish sauna which make much greater use of heated air for cleansing. I happen to prefer the original which depends on water of various temperatures. One of the joys of traveling to Budapest is that several magnificent ones still exist - and, of course, they're found in nearly every Turkish town. (We've got to get you over there, yes?" The youth's eyes widened!) "Here at home, they pretty much fell out of favor in the last century with the growing popularity of bathrooms in every house with showers and all the rest. Due to remnants of the great ethnic immigrations into New York City, however, this gem remains, as well as a few in the Russian tradition. Well, son, you are about to have one of the real treats of this little trip. Ready to move?" Nels grinned at his dad, turned his face back towards the entrance, and journeyed on.
After paying the fees at the front desk, they followed a young 'tellak', i.e., an assistant, into a spotless white-tiled room. Nels whispered, "Dad, this place is evidently open to women. We didn't bring any bathing suits, did we?" "No, we didn't," came the reply, "but had you read that placard more closely, you would have seen that today is a 'gentlemen only' day - and, according to Jacob, a gay one at that!" "Cool," muttered the young man, his body already beginning to quiver. Clothes and personal possessions were secured in lockers, after which they took a quick shower - of the type one would take if about to dive into a public swimming pool in the States. Turning down a proffered towel - which brought a slight, tight-lipped grin from the tellak - they were led through a long passage, beautifully tiled and decorated in magnificent woods and inlaid marble.
Suddenly, they entered the first room of the Bath through a narrow entrance. Seeing that the walls were of natural stone, Nels gasped! It was like an ancient grotto! Thick steam rose in clouds from the pool that lay directly under the octagonal roof. Small openings in the vault allowed beams of natural light to play colorfully on the water and steam. Small niches cut into the grotto walls contained stone benches on which one could relax after bathing.
"If the master pleases," the young tellak said formally, "immerse yourself in the water, close your eyes, and allow the water to melt the cramps in your muscles and relieve the stress in your body and your mind. I shall return shortly." It had been a wild day. Nels nearly fell asleep as the water, the swirling steam, the beautiful tile, and the sense of being in a protected, almost a sacred spot slowly restored his sense of peace. He delighted in a relaxed conversation with a redheaded youth, perhaps a year his junior, named Ken Alison. All too soon, however, the tellak returned to take him into the hamam (the very steamy sauna in the next room). "Ready, sir?" the young assistant asked. "Come and cool down for a moment on one of the benches. Then I'll show you some wondrous things in the next building." Apologetically, Nels rose and nodded to Kenny with whom he felt an instant connection. "I've always preferred 'Later' to 'Goodbye'," he whispered softly.
Nels was always glad that he had a guide in the next room - tiled as were the others and probably just as beautiful - had he been able to see fully. Billowing clouds of steam reduced his vision to one of two points above a whiteout. When the heat simply became too much and he was convinced that he was about to float away in his own sweat, the tellak vigorously soaped and scrubbed his body. Finally, he was guided over to one of several ornate fountains on the wall, where the tellak gracefully filled basins with water and poured them over his golden locks and his shoulders.
At one point, as he stood there panting slightly, the water dripping off his body, the tellak asked him if he were ready for his massage. Guided to a niche in the room's wall where the steam was somewhat less intense, the boy lay down on decorative tiles that covered the top of a warmed marble platform. Given his whispered permission, the masseur was far less constrained in those parts of the body that received the attention of his lips and tongue, as well as his fingers. Every movement became part of a beautiful ode to the male body. Sensuously, the poetry culminated in the spilling of Nels's bodily fluids as in generations long past the blood of sacrifices had been spilled. Sighing deeply as every muscle in his body seemed to relax, he welcomed the young tellak's fingers that skillfully drove the last vestiges of stress from his body.
Barely remembering entering the final room in the Budapest baths, Nels began to regain full consciousness. He lay on a comfortable lounge that had been draped in silken, gaily colored fabrics. The air was fresh; a light scent of flowers was in his nostrils, as the sound of gently flowing water came to his ears. Vigorously stretching, he suddenly realized that he was still naked. Momentarily, the young tellak - bearing a silver tray, a flask of a deep red wine, and a crystal goblet - appeared at his side. Only after Nels had insisted that the youngster share his lounge...and his goblet...and they had chatted for a few minutes did he allow himself to be led over to a door. Shortly, Nels found himself in the changing room, embracing Jason who had risen to greet him.
"Are you finally hungry?" his dad asked him with a grin. Rather than ask him if he were serious, the youngster simply growled, "Oh, yeah!" As they departed the Baths and entered a taxi that had been called for them, Jason added, "In some ways, my son, New York City is a little town, as is most of America. For instance, we do not say too much publically about these baths. Normally, their business practices are considerably more...What's the word? 'Vanilla'? Due to the intercession of friends, however, you were greeted as one of the neighborhood family. Understand?" "Yes, sir," the beautiful youth answered. "I believe I do. Thank you, Dad."
(Homeward Bound)
Nels always remembered the remainder of the trip as a great blur...the wild New York City traffic, the bright lights and noise that never seemed to fade, the endless swirl of people. Even the long flight that carried them home to Baghdad by the Bay (an affectionate term for San Francisco, celebrating The City's multicultural heritage, coined by Herb Caen, a respected newspaperman) and the short limousine transfer to Hillsborough were but splashes of color in the kaleidoscope that was his life.
(To Be Continued)